#whEN I CATCH FIRE WASH OVER YOU LIKE THE SUN

[erwinsvow]

“you and rafe had spent the first hour of the morning rolling around in his bed at tannyhill, working up a sweat, which then was washed off in the shower together.”

could you do a drabble about this😣 shy reader and rafe are my babies. they’re so cute!!

oh my goodness you are too sweet! i love this line and i hope i did it justice for you ♡

pressed against the wall of rafe's shower, warm water splashing on your skin and rafe's hands on your hips, you close your eyes and wonder if you're really here. the crush you'd been nursing for what seems like ever washes over you one more time, and it makes your entire body shiver.

there was nothing better than sleeping over at rafe's. and it seemed like he was being extra nice when you did, letting you pick out the movie (a girly rom-com) and taking you out for ice cream at midnight (vanilla softserve that you'd shared with him).

in the morning, you'd woken up with limbs entangled, his head in your hair and somehow, with you still gripping onto his hand. the position in which you two woke up had made it too easy to repeat last night's activities again, ending up with your face buried in your pillow and rafe slamming into you from behind. your fingers curl around his sheets, moans muffled by the covers until he grips the back of your head, lifting you up by your hair so he can hear you better.

nothing about sleeping with rafe feels the same, in fact it feels different everytime—more toe curling and thighs trembling than the last—but one thing always stays the same, and that's how much rafe likes to hear you when you cum.

when rafe cums, it's messy, filling you up and leaking onto his sheets. you've made a mess without trying, skin sweaty, hair tangled from where his fist was. you could close your eyes and fall asleep again in a minute, if he'd let you.

"open your eyes, kid. we got shit to do."

"hmm-" you let out, quiet and soft, another moan while you feel rafe's cum slip out of you. it's a noise of contentment—and truly, there's no better feeling in the world. "like what?"

"shower. eat somethin'. c'mon, don't fall asleep on me."

"please, rafe. tired." your eyes stay closed—the way you said, he has half a mind to let you stay like this. rafe thinks briefly that he'd keep you like this forever if he could, naked and delirious in his bed. another thought floats around and enraptures his brain—the fact that you'd comply easily, that you'd want to stay like that too.

"after we shower you can sleep." you open an eye, looking up at your boyfriend. the sun shines on his bare shoulder, making his hair glow with light.

"we?"

"yes, kid. we."

"hm," you pretend to debate for a second. "let me think about it." you don't get any more time to even try to think—he picks you up and into the air immediately, carrying you to the bathroom.

that's how you end up like this, your cheek on the tile. rafe brushes aside some wet hair from your neck to press a kiss there. even in the lukewarm water his touch feels hot, so much so you think your skin's on fire.

he slides in easily—your knees go weak at the feeling. but it doesn't matter—like always—rafe's holding you up, fucking into you while your eyes stay clamped shut. overstimulated beyond belief, unsure where rafe ends and you begin, you cry out while he pounds into you. it's only another minute, everything gets tight and tense and painfully hot, you think you're cumming again, head falling back onto rafe's shoulder while he fucks you through it.

your moans seem louder this time—rafe's too, listening intently while he spills inside you again. you think it feels even better now than it did on his bed, than it did last night.

when you open your eyes, something's different. you realize the shower's not on anymore. rafe's still holding you up, the two of you catch your breath, and you look up at him confused.

"why did you turn the water off? we have to shower."

"couldn't hear you over it."

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #shy reader

[msgexymunson]

One Slow Blink Part 2

Second part right here due to Tumblr restrictions

Description: As a nurse, you want to help people, as many as you can. But, with the insane things that have been going on in Hawkins, and the crazed look in Dustin's eyes when he stumbles into the ER covered in blood with an impossible tale to tell, it makes you wonder; how much are you prepared to give? 

Warnings: NSFW, Minors DNI, *Here there be monsters! Honestly, there's straight up monster fucking in this so if you're not into that do not read*, AFAB sub nurse reader x dom monster Eddie, kinda Alpha/Omega without them knowing it, injury descriptions, S4 does happen and Eddie lives but he be a monster, hand job, fem oral receiving, male oral receiving, consensual predator/prey dynamic, fingering, very rough sex, biting/marking, unprotected p in v, knotting.

A/N: This has come from yet another deranged dream of mine. I imagine Eddie looking kinda like a mix between the Beast from the original Beauty and the Beast, and the dog/kangaroo guys from Tank Girl, but with a longer snout. If you don't know, that's a dirty mix between a lion, a bear, a wolf and maybe a little of Venom's tongue (because I am a whore.)

22k words for both parts, I know, mental, but it's worth it ;)

Masterlist Part 1

You must have fallen asleep like that, as once your eyes open it looks to be almost night, the sun dipping past the horizon. The light slipping past your makeshift curtain is a deep red. You ache all over, especially your shoulder, but it doesn't stop you from smiling. 

At some point he must have pulled you on top of him, both arms circling you possessively, holding you to his chest like a child's doll. His member has slipped out of you; you can feel the stickiness of his release coating the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs. 

Breathing changes as he stirs beneath you, opening his eyes in a squint. 

“Hey you.” 

He murmurs a soft sound from his chest, licking your cheek with his long tongue. 

“Ew! Eddie, you've got dog breath.” 

“Charrrming.” 

You laugh, hitting his chest playfully, shifting above him so you're straddling him.

“We better get cleaned up, I've got to get to the hospital in a few hours.” 

Eddie whines, grabbing your hips as you try to stand, pushing your wet heat against his twitching bulge. 

“Eddie…”

You breathe out in a warning, but it sounds too needy. He's not listening, rubbing you back and forth over his swelling length. 

“Eddie I don't think I can take another round, you were- oh fuck-” 

The sentence falters as he catches your clit, setting a thousand butterflies loose in your tummy. 

“I’ll… be gentle.” 

You hiccup a little laugh, staring down at him with a raised brow. 

“I don't think you can.” 

“Forrr you… I can.” 

You reach out to stroke his fuzzy cheek and he nuzzles into the touch. The affection he shows from that simple gesture has you relenting, guiding his member into you, slipping in easily, his previous sticky release helping its journey. 

Sitting back and allowing yourself to revel in the beautiful stretch, you experience that familiar wash of relief, a calm caressing your very soul. Eddie seems to feel it too, letting out a long breath as his shoulders lose tension. 

“This feels right,” you confess, hand running down his chest, “like, like-” 

His gravelly purr interrupts your spill words, reverberating through your ribcage. 

“Like you… werrre made forrr me, sweet-hearrrt.” 

It's much slower this time, more of a languid grinding as you both move against each other, that undercurrent of need more of a smouldering heat, rather than the unquenchable fire from earlier. Eddie pants as he watches you, tongue hanging from the side of his mouth as you reach your precipice, your eyebrows knotting and body shuddering around him. 

Falling against his form, entirely spent, skin glowing with sweat, you hold onto him as he chases his own release. True to his word, he's much more gentle, gripping your hips and moving you to meet his shallow thrusts. You see his snout scrunch when he's on the brink, just before he pulls you off of him and holds you to his torso. You can feel his cock pumping out his orgasm against your stomach, glueing the pair of you together. 

“Eddie, you didn't need to-” 

“Last time we werrre… stuck togetherrr, for half hourrr.” 

You giggle, astonished at his words. 

“Really? Damn, I must have fell asleep.” 

“You did. Couldn't move. Was… nice.” 

Reaching up to play with the fur on his cheek, you think about what he just said. 

“You know, I think that's knotting. You know, like d-”

“If you say… dogs…” He warns, winding a finger in your hair and tugging gently. 

“Fine. Canines.” 

He grabs you, holding you in place as he slathers your face with his tongue, drooling all over you. 

“Eddie! Yuck, stop, stop!” 

“Thought I was… dog. This is what dogs do… rrrright?” 

You squeal loudly trying to extricate yourself from his hold. 

“OK, OK! You're not a dog! Stop!” 

He finally relents and you get up, unpeeling from the sticky skin and matted fur of his stomach. 

“Right, I'm gonna have a shower before you start humping my leg.” 

He snaps his teeth at you playfully as you leave. When you're standing in front of the bathroom mirror, you see why your shoulder hurts so much. There's teeth marks in it; pinpricks of broken skin tinged with blood. They aren't deep, but the redness around them looks like it's going to leave a hell of a bruise. For some reason, you're not mad. The opposite in fact. It feels like a claim. You are his, and this is so the world can see. 

Once you're clean and relatively dry, you go into the living area to find some food, throwing on one of Eddie's new t-shirts. It may as well be a dress, the hem kissing your mid thigh. 

Something doesn't feel right though. Suddenly there's a rolling in the pit of your stomach, a sense of impending doom. The light streaming through the partially boarded windows is still an ominous red. Risking a look, you peer out of the slats and see the sky. 

It's flashing red and blue, as if there's an enormous thunderstorm boiling the heavens, but there's no sound. It looks unnatural, colouring the landscape around in the same foreboding hues. You feel hot, and sick. 

Eddie barrels into the room with a towel still around his waist, tackling you to the ground. 

“Eddie, whats-” 

“Stay low… some-thing coming… smells wrrrong.” 

You whisper as quietly as you can.

“What can you smell?” 

He takes a moment, snuffling at the air with his eyes closed. 

“Outside… woods, dirrrt. Frrriends, coming. And… can't ex-plain in worrrds. Sticky… chem-i-cal… pulsing… grrey blue. Wrrrong.” 

You suppose that's what you get for asking a question about something you can't possibly understand, what with the stark differences in your senses. You try a different tact.

“Have you… smelled it before?” 

“Differrrent… but, similarrrr… to up-side-down.” 

There's the shoe that you were waiting to drop. Now the feeling in your gut made sense. 

“Eddie, you said… friends were coming?” 

“Harrrrrington… and Henderrrrson forrr surrre… smell the damn hairrsprrray.” 

In spite of the situation, you giggle. He flashes his teeth, dropping his guard for just an instant. 

There's a powerful knock at the door that makes you jump. Eddie leaps up and flings it open with such force that it slams into the wooden wall sending dust flying. 

You just about make out the figure of a girl with a shaved head and a bloody nose who thrusts an outstretched hand toward Eddie. Dustin's voice rings out behind her. 

“Elle no!” 

There's a strange force, like a gust of wind with no air that buffets around Eddie's snarling form. You feel it pulling you, ripping you backwards as you roll across the floorboards. Eddie seems unaffected, not moving from his spot. 

“Eleven, stop! You think monsters wear pink towels??”  

The girl looks baffled and turns to where Dustin is running forward, waving his arms wildly. Steve is following quickly behind. They both look battered and bruised. As Steve comes into focus you see his entire front is covered in blood. 

Instincts kicking in, you shoulder past Eddie and run toward him. 

“Steve, what happened!” 

“It's alright it's not my blood. Eleven, this is Eddie.” 

Ah, Eleven. It makes more sense now. The powers, the shaved head. 

“Who- is she?” 

Eleven stares at you with a confused expression. You introduce yourself, and explain what you think you are. 

“...I'm, er, Eddie's girlfriend.”

Eleven's eyes widen but she doesn't say anything. Dustin, however, can't possibly stop the words spilling from his mouth. 

“Girlfriend?? Seriously? But-” 

“Henderson, focus! That's not important right now!” 

“I was just asking, Steve!” 

“Well don't we have other stuff we need to-” 

“Hey!” 

Shocked, you realise the shout came from you. 

“Everyone, just calm down and get inside so we can talk, OK?” 

Your words seem to cut through all arguments as everybody makes it inside, standing and looking at you for direction. Attempting to keep the authoritative air you've managed to concoct, you order them to sit down whilst you and Eddie get dressed. 

When you're no longer feeling so exposed, you come back into the living room holding Eddie's hand. 

“Right now, Steve, you first. What the fucks going on?” 

He weirdly looks at Eleven first, who gives a curt nod. 

“Right, right, so, it's a little-” 

Dustin cuts in. 

“-Vecna's back from the Upside Down with his Demogorgons and bats and stuff and they're taking over Hawkins and we need Eddie Dog to help defeat him!” 

Stumbling back a little stunned, your wide eyes search his vainly for the sign of some prank. There is none. 

“So… you're saying there's monsters in Hawkins??”

Steve responds calmly, juxtaposing Dustin’s trembling form.

“ ‘fraid so. Nance and Hopper and everyone else are holed up in the library. Everyone left in the town’s there. Well, everyone who's not dead or ran away.” 

“Wait, so Hopper’s alive??” 

“Yes! He was captured by evil Russians but Mrs Byers got him back and-” 

“Alright, alright,” you hold your palms up to Dustin, “what does Eddie have to do with this?” 

“Listen, Henderson's got this theory that Eddie's… powers… came out so he can stop Vecna.” 

“But that's absurd, he was bitten!” You turn to Eddie but he looks just as shocked as you. 

“Yeah but, we've seen a lot of people today who've been bitten by something. No one else changed.” 

“Exactly,” Dustin says, grinning, “Eddie's got super strength now, he's all healed, I bet he's got other powers.” 

Eleven starts talking unexpectedly. 

“I tried to throw him. He did not move.” 

“See!? He's a superhero.” 

“So, wait, Eleven can't throw him,” you begin, “but that doesn't mean she can't throw stuff at him. What's to stop Vecna throwing a car or something?” 

Everyone looks at Eleven.

Wordlessly, she focuses on a lamp that sits on a side table. To your astonishment, it begins to float in the air, then hurls itself at Eddie with remarkable force. Then the strangest thing happens. It hovers a few inches from Eddie as if stopped by an invisible barrier, then falls to the floor uselessly. 

Silence. You break it, voice splitting as it goes high pitched with worry. 

“Right, but that doesn't mean Vecna can't hurt him, just because Eleven can't, right? Right??” 

Eddie's the one to respond, holding your hands in one bearish paw. 

“Sweet-hearrrt, they'rrre rrright… I can help… I should help… need to prrotect the Shirrre… prrrotect you.” 

“But-but-” Tears well in your eyes as you stare back at him. 

“I need to… otherrrrwise… I am… this… is all a waste.” 

You nod, but pull your hands from his and walk into the bedroom, shutting the door behind you. The pain is too much to bear. It does make sense, if you were being rational, but right now you aren't rational. Nothing about this is rational. You've just found the love of your life and you might lose him to this stupid fight. 

Fuck. You love him.

It's finally clear. The feeling in your stomach, the draw you have toward him, the fire in your veins, in your heart. You barely know him, but you love him. 

And now that might get ripped away because of some damn fight that shouldn't have had anything to do with him in the first place. 

You perch on the bed, head in your hands as tears leak down your cheeks. There's no fight in you to stop them, grieving for something that hasn't happened yet but seems inevitable. There's whispering in the other room, plans being made, but it all sounds like it's underwater, drowned by the power of your tears. 

After a while, Eddie opens the door and shuffles in the room, sitting down on the bed next to you. He slowly starts to explain the plan to you, how Will can sense when Vecna or the monsters are near, how Elle will help clear a path, how he has the strength to defeat him, since Vecna's powers are all he has. He doesn't have the speed or strength that Eddie does. 

There's a loaded quiet when he's finished. You're angry, wiping away stray tears fiercely from your face, but you're not angry at him. You're angry at the situation, at Vecna, at the Upside Down. Angry at the powers that seem to be pulling you apart. 

“Fine. But I'm coming with you.” 

“No,” he snarls, pulling his arm around you, “they need… heal-ers. You… can help.” 

“But what if- what if you get hurt?” 

“Won't.” 

“Promise?” 

Staring up whilst you are brimming with tears, he cups your face, looking back at you with soulful eyes. 

“I'll do… everrry-thing I can.”

“No!” You shout, tears falling once again as your face heats up, “you can't say that, they say that in the hospital and people die!”

Wringing your hands, flipping them over and over each other in your lap, you barely notice Eddie falling to the floor in front of you. 

Then his burly arms are circling you, his maw pushed into your abdomen, inhaling you deeply, sweetly. It stops your incessant fidgeting, fingers resting in his long locks. They wind into his hair, twisting through to massage his scalp as he purrs into the flesh of your stomach. 

“Eddie, if you love me you'll come back to me. Do-do you love me, Eddie?”

He looks up at you, deep chestnut eyes searching your face. 

One slow blink. 

There's a soft knock at the door and Dustin opens it. 

“We have to go soon. Are you ready Eddie Dog?” 

Eddie growls low in his throat, swivelling to face him on all fours, hackles raised. Dustin immediately attempts to backtrack, arm raised to try and protect his face. 

“I mean, I didn't mean- it's from the demogorgon, you know, demodogs, Eddie Dog, I did think DemoEddie but Dog-”

Eddie pounces, pinning Dustin to the ground. Dustin's eyes scrunch shut as he screams, voice breaking in terror. 

“Shit shit shiiiiiiiiiit!!!” 

You giggle inanely as Eddie licks Dustin's face wetly. He bounds off him and shoots a wink at you, before lending Dustin a hand and dragging him to his feet. 

“I am not… a dog.” 

Dustin is laughing in relief, nerves racking through it. 

“No you're not, I'm sorry I'm sorry-” 

Steve appears in the doorway. 

“Guys, get in here.”

All mockery forgotten, you make your way into the living space in silence. 

“Steve, what's going on?” 

“That's just it. Listen.” 

You all stop, ears working in overdrive as you all try to hear what he hears. Breaking the quiet spell that had drifted over everyone, you speak. 

“I can't hear anything.”

“Exactly. Don't you get it? All over town, all through the woods, there's been these things. Demogorgons, bats, horrible things. But here, there's nothing.” 

“Eddie, you smell anything?” 

Eddie closes his eyes, snout wiggling in effort as he opens his preternatural senses. His voice rumbles out in its usual gravelly purr.

“That scent… it's herrre, it's on them… up-side-down smell… therrres nothing close by… except a few deerrr.” 

Steve holds a hand up, stage whispering to you.

“He can smell that?” 

“Yes… and hearrr acrrross rrrooms.” 

“Sorry big guy, I just- that's awesome.” 

Dustin is beaming, staring at Eddie like he's a superhero. Steve continues, making sure he's looking at Eddie, you notice, keeping him in the conversation. 

“So, if those things aren't nearby… maybe, maybe they're afraid of him? Hate to say it but I'm starting to agree with Dustin. Maybe you're supposed to be like this Munson.” 

Sighing in acceptance, you turn to Eddie. 

“Fine. If you think you can help you should go. Don't let me stop you. But you have to come back to me.” 

He gives you a slow blink, and you nod, accepting fate. Then you move into action, grabbing the partially used trauma kit, along with anything else you think might be helpful. Everyone else is doing the same, as if they were waiting for your approval. 

Pretty soon you're being bundled into what appears to be a stolen pick up truck with Eddie sitting in the back, as you race back into town. 

If you could call it town anymore. 

Your mind rolls to every post apocalyptic movie you've ever seen, but none of them compare to it happening in front of your eyes. Crumbling buildings that you recognise send spears of hurt through your heart. Over there, the gas station where you bought your first underage beers, now a smoking wreckage. On your left, the drug store where you used to pick up your mom's prescription, cracked and half buried in rubble. 

A cloud of chattering sound passes quickly overhead; you hear Eddie growling low as batlike creatures wing their way to another destination, seemingly unbothered by your presence. It's either that, or they don't want to tangle with your boyfriend. You pray that it's the latter.

Steve takes a sharp left turn and you fling to the side in your seat. 

“I thought we were heading to the library, isn't it that way?” 

“Yep, if you wanna cross a gorge. The roads opened so wide that nothing can get through.” 

The enormity of the situation is sinking into you, winding around your spine, fear clasping you in its unwanted clutches. 

Ignore it. Don't recognise it. Turn your back on it. There's people that need your help. 

Steve pulls up a few yards away from the library, and you clench your jaw, telling your tears to fuck right off. Now is not the time for tears. 

You and Dustin jump out of the truck, and he rushes to the library to bring everyone who needs to be part of this final stand. A final stand that doesn't involve you. A final stand that has the love of your life sitting front and centre. 

Running around to the back of the truck you grab Eddie's head firmly in both your hands. 

“You- you remember what I said? You need to come back to me, you hear me? ‘Cause if you don't I'll kill you myself. Get it Eddie? You do this and you come back to me!!” 

Eddie holds your hands in his enormous paws, enveloping your soft flesh instantly. Nuzzling his snout against your cheek, he breathes in your ear. 

“I'll come back… to what's mmine.” 

You press fierce hot kisses to the soft fur of his face, over and over, until he pulls you from him, holding your hands away. 

“You love me Eddie. I know you do.” 

One slow blink. 

In an instant, he's gone, quieter than snow. Falling to the floor, you hold your head in your hands, crushed by the barbarity of the situation. 

You didn't say it. You didn't tell him you love him too. Saying it out loud would make it more real. Saying it out loud would make the pain worse if you lose him. 

Soft fingers pry at you, leading you onward, inside. In a daze you follow, feet on autopilot as you clutch the trauma bag in front of you like a shield. 

Inside is a bustle of activity, a hive of ants that all have a purpose and none of them involve you. You're guided gently down onto a seat and the insects run about, fetching food, water, bandages. It all seems to be happening outside of you, following a rhythm that you can't hear. 

“Hey, hey!” One of the swarm seems to be addressing you. Tilting your head, you look towards them. It's an older woman; half her face is concealed by a makeshift eyepatch. 

“You're a doctor, right? We need someone over here now!” 

Instincts take over. Legs rising of their own accord, they march over to a camp bed that's been set up. Another woman lays there, breaths shallow and humanising. There's an enormous gash in her side. 

“OK OK, I can help, just don't move too much, I'll try and stop the bleeding.” 

Then the next person. And then, the next person. 

Mind floating into a subconscious haze, your memories take over. That situation before at the hospital, the textbook you once studied, a hypothetical conversation with a doctor. You take it, all at once, power beyond what should be possible, but you do it. 

You do it for him. 

Minutes pass into hours unseen as you tear through every available useful item, every strip of gauze from your bag, until it happens. 

A pain so profound that grips your shoulder and your heart hard enough for you to look around for the shotgun. It emanates out of the bitemark, pulsing into your veins with alarming force. 

“He's hurt.”

Collapsing to the side, you hold a firm hand to your own heart, as if you could will it to slow. Legs give out from under you, your rear landing on the hard surface behind. For a minute you sit, unable to move, unable to think, wondering why everyone around seems so controlled. Don't they realise your entire universe is shattering into splinters before their very eyes? 

There's a hand shaking you by the arm, someone asking if you're OK. They lift you, place you in a seat, and keep asking, and asking. Your tongue feels heavy, unable to form words to explain the hurt you're feeling. This deep hurt is rooted into your bone marrow; heavy, hard and cold. 

There's a familiar face in front of you, a round childish face with curling boyish locks and a worried expression. Dustin. 

“Hey, you there? Can ya hear me?” 

Nodding wordlessly, you point to your chest, directly over your heart, eyes wincing in pain. 

“Did you get hurt?” 

You shake your head, and manage one word. 

“Eddie.” 

Before Dustin can respond, Nancy runs in, face covered in grime and dark blood, panting for breath. 

“They… did it… Hoppers here with Eleven. The gates are closed. But, Eddie-” 

Hearing his name you rush back into your body. 

“Where is he?” 

“Steve and Jonathan are taking him back to the cabin. He's unconscious. He’s… in a bad way, but he's alive.”

He's alive. 

“I need to get to him. Dustin, grab any bandages you can find. Nancy, you got a car?” 

She nods and leads you outside. The sky has quietened, no longer flashing in supernatural colours. Looking upward, you  can almost believe this is a normal night in Hawkins. Taking in the streets, the truth is far from it. 

Three monstrous things lay on the sidewalk, covered in some slimy substance and splattered in unnatural blood. Their skin has a blue grey sheen to it, and their limbs are twisted awkwardly. Their heads seem to have been split open, but then you realise it's just one gigantic mouth, unfurling like a gristly lily. The fleshy petals are lined with dozens of tiny sharp teeth. 

You press a toe to one of them nervously. Its head lulls to one side, utterly lifeless. 

“Hey I got the band- Holy shit!!” 

Dustin's voice cracks mid sentence, then he sighs in relief when he realises the monsters are dead. Nancy calls at you both to hurry and you bundle into the car as she races through the cracked, ruined streets of Hawkins. 

The gas station, the shops, town hall, it's all unimportant. What matters is getting to Eddie. You need to save him. 

Suddenly a heavy feeling in your chest lifts, but not in comfort. It's as if someone's tugged a weighted blanket off of you, exposing your vulnerability for the world to see. Eddie's presence, once a firm hold coddling your heart, is reduced to a whisper of a thought. Gossamer threads tie you instead of lead ropes that you hadn't even realised were there until they were nearly gone. 

“Nancy, we need to hurry, he's almost gone!” 

She doesn't question how you know, just presses her foot to the accelerator and bombs through Hawkins and onto the familiar country road. She gets as near as the woods will allow, until you're yanking the door open and continuing on shaky legs, feet pounding at the bracken and tears streaming from the corners of your eyes. 

A singular thought races through your mind with each footfall. Save him. Save him. Like a heartbeat. 

The cabin starts to appear out of the darkness, the lights inside a beacon of hope. As you reach the front door it flies open, Steve standing in the frame. 

His hair is sticking out in every direction; part of it is plastered to his forehead with blood. A bat with nails in it is hanging limply at his side and his clothes are torn. There's gashes in his front, as if gigantic claws had swiped at him. Previously you would have stopped, gaping at his wounds in horror and done anything you could to help, but after everything you've seen tonight they seem almost trivial. 

“Is he here?” 

Steve takes a deep breath in, swinging the bat at his side as if on instinct. 

“He's here, I guess. He was awesome, then- he wasn't him, in the end. He's not said a word after Vecna, then when Mrs- well, he passed out. Just, be careful.” 

You nod and shoulder your way through, past a long haired guy with the intense expression who you assume is Jonathan, and into the bedroom.

It's a familiar scene, so much so that it borders on comfort. He's strapped down to the bed, a belt wrapped around his feral maw. His breaths are shallow and wet sounding. A snarling whistle of a snore escapes on each exhale. 

His wounds are deep, much deeper than before. There's blood pooling at his side from a gaping wound, it looks like one of those bastard monsters took a bite out of him. That seems the worst damage, that and a bite on his shoulder that almost mirrors your own. You'd laugh at the irony if you weren't so upset. On top of that, there are so many scrapes and claw marks and bruises that it makes your heart ache. 

“One of you, come in here and help me.” 

Steve appears in the door frame, bat held high as if Eddie were about to pounce. 

“Steve, put the bat down. I need your help cleaning these wounds.” 

He lowers his arm and moves nearer to you, but doesn't let the bat go. 

“I don't think you get it. When Vecna- when he realised he couldn't hurt him, those demogorgons got him. He fought three of them at once and then he… well, he tore Vecna in half. Since then he's not… he was a beast. Tried to attack me and Hopper, until Mrs Byers whacked him over the head, knocked him out cold. I'm not sure he's Eddie, anymore.”

There's a tug at your heart, a spindly web like thread that pulls you to your love. 

“He's weak, but he's there. I know it. Help me clean these wounds and bind them before he bleeds out.” 

The two of you work in silence, Steve flinching when Eddie stirs, but he doesn't wake up. When the hole in his side is padded with gauze and tightly bound with bandages, you work on the rest. There's just so many injuries, it's a wonder he's still alive and hasn't bled out yet. 

When it's done, with Eddie patched and bandaged as well as you know how, you collapse onto the floor, hands on your knees. All you can do is wait for him to wake up. That's if he wakes up. If he wakes up as him, and not some mindless beast. 

“Listen, you've done what you can. You're awesome, really.” 

Steve's hand grasps yours on top of your knee. 

“If he's gonna come back for anyone, he'll come back for you.” 

The smile he flashes melts your heart as he gets up to leave. A second later, he returns with a musty blanket and a worn cushion. You take them gratefully and get comfortable on the floor, hoping against hope that your love wakes up. 

********************

A roaring growl shatters through your nerves and startles you awake, rocketing through your senses before you have a chance to think. Hot breath blows across your face, messing your hair and making you blink in its turbulence. 

Eddie's on all fours on top of you, crouched low and teeth bared, bindings in tatters all about you. The belt is gone from his jaw; you can only assume he managed to break it with sheer force. A dribble of slobber hangs from his maw; for some reason it's all you can focus on. It wobbles in your vision, as you scramble for some way to get through to him.

He barks roughly, snapping his teeth barely an inch from your face. 

“N-now, you listen to me, Eddie!” 

Your voice squeaks, belying the stern demeanour you're attempting to convey. He growls low, crouching even further over you, giving you an undeniable urge to flee. You can't, not with Eddie on top of you. Not just that, you know deep within your bones that if you attempt to escape, you're dead. 

It suddenly dawns on you that it doesn't matter. You could just throw yourself out there and be eaten. Sure, it'd be painful, but since he's hovering right over your jugular it'd probably be quick. Living without him seems far worse. Or, you might just succeed, and live. 

There's no time for hesitation and pleasantries. So, you grasp the fur around his maw and clutch it desperately, fingers winding into his pelt. His eyes widen, jaw closing slightly, and you take the opportunity to pull his head closer. Your forehead sits flush with his, searching his eyes for any sign of the Eddie you know. 

“Eddie Munson, you listen to me! You know who I am! Can't you smell it? My smell, your smell? You're mine, and I'm yours. You promised you'd come back to me! So do it, come the fuck back to me or I swear I'll kill you myself!” 

Releasing one hand, you pull your t-shirt over your shoulder and show him the mark he left you. 

“You see this? You know what this is? Remember, Eddie!” 

There's a flicker in his hard gaze, a flash of something that just might be your Eddie. Pressing his snout to the mark, he inhales deeply. Then, he's pressing his jaw to yours, nuzzling your neck with his nose. Moving your head to meet his affection, you rub your faces against each other. The tension in the room dissipates as you finally start to see the human behind the beast.

As he pulls his face away, you stare deep in his eyes. 

‘I love you Eddie Munson. I knew you'd come back. You had to, because you love me too. Right?” 

One slow blink. 

Then, he's falling to the floor on his side, seemingly exhausted with the strain. There's no way you'll be able to get him back into the bed, so you throw your blanket around you both and snuggle into his warm pelt before you fall asleep in his arms. 

When you finally wake up, he's still asleep breathing heavily through his nose. The breaths sound much better than before, a stark difference from the heavy, wet sound he was making previously. 

Every joint hurts from sleeping on the wooden floor. You stretch in place, click your elbows, and glance back down at Eddie. 

Even a few hours seems to have helped Eddie with his recovery. The small grazes you didn't bother to cover up are completely healed; just tiny fine lines of scars are all that's left, like the inking of a delicate pen. 

You try to stand up but Eddie's heavy paw is resting on your hip, keeping your back flush to his torso. 

“Eddie,” you whisper, half ashamed to disturb him, “I need to move, my back hurts.” 

One chestnut eye blinks roughly at you then opens, shrivelling from the light pouring through your ad hoc curtains. He's not said a word yet, a fact that is eating your insides up with worry, but you don't mention it. 

He pushes himself off of the floor, managing to stand shakily before flopping to the bed. Even this small movement has him exhausted beyond what should be possible. 

“Eddie, do you want me to get you something to eat? You know, to help the healing?” 

Those soulful deep eyes bore into you, stretching time for just a moment. Then he blinks deliberately at you, twice. 

“No? So, what can I do?” 

Wordlessly, he holds his arms out. You crawl into his embrace as he clutches you to his chest tightly, as if he's scared you'll run away. You couldn't though. Not now, not ever. 

********************

After a few hours, he's breathing deeply, and you risk moving to the living space. Once you enter you see Steve and Jonathan there. Nancy climbs out of an armchair and makes her way towards the group, diplomatically standing exactly between them. 

“We didn't want to disturb. How's he doing?” 

Nancy's soft voice breaks the quiet and you allow her a small smile. 

“Great. I mean, he's healing like crazy, seems to be something he can do, and he remembers me for sure. He's not spoken yet, but give him time.” 

She beams at you, then flashes a thousand watt smile at Steve. Shaking her head slightly, apparently at her own actions, she grabs Jonathan's hand and gives it a squeeze. You don't miss the slight frown that flickers on Steve's face, or the little wanton appraising look he gives Jonathan. It's funny, viewing something from an outsider's perspective. They're the perfect little threesone and they don't seem to even know it. 

There's a stirring noise from the bedroom and you run immediately toward it. Eddie's sitting up in bed; it looks like he's trying to inspect the hole in his side with clumsy fingers. 

“Hey, it's OK Eddie, don't touch it. I'm gonna look after you, alright?” 

A flicker of relief passes across his face and he settles down into the mattress, placated. 

You inspect the wound; his recovery is remarkable but there's still a way to go before it's healed. By rights he shouldn't be breathing at all. 

“It looks good, it'll take a while to heal completely but I think you're gonna be alright.” 

A large hand reaches tentatively to your face and cups it, shaking slightly with the effort. His face scrunches, an internal pain crossing it that seems too much to bear. Then, words emerge. 

“...love… you.” 

Instantly welling with tears, you cup his hand in your own. 

“I love you too Eddie. Now sleep, you need to rest. I'll bring you some water, and some food in a while to get your strength back up.” 

He blinks slowly at you, then settles his head back into the mattress, palm dropping from your cheek almost instantly as he falls asleep. You take the cushion from the floor and anchor his head up, slipping it underneath so he doesn't strain his neck. 

Staring at him for a moment looking so peaceful makes your eyes well. Wiping furiously at your face, you disperse the tears and turn towards the doorway. 

“You alright?” 

Steve's standing there, thankfully no longer holding a bat. You nod and walk out of the room with him, after a final glance at Eddie's sleeping form. 

********************

Now the danger has passed, the rest of them leave to go get some much needed sleep. The snippets you've been told about the battle for Hawkins sounded bloody and taxing, they all need to recuperate. 

When Eddie starts eating you breathe another sigh of relief. It's a good sign. He seems to be having trouble again with picking things up and using words but it's getting better by the hour. 

Collecting a bucket from outside, you fill it with warm water and grab some soap and a washcloth from the bathroom, then take it to the bedroom. Eddie's sitting up in bed, having just finished a whole chicken. He's licking juices from his furred fingers when you walk in. 

“Hey, that good? Want any more?” 

“Good… forrr now.” 

You smile at him and waddle over with the heavy bucket. Placing it on the ground with a heavy thud, you soak the cloth and add some soap to it. 

“What… doing?” 

“Oh, well you've got too many bandages on for me to clean you in the tub, so I thought I'd wash you in here, if that's alright.” 

Flashing his teeth in the epitome of a wolfish grin, he purrs out a response as he whips off the blanket covering him. 

“Hot nurrrse…. Giving me… sponge bath? Yess please!” 

You roll your eyes but you're smiling as you do it, and help him wriggle out of his sweatpants. He's naked, cock already kicking up with your proximity. 

“This isn't about that, Eddie!” 

“-Orry.” 

“And don't just drop your s'es to be cute, I know you can say them!” 

He gently grasps your hand in his and you melt just a little. 

You start cleaning him as best as you can, tenderly mopping in between the bandages, taking care to remove as much of the crusted blood and grime as possible. 

As you work, you feel his furred finger curl under your chin, guiding you to look at him. 

“Eddie?” 

“You… rrreally carrrre about… mme, don't you?” 

Trying to move out of his grip shyly, he holds your chin firmly waiting for your reply.

“I mean, yes, of course. I told you Eddie, I love you.” 

Damp fingers twine in his thick burly hand. His eyes are on you but seeing through you, deep in thought. You squeeze his fingers in encouragement. 

“What's on your mind, Eddie?” 

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. 

“It's stu-pid… I just thought… when it all ended… when gate closed… I'd go back… be norrrmal.” 

Emotion floods those brandy hued eyes, you force a lump in your throat to go away. 

“Eddie, you've never been normal,” you say, smiling at him, whilst he growls a little chuckle in his throat, “but that's not a bad thing. You're different Eddie. You've always been different. You're odd, and funny, and intense. I love you, and not in spite of those things. Because of them. Because you're you.” 

Eddie roughly rubs a hand over his eyes to disguise the tears. 

“Love you… what the fuck… did I do… to deserrrve you.” 

“Don't know, but it must have been pretty awesome.” 

You smile as you finish cleaning him, drying him off as best as you can, and let him get more rest. It seems each time he naps his healing quickens exponentially, so you encouraged as many as you could. 

It was late evening by the time you saw him again. You had fallen asleep on the couch in front of the TV, curled up wearing Eddie's black t-shirt and nothing else, with a cushion between your knees for comfort. 

There was warm pressure just on the inside of your thigh, a heaviness that for some reason made you feel safe. 

Cracking one eye open, you see Eddie is sitting on the floor facing you, his furred cheek resting on your leg. His snout is just breaching the hem of the t-shirt, dangerously close to your heat. 

“Eddie, what are you doing?” 

He takes a deep breath in and your cheeks flood with embarrassment. 

“I miss-ed you… miss-ed this.” 

“We can't, like, do anything Eddie, not until you're healed.” 

Lifting his head up, he points wordlessly to his side. The bandage has been removed. Amazingly, it's knotted scar tissue; a few tufts of fur are growing on it already. In a few days you'd be surprised if you could even tell the near life threatening blow had even happened. 

“Wow, thats- fuck, that's incredible. You're amazing!” 

He makes a little satisfied noise at the praise and sits up, towering over you on the sofa. 

“So… arrre we good? Forrr… a little game?” 

Tilting your head, you mockingly appraise him, looking him up and down and checking each knot of scars. 

“Well… seems I can give you the all clear. What did you have in mind?” 

Opening his maw, he flicks his tongue over his teeth, and stares at you hungrily. 

“I've got… an i-dea.” 

He stands up and pulls you to your feet, reminding you again of the sheer size of him, and wordlessly leads you to the back door. 

When you're outside, the lack of noise really strikes you. There's not a sound in the woods. An eerie quiet washes over you, making each breath, each heartbeat all the louder. The air is crisp, but not freezing. It nips at your bare legs, trailing goosebumps up your thighs. You look up at the sky; a beautiful array of shining stars fill it, and the moon provides a little light so you can make out the dark shadow of trees about you. It's ethereal and beautiful. 

“It's really pretty Eddie, but what's this got to do with a game?” 

He stands just behind you, firmly grabbing you by your hips as he bends to speak in your ear. 

“We'rrre tied… in ourrr little chases… thought we could…” 

“Out here? In the dark? Eddie what if theres-” 

“Nothings herrre… animals fled frrrom the monsterrrs… can smell. It's just you… and mme.” 

The thought sends a little shiver down your spine, pins and needles rushing from the base of your neck. 

“You like the… i-dea. Can tell.” 

You curse your own body for betraying you, but he's absolutely right. You're already wet just thinking about it and it's starting to dampen your thighs. A heat floods through you, making you forget about the cold. 

“OK… say I'm interested, what are the rules?”

“Two minutes head starrrt… then, when I catch you…” He playfully licks the shell of your ear, “I can do… whateverrr I want.” 

“Within reason?” You say, voice already shaking. 

“Within… rrreason.” 

“Five minutes.” 

“Thrrrree.” 

“Done.” 

Immediately you tear away from his grasp and run, giving him no time to think about it. The forest floor is surprisingly soft under your bare feet, a carpet of pine needles allowing you to run comfortably, unhindered. 

Your ears are occupied by the sound of your own beating heart. It's pumping wildly in your chest, pure adrenaline coursing through your veins, making each decision. You zig zag, double back a little, and turn in a circle, to try and throw him off the scent. A part of you wishes there was a river nearby to help confuse the trail further. Then again, most of you is glad there isn't. It's not like you don't want to be caught. 

A fallen branch makes you trip and you sprawl unseen in the dark. The rush is still there, but you try to be more careful and take a little time looking for anything on the ground that could harm you. Squinting in the dark, you make out a huge stone in front of you which could have seriously injured you. Skirting around it, there's a copse of close together trees to one side. Then, there's an alrighty roar. 

He sounds so close, you must have made less progress than you thought. Dashing for the trees, you enter a little circle of pines and press your back against one panting for breath. You can hear him now. It sounds like he's galloping through the forest on all fours, crashing through branches and twigs like a hot knife through butter. 

You daren’t move, you daren’t breathe. This close there's no chance he won't hear you. Thighs clenching so hard you're in danger of losing blood flow, you feel your slick covering them, nearly slipping apart because of it. It's uncanny; you don't know why your body seems to have this visceral reaction to his presence, but really you don't need to know. All you know is that this feels so right, so natural for you, that it's accepted without hesitation. 

The absence of noise is what makes you jump. One minute there's crashing and breaking branches; the next, silence. You grip onto the rough bark, fingers white knuckling in fervent anticipation. 

You hear him then, soft footfalls crunching and sniffing noises. Keeping your back pressed firmly against the tree trunk, you try to breathe as quietly as you can. Each second that goes by feels like it stretches on for an eternity, as you hear him get closer and closer… and then walk past behind you. Breath leaving you in a gasp, you relax your muscles slightly. 

Until he's directly in front of you, completely naked, the sheer weight of him pressed up against you as he pins both your arms by your sides. His cock is throbbing against your stomach, huge and painfully hard. Bending his head to your level, his snout nudges your ear. 

“I win… you’rrre mmine.” 

He nips at your neck, his sharp teeth breaking the skin. Pain blossoms out from the mark, but it's followed by a wave of pleasure that sends another wash of wetness out of you. 

Eddie growls so deeply that you shiver, and suddenly your world is shooting upward as he grasps you firmly by the ass and lifts you up, your t-shirt riding up to your chest. The hard bark of the tree is pressing into your naked skin as he holds you there like a play thing, claws digging in your flesh. His tongue laps through your folds, tasting you with such ferocity that it makes you moan wantonly, your nails scraping into his scalp, hanging on for dear life. 

Cloying heat is surrounding you, suffocating you. You pull the shirt over your head and toss it in a vain attempt to get some relief but it's no use. Eddie's tongue is buried inside your tight cunt, a dizzying tornado that's making your head spin, but you need more. 

“Fuck- please Eddie, I-I need- oh God- I need you inside me.” 

He lifts your back off of the tree, then slams your spine against the rough wood, expelling all breath from your lungs. He's shaking his head back and forth, long snout rubbing over your clit. A hard no, but it's setting fireworks off inside you all the same. He lets up for a moment, just one, rumbling out words so close to your pussy you feel the warm air of his breath and the vibration of it on your clit. 

“You want me… so bad… then fuckin’ cum. Now.” 

His thumb breaching your weeping sex is a complete surprise. It's just so thick; moving inside you with such animalistic intensity that you're clenching and coming with an obscene scream directed at the heavens. You crumble to ash and dust within his very clutches, the smouldering fire flaming bright and burning all of you, inside and out. 

There's no time to recover, to breathe. He slides you down the tree trunk and onto his waiting member, forcing it inside with barely any warning. Tears spring from the corners of your eyes as he forcibly lifts you by your hips and slams you back down, over and over, his powerful thrusts pulling whimpers out of you. You're just so full, his swollen length pulsing inside, throbbing you to ecstasy. 

The strings tighten inside you, firming the pressure in your belly, which suddenly snaps, dissolving into an intense wave of pleasure that gushes from your hole and threatens to push him out due to its violence. He shudders with you, holding you close and grinding into you, helping you ride it out with almost gentle movements that bely the ferality he displayed only moments ago. Your foreheads touch softly, breaths in tandem. 

For a second you think he's finished. You couldn't be further from the truth. His voice is strained, as if he's trying to keep it under control. 

“You… do that… again.” 

Before you can blink his knuckles are dragging harshly over your clit, back and forth, sending a shiver through your spine on each rough pass. 

“Eddie- oh holy- oh fuuuck!” 

You're barely able to speak, to think. Sentences fail to form, in fact your bordering on drooling at the way he's fucking you dumb. In moments you're clenching around him, walls fluttering uncontrollably as you sob out another release, muscles contracting involuntarily and quivering all over your body. After a while, you realise you're weeping, tears streaming with no barriers to stop them. 

It still doesn't stop Eddie and his violent conquest over your form. He seems intent on owning you, ruining you, taking every last ounce of pleasure out of you to leave you a shattered blubbering mess. It's as if he needs to get his pain and anguish out; it's pouring from him and into each movement of his hips.

“Again.” 

Sobs are bubbling out of your mouth, wet and round, spit gathering at the corners. 

“Eddie, I- I can't-” 

“Again!” 

Then he's pinching your clit hard between thumb and forefinger, as his teeth nip at your breast. The overbearing pain and the zealous pleasure are too much. Shamefully, you release yet again, slick running down your legs and onto the forest floor in a sticky web. 

It's only then that he holds you close, hard arms snaking around your back as your legs shake wildly either side of his hips. His bearish hands grasp you tightly as he throbs his own messy climax deep inside you, roaring loudly, pulsing and pulsing until you've milked him dry. Even then he remains, hard and swollen, locked in and unable to separate. 

His touch is far more gentle now, lifting you by the hips as if you are to be cherished and placing your back softly to the pine needle covered ground. He hovers over you, almost in fear of breaking you, one rough hand stroking at the delicate skin of your cheek. Staring into his eyes, you see the shame harbouring within them.

Before he can speak, you're grasping his furred cheeks and holding his gaze. 

“Eddie, it's OK, honestly. I mean, it was a little rough… but fuck me… that was amazing. You're amazing.” 

He nuzzles into you, deeply breathing in your smell as he cuddles you in the softest embrace. 

“-Orry.” 

“You trying to be cute with me again, Eddie Munson?” 

Your stern words just earn you another squeeze, a slightly tighter hold from his firm arms. For a while you lay there, feeling the other's heartbeat and listening to nothing but the wind between the trees. 

It takes a bit, but the knot finally subsides and you are able to extricate yourselves from its hold. As soon as Eddie's comforting arms are no longer around you, you start to shiver massively. 

“Need.. get you home… climb on.” 

He's on all fours, crouching low in front of you like a tamed lion. 

“You've got to be fucking kidding me.” 

There's a soft rumble in his throat that almost sounds like laughter. 

“Get on… beforrrre you frrreeze.” 

You can't really argue with that. 

Hesitating with your knee up high, you're trying to work out where you need to be. You've never ridden a… a wolf? A lion? A monster? Briefly, you think you've never ridden an Eddie, but you blush profusely when you remember that's simply not true.

Finally deciding on swinging your leg over near his waist at the thinnest part of him, you settle into the soft fur. He swings a paw up and grasps your hand, leading it toward the longer hair down his spine. 

“Might want… to hold on… sweet-hearrrt.” 

You twine your fingers delicately into the thicker part of his pelt. That is, until he starts running on all fours through the trees. You grip tightly when you feel the sudden rush of speed, fingers losing blood as you hold on in fear of crashing to the floor. 

Once the initial shock is over, it's electrifying; a thrilling, hedonistic mix of riding a horse and a motorcycle at once. The wind whips through your hair and stings your uncovered skin, making you feel oh so alive. The constant push and pull of powerful muscles beneath you make you realise just how strong Eddie is. It suddenly dawns on you that no matter how rough he's been with you, he's holding back. If he showed you half his power you doubt you'd live to tell the tale. That stark realisation has you falling for him all over again. 

It's that power that seems to flow up from him and through you. You feel like some sort of heathen queen, riding through the forest on your monstrous steed, naked as the day you were born. Wild, savage, and formidable.

Too soon, your impromptu ride is over as he lopes toward the lights of the cabin, eventually coming to a stop. Sliding off of his mighty form, you land on both feet practically buzzing with excitement, caring not a jot for the fact that you were still naked. 

“Eddie, that was incredible! We need to do that again, like, every night. Fuck, I'm shaking!” 

You beam at him, glowing inside and out. 

“If anyone else… said that… I'd bite them. But… it's you. I'll be you’rrre… steed.” 

“You just want me to ride you again.” 

In the short time you've been together, you've gotten used to the subtle signs in his face, in the looks in his eyes, enough to be able to read him. You don't need any of those though, not when his usual whiskey eyes are blackened with desire. 

“You… not done?” 

Grinning profusely, you open the back door and beckon him with your finger. 

“Nope.” 

“You… animal.” 

You laugh; a messy, loud, belly laugh at the pure irony of the situation. 

Walking into the bedroom, you watch him follow you in. There's pine needles stuck in his fur, and mud crusted into his hands and feet. The very air surrounding him is of forests; of damp and bark and moonlight. 

All it's doing is stirring up your insides further. Right now, this heathen queen needs her monster king. 

“Lay down.” 

He huffs lowly, towering over your tiny form. 

“You… telling mme… what to do?” 

“Yes. I am. You got a problem?” 

You push lightly at his chest, making him collapse mockingly onto the bed, face twisted in taunting pain, as if you had caused him serious harm. 

“Don't… hurrrrt mme, prrrincess.” 

“I wasn't going to… hurt you, exactly.” 

You straddle his body, backwards, mouth hovering near his already firm length as your ass swings tantalisingly just out of reach of his drooling maw. 

“Now…. Sweet-hearrrrt, fuuuck… so unfairrr…” 

You can feel the breath expelling from his mouth, the way the sweep of his tongue creates air that is failing to make it between your folds. It makes your cunt throb from the lack of attention, still puffy and drooling from your encounter in the woods. 

You lick a firm stripe from his heavy balls to the tip of his engorged purple member, watching it shiver with the affection. There's a salty, brutish taste to him, mixed with the sweet, feminine tang of you, that makes you want to lick him over and over. Rolling the tip of his weighty length into your mouth, you roll it around with your tongue, licking any trace of you and him together away, to be stored in your memories forever. 

“Sweet-hearrrt… please!” 

He's panting, each short breath firing bursts of air at your cunt. You don't let up, not yet, suckling at his tip, pressing firm kisses to the slit on the tip. He's growling and whining, muscles twitching all over. 

There's no way you can take more than a third of his threatening member into your mouth, but you do what you can, stroking firmly with both hands what you cannot take. Spit dribbles out of your mouth and down to your fisted palms, wetting the rest of his length with soaked, messy need. 

He roars, lion-like behind you, fingers pressing further bruises into your soft flesh. You don't let up, you can't. You need to make him tremble beneath you; to feel those controlling muscles fold under the feel of your mouth. 

The thrust up into your wet lips has you gagging around his length, gargling and spluttering around his thick head. You can't chide him for it, not since the movement sets your insides ablaze with need. 

He curls as hard as his spine will allow; the tip of his tongue ghosting over your slick heat. Quivering, you let up on your assault with your mouth, and twist so you can face him. Whines and whimpers expel from his throat as his thick fingers wind around your waist. Before they can contort into growls and snarls, you sink down onto his slippery cock, all the way to the hilt, as if he were the perfect sword to your tight sheath. 

“Lay back and relax… There's a good boy.”  

Instead of taking control, he gives it to you. A whine, high pitched and needy, rolls out of his mouth. 

Bending down, with him still flush inside you, you press your pretty lips against his slathered maw. Open mouthed kisses are pressed onto his jaw, tongue sneaking in and feeling his pointed fangs delicately. He licks purposely into your mouth, dancing against your tensed muscle. 

Grinding hard into him, his solid weapon presses harshly against your g spot, stars forming in the corners of your eyes. He sits up so he can lace his thick arms around you, as if he needed to be even closer somehow. Responding in kind, you position your legs around him, holding tight as he thrusts up into you. 

Sweat is glistening, dripping down your spine at the proximity of his boiling hot body. Your fingers wind into the thicker fur on his spine as he rocks into you, feeling him in your very core. 

Suddenly he's grasping your hips, about to pull you off him. Whining, you shake your head, forcing yourself back down. 

“I'mm gonna-” 

“I know, please, I need to feel it, fill me up, please!” 

Those words are all it takes for Eddie, pushing him over that precipice, free falling into ecstasy. You join him, plummeting into your own release as the feel of his knot consumes you. 

For a while you hold each other, the only clue that time had failed to stop being your panting breaths. Your head is snuggled into the soft coat of his neck, his chin resting on the top of your head. As his hardness finally begins to subside you still remain, the sanctitude of the moment ongoing. It feels as if it will be an ongoing memory to play on a loop in the back of your mind, forever. 

********************

The following two weeks flew by in a hum buzz of activity. You're pulling shift after shift at the hospital and helping out at the emergency shelter when you can. The town is pulling together, trying to heal and coming to terms with what will forever be a little bit broken. 

Eddie's mood has been in a shifting, unstable state since the night he defeated Vecna. The nightmares were the worst part of it; on more than one occasion you've had to physically hit him to get him to wake up and stop thrashing in panic on the bed. You try to soothe with words, soft touches and kindness. It's helping, but you know he's got a long way to go. 

Being busy has helped. He and Hopper have come to form an odd friendship. To his credit, Hopper never treated Eddie any different despite his appearance. In fact, he said he's one of ‘Hawkins’ finest upstanding citizens’, since he can't go out and cause trouble. It's not like he can be the town's weed supplier, after all. 

Eddie needed something to do. Hopper understood that deeply, he explained, from his own past traumas and grief. So, he started towing cars to the cabin, getting Eddie to fix them up and send them back as an impromptu mechanic. Fixing things and earning a little money have certainly improved his mood. When he wasn't doing that he was working on the cabin which was starting to feel like home. 

You're on your way there right now. After the conversation you had with Hopper this morning, a huge smile is glued to your face. 

Approaching your home, you see Eddie outside working on a car. When he sees you he bounds over, grabbing the two enormous suitcases you've been struggling with and lifting them with ease. 

“What's all… this?” 

“Take them inside, I've got some news.” 

He does as you ask, depositing them on the floor before he holds you close, snout breathing in your scent at the crook of your neck. 

“Eddie, I spoke with Hopper. He's agreed to give us the cabin for nothing. I just gave away my apartment, so I can stay here with you.” 

Eddie barks with delight, picking you up and spinning you around. You giggle, holding onto his shoulders. He presses his maw to your tummy, breathing you in. 

When he puts you down on the floor, there's a queer look in his eye. 

“Eddie, something wrong?” 

Shaking his head, he falls to his knees so he can look you in the eyes as he holds both your hands in one enormous paw. 

“Not wrrrong… differrrrent. We'll need the cabin, forrr all of us.” 

You tilt your head, confused. 

“What do you mean? There's only me and you.” 

Staring at you as if to gauge your reaction, he presses one bearish hand to your stomach reverently. The hint isn't lost on you, eyes widening in disbelief. 

“Eddie, are you saying that you think I'm… pregnant?” 

One slow blink. 

Legs wobbling, you sit on the floor in front of him. 

“I'm on birth control, I mean, surely I can't be… are you sure?” 

Eddie taps his nose. 

“I'm sure. Is it… a prrroblemm?”

Searching your thoughts you realise it isn't. It really isn't. There's nothing you want more than to spend your life with him, to have a family, no matter what that looks like.

“No, not at all. It's a little… fast, but I want this.” 

Holding your cheek with his rough hand, he makes sure you keep your eyes trained on him. 

“Are you surrre? What… if it's…” 

He gestures to himself, in all his monstrous glory. Cupping his hand on your face, you shake your head.

“I don't care if we have a baby, or a-a cub, or a pup, as long as it's yours and mine.” 

He holds you then, softly and close as you twine your fingers into his thick pelt. 

A life lies before you, one that you couldn't have possibly predicted. A fairytale life; one where the monster gets the girl, and gets the happily ever after. 

Taglist (if you want to be added/removed please PM me)

@liminalpebble @eddies-puppet @rip-quizilla @micheledawn1975 @vanilla-demon @millercontracting @roanniom @josephquinnsfreckles @leelei1980 @mrsjellymunson @usedtobecooler @eddiesprincess86 @ali-r3n

#ms gexy writes #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie x you #eddie x reader #alpha!eddie munson #alpha!eddie #monster!eddie #monster eddie munson #alpha eddie x omega reader #predator x prey dynamic #stranger things smut #stranger things fix it fic #stranger things eddie munson #monster!eddie x fem reader #dom!eddie #dom!eddie munson #dom eddie x fem reader

[macfrog]

shameless cowboy like me chapter two

what if i told you...joel's a flirty menace in this one? 😈 this is part ii of my new dbf!joel series - you can find part i here 🫶🏼 enjoy babes

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: an innocent slip of the tongue leads to some very interesting preparations for the neighborhood barbecue

warnings: 18+ minors dni!!! female masturbation, fingering, praise kink and daddy kink (blink and you'll miss it), age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), mention of alcohol, bit of cursing. all very hot hot hot

word count: 4k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

“Feel good?” Joel’s voice is calm, cool. It’s not at all like he’s just caught you fucking yourself to the thought of him. Your eyes shoot open and hands scramble to push your dress back down, yanking the bedsheets over yourself. He’s standing against your doorframe with his arms folded. “Don’t cut it short on my account, baby,” he purrs, stepping inside your room and closing the door gently behind him. “You take all the time you need.”

You stagger out to the driveway, heaving the bucket full to the brim, rocking side to side with every step you take. Warm water and suds spill over and soak your fingers as you battle with the weight down toward your dad’s car, parked out on the street.

“Aw, what’d I just tell you?” he yells over the hose, cutting the water and letting the nozzle drop as he jogs over to give you a hand. “Don’t fill it all the way!”

You let go of the bucket with a heaving breath, squatting with your palms on your knees. “You told me – gasp – you needed enough – gasp – to do both our cars,” you pant, “there’s – enough.”

“Go on inside and get a glass of water ‘fore you keel over, dumbass,” he says, subsiding a laugh as he turns the hose back on. “And bring out sponges when you come back!”

After a few more deep breaths, you stumble on back up the drive and into the cool house, where you pour a glass of cold water. You’re standing by the window watching your dad soak his SUV when a familiar truck pulls up behind it, gas tank in the bed.

Your cheeks heat just at the sight of him getting out, long legs striding over to meet your dad. It’s been a few days since you last saw him, since he had dinner with you guys. Since he ignited a fire inside you that you’ve done nothing to extinguish.

They exchange a few words, your dad gestures to the bucket at his feet and then gives what you presume is a retelling of your debacle in the drive. Joel’s head falls back in laughter, and you’re not sure whether your heart jumps from embarrassment or something more.

He’s in a washed black tee and jeans. Simple, typical Joel. His toned arms are folded on his chest, shoulders a little hunched as he listens to whatever your dad is probably boring him with.

You check yourself in the mirror, tucking and then untucking your hair behind your ear, and tug the skirt of your yellow dress a little lower.

Lower? What are you doing?

You turn and check yourself out, pulling it up little by little, imagining what Joel might think when he sees you. Where his eyes might fall, the way his breath might catch…

Your dad’s voice calling your name snaps you back to reality. You sigh and give yourself a final once over – adjusting your bra under your dress – and turn on your heel back to the garage door, emerging from the shadows to the red-hot sunshine once again, this time a little more collected.

Joel’s eyes find you the minute the sun does. Still nodding and muttering back to your dad, he tracks you as you stroll down the drive and to your dad’s side.

“Hey,” you chirp.

“Hey, yourself.” Just out of your dad’s view, he eyes you up and down, settling just south of your neck. You feel your stomach fluttering.

Your dad lifts his arms and props them against his hips, glaring at you.

“What?”

“Sponges?”

“Oh…” Fuck. “I…There ain’t no sponges in there.” If you weren’t so busy goggling at Joel and hiking your skirt up, you’d have remembered his request.

Your dad screws his face up. “I have sponges, sweetheart. In one of the boxes on the shelf–”

“I didn’t find any.”

He sighs, frustrated. “The hell’d my sponges go?” he asks, turning to Joel and shaking his head in disbelief.

Joel still hasn’t taken his eyes off you. Like he can read your mind, he raises a finger and turns to your dad. “You gave a couple to me, remember? When I had to wash my truck. Few weeks ago, now. Must’a never gave you them back. My bad.”

“You got my sponges?”

“Truck was pretty dirty. Probably threw ‘em out.”

You tut. “Unacceptable. You call this a best friend?” Joel narrows his eyes and mimics you, and you grin back.

Your dad grumbles. “I’ll let you off this time, Miller, seein’ as you brought that tank a’ gas. But how the hell am I meant to wash two cars with a bucket of soap and no sponges?”

“You don’t need to wash them in the first place,” you mumble, looking down to your feet, rubber toe of your sneaker kicking at the road.

“How many times– I am not havin’ half the neighborhood over with two dirty cars in the drive!”

“Alright!” you hiss back, eyes wide. “Look, I’ll run to the store and grab some. We need drinks, anyways.”

“Good idea. And we need some burgers.”

“B– You don’t have burgers?”

“Or steaks. Get a few steaks, too.”

“Dad! The barbecue is in two hours!”

He bends down to pick the hose back up, smile painted on his face. “Better get goin’, then, huh?”

You throw your head back with frustration, marching off to the house to grab your purse. Your dad chuckles behind you, angering you all the more.

When you come back downstairs, Joel’s standing in the hallway waiting, flannel shirt tucked under his arm.

“I’ll come,” he says, “extra set of hands. Plus, you can show me this new ride of yours.”

Thank you, you mouth as you pass him. He places a gentle hand on your shoulder and follows you out the door.

“Steaks, burgers, sponges, soda. Anything else?”

“Crate of beer,” your dad calls over the water spraying over his car.

Joel gives him a thumbs up as the two of you pass by, other hand still locked on your shoulder blade.

When the two of you settle in your car, Joel turns to you, pulling his seatbelt on. “I could see the sponges from where I was standin’.”

“I didn’t even look,” you mutter back, switching the ignition on.

“Just after an excuse for a half hour alone with me, were ya?”

You lean your head in his direction. “Sounds to me like it’s the other way around. You offered to come with me, remember?”

He responds with a look that you read as Touché, and the car pulls off.

----------

The store is freezing thanks to the aircon, and, after ten minutes of wandering up and down the meat aisle, you’re shivering with goosepimples along your arms. Finally, Joel comes back with a few bottles of soda.

“Cold?” he asks, placing them in the cart beside a three-pack of sponges.

“AC.”

“Here.” He pulls his flannel off and drapes it over your shoulders. You smile in thanks.

“I don’t know what meat to get,” you groan, pushing your arms into the sleeves of Joel’s shirt. It’s warm, and smells like him. When he turns to look inside the freezers, you bury your nose in your shoulder and breathe him in.

“These’ll do,” he eventually says, lifting a few packs of frozen burgers and a couple steaks. “Your dad ain’t the most prepared guy I ever knew.”

“Tell me about it.”

Joel takes the cart, pushing it along while you meander by his side, casually looking around the store. After throwing a few packs of candy in, along with a pack of headphones – “My old ones broke,” you protest, in response to Joel’s perplexed glance – you make your way toward the checkout.

“Shoot, forgot the beer. Go grab a case for your dad, would ya?”

You breathe a sigh. “Can’t you?”

“C’mon, kid, I ain’t askin’ twice.”

You hold his stare for a few seconds, a standoff in the idle store. He doesn’t flinch. You try not to, but his gaze is strong, his jaw tight, and your stomach is doing flips. You roll your eyes and make to turn.

“Good girl.”

Fuckin’ asshole.

You keep your back to him, continue walking with your fists balled tight either side of your hips. You know that Joel knows the effect he has on you, and you know he’s got his eyes on you as you round the corner of the aisle, smirk across his lips, but you at least try to hold on to what little pride you have left.

You meet Joel back at the checkout, standing in line. He acknowledges you with a quick nod, eyes settling on the case in your right hand.

“Coors?”

“Uhuh.”

“No Bud?”

“Dad doesn’t drink Bud. Dad drinks Coors.”

He shakes his head, blank expression. “No, he doesn’t. He drinks Bud.”

You start to feel your face warming. “You think I don’t know what beer my dad drinks?”

“You think I don’t know what beer my friend drinks? Go get a crate of Bud.”

“You fuckin’ go,” you hiss, just as the cashier calls you two over.

“Hi, darlin’s!” she sings as you approach the checkout. Her cheeks swell with her sickly-sweet smile, eyes flitting from one of you to the other. “Got everything you’re after today?”

“Close enough,” Joel replies, perfectly friendly to her, but with a sideways glance to you that makes your chest tighten.

“That’ll be $53.94. Cash or card?”

“I’ll get it,” you say, hand burying into your purse for cash.

Joel pulls his wallet from his back pocket. “I got it,” he says, stepping in front of you to the card reader.

The cashier giggles, looking between the two of you. She scrunches her nose up with a sweet smile, looks back at you, and says, “You let Daddy pay, sweetie.”

You both react at the same time; Joel coughs as if choking on his own tongue, bringing his forearm up to cover his mouth, and you shake your head with a quick gasp, instantly telling her, “No, no, he’s not my dad, he’s a friend– my dad’s f– he’s my dad’s friend. Not my dadd– not–”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” she giggles again, totally unaware of what she’s done to the pair of you. “My mistake. Here, sir, your receipt.” She hands it to Joel, who thanks her with a strained smile on his lips, hoists the crate under his arm and makes off with the bag.

You wave as you take off in his wake, trying to keep up with his long strides.

“Joel, wait up. What’s the rush, I–”

He throws the beer and bag into the backseat as you climb in the driver’s side, and slams his door closed with a bang.

You watch him for a moment as his head falls back onto the headrest, exhaling slowly.

“Everything al–?”

“Everything’s fine,” he cuts across you sharply, then hears it, and opens his eyes, looking over to you affectionately. “Everything’s fine,” he says again, calmer, quieter. His eyes scan over the sight of you in his shirt.

He shuffles in his seat and your gaze trails down to where he pulls the bottom of his tee over the crotch of his jeans. When he speaks, your eyes snap back up to his face.

“‘Let Daddy pay’? What the hell was that?” he scoffs as casually as he can muster, not noticing you, instead looking out the front window to the parking lot.

You laugh a little, leaning into your seat to look at him softly. “She was just tryna get me some free stuff, I think. She was nice.”

Joel breathes out a laugh. “Here I was thinkin’ you’d paid her to say it.”

“If I wanted to getcha all flustered, I bet I could do it myself. Don’t need nobody to help me.” You give him a toothy grin, and he returns it, placing a hand on your knee and shaking it.

“Let’s go. Your dad will be demented waitin’ on these sponges.”

----------

“Coors?” your dad asks, tilting the case in his hand.

“Sure,” you reply, spirit dying already.

“They run out of Bud?” he screws his face up in confusion.

Your eyes run from his along to Joel’s shoulder, and up to his face, which sits in a look of smug bemusement.

“Hm,” Joel cocks his head, “that’s weird.”

“They were all out,” you mutter tonelessly, turning on your heel back into the kitchen. You grab a cup and fill it with soda.

“Aw, poor baby,” Joel’s voice coos from behind you. You turn to find him leaning against the kitchen island. “Did you get Daddy the wrong beer?”

You place the glass down on the counter with a sharp thump and rub your eyes. What little energy you have left in you, you decide to use it to tease him straight back.

“I dunno. Do you like Coors, Daddy?” you mewl, floating over to him and leaning into his chest.

“Alright, enough,” he grumbles, pushing you off of him with a laugh you’re sure had an echo of nervousness in it. You link your fingers in his hand and he draws you back in to stop you from falling back dramatically.

“I’m fuckin’ exhausted.”

Truth be told, the last thing you want to be doing is hosting a neighborhood cookout. What with the dry heat now that the rain has passed, and the headache brewing behind your eyes, all you want to do is lie down in a quiet, dark room, and doze in and out of sleep.

“Why don’t you go for a lie down before everyone comes over?” Joel pats your head. “Me and your dad can finish up the cars, get the barbecue goin’. I’ll come wake you once the party’s started.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.” You take your soda and make for the stairs, only realizing at the first step that you’re still in Joel’s shirt. “Oh,” you pull it off one shoulder, “here.”

He holds a hand out to reassure you. “Keep it. You suit it.”

Then he pauses. Takes a breath. Turns it over in his head once or twice before he commits to saying it.

“Keep you thinkin’ of me while you sleep, or…whatever you’re headed up there to do, baby.”

He makes for the garage door without another word, without even glancing back to see your speechless expression.

Doesn’t matter. You know he knows the knot he’s just tied in your stomach.

You drag yourself up the stairs to you room, pull the curtains closed and lay back on your bed, kicking your shoes off. You can smell him all over you. You were sleepy, now you’re wide awake. You lie staring at the ceiling for who knows how long; furious, tired, pining.

Through the open window you can hear Joel making casual conversation with your dad as if he hasn’t just turned you the fuck on and left you to deal with it yourself.

You shake your head. You’re mad at him, but when you think it over, the anger turns into pent-up frustration, adding to the pile that’s been slowly growing harder and harder to bear since that night he drove you home.

The way he looked down at you. What was behind his eyes? Dark, brooding. The way he gripped your jaw, forcing you to look up at him.

Your stomach tightens with excitement, eyes fluttering closed to hear his chuckle, his cool voice as he talks about last week’s baseball game. Your legs seem to fall open on their own, your hips lifting as your hand trails down to meet the lace of your underwear.

Then him calling you trouble. Trouble. Knowing exactly what he really meant, and knowing you knew, too.

Your finger hooks around them and pulls back, other hand lifting your dress to expose yourself to the warm breeze passing through your window. You cup yourself, feeling how wet just the thought of him has you.

The way he looked at you earlier as you walked over. Offering to come to the store with you. Good girl. Let Daddy pay. Good girl.

Your fingers toy with your clit, eliciting a quiet moan from the depths of your throat. You push down, around, adding pressure, taking it away again.

Thinkin’ of me while you do it. Good girl. Nothin’ but trouble.

Your free hand pulls the top of your dress down, cupping around your breast. You lick your fingers and roll your already hard nipple between them, picturing Joel’s lips around it, sucking, licking, kissing…

Let Daddy…Good girl.

“Joel…” you whimper, as you insert a finger inside yourself. It’s the release you’ve been after since that first glance, the first comment that set your stomach ablaze.

You picture his hand in place of yours, rocking back and forth, curling just the way you like, big fingers stretching you out and feeling your walls clamp around him.

You’re a whimpering, whining mess. Covered in your own slick, chasing your high, clit rutting against the palm of your hand.

Feeling a need for more pressure, you bring your other hand down and begin mercilessly rubbing at your clit while your hand pumps in and out, in and out.

You’re close. You have to bury your face in the shoulder of his shirt to stop from screaming. It only drives you crazier. The smell of him, the way his name sounds escaping your lips in breathy moans, the thought of his weight on top of yours, making you feel so good, making you cum over and over…

“Feel good?”

Joel’s voice is calm, cool. It’s not at all like he’s just caught you fucking yourself to the thought of him.

Your eyes shoot open and hands scramble to push your dress back down, yanking the bedsheets over yourself. He’s standing against your doorframe with his arms folded.

“Don’t cut it short on my account, baby,” he purrs, stepping inside your room and closing the door gently behind him. “You take all the time you need.”

“Didn’t hear you come in,” you whisper.

He settles back on your dresser, looking over at you with a barely noticeable smirk across his lips.

“Barbecue’s heatin’ up.”

“Thanks for letting me know.” You’re still in a daze, part-embarrassed, part-confused. Joel’s acting so casual that you’re not even entirely sure this is happening right now.

“What were you thinkin’ about?” He cocks his head.

Your eyes screw shut. You swing your legs off the side of your bed and lean forward, your back to him.

“You can tell me if it was me.”

“Wasn’t you, Joel.”

“You know a lot of Joels? You rubbin’ that pretty little pussy to all your other Joel friends?”

Your head finally clears when he starts teasing you. That humming energy picks up again. He’s riling you, maybe not for the same reason as before, but he’s doing it.

You stand from your bed and turn to face him.

“Was thinking…was thinking about being a good girl for you. Letting you put your hands on me.”

You start stepping forward. Your voice drops to a whisper.

“Was thinking about you making me cum while everyone’s here, and we gotta be quiet, and you’re all over me…”

Joel’s eyes darken. He straightens up.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You reach him, and place both hands on his chest. Did you just feel his heart skip beneath his shirt?

Downstairs the doorbell rings, and you both suddenly hear your next-door neighbor’s voice rattle through the house, remarking how nice the kitchen is, and where can she put this salad?

Joel’s head turns ever so slightly to the door, eyes still locked on yours.

“Party’s started,” he murmurs.

You nod slowly. You’re feeling unusually bold – but this fucker just cut in right ahead of your orgasm, and you want him to pay it back.

You tell him in low voice, “Better hurry up.”

He pushes off the dresser, grabbing your shoulders and pushing you backwards. Your eyes never leave his as you stumble across your hardwood floor and the back of your knees hit your bed. Joel pushes you down, shoving your thighs open with one knee, and bends over you.

“This what you want?” he slurs, drunk on the heat radiating off of you and the sight of you in his shirt. “You want your daddy’s best friend all over you?”

“Uhuh,” you moan when he hauls your arms above your head.

Without a word, he hauls your dress up and drags a finger around your underwear, pulling them to the side. You throw your head back, bracing for the moment his hands touch you where you need him most. You could fold right now just at the thought of it.

Joel makes no move for a few seconds, and when you glance back down, he’s hovering, drinking in the sight of you. You smile.

“Aw, baby,” he breathes, noticing you watching him. Then he dips his head and his lips crash against yours roughly, like he might’ve died if he hadn’t kissed you there and then.

Your arms come down and wrap over his shoulders, fingers tangling in his hair. You feel his weight over you as he kisses you deeper, and then starts rubbing your swollen clit. You moan into his mouth, bucking your hips.

Music begins playing from downstairs, your dad obviously having worked out how to use the sound system by himself. Voices from neighbors arriving float in through your open window. Joel tears his shirt off of your shoulders and begins sucking on your neck.

“Joel,” you whimper, “want more.”

He laughs against your skin. “So needy, darlin’.”

His hands pull away from your clit for a few seconds before he inserts a finger, slow, but fucking perfect. Your back arches against him as he pushes in further, going deeper than you ever managed yourself.

“Good?” he’s whispering, and all you can offer as response are your panting breaths.

He pumps slowly a few times, then pulls all the way out and inserts two. Your hands pull his lips against yours again, purely to allow yourself to moan without risk of being heard from the front yard.

Joel’s fingers curl and hit that spot inside you that yours never could. Your mouth agape, you writhe under his touch as his hand fucks you, his palm providing just enough friction on your clit to nudge you closer and closer to your orgasm with each drag of his wrist.

“Fuck, Joel, I’m close,” you whisper.

“Gotta be real quiet, baby, okay? Too many people downstairs.”

Your back arches again as your high approaches.

“Fuck, keep going.”

Joel’s hand pumps in and out of you at a punishing pace, fucking you so hard that his palm comes down on your clit harder and harder with each thrust.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, trying your best to keep the noise down, but his fingers feel so good, the feeling of him overwhelming, so wrong and yet so fucking right.

You’re sure you’re about to cry out, and Joel notices too, because he instantly pushes himself against your body; lips brushing your ear to coax you through your high, shoulder at the perfect position for you to sob into as you cum all over his fingers.

When your orgasm subsides, aftereffects washing over you like waves, you lay with your eyes closed, letting your shaky breath come back to normal. Your body hums with energy, but you’re so spaced out you feel like you can’t move.

Joel lifts his weight off of you, leaning onto one hip to pull your panties back and your skirt over them. You watch him lazily through your eyelashes. He fixes your hair, and runs his cupped hand down your cheek.

It’s soft, unlike the last ten minutes were. He’s being Joel again, the Joel you’re used to. But you kinda want to get to know this new Joel, all the same.

Then he shows you one last glimpse of him.

He lifts his middle finger, buried deep inside you not even a minute ago, and brings it to his lips. Sucks on it, moaning at the taste of you, before letting it go. He holds out the second digit he fucked you with.

You instinctively part your lips and he pushes it in, letting you taste yourself. He’s watching you with cloudy eyes; you’re not sure what he’s thinking as you suckle on his finger, but you know it’s filthy.

He removes it and then uses his thumb to wipe your lips, before getting up and resuming his position, leaned against your dresser.

You understand it as your cue to get up, too.

You stand, adjusting your dress, and stare at him for a moment.

“This…” He gestures between the two of you. “This is…We’re…We don’t…”

He looks up. Your eyes meet, and there’s an unspoken exchange of words. You understand, so does he.

“Nothing happened,” you breathe.

Joel nods, and leaves the room first.

----------

tag list: @yvonneeeee @brittmb115

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

[malum-forev]

Hurry Back Home

Summary: The four times you showed up at Bucky’s place unexpected.

Part 1

The first time was a month after the two of you broke up. Once your red rimmed eyes depuffed from the constant tears and you managed to get his name out. Your friends had come over once or twice to check up on you but you’d always lie. 

“Thank you for stopping by but really, I’m okay.” You lied when they came by the first time, resting your body on the doorframe and keeping the door close to you so they wouldn’t see your Bucky covered apartment. You still hadn’t taken the pictures down, hadn’t washed your sheets because you could still catch a glimpse of his cologne and you sure as hell hadn’t stopped wearing the Henley he kept at your place. The one you were currently hiding underneath a big sweatshirt.

Of course they didn’t believe you but it was always better to give you some space. 

“Call us whenever and we’ll be here.” One of your friends said, you nodded and closed the door. 

You deeply regretted living in an apartment with paper thin walls when you heard your other friend say: “I really thought those two were endgame.”

But now, I’d been a month and it seemed like the sun was ready to shine again. The pain still felt unbearable but it was most likely because Bucky was still imprinted in your apartment. So one Sunday morning, you grabbed a cardboard box and decided enough was enough. Almost with closed eyes as to not relive the good memories, you started chucking everything that reminded you of him. 

Goodbye rubber spatula Bucky melted half to death the first time he cooked you breakfast. Sayonara to the broken picture frame he’d glued back together after slamming your body against the wall that time you two came back tipsy and horny from the bar. Farewell to the plush blanket he insisted you needed in your living room the day your heater went out. Would it be too over the top if you brought the heater back to its broken state because he fixed it? 

As you passed through the kitchen, you saw the small plate Bucky gave you when you went to that pottery class. A lopsided dish he’d made too oval and too deep to actually be useful but with the way his tongue poked out in concentration as he made, it there was no way you could tell him it wasn’t perfect. He hadn’t let you see his final design but a few days later, after it had been fired, you finally saw what he had painted. At the center of the plate, in his almost illegible messy handwriting, read: This is a plate, -Bucky <3. 

You shoved the dish all the way back inside one of your kitchen drawers, not wanting to think about it anymore but not wanting to throw away such a meaningful gift. Not yet.

You grabbed another smaller box and shoved all the clothes Bucky had left behind over the months. A couple of Henleys, some underwear, his leather jacket, and the gloves he’d stopped wearing. 

“Not today, Doll.” He’d smiled, lowering your hands holding the leather gloves. “I don’t need them when I’m with you.”

Before you could think about it too much, you opened your door and walked over to his apartment with his things. You dropped the box at his doorstep and turned to leave but you heard his locks turn. 

A gasp got caught in your throat and you were almost positive your heart missed a beat. The plan wasn’t to see him, you weren’t ready to see him. Maybe you could make a run for it? But it would be too obvious! You’ll look ridiculous! Maybe you can play dead? It works for dogs! 

But before you could make a decision, you heard his voice. The sweet tone he reserved just for your ears, soft and comforting. 

“Hi.” His smile was small not reaching his eyes. “How are you?”

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat and nod. “I’m okay. I thought it was time to drop your things off.”

“Oh,” His usual crystal blue eyes now adorned an all too familiar red hue, the bags under his eyes big and purple. But before you could feel sorry, a cheery voice appeared from the inside of his apartment. 

“We should be leaving soon.” A woman came into view, her tactical suit showed you she worked with Bucky but the way her arm rested on his shoulder showed you she’s more than just a coworker. “Wouldn’t want to miss our reservation.”

You didn’t let your mouth drop to the floor just out of pure pride. 

How could I have been so stupid to think Bucky wasn’t over me yet? You thought.

You kicked the cardboard box lightly with the tip of your shoe. “Just wanted to drop off your things.”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed, your sudden change of demeanor confused him. But your eyes pingponging from the box to him to Jessica gave him more answers than he needed. He started shaking his head, wanting to explain to you that Jessica didn’t know who you were and that’s why she was saying they were going out. He wanted to explain that the only reason she was in his apartment was because she had to borrow some unmarked guns for her mission. He especially wanted to explain to you that Jessica wasn’t interested in guys like him- actually she wasn’t interested in guys at all!

“You can keep or throw out anything you have of mine, I don’t want it.” You said rolling your eyes, turning to leave but he held your elbow wanting to get even a single word in. But he didn’t get a chance to say anything.

You tugged your arm back and left, closing your apartment door with a bang. 

The second time was a few weeks after you had given Bucky his belongings. You’d started watching the news again, not caring whenever they showed a picture of him. At least that’s what you told your friends. You finally returned to your favorite coffee shop, even though it hurt when the barista asked where your boyfriend was. You’d managed to say it was just you this time but were too distracted with your own thoughts to see the glimmer in the guy’s eyes when you said it. 

Today was an especially important day, your first run since the breakup. You welcomed the familiar burn in your lungs and the feeling of freedom. You jogged up to the door of your apartment just to see a brown paper bag with your name on it. You eyed it quizzically, looking around to figure out if you could spot who left it. But inside was a harmless coffee with a note written on the side: What’s a morning run without your morning coffee?

At first it made you smile, thinking about all the times you would drink coffee with Bucky. A little slice of normalcy and routine in his otherwise chaotic world. That ritual the two of you created was one of the only things he could control.

But the sweet thoughts turned sour as you remembered the blonde’s arm on Bucky. Who the hell does he think he is? He can go out and date but you? You have to be constantly reminded of the relationship? 

I don’t fucking think so. 

You marched up the stairs straight to his door and banged on it three times. You didn’t mind the time, you knew he was up since sunrise. 

No answer. You brought your fist up to the door again and knocked five times, your patience running thin and your energy low. 

A few seconds later a messy haired groggy Bucky opened up, rubbing his eyes with the back of his palms. 

“You were asleep?” You forgot why you were here in the first place, more concerned about the fact that your ex-boyfriend who never slept in past 5:45 and was now barely waking up at 8 am! Had he not been sleeping at night? Was he getting nightmares again? Was he benched from the team?

“Was, past tense.” He yawned. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

His kind blue eyes convinced you for a second but the coffee in your hand reminded you of your anger. 

“I wanted to hand deliver this.” You pushed the coffee into his chest. “And to tell you that these mind games you’re playing are not working. I’m done, we’re done. So don’t come here wanting to stir up things that have been buried. We used to drink coffee after our runs but not anymore, not together at least! So stop it, and I don’t want it.” 

Bucky’s eyes widened as he looked down at the drink in his hands. You’d left him speechless. Truthfully, leaving the big and scary Winter Soldier inarticulate did wonders for your self-esteem-

“Did you read the other side of the cup?” Bucky asked in an annoyed tone.

“What?” 

He rolled his eyes and turned the cup, bringing it close to your face. “The back of the coffee says: Come into the coffee shop for a free pastry and a date – Jack.”

You felt your face blush, heat consuming your whole body. 

“I-when- I didn’t read-“ You stammered. 

“Are we done here?” Bucky raised his eyebrows. “I’m sure you’re getting flooded with date propositions but could we keep the ‘bragging about it to your ex’ to a minimum?” 

You furiously nodded and whispered a small: “Sorry about that.”

The third time was four months after the breakup. You thought you were doing great, making progress. You’d been on a date or two that didn’t amount to anything but it counted, right? Everything seemed normal until you heard about the last mission. 

You had turned on the TV and the news station was doing a 24hr coverage of a rescue mission. Something about super soldier serums being reproduced and hostages being taken. You didn’t need to see him on the screen to know he was there. An unusual feeling gnawed at your chest. 

Before, when you were dating, you would get anxious about him going on missions but this time it was different. Like you knew something bad was going to happen.

And then you saw the coverage, the warehouse had been wired with explosives. Every wall blown up into ashes. “There have been no survivors until now.” The newscaster said. 

Your heart races thinking of him. This can’t be true, right? You know there’s no possibility of him not being there, he’s the one who is supposed to handle super soldiers for fucks sake! But the thought of him not making it is out of the question. You cannot even process the information. A shocking sob rips through your chest as you hear the total fatalities number rise.  

You had wanted to be informed of everything happening but at some point in the night, you fell asleep with the TV turned on. A faint noise woke you up, your senses heightened to a thousand. You brought closer the sleeves of one of Bucky’s heneleys that had been mixed up with the clothes at the back of your closet and took in his faint scent. But then you heard it again, the unmissable groan of his apartment door. You told him to get it fixed a thousand times but he would always say: “Just because something’s old doesn’t mean it needs to be fixed.”

You rushed outside and saw him, opening his apartment door. You couldn’t believe it, were you dreaming? 

You ran to him and just as he turned around you wrapped your arms around him, you couldn’t help the tears running down your face. 

“Is there something wrong?” Bucky asked, worry written all over your face, as he brushed the hair off of your face. “Are you hurt.”

A laugh ripped through your chest and you shoved his shoulder. “Wrong with me? You scared me half to death! I though you didn’t make it.”

You whispered the last part, wanting to hide the tremble in your voice. 

He took your head in his hands, placing a kiss on your forehead. “I’m all right doll, see, I’m still in one piece.”

You nodded and sniffled, bringing your head to his chest. 

“I’ve been looking for this.” Bucky let out a small laugh, placing kisses on the top of your head, while tugging on his shirt. But before you could tell him he could have it back, he said: “Keep it, it looks better on you.”

The fourth time you showed up at Bucky’s place unexpected was a month later. For about a week, you’d been getting this weird feeling. You had seen the same person twice in the subway and then once turning the corner to your apartment. At first, you thought it was a coincidence but today was the third day you saw the same man. Bucky had taught you that whenever you feel in danger you should go around the block once. No person that isn’t following you is going to turn right twice, ending up in the same spot you started. He said that if after doing that, they were still on your tail you should immediately go to his place. No matter the time and no matter the situation.  

You looked over your shoulder before turning right for the fourth time hoping the man would enter one of the many apartments or stores lining your street. Maybe he was lost? But no, he kept his pace following you. Your breath hitched as you considered your options. A) Lead this person straight to your apartment and get murdered or B) Face your ex-boyfriend. 

You considered option A for a second, it would be less awkward. But you shook your head. You rushed up the stairs and made use of the spare key to Bucky’s apartment you hadn’t returned. You quickly closed the door and leaned back on it, trying to regain your breath. You did as you were once told, you grabbed the gun from underneath his dining room table and pointed at the door until he got home. 

An hour later, you saw the lock turn and the door slowly open. You pointed the gun straight on and waited for whoever was behind the door to come in. 

“It’s just me,” You heard Bucky’s voice before he came in. “You’re safe.”

You let out a breath as he came into view, setting the gun back on the table. “How’d you know I was here?”

“You think I don’t have cameras?” Bucky chuckled as he lowered his work backpack onto the kitchen island. “I saw you snooping around, by the way.”

The corners of your lips turned upwards, partly because you were caught but mostly because you didn’t find any indications that there had been a woman in his place. 

“What happened?” He asked, sitting across from you. 

“I think I’m being followed.” You chewed on your bottom lip nervously. 

“Think?” Bucky asked with raised eyebrows.

“The same man has been following me from my apartment to work and back for the past week. And he’s not even being sneaky about it. We’ve made eye-contact and everything.”

Bucky ran his hand across his face. “And you waited a week to tell me?!”

“Well I’m sorry if I’m not totally comfortable telling my ex that someone is following me!” You rolled your eyes. “Anyways, I did what you told me and now I’m here.”

“I took a picture of him when he wasn’t looking.” You pushed your phone closer to Bucky only to see the color drain out of his face. “What’s the matter?”

“The-these- this guy, I saw him at the warehouse.” Bucky muttered. “They’re sending me a message.”

“What are we going to do?” You asked quietly. 

Bucky’s nostrils flared as he got filled with rage. “We? We aren’t doing anything. I am going to go to them and kill every single one. I don’t care- they’re dead tomorrow morning.”

“Buck-“ You placed a hand on his chest but he turned around, getting up from the table. He paced around his apartment, face red with anger. “Buck! Stop!”

His eyes darkened. “Stop? Stop and do what? Wait until they hurt the woman that I love? I’m not going to just sit back and take the high road. They deserve to be in the ground and I’m going to make sure it happens. No one can get near you. I’ve worked too hard and sacrificed so much already for them to get close to you.”

“They’ve gotten too close already. I shouldn’t have let them, but they’re here now. And they’re going to see what happens when you piss me off. I broke my heart in two just to make sure you were going to be safe. And they won’t take that away from you, not your safety. I will do whatever is necessary.” 

You gasped at his words. 

“Is that- is that why-“ Bucky didn’t let you finish, his saddened gaze gave you the answer. 

“Do you love me?” You asked him, your heart speaking the words your brain couldn’t let you pronounce. His eyes were set on the ground. You took two steps to him, grabbing his face and looking into his eyes. 

“Tell me you don’t love me and I’ll drop it. We never have to talk about this again, we’ll finish with the mercenaries and I will never speak a word to you again. Just say the words. Tell me you don’t love me.” 

Worried creases appeared on Bucky’s forehead, battling with himself. “I could never keep you safe. You will always be in danger.”

“Say it.” You ordered. “Say that you don’t love me but know that it won’t go away. I will always be something they hang over your head because I’ll love you forever.” 

His steel blue eyes met yours and looked down at your lips. 

“I’ll never be safe, but that’s a price I’m willing to pay if it means I get to spend even a minute back in your arms.” You whispered.

Bucky crashed his lips into yours, a rushed and feverish kiss that had you seeing stars. The type that has you gasping for air but not knowing that if it is your last, it was worth it. Bucky pulled you closer to him, his cologne and desperation made you dizzy. 

“I’ll love you forever.” He whispered once you separated. “I promise to keep you safe, I’ll do whatever I have to. I cannot be without you, I was a fool to think I could.”

You smiled into his lips but his warmth left too soon. 

Bucky placed another kiss on your lips before walking to the door. “I’ll be home soon.”

“Where are you going?” You gripped his arm, wanting nothing more than for him to come back to you. 

He brought your hand to his mouth, placing a chaste kiss on your knuckles. “Anyone who dares to threaten you gets to see a part of me that I once buried.”

Your eyes met as he counted the bullets inside his gun and slid a knife into his pocket. 

“Hurry back home.” You said.

For the first time in months, Bucky let out a smile.    

Wanna read more like this? Here’s my latest post! 💖

Author's Note: I want to thank everyone for reading pt. 1 and encouraging me to write this! I hope you guys like it! As always pls comment reblog and like! Love you guyssss

Tags: @verygraphicink @rouge-raven13 @behindmygreyeyes @ximi1315 @runi1 @lia-winther @aneluvs @kpopgirlbtssvt

#bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky imagine #bucky x female reader #bucky #bucky fanfic #bucky x y/n #bucky barns x reader #bucky barns x y/n #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barns x you #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you angst #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes os #college au #college au!bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x you #sebastian stan x you #marvel fanfic

[loveshotzz]

Favorite Part

steve harrington x fem!reader

🎵I’m tangled in his arms, this is my favorite part, suddenly there’s no worries anymore. 🎵

summary: In the middle of the night, you and steve miss each other.

word count: 1.5k

warnings: 18 + soft semi desperate spooning smut with no plot besides that you and steve had a long week apart, mentions of ass play (fem receiving), dirty talk, cream pie.

author’s note: adjusting to new meds has made writing not come easy, this little blurb is to help me get back into the swing of this. I hope you enjoy 🥹

Your bedroom was dark when you opened your eyes, nothing but the deep purple haze of the late night and the soft glow of street lights in the distance illuminating your four walls. The big tree outside your window dances shadows across your blinds, the low hum of wind carrying what’s left of the storm with it. You loved it best like this, surrounded by him, he’s warm like the sun that was somewhere shining on the other side of the planet, soft with sleep and the smell of spearmint fresh on his breath. The rich pine of his body wash still lingers on his skin from the shower you shared before climbing in bed too tired for anything but sleep. The rain tapping against your window in just the right rhythm to send you both into your dreams.

Your naked limbs lay tangled under the sheets, the dark patch of hair on his chest tickles against the dip of your back with every deep breath your boyfriend takes. The blunt edges of his nails digging into the soft flesh of your hips when he stirs like something exciting is happening to him in whatever place he’s lost in behind his shifting lids. A low puff of air exhales through his parted lips, fanning hot across the nape of your neck, goosebumps rising in its wake while his nose nudges against the shell of your ear. A tight grip by his big hands pulls you closer, strong arms caging you in. You wonder if he’s awake now, like you.

It’s only when you feel the softest press of his lips against your hairline that you know he is. Pushing deeper into his chest, he hums low in approval, wrapping himself even tighter around you, muscles flexing under a sea of freckles. His skin was tanner than usual from the beginnings of the summer sun and you swear you can still feel the heat it left behind while your fingertips trace invisible lines. Lulling your head back to rest against his shoulder, you open your neck up for more, enticing a path for his lips to go. You feel him smile, the stubble on his jaw a little more noticeable as he lights a fire inside of you with each kiss, the sweetness from before becoming a little more hungry when you grind against his hard length pressed between your ass.

“Sweet girl.” His voice is low with a warning he doesn’t mean, the hand on your hip working its way down to grab at the soft meat of your thigh, squeezing, encouraging.

Rolling your hips again, he palms the side of your ass cheek, his own hips meeting yours, his tip catches the entrance you’d only let him explore with his tongue or sometimes a thumb while he’d make you come undone. He taunts you with it, pushing just enough to have you whine, wiggling against him for more.

“That feels good, baby?” His lips brush against your ear with every word, nodding dumbly, the sleep is still so thick in his voice makes your eyes roll in the back of your head. “Is this where you want me?”

“Steve.” You huff already tired of his teasing, he chuckles in between sucking purple bruises where the one’s he’d left before had faded.

His palm curves under your knee to hook your leg over his hip and you can’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed when your thighs pull apart sticky, a disbelieving groan leaving his throat when his cock slides heavy between your slick lips. He can feel how wet you are from just a little bit of his teasing.

“Honey,” He sounds wrecked when he talks again, pulling your leg even farther back so his tip can catch your clit with just the right amount of pressure to make you gasp. “Were you dreamin’ about me or somethin’?”

Maybe you were, you couldn’t remember, not when he starts circling your entrance, your walls fluttering around his head with anticipation.

“Please,” your voice sounds small, pleading, as the week of not seeing your boyfriend starts to all hit you at once. “Missed you so much, please, I need it.” It sounds like you're throwing a fit as all of it starts to feel like too much and he’s not even giving you enough.

“Shhh, I got you, I got you. I’ll always give you what you want, so sweet for me. Asking so nice baby.” He coos in your ear, his words dripping with honey as he lines himself up, your back arching against him as he inches in slow enough for you to adjust to the big stretch.

It’s like warm silk the way you wrap around him, your walls giving into him no matter how impossible it always seemed at first. Whispered words of I missed you’s, and I love you’s flow freely from his wet lips while you take him to the hilt. The thick patch of hair that frames his base rubbing against your clit in a way that has you keening.

“Fuuuuck.” He huffs, his forehead pressing to your shoulder, his cock twitching against your muscles that flutter and constrict around him. Stilling your hips with a firm hold you can tell he’s trying hard not to cum.

He leaves lazy kisses along your back when he finally starts to move, he’s slow, taking his time so you can feel all of him. Every ridge and curve takes up space, stealing your breath with each punch to the spot only he can find. The tip of his nose runs along the back of your neck while his palm finds a new home on the swell of your breast, your nipples peaking instantly just for him.

“Takin’ me so well, look at you. Always so good to me baby.” His praise only adds to the lewd noises filling the room, sliding in and out of you with the kind of ease he usually only gets after he’s made you cum a few times. Steve feels like he might lose his mind.

You whine a little when he pinches your nipple, your own hand reaching behind to sink your fingers into his hair. You needed to kiss him. He obliges, always picking up on exactly what you want. What you need. His bottom lip connects with your top one in a messy way, the power of his thrusts making it hard for anything more than this. Panting into each other’s mouths, your tongues find each other, licking dirty in the middle. The animalistic need for each other finally comes to a head, when two of his fingers find your puffy ignored clit.

“Babbbyyy.” You're so loud and he loves the way you sound like you’re gonna cry, tightening around him like a vice.

His lips tug up in a smirk when he nods against your open mouth, silently telling you he knows. You make a mess of his fingers that circle the bundle of nerves with just the right amount of pressure to make your toes curl and your eyebrows pinch together.

“You wanna cum for me?” He sounds strained, teetering the edge like you despite the confidence of his words, his hips stuttering to prove it.

“P- please.” Your response makes him groan, his fingers picking up their pace as you meet each thrust with just as much vigor desperate to reach your high. White hot heat fills your insides as your body starts to come apart, the sound of your sweat slick skin smacking together bouncing off your walls.

“Saying please like that is gonna me cum too, you want that? You want it baby?” He eggs you on as your head falls back, your jaw going slack when he circles his hips hitting the deepest spot inside of you. “Say please one more time for me, come on.”

He’s practically growling for you to give him what he wants. A fucked out “please!” falling from your trembling lips before your body goes limp in his arms overwhelmed by all of him as your orgasm starts to rip through you like a tidal wave.

Your vision blurs from the intensity of it, mouth open in a silent scream as tears prick the corners of your eyes. He stills to paint your insides, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he bites down on your pulse point to keep from crying out. His whole body trembling against yours as he pulls you impossibly close. You’ve never felt so full, as he slowly starts to leak out.

An aftershock causes you to flutter, making him hiss against your bruised skin overstimulated by the intensity of it all before he’s finally soft enough to slip out of you. The sleepiness from after the shower returns to both of your spent bodies as he nuzzles his face back into you making no moves to untangle himself.

“I really missed you.” He mumbles, pressing a tender kiss to his favorite spot behind your ear.

“I really missed you too Stevie.” You hum content, the sound of the storm returning filling the quiet again.

#my writing #steve harrington smut #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic

[ponyosmom35]

he's gone

Simon Ghost Riley x reader

synopsis: reader finds out that Simon passed when Price, Johnny, and Gaz show up at her house.

warnings: angst, death, PTSD, panic attack, crying, I'm so sorry

Link to master list:

https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/733401347573088256/simon-ghost-riley?source=share

She holds her hose tightly in her hand as she sprays her blooming flowers with water. The sun was beginning to set and she felt at peace. Allowing her mind to wash away the stress of the day. The sunlight hits her face and she sighs, imaging that somewhere in the world, Simon was looking at the same beautiful sky. She recalled their conversation earlier that day, a small smile coming to her lips as she remembered his voice. 

She stood in the kitchen, intensely focused on her measuring cup as she attempted to fill it with the correct amount of water. She turns off the water after allowing it to reach ⅓ and carefully moves over to her mixing bowl. She dumps the water in and moves the mixer down, flipping the switch and watching as her kitchen aid whips the cake mix together. The loud noise drowns out the sound of her phone ringing and she carries on. A few minutes later she finishes putting the batter into a pan and throws it into the oven, hoping that a lemon cake would distract her from how much she missed Simon. She looks down at her small ragdoll kitten who plays with her feet and laughs, she picks him up and kisses his little face gently. Still deciding how she was gonna come clean about adopting a pet without permission. 

It had been two weeks since he’d gone. So far she’d been doing better than she expected, managing to keep herself quite busy all day. It was the nights that were the hardest. She struggled to sleep without him. She tried to pretend like her body pillow was the same, but nothing could beat the feeling of his arms wrapped around her. When she came across a post about the little guy needing a home, she volunteered without a second thought. 

He was quite good about calling, he would try to call every other day when in between missions. But as they got new intel he wouldn’t be able to reach out for several days at a time. This week she had not heard from him once. She knew he was going on their first mission.  She worried about him, she knew that he could handle himself, better than anyone in the world. 

She picks up her phone to set a timer when she realizes she’d missed his call. Her heart drops and she calls him back instantly. 

“Si?” she asks anxiously 

“Hi my love” 

“Oh thank god, I thought something may have happened. I’m so sorry I didn’t hear my phone I was baking and it was on silent” 

“Don’t worry about it, I don’t expect you to pick up every time I call”

“Of course I will” she says 

“How are you doing darling?”

“I’m doing good, I decided to bake a cake for whatever reason” she says staring at the mess of flower and egg shells on the counter.

Simon chuckles and leans back in his chair as he imagines her in the kitchen trying to bake. Tears fill his eyes and he attempts to keep his voice steady.

“Is my kitchen still standing?” he asks

“The kitchen smells wonderful thank you very much” she responds 

“What have you been up to this week? Catch me up” 

“I wanna talk about you, where have you been the past week? Are you any closer to coming home? How are you doing? How are the boys?” she says rapid firing her questions 

“We’re all good. But I don’t wanna talk about work, tell me about you distract me” 

She nods to herself, understanding that he didn’t want to talk about it, meaning that their mission didn’t go as planned. “What do you want me to talk about?”

“just talk to me baby, anything” 

“Well it’s been pretty gloomy today so I started reading a new book, it’s about grief. I’ve only read a few chapters but so far it’s been very reassuring and comforting to know that grief isn’t linear, you go through ups and downs just like anything else”

“That sounds wonderful love” 

“Yeah, so I’m gonna try and read for a few minutes everyday. Kylie and I have started a jazzercise class, you should see how awful I am. I can’t look at myself in the mirror because in my mind I’m absolutely killing it, but then I look at the mirror and it looks like i’m half dead” she laughs 

“I’d pay anything to see it” 

“Don’t worry, when you come home you’re gonna get a full performance” she promises, causing him to laugh. The lump in his throat is tightening as the tears fall down his cheeks. He runs his hands through his hair and covers the speaker as he sniffles. 

“I’m counting down the minutes” 

“Me too” she muses “so I think we should get a cat” 

“What?” he asks

“Let me rephrase that, I brought home a kitten last week”

“Did you now?” he chuckles 

“Before you freak out, he’s so cute and cuddly, he was abandoned and my friend found him but she couldn't take care of him, I just had to bring him home!” she defends herself 

“I’m not mad love, I’m glad you’ve got someone to keep you company. What's his name?”

“Junie”

“Why Junie?” 

“Because june is the month we met” she admits 

Simon puts the phone down and covers his face. His heart was crushing at her words. He receives a knock on the door, he wipes his eyes and picks the phone back up. “I love it”

“We’re about an hour out from departure, so I’m gonna have to let you go” he says slipping his mask over his face.

“Okay, please be safe”

“I love you more than anything in this world, take care of yourself okay?” 

“Of course Si, I love you too, call me as soon as you can”

“goodbye love” he says before hanging up the phone. 

She noticed his odd behavior that morning, but decided to let it go to prevent any unnecessary anxiety. She finishes watering the plants and turns off the hose. She walks to the steps and heads inside. She shuts the door, making sure to lock the door as well as placing the wood down to prevent it from being opened easily. She slips off her shoes and smiles at the sight of Junie sitting on the counter. She picks him up and holds him close. The sound of a knock at the door catches her attention. She wasn’t aware of any company. She walks over to the door and opens it to see John, Kyle, and Johnny. Her eyes travel to the British flag held in John’s hands and her smile falls.  

“John?” she asks as her brain struggles to process the situation. 

“y/n-”

“Don’t you dare” she warns holding her hand up to stop him “don’t” 

“He’s gone lass” Johnny says, his teary eyes meeting her own. She shakes her head and glares at him. 

“I just talked to him this morning” she refuses 

“Mission was local, went south and we barely got out. We came here as soon as we could” 

“What happened to him?” she asks, crossing her arms, clearly still in shock from the news.

“Can we come in?” John asks, she nods and leads them into the living room where they sit and she remains standing. 

“Tell me john” 

“Why don’t you sit down” he responds 

“I want to know what happened!” she demands 

“He was hit” Kyle says 

“Where?” she asks, Price shakes his head and stands up, moving over to her and placing the flag in her hands. She notices the tags placed neatly in the center of it and she reads his printed name. She looks up at him as tears fill her eyes. 

“He’s not gone, I just talked to him today! He was telling me not to burn the kitchen down -” she cuts herself off with a sob, and holds her hand to her mouth. “We’re getting married in four months”

“I’m so sorry for your loss, I-I wish I could’ve saved him” Price says gently

“Please don’t say that” she begs

“Is there anyone we can call for you?” he asks gently 

“Stop this john I can’t - I can’t” she says setting his things down on the table as she looks out of the window. Tears stream down her face as she attempts to control her breathing. 

“These are for you” Johnny says, handing her a bundle of letters, each of them addressed to her. There is a small box on the top of the pile. 

Her vision blurs at the sight of his handwriting. Her body becomes weak as two words loop in her mind. Her body falls to the floor as the voices of the three men fade away. He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone. The man she loved with every fiber of her being. Her Simon. Simon who nearly killed the person who disrespected her. Simon who held her when her sister died. Simon who saved her life. Simon, who built her a bookshelf, redid her entire deck and porch. Never again would he give her one of his bear hugs. She wouldn’t hear his beautiful laugh, or watch the way he separated his food to keep it from touching. No more early morning cuddles, kisses, silly arguments. How would she live without him? What she wouldn’t have given to hear his deep voice in that moment, telling her that it was going to be okay. He couldn't. He was gone. 

She was inconsolable, her heart wrenching sobs echoed through the house. Bringing tears to the eyes of the soldiers surrounding her. Johnny was at her side, holding her shaking body, trying his best to bring her even the smallest bit of comfort. He felt sick to his stomach watching her writhe in pain. 

John had called her parents and the trio waitied with her until they arrived. As soon as John opened the door, they recognized him from the day he brought the news about Emma. Her mother gasps and hurries into the house, seeing her daughter crumpled on the ground, agonizing sobs erupting from her lungs. She drops beside her and rubs her back. Her father shakes Johns hand and walks the soldiers to the door. John pulls him outside and informs him the the truth. 

“Sir, we need you to understand that the work we do is classified, in the eyes of the Government we do not exist unless we’re needed. With a job like this, comes sacrifices we have to make to protect the people we love”

“I’m not following? What sacrifices?” her father says, crossing his arms 

“If one of the people we’re investigating finds any bit of information about out lives or our loved ones then they’d be in danger”

“Are you telling me that my family isn’t safe?” 

“Officially I can’t tell you anything, but you need to know that we’re taking care of the situation, you’re family will be under 24/7 surveillance. You won’t even know they’re around” 

“Is it true then? Is Simon really gone? Man to man, is he gone?” her father asks, staring at Price. 

“For now” he responds “it’s imperative that y/n believes this”

“You’re asking me to lie to my daughter? Do you hear her in there? How can I-”

“Sacrifices, we all have to make them in order to keep our family safe. That’s all we’re doing here” Price shakes his hand and walks down the steps “take care of her, we’ll be checking in”

-

After hours of tossing and turning, crying until her lungs and throat burned she finally decides to get out of the warmth of her bed. A place she used to feel the most comfortable, now was empty. She rubs her hands over her face as her headache grows more intense, the lack of sleep already affecting her. Having woken up multiple times from nightmares, she willed herself to stay awake, to protect her fragile heart from the horror of her dreams. Everyday for the past week she’d been reminding herself that dreams are simply just a reflection of the mind, a way for her worries and fears to be shown. It wasn’t real. He wasn’t gone. This couldn’t be true. Simon wouldn't leave her. 

She moves into the bathroom and stares at herself in the mirror, she looks exhausted. The weight of Simon’s absence is evident on her face. Her face was puffy and her hair was tangled. A mixture of tears, saliva, and mucus coated her face. She wipes it off and sighs. Her lips trembling once more as her eyes fill with tears. She grips onto her hair as she tries to breath through her fourth panic attack in 24 hours. Memories of his hands running through her hair flash through her mind. A wave of nausea runs through her and she stares at it in disgust. He always loved her hair, he’d play with it absentmindedly. She was angry. How as she supposed to live with the hair he would kiss every morning, the hair he gripped when he kissed her passionately. She notices the scissors on the counter and grabs them, without hesitation she begins to cut strips of her hair off. She watches as her gorgeous strands fall, some in the sink, others landing on the ground. She sobs as she ruins her hair, unable to stop herself. After several minutes, she drops the scissors and stares at herself, the jagged strands unbalanced. She rushes to the toilet in a split second and empties her stomach violently. 

The sound causes her mother to rush into her room, she bursts through the door and spots her daughter laying against the toilet surrounded by her precious locks. “Oh honey”

-

please forgive me for this! omg I made myself cry. below is the link to when they reunite, I posted this a few months ago. If you wanna read that now, you are more than welcome I'll link it below, however there will be a few filler chapters in-between that I'll be posting!!!

You’re alive? (middle of MW3)

https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/724654294153003008/youre-alive?source=share

love you all <3

#simon riley #smut #cod mw2 #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x you #angst #cod x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley imagine #simon ghost smut #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley smut #cod #call of duty #cod mwii #simon riley x plus size reader #simon ghost Riley x plus size reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #ghost fanfiction #ghost x y/n #ghost x you

[lacedinweb22]

Vampire Next Door ♱✮♱ Miguel O'Hara x reader

Chapter 4: Just a dream prev part

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

Bits and pieces of your nightmare flash through your mind, as you try to piece together the plot of last night’s storm. 

Pouring rain, screams, violent knocking on your door, bloody hands, crimson eyes, Miguel. 

You turn over to face the corner where he stood. You squint, the sun blinding you. The window is open a few inches. You swear you closed it shut last night. 

You stand up to inspect it. Slowly sinking into the window nook, you open the window up a bit more, letting the cool morning air in. 

There are faint scratch marks on the bottom of the window above you. Was that there when you moved in? You trace your fingertips across it, then push it further open. 

You climb out onto the fire escape. You look out onto the alley then turn back; you try to recall if you heard the scream from the alley or from Miguel’s place. As you turn to climb back inside, you notice a blood stain on the metal under you. You crouch down to observe it. You’re not a forensic investigator, but it looks kinda fresh? You wonder if there was more blood that the rain washed away. 

You look up for a dripping puddle of blood, but the steel above you is only covered in rust.

You climb back inside. 

Was the scream real? Could Miguel really have— no. You sound insane. But there was blood … and the window was open. 

You need some air. You get out of your apartment, go grocery shopping, even stop at a bookstore on the way home, and try to take your mind off things. These past few weeks haven’t been easy. 

As you drop your groceries in front of your door, pulling your keys out of your purse, your eyes wander to his door. 

Maybe he was drunk and stumbled into your place, or maybe the place is haunted. Or maybe someone was really in danger last night. 

Either way, you’ve found a good excuse to bother him, plus it’s a Sunday. He might be home. 

You knock. 

The door opens a crack, then once his eyes find yours, he opens it wide. 

“Oh, it’s you,” he says, in a raspy, morning voice. His deep tone rattles you a bit; it feels like you shouldn’t be witnessing him like this … so sleepy and … real.

“Good morning to you too,” you breathe out. 

Your heart skips a beat. He looks tired, disheveled, a beautiful mess. There’s some pink in his cheeks, and his hair is perfectly tousled. 

Your delusions have been fed, and the butterflies in your stomach are awakened. You wonder if this is how it would feel, waking up to him beside you every morning. You’d never be unhappy. You’d never get headaches. You’d never have nightmares, and if you did, you’d have this dream to wake up to.

He runs a hand through his waves. He’s wearing a plain gray tee, snug against his chest, his toned lower stomach outlined through the cotton and he’s in plaid … boxers. You try to ignore how light-headed this scene makes you. 

“Yeah, I— sorry to bother you but I—”

“Never a bother,” 

You smile, suppress a stupid grin, and remind yourself of the nightmare.

“Ha, yeah, I uh wanted to ask if you heard anything weird last night? I heard a scream, I mean maybe I was dreaming, I don’t know,” 

You want to tell him you saw him too, but that would sound … creepy. 

“A scream? No, I had a pretty quiet, peaceful night,” he says, confidently. Too confident. 

“Huh. Yeah, that’s the thing, I thought it came from your apartment. Yeah, it sounded like it came from the other side of my wall, which is you know … your wall,” 

He crosses his arms, leaning against the door frame. You look up at him and gulp.

“I told you, I had a quiet night, but maybe try the neighbors upstairs. They’re party animals, sex animals too actually.” 

You tilt your head at him, then stare into space beside him, processing his alibi. 

You furrow your eyebrows in thought, and his eyebrows furrow back at you, as he leans to the side to catch your eyes. 

“I’m still here.” 

“Yeah, I can see that. I’m thinking. Can I— don’t be weirded out, okay?” 

“Why would I— go for it,” he sighs.

“Did you, I don’t know, like somehow make it to my bedroom last night—”

“What are you—”

“I just— I saw you! In the corner of my room, you were soaked from the rain, and I think you had bloody—”

“Wow, new girl, you’ve known me one day, and you’re already dreaming about me?” He raises his eyebrows and leans down towards you, smirking.

“I’m gonna take that as a ‘no.’”

“Yeah no shit it’s a ‘no.’”

“You had bloody hands, and you were standing there in the corner of my room … I just thought maybe you had too much to drink or … smoke. God, excuse me for asking, alright?”

“I mean you know how crazy you sound, right? Me? With bloody hands? In your room? It was just a dream, Y/N. I drink responsibly–”

“Maybe it was symbolic and we just have to interpret this, maybe it means something,” you suggest, as his judgemental face becomes softer.

“Or maybe your fantasies are just freaky,” he suggests, smirking.

“Yeah, I knew I shouldn’t have told you,” you say, turning back to your door.

“No, no. I’m sorry, Y/N, I’m sorry, okay? I was kidding,” he blurts, stepping out of his apartment. 

You turn back around. 

“But, Y/N, could you do me one favor?”

You raise your brows, “God, what?”

“Please do update me on every guest appearance I make in that filthy brain of yours,” he says, his chuckles breaking his straight face. His deep, annoying laugh awakens the butterflies in your stomach to a flutter.

It echoes in your mind

as you roll your eyes and slam your door.

So he’s an asshole

and

a comedian, a side of him you never imagined you’d get close enough to see. 

You shut the door and your delusions along with it. 

***

next chapter here

#miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara headcanons #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel atsv #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel ohara x y/n #atsv miguel #miguel ohara #miguel x reader #miguel ohara x you #spiderman2099 #atsv x reader #spiderman x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #vampire next door

[serawritesthings]

AS FAR AS DREAMS GO

Pairing | Arthur Morgan x fem! reader Summary | While Arthur found sanction in his dreams, you would fret about them every night. While he longed for the sweet caress of your hands, you were unknowing, fooled by his stoic facade as your dreams only brought you nightmares. Tags |  Angsty, Arthur Morgan pining for the reader, hinting at smut, intimacy, two idiots clearly in love, some sadness ensues Word Count | 10.3k A/N | Hello, lovelies! It's my second-ever fanfic; I hope you like it! Also, I got carried away, so it’s quite long (sorry)… It's loosely based on the mission with Uncle when you rob a wagon, but I have my spin on it. It’ll work more with the story this way. If you want, it can fit in with my recent fanfic about Arthur, but maybe set earlier in their “relationship.” ;D THANKS FOR READING!♡ Part two

Arthur felt you in his sleep last night. 

He remembered the caress of your fingers on his icy skin, leaving scorching traces of blazing fire in its wake as your hearts collided and molded into his deepest longing. Like a strange mirror, it portrayed you as you always were: tender and loving, fiery but forgiving. But it wasn’t you; instead, it was a thought of you. Like when walking down the street and catching a glance of a person that seemed familiar, but with another look, was someone else entirely. Only in his dream-filled sleep could he allow himself the sweet torture of your presence, for in those moments, he didn’t have to think of the consequences his thoughts would bring. His dreams of you overtook his mind, whether he was willing or not. For in his mind, you had carved a path so profound that it would be etched into his senses until his last breath, clouding his sanity, never again being able to differentiate dreams from reality.

Oh, how you held him in your embrace. It made him long for the sun to disappear under the horizon once more when the warm springs of light found him in the chilly dawn. He could still feel traces of your touch in the short period between sleep and consciousness. For a brief moment, it made him question whether it was a dream or if his deepest desire had come true. You were his.

But he would wake up and find that the warmth he held in his hands had dissipated, like hot ash falling between his fingers, making Arthur attempt to dig up what remained of you from the ground. He was left aching with no relief, cold and shuddering in the chilly morning, standing over the remains of your ghost. It was like his heart had been burned with it, only coming alive once more when you returned to him at midnight.

But for you, dreams had trouble finding you at night, if they even found you at all. You could never escape reality to find sanction in the warm blanket of imagination. When dreams did reach you, memories replaced fantasy and washed over like cold, freezing water. You would fret and worry, tossing around wishing you could melt into the sheets and float to where you could become someone else. There was a time when the dreams would bring you solace, whether it was a conjecture of old memories or what your younger self would conjure up. But that was a long time ago, and you find that the older you get, those dreams drift further away. So, you had nowhere to escape, nothing to ease the hardship that daytime brought. So, sleeping is just a blink of an eye nowadays to make the night pass faster.

After a sleepless night, you sat by a tree overlooking the vast landscape. It’s quiet between the trees this morning. It brought a sense of calm to the otherwise quite hectic place. Although chilly, the wind carried a frisk waft, clearing your head. You enjoyed these mornings and often found yourself awake before the others. It’s a habit you picked up through the years, though a younger you would complain about having to rise that early in the morning. It felt like the world was entirely your own. It is even calmer in times like this, where the residents consist mainly of women when the men are out. It brought a sense of comfort to you, for they were the ones that had been kind and welcoming to you. Unfortunately, your time alone didn’t last long, for you have learned that people rose relatively early here. But the time you did get for yourself gave you a chance to ponder the time that had passed up until now.

Sean, a peculiar man, had recently been brought back from being held captive by bounty hunters soon to be transported up the Upper Montana River to a federal prison. You had immensely worried for him, finding his presence over the last few months to lighten your sometimes rather gloomy mood with his ridiculous shenanigans. Some had been unsure if going back for him posed as a good idea, but the thought of leaving him behind saddened you and many others. Somehow, you had managed to convince Arthur to lend a hand, with considerable help from Javier You knew Arthur cared for Sean, even though he’d probably rather die before admitting it.

When you first got wrapped up with these people, you admit that Arthur scared the living daylight out of you. There was a certain air around him that exuded strength and authority, never stopping short of resorting to violence. You were no stranger to what kind of man he was, what they were; neither were you of their business, but you were apprehensive of them more often than not. The womenfolk had told you countless times that Arthur could be immensely ruthless when needed and had done things that would leave your blood running cold. And you didn’t doubt them. Behind those calculating eyes and quiet demeanor lay a long life of violence and hardship. You were sure of it.

That’s why you felt stuck when it came to him. Despite all this, he was a kind man. However, he didn’t speak much when it concerned you. More so, he worked hard, and you rarely spotted him in camp. Freezing your guts out in those mountains was the longest time you had seen his face consistently. You couldn’t do more than respect him, and although apprehensive around him, you had found yourself doing it less because of his dangerous aura and more because he made chills run down your back and a warmth spread in your stomach like wildfire when he set his eyes on you. It wasn’t a fire that spread fast, destroying everything in its path and bringing misery. Instead, a fire dispersed like slow poison, mingling with your blood as it flowed through your body, claiming you bit by bit until you surrendered to its ever-so-prolonged heat.

“I heard you begged for the boys to come get me!” Time had flown by quickly, and soon, you heard the clanking of pots and the sound of steel against the wood. Sean had suddenly spoke up as he neared you, his Irish accent lacing his words heavily. Although you had missed him and didn’t want to leave him to an insufferable fate, you hadn’t forgotten his teasing. He knew very well he was exaggerating, but he wouldn’t let go of the chance to bury you in his flamboyant personality.

“That’s quite the exaggeration, Sean.” A small smile spread on your lips. “Don’t make me regret standing in favor of your return.” A snort left the red-headed man at your words. Pursing your lips, you put your gaze on him as he stood beside your seated form with his arms crossed, gazing out onto the open landscape of Horseshoe Overlook.

“Ah, how I missed ya big words and harmless threats.” You could hear a few snickers at his statement from the people gathering around the campfire. A blush covered your cheeks. You had a reputation for sounding smart sometimes, and people did not stop at anything to tease you, especially the man in front of you.

 “Did ya miss me?” A cheeky grin grew on his punchable face as he raised his eyebrows, expectantly leaning closer to you.

A scoff left your lips, but you didn’t have time to answer him as the sound of hooves drew near. A certain dread always filled you at the sound. Even though you knew it most likely was someone returning to camp, you could never be too sure what state they would be in. You often worked alongside Ms. Grimshaw to help when someone got hurt, having extensive knowledge of tending to wounds and other bodily harm. It worried you, for the possibility of not being able to help someone would someday appear. Like that poor man, Davey. Luckily, you had managed to take care of Marston well enough. But he did look awful these days with that scar adorning his face; there was no denying that.

You and Sean looked up as the horses raced through the path among the trees that led to your whereabouts. You could see Dutch among them, with Arthur and Hosea. Scowls were apparent on their faces as their loud voices broke the solitude in the air, seeming to argue viciously about something.

“What’s that about?” You questioned the man beside you. “God knows, but I’d stay outta it if I were you.” He gave you a knowing look and slouched away to bother someone else. Your curiosity was piqued, but you let it be for now, raising to help Mary-Beth wash some foul shirts she was struggling with—damned Reverend.

The day continued, mindless chatter filling the space between you and the girls as you worked under Ms. Grimshaw’s sharp, watchful eyes. She had been in a terrible mood today, so her reign was relentless.  

“Do you think she would be mad if we threw the clothes from the cliff edge?” A grumpy Tilly spoke up, her hands relentless as she scrubbed the fabric that never seemed to get cleaner. Sadly, it only became filthier the more she worked on it. Karen laughed as she raised her eyebrows, a mocking expression on her face. “Oh no, that won’t do for great Ms. Grimshaw. She would probably throw you right along with it.” Their laughter cut through the air, contagious as you smiled at their exchange, glancing up to see if Ms. Grimshaw had her eyes on you. But instead, your eyes found a pair of blue ones staring at you when you looked up—the brief moment left you unsure where to put your gaze after the contact broke. 

You cleared your throat as you spoke quietly. “Grimshaw means well.” They groaned at you, rolling their eyes. “Sure, Miss Righteous.” They laughed again as you joined them. Before you could hinder yourself, your eyes gazed up at Arthur again, finding him staring at you again; a particular fervency lay deep within them. However, he directed his eyes away from you hastily, like you caught him doing something he shouldn’t have. Seemingly tense, the man grabs a match from his pocket, lighting its phosphorus tip from his booth’s worn leather soles. When he took a drag, he peeked at you again, his head bowed, hiding under his worn hat. 

Dutch and Hosea were in a heated discussion, with Arthur listening in languidly. It probably related to what had transpired before they returned to camp. Although more collected now, there was still a tension in the air. By your observations, they were the “three main men” around here. They had been holding together most of their lives, naturally giving them authority over the gang. When they talked, you listened. Simple as that.

You touched your face discreetly, wondering if you had gotten soot from tending the fire on your cheeks again. What else could be the reason for Arthur’s stare? How embarrassing that would be. He made you somewhat uncertain already; you couldn’t possibly handle his mocking adding to that.

“I wonder what they’re talking about?” The question you asked left the girls perking their heads up and gazing at you before following your gaze, looking at the men arguing. “Yeah, it seems pretty serious,” Mary-Beth said, curious about their exchange. They had been going at it for quite a while now as evening drew closer. You observed them with intrigue. That’s when Hosea’s eyes planted on you, beckoning you over with his finger. He looked cunning as he settled leisurely in his chair, content. You gazed questingly at the girls as they shrugged their shoulders, looking as confused as you.

Dusting off your skirt, you rose from the small barrel you used as a makeshift chair and approached the men. You gave them an unsure smile, still confused, wondering what they could want to bring you into their apparent disagreement. 

“Well, we have a perfect actress with us, gentlemen. I’m sure she could charm our seemingly formidable friends.” Hosea patted your arms as your feet shifted under you when he spoke up. What could they possibly be talking about? Dutch was gazing at you indescribably as Arthur stared at the table. His arms crossed, not meeting your gaze.

“Well, her damsel in distress act has saved us before.” A low chuckle left Dutch as he drummed his fingers on the wooden table.

“May I ask what you’re talking about?” As the question left you, you could see Arthur raise his head to watch you. His expression was blank, but his eyes seemed sullen, the smoke from his cigarette filling the air as he took a drag. 

“Uncle’s received a tip of a supply wagon passing through carrying a payroll, lookin’ to be unguarded. They want you to help us.” His voice was quiet as he observed you, his accent thick. You had helped them on some jobs before, although only smaller ones since you weren’t as acquainted with the work as the others. You mainly had accompanied Hosea on his schemes, finding that both of you had quite the same proficiency in depicting a role. Although you had taken up some theatrics when you were a small child, you had never imagined you would use them to deceive people. You found Hosea to be a spiritful figure despite his age. When thinking about it, he reminded you immensely of your father. He was too stubborn to let himself grow old, and his spark for living and refusal to take on the habits of an older man made him seem immortal to you. But he wasn’t, which became evident to you the older you had gotten.

“Of course, if I can be of help.” You offered them a small smile, surprised they decided on you, not someone else. It didn’t seem scary for you; you would, of course, be accompanied. And they knew what they were doing, which had become apparent to you since they always managed to get out of trouble. Compared to some of the things they did, stealing from a wagon seemed mild. And with Arthur accompanying, you knew you would feel completely safe.

“S’not a good idea.” The words that left Arthur made you furrow your brows. What could be the reason for his doubt? Some parts of you understood that you might not be as proficient as the other women, but as you mentioned, playing the damsel in distress was right up your alley. And you already felt as if you were a burden around here.

He avoided your offended look as he continued, pointing his finger at Hosea. “I ain’t lettin’ h-anyone get hurt just cause Uncle got told a tip from some sad, half-witted lowlife! Now, I ain’t against looking up the lead, but we handle it without the theatrics an’ all, Hosea.” 

You were about to speak up, but Dutch did before you could. “It would give you the advantage to have someone stop the wagon; that way, you have the man unguarded and on the ground.” He gave you a look-over. You leaned slightly away from his calculating gaze, his squinting eyes examining you.

 “Yeah, that’ll do; let Uncle prove his worth this time. Bring Bill and Charles with ya.” With that said, he stood up from his chair and nodded at you with a beaming grin, and sauntered off. Wonder what Molly saw in him. Often, you found him to lean towards arrogancy, the way he let everyone else do his dirty work. But they all seemed to listen to him, which meant what he did gave some positive outcome. 

“Trust me, Arthur, she’ll do good. And she might make up for your dumbness.” As Hosea’s chuckling figure slowly disappeared, you gazed curiously at Arthur, who was scoffing, staring after the man. 

“I know how to handle myself, Arthur. And I know you know that too.”

“Sure.” He dragged out the word, voice mirroring his now grumpy mood.

“So?” You raised your eyebrows. He gave you a questioning look. “What’s the matter?” You asked. 

He let out a long breath. “It ain’t safe. A random tip could be risky. It probably means someone else heard ’bout it, too, if the man was willing to give up the information. Likewise, it could be a setup. We don’t know, do we?” You leaned on the table before him, placing your hand to stead his bouncing knee. You knew what he meant. But every mission was risky, especially these days when you had law coming at you from what appeared to be every direction. Despite this, you had to do it to survive, and you wanted to show them you were capable.

“Well, I guess we’ll have to find out.” Your voice was mild, an undertone of understanding lacing your words. Even if it were Uncle’s idea, it would fall on Arthur either way if things went wrong, as it always did. And you knew he cared, even though he never showed it. Or think he didn’t show it.

He was about to speak, but a loud voice broke through your conversation. “Gotten over me that fast, has she? Already moving on to the gang’s grouch? I’m hurt. Here I walked around thinkin’ you missed me!” You gave Arthur a last look, squeezing his knee to gaze at Sean as he dramatically held his hands to his heart. Laughing at his antics, you stood up. “I’m not sure anyone missed you when you were gone, right Arthur?” You strolled off with the Irish man following you, not noticing the wistful, prolonged stare the blue-eyed man had set on you since you touched his knee with your delicate hand, the feeling of your skin leaving a fire trail he couldn’t douse.

-

“That’s it, Ada.” The grey coat of the Andulasian was silky under your palm as you graced her sun-warmed coat, giving her a carrot you stole from Pearson’s wagon as you distracted him with your mindless chatter the following evening. Her ears perked up at your soft voice, munching. She nickered contentedly as her mane blew under the frisk breeze that wafted around you.

“You know, you should’ve settled for a faster horse instead of an Andalusian. She’ll slow you down.” A gruff voice broke out in the otherwise calm spot as the sound of spurs clanking was accompanied by heavy footsteps. You looked up at the man, noting how he leaned lazily against the empty hitching post and put his hands on his belt. It surprised you, it did. He didn’t usually instigate a conversation with you.

“She’s fast enough, my Ada. And she’s family now, so.” You voiced your thoughts softly, hearing his statement from many others when Arthur, Dutch, and Micha returned to the desolated mining town with two horses and a crying Sadie up in Colter. The horse piqued your interest when you set your eyes on her, and Arthur kindly let you keep her for the time being, planning on selling her when they got the chance. Your disagreement was apparent, and not putting up much of a fight; he let you keep her. Hosea, too, opposed it when he saw the mare, but your stubbornness made him laugh. I’ll let you figure it out on your own then, he had told you.

“Well, at least we’ll know you’re safe if you get attacked by a snake.” A low chuckle left Arthur, still finding you’re choice of a companion foolish. 

“Oh, are you making jokes now?” You looked at him as he straightened and strode towards you. “Cause if you are, it’s not very funny.” You backed away slightly, not used to him being so close. He put his gloved hand on Ada’s soft coat and patted her softly. A waft of smoke reached your nose as he stood next to you, coupled with the smell of a man who did hard labor. But amidst that, there was something else, something warmer and manlier. “Well, she’s real pretty, that’s for sure.” His gaze went down to you before he directed his gaze, fastening the tie strap you didn’t secure well enough.

You rarely saw Arthur with his hat off, his hair usually peaking out from under the well-worn leather. But he didn’t wear it this morning, and you wondered why. It blew softly in the wind, a slight beard adorning his face. It fit him well, adding to his roguish appearance. He was pretty handsome.

You didn’t realize you were observing him as he focused on your not-so-good job putting on the saddle. He didn’t seem as on edge as usual, the constant frown gone and replaced with a serene expression. Arthur didn’t look as frightening this way when he was relaxed, although his advantage in height and bulky form made up for it. 

“Be careful today, yeah?” He gave you a curt nod when you replied that you would, walking over to his horse. You saw Charles walking in your direction, greeting you with a smile when he got close. 

“We should head off as soon as possible; I’m worried we might miss the wagon.” His voice was calm, as it tended to be often. Sometimes, it felt like Charles was a shadow as he kept quiet, primarily to himself. He rarely got into trouble and handled things with a clear mind. You could but only like him, finding his solitude comforting and much like your own. 

When Bill and Uncle appeared, you hoisted yourself into the saddle, giving Ada a soft pat before setting her in motion. Uncle had told you it was just up the road from camp, near the crossroads where an old, ruined church remained. “You ride first and hitch up the horse in the trees behind the church. We will stop near the crossroads to look for the wagon passing through as you get them to stop and get down on the ground.” Arthur said calmly, pointedly looking at you. 

As you rode off, Arthur stared after you as you disappeared between the trees. The worry had settled in his stomach when Hosea brought up the idea for you to tag along. He wasn’t opposed to you doing your share in the gang, but bringing you on such a spontaneous mission made him uneasy.

“She’ll be fine, Arthur, and we’ll have our eyes on her the whole time.” Charles’s hushed voice dragged him out of his thoughts as he secured his gun on the saddle. Even though Charles seemed calm, a slight worry still tainted his words. 

“Yeah, I know. It’s just…” 

“I understand.” They sat in their saddles, heading out after Uncle’s lead. 

“You know, after this, you will realize how much I do for this gang. Looking up this lead has not been an easy feat, gentlemen.” He looked proud in his seat, bringing his hands up like he already had secured the money. “Sure, Uncle, drinking and talking to some bum who just might be lying to you is exactly what this gang needs right now.” Uncle just scoffed at Arthur. 

“You know, you should be nicer to me, Arthur, and you will be after you realize this will bring us a well-deserved fortune.”

“Yeah? And what are you going to spend it on? More booze?”

-

The church where you said goodbye to Ada was no short of run-down. Missing planks, bottles with an unnamed liquid inside, and cigarettes everywhere made you wonder what kind of people sought shelter here. You didn’t have trouble finding it because it wasn’t too far from camp like you were told. Trying not to think about leaving Ada in such an environment, you wandered towards the road you were told they would pass through. 

‘

You hid behind a tree, shielding you from anyone coming down the path. You hoped Uncle was correct; otherwise, things could go south fast. No stranger would let a hurt woman linger on the road; likewise, they wouldn’t let her stumble to the seat with a hurt leg, meaning you would get the driver on the ground. Simple but effective. You only hoped Uncle had been correct, that this would be easy. 

Taking Karen’s advice to loosen a few buttons on your shirt, you revealed some of your cleavage. Make him more willing, quoting her words. The skin now exposed glows in the sunlight from the light layer of sweat coating your skin from the heat. You smile to yourself. This’ll do just fine. You run your hands on the ground to dirty up your skirt like you had been crawling in the dirt. You didn’t want to think about how hard it would be to get it out of the fabric since you likely had to clean it.

Peaking up from the tree, you could spot Arthur, Uncle, Bill, and Charles from a distance, gazing upon your spot as masks adorned their faces. Who were they trying to fool? They looked ominous where they sat on their horses. God, if the driver got the slightest look at them, he would run the other way, and the operation would be over. You felt your hands grow clammy at the suspense as your shoulders tensed, sitting on the ground as you leaned against the tree. 

You took your face in your hands, massaging your temple. “Okay, wagon approaches; I frantically run out from the woods, screaming at the driver to help. He stops and steps down on the ground to ask me what’s going on, hopefully worried. I tell him I’m getting chased by a maniac, and the others will handle the rest.” You breathed out as your heart beat wildly, voicing your plan aloud. “Easy peasy, right?”

That’s when you heard it, the crunch of the wheels rolling in the ground in the distance growing louder. Taking a deep breath, you ruffled your hair slightly and leaped out from the tree, running towards the road like satan himself was after you.

“Mister, please!” Your voice shrieked out, startling the man. With an exasperated expression, you stumbled down after tripping on your skirt, getting dirtier from the mud covering the path. Holding your hand on your leg, you gazed up at the men above you who looked at you alarmed. His face was adorned with small eyes and wrinkles that depicted his old age as he had to squint to see you. It made you question why such an old man drove a fortune alone but pushed the thoughts away. “You have to help me!”

“Miss, what’s happened to ya?” Immediately, he slowed the horses, stepping down from the wagon to inspect the predicament before him. He looked friendly, just like his tone was kind, and worry filled his eyes as he jogged towards you. Kind, but foolish.

“Some men trailed me, oh some god-awful men trailed me, and when I cut through the woods with my horse, she freaked out and bucked me off!” Panic settled in your voice as you looked pleadingly at the man holding your shoulder. “Please, mister, my leg hurts awfully bad; I think it’s broken.” Tears filled your voice, choking up the words leaving your mouth. His hands found your shoulders as he kneeled. “Come here, Miss. We’ll get you home, yeah?” You nodded at him with pleading eyes.

The air around you was calm, and the wind blew softly, contrasting your shrill voice in the early morning as he helped you stand up. With your weight on his shoulders, he didn’t even have the time to turn around before the cold metal of a pistol met the back of his head.

The pistol cocked. Frozen beside you, the hands supporting you grew still as the blood on his face drained, eyes staring into yours like he could see Arthur behind him in the reflection of your eyes.

“Let’s not do that. Why don’t you step away from the woman and throw your gun on the ground?” Arthur’s cold but calm demeanor frightened even you, looking different from the man you were used to. “Real slow now.” His eyes found yours, staring from under his hat as he spoke. A chill went down your spine, now understanding why he had a reputation for coming off as frightening. Behind him, Charles was rummaging through the wagon as Uncle and Bill stood behind him on their horses, acting as lookouts as their rifles were pointed at the man beside you. 

“Listen, I work for Kerosene and Tar, Leviticus Cornwall, alright?” His voice was shaking, but he still tried to scare the men. Bold. You could hear Bill curse in the distance, the name familiar to them. Judging from their reaction, it wasn’t good news, and the anxiety rose in you like wildfire again as you tried to get away from the man holding you, his presence now suffocating.

“Hey, step away from her old man.” Arthurs’s voice grew firmer as the words rumbled in his chest, pushing the gun tighter against his temple when the man grabbed your shoulders harder. When you turned your head towards the elderly man, he looked as frightened as you, shocked by how the situation had transpired.

“Hey, Arthur, I got the money!” Charle’s satisfied voice made you both look up, but as you did, the sight of horses charging towards you in the distance made your eyes widen. Your breath stuck in your throat at the picture, your pulse rising as you struggled to control your quivering palms.

“Aw, shit. Uncle!” Arthurs voiced his annoyance at the downturn of the situation as he hit the elderly man with his gun, his body falling limp beside you as he held his head in his hands. Shocked, you looked at his squirming body as he writhed on the ground. Before you could shake away the shock that nailed your feet shut, you felt a pair of arms shake your petrified form.

“Get your head straight girl!” Amidst the loud sound of hooves filling your ears from every direction, Arthur shouted at you as he grabbed the horn on the saddle and hopped onto his horse. Sitting tall, he placed his arms under yours so he could lift you. Now seated before him, the sudden motion made your head spin as the world around you stayed a constant blur.

“Bill! We’ll split up, make it harder for them to track us. You go with Charles and Uncle to the left, and we’ll go straight! Stay out of camp for awhile!” His shouting brought you back to reality, the sound of bullets heading towards you growing louder the clearer your head got. Bill shouted in agreement as he cursed loudly and took off hastily, rifle in his hands as the three escaped the scene. Making a clicking noise, Arthur urged the horse to move, the force pushing your body forward from the sudden speed. The severity of the situation dawned on you when you glanced back at the riders following you. Your heart beat heavily against your chest; the number of men chasing after you could only be likened to a whole army. 

“There’s so many!” The wind wisped your hair around you as you flew through the country. You glanced back at Arthur. “Yeah, I know! But I think the others got the worst of it!” His statement did nothing to calm your racing nerves as bullets rushed past you. Boadicea’s muscles moved fervently under you as Arthur spurred her on. Fast didn’t seem like fast enough. The pace painted the world blurry as you 

rode on for a long time, the skies beginning to turn dark.

After a long while following the road, Arthur steered off it and up a hill into a tightly grown forest. “I think we’re losing them!” Your voice flew in the air as the wind in your ears whistled when you looked back. Almost stumbling on a rock, you both flew forward as Arthur’s heavy weight fell on you momentarily. A choked sound left your throat as the air left you, and you heard him curse out a sorry behind you. Recovering quickly, Boadicea picked up the pace once again as you gazed behind you, trying to see if they had gained on you.

Why in the world were there so many? Maybe Arthur was right, and it was a setup. After a while, the sound of hooves slowly grew distant, the only noise being your heavy breaths intermingling as you felt the adrenalin still run through your veins. 

“Shit, Arthur. What the hell was that?”

“That is why you don’t trust Uncle’s shit plans!” His voice was sharp like glass as he realized he was right like he usually was. “Foolish-minded fools, the lot of ’em!” He voiced his thoughts angrily. He was tense behind you, every move filled with a raging fury as he swiftly urged the horse forward.

“What do we do now?” You voiced your concerns worryingly. You had no idea where you were; the place was unfamiliar. It had grown chilly as the sun disappeared from the blue sky, the cold wind now apparent as the danger dissipated, and your body grew aware. 

“We find somewhere to hide until the next morning; they’ll probably be out looking for us, seeing as they think we have their money.” You hoped the others were well, even though you weren’t entirely too happy with how things had transpired. If Arthur wasn’t lying, they got the worst of it. You wanted to voice your concerns but decided to keep it to yourself for the time being; not entirely too sure that’s what he wanted to hear right now.

“I know a place where we can hide. It’ll be cold, but we’ll be safe. For now.” Unbeknownst to you, he glanced down at your shivering form. 

After a while, you could feel your breath calm down enough for you to relax slightly. Although you were still sitting up tensely, aware of the position you were in. Arthur was a big man, towering behind you, almost embracing you as his arms held the reigns at your sides. The warmth radiating from him was immense, and the softness of his scout jacket softened the impact of your back to his chest as the horse galloped. It did make you somewhat uncomfortable being that close to the man, but as time passed and the colder the air got, you found yourself sheepishly leaning backward to stop the chills running through your body. You hoped he wouldn’t mention it or, worse, push you away from him. 

The top of your head only reached his jaw when you glanced up at him, leaning your head back slightly. He was focused on the road ahead; eyes squinted angrily as he still grumbled bitterly under his breath. The corners of your mouth raised slightly before you curled your lips under your teeth, turning to look forward. He really was a grump sometimes.

Leaning forward, you ran your fingers through Boadicea’s mane as you patted her neck to try to calm your nerves. “You know, I’ve never been good at riding horses, so thank god you’re with me. No coordination whatsoever.” You laughed, trying to distract yourself from being chased through the now-dark country. Even though you couldn’t see them anymore, they were probably still on your lead. “We should be lucky we didn’t end up in a ditch somewhere. When we stumbled over that rock, I thought we were don-”

“That’s the place over there.” His gruff voice interrupted your nervous blabbering.

Your head perked up at his mention. It wasn’t much to cheer for, run-down seeming like a compliment compared to this place. Although still standing, it looked like it would fall apart if someone as much as touched it. But it had a door, and the windows were barred, protecting it from the winds rummaging through the landscape. I guess that counts for something.

“You sure they won’t find us here?” A gust of smoke from the cold surrounded you when you spoke. Logically, if they had followed your direction, they would probably have gone rummaging through every abandoned house they encountered on the way. The only answer you got was a grunt, and you almost rolled your eyes at him. What splendid company you would have for the rest of the night. Although, he had been right about the whole ordeal, so it wasn’t hard for you to see where he came from. If your previous thought had been correct, all of this would fall on Arthur. With him being in higher authority in the gang, he also held more responsibility and had to make sure the plans went along smoothly.

As you approached the cabin hastily, he stopped the horse in a quick motion, the dirt flying in the air as it surrounded you both. Hopping down from the saddle, he patted Boadicea gently on the neck. “Come ‘ere.” His hands went around your waist as he hoisted you down from the tall animal, fingers squeezing subtly around your waist as he steadied you on the ground, avoiding your gaze. 

“Why don’t you hitch her up by the door? I’ll have a quick look in the cabin.” As he pointed to Boadicea, you gave him a curt nod as you did what he asked. “Will she be alright out here all night?” You blurted out as you fastened the rope against one of the planks in the fence surrounding the cabin’s front porch. A distant reassurance from Arthur could be heard as he ensured you would be alone and undisturbed. Giving the animal one last pat, you stepped up the wooden stairs, wrapping your arms around you. Since the sun had disappeared from the sky, it was dark inside, and your eyes found it troubling to adapt since the moon didn’t light up the room. 

The house was eerie. Furniture still adorned the chipped, wooden planks with thick dust covering the various surfaces. The air was cold, with the smell of wood mingling with the ever-so-slightly scent of moldy food left on the plates. It looked like the people that had been living here had just walked away during their dinner.

“I wonder who lived here.” you thought out loud. Your voice was barely a whisper like the people were still sleeping upstairs. Although muted by the carpet, the floorboards creaked when you stepped inside, the fabric now muddy from your shoes. Arthur was shaking the planks nailed to the windows from the inside, making sure they would stay in their place

“Come on. I’ll keep a lookout for a while, see if I can hear them passing by. Get some rest.” He pointed you toward a botched chair in the corner. It didn’t look like the most comfortable chair, but it would have to do for the night. Not that you had a choice anyway.

“Are you sure? I can accompany you if you want.” Your words grew warm at his selfness, looking at him with a prolonged gaze as he reached to take off his jacket. He held it towards you and, as he secured his hat, bowed his head as he headed out the door.

“Nah, get some rest, alright?” You were left in the darkness as the door closed, trembling from the shivers racking through you with the heavy jacket hanging from your grasp.

-

What the hell was he thinking? He daydreamed about you like he had every right to imagine you that way when you rode with him. Hell, you would probably spit in his face if you knew that most of his thoughts involved you. What a sad man you are, Arthur Morgan, thinking you could ever get your hands on her. Pure and warm, that’s what you were. You were too good. Your care extended further than his ever had, treating him like he deserved your kindness. Deserved you. He kept his distance from you, only speaking to you when necessary to try to make you understand that he wasn’t a good man—but being as close to you as he had during the ride shut off his brain entirely.

The guilt ran through him as he sat on the porch, leaning against the door. Being in the same space as you proved to be too much for him now, the smell of your hair still clouding his mind. Shit, it was impossible to keep you out of his mind. Raising from the coldness of the ground, he swept his hands over his face, leaning his arms to rest against the fence as he observed into the distance. The place was surrounded by trees, somewhat deep in the woods, quite far from the path. He hoped it was far enough, not wanting to put you in more danger than he already had. 

Irritation was still running through him at the outcome of the situation. He knew this would happen. At least they got away with the money. But if Cornwall’s men managed to get ahold of Bill, Uncle, and Charles, it wouldn’t matter. He didn’t feel up for a rescue mission right now; they had far more complicated things to think about.

-

As you sat in the chair for a while, wrapped in the oversized jacket Arthur lent you, your eyes became familiar with your surroundings. Finally, you could breathe out, although the stress from the predicament you just got yourself into raced through your body, making it hard for you to rest. It was dark and cold, and you missed the comforts of falling asleep in your bedroll at the lookout, surrounded by the women’s quiet whispering. Although, you felt safe enough knowing Arthur was outside in case anyone would stumble upon you two. 

There was a large table in the middle of the room where Arthur had placed his satchel and some benches adorning the walls by the stove. A fireplace was by one of the walls with various portraits perched on it, along with some candles and other trinkets. Yawning, you stepped up from the seat, wrapping the jacket tighter around you as you stepped towards the wall, examining the portraits. You wondered who they were as you ran your nimble fingers over the dusty surface, a stoic face now starting to show. You laughed slightly under your breath; the man looked downright horrified as the woman beside him smiled warmly. Was that his wife? You turned the frame, squinting so you could read the writing. 

“Ms.Hevett with son, Mr.Hevett.” Hmm, they both appeared to be very old. Mamas-boy maybe? You giggled again, putting your hand over your mouth to dull the sound. Returning the portrait, you glanced around. Oh, maybe Arthur had a match to light the candle! Well, of course, he had a match; he smoked every chance he got.

You tiptoed towards the door as it creaked when you pushed it open quietly. You called out for Arthur gently, seeing him leaning on the fence. His head turned to yours, alarmed, looking behind you as his hand rested on the gun in his holster. “You alright?” The words flew out from his mouth as he tensed, walking towards you. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just wondered if you have a match.” He looked at you for a moment, then furrowed his brows as he grabbed the edge of the door. “A match? Why? You don’t smoke.” 

You glanced sheepishly at him now, realizing you might be bothering him. “Well, there’s a candle in there, and I just, I, would be more comfortable if it wasn’t so dark. That’s all.” He scoffed slightly at your words. “You supposed to be sleepin’; what does it matter if it’s dark?” He asked you in disbelief. You only pursed your lips, staring at him as the moonlight reflected on his face. A sigh left him as he beckoned you inside, giving one last glance around the outside of the cabin. 

“This candle right here. If only we had some firewood, we could also warm the place. See, there’s a fireplace! I imagine the house was cozy when it wasn’t run-down.” You babbled as he followed behind you, reaching for a match in his bag. As he did at camp yesterday, he lights the match at the sole of his boot. Immediately, it casts the room in a warm blanket. It didn’t feel so eerily anymore, and the flame flickered around you softly.

He raised his brows as he spoke. “First, you want me to light this damned candle, and now you want me to go chop us up some wood?” He sounded more amused than his earlier cranky mood, but still, you looked at him unamused. “It was just an observation, alright?”

He chuckled lightly as he looked at you, observing you for a few seconds before speaking up. “You okay to sleep now?” His rough voice spoke the words as he motioned to leave again.

“Um, sure. Arthur, did you know a mother and her son had been living here? It said so on the portrait. I wonder what happened to them?” The words left you hurriedly, looking to say something to make him stay with you for a while longer. It was hard to explain, but you felt safer with him. In here. With you. 

You pointed towards the portrait. He glanced at you shortly before stepping back into the room. “Yeah, I know. I’ve been here a few times.” His answer was short.

“Oh.”

The air was stuffy, and the tension grew thick as you looked at each other. Neither of you knew what to say since Arthur always seemed to get tongue-tied around you, and you were unsure of how to converse with him. You draped the jacket even closer, staring at the floorboards.

“Ya still cold?” He startled you slightly, your head perking up at his words. “Umm, yeah, a little, but the jacket’s helping… so.” He nodded at you, grabbing the belt with his hands, tightening his lips together, his eyes never leaving yours. He looked like he was expecting you to say something, waiting for the words to leave your mouth.

“Oh, sorry, you’re probably cold as well. Here you can have it back.” You stepped towards him, the jacket slipping off your shoulder. 

“No, no. You take it, I’m used to it, alright?” His words were kind and selfless, and you felt terrible for not bringing your own jacket. Of course, he was cold; it was freezing in here. Knowing he cared enough for you to put your comfort before his own made your heart beat slightly faster. 

Once again, he went to exit the door and leave you in the empty house, but the moment he opened it, the words left you before you could stop them.

“Will you stay in here?” It was silent as the raindrops started to fall outside, pattering on the roof as the tension grew suffocatingly thick. Glancing at you with his head bowed, he cleared his throat. 

“It’s just I’ll feel safer with you in here. That’s all.” Feeling the need to explain your sudden outburst, you felt a blush rise at the humiliating situation. He probably thought you were childish, finding your words annoying and demanding.

Giving you a curt nod, he closed the door behind him, pushed one of the side tables against the door, and locked it.

“It won’t rain in, so don’t worry. Now,” He leaned back on the chair by the table in the middle of the room, putting one leg over his other to lean the ankle against it, taking his gun out of the holster and cleaning the dirty metal. “Get some sleep. We’ll set out in the morning.”

You listened to him this time and sat on the chair, bringing your legs up towards your chest as you closed your eyes. You knew it would. be hard for sleep to find you, but you still gave it a chance. 

-

You were wrong; you were able to sleep. But it didn’t last you very long, for the cold had seeped through both skin and bones, leaving you with tremors running through your already shaking body. You could still hear the thunder in the distance and the heavy rain splattering against the wooden roof. You opened your eyes, finding another pair staring right at you. You felt your stomach turn, the display of emotions running deep in his eyes as he observed you. His legs were spread wide where he sat, keeping sight of both you and the door in case someone barged through. The flickering of the faint light hit his eyes, painting his otherwise blue eyes a darker tone. It felt like a dream.

“Alright, that’s enough.” A heavy sigh left the man as he stood up. The floorboards creaked under his weight as he walked over to you. Grabbing under your arms, he lifted you as he sat on the chair. Gently, he placed you on his lap, with your head resting on his neck and legs draped over his thighs. 

“Jesus, woman, you’re freezing.” As he talked lowly, you could feel his voice rumble in his chest, the feeling soothing against you.

Oh, darn it, he was warm. How could he be so warm? No thoughts except warming your freezing frame made you wrap your arms around his waist, the thick jacket covering both of you. You felt his hands run over your arms, trying to warm you up as you moved against him, relishing in the heat from his body as you nuzzled your cheeks in the crook of his neck.

And finally, you fell asleep. 

-

“Arthur.” Jolting awake, Arthur’s eyes widened in the candle-lit room. His whole body tensed up as he gazed down at you, alarmed. 

Seemingly unhurt, a worried expression was on your beautiful face.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asked you. Shushing him, you placed your hand on his bicep carefully. 

“You were mumbling in your sleep. Is everything alright?” Your eyes were tired but warm as he blinked down at you, now noticing his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you towards him. “Yeah, ’m alright.” His words were low, choked at the sight of you staring this tenderly at him. This was a dream, he told himself.

As his arms relaxed around you slightly, you wrapped yours tighter around his neck. He was so suffocating, his scent surrounding you from every direction as you basked in its grasp. His eyes were intense, the now sullen look he always carried vulnerable, as the folds around his eyes evened out. It still felt like you were in a dream, and you longed for it never to end. Good dreams never found you, but now you had it in your hands as the comforting blanket cloaked around you like Arthur was wrapped around your scorching body.

No words were spoken as you gasped slightly, nimble hands stroking up his arms as the broadness stretched against his shirt. His cheek was warm when you placed your trembling fingers on his scruff, tracing small figures as you observed the scar on his jaw and the slight bend of his nose from getting it dislocated often. As you grazed his skin, your eyes never left him, even when he closed them to revel in your touch. Being this close to him was comforting; the contact was foreign to you but something you had longed for. Feeling wanted by him was what you wanted your dreams to turn into for the longest time. And it finally did.

The world around you grew quiet; only your breathing was audible as his chest moved under you, heavy intakes of breath raking through him. Letting your gaze fall to his lips, yours parted slightly. Through hazy eyes, you closed the small distance between you. A warm surge spread through you as his chapped lips met yours, his slight beard tickling your skin. A low moan escaped at the contact, and your heart burst at the seams, the fire flaring and oozing with each movement. You always wondered what pressing your lips against his would be like, his stoic character making it feel like your wishes were miles away. But now you knew, and it felt better than you imagined. His hands were still around your waist, holding you tightly as you felt all the excitement overflowing in your veins at his apparent contentment of your actions.  

You snuggled into him, holding his cheeks and caressing them with your thumb. Slowly, you leaned your head back, feeling dizzy from the emotions clouding your brain. He followed you as you pulled away, almost as if you hauled him towards you like tied with a lasso. His breath warmed your skin as his lips were placed in the conjecture of your neck as he leaned against you. As you giggled slightly from the tickling sensation, he breathlessly chuckled as he left wet trails up to the space under your ear, caressing the small of your back with his large hands. His gloved hand against the fabric of your blouse felt enticing, your back arching due to his touch, your upper body now pressed flush against him. You held his head close as your hands were buried in his thick hair. His lips found yours again, shifting against you fervently as he moved with more vigor. 

Of course, it was a dream, Arthur thought to himself. It bled into every nightly thought he has had of you now for the longest time. Your scent reached his nostrils. It was so sweet, so you. Small arms were wrapped around him, and your legs were now glued at either side of his thighs as your soft lips touched the skin under his ears in a silent kiss. Shivers wracked through his body as he ran his coarse hand alongside your waist, the soft woolen fabric hugging the curve of your waist tightly. Small gasps emitted from you as your hands ran up his stomach to his chest, planting small, tender packs against the slightly sunburnt skin, looking up at him through hooded eyes. Sinful, that’s how you looked. 

He lifted you slightly, capturing your soft lips in his. The sweet caress of your skin against his felt divine, the wet noise of your tongues finding each other mingling with the sound of the rain outside. As the jacket slid down your shoulder, the man was left staring at the soft curve of your round breasts, revealed from the unbuttoned cotton of your blouse, the slight hardness of your nipples showing through the fabric.

“Arthur”

“Mmh.” He was too far gone now, but he kept assuring himself he was dreaming. You would have never put your hands on him if he wasn’t. He had noticed how you huddled closer to him from the cold when you rode on the horse, your figure nestling against his, curves snug against him. Did you do it on purpose? Were you aware of what you were doing to him? He was still trying to recover from what transpired in his head when you escaped the riders. No, not from the bullets seeking to pierce his flesh, but your bottom. Your soft, tantalizing rear. It had been flush against him as you leaned forward earlier, the round hips taunting him temptingly, almost as if they begged for his hands to caress the soft curves that stretched the fabric that covered it. Damned skirt. What he would have done to push it up your legs and reveal the tender flesh hidden beneath them. Your slit bare against the saddle’s leather as you squirmed, jiggling your cheeks like you were begging Arthur to give in to your desire. Shit. He shouldn’t have been thinking about you like that, not when you were right before him.

Leaning forward slightly, you ran your fingers through Boadicea’s mane as you patted her neck. You spoke, but the words that left your mouth turned into nonsense in his clouded head. 

He had given you some nonsensical answer as he stared down at you through hazy eyes as your hips moved in sync with the horse’s motion, words flexed mindlessly out of his mouth as his restraint seemed non-existent. Your terms of cheerful disbelief grew distant as heat traveled through his body at his unholy thoughts, mouth too dry to give you a coherent answer. His hands moving on the reigns, trying to keep them from indulging your softness against him so he could feel the tremendous friction he was sure would send him straight to heaven. Christ, you riding on a horse should be illegal.

But now you were here, with him, and he had your soft body in his grasp. The tension from his earlier thoughts became apparent, his hands moving on their own as they familiarized themselves with your curves that felt so real. Too real.

Suddenly, you felt his hands on your button as he hastily lifts you. Automatically, your legs seek ahold of his waist, arms around his neck. He moved quickly over the floor as the lightning lit up the room from the cracks in the door, laying you down on the table and leaning down to cover your body with his. He was so close to you now, feeling every part of him press against you—every aspect. 

Snap!

Frozen in place, wide eyes adorn your face from the sudden sound. Arthur was still above you as he sharpened his ears, finding it difficult to hear since the rain hit the ground loudly outside. The snap had been just outdoor, like someone stepping on a branch. Panicked, you tried to find a reasonable explanation: an animal, a branch falling, or maybe Boadicea had moved.

Slowly, Arthur raised his body from yours, leaving you flustered and scared on the table. With a frightened stare, you looked at him as he raised his finger to his mouth, slowly stepping away so the wooden planks wouldn’t creek. Leaning against the door’s side, his hand rested on his pistol. Stay still. His eyes told you to do as he said, and so you did. It’s not like you were able to anyway, your muscles petrified. They had found you. The worst outcome filled your mind; what would they do to you if they got the upper hand? Turn you in, or worse, put a bullet between your eyes?

The loud noise of the door slamming open made you shoot your eyes toward it, finding Arthur standing in the doorway with his pistol pointed out into the dark.

“Aw, shit.” His throaty voice was laced with disbelief, making you lift your head from the table. Your laugh filled the space as the back of your head hit the table with a loud clang, eyes squeezed shut from the sight in front of you. It had seemed like Boadicea had found a friend, the stallion standing still from the sudden intrusion and ran away in haste. “C’mon, get outta here!” The surprised man cursed after the horse, beckoning it out as your hands found your face. The adrenaline still racing through you made your hands shake as the hilarity of the situation made you speechless. Placing your hand on your racing heart, you sat up as the old cutlery clinked underneath you, hearing Arthur’s loud, angry steps hit the porch steps. 

Standing before you, he sighed at your amusement, but you could see a slight smile worm its way underneath his frown. Although it quickly disappeared as he gazed at you before him. Right.

What in the world were you thinking? Now clear-minded, the intimacy you had shared entered your mind. Shame rose in you as your cheeks blazed, taking ahold of your blouse to cover your exposed state.

“Um…” You didn’t have the chance to finish the sentence before he cut you off. Hastily, he grabbed his rifle on the table and the pouch in harsh movements, making sure not to touch you before he went towards the door with big steps.

“It’s soon morning. Stay here until then; we’ll leave in a while.”

After the door slammed shut, the quietness was deafening. Now alone, you could see the slightest bit of light entering the cracks in the walls, but it didn’t ease the heaviness in your chest. It hadn’t been a dream, you thought to yourself. Every minute had been actual: his coarse hands, desperate lips, and body heat. If you closed your eyes and focused enough, you could still feel the traces of fingers over your clothing as his smell reached your nose once again, like he had united with the ghosts of this house and now haunted you. Taunting you. Why had he reacted so yet touched you so fiercely? You felt a pang in your chest at the thought, not understanding. 

Opening your eyes, you buttoned your blouse in shame and put your hands on your cheeks as you lifted yourself off the table. It was still chilly in the room but not as bad as the night before. Mindlessly, you wandered over the space, sat in the chair where Arthurs’s jacket lay, and brought your knees up to your chest, hugging it tight with your arms. The blissful moment you had together faded, the warm touches dimmed into cold, malicious blows to your heart as the hope of finally having a pleasant dream vanished, the moment turning into an all too familiar nightmare.

#arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan smut #rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption smut #red dead smut #smut #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan blurb #blurb #imagine #xreader #red dead redemption imagine #red dead redemption x reader

[muzzlemouths]

For prompt

“Whatever this is - it’s over”

Sun & Moon centered / 7,686 Words

You’ve been fired.

There’s no Ifs, Ands, or Buts about it, if your (former) boss’ tone is anything to go by. You got the phone call bright and early a number of days ago, only an hour before you were scheduled to go in, yet you were still expected to continue on with your shift as usual. This was just a personal heads-up; a courtesy, they said. You’ll finish out the week before they kick you to the curb for real.

You don’t tell anyone. Not on the first day, or the second, or any time soon. There are forty-eight hours remaining when you decide it may be best to keep your mouth shut all together. Would it be easier, that way? Would it hurt any less?

It’s hard to imagine your coworkers don’t suspect something. You’ve been suspiciously dispirited these last few days, jumping between pretending not to care, and outright hysteria when you believe yourself to be alone. You’ve been careful. Whatever emotion has spilled from your voice is only a drop in a turbulent ocean, its waves threatening to crash and pull and swallow you whole. You lack the energy to keep your head above water, and have just about stopped swimming all together. The thought of letting yourself drown is easier. It chips away at the guilt.

They don’t intend to let you lose the fight that easily.

“Is everything okay?” Sun asks fifteen minutes into your shift, a rearranging of the same question he’s asked every day for three days. You struggle to keep yourself from snapping at him.

“Everything’s fine,” is what you answer him with instead, “just like I told you yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that.” The blanket in your hands is folded with the ferocity of a cat wrangling prey, as though the very fibers wage a war against you. Evidently, everything is not fine. “Will you please just drop it?”

“Sorry, sorry,” he quickly raises himself from a slouch to avoid crowding you further, hands flying up in defense, “it’s just…you’ve been so quiet this week, sunshine, and you know how I worry–”

“Well don’t,” you snap – thinking better of it the moment you catch his flinch from the corner of your eye. Your hands slow against the fabric, then stop all together. You deflate with an exhausted sigh and do your best to regain some composure. “I’m just tired, Sun, that’s all,” you try to face him with a smile, “I didn’t mean to snap, I’m sorry,” it doesn’t reach your eyes, “can we just forget about it?”

He straightens further, stiffening in the joints (he gets the picture loud and clear), his hands wringing in circles, already. “Of course, star, all forgiven!” You don’t miss the choice of nickname. Moon will doubtlessly bring it upon himself to ask you the same damn question before the end of your shift if he’s already invading this conversation. “Forget about what?” Sun continues with a wink, “I can’t even remember what we were talking about!”

His effort softens your shoulders. You know he can’t help but worry, it’s in his nature, but it will only make these last two days all the more difficult. “Thanks, Sun. I promise to try and be a little less grumpy.” You produce a smile with genuine effort this time, and he appears to reciprocate by unwinding the joints that had been coiled tight.

“Any time, sunshine. Now then,” he gestures awkwardly toward the heap of blanket, “would you like some help with that? It appears to have gotten away from you. Nasty beasts, these things are. Always causing trouble!”

The fleeting relief of humor helps the waves recede, bit by bit. You let laughter wash over you instead of grief for as long as it’ll last and do your best to ignore the way an ocean of dread still laps at your ankles.

-

As expected, Moon is hot on your tail before you’re so much as halfway to the locker room when the lights go out. There’s ten minutes left to your shift and, if you’re lucky, you can spend them gathering your things and avoid him entirely. Unfortunately, your luck this week has apparently run dry.

“Leaving so soon?” He asks from the rafters, “What has you in such a hurry?”

If it wasn’t a hurry, it’d be a lingering. An insistence to stay for as long as your timecard would allow, regardless of task, dragging your feet like a child that wanted to stick around and play for only a few minutes longer. You’d look desperate – suspicious, if nothing else – and you couldn’t lead him on to what was happening.

“Got places to be, things to do,” you lie in perfect sing-song harmony, “I’ll be back tomorrow.” It’s one of the last days you can tell him so. “Don’t you have patrols to be doing?”

Your locker slams shut. Moon is behind it, his nails still dug into the cheap metal. He watches you like a shark circling its next meal. “Done for now,” he tells you. “Follow. I want to show you something.”

Do you really have a choice in the matter?

Moon leads you down a familiar path. Past the Daycare, into the theater, through the blue door. You know the route to their bedroom by the back of your hand. “Is this important?” You try not to sound impatient, but the longer you’re here, the harder it will be for you to leave. Moon doesn’t reply.

He holds the door open and ushers you inside with an expectant glare. Your hesitance to enter has his eyes narrowing further. If you didn’t know any better you would think he was angry with you, but you can’t think of what you might have done to piss him off this time.

You walk into the room if only through sheer force of will, each step a fight in and of itself, waged against the bile in your throat and the weight that’s made knots of your stomach. Just five minutes. If you can last that long, you’ll have a reasonable excuse to leave without him thinking any worse of you.

Moon continues to the wall and carefully frees a paper from its tape, pausing to stare at it between his hands if only for a moment before returning to your side. The fairy-lights you bought them are strewn along the ceiling corners and provide only enough light to see him offer you the paper. You still find yourself bringing it within an inch of your face and squinting to make out what it is he’s so intent on showing you.

“It’s from your first day here,” he supplies.

You look for answers in his voice. Motive, emotion, anything. Anything but the unreadable stare he serves you and the thin paper between your fingers. With no other options you draw your flashlight from its holster and bring it up to the page, careful to angle it away from him. Normally he would take a precautionary step back, but today, he remains where he’s at, eyes glued to you. The flashlight clicks in your hand.

“Oh,” a quick breath runs between your teeth, “this is…”

The three of you together. Sun on one side, Moon on the other, and you smack dab in the middle. Crudely drawn as all children’s art is.

You remember the day it was gifted; a regular at the daycare – black hair wrapped in a rainbow scrunchie, the first to arrive and the last to leave – she had come up to you in the moments before it was time for pick-up and tugged at your sleeve. You had spent the day stressed beyond belief and worried about your future at the company, and hardly even noticed her arrival until the art was shoved into your hand.

She disappeared up a slide before you could get a proper look at it, but her eyes found you through the bars of the playpen’s upper level only a minute after. You remember it melting away the stress in your shoulders upon finally turning it over, thinking to yourself that maybe things would work out after all.

Despair opens a hole beneath your feet as the ocean finally drags you under, starving your lungs of air and plunging you into an endless darkness. You fall, and fall, and fall—

“I know it can be…difficult,” Moon’s voice cuts through the pitch, “working here, I mean,” you force yourself to find his eyes, vibrant crimson in a sea of black, “but we can figure something out. Or– or change, maybe, if that’s the problem.”

“What?” Your body feels weightless suddenly, the plummet taking even the bile, even the knots, leaving you with nothing nothing nothing.

“You haven’t worn your daycare nametag all week,” he points out, voice straining as he nods toward the empty space on your chest, “I just – we just thought you would come to us first before transferring.”

The bottom of this great abyss arrives without warning and shatters you entirely. Here, you are no better than a whalefall, heavy bones on the ocean floor, what’s left of you will be picked apart and then swiftly abandoned.

Your knees hit the floor. Moon is quick to follow, eyes flashing wide in a fit of panic, he bends to reach your height and cups a hand over your shoulder. “Star?” The frequency in his voice-box is all wrong. It fizzles and pops with a merciful worry you’ve never been allowed to hear before. “Tell me what’s going on.”

If your world is an ocean then you are a tidal wave, crashing and breaking along the shore, and you risk taking him with you. The paper wrinkles between shaking fists as you finally collapse into a discordant sob, unable to hold it in any longer. The seafoam carries you far, far away, until his voice is nothing but wind in its current. But he’s owed an explanation, isn’t he?

“I’m not transferring to another position,” your every word is pulled like teeth and hurts twice as much, the effort it takes to continue plunging you ever deeper, buried within cold sand, “I was fired, Moon. I’m not coming back.”

His grip on your shoulder hardens until it’s almost painful, nails digging into flesh. You hardly feel it. Your mind sways on uneven waves, your body is numb, a distant part of you, heavy with grief. He releases you on realizing and hesitates only a moment before wrapping his hands around your own. His voice warbles with unspoken dread.

“Why?” He asks.

Why, indeed? You had asked the company a thousand times, and asked yourself a thousand more when their answer wasn’t enough to sate you. Maybe you weren’t working hard enough, fast enough, your efficiency lackluster in every way that counted. Maybe you spent too many hours shooting the breeze with Moon and not enough time sorting boxes of craft supplies or folding blankets. Maybe your coworkers had seen you bringing Sun flowers one too many times. Maybe the kids asked too many questions and you answered with too much, or not enough. Maybe it was a combination of these things, or none of them. Maybe it was as simple as management had made it out to be.

Budget cuts, is what they told you. Your presence was no longer a necessity. The daycare would manage fine on its own.

“I don’t know,” you end up telling him, “maybe I just wasn’t good enough.”

You don’t notice that one of his hands has untangled from yours until the back of his knuckles are brushing along your cheek. They catch a tear as it falls and let it bleed into a strand of hair, gently tucking it behind your ear. “No, no no no, Starlight, you’ve done nothing wrong,” his murmur keeps you from drifting further into the sea, a fragile tether around your waist, fraying at the seams, “I’m sure there’s a way to fix this. We can find a way.”

“I tried,” your sob rings through the empty space of their bedroom, causing him to freeze. “I did everything I could, offered what I could – I’d have worked less hours, accepted less pay, anything. It doesn’t matter!” The tether unravels fiber by fiber. “It’s too late, Moon.” This won’t last. “It’s over.”

“We can still–”

“No!” The tether snaps. You turn your cheek in the palm of his hand and flinch when it cups your jaw, angry tears pouring over his thumb. “I’m so tired of fighting this when it’s obvious that they’ve made up their minds,” you can’t look him in the eye, “Please don’t make this even harder than it already is.”

Your fingers pinch at the edges of the paper, then pull it taut, taking in the art for a final time as water-stains spill across its surface. Wordlessly, you return it to him.

He doesn’t immediately take it, staring back at you, instead, as if by some miracle you’ll change your mind. But you don’t. You get back to your feet when his hand leaves you to take it, a terrible, crackling whine spilling from his throat, the motion of your stand so abrupt his nail stings a thin line down your skin – but you don’t feel it. You don’t feel anything.

He catches you by the wrist as you turn to leave.

“Please,” he whispers, eyes wide, “let us try.”

The waves are cold and heartless. They brush against your skin with affections no less tender than this and numb you down to the marrow. “I’m sorry,” you shake him free of your wrist, “whatever this is, it’s over.”

The door shuts at your heel with a whisper, and Moon does not try to follow.

-

You don’t sleep that night. The look in his eyes haunts you like a ghost, there each time you close your eyes, you toss and turn restlessly from the time you get home to the time your alarm goes off the next morning. Though you expect the sound to be grating as always, today it is anything but. Sweet, like a lullaby. Familiar. You savor it for all of a minute before forcing your hand over the button. Tomorrow, you’ll hear it for the last time – until you can find yourself a new job somewhere else.

You go about your morning routine with a certain amount of listlessness. The waves aren’t turbulent, anymore. They’ve settled into a mindless current, the idle of driftwood on a calm ocean’s surface. You skip breakfast.

Key in the ignition, seatbelt on, you adjust your rearview mirror and swear that Sun smiles at you from the back seat. Here one minute and gone the next. You had often joked about breaking them out, one day. Showing them the world.

How foolish.

Your drive is interrupted by the lazy push of traffic, and you can’t help but feel like the universe itself is dragging its feet with you. The remnants of a nasty fender bender just ahead distracts you briefly. Your mind is drawn back to the many times Moon complained about you driving home each day in what they both considered a death machine. Bitter laughter chokes against your tongue as you pass it by, free hand rooting around for your phone so you can explain away any tardiness.

“It’s fine,” says your boss. Of course it is. You’re only here for a short while longer, anyway.

You’re half an hour past the beginning of your shift when you finally pull into the parking lot, the area busy with cars already. You do what you can to avoid your coworkers’ gaze upon entering and clock in with your head down, thoughts still distant.

There’s an abundance of noise coming from behind the daycare doors long before you reach them. Pushing forward, you find yourself between dozens of children playing in what can only be considered unmonitored chaos. Craft supplies have spilled from their drawers and made a river onto the play mats. Toys litter the walkway, forcing you to step over dolls and plastic rockets and stuffed animals alike just to get to the front desk. The chorus of unrestrained fun bleeds your eardrums.

And there stands Sun at the center of it all, covered head to toe in paint, glue, and stickers, hands shuffling with guilt behind him while your boss verbally chews him up and spits him out.

“What’s going on here?” You drop your bag behind the desk and sidestep through a sea of running toddlers before coming to a stop at your manager’s side. Sun’s head snaps upward with a vocal clickclick at the sound of your voice, the tiniest flicker of relief settling in his overheating frame.

“Finally,” answers your manager, “I don’t know what you’ve been teaching this thing, but it’s gotten far too lazy. These children need to be reigned in immediately,” he gestures wildly at the ensuing chaos, face so red and tight you think he might just pop. “Now that you’re here you better fix it. I expect everything to be taken care of when I return, or you can say goodbye to your last paycheck!”

“Oh, u-um,” you shoot a quizzical look in Sun’s direction, but his face is blank, save for the usual candid smile, “sure thing. They’ll be perfect little angels when you get back.”

Your answer is nothing more than a grunt, that of an angry and pouting dog. He nearly bodies a third grader on his way out.

Your neck cranes to shoot Sun a narrow-eyed look. “What was all that about?”

“I haven’t the slightest clue what you mean!” He chirps.

What happens next moves like clockwork. Sun turns on his heel and brings two fingers against his smile, and perfectly imitates the shrill of a whistle, seamlessly gathering the children’s attention with little more than that and a clap of his hands. “Anarchy time is over, children,” he sings, “time to clean up, up, up so we can watch our movie!”

He receives a divided wave of reactions, squeals of glee overshadowed by groans and whines of not being done with their games, just yet, but he’s quick to put a stop to that with the simple lift of a finger. “Remember, first one to clean up their area gets to help me pick out the movie,” his smile undeniably widens behind the mask, “and our snack!”

The resulting chaos is of a different variety. Children of all ages bustling around to do their part until every toy is in a pile and all the crafts have found their way back to the table. Not perfect, by any means, but it’s about as close to organization as the daycare gets until Sun has a proper crack at it himself.

He never needed your help. Not before your arrival, and certainly not now. Sure, having an extra pair of hands around makes his job exponentially easier, but he managed to uphold this business for years before you were hired. He knows just what to do.

And here, too, does he know exactly what he’s doing.

“You cheeky bastard–”

“Language!”

“–you did this on purpose.” You accusingly point a finger toward the smug expression he’s wearing, that plastered smile shining back at you like he is none-the-wiser to what you’re saying. He’s practically mocking the very implication of it. “What were you thinking!”

His head tilts thoughtfully to the side, pointer finger coming to sit atop the chin of his faceplate as if he’s actually thinking about it, “I’m not sure what you mean,” hums Sun. “Do you mean to say that I pulled every drawer from the shelves and placed every toy within reach first thing this morning? That I let the children run amuck, all willy-nilly? That I encouraged their ruckus? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“Yes!”

He tuts, shaking his head in disbelief, “I would never do such a thing, sunshine! Why, I’ve just been doing my very best to keep these rowdy tots in line until you could get here. It was utter disarray without you here. Disarray, I tell you!”

You aren’t sure whether to be proud, or allow the feeling of your blood boiling to spill into something more tangible. “I know what you’re doing, Sun,” you decide on a halfhearted scold, instead, “this was risky. Too risky. What if you had been punished with more than a slap on the wrist?”

“I can hardly call that tantrum your manager pulls anything in the way of a slap,” he insists, “and besides, it all ended up just dandy. See?” He nods in the direction of a much cleaner daycare, the children already pouring over a basket of DVDs like vultures on old meat. His hand is heavy as it abruptly rests atop your head and rustles through your hair. “Everything went according to plan, petal. Stop your worrying.”

You slouch under the touch and gently bat his hand away, only half-smiling. “It’s not going to work, you know.”

“It might!”

“But—”

“I told you, didn’t I?” He turns fully now and cups your face between both of his hands, “Quit your worrying, little biter. You’re not allowed to stop trying until the rest of us have.”

You pout something fierce, a frustrated whine already building at the back of your throat. It eventually eases into the lows of a sigh. There’s no point in fighting either of them on this. Sun, especially, is aggravatingly stubborn when he’s set his mind on something. You can only imagine the plans they were making from the very second you left the night before.

Your eye catches on a subtle twitch in his fingers, and deeper still, in the depths of his chest, the whir of an overworked fan. The telltale signs of an anxiety attack that he’s barely restraining. He has every reason to be anxious, too. Sun can’t handle messes on a good day, so to go out of his way to intentionally create this much of it...

He really is trying.

“Thank you, Sun,” you take in a deep breath and hold it, relaxing with the exhale. “I’ll try and be a little less...grumpy, about all of this. Let you have a chance at trying at least.” You feel a pang of guilt at having to say it twice.

His right hand strays from your cheek while the other one stays. “Do you promise this time?” He asks, already knowing the answer.

When he taps his pointer finger against your bottom lip it tastes like sticky paint and glue. Your nose wrinkles, cheeks splitting with a smile even when all you want to do is cry. “I promise.”

-

It doesn’t work.

Why would it?

A single day of ruckus is nothing in the grand scheme of FazCo’s wallet. Sun is given a secondary scolding while being told to do better, and that’s that. There isn’t enough banking on your presence here to bother paying your checks any longer.

You still thank him for the attempt, knowing just how much he put himself through in the effort, and he remains convinced that something will change, even now. That a miracle will bring you back to them. When you say your goodbyes it’s with hope in his eyes, and acceptance in yours. You don’t notice how poorly he’s actually holding himself together.

Or the flicker of purple in his gaze as you leave the daycare behind.

-

That night is no better than the last. If this continues, you’re going to spend your final day with them sleep deprived out of your mind. It’s not like it can be helped, either way, seeing as each attempt at getting some rest violently reminds you of how little time is left. The memories you shared and the memories you had hoped to make, all taken from you in the time it will take for the sun to rise and set once more. It felt like a sick joke. Too cruel to be real.

It’s three in the morning when you receive a call.

You notice your phone vibrating on the bedside table within seconds of it, seeing as you’re still awake and watching old sit-com reruns to quell the anguish in your heart. You don’t hesitate to answer it the moment your eyes settle on the name.

It’s your manager. And he sounds – to put it lightly – like he’s going to piss himself.

“You better get your ass over here,” he half-quivers, half-snarls into the phone, “I mean it. Now.”

You’re already up and looking for your shoes when you hear a heavy thump from the receiver. “What was that?” You ask, eyes scanning the room for your other sneaker, “What’s going on?”

“I forgot something before closing and— does it matter? Just get over here!” Wood splinters around his voice. Behind that, the familiar sound of bells.

“I’ll be there as fast as I can,” you tell him, “try to find some place to hide.”

Forgetting your shoes entirely, you shove your feet into some slippers (it’ll match the rest of your attire, anyway), and throw yourself out the front door.

-

You really ought to have been pulled over sometime in the mad-dash between your house and the pizza-plex. Either the officers normally patrolling these streets are all at home sleeping like normal people, or your luck is finally turning around. Though, considering the circumstances bringing you to this point, you can’t say that’s entirely true.

The building is quiet as a ghost when you slip inside. “Moon?” Your voice spills over the empty halls and bounces back to meet you again, making the wide arching mouth of the pizzaplex feel that much more hollow. His voice does not answer you.

Instead what you hear is a rattling from the distance. The sound of metal on metal. You head for its direction in a full-body sprint while digging out the phone in your pocket, considering giving your manager another call, but ultimately thinking better of it. If he really was hiding (as he should be, if he cared whatsoever about your advice) the ring would only give his position away. You would just have to find them without it.

It doesn’t take long.

You round the corner to the sight of Moon making a meal out of your manager. Or trying to, at least. The metal bat your boss wields to ward off the normal type of intruder (already dented in to look grotesquely misshapen by now) is the one thing standing between him and a bed six feet under, and judging by the quivering in his arms, that method isn’t going to last much longer. His back presses against the floor with the entire weight of the animatronic atop him.

Moon spits and snarls, teeth gnashing behind the mask and nails carving slivers of metal from the bat that keeps his right hand from doing damage to anything else. The left hangs limply at his side with its elbow joint bent out of shape, wires exposed and barely keeping the limb pieces together. His chest is dented in a number of places, proving that the bat struck successfully more than once, though you can’t say your manager is looking any better.

Especially when you near them and get a proper look at the man who pays your checks; thick blood pools from his nose to chin, coating gritted teeth in red. The color stains his shirt and climbs the length of his body, thin gauges rivering down both arms. And his leg, fuck, the angle is all wrong–

His neck cranes to see you, face red with effort rather than anger for once. “Call your dog off!” He barks.

Ignoring the implications of that, you nod like your life depends on it (as it’s surely about to) and raise your hands into the air, daring a step closer. “Moon,” your chest feels tight, as though you aren’t getting in enough air, but you’ve done this song and dance plenty of times before. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. Can you look at me?”

And he does. Against all odds, he does. The ever briefest flicker in your direction, a long enough distraction to give your manager a chance at escape but not enough to prevent Moon from immediately trying to follow.

“Hey,” you find his wrist to stop him in place, mirroring his own gesture from only a night before. An unspoken plead.

His head does a one-eighty to look directly at you, the expression he regards you with being that of a total stranger. Icy dread sinks into the lengths of your stomach and takes your heart with it.

"Moon, it’s me," you try again, "I'm here, I’m here, can you–"

His good hand raises, fingers winding above your elbow, and for an ever fleeting moment you think that maybe he's already found his way back to you. Then your feet leave the floor.

And your body ragdolls across the tile.

It’s a fickle thing, human life. It was stupid to think you could go into this situation guns blazing and still make it out okay. But it’s here, your back against the floor and body aching like a fire ablaze, when your eyes crack open to the sight of your manager limping toward the exits – leaving you behind like table scraps – that you realize just how much trouble you’re in.

Moon’s sharpened nails tickle against the back of your throat as his fingers encircle and squeeze, the choked breath he draws forth beating against your already battered ribs.

“Moon–” His name becomes lodged in your throat, rasping violently as you feel yourself raised in one smooth motion. Your back connects with the wall with merciless force and any hopes you may have had about this, too, all being an act disappear in an instant.

Tears brim at the corner of your eyes, your vision already starting to dwindle, they burn down your cheeks for what feels like the hundredth time that week. Still, you refuse to allow this to be how it ends. You’ll get your final day here, even if it takes everything you have left. Even if you’re forced to wield the same ocean that dragged you under.

“Please,” you whisper. His grip tightens. Your lungs sting with the effort of each breath, mind racing for the right words to say when it all becomes clear to you. “We can find a way to fix this,” your eyes search for any remaining piece of him, desperate and pleading as he’d been the night before, ”just let me try.“

One finger pries away, then another.

You collapse to the floor in an instant.

Moon stares upon you with a look you can’t quite read. He recognizes the words, he has to, or you wouldn’t be swallowing mouthfuls of air right now. Even so, his level of clarity is uncertain.

“Have to–” his good hand twitches, fingers contorting indecisively, “have to keep you here,” he says. “Late. It’s late.” His hand balls into a fist, then relaxes. The black swallowing his eyes begins to recede, giving way to familiar crimson if only in small, slow increments. “Time for bed.”

The song and dance continues, even if he’s forgotten which direction to put his feet and the lyrics are all wrong. You know the meaning behind them; what he wants to say, what he’s trying to say.

So you offer him a nod, slow at first but building with your confidence. You can still save yourself. Save him. “Yeah, I was just getting ready to lie down,” you tell him around a cough, “S-See?” You point with a wary smile towards yourself, thanking your lucky stars that you decided to wear an actual pajama set to bed for once instead of just an old T-shirt and pants. There’s only one slipper remaining on your foot – the other sits abandoned a few feet from where you currently sit, having been lost in the scuffle. Moon follows your gaze to its location.

He gives you a sideways, narrow eyed expression, red slits among a field of black which blends seamlessly into the dark hallway. Then he’s lowering himself into a crouch and half stepping, half scuttling towards your slipper. It would be endearing if you weren’t skating on thin ice right now.

Bending further to pick it up, he eyes the slipper for a moment before looking over his shoulder for confirmation. You nod, once more, and bring yourself to yawn with enough dramatics that it has his eyes dilating in that special way, more red blooming and overtaking the black. The action is only half forced. You really are exhausted.

Like tiptoeing across the thinnest layer of a frozen lake, you wait until he’s finished placing the slipper back on your foot before continuing with the next part of this dance. “Will you help me get to sleep?”

He stares, eyes calculating, as if he knows it’s all a game. You’re tricking his code in the only way that still works – and it doesn’t always work – but it has to, this time, because your whole life relies on him playing along.

And he does, lending you only a nod before bending at the knees and scooping you into his arms, bridal style, at a pace that denies any chance for argument. You don’t fight him, anyway, and you don’t miss the wince that crosses his face as his wounded arm wraps weakly around your shoulders, either, barely able to keep you there.

You also don’t miss the irony of having spent two days waging war against your insomnia only to be taken in for a nap by the very person you wanted so desperately to avoid. They weren’t meant to see you in this state. Likewise, you know how much he hates you to see him like this, too. A fair trade, you suppose. Life is funny like that. And by funny, you mean unfair and horrible.

When you breach the Daycare doors, Moon makes a beeline for the nap area and sets you down on a nest of blankets and pillows. It’s normally their job to fold and sort these into their respective cubbies, so you can only imagine their displacement here was a culmination of built up stress. The image of Moon refolding each blanket again and again without gaining any proper satisfaction from it plagues your mind, reinforcing the guilt that has already begun to creep its slow fingers around your throat again.

He wordlessly settles a pillow beneath your head before thinking better of it and tossing it across the room, though the blanket he had tucked you in with remains where it’s at. Then, changing his mind again, he slumps into a heavy sit just behind you and draws you near, your back against his chest, both arms surrounding you in a hug despite the effort it takes for him to raise his left below the elbow. His faceplate bonks gently against the top of your head.

And he’s silent like this for a long, long while. Leaving you feeling tense and defenseless, never truly knowing if you’re out of the woods just yet. If he’s come back to himself. You don’t allow yourself to look back until a quiet tremor spreads through the arms holding you tight, extending to his hands, trembling fingers curling into your shirt, eventually traveling throughout his entire casing until it feels like his very exoskeleton will vibrate straight out of its frame.

A noise stirs from his voicebox that you don’t immediately recognize. Practically a whisper, at first, it strains against his mechanics like a high pitched whistle through steel pipes before the frequency snaps, becoming the whitenoise heard between television channels, loud, discordant, ugly and raw.

A sob wracks through him.

“You can’t leave,” he chokes between the static in his throat, tucking you ever closer, “please, please, please don’t leave us.”

The agony his voice wields threatens to pull you back under. You fight the sensation, forcing yourself to relax in his hold, instead, even as you suffocate within it. Tears well into your eyes for the umpteenth time and fall soundlessly from your chin to land against his arms.

After a decisive moment, you make up your mind, answering him first with a stern shake of your head. “I won’t,” you promise, “they’ll have to drag me out of here kicking and screaming.”

Your chin lifts with an effort to meet his eyes, and you smile, wry and shaky as it is, hoping that he’ll reciprocate. He doesn’t. Looking down on you with a black, oily sheen smudging his cheeks, instead. You can’t bring yourself to blame him for it. In the end there’s only so much you can do. A promise is nothing in the eyes of the organization behind their very existence.

“I’ll stay the night,” you tell him, as if it’s any comfort. He answers with nothing more than a nod, then rests his chin atop your head, again, not willing to meet your eyes any longer. More noise spills from his voicebox, weak and distant, none of it words.

It isn’t long after that he begins to sway. A subtle rock from side to side, joined a moment later by the familiar tune of his music box, its winds and clicks singing against your cheek when you turn to face his chest.

For the first time since receiving that dreadful phone call, you find yourself drifting with ease. Darkness curls around you like a warm blanket to the gentle, albeit shaky hum in Moon’s throat, soothing you ever further, despite your struggle to stay awake with him for just a little longer. Just one moment more, safe in his arms.

Sleep drags you under.

-

It’s morning when you next wake. The day is only getting started, judging by the position of the sun as it glares through the daycare windows and directly into your eyes. You are greeted by your other Sun, who smiles at the sight of your eyes fluttering open and has you wrapped up in his arms much in the same position as you had fallen asleep, though you take note of an additional blanket wrapped around you.

“Morning, sunshine,” he croaks – an odd and unfamiliar lack of excitement in his quiet tone – though you know it would be cruel to expect happiness from him after last night. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mm...actually, yes,” you admit around a yawn, “but I’m sure it was only a few hours.”

“Three, to be exact,” Sun answers you. His arms unwind, careful of the damage to his left, to finally return your freedom. He is visibly reluctant to do so. “It’s around seven, now. How do you feel?”

You shimmy out of his remaining grip and take the opportunity to stretch and turn yourself around, careful not to go very far. Sun’s fingers twitch in your absence like he’s waiting for an excuse to pull you back into his lap. “Seven already?” You dodge his second question, not wanting to get into how sore you are after being chucked like a stuffed toy across the room only hours before. Moon is doubtlessly feeling guilty about that enough as it is. “Shouldn’t you be getting the daycare ready for open?”

He reaches for you, but thinks better of it, and tucks the hand back into his lap with the other. “I just–” his voice strains, going silent. Every ray has disappeared into his faceplate to leave only the points. It isn’t until your own hand outstretches and rests against his that he rediscovers his voice. “I just wanted to spend more time with you, whatever time we had left.”

Your smile wavers, tears threatening to spill across your cheeks again right then and there. There is a telling layer of black oil coating the underside of Sun’s eyes, too, that you elect to ignore. “I understand,” you tell him, “but you’re only going to get yourself in more trouble if the daycare isn’t open on time. My boss might not let me finish out the day if that happens.”

A whine rings from his throat at the mere possibility of it, that of a guilty dog staring at the floor, tail tucked between its legs. He goes to say something, but you beat him to it.

“Come on, I’ll help you get set up, and we can talk some more in the meantime.” You look down at your clothes, remembering your impatience to get out of the house the night before, and grimace a bit. “We can just say I thought it was pajama day, or something. I’m sure the kids will love that. Let me just get some caffeine in me first and then we can–”

Cool fingers wind around your wrist while your knees are still bent, not even fully to your feet yet. His hold on you isn’t painful, but it is dangerously close to becoming so, and you don’t have to look far to see the panic in his eyes.

“I’ll come right back,” you promise, “Just a quick hop down to the coffee booth, that’s all. I’ll even bring some fizzy faz back for you.”

His whine sharpens, reverberating against his chest. “You aren’t supposed to be here in the first place, remember? What if you’re caught?”

“What are they going to do, fire me?”

It is evident by the harsh squeeze he gives your wrist that he does not, in fact, find your joke funny. Nevertheless, he begrudgingly releases his hold on you and takes to rhythmically tapping all ten fingers against his knees, instead, the metallic tink tink tink echoing even through the fabric of his pants. “Be quick, please?” He begs.

You give him a quick nod and take off in the direction of the booth with as much skip in your step as you can muster. Which, admittedly, isn’t a whole lot. Three hours is still three hours, even if it was spent in the arms of your favorite people, and you’re still feeling downright miserable on the emotional front.

The staff bot greets you by name as you shuffle up to the counter and order your usual, taking care not to burn yourself on the cheap styrofoam cup that gets handed back to you. When you turn back around, lethargic and gripping the cup too tight, you come face to face with your manager.

He looks…well, he’s looked better. There are bandages wrapped around both arms, a collection of them scattered across his face and jaw, none of it professionally administered. You imagine that even the management around here does their best to avoid a lawsuit. Though, judging by the crutches he’s using, you have to assume he went to someone with medical training after patching up what he could himself.

You expect him to be upset. Pissed off, really. Instead, he looks at you as though he’s seen a ghost. That, if nothing else, gets a laugh out of you.

“Hey, boss,” you hum, trying to act nonchalant, “having a nice morning?”

“I–” he gawks for a while longer, wetting his chapped lips. You think he looks almost normal without all the angry red and popping veins. “I wasn’t expecting you to be–”

“Alive?” You supply, cocking an eyebrow. Your smirk is definitively smothered, trying not to get too cocky with the asshole who left you to die the night before, but its presence can be heard in your tone nonetheless.

“Back at work, already,” he corrects with a strong grimace, evidently knowing he’s been seen through already. “Didn’t Moon…”

“I got him under control,” you say with an easy shrug. It isn’t the first time. Were the circumstances different, you’re sure it wouldn’t be the last, either. “Can I still keep the coffee? I know I’m not on the clock yet, but…”

“It’s–” he stills, breaking awkwardly into silence for a moment before deflating with a long and tortured sigh. “It’s fine,” he grumbles. “Doesn’t matter.”

He is silent as you pay the bot, sipping sagely on his own coffee while avoiding your eye and wearing a painfully constipated expression. It isn’t until you’re preparing to head back that he calls your name again, causing you to pause, dread rising in your gut. You force yourself to turn around.

He looks sour in the face, like the staff bot traded out his coffee’s sugar for a handful of lemons. You are preparing yourself for the scolding of a lifetime when his eyes roll, casting to the side. “You’re being demoted to minimum wage,” he tells you.

It takes a few seconds too long for the words to catch up to your brain. When at last the implications sink in, it takes real, actual effort to not smile like a kid on Christmas and jump around right there in front of him.

You settle for a wide – normal – smile, instead, but still laugh a little too loudly, nodding with enough enthusiasm to make him groan. “Sure thing,” you tell him, “I’ll be here bright and early tomorrow. O-Or whenever. Same schedule?”

“Sure,” he grunts, “just keep your dogs under control.”

And then he’s gone. Simple as that. He walks past you and into his office, shutting the door with a soundless click, and you are left in an empty hall too early in the morning, coffee going cold in your hand, a hundred thoughts racing through your mind and all of them sending you into a run back towards the daycare.

The drawing comes to mind again. Sun on one side, Moon on the other, and you in the middle – and it’s here where you can no longer stop the smile that blossoms across your face, the heat that warms your chest and sooths away every cold and aching wave that had threatened to drown you and take your heart with it.

Yeah… maybe it would all work out after all.

#drabbles #sun x reader #moon x reader #sun fnaf #moon fnaf #sundrop #moondrop #DCA #DCA fandom

[grapejuicestyless]

Could You Imagine That?

JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Summery: You failed. The gold, the cross, the fame, the fortune. But really, who cared? Not when you had the best gift of all. Inspired by the song: Forever by Noah Kahan

We listen to Pope and Kiara argue about who knows how to build a fire better, throwing logs into a heap by a pile of rocks and lining stones in a circle in the sand. John B and Cleo make beds for everyone to sleep on and Sarah works on some sort of spear for us. Yet, JJ and I haven’t even given a second thought of how long we just might be here for.

Maybe a few more hours, a couple days or years. In the end, did it really matter? We’d been just fine so far and we’d swear the feeling of freedom was worth it no matter how starved we became or how cold the nights were. We’d screamed about Poguelandia hundreds or times already, calling out the name of this great island and hoisting the flag we’d painted with rocks and the mud packed beneath them. Our hands pruning from the salt water and our shorts left on the edge of the shore line while we ran around in our underwear, splashing around like little kids and laughing like old friends should.

“We’re broke!” We laughed, finding the fact that we failed more funny than anything. Because had we really failed if we got a greater gift than what being filthy rich could give us?

“But real rich in our heads!” JJ would scream back, chasing me down along the edge of the ocean. And when the waves slowed my strides he lifted me from my waist with his tanned arms, not minding how our wet bodies stuck together like glue and our clothes would surely stink like ocean for as long as we’d be here.

“Won’t be alone for the rest of our lives!” I laughed in his hold, and his grip restricted my lungs but I would take the ache that came with it over any other feeling in the world. Because even after he loosens his grip, he never really lets me go and I am reminded of how he’s always within arms reach. Ready to make me smile, make me laugh. And it’s worth more than anything money could buy.

“Can you guys help us?” Kiara calls out desperately, but even she can’t hide the smile on her face, how much she loves the idea of it just being her and the Pogues all together and safe for just a small moment in the grand timeline of adventure ahead. No parents, no threats, no blood or tears. Just the sun and sand beneath our feet. A good cooked fish roasting over the fire and beds woven with leaves under our heads.

“Come in the waters just fine!” JJ splashes, catching a glare from Pope as the salt water briefly tames the fire they just started. And when Kiara catches his line of vision, we don’t have to look back to know their broken laughter is because their stripping to join us in the sea. Ready to splash around carelessly like children do, like we do.

“Can you imagine being here, like this forever? No more window shopping or late rent!” I laugh, bearing all my teeth in my smile when Kiara wraps her arms over my shoulders and places a sloppy kiss to my cheek.

“Won’t be alone for the rest of our lives!” She repeats my words back to me, eyes shining with the glow of the sunset that casts a warm hue over her sunburnt cheeks.

“Poguelandia forever, baby!” JJ’s arms pull Kiara away from me, and like glue, I’m stuck to him with nothing more to offer than the sweetest smile and the world shining in my eyes. I feel more alive than ever and theres not an ounce of gold that could replace it.

“Oh my god!” Cleo laughs at the scene in front of her, dry wood under her arm and a soft blush in her cheek from the sun. We’re all drenched in salt or sweat but we can’t help but feel absolutely okay with it.

You could fly over head at that very moment, on the search for miserable teens in need of help and you wouldn’t even look twice. The way everyone laughed like brothers and sisters and cherished what the world gave them, you’d think we were on some vacation. Like we hadn’t washed up here by accident.

Broken bones and aching muscles worth every moment that led us to this island and this life.

Looking back at JJ, I see the stars in his eyes and the world under his feet. It’s all we’ve ever wanted. A simple life by the ocean with all the people we love. So, we might be broke, we might be hungry and by god we might smell but by god are we richer than most.

“Poguelandia forever.” JJ whispers only for my ears to hear, forehead pressing against mine and his eyes observing the crinkles by my eyes. His thumbs lift from my hips to rub against my cheeks. Then he kisses me, kisses me in a way I hadn’t felt since before death looked at us in the eyes and grief was all we knew. Like we both knew finally that it would all work out and we would be okay.

When we pull away, we share the same hazy look we had plastered on our cheeks before and his hands plant themselves firmly on my hips once again. Squeezing the skin between his fingers playfully and drowning out the world around us.

“Could you imagine that.”

#jj maybank x you #jj mayback imagine #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank #jjmaybankangst #jj maybank fluff #p4l #jj maybank x pogue!reader #poguelandia #the pogues #pogue!reader #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x routledge!reader

[lilacura]

Fading Embers | Jang Wonyoung

pairing: wonyoung x reader

>wc: 2,680

content warning:  contains themes of angst, car accidents, and emotional distress.

sypnosis: When Jang Wonyoung receives a life-changing phone call, will love be enough to overcome the unimaginable challenges that lay ahead?

The Fourth of July was supposed to be a day of celebration, a day where fireworks lit up the sky in vibrant colors, and laughter filled the air. But for Y/N and Wonyoung, this day would forever be etched into their memories as the day their world shattered.

Y/N and Wonyoung had always been inseparable. They were two souls intertwined, sharing their dreams and fears, their joys and sorrows. Their love was a fire that burned bright, but even the brightest flames can be extinguished with a single gust of wind.

That morning, the sun rose with a deceptive warmth, casting gentle rays of light on the small town where Y/N and Wonyoung resided. But inside their hearts, a brewing storm threatened to tear them apart.

The tension had been building for weeks, their love caught in the crossfire of miscommunication and unspoken frustrations. As the hours ticked by, the weight of their unexpressed emotions grew heavier, straining the fragile threads that held them together.

It was a seemingly insignificant disagreement that sparked the flames of their fight. Words were exchanged with sharp edges, fueled by insecurities and pent-up resentments. Y/N's heart ached, but she couldn't find the words to bridge the growing chasm between them.

"Why don't you ever listen to me, Y/N?" Wonyoung's voice trembled with frustration, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I feel like I'm talking to a wall sometimes."

Y/N's brows furrowed, hurt flashing in her eyes. "I do listen, Wonyoung. I just... I have my own thoughts and opinions too. Can't we have a conversation without it turning into an argument?"

Wonyoung's frustration turned into anger as she felt her defenses rise. "It's not just about having different opinions, Y/N. It's about feeling like you dismiss mine. Like they don't matter."

Y/N's voice grew sharper. "Well, maybe if you didn't always assume that you're right and I'm wrong, we wouldn't have this problem!"

The room fell silent, the weight of their words hanging in the air. Wonyoung's eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. She never intended for their argument to escalate this far.

The silence stretched on, tension thickening between them. Y/N's voice softened, her hurt transforming into resignation. "Maybe we need some time apart," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "To figure out if we can find our way back to each other."

Wonyoung's eyes welled up with tears as her heart shattered into a million pieces. "Y/N, no... Please, don't say that. I can't bear the thought of losing you."

Y/N turned away, her voice heavy with unspoken pain. "I can't keep going like this, Wonyoung. We're hurting each other more than we're making each other happy. Maybe it's better if we take a step back and reevaluate."

And with those words, Y/N walked out of the room, leaving Wonyoung standing there, tears streaming down her face, feeling the weight of her regret and the realization that she might have pushed Y/N away too far.

Hours turned into days, and days turned into sleepless nights. Y/N replayed the fight over and over in her mind, each word a dagger to her heart. Regret washed over her, but pride held her tongue. She wanted to reach out, to apologize, but fear held her back.

Meanwhile, Wonyoung, tormented by her own doubts, questioned whether she had made the right decision. She missed Y/N's presence, her laughter, and the way they fit together like puzzle pieces. But the pain of their fight lingered, a constant reminder of their brokenness.

Then, on that fateful Fourth of July, Y/N decided to take a drive alone. The open road beckoned her, promising solace and clarity. But fate had other plans.

The radio played softly, the notes of a familiar song filling the confines of the car. Y/N's mind wandered, lost in a sea of regrets and what-ifs. She didn't see the stop sign until it was too late.

The screeching of tires filled the air as Y/N's car collided with another vehicle. Glass shattered, metal twisted, and the world spun into chaos. Pain radiated through Y/N's body as the impact jolted her senses awake. She was trapped, a prisoner in her own wreckage.

Meanwhile, Wonyoung, unaware of the impending tragedy, felt a sudden unease creeping into her bones. A nameless dread settled upon her like a heavy blanket. She reached for her phone,only to find it silent, devoid of any messages or missed calls.

With a sinking heart, Wonyoung dialed Y/N's number. Panic rose within her as the call went straight to voicemail. Her mind raced, connecting the dots between their fight and Y/N's sudden disappearance.

Wonyoung's heart skipped a beat as her phone rang, displaying the number of the local police department. With a sense of unease, she answered the call, her voice trembling.

"Hello?" Wonyoung spoke, her voice filled with worry.

The voice on the other end belonged to Officer Smith. "Is this Jang Wonyoung?"

Wonyoung's breath hitched. "Yes, this is Wonyoung. What's happened?"

Officer Smith's tone turned somber. "I regret to inform you that there has been a car accident involving Y/N. She has sustained injuries, and we are currently at the scene."

Fear gripped Wonyoung's heart, her mind racing with thoughts of Y/N's well-being. "Is she going to be alright?" she asked, her voice filled with desperation.

Officer Smith's voice held a hint of reassurance. "We have called for an ambulance, and they are en route. It would be best if you could come to the accident site. It occurred on Oak Street near the intersection with Maple Avenue."

Tears welled up in Wonyoung's eyes as she processed the gravity of the situation. "I'm on my way," she replied, her voice trembling with anxiety. "Please take care of her."

Officer Smith offered a sympathetic tone. "We will do everything we can. Just come as quickly as possible."

As Wonyoung hung up the phone, her heart raced with worry. Without a moment's hesitation, she grabbed her keys and rushed out the door, her mind consumed with thoughts of Y/N's safety. Every passing second felt like an eternity as she raced towards the unknown, praying that she would reach Y/N in time and that they would find solace in each other's arms once more.

The sight that greeted Wonyoung was a nightmare come to life. Emergency lights flashed, illuminating the twisted metal and the devastation left in the wake of the collision. Her breath caught in her throat as she spotted Y/N's car, mangled and broken.

Paramedics worked frantically, their voices a blur to Wonyoung's ears. She pushed through the crowd, desperate to reach Y/N's side. And there, amidst the chaos, she found her love.

Wonyoung's voice trembled as she knelt beside Y/N, her eyes filled with tears. "Y/N, oh my god, are you okay? Please, please be okay!"

Y/N winced, pain etched across her face. "Wonyoung... I... I'm sorry."

Wonyoung's heart shattered at the sight of Y/N's pain. She took Y/N's hand in her own, her voice choked with emotion. "No, Y/N, this isn't your fault. I'm sorry too. I never should have let it get this far. I love you, and I can't lose you."

Tears streamed down Y/N's face as they both realized the fragility of their love and the depth of their regret. "I love you too, Wonyoung," Y/N whispered, their voices barely audible amid the chaos surrounding them. "Please forgive me."

Wonyoung nodded, her grip on Y/N's hand tightening. "We'll get through this together. I promise."

As the paramedics worked to free Y/N from the wreckage, the echoes of their fight faded into the background. In that moment, all that mattered was their love and the hope of rebuilding what was broken.

The Fourth of July would forever be a reminder of their darkest hour, but it would also be the catalyst for their journey towards healing. Their love, once a fire on the verge of extinguishing, now flickered with renewed determination, ready to rise from the ashes and burn brighter than ever before.

a/n: this is so ass omg

#ive #ive wonyoung #wonyoung x reader #wonyoung #ive x reader #gg x reader #girl group #wony x reader #ive x you

[fandomxpreferences]

Two Lines, Two Idiots Chapter Seven: Stare Down With the Devil

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Maybank!reader, Twin!JJ Maybank x reader

TW: trauma and abuse, so much angst, fluff, mentions of panic and trauma response, fluff, I think thats it

Summary: Your past comes back to confront you.

Word count:4.3k

Your body practically floats across the yard toward the truck, an effervescent glow radiating directly from your soul. Happiness seeps out of your pores as your hand rests on your protruding belly, now nearly 20 weeks pregnant. 

The sun's rays warm your skin and reflect off the light sheen of sweat caused by the unforgiving summer heat, glittering like the ocean on a calm serene day. You're humming along to a song as you walk, your head bobbing as an occasional lyric slips past your cherry-flavored lips. 

Suddenly, the peach fuzz on the back of your neck stands at attention and you freeze mid-stride. The air has shifted, light and salty sea breeze giving way to a thick and suffocating energy; a heavy atmosphere that you know all too well. 

The earth seems to catch on as it stops on its axis, the birds silent so as not to alert the lurking predator. It's eerily quiet in a way that forebodes tragedy and causes your stomach to sink; the calm before the storm.

You smell him before you see him; the pungent aroma of Marlboro reds and stale Pabst Blue Ribbon assaulting your nostrils. It's the worst kind of nostalgia washing over you like waves of ice water, and you feel like you've been doused in kerosene with a match flickering dangerously close to your flesh. 

You're acutely aware of every cell that's working overtime in your body, seemingly all uniting with one glaring message. Run. It's as if you're inherently trained to identify the threat that is your father, and you suppose that makes sense after years of tending to your wounds. 

A fear that you've come to associate with the man crawls up your spine, plucking at each individual nerve ending along the way. It feels as though you're tuned into even the smallest functions of your body as adrenaline floods your nervous system. 

Your focus seems to zoom in on a thousand things at once. A bead of sweat tickles the column of your throat as it slowly inches toward your chest; a sensation that feels all wrong compared to Rafe's soft lips that can be found following the same path anytime he's near you. 

The band of your bikini top digs into your ribs with enough force to leave nasty red marks that will no doubt make Rafe's eyebrows furrow; you can already hear him whispering that looks painful while his hands soothe the ache.

Blood rushes in your ears with each thump of your battered heart, and if you really focus you're certain you can feel each and every one of your brain synapses firing. 

Your body goes rigid, your frame instinctively shrinking the way it did when you were a kid. Call it an old survival habit; a learned behavior that you adopted after one too fists to the cheek.

It's a feeble attempt to make yourself less of a target, a desperate hope that if you become smaller he won't see you and you'll make it out alive.

"Hey, cupcake."

The familiar rasp of his voice seeps into the air, leeching into your spasming lungs before snaking its way around your throat. The nickname forces your shoulders back, anger overpowering your fear as it registers in your clouded mind. 

It's the one good thing JJ picked up from your father, an old moniker you earned as a child after getting sick on the sugary treat. Your brother refused to let Luke ruin it, and usually it blankets you in a sticky sweetness that makes your heart swell. 

Hearing it drip from your father's tongue is like swallowing bitter cough medicine that makes you gag, and it feels like barbed wire is wrapped around your chest. You whip around with enough ferocity for stiff joints to crack, and glare at the man. 

"Don't call me that." You snap, automatically taking a step back; away from the safety of the house. Away from Rafe, whose sitting inside surely wondering what's taking you so long. 

Your father ignores you, his eyes focused on your bump. 

"I'll be damned. So it is true. Is that Cameron boy really the father?"

He looks up through his lashes, a disgusting grin bearing his stained teeth. You don't respond and he takes that as your answer, letting out a low whistle. 

"I knew you were my kid. Us Maybanks are always conmen in the end. You're gonna be swimming in dough. Twins mean double the child support."

His dirt-covered hands reach out to touch the swollen mound where your children rest, and you swat him away before you can think better of it. 

"Don't fucking touch me. My kids are not cash cows that you can rob like me and JJ."

He raises his eyebrows and you stand taller, a silent slap in the face that says I'm not afraid of you. It doesn't matter that you're pushing down full-blown panic, or that you feel like the same powerless child you were all those years ago.

He doesn't need to know that.

"I didn't rob you and that boy. I had a right to anything you brought home, I'm your father."

You suck your teeth and give a short nod, briefly biting your top lip before releasing it. The way he refers to his own flesh as 'that boy' rubs you the wrong way, but you let it slide.

"Right, whatever. When did you get back anyway?"

It's the question that's been nagging at you since the beginning of the interaction. The last time you saw him was when JJ almost took a wrench to his skull, and a few days later your brother told you he was gone for good. 

At the time you had pestered him for more details, terrified that he had done something stupid. He'd spent hours reassuring you under the moon's beams, swearing that Luke had run off in search of a new life. 

"Few days ago. Started working out a way to get here as soon as I heard I'm gonna be a grandpa."

The smile he flashes is with practiced ease, and it would fool you if you were anyone else. You know there's something sinister simmering under the surface; a nuclear bomb just waiting to be detonated. 

Against your better judgment, you laugh in his face. A full belly-shaking laugh that causes you to hunch over slightly. 

"You're even more delusional than I thought if you really believe that. You're not going to be within a hundred miles of them, and you're sure as shit not family."

Your roaring laughter ceases when you see a familiar flash in the eyes that your brothers shares, and fight or flight takes the reigns. Your hearing muffles as the color drains from your face, the sound of your voice is foreign to you as you scream out. 

"Rafe!"

Your father falters for a moment, not expecting your boyfriend to be here. It occurs to you then that he had mentioned child support, and you realize that whoever told him had left out the bit of information about your relationship.

Your blood-curdling shriek has Rafe sprinting in your direction, the sound a stark contrast to your saccharine voice that reminds him of ice cream on a scorching afternoon. 

A nauseating sense of dread pushes him forward as he stands on the porch, his eyes wild as they frantically search for you. There's only one thing he can think of that would illicit such raw and primal emotion from you.

He figures he must have truly taken a nose dive off the deep end for a moment because there's no feasible way that could be what's happening. He watches as Luke takes a step toward you, and bounds down the steps of the chateau. 

Your panicked eyes dart to look over Luke's head, and the animalistic urge to protect his family consumes Rafe whole. Bile rises in his throat at the site of you so distraught, and he races to close the distance separating the two of you. 

Luke notices you looking at something and stops; he may be an asshole but he's not stupid. He slowly turns around just before your boyfriend reaches him, and subtly cowers back.

There Rafe stands, all six foot two of rugged muscle pulled taut as he looms over the first man to break your heart. His lips turn down into an angry frown, the gleaming smile that usually displays his adoration for you nowhere to be found. 

His eyes have adopted a steely glare, dark and narrow in a way that reminds you of a snake ready to strike its prey. Your gaze lingers on his hands, locked firmly at his sides as his fingers flex; brutality begging to be released. 

His jaw ripples with tension as he clenches his teeth, hateful words filled with venom ready to fly freely like hollow point bullets designed to kill. He glances over at you, the urge to scan your body for the tiniest scratch clawing at his chest; demanding to know that you're safe. 

A hot tear burns your cheek, and Rafe's eyes trace its trail until it falls off your chin. He's laser-focused on that singular glistening sign of your anguish; ironclad proof that you are in fact not okay. 

It ignites a blazing inferno within him; a new feeling that makes his usual temper look like a dying flame way off in the distance. It feels as though live wires are buzzing beneath his tan skin, sending shock waves from the tips of his fingers all the way to his toes. 

The entire purpose of his existence pivots, and there's a blaring alarm going off that screams kill, kill, kill.

"I will cut your hand off and shove it down your fucking throat before I let you lay a finger on her ever again. So if you're wanting to hit someone, hit me."

The low register of his voice settles deep in your bones, his raspy timbre somehow a few octaves deeper than usual. He says it so calmly, like it's the most casual statement he's ever made, and your eyes widen. 

It's no secret Rafe can be explosive, the shrapnel of his outbursts embedding in anyone within earshot. The man speaking now is someone else entirely; cold and calculated, completely in control of the situation. 

Luke goes to argue, and you catch the exact moment the thread inside of Rafe snaps. The thick vein on the side of his neck threatens to burst free as his face burns red, and his nostrils flare. He takes a step forward, his scream reverberating off the water and trees as he unleashes a wrath that rivals God.

"Go on, hit me. Hit me like you hit her!"

His index finger jabs his diaphragm as he accentuates his words, and more tears blur your vision. There's an emotion deeper than anger hidden in his tone; something akin to despair and disgust.

Rafe means every single word. He wants your father to hit him. He wants to know what his fist feels like as it makes contact. He needs to know what you felt. 

He needs to know how far the ache spreads from the point of impact, how big the bruise is, how long it takes it to bloom, and what shades of brown and yellow it fades to as it heals. 

Luke squares his shoulders and Rafe takes a step forward. He glowers down at your father, silently daring him to make a move.

JJ and the pogues watch from the porch, having come out after hearing your shout. JJ stands frozen in place as the scene unfolds, his mind racing a million miles an hour. It's when he sees the two men having their stand-off that he finally kicks into gear, making a beeline for you while telling his friends not to move. 

You feel his arms wrap around you as he pulls you back, and try to figure out when the hell he even showed up. He's whispering quiet reassurances in your ears while he tries to turn you away to put your face in his neck, but you don't budge. 

Your bloodshot eyes are fixed on Rafe, too afraid to blink. The world seems to move in slow motion. Your father laughs. Rafe's arm twitches. Your breaths come out in quick short pants. Rafe inhales slowly. Every move is premeditated and deliberate. 

JJ starts to panic behind you. He's powerless in this moment. He can't control a single circumstance. Rafe's knuckles turn white in a clenched fist. He's decided to end it all right here.

You know this. You can see it in his eyes. 

"Rafe, stop!"

You shout just in time and he looks at you with his arm frozen mid-swing. Luke turns to the side and glances between the two of you, Rafe's eyes soften upon seeing yours glassed over and pleading.

Your father shakes his head in disbelief and chuckles cruelly before peering at Rafe.

"She's really got you fooled, huh? Hungry dogs are never loyal. She's a Maybank, she'll bolt as soon as there's a better opportunity. Its runs in the family."

Rafe starts to lunge, completely forgetting your command. He can beg for forgiveness later.

"This is where it runs out."

Your voice rings out, wobbly but forceful as Rafe stares at you.

JJ's in front of you now, creating a barrier between you and the man. If Luke wants to get to you, hell have to get through him first. That is Rafe even lets him get that far. 

Your boyfriend senses the shift; sees the gears turning in your head as an entire lifetime of unspoken words threatens to pour out. He moves forward and stands behind you with one arm wrapped just below your collarbones and his other hand rubs comforting shapes on your stomach. 

Luke falters, his cold glare darting between his two kids. JJ moves to stand next to Rafe and allows you to set your sights on the man that terrorized you. 

How can you have matching smiles and the same mannerisms, but be so different? You and your father are intricately intwined, sharing so many little traits. somehow you look exactly like him, yet bear no resemblance at all.

You're exactly the same and nothing alike, a mind boggling paradox. The same temper and sharp tongue, yet a different heart altogether.

Your fingers come up to wrap around Rafe's forearm while you let him ground you, and the fog starts to clear. You know you're safe, and for the first time in your life you can speak your mind. 

Your head shakes from side to side slowly, your chest torn open as your beating heart is put on display. 

"Please just tell me why. Why're you doing this to us? You don't have to do this. You didn't have to do any of it."

Rafe's arm tightens, and he ignores the burning sting of your nails as they nearly break his skin.

"Y/N, don't. It's not worth it." 

JJ's hand is on your shoulder as he takes a step forward, and he stares at the side of your face. 

Isn't it though? Don't the two of you deserve some sort of closure?

"Stop waiting for an apology you'll never get. It wouldn't make a difference anyway."

On a certain level, you know your brother is right. Still, you can't for the life of you bring yourself to tear your eyes away from your father's. In this moment it's not a grown woman staring back at him; it's a hurt little girl who just wants her dad.

Luke doesn't say anything, and his silence is like a serrated knife to your windpipe.

"Do you even regret what you did to us?"

It's a quick flash, impossible to notice if you weren't holding such intense eye contact, but you see a flicker of emotion in his usually blank eyes. You know he won't acknowledge the pain he caused, yet you continue anyway.

"You made our lives a living hell. You blamed us for everything and gave us scars that will never fully fade. You wanna know what the worst part is? What's absolutely fucked? If you asked me to forgive you, I would. Despite everything, I still love you and I hate it. That's the person I am. You didn't break me."

He casts his eyes toward the ground, focusing on the crumpled grass in the shape of your feet.

Your desolation is slowly being overtaken by resentment, and a fire that bears a striking resemblance to that of the man in front of you dances in your eyes.

You've spent your entire life trying not to be like him, but that doesn't mean you didn't inherit his vicious temper and ability to be cold-hearted. You just learned to control it.

"I wanted to be soft and kind. I wanted to frolic in the waves and go to daddy-daughter dances and be proud of you, even once. I wanted to be a kid, and you turned me into a fucking soldier. The war is over and yet I'm still fighting like I'm in the middle of the battlefield that was supposed to be our home."

If Rafe was ever curious to know what it feels like to have his heart ripped out through his rib cage, he doesn't have to wonder anymore. The grief and vulnerability in your voice nearly bring him to his knees, and he gently spins you around so you're facing him.

His rough hands find purchase on your neck, large thumbs rubbing along your cheekbones in soothing motions. 

He tilts your head to look at him and your eyes flutter closed, your lower lip trembling as you inhale a sharp breath; a futile attempt to withhold your swirling emotions as the shackles around your heart weaken.

Rafe leans down, his own eyes squeezed shut when he rests his forehead against yours. He chooses his words carefully; part of him knows this is a defining moment that has the power to either help heal you or solidify the damage. 

His voice is soft like spring showers as it rains down on you; soaking through your armor and forcing it to slip away. 

"Lay down your sword. You won, there doesn't have to be any more bloodshed."

It sends you over the edge and you crumple in his arms. He catches you with ease, his hand smoothing down your hair as he shushes you. 

JJ's eyes sting with tears at the sight of you finally falling apart after years of holding it together, and he looks at his father. 

"Dad, please. Just let us go. Let us go."

Your father takes one last look at you and turns on his heel. JJ breathes a sigh of relief, and the rest of the group slowly approaches as the elder Maybank disappears. John B has always had an inkling about the reality of your home life, but nothing was ever confirmed. 

The rest of them are completely in the dark. They knew that you and JJ didn't like to go home, and of course they knew that Luke is a piece of shit. Anything further than that was kept hidden.

Rafe's heart shatters as he holds your trembling figure, wails unlike anything he's ever heard ripping from your throat. All he can feel is melancholia.

How could he feel anything else? His sweet girl that would do anything to make someone smile, that wakes up every day and chases away the darkness that looms over him just by existing, that sees the misery in the world and decides to sprinkle in a little goodness, beaten and broken down by the one person that was supposed to protect her. Of course it fills him with sorrow.

Rafe locks eyes with JJ, unsure what else to do besides let you openly weep. Your brother nods toward the house, and your sweet boyfriend bends down to press his lips to the shell of your ear. 

"Let's go inside, yeah?"

You don't protest, and he gently guides you toward the house while your brother and friends look on. Kie and Sarah are crying now too, devastated to see you see the truth beneath your bubbly personality. 

"What the hell was that all about?"

John B has to look away lest his emotions get the best of him and focuses on JJ.

"Nothing."

JJ's tone is defensive as he rips his backward cap off and wrings it between his hands. 

"Didn't look like nothing."

Your brother's hair flops against his forehead as he shakes his head and starts toward his bike. 

"Doesn't matter, okay? It's all over for good now. Just drop it." 

Everyone looks at each other as he speeds off without another word, and JB blows out a long breath. 

"What the fuck?"

Inside, Rafe is kneeling in front of you as you sit on the bathtub, doing his best to calm you down. Two decades worth of pain is being released, and it seems like nothing can quell the ache in your chest. 

Your father's words about being a Mayabnk bounce around your head, and it only makes you bawl harder. Rafe's eyes widen when you start heaving from the force of your sobs and he considers calling JJ.

"Can you try and breathe for me baby? This isn't good for our little ones."

He immediately regrets his words when your lips turn downward and you whimper, guilt now eating at you along with everything else. 

"Maybe my dad was right. Maybe I am a Mayabnk through and through. I mean, I've done a lot of shit over the years. I've hurt a lot of people and caused a lot of trouble."

Rafe frowns, his fingers squeezing your thighs where they rest to get your attention.

"People do bad things when they're trying to survive. It doesn't make you a bad person. I hope you know I'm proud of you. I see how hard you're fighting, and you've come so far. You might feel stuck, but you're not."

Another tear cascades down your cheek as you blink at him and he gives you a small smile. 

"When I told you I loved you, you know I meant it right? I'm not just talking about all those warm feelings. I'm talking about putting in the work. I'm here to stay for the hard parts, not just the pretty ones." 

Your hand comes to rest on his cheek and Rafe leans into your touch, trying to portray just how much he means it.

"I don't deserve you. I don't deserve this type of love."

Rafe has genuinely never felt such agony as your words seep into his soul, and he shakes his head. 

"Don't say that. It's not about what you think you do or don't deserve. I get to choose who to love. I'm an adult, and I can make that decision. I love you on purpose. So I'm here to stay. I'm in this."

His lips press to yours so delicately, as if you'll disintegrate under his touch while he tries to make you feel his love. You're interrupted by a knock at the door and he pulls back, pushing a stray hair behind your ear as he answers. 

"Come in."

JJ peeks his head through the door, a timid smile making his dimples pop out. He returned shortly after he left, concern for your well-being overtaking him.

"How goes it?"

There's a beat of silence as the two of you stare at each other, both your faces splotchy as dried tears make the tight skin itch. The two of you look a mess, hair ruffled and runny noses telltale signs of your distress. 

JJ's lip quivers and that's all it takes for the two of you to burst out laughing. Rafe looks at you like you've grown a second head, genuinely baffled at what could possibly be funny. It dies down to giggles after a minute and you wipe your face with the back of your hand. 

"It was always going to end like this, wasn't it?"

JJ shoots you a sad smile, his eyes zeroed in on a bottle of shampoo. 

"Yeah, I think so, cupcake."

You purse your lips and nod, the truth a nasty pill to swallow. Suddenly, JJ's raw voice fills the air and Rafe looks up at him. 

"Can I talk to you outside for a second, bro?"

Your boyfriend pecks your forehead and stands, following your brother out to the screened-in porch. He waits patiently, letting the blonde gather his thoughts. 

"Thank you for what you did back there. She feels safe with you, and I think she's been needing to get that shit off her chest for a long time. You gave her the strength, and I just want you to know I'm grateful. It helps me sleep to know she's with someone that I can trust to protect her."

Rafe's hand rubs the back of his neck, not used to your brother being so candid. If you had told him a year ago that JJ Maybank would use his name and the word trust in the same sentence, he would've called you crazy.

"Of course, man. I care about her more than I care about myself and there's nothing I wouldn't do for her. Whatever she needs, I'm there."

JJ pulls him into a half hug and slaps him on the back before leaving to go back inside. Rafe just stands there for a moment, taking deep breaths and trying to regain his composure. 

When he's confident he's got it under control, he returns to find you cuddled up on the couch watching reruns of Spongebob. A smile tugs at his lips as he joins you, his hands coming to rest on your belly out of habit. 

"It's going to be okay, right?"

Your voice is small as you whisper the question, and Rafe shifts to look down at you. 

"One day it's going to be great. All of the hardships will be distant memories and you'll be in love with your life. I promise."

Your face nuzzles into his shoulder and he kisses the top of your head. As long as you have each other, everything will always turn out okay.

@i-love-rafe @itsmytimetoodream @brynley-a-xoxo @whore4drew @houseofperfecttaste @everythingmarveltopgun @f4ll-for-you @athenabarnes @antagonize-me-motherfucker @writtenwordslover @madsnxo @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @starrystarkey93 @keylin1730 @fulla02 @loving-and-dreaming @evening-starlight @ibleedcalories @badasspizzalover @veescorneroftheworld @pinkpantheris @brooklynscherry-z @starkeylover @sebastiansstanswhore @lothiriel9 @katzarantos @gillybear17

#rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron #Rafe Cameron series #outer banks fic #outer banks #outer banks angst #outer banks imagine #obx imagine #obx

[macfrog]

ace sex on fire chapter six

this entire chapter is me making up for 1. the golfing line in chapter two, and 2. joel's entire experience of tlou2. naughty dog i'm waiting for ur response. 24 hours to reply

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel takes you on a day trip to go golfing. it turns out to be more fun than you expected

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) golf. idk what else to say. age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalanced power dynamic, more sugardaddy!joel, discussions of pregnancy + reader perhaps not wanting children, sort of possessive!joel?, praise kink, unprotected piv car sex, daddy kink, exhibitionist fantasy, creampie, more teasing + flirting, angst + pining, alcohol consumption, cursing

word count: 9.7k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

“Good girl. He there?” The image of Daniel flits across your vision, bright blue eyes trained on you. He looks…intrigued, and stunned. He’s not breaking his stare. “Mhm,” you say again, and start to lift off of Joel. “He watching?” “Y-eah,” you choke out, bouncing steadily. “Put on a show for ‘im, pretty girl. Show him what you do for me.”

The cab squeaks to a halt right outside the office, dropping you at the bottom of the concrete steps leading up to the revolving door. There are already bodies filtering in and out of the building, despite how early it is.

You thank the driver – Mick, you’ve come to learn. He seems to run this route on weekday mornings; it’s always him who shows up at your apartment when you can’t be bothered to walk to work, or miss the damn bus. Mick tosses a thumbs up over his shoulder and you swing out into the brilliant sun.

It’s Thursday. You’ve been home sixty-five hours, by your count. Joel gave you a couple days after landing stateside to catch up on sleep, readjust. He’d gone back to work Tuesday morning, though, 8AM sharp. Martha had text to ask where you were, and had sent six laughing emojis back when you replied with, How the fuck is he back already?

You make the climb up the steps, back to work, back to normality. It drags like a weight at your heels, the thought of returning to that gray office after three days wandering around picture-perfect, painted-pink Paris. After three days of Joel.

That split-open feeling, the cavity between your ribs – it’s sewn itself up since you got back to your own apartment, your own space. Since you showered a couple times, washed your clothes, started smelling like yourself again instead of Joel. Its sutures are made from the sound of the subway squealing to a halt, the smell of Chinese takeout from the place across the street.

But there’s a tiny piece of you, small enough to stay hidden from even yourself sometimes, that you know misses it. Misses…him. It only hurts when you touch it – the sewn-up scar, messy in your frantic attempts to close it up – it aches when you remember his hands on your waist whenever you wanted them there, his lips below your ear whenever you needed him.

As you approach the glass doors, you hear a whistle from behind, and turn to watch Joel slip out of his Rolls and jog up the steps. There’s a sports bag hanging from his left hand.

“Am I a dog?” you ask when he reaches you.

“It was an endearin’ whistle.”

“Very endearing. Don’t do it again.”

He nods once. “Yes, ma’am. Feelin’ awake yet?”

“Almost.” You follow him into the building, clicking along the polished marble floor at his side. “You didn’t waste any time getting back into the swing of things, I hear.”

You both nod good morning to the receptionists, and Joel hits the button to call the elevator.

“I’m an important man, baby,” he says, shrugging. “My job ain’t just answerin’ the phone ‘n making coffee.”

You scoff, slapping his back as he leads you through the sliding doors, which closer over and shut you both into your first moment of privacy in almost seventy hours. Joel immediately turns to face you, words behind his eyes that he can’t seem to sort into a coherent sentence.

In what you hear as an attempt to summarize, he says: “Back to reality.”

You brush the shoulders of his blazer, tug on his tie to straighten it. It’s the most you can bring yourself to do that doesn’t involve throwing yourself at him. There’s a throbbing right below your chest, like a magnet tugging you towards the man stood in front of you. Touching the padded shoulder of his suit will have to do. For now.

You lift your eyebrows, staring at the knot of his tie. “Yep.”

It’s pretty reductive, Back to reality. But then, what else is there to say? What else that wasn’t said between your bodies in Paris? A line was crossed there – you both went somewhere you can’t come back from so easily. And moving forward the way you had been before, seems equally as impossible.

There are eyes on you here. There are people who care to know what might be going on – whether they like it or not doesn’t matter. No more strutting out onto the terrace, running your hands all over one another, connecting skin and tongue in ways you wouldn’t have dreamt up two weeks ago.

No. This stays secret. A secret between you, Joel, and the French skies.

Joel places a hand on the small of your back as the elevator doors whip open. He ushers you out, and then, once in view of Martha’s desk, sidesteps to an appropriate distance.

“Welcome back,” your colleague greets you as you approach her desk. “Missed you, kid.”

You smile coyly. “Thanks,” you mumble. Guilt isn’t the easiest of emotions to hide.

Joel taps your arm gently and then nods towards his office. “Catch-up,” he says, and Martha rounds her desk to follow after him.

You drop your jacket and purse over the back of your chair and slip in behind them, leaning back on one of Joel’s leather couches with your arms crossed.

“Alright,” Martha sighs, “few things needing done this morning. First…”

You take a deep breath and slump down until your ass sits comfortably on the couch cushion, your knees draped over the arm, cradled inside your elbows.

Joel notices, and smirks to himself. He dials into his voicemail, hits a button, and a familiar voice echoes from his desk.

“Hey, Joel,” Drew’s voice says, “hope you enjoyed Paris ‘n aren’t still too hungover. I know what Jean-Marc’s like…”

Martha moves to the next bullet point, tilting her pad and tapping the tip of her pen to some messy scrawling you can’t read. You nod, eyes flitting up to watch Joel.

“Just wanted to check in and make sure you’re still good for later. S’posed to be a good day for it. Let me know if you need any help with directions. Alright. Looking forward to seeing you two soon. Cool.”

The machine cuts. Joel sits back in his chair, rests his heels on the wood in front of him. Black, shiny, ridiculously expensive shoes crossed over on top of a black, shiny, ridiculously expensive desk.

“…now, Ken needs to receive this as soon as possible, alright? I said I’d have it done by end of day yesterday – I did not, so I need you to –”

“Who’s you two?” you ask Joel, peering over Martha’s notepad.

He looks up, tossing a rubber band ball in his hands. “You ‘n me, darlin’.”

“I’m sorry,” Martha declares, “am I talking to myself–?”

You push her notepad out of your view, still staring at Joel. “What do you mean, you ‘n me?”

Martha drops her hands with a sigh. You repeat your question.

“Us,” Joel says, hint of irritation in his voice like you’re supposed to be in on something. “We’re goin’ golfing with him.”

“We’re going golfing?”

Martha, now exasperated, swings the pad under her bicep and crosses her arms over her chest, makes something of a growling noise. “You two are unbeliev…Are you listening to me?” she demands, clicking her fingers in front of you.

“No,” you reply simply, eyes locked on Joel’s.

His lips curve with a soft laugh. “You ain’t read your emails?” he asks.

Your head darts between him and Martha. Bewildered. “I was catching up on sleep, thank you very much,” you assert, nodding with finality at the blonde updo hovering over you.

You know she cares about you – at least enough to water your monstera deliciosa while you were gone – but Martha can be sharp; her outspokenness is something to admire and to fear, in one small five-foot-three frame.

She snorts, glancing over to Joel with a disbelieving shake of her head, but he doesn’t take her up on it. Just looks at her blankly and then turns back to you.

“We’re meeting Drew up at Aspen Heights. Few of his buddies are in town, he wanted to introduce ‘em to me.”

“And I’m coming – why?”

“Because he met you last week, musta liked you, ‘n he invited you.”

Your mouth opens to reply, some retort to bring into question the need for your presence at a fucking round of golf, when Joel and his words cut yours short in your throat.

“And I want you there with me.”

Martha raises her eyebrows when you look up at her. The thing is: this all seems very normal, from her perspective. You did such a good job at keeping Joel right in Paris, didn’t you? He made his flight there on time, he met with Jean-Marc without a hitch, and he was actually an hour early for his flight home.

That last part was because you’d woken up with the sun and couldn’t get back to sleep, so you woke him, too and…well. Kept each other busy until you physically couldn’t anymore. There wasn’t much point hanging around in the hotel suite when your cases were packed and your bodies were…fragile, so you left for the airport.

To her ignorant eyes – and bless her – this is all just networking. It’s you building work relationships, Joel at the helm overseeing everything and setting it all up for you. This is clear – that that’s all she thinks – when she says:

“He’s doin’ you a favor, sweetheart. You should go.”

“I don’t even have any golfing gear. I’m in suit trousers.” Your eyes trail down your black pinstripe pants, legs dangling from the arm of the couch.

“And you look fantastic,” Joel quips, though you know he’s half-serious, “but you do gotta find somethin’ more…” he waves a hand, “…golf.”

“Something more golf. That’s helpful.”

“Here,” he says, stretching into his back pocket. His hips lift from the seat of his chair, and your eyes land on the space just south of his belt buckle. He pulls his credit card from his wallet – the same one you could probably recite the numbers of by heart at this point – and holds it out. “Go grab somethin’ nice. My treat.”

My treat. Like he didn’t treat you all damn weekend.

You pull yourself up and take the card from his fingers.

“’n what about my list?” Martha asks.

Joel shrugs. “Ken can wait one more day. You got two hours,” he tells you, and then sits up straight, rubber band ball placed safely next to his Newton’s cradle. “I’ll have Rand take you.”

You follow Martha out of Joel’s office when his phone starts ringing and his head falls into his hands, letting you both know it’s not a call you want to be around to hear. As he lifts the handset, he lightly calls your name, and you exchange a sly smirk as you slip out the door.

Martha wanders off behind her own desk as you pull your purse over your shoulder. She loads her computer back up, chin lifting as she squints through her glasses at the screen.

“There’s a golf shop downtown,” she tells you, two index fingers tapping away on the keys. “Alan uses ‘em. Don’t think they’re too expensive, either. Wouldn’t know for sure, though, he spends so damn much anytime he’s in there.”

You watch her for a moment, nodding along. “Thanks, Martha.”

She holds up a finger as you walk past her desk toward the elevator. “Remember you still got my to-do list to tackle, so don’t be long!”

----------

Rand drops you on a quiet side street. He gives you his number, tells you to text him once you’re done, and the sleek black car rolls off.

On the corner sits Ace’s Pro Golf, a small, charming store, peeling wooden front painted fern green with golf-themed decals decorating the windows. You set off inside, passing under two transparent putters crossed over one another on the window above the door. An old brass bell rings out from overhead when you enter.

Its exterior is misleading. This store is huge. Overwhelmingly huge. Walls stacked with bags, clubs dangling from pegs. Baskets of balls and tees and other accessories dotted all over the creaky wooden floors, which are lined with racks upon racks of golfing clothes – shirts, trousers, dresses, skirts.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, edging towards the rails.

You slip between them, hand running along the multicolored choices, when your phone starts to ring, vibrating somewhere deep in your purse.

“Hey, Mom,” you mutter, slipping your cell between your cheek and your shoulder as you begin to search through the shirts in front of you.

“Hey, baby,” her voice sings to you. “Wasn’t expecting to catch you, thought you’d already be at work. Where you at?”

You sigh. “I’m shopping. Joel’s taking me golfing later.”

She almost chokes down the line. “Golfing?”

“Yeah. It’s this friend he went to school with, I met him at lunch last week. There’s a few of ‘em going, so he asked me along, too.”

“Nice guy. So, you’re shopping for an outfit?”

“Mhm.”

“Any…dress code?”

“Dress code?” You straighten up, switching the phone to your other ear. “Like, golfing gear? I dunno.”

She laughs. “Alright.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing! Nothing, baby.”

“Meant something, Mom. Tell me.”

“No, I just…” She sighs. “You’re sure this isn’t, like…It sounds an awful lot like a date. Like, you’re going on Joel’s arm.”

You’re silent. You suck in a deep breath, fixing an order of words in reply, when your mom cuts in again.

“I bet I’m way off. Forget I said anything.”

“Yeah, gross,” you refute, metal hangers squealing against the rail when you unfreeze. “No. Not a date. It’s, like, networking, or whatever.”

Mom snorts. “Right. Exactly.”

“Not – a date,” you repeat.

You’re relieved when she changes the subject. “Show me what you’re looking at.”

You huff, pulling the phone down and switching to FaceTime. In a second, your mom’s bright, swollen cheeks and ringlet curled hair are on the screen, and she flashes you a pearly smile.

“Was thinking maybe this…?” You angle the phone to show her a navy-blue polo shirt. “And then a white skirt?”

“Nah,” she cuts, and you flip your camera back to your face.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Too blue. You look better in neutrals. Try beige or brown. Boring colors, y’know? Blend into the walls.”

You hiss something she doesn’t need to hear under your breath and then follow it up with a slightly more polite, “Screw you.”

Her image on your screen shakes violently with how hard she laughs at herself. “I’m messing with you. You know you’ll look beautiful no matter what you choose. Wait a second, though – can you even golf?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever touched a golf club in my life.”

“Thought as much. Does Joel know you’re about to embarrass him like this?”

“He’s aware.”

“Please get him to take some videos. I gotta see this.”

“You know what,” you grumble, holding back your own laughter now, “I’m hanging up. You just solidified your place in the nursing home, you know that?”

She’s still laughing, words pushing through her cackles in desperate punches. “Wait, wait! I gotta tell you why I called you.”

“Alright, go. Thirty seconds.”

“Riley’s pregnant.”

Your face screws up. Lips curl upside down into a grimace. “Oof. Good…good for her…?”

Your mom throws her head back with a roar of laughter. “Be more enthusiastic about it. A little niece or nephew for you!”

“’s more like a…second cousin, or whatever. I bet Aunt Rose is over the moon.”

“She called me screaming this morning. I just thought you’d like to hear, being that you’re in a permanent state of baby fever.”

“Ha,” you state, blank expression never changing. It causes her to erupt into another fit of giggles. “That’s nice, I guess. For Riley. Tell her I said congrats.”

“I will. And I’ll leave out the part where you almost threw up. Alright, I’ll let you go. Good luck golfing. Come back with a hot millionaire boyfriend, maybe! Love you!”

“Yep. ‘kay. Love you. Love you, too – ‘kay – bye – bye, Mom.”

You hang up mid-laugh and her caramel cheeks disappear from the screen. You drop your phone back into your purse and slot the navy-blue polo under your arm, spinning to the rail behind you to find a skirt to go with it.

Riley, pregnant. That’s fucking insane. You two used to spend entire summers riding your bikes around your hometown, spending all of your allowance down at the mall. You swear you’re not old enough to have babies yet. Swear you’re not even old enough to be out of Mom’s house, living on your own in the city.

But then here you are, five years in, making a mental note to buy a baby gift for your cousin, on top of the pre-existing ones reminding you to message that girl who lived across the street when you were kids to say, Congrats on your engagement, and pick up a new home card for your two friends who are on their third mortgage.

Your mom finds it funny – always has. The instant repulsion you feel, the way you recoil whenever you’re asked about kids, about a partner, about a three-bed-two-bath in the suburbs with a big yard and good school nearby.

You don't think any of it's for you. And that’s fine, and every time you skate over the topic, your mom tells you it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s –

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

“Oh,” you snap out of your daydream, clutching a white skirt in your hands, “sorry. I’m sorry. No, I’m good, thanks. Sorry.”

The assistant smiles kindly and nods. Then he spins on his heel and waltzes off, disappearing behind a cardboard cutout of a golfer mid-swing.

It’s not lost on you, by the way – what your mom said. Sounds an awful lot like a date. You’d be lying if you said it hadn’t also crossed your mind. Joel, wanting you there with him. Giving you his card to buy somethin’ nice, which, after the last week, you translate roughly as: something I’ll like. Something he’ll see, and his second thought will be ripping it off your body.

His first thought will be what you’d look like taking it off for him.

And for that reason, you slip the short skirt under your arm beside the polo, and head across the store to find some more stuff to waste Joel’s money on.

----------

Rand pulls up by the curb a few yards down from Ace’s, where you’re sat on a bench enjoying an ice cream. He rolls the window down and lowers his black sunglasses.

“You bein’ paid for this?” he asks, grinning.

You nod, gleeful. “By the hour. Want an ice cream?”

He snorts when you hold Joel’s black card up between two fingers, tilting it in the sunlight. And then he puts the car in park, climbs out, and jaunts over to the ice cream cart by your bench.

He orders a three-scoop cone, and you nod in approval when he sits down alongside you, unbuttoning his suit jacket.

“Respect it,” you say, cheersing your own half-finished cone against his.

----------

When you get back to work, Joel’s already changed into a crisp, clean golfing outfit. It weakens your knees a little when you saunter into his office.

A long-sleeved, dark polo shirt that shows off every curve and flex of his toned arms, paired with gray, just-tight-enough trousers. And pristine white shoes so sharp and clean you’d swear he’d had them polished just for the occasion.

You ignore the way your head lightens at the sight of him and throw yourself into the chair to his right, white back from Ace’s falling between your ankles.

“Alright, Tom, thanks for lettin’ me know,” he says, arms folded, sat back against his desk. He leans back, places the phone back in its cradle, and looks you up and down. “Have fun?”

You shrug, leaning forward to pick a piece of lint from his thigh. “Didn’t know what to get for the most part, so there’s probably stuff I don’t need in there.”

He squints down at his cell phone. “Like, uh…Duke’s Scoops?”

You stare back at him, mirroring his cheeky smirk. Your leg swings, arms cross over your chest, covering the way your breath falters. He’s seen the transactions.

“You gonna grudge me three dollars on an ice cream, Miller?”

“Six fifty,” he mutters, glancing down at his phone again to double check. His tongue runs across his top lip. You want to replace it with yours. “So…that’s at least two ice creams, pretty girl.”

“It’s a hot day. Rand deserved something to cool down. We sat on a bench in the shade ‘n had a nice chat. He taught me how to swing. Verbally,” you add, when Joel’s eyebrows lift.

“Taught you how to swing,” he echoes, and you nod.

“Did you know he used to compete? Junior league?”

He pouts his bottom lip. “Mighta come up in the, what, fifteen years since I met him?”

You beam in reply, standing up and hooking your fingers through the string handles of your shopping bag. “I’m gonna go get changed now.”

“Could just get changed in the car on the way, ‘s a thirty-minute drive.”

You lean in close, eyes flitting over to Martha’s desk to make sure she’s not watching. Your lips brush softly against his ear. “I don’t wanna take any time away from other stuff we could get up to,” you murmur, and Joel’s hand locks around yours, attempting to pull you back as you skip off.

“Be right back,” you call, letting the door fall shut on his suggestive smirk, his tight trousers, and the hard bulge beneath them.

You return five minutes later in your getup. Joel has much the same reaction as you did with him, though he’s not half as good at hiding it. He sits upright in his chair, fingers tight around the armrests.

“Uhuh,” he says, eyes diving to your legs and then resurfacing somewhere around your chest. “Let me just –” he leans over to his phone, “– call Drew, let ‘im know we ain’t comin’…”

“Shut up,” you scoff. “Looks good, though, right?”

Joel’s eyes are still trained on your bare thighs, one crossed over the other. “Looks…better than good.”

You bat your eyelashes. “Still mad about the ice cream?”

“No, ma’am. Not mad at all.”

He stands, slinging both his bag and yours over his shoulder, and walks around his desk to meet you. You give him one final warning.

“You know I’ve never played golf before, right?”

“I know,” he affirms.

“So…bringing me is kinda pointless. I am not gonna bring anything worthwhile.”

“You in that outfit,” Joel mutters – and as he passes by, he makes sure to brush his swollen crotch up against your ass – “makes it worthwhile already.”

----------

Aspen Heights is a hundred and fifty-acre course, vibrant green fairways rolling over hilly land laid out like crinkles in a sheet of green felt. Rand drives slowly up to the clubhouse, gravel crackling under the tires of the Rolls as you and Joel lean over to stare at the landscape – the unkempt, sprawling wild plants guarding the pristine course, the bunkers like giant splotches of white paint on the grass.

You turn back and look to Joel, brows knitting in an expression which could be translated as amazement, could be intrigue, or could simply be: What the fuck are we doing here?

He mirrors it, shaking his head. And it makes you laugh.

“What?” he asks, smiling.

“You could buy this place, easy. Don’t act like you don’t fit in.”

“If you think I fit in here,” he grunts, getting out of the now parked car, “you think very highly of me, angel.”

He doesn’t deny that he could afford to buy it.

The clubhouse is…much the same. Huge, grand, surrounded by a wide-open porch and fronted by a dome-shaped room, paneled by windows that reflect the scene before them.

You follow Joel’s lead, climbing the steps to the double doors by his side, staying close enough that he can guide you with a bump of his arm against yours, but far enough apart that it doesn’t look like you’re showing up together.

Inside, you follow two smartly-dressed attendants through to a room finished in dark oak, shining wooden floors under bare-bulb light figures, a solid marble bar in the center and six perfectly symmetrical high tables surrounding it.

You glance nervously around the room. Drew’s stood over by the windows with three other men – a tan guy with a white baseball cap on, fluorescent orange polo buttoned up to his neck, a shorter guy with tight black curls, fiddling with the cap of a bottle of water, and finally, a guy with dark hair combed within an inch of its life into perfect place, shoulders almost ripping through his blue polo. He looks like he’s been copy-pasted straight from a magazine called Golf Weekly, or something.

Joel takes one step across a patterned rug and Drew notices you both. He breaks off from the group.

“Hey, man.” He grins at Joel and leans over to shake his hand – well, it’s more of that slap-hand thing. They slap each other’s palms, fingers lock, one quick shake of the wrists together, and then a nod of the head. You know?

Then he leans over to you, kisses your cheek. “Sorry it’s just us guys,” he says, hand on your arm. He looks over to the three men by the window, now looking out over the course and pointing. “My girlfriend was supposed to be joining us, but she got called in to work. You two woulda gotten along, you ‘n Rach.”

You smile warmly. “That’s okay. Thanks for asking me.”

“You play much?” Drew asks, leading you both over to the windows.

You shake your head and Joel breathes a laugh.

“Total beginner,” you admit.

Drew bats a hand. “We’ll show you the ropes. This is, uh, this is Steve,” he points to Fluorescent Orange, “Caleb,” Water Bottle holds his hand out to shake yours, “and that’s Daniel.”

Up close, Daniel’s handsome. Sharp jawline, shadowed by the beginnings of stubble, a dimple in the center of his chin. He steps forward, holding a hand out, and you take it. His palm engulfs yours and squeezes – soft but sure. And then you pull away.

The men all nod to Joel, who probably nods back from behind you, and then catches you gently in his arm, cradling it around your back out of view of the others.

“We’ll be getting started soon,” Drew says, “they’re just fixing up a few buggies for us.”

Joel nods, lets go of you, and crosses his arms. You knot your hands awkwardly at your waist. He stays right by your side, though, which you’re grateful for. The last thing you need is another Jean-Marc, some cloaked assistant swooping you off away from the comfort of Joel.

“How’s business, Joel? Drew was tellin’ us about some deal you’re tryna nail.”

Daniel’s eyes are sharp, cerulean blue drilling deep into the warm brown of Joel’s, which calmly stare back. He looks a little younger than Joel, maybe on the cusp of forty, only a few light strands of grey through his deep brown fringe. There’s no wedding ring on his finger. You don’t know why you’re even looking at that.

Joel doesn’t reveal much in the way of answers. Typical of him – or typical of the Joel he is to the rest of the world. “Yeah, ‘s good. Just takin’ my time, we’re workin’ on it.”

Daniel nods, maybe a little too enthusiastically. He crosses his arms, biceps bulging, and then rounds on you.

“You gotta be run off your feet, chasing after him all day, huh?”

You tilt your head toward Joel. “He keeps me busy, yeah.”

Daniel leans into you, laughter crooning from his lips. It wobbles you a little, forces you one step nearer Joel’s side. You smile back, as pleasant as you can muster the courage, and he eventually leans away.

Before he can ask another question, Drew’s calling you all over to the sliding patio doors. Daniel hops back a step, nods to you, and says, “After you.”

“Thanks, Dan,” Joel cuts, stepping into the space the blue-eyed man had left specifically for you, sweeping you off as he goes.

----------

There isn’t anything about golf that intrigues you. Not even remotely. You’ve never watched it, never wanted to play it – the most you’ve dabbled in it is minigolf, and even that became a fucking bore after two anniversary dates in a row there with Blake.

Still, you watch patiently and politely as the men take their shots one by one, starting with Drew, all the way through to Daniel, who gives his driver a quick shine with a gloved hand before stepping up. On your left, Joel scoffs quietly to himself.

Daniel swings back, and his biceps swell under the tight sleeves of his shirt. You watch as his arms follow through, sending the ball hurtling through the air and well past its three predecessors.

Joel nudges your elbow.

“Ow,” you mumble, running a hand over the skin.

He gives you a perplexed look. “I said, you can use my clubs. You in there?”

“Yeah,” you reply, a little too defensively. “Just…paying attention.”

“Hm.”

The men on your right groan as Daniel strides back over to join them, a satisfied grin across his face. Your eyes trace him as he leans on his driver, one white pant leg crossing over the other.

When you turn back to the tee box, Joel’s lifting his own club from his bag. His broad, muscled shoulders flex under the dark material of his shirt; his tall figure walks over to the tee, delicate fingers dancing along the handle of the club, and he clears his throat.

And suddenly, the memory of Daniel and his stupid biceps is dust in the wind.

Joel takes, like, half a practice swing. Doesn’t even have to aim, not really. Just pulls his arms back, sucks his waist in, and goes for it.

His ball lands a couple meters ahead of Daniel’s. And you wonder when the fuck golf became this sexy.

He turns back and runs his tongue over his top lip, breathing a little heavy. The sight drives you fucking insane for the second time today. And then he’s smiling at you, jerking his head in a gesture for you to join him.

You step forward, a little shy, a little hot, and wander mutely over to him.

“I got you,” he says, and reaches for your wrist.

You move to take the driver from his hand and Joel clicks his teeth, shaking his head.

“Said I got you,” he utters, and pulls your body into his, shelling around you. His beard scratches lightly against your ear.

“Joel,” you whisper, laughing nervously and tossing a quick glance back over to the men standing just feet away. Drew just said something apparently hilarious. Caleb gives him a solid whack on the shoulder and doubles over laughing. Steve’s watching a butterfly float by.

“They ain’t watchin’,” Joel says, curving his arms around yours and fixing your hands on the handle of the club. “s just you ‘n me.”

You wriggle under his grasp and feel the hum of laughter from his chest between your shoulders, the weight of his belt riding on your ass. Your cheeks heat when his chin rests on your collarbone.

“Alright,” he says, hands tightening around your own. “You’re gonna line it up, stand with your legs a little apart, little more…”

The toe of his shoe taps your heel and you widen your stance.

“Good girl,” he whispers. A pulse shakes through your body. “Now, on your backswing, you’re gonna want your left shoulder under your chin, ‘n your hands above your right shoulder. Yeah?”

“Got it,” you mumble, so unconvincing that it makes you laugh after you’ve said it.

He gives your waist a tiny squeeze and steps back, watching as you carefully lift the club and curve it around your shoulders. You hear him from behind.

“’attagirl. Keep your knees bent, you got it.”

You take one good swing, and hit the ball on your first try, but it’s…it’s bad, for sure. It’s pretty terrible. The ball lands on this side of the fairway, muddled in amongst the longer grass of the rough. But it’s your first ever shot – least not with colored balls and spinning windmills in the way – and so when you turn back to Joel with a huge beam across your lips, your expression is reflected in his.

“Good job!” he chuckles, stalking back over to you.

“Good job,” you echo with a laugh, handing him the club. You twist and hold your hand up to shield your eyes, staring down the course. “Look where it is, ‘n look where yours are.”

He glances back over to where your sad little ball sits. “We’ll get a few drinks down those guys,” he whispers, hand on your back. “See how good they are in a few holes’ time.”

----------

You’re back in the clubhouse after finishing the eighteenth hole on something of a high. Joel managed to worsen the accuracy of your competitors only so much – your end of the deal was to improve as the round went on, which you try to argue you technically did, given that you began to land your shots on the fairway around hole seven, but your argument is let down by Joel’s reminder that, on hole thirteen, he had to dig your ball out of the bunker for you.

“And I am eternally grateful to you for agreeing to never fucking talk about it again,” you say through gritted teeth, and he laughs.

“Last time, promise.”

Drew joins the pair of you at your table and slaps an arm down on Joel’s shoulder.

“Your round, asshole.”

Joel grumbles, gives your elbow a cursory tap, and slides off to the bar. Drew takes his seat, nudges your arm.

“I am impressed,” he tells you, slurring his words a little.

“Yeah?” you ask, and he nods. “I didn’t think I was so good.”

“Oh,” he shakes his head, “you weren’t. I meant I’m impressed you stuck it out.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you hiss.

He snorts, head bobbing with the alcohol bubbling in his blood. “I’m kidding. You were great, for your first time. I’m really glad you came.”

“Me, too,” you admit.

Drew opens his mouth to say something else when a clatter from across the clubhouse interrupts him. You turn at the same time to see a waiter on his ass at the other side of the room. His metal tray rattles against the wooden floor, flutes smashed in a pool of champagne by his side.

“Oh, shoot,” Drew mumbles, setting his glass down on the table.

You push off your stool, sliding your drink alongside his, but he motions for you to stay.

“I got it,” he says, palm lightly tapping your wrist. “I got it.”

He shuffles off to the waiter, now being helped to his feet by Caleb. The last you see is Drew bending to grab the silver tray, before he’s swept out of your view by –

“Poor guy,” Daniel muses, fist locked tight around a lager. He pulls Joel’s stool out and slips onto the cushion, elbow brushing against yours.

You readjust awkwardly in your own chair and pull on the hem of your skirt.

“So,” Daniel clears his throat, the bottom of his glass scraping along the wooden tabletop, “how’d you find your first round of golf?”

You smile politely. “Uh, good. Yeah. I wasn’t expecting to be much, but it wasn’t too scary.”

He chuckles. “Yeah? Think you’ll be back?”

Your shoulders jerk with a shrug. “Maybe.”

He nods and dives headfirst into some long ramble about golf – something about the time he brought his sister and her kids here and how much worse they were than you, so you should really be proud of yourself, and he’d love to see you around here again sometime – but you’re only half listening. You’re stealing glances over at the bar, hunting for a chiseled jawline and monochrome beard.

You spot him locked between Steve and some other guy in all black, waiting for the bartender to draw up his order of drinks. He’s nodding, saying words back to the pair, but keeping his eyes locked on you.

You give him half a smile, half a, There you are, what the hell’s taking you so long? Can you come the fuck back? and hope he reads the words across your face.

“…so, as long as you stick with what you know, it’s actually a really enjoyable game.”

Daniel stares at you blankly, waiting for a response.

“Sure, sure,” you answer, after too long a pause to convince him that you were listening. “Sorry,” you close your eyes and give your head a shake, “was just checking on that waiter.”

Daniel nods. Follows the trail of your eyeline across the room, and looks back to you. “So, uh,” he clears his throat nervously, “I know this place downtown – Italian, has this big open rooftop seating area. If you’re interested, I’d, uh…I’d love to take you, sometime.”

You stare at him for a few seconds, frozen. Like, actually convinced the air in your lungs has turned to ice, frozen. Your eyes probably look like they’re about to burst out of your head, your mouth stuck in a dumb O-shape as you search frantically for the words to form a reply.

He smiles awkwardly. Watches as you blink straight back at him.

“I…” you manage, after what feels like fucking hours. “…That’s – so nice, Daniel, I – really – I’m flattered. Um…”

He interrupts, and it’s like a cold flannel on an acid burn. “Oh, Jesus. I – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to – I’m sorry.”

“No,” you shake your head, suddenly animated, “no, listen. It’s – you’re –”

Daniel’s still apologizing. “Are you – sorry, I don’t mean to assume – are you and – you and Joel…?”

His head jerks. One eyebrow cocked. His fingers press into the table, making counter-rotating circles across the gleaming surface.

You stare from his hands to his face, open-mouthed. “N-no,” you tell him, with a single shake of your head. And then you realize he’s being serious. “No, no, we’re not – no, absolutely not. We’re just – friends.”

“Right,” he says, brows knitting. “It’s just – the guy hasn’t taken his eyes off you the entire time I’ve been sat here, so I just figured…maybe…”

You follow Daniel’s gaze across to the bar again, where Joel’s still standing, this time with Drew at his side. He’s mouthing Yeah, in reply to whatever Steve’s gabbing about, but not fucking listening to a word of it.

“No,” you say again, looking Joel dead in the eye. “We’re just friends.”

You turn to look back at the slick-haired man by your side, and he nods.

“But, uh,” you look into your glass, the ice suddenly more interesting than Daniel’s hopeful expression, “you’re a really nice guy, and I appreciate you asking, but I’m…not…exactly looking for anything right now. I’m – yeah.”

“Right – no, absolutely,” he says again, flustered. His fingers wrap tight around his glass and he shifts as if to stand. “That’s absolutely fine. I just thought I’d ask, y’know?”

He laughs nervously. You feel kinda guilty. He’s being so decent about it, and he means well, but you really just wish he would…fuck off.

He isn’t given the option.

Drew comes bounding over like a golden retriever and leans in to Daniel, another freshly poured pint swinging in his fist. “You’ve improved your game, Gilbert,” he sings in your suitor’s ear. “Must be years since the last time you scored an eagle!”

Daniel copies Drew’s guffawing, nodding along. He opens his mouth to say something, but Drew jumps ahead, offering to buy him a drink to celebrate.

“C’mon, my treat,” the blond tells him, and swaggers off towards the bar, a vice grip on the blue polo shirt.

The shadow of Joel slips around your back as soon as the two figures are out of view. He brushes against your shoulders and nudges his stool nearer to yours with his foot, before sitting back into it with a sigh.

You stare at him, smirking behind your hand, elbow resting on the arm of your chair. He catches your eye and watches you for a few seconds.

Sorry, he mouths eventually, and sneaks a hand onto your thigh.

You lean into him, feeling the weight of Daniel and his proposal and his fucking Italian restaurant fall like insignificant grains off sand off your shoulders. You trace a finger along the shape of Joel’s knuckles. “I feel bad,” you whisper.

“The hell for?” his voice asks, a deep rumble by your temple.

You shrug, looking up at him. “He’s a nice guy. He asked me on a date.”

“And did you want to go?”

Your face pulls into a wince, lips flinching. “Not really.”

“Then what’d I tell you about doin’ stuff you don’t want to?”

You don’t reply. Your mind sails back to that boat ride in Paris, when he basically told you off for feeling guilty about rejecting a fucking marriage proposal, never mind a downtown dinner. It doesn’t bear thinking about what fantastic rant he’s currently bottling up where Daniel’s feelings are concerned.

Joel’s a no-nonsense guy, you know this. Known it for as long as you’ve known him. He’s rational, he’s pragmatic. He says what he thinks, and you deal with however you feel about it. He doesn’t waste time making anyone feel better with lies or cushion-soft landings. His yes is yes and his no is no. And sure, maybe there’s something in there that you’d do well to adopt, too.

But there are inconsistencies to him that you can’t work out – yet. Something that makes him break his rules. He still hasn’t shared whatever the hell Jean-Marc said to him that made him sweep you off of that terrace minutes later. He won’t admit why he keeps dragging you along to these so-called ‘work’ events.

Part of you wants to break him open, chip away at him like the sculptures in the Louvre until his beating heart is in your hands, the rhythmic pulses sharing secrets like it’s speaking in Morse code.

And part of you – bigger, stronger, wiser – hopes you never get close.

When you come back to the room, sound of glasses clinking and men’s roaring laughter washing away any thoughts of jilted boyfriends or lonely golfers, Joel lowers his head to look you in the eye.

“You wanna go?”

You nod, scrunching your nose. “That okay?”

He leans in close, as close as he reckons he can get without drawing attention, and smiles softly. “You coulda asked to go home the minute we pulled up ‘n it woulda been okay. Let’s go.” And he takes your hand.

Drew’s slung over the shoulders of some argyle-patterned men who you’re sure have spent more time drinking than they have actually on the course. He’s lifting his glass, about to toast to life, or love, or fucking golf, when Joel sneaks by behind him, never letting go of your hand.

The Rolls Royce is sat in park at the bottom of the stone steps, hazard lights blinking. Joel holds the door open as you hop in under the twinkling ceiling.

“Well?” Rand asks, looking in the mirror. You respond with a toss of your head, squinting. “Did you keep your feet straight like I taught you?” he demands.

“Honestly, I was more focused on making sure I hit the ball, Rand.”

He snorts. “Office, Joel?”

“Office, Rand.”

As the partition closes, Joel’s hand comes up to cup the back of your head. You lean into it, tilting to look at him properly through eyes glazed with tiredness, alcohol, relief to be back in only his company.

And he’s staring back, eyes flitting from yours down to your mouth when you speak.

“Did you…did you send Drew over to get Daniel away from me?”

Joel’s eyes stay fixed on your lips. “You didn’t want me to do that?”

You ignore him. You want him to answer your question. “Did you?”

And then he looks up. Searches your eyes for a second, and then says, “Yeah.”

Your stare falls down into his lap. To his closed fist, resting on his thigh. His fingers are stroking the back of your head in lulling movements. You focus on the shine of his watch. And horror sets in.

“You wanted him to stay?” Joel asks, bringing you up for air for half a second.

You’re quiet when you reply. “…No. I didn’t want him anywhere near me.”

And that’s somehow scarier. That you didn’t want this decent, attractive-enough man around you. That the entire time he sat nipping your ear, your eyes, your hands, your heart was searching all over the room for Joel. Listening for the twang of his voice, looking for him out of your peripheral. Counting every second until he sauntered back to your side.

It’s rolling. The feeling. Like a snowball gaining speed down a mountain. Starts off a twinge, a plucking somewhere buried deep in your heart, and turns and turns and turns until it’s a weight behind your ribcage. Unable to burst free.

You take Joel’s wrist and move his hand to the curve of your thigh, then lock your fingers between his. He lets you. You lift your free hand to the cut of his jawline, training your fingers down his bristled beard, and he lets you do that, too. And when you pull his face down to meet yours, lips warm and wet and starving, he opens his mouth and slips his tongue past your teeth.

Your hands are knotting in his hair. You’re leaning back, trying to pull him down on top of you, but he’s stronger. His hands take a strong grip of your waist and hoist you over the center console and into his lap, your knees pressing into the soft leather either side of his hips.

“You gonna tell me what you’re up to, pretty girl?” he asks, tipping his head back. His shirt smells like his cologne. Fresh, sharp, clean. It sends your head spinning.

Your lips find his jawline and nip kisses and bites along the sharp ridge. He tastes like whiskey, tastes like the sun, tastes like he did four days ago. Sweet and smoky and laced with something intoxicating.

Joel sighs. His hands knead into your hips, and he pushes you down, grinding you into his body.

He’s hard. Already.

“Feels like you already know,” you mutter, still peppering his neck with kisses.

He laughs the cocky way he always does when you’re on this road, heading this way. His hands find your hair again and he pulls your head back, drawing a whine from your lips.

“You gonna take it like a good girl? Take daddy’s cock?”

“Mhm,” you mewl, rubbing your damp panties over the bulge in his pants.

Joel unzips his trousers and shifts the waistband loose. You move his hands and peel back the top of his boxers yourself, and he watches from under heavy lids as you take him in both hands.

“That’s – my girl,” he chokes, eyes following your pumping fists. His head tips back with a quiet groan.

You push yourself up, shuffle nearer to him until your cunt hovers over his cock, and pull your panties to the side. You’re fucking soaked, already wet enough that Joel’s thick head catches on the cusp of your entrance as you line him up, stealing a gasp from your lips.

You sink, slowly, letting him push through into your sex inch by inch, feeling yourself pull open around him. Your brows furrow, jaw falls wide at the white-hot feeling between your legs, and you look up to see your expression reflected in Joel’s.

His hands clutch at your hips. “So – fucking – tight,” he hums, eyes rolling.

You lock your knees and begin bouncing, resting your hands on top of Joel’s. You’re steadily picking up pace, each nudge of his tip against the edge of your pussy sending another spasm of stars across your quickly-blinding vision.

“Off,” Joel mumbles against your lips, fingers pinching the fabric of your shirt.

“Huh?” you ask back, looking down to where he’s already peeling it up your torso.

“Just the skirt,” he pants, desperate, “nothin’ else.”

You lift your arms and let him pull the polo from your body, tossing it onto the carpeted floor. Joel unhooks your bra and pulls the lace down, before he’s angling his hips up again, hitting you somewhere deep enough inside to steal the breath from your lungs.

And then his lips are on your naked chest, sinking into the valley between your breasts, kissing over to your nipple. His tongue flicks over and over until the bud is pointed, enough to take it between his lips and graze over it with his teeth.

Your thighs are burning. Your skirt sits bunched up on your hips, only just covering your ass as Joel’s hands press into the supple skin, lifting you effortlessly up and down. You melt into his touch, let him do the work for a few seconds as he sits back in his seat to watch your body on his.

“My good – girl,” he groans, voice thick with arousal. “You know how pretty you look right now?”

You hook your hand around his neck, draw him in a little nearer. Shake your head with a filthy smile on your lips. “Tell me.”

Joel laughs shakily. “Wanna – fuckin’ – show you off to everyone, babygirl.”

He’s kissing you slowly, his tongue pressed to yours, when you pull back and separate your lips. He’s planted a seed in your mind.

Joel’s hips stop moving immediately. “Y’okay?” he asks, light hand on the side of your head, keeping your eyes on him.

You nod, breathing heavy. “Mhm.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head, “just…”

You look down to your skirt, your bare thighs spread over Joel’s lap. The thought flips over and over in your head, unsure if it’s brave enough to trot down to your lips and show itself to Joel.

“Baby?”

It’s Joel, though. Same guy who bent you over his desk, same guy who fucked you senseless feet away from his flight attendants. Same guy who, a few days ago, you were in this exact position with: writhing in next to nothing on his lap.

Fuck it. Right?

“…want him to watch,” you say, in a small voice.

Joel’s expression doesn’t change, save for the way his eyes narrow. “Want who to watch?”

You look at him a beat longer, and it sinks in. He gets it.

“Yeah, babygirl? That what you want?”

“Mhm,” you reply, shifting with him when he starts moving his hips again. The car moves forward, pushing you closer into him. “Want him to – watch you fuck me.”

“Dirty girl. You want him to watch you cum for daddy, pretty girl?”

“Ye-ah,” you moan, Joel’s hands now pushing your waist down, the stretch of his cock deep inside you almost burning with pleasure.

“Yeah, you do,” he whispers, watching as your face pulls and your brows knit together.

“Only cum for you, daddy,” you whimper.

“I know, darlin’, I know. Close your eyes.”

By this point, Joel’s assured tone, his strong hands on your hips, his fucking length buried inside you, are enough to convince you. You just do as you’re fucking told – as soon as you’re fucking told.

Your eyes flutter closed, and you lean forward, hooking your chin over his shoulder and feeling him turn, his lips pressed close to your ear.

“Good girl. He there?”

The image of Daniel flits across your vision, bright blue eyes trained on you. He looks…intrigued, and stunned. He’s not breaking his stare.

“Mhm,” you say again, and start to lift off of Joel.

“He watching?”

“Y-eah,” you choke out, bouncing steadily.

“Put on a show for ‘im, pretty girl. Show him what you do for me.”

You focus on the feeling of Joel, cock fucking deep into you, nuzzling against your walls and splitting you open; the sound of his voice in your ear, gently encouraging, sweetly reassuring; the smell of him, the taste of him, the heat from his skin, and…the sight of the steel-blue stare behind your eyes. The tight polo shirt. The round biceps. Watching you.

Watching you be fucked by someone else. Watching you come undone for someone else. For the same guy whose stare he couldn’t shake while he so much as talked to you. Watching your face as it twists in filthy pleasure; listening to you make sounds, whisper words, whisper daddy in the ear of your fucking boss; have him whisper words back that make your cunt tighten around him and push the image of Daniel two steps back with shock.

“Tell me again, angel.” Joel’s voice starts to swipe Daniel away.

Your eyes peel open, the backseat of the Rolls a blur as you roll your head back. “What, daddy?” you whimper.

His hand takes your jaw, holds you in line with his own. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

You breathe a laugh. It pulls across your mouth two seconds later. “M-me.”

Joel mirrors your grin. His hips buck once. You cry out. “Yeah?”

“Uhuh,” you yelp, getting louder as he snaps up into you deeper, faster, harder.

You’re drawing around him, warm and wet, feeling him deep in your stomach as your movements become sloppy and staggered. Pleasure swirls like a whirlpool between your legs, tightening, tightening, tightening.

Joel’s face sharpens into your vision. His eyes are fixed on yours. You watch his lips shape the words good girl, before he pulls your foreheads together, noses flush against one another.

“’n who fucks it like this?” he asks into your mouth.

You take a deep breath, inhaling his question, and let a satisfied exhale carry your answer back out.

“Just y-you, daddy.”

And you both fall.

You rock back and forth as the feeling drowns you both; open-mouthed, silently screaming, eyes trained on one another as you ride out your high together.

You throw your head back, eyes losing focus just inches under the stars until they blur into little white halos. Your arms lift up to lean against the tiny dotted lights, steadying yourself.

Joel’s hands clamp around your waist, holding you down on his cock as he shoots hot ropes of cum deep inside you, mixing with your own and filling you up. Your name escapes his lips hand in hand with a deep, throaty moan.

You body aches. Your cunt throbs around him, still humming with pleasure as your body curls again, falling forward until your face is hidden in the crook of his neck. His hands run up and down your spine, lips press featherlight kisses to your ear, shhing, whispering praise, bringing you slowly back into the car with him.

“Daddy…” you whisper into the soft cotton of his shirt, and you feel the weight of his cheek on your head.

His hands cup your cheeks and he lifts your face until you’re staring at one another. Your eyes are tired, you can hardly keep them open, but Joel holds you upright.

“We gotta stop this,” he whispers, and your foreheads fall together again as you laugh. “I’m gettin’ too old for it, baby.”

He’s still buried deep inside, slowly softening, but you don’t want him to go. Not yet. He reaches for your bra, helps you slip it back on, and you bend back to take your shirt in two fingers.

When you’re dressed, you sink back into him.

Joel laughs, brushing the wisps of your hair disturbed by pulling your shirt over your head. “That what you were thinkin’ about? While he was talkin’ to you?”

You smile lazily. Shake your head no. “Was thinking…about you taking me to the Italian he was talking about.”

Joel’s smile grows bigger. Biggest you think you’ve ever seen him smile before. It breaks into a laugh, a toothy chuckle, and then he kisses you.

You melt into him, tongue and teeth crashing against one another. Joel’s open palms surf along your thighs, molding around your skin. He squeezes the dimpled skin on your hips between his fingers.

“Tonight work for you?” he asks, and you giggle.

“No,” you tell him, “I got Martha’s to-do list to work through.”

He nods knowingly, eyes closing. “You want a hand with it?”

You smirk. “Can we fool around in your office between items?”

His head tips back against the headrest with an obvious expression. “What do you think?”

The car slows to a stop and Rand’s knuckles rap against the glass of the partition. You slip off of Joel’s lap, fix yourselves quickly, and then amble off back to the top floor, still a little weak in the knees.

“Home time, Martha,” Joel calls almost as soon as the elevator doors pull open.

“Excuse me?” she yells back.

He laughs. “I’m lettin’ you go early. It ain’t fair that we get to go have our fun ‘n you’re stuck here ‘til five. Let us know what needs done, ‘n then you can get goin’.”

“Ain’t that chivalrous?” Martha beams, blinking at you.

You saunter by her with a smile and toss your bag under your desk. You spin around, brace yourself against the arms of your chair, and throw yourself back against the comfortable leather.

“So,” she announces, almost fucking skipping over to you with her trusty notepad back in her clutches. “I whittled it down to just six things, so it shouldn’t keep you much longer than five o’clock…”

You lift your brows and nod along.

“…as long as you don’t find anything to distract yourselves with, that is.”

----------

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#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #ceo!joel miller #ceo!joel #the last of us #the last of us fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal joel miller #pedro pascal characters #the last of us hbo #sugardaddy!joel miller #joel tlou #joel the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #fluff #smut #angst #sex on fire

[happilyhertale]

Destiny is all - Osferth x female!reader, Part 5

Summary: You are Finan's sister. You live in a village in Scotland, near the border with Northumbria. You lead a quiet life until your brother decides to visit you with his boys and your life changes completely.

Pairing: Osferth x fem!reader

Author’s note: Hey you (:

Now I am finally sharing my little Osferth story with you. The events are a little different from the story in the series. (No, Osferth will not die either). I hope you will enjoy it! English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 2.4 k

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 6, Part 7

Other stories of mine

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As you follow the Dane towards the camp, you steal a glance over your shoulder to see Sihtric and Uhtred disappear into the distance. Turning your gaze back ahead, you can't help but notice the Dane walking beside you. Though he stands tall, he seems almost unimpressive, his thin frame catching your eye. As your gaze falls back down, you see the sticks in your hand. You feel a little out of place. But as you step further into the camp, a stunning woman approaches you. Her beauty takes your breath away as you gaze upon her long brown locks, which are adorned with feathers, just like yours. She smiles at you, "Ah, great. We need wood," and takes the wood from you. You nod at her with a smile.

As the woman walks away from you again, you see that the Dane who "found" you is already gone. You just walk further into the camp and try not to let on. You have never seen so many Danes in one place. You can't help but let your eyes wander curiously.

Uhtred has told you before that Ubba is tall. He is probably taller than most Danes. And that he has blond hair and also a tattoo on his face. Your eyes continue to wander.

But after a while it turns out that it is not so easy to find Ubba.

As the sun begins to set, the surroundings are plunged into darkness and the presence of the blond Danes seems to fill every corner of the field of vision. It is difficult to spot a taller-than-average Dane when everyone is huddled around a fire and their figures are bathed in flickering light.

With a hopeful stride, you walk on in search of a quiet place to sit and contemplate your surroundings. You pass numerous Danes and are surprised at how many of them have gathered in this area. However, a feeling of unease creeps over you as you think about the reason for their gathering.

They are eating and drinking. Loud conversations and laughter can be heard everywhere. Some Danes are having fun with women in front of the others. But you don't let yourself be distracted, you keep walking to find a quiet spot.

As you stride through the camp, the sound of some men calling out to you fades into the background. Your determination drives you forward, unimpressed by their futile attempts to attract your attention. Only when you reach the edge of the camp do you come to a halt. In the distance, the glittering waters of the sea spread out before you. You see some of the dark silhouettes of the Danes' boats anchored on the shore.

A heavy sigh escapes your lips as you turn back to camp and a wave of uncertainty washes over you. Where will you spend the night? How will you get in touch with the others here? And above all: where on earth is Ubba? These questions buzz around in your head and tug at your emotions with a sense of unease.

But then a dark voice pulls you out of your thoughts, "Who are you?"

You turn around and there is a tall Dane standing in front of you. You can't tell if he's taller than the other Danes, but he's very broad, tall and blond. And he has a face tattoo. That must be Ubba.

When you remember he asked you a question.

"Alva," you say, "I am Alva"

Ubba tilts his head, "Have I seen you before, Alva?" he asks hesitantly.

You get slightly nervous, but you don't want to let it show.

"Seen, maybe... but nothing more," you try to say cheekily.

A broad grin spreads across Ubba's face, "Then.. I want you"

He takes a step towards you, but you take a step back.

"Nah," you lift your finger and grin slightly, "To keep the tension up... A woman shouldn't give in so quickly," you tell him.

He looks at you confused at first, but then he grins again, "You want tension? You can have it..." he says. You are startled for a moment as Ubba approaches you.

"Ubba... we need you," suddenly sounds from behind Ubba.

Ubba turns his head around, "Now?" he asks.

You look a little behind Ubba and see another Dane there. It could be the Dane who "found" you outside the camp. He is tall, but thin. But you are not sure. The Danes all look very similar.

Ubba just grunts, "All right..."

He turns to you again, "We'll have dinner together tonight," he says with a grin.

You just nod at him with a smile. Ubba turns and leaves.

At first you stand around a little lost. But then you notice a campfire with a few women sitting around. You sit down with the women and act as if you had never done anything else.

When Ubba suddenly reappears, you look up at him.

"You. Come with me," he says simply.

The other women look at you, but you get up with a smile and follow Ubba.

You pass some people until Ubba leads you into a tent. When you enter, you see a table with food and drinks. Some Danes are already sitting around the table and drinking. You sit down with them, but Ubba makes sure that you sit close to him. He doesn't eat much, but drinks all the more. His hand keeps trying to wander along your body. You keep biting your tongue. But fortunately Ubba keeps getting distracted by conversation. That always lets you breathe a sigh of relief.

You abstain from too many drinks because you want to keep a clear mind. You try to follow the ongoing conversations but find them rather uninteresting. The topics are mainly about past "exploits" and trivial things, with no mention of current activities. It occurs to you that maybe they don't talk about such things in the presence of women?

The evening drags on and on. And at some point Ubba is drunk as a skunk. When the other Danes have also consumed enough alcohol, they try to carry Ubba to bed. Ubba doesn't notice much anymore, but he can still call for you.

"Alva!" he calls simply and you swallow.

The Danes just leave the tent and you lie down with Ubba. You don't really dare to breathe or move. But when he just starts snoring, you feel relief spreading through you.

You are now alone in the tent and only Ubba's snoring can be heard. You turn on your side and let your gaze wander around the tent a little.

Oh, how you long for Osferth. His absence leaves a cold and lonely emptiness. The thought of a chunky, snoring Dane lying next to you is anything but comforting, for it is Osferth's warm body that you long for. The gentle rhythm of his breath on your neck and the way he wraps you in his arms in the night are but distant memories. As you contemplate the possibility of never seeing him again, tears well up in your eyes. The fear of a tragic fate that could befall you here sends panic coursing through your veins, but you try to suppress these thoughts and push them away. With a deep exhale and wiping away your tears, you try to regain your composure. Your moment of comfort is abruptly interrupted, however, when you feel Ubba's arm clasp you tightly. The suddenness of his touch startles you, but your apprehension is soon soothed by the sound of his snoring, allowing you to calm down again.

You mustn't let yourself be distracted, you think to yourself. You are here to do a job and then the boys will get you out of here.

As the night progresses, you don't exactly fall into a deep sleep. Instead, you find yourself in a slumbering state that pulls you out of consciousness again and again. As the first rays of sunlight filter through the tent, you rise quietly, careful not to wake Ubba, who is still snoring loudly.

You step outside and enjoy the peaceful surroundings as you let your eyes wander over the quiet camp. It is still early, but you can already see a couple of women sitting around a nearby campfire, and you walk over to them with a smile. As you sit down with them, you notice that they are not discussing anything particularly important, but the simple conversation is enough to fill the morning with warmth and companionship.

Nothing particularly noteworthy happens during the day, and you are content to bask in the company of the women. At one point, you watch Ubba stumble out of his tent, showing off his well-built body as he washes himself at a nearby water source. Despite his scars, you can't help but admire the strength and resilience he embodies.

But ultimately it is the company of women that catches your attention again. Even if your conversations are not particularly deep, you appreciate the sense of community and connection they convey.

As the sun sets, Ubba accompanies you back to his tent. You and Ubba were alone in the tent and you tried to keep a safe distance between you and him. But he persistently pulls you closer to him and tries to take you in his arms. Eventually you find yourself on his bed, although you try hard to keep your distance.

Desperate, you try to divert his attention by surreptitiously pouring more ale into his cup. This also seems to work at first, but only seems to increase his lust for your body in the end. His fingers run over your skin, but you playfully push them away, laughing coyly. Undeterred, you fill his cup with more ale.

"Do you know that you are one of the most seductive women who have ever lain in my bed?" he whispers in your ear.

You chuckle, "And how many women have ya told that to?"

He has to grin, "You have a naughty tongue"

He leans forward and begins to lick your neck gently. You chuckle again, but take his face in your hands. You can tell by the look in his eyes that he must have drunk enough ale already. He looks at you with a grin. You get a little nervous and don't quite know what to do. You just kiss him. You are surprised when you realise how good a kisser he is. But immediately Osferth and his soft lips come to your mind and you pull your head away. Ubba begins to let his hands wander over your body again.

Ubba grins at you, but you see that his eyes keep falling shut. You hand Ubba another mug of ale and he drinks it down almost in one go. You look at him a little surprised, but he just burps.

"I need to rest for a moment," he murmurs suddenly and leans his head back. His hands continue to wander gently over your thigh. But they become slower in their movements as Ubba slowly closes his eyes. You lie down beside him and watch him. You relax a little as you become aware of his snoring again. Then you sigh.

If this goes on, you won't learn anything really valuable. Despite the copious consumption of alcohol, Ubba is not talkative. Instead, it only makes him sleepy, which you find somewhat relieving. However, the need for information remains.

As the night drags on, you do not sleep, and your thoughts constantly wander to Osferth. You long for his company and wish you were in bed beside him rather than with Ubba. You close your eyes and try to recall an image of Osferth lying beside you to calm your mind...

Dawn brings only a minimal sense of relief from the sleepless night, but you manage to free yourself from Ubba's grip and slip quietly out of bed. This day also passes uneventfully. You also find it difficult to stay close to Ubba as he is constantly talking to other people in different places.

But towards evening, most of the group comes together. You drink extensively and eat. You kind of like that about the Danes.

Ubba approaches you again. He embraces you from behind and pulls you towards him. His arms are around your waist and he presses his face into the crook of your neck. You feel him inhale your scent.

"Tonight I will make you a very happy woman," he whispers softly in your ear.

You close your eyes, but not because it arouses you, "Yes... finally," you whisper.

Hopefully the boys will get you out before then, you think to yourself.

Ubba pulls you along and sits down with you in a group. But instead of you sitting next to him, he pulls you onto his lap. You gasp at first as you land on his lap. But he holds you tightly in his arms. His fingers caress your thighs incessantly. Indeed, the mood around you is very exuberant. There is much laughter and much drinking. You are also drinking now, but you continue to hold back.

As a voice rings out and a Dane asks, "When do we get to Winchester?"

You listen as you are about to take a sip of your ale.

For a short time no one says anything, but finally Ubba answers.

"The plan is that we will be there in a fortnight. The men from Skorpa will join us shortly before that," Ubba says dryly.

As your ears pick up the words, your breath catches in your throat in anticipation of the information to come. Feigning indifference, you nestle closer to Ubba and trace delicate patterns on his firm chest with your fingers. A mischievous grin plays around Ubba's lips as he returns your gaze, but his attention is soon diverted by the other Dane's voice.

"And how much should I pay the contact in Winchester? So that there will be fewer guards there when we arrive?" he asks.

You try to listen attentively. You drink from your ale again. Ubba begins to run his fingers over your body again. They travel up your thigh.

"Ubba?" you hear again from the Dane.

Ubba looks at him again, thinking for a moment.

"As much as necessary... as little as possible," he answers briefly and succinctly before looking at you again.

Without waiting for an answer, he looks at you. He smiles slightly, "Shall we retire?" he asks you gently. You swallow a little. But just as you are about to say something, you hear shouting.

"Fire! Fire!!! The boats!"

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Tag list

@aemonds-wifey @hoshi-miharu-blog @arryn-nyx @aemond-targaryenx @praline357 @chainsawsangel @assortedseaglass @darkenchantress @aemondmama @melsunshine @sahvlren @tinykryptonitewerewolf @tssf-imagines @tosiaf @greenowlfactif @slytherinambitious @svtansdaddyx @sarahkimtae @sarahssm121 @drgonstone @fan-goddess @parabatei-winchester @yentroucnagol @heavenly1927 @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @it-is-getting-better @mirandastuckinthe80s @lauftivy @bcon24 @writingaboutlove1998 @helena0011

#osferth #osferth x y/n #osferth x reader #osferth x you #osferth smut #osferth tlk #baby monk #the last kingdom #seven kings must die #osferth imagine #osferth the last kingdom #osferth fanfic #uhtred of bebbanburg #finan tlk #sihtric #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen #ettore #tom bennett #sihtric kjartansson

[written-in-flowers]

The Drifter: The Sea King's Curse (1.02)

Pairing: siren!hyunjin x fem!reader

Word Count: 25k

Genre: fantasy, smut, fluff, adventure

Summary: When the corpses of mutilated mermaids wash up on shore, the lawmen of Levanter Bay seek YN's help to find the cause. They end up discovering this goes much farther than expected.

Tags: Graphic violence (just fist fighting and monster slaying), kidnapping, animal death (hunting out of necessity), graphic descriptions of corpses, death, autopsies, thalassophobia, fear of deep water, megalophobia (fear of large objects), sea monsters, mind control, mind manipulation, mental illness, dark magic, mentions of war, slight ptsd. vaginal fingering, p in v sex, monster fucking, bigdick!hyunjin. underwater sex, public sex, outdoor sex, monster dick

A/N: this is only Part 1 of this "episode", so stick around for Part 2 and Part 3 <3

***

The sun always shone brightest near Peacock Lagoon. Hyunjin loved how the sunlight made the waters glimmer like diamonds. The colors interchanging dark greens and blues gave the lagoon its name. Secluded and enclosed, nobody could reach it except the merfolk from under the water. Large smooth rocks created perfect sunbathing spots for the merfolk to sit while they watched their young swim about in the water. Hyunjin took his usual spot on one of the higher rocks with his kin, his long blue and white tail laid out in a curved shape. The shimmery scales went up his body to his shoulders, curving around his soft underbelly and neck. Webbed hands, good for swimming in heavy waters, kept him propped up as he took in the ocean breeze. Summer was the best time of the year in his opinion. 

“Hyunjin!” 

A young mermaid came swimming up to him. Alina, round faced and bright, looked up at him from the bottom of the rock. 

“Are you not going to swim?”

“Not right now,” Hyunjin sighed, watching the others play about in the water. “I think I might catch some sun before going home.”

“You'll dry out if you're here too long.”

“Then I'll dive into the water,” he shrugged simply. 

“Alright, you know what to do if you change your mind.”

The young girl dove back into the water, and Hyunjin looked out at the mermaid lagoon. Old and young came to rest at the lagoon, socializing and taking in the sun. Hyunjin knew a lot of people here needed the closeness of community. Pirates have been seen drifting about the northern regions, and that always boded unwell for merfolk. While merfolk hunting and poaching is outlawed, there are still some who will take the risk for some gold. Hyunjin shuddered at the thought. 

“Did you hear about Calista and Celeste?” He overheard a trio of merfolk sitting above him. “Their mother said they went missing last night.”

A soft gasp made him turn his head. 

“How horrible! You don't think they were taken, do you?”

“What else could it be?”

“What did Tytos say about it?”

“Nothing! That's what upset her so much. Mizu and the other council leaders haven't said anything about the people going missing. He says they have hybrids on the borders, and the kraken, but they're happening anyways.”

Which Hyunjin found especially odd. Tytos, King of Hydrus, normally did not let things like this go. He always had a plan. But, from what his aunt told him, The King had fallen ill recently. Since then, Mizu, his head advisor, had taken over overseeing the kingdom. Perhaps his sickness is keeping him from thinking rationally. Hyunjin thought about the others as he stared off into the clear waters. 

He recalled what his Aunt Yejin told him the other night. He’d been helping her grind up plants for her healing salves when she mentioned the omen. She told him she’d been on her way home from the mainland when she’d seen it. Through the few layers of ocean water, she said a streak of bright crimson red smeared across the night sky. Having witnessed it through dark waters, she believed, meant that fire and water would meet. Hyunjin had no idea how that could be possible. Then again, the older merfolks saw omens in everything. His grandmother says she saw his newest lover in a bucket of old rocks. Hyunjin had no lovers yet. 

But the omen still worried him. With King Tytos so ill, and things turning sour so quickly, it felt foreboding. Hyunjin knew he should be focused on his navigator trials, since he’d be starting them tomorrow, but he couldn’t stop himself from being distracted. 

Then they appeared. At least six rowboats of men materialized out of the blue right amongst the splashing merfolk. Hyunjin saw their sun beaten faces and tattoos and knew immediately who they were: Pirates. Everyone scrambled to escape, but the rowboats wedged into the group too closely. Black nets fell into the water, catching a mermaid or two easily. Hyunjin gasped when he saw one man standing in his boat, aiming his gun at the mermaids thrashing about in his net. The gunshot that rang out might as well have been aimed at him. 

“Get ‘em in here! Get ‘em! Get ‘em before they get away!” 

“Come ‘ere, pretty!”

Hyunjin cleared his throat, and let out a high-pitched, ear-splitting scream. The young siren hoped this might distract the pirates, but they hardly noticed him. How could that be? He gave another long scream, loud enough to rival a banshee, but the only one who saw him was the shooter. He smirked wickedly, and aimed his gun right at Hyunjin. He didn’t have a chance. Hyunjin threw himself into the crashing waves, fear striking him right in the chest, as he heard more gunfire through the water. Several other merfolk swam right past him to the tunnels underneath the lagoon’s waters. Pitch black to any normal human, the underwater folk navigate the dark waters with their night time eyes. The gills slitted into his ribcage flapped in every deep breath Hyunjin took. 

“Hey, hey!” a merman wearing a golden breastplate and matching helmet, floated near the tunnel exit, golden trident at his side. “What’s going on? Hyunjin, what’s happening?!”

“Pirates, Mingyu! Pirates in the lagoon! Hurry!”

Mingyu whistled with his fingers, and other soldiers nearby went to him. Mermen and sirens came, as well as shark, squid and octopus hybrids. He needed to tell a council leader. Only one woman came to mind. 

Bahng Yejin. 

*****

“You go left, and I go right. Deal?

“Deal.” 

The sun high in the sky, you took Mrs. Young’s advice about the best time to catch the boar. She told you and Chan the monstrous pig liked stomping into her yard around mid-afternoon, where it’d dig through her garden for roots, nuts, and fallen fruits. Chan tried explaining having a boar could be beneficial, since they also eat snakes and smaller rodents that might infest her garden. Mrs. Young thought differently. Treading carefully behind the garden fence, you stayed low behind the hedges on the left side. Chan, in his beige sheriff uniform and jeans, held his rifle at his side as he mirrored your movement from afar. 

Mrs. Young’s bounty for wild boars implied a small group of them. While you and Chan did catch the smaller boars feasting on her berry bushes, it was the sow you both contended with now. At its height, the boar reached up to your hip with long horns that could lodge into your torso; length wise, it was almost as long as Chan’s height. You had no idea what the boar had been eating to get so big, but you both decided to take it on together. Something about the beast told you that simple fire spells won’t take it down easily enough. Mrs. Young claimed several hunters have already tried killing it to no success. It was simply too tough. 

Chan and you met eyes from across the yard. The boar currently stood in the middle of the garden patch, black fur shining in the sun and low grunting exhaling from its snout. With the beast distracted, Chan lifted his hand to show you three fingers. On a count of three then. 

‘One. Two. Three!’

You sprang out of the bushes first, putting out your palm to launch a ball of fire at its side. While it singed the fur, the enchanted flame only disgruntled the boar. It snorted, shaking its thick body and turned to face you. In a loud squeal, it charged. Hooves thumped the ground, its size doing nothing to slow it down. You only had mere seconds before a gunshot rang out. Your sword blocking its long, white horns, a splatter of blood went across its side. Keeping your blade locked between the horns, the boar had nowhere to go. It was certainly stronger than any animal you contended with before. Its loud squeals filled your ears, angry and eager to get at you. The two of you pushed into one another, sword lodged between two tusks that were inches from your torso and throat. With a few more shots, the struggling boar sagged in your arms. You managed to keep it halfway upright before Chan came out from the bushes.

“By the seas…This thing is so much bigger up close,” Chan marveled, poking the corpse with his foot.

“I wonder what it’d been eating. Does Mrs. Young grow like super berries or something?”

“Psh, maybe,” he sniffed.

Chan wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his arm, and looked towards the house not too far away. In the back doorway, you both spotted a short, withered old woman in a blue and white dress.

“Did you get it, Channie?!” her shrill voice from across the garden.

“Yes, we did, Mrs. Young,” he replied.

She left the back door and walked onto the yard. A smile spread on her wrinkled face when she saw the carcass laying in the dirt. “Oof, she’s a big one, huh?” she asked, hands on her hips. “Not a single fella I hired could handle this beast, but you two got it within a few shots.” She glanced up at you, “Perhaps having a demon in these parts really is handy. Here ya go, honey.”

She fished in her apron pocket for a coin purse. Weighing it in your hand, you felt satisfied with the amount. “What do you plan to do with it now?” you asked her out of curiosity.

“Cook it, I suppose,” she shrugged. “We do have Founder’s Day coming up. I can make a few boar pies and my boy can sell the pelt in town. It’d be a shame to waste a good pig.”

“A huge pig, at that,” Chan nodded in agreement. “Where do you want it?”

“The barn for right now. Seokwoo is on his way home, so he and Irene can help me skin and carve it.” She beamed at both of you as you each took a side and lifted it from the ground. The boar was much heavier dead than alive. “Thank you so much for your help,” she said, “The damn thing kept eating all the roots in the garden. We might’ve not had a chance at a good harvest this year if you hadn’t gotten off your butt and come over here.”

“We’ve been preoccupied with other things, Mrs. Young,” Chan grunted, face red and neck veins showing as you both brought the dead boar to the nearby barn. Throwing it onto a pile of hay, you both took deep breaths and rubbed your aching hands. “There’s only three of us, after all.”

“Well, if we’re lucky, YN will stick around longer and help everyone else. Now, come inside,” she turned back to her house, “I just took some cherry pies out of the oven. You two can take one back to the station before you go.”

Not one to turn down a free slice of pie, you walked ahead of Chan towards the house.

It had been two weeks since the incident with Maurice, the warlock spider hybrid who’d kidnapped several children. Chan told you the King’s decree that nobody is to sail out of Levanter Bay appeared to still be in effect. Though, you couldn’t help noticing the fishermen going out to sea every morning and coming back towards evening. Chan claimed that the king granted them special permission to conduct business as usual, but the ferry between cities is prohibited. You’d been amused by his explanation when you mentioned simply taking passage on one of the fishing boats.

‘Not a good idea. Those guys aren’t fond of passengers and there’d be no room for Summer.’

You found it odd at first, but after seeing the extensive bounty board, you assumed Chan needed the help. Levanter Bay’s sheriff’s station only had Chan, and his two deputies, Minho and Han. You’d made pretty decent money in the time since then, and Summer appeared to like being in one place.

“You stay out of trouble now, Channie,” Mrs. Young said as she finished packing up baked goods in a basket. “And say hi to your Ma and Pa for me.”

“I will, Mrs. Young. You take care.”

“Channie?” you teased once out of earshot.

Chan blushed, “Shut it. Mrs. Young used to be the school teacher before she retired. I’ve known her since I was a kid, and she can’t help seeing me that way still. It’s the downside to living in a small town your whole life: everyone’s known you since childhood, so it’s hard to remove that image from their heads.”

“I can actually relate to that, in a way,” you said, tying the basket to Summer’s saddle before hopping onto her. “The clan leaders still see me as an underling from time to time, but I guess I still am considering they’re thousands of years old.”

“I sometimes forget your people are immortal,” he kicked his horse’s sides and the ride began. “Are you?”

“It’s complicated, I’d say. We can live for thousands of years, but if we die on a mortal plane, we end up back home again like nothing happened. Demons who’d died on the battlefield didn’t fade into the mist or burst into thousands of pieces. They…They came back.”

“Could they come back here, if they wanted?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “Not many of us decided to stay in the mortal realm when the war ended. I’m one of the few who gave up my horns for it. I’ve been told I can come and go from The Mar since I’m a big hero and all that, but I don’t know about the others.”

The Mar elders carried no ill will to demons who wanted to return to the mortal realm, but they might not have given them the special treatment you received. 

“Would you want to go back?”

You thought about this pretty often. The Mar, a desolate wasteland void of life or greenery, was home to demons of all elements and clans. It might not be fresh and bright like the mortal world, yet you still found yourself missing the place. Everyone you’d known and grown up with still lived there. Your clan, the fire demons, resided in the smoky, volcanic mountain ranges bordering The Mar. On winter nights in the mortal realm, you longed for the comforting heat of home.

“Maybe when it starts to get cold,” you smirked. “Your winters are nearly fatal.”

“You’d be gone for six months?”

“More or less,” you then looked over at him. “Why? You’d miss me?”

“Our town would. You’ve only been here two weeks and the people have taken a shine to you.”

“It’ll be a shame to go when the ferry is up and running.”

“From what I’ve heard that won’t be for a while, anyways.”

You both shared a knowing glance. A part of you wanted to call him out on his charade, but you couldn’t help yourself. You’d grown to enjoy watching the young sheriff squirm for answers whenever you questioned him.

It was quite cute.

Arriving back in town, you saw people moving about more than usual. Crews of workmen went down the street stringing garlands of white and blue flowers between buildings or hanging gold and pale blue streamers on the trees. Above the door of the town meeting hall was a white banner with blue letters and several small handprints around it. ‘Happy Founder’s Day’ it read. 

“This Founder’s Day thing is big around here, huh?” you asked Chan as you rode by two women hanging special boat shaped lanterns from a store awning. 

“It’s huge,” he said. “It celebrates not just the town founders but the town itself. Levanter could’ve been wiped off the map several times over the centuries, but it never has. While the world changes and rearranges itself, Levanter Bay has remained more or less the same.”

“I will admit I’ve been around the world and seen loads of places,” you said, seeing men taking long planks of wood down the road to the stage construction. “Levanter Bay is nothing like them. It’s wholesome and quiet. It’s also very…diverse.”

“Are the big cities not?”

“They are, but perhaps it’s more potent here because Levanter is a small town. It’s a little melting pot.”

“It is,” he nodded proudly. “It’s something special.” 

A lovely summer breeze blew a salty wind through the singular street, coming up from the bay right outside the main town square. Levanter Bay boasted being the ‘sunny side’, but hardly any sun shone through. However, this didn’t bother the people of Levanter Bay, who took it in stride. 

“I’ve hunted for him high and low. I’ve looked him in the eye. I’ve dreamed about the perfect way to make this devil die!”

You could hear Changbin’s singing from outside the local inn, The White Pearl. The muscular woodland dwarf, taller than most variations of dwarves, swept the floors of his nearly empty tavern. Considering it’s still early morning, most of his patrons have gone to the docks or the lumber yard for work. You imagined you could get first dibs on a daily lunch special before anyone else.

“Is that Mrs. Young’s pie in there?!”

Han, the youngest deputy, stood outside the station doors with a grin on his face. The squirrel hybrid’s tail twitched at the decadent scent of baked cherries and flaky crust inside the wicker basket. He sniffed around Summer before finding the basket, which he untied and opened to inhale deeply. 

“Yes!” he beamed, “And she made coffee cake,” he melted at the cinnamon cakes inside. “We should kill boars for her more often.”

“We?” you laughed softly. “I recall you whining about us killing them.”

“They are only doing what animals do,” he shot over his shoulder, “Eating. Maybe she should’ve taken my advice and planted her food elsewhere.” 

“You know she’d never do that, Han,” Chan called at his back, dismounting his seasteed.  

Han went back inside with the basket, and someone else came out. Dark purple eyes gleamed at you happily, matching the high wings fluttering in excitement. 

“How was the boar hunt?” Minho asked you both, leaning against the stair railing while Chan tied up his horse. “Was it as big as everyone was saying?”

“Bigger,” Chan replied, walking up the steps of the station. “Much, much bigger.”

“Coming, YN?”

“Nah,” you shook your head, “I’m gonna grab a bite to eat before the lunch rush starts.”

“You just ate at Young’s!” Chan called after you, disbelief coming through his smile. 

“Demons have big appetites! See you around!”

You took Summer to the inn nearby, hearing Changbin’s singing as you brought her into the stables in the back. A low groan caught your attention, and you saw Honey sitting in her own stall by the back door. You grinned at her. 

“Morning, Honey,” you fed Summer and went to scratch behind the grizzly bear’s ear. “He’s been singing for a while, huh?”

She gave a whine, followed by a yawn. You gave her another pet, then walked into the inn from the back door. The White Pearl’s kitchen never ceased to smell of savory cooking. By the hearth stood a skinny young elf wearing an apron and oven mitts. He’d stirred a spoon inside a simmering pot when he heard the back door close. 

“Morning, YN,” Wooyoung grinned, sampling his soup before adding more herbs to the pot. “Soup’s almost done.”

You inhaled deeply, smelling the savory onions in the air. “Cheesy onion soup?” you asked hopefully. 

“With garlic crusted bread,” he nodded over to large loaves of bread on cooling racks. “Ah, ah, ah! Don’t think about it!” he immediately warned when you stepped over to the bread. “That’s for paying customers, YN.”

“I am a paying customer,” you argued playfully, giving one of them a whiff. “Food comes along with my room.” 

“Then you wait on it like everybody else,” he corrected. “Besides, what’s the point of the bread if you don’t have the soup?” 

“True.” You looked to the door leading into the common area, and could still hear Changbin’s muffled singing. “Has he been singing this whole time?”

“Not the whole time. It helps him work. Dwarves always sing while they work, so Changbin does it here. Just…don’t ask what the song’s about. You’ll never hear the end of it-Oh, damnit, the cakes!”

You left Wooyoung to fuss over lunch, and walked into the common area. Now, you definitely had to ask. 

“Kunwoo, Kunwoo, Kunwoo! You’re ancient as the mountains and as unforgiving too! Kunwoo, Kunwoo, Kunwoo, Kunwoo, now the time has come for all of us to slaughter you…”

“Who or what is Kunwoo?”

Changbin flinched when you interrupted him, and turned to face you. Pushing black curls from his face, he chuckled, “Don’t go sneaking up on people like that. It’s a good way to get shot.”

“You’re not armed,” you took a seat at the bar. “Who’s Kunwoo?”

Changbin’s good-natured expression soured at the name. You saw his hand grip the broom handle tightly, twisting it slightly. 

“He’s a great beast that lives in the Blue Mountains,” he finally answered, putting the broom aside. “I don’t mean a normal bear either. He’s monstrous. He fights with anyone he comes across, and his teeth and claws can rip through anything. He’s been stabbed, shot at, run through with swords and it doesn’t affect him. My people think he’s not even a bear, but some ancient deity.” He scoffed, going around the bar to pour himself a drink. “He’s not a deity. He’s just a massive bear. A lot of people have gone to his lair to try killing him, but nobody comes back alive. My father is the only one who’s gone up there and come back. Well, most of him came back.”

“Meaning?”

“Kunwoo slashed his leg, and it got infected on his way down. Our doctor had to amputate it.” Changbin glared into his ale mug as if it’d done him a personal wrong. “He’s vowed vengeance on the beast ever since.”

“And that need for vengeance passed on to you?”

“It did after he killed Honey’s cubs.”

You gasped, wide-eyed. “What?”

“He kills anyone, I told you. Honey and her cubs were in the mountains, and she came across him. He slaughtered her young, and nearly killed her. I managed to save her, but her babies…They didn’t stand a chance.”

“Poor Honey,” you looked to a window as if you could see her there, “That must’ve been so devastating.”

“It was.” He took a long gulp of his ale, then slammed it down. “But, one day, YN…One day, I’mma find that bastard bear for what it did to my Dad and Honey, and mount his head on that peg right there.” He pointed to an empty plaque hanging from the upstairs balcony. “I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care where or how, but I am going to kill it.”

“Where does he live?”

“In a cave in the mountains. I go there once a year after hibernation season.” A thought then occurred to him, “You should come with me. A demon warlock could give me the edge I need.”

You’d opened your mouth to answer him, but voices cut you off right away. The familiar scent of fish and sea air flowed past you as dock workers and fishermen appeared for a hot lunch or a drink. Changbin and Wooyoung went to work, while you counted out your earnings for the day on the bar top. The money from the spider hybrid case still filled your purse, and the boars added more onto it. By the time Chan admitted there’d been no ferry-ban, you’d be well off. Your mind drifted to a possible pilgrimage back home. 

“Felix Lee! You’re back!”

Changbin stood behind the bar smiling at the newcomer. You turned to see a young elf walk through the door. His golden laurel crown stuck out against his light blond hair, and matched his dangling gold leaf earrings. The golden sun on the breast of his waistcoat resembled the one carved into your tiger’s eye necklace. A Sunwind elf. Freckled cheeks puffed with the charming smile he gave Changbin. 

“I didn’t know you’d be back so early,” Changbin said, handing two patrons their pints of ale. “I would’ve cleared a room for you.”

“My last show got canceled,” the elf said, putting his guitar case on the side, “And I had no reason to stick around so I came back. Good thing I’m in time for Founder’s Day.”

“Very good thing,” he leaned in close to him, “Mickey and Vicky broke up, so I have no headliners for that night.”

“The Light really graces us both, huh?” he smirked proudly. “I’ll take my usual for right now.”

“Coming up.” 

You finished counting up your earnings, and ordered lunch for yourself when you felt someone take the seat beside you. 

“Well, that’s a face I’ve never seen around here,” Felix Lee sneered, eyes glinting with flirtation, “And I’m not mad about it. I’m Felix.”

“YN,” you replied. Small brown freckles crossed over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. You’re sure women everywhere fell for those freckles alone. “Sunwind?” you nodded to his waistcoat. 

“No better place in the world,” he grinned. He noticed your horn stumps, but didn’t stay on them too long, “But I think Levanter Bay has it beat now.”

You giggled at his attempt, and said, “As wholesome as this place is, there are few places in the world as beautiful as Sunwind. Well, in my opinion, anyway.”

“I thought all demons liked the dark and damp places of the world?”

“Water demons, maybe,” you said, taking up the cup of berry juice Changbin gave you. “As a fire demon, I prefer places with sunlight and warmth.”

“Huh, how funny. So do I,” he leaned against the bar, “We should go there together. I can show you places there you’d never seen before.” He noticed the sun charm around your neck, and said, “Unless, someone else already has?”

“A few have, actually,” you replied cheekily. “You wouldn’t be my first sun elf, that’s for sure,” you took a sip from your cup while he chuckled. 

“I bet you I’ll be the funnest, though.”

“That remains to be-”

“-YN! YN, YN, YN!”

Han rushed through the doors right over to you, watery eyed and panicked. His sudden appearance immediately put you on edge. 

“Han?”

“YN, we need you to come back to the station,” he said, breathing heavily from his brief sprint. “Something…Something awful’s happened.”

“You the new lawman around here? I thought Chan was still the sheriff,” Felix lifted an eyebrow. 

“Bounty hunter,” you answered quickly. “Han,” you took him by the shoulders to soothe his shaking nerves, “What’s happened?”

“They found a body at the docks,” he blurted out, “And-And Chan thinks it was pirates because it’s a mermaid and half her body is missing and it’s so horrible and she’s all flayed and pale and bloated. Minho says you might be able to ask her what happened, since, you know, you’re a demon and demons can speak to the dead sometimes-” he stopped himself short when he realized where he was, glancing at the people listening in, “Just…Please, come back to the station. We’ll pay for the time.”

A mermaid body? Half of it? Which half? You’ll admit it intrigued you. You told Changbin to give your meal to someone else, and you pulled on your jacket to follow Han. 

“A mermaid? Where?”

“She washed up on the shore,” he said hurriedly. “Helga runs a fishing boat out of our port, and she says her crew found it near the dock. They only found her top half, and all her scales were flayed off. Minho says she must’ve died a few days ago, and just left to float in the water. It’s despicable, YN. They didn’t even have the decency to send her off in her peoples’ way.”

“Poachers,” you decided. “I heard of pirates who hunt down merfolk for their scales. Merfolk scales are a fortune a piece.” 

“Not an excuse to kill a living being over it,” Han pouted, letting you walk ahead of him into the station. When you didn’t see Chan or Minho, Han said, “Minho’s in the morgue with her now.”

“And Chan?”

“He’s still at the dock with the people who found her. He thinks there are more bodies on the beaches, so he’s setting up search parties.” He shook his head, “I can’t believe this is happening now so close to Founder’s Day. We’re already gonna be swamped by the people coming into town for the celebration, and now we got this on top of that too.”

“It isn’t ideal.” 

You both entered the morgue in the back of the station, a tiled room with the proper instruments and equipment needed to conduct examinations. Minho stood beside a white porcelain table where a corpse lay waiting to be examined. Han walked up to Minho, but you froze by the door. 

The coral and seaweed in her long curls appeared dead and dried out, almost detached from her skull. Eyes devoid of color stared up at the ceiling blindly; her pallid skin looked waxy and stiff after decomposition. Death clung to your nose tightly, seeping into your lungs and making you sick. Your elders used to tell you that you’d become accustomed to dead bodies after a time, but you never could. Some of your kind relished in death and destruction. A display like this would excite them. It only saddened and sickened you. 

“How old is she?” was your first question, coming out of your mouth as you came around the table. 

“Twenty? Twenty-one, I suspect?” Minho suggested. 

The most terrifying part twisted your stomach. At her waist, her killer chopped her in half with a hatchet or a butcher knife. Her insides spilled onto the table, a mass of gray and blue that smelled of decay and salt water. Stretches of flayed muscle showed where the poachers sliced off her scales: up her back, arms, torso and neck. You knew these places to be defensive areas, where the scales acted more as a layer of armor than flesh. You couldn't bring yourself to get any closer than a foot from the table. It felt intrusive. You felt as if you'd come upon something you shouldn't have.

“Do you know her name?” 

“Not a clue. A Jane Doe.” Minho started by observing the folds of skin that remained. “They likely used a machete or a hatchet to cut her.” Finding breakages, he grimaced, “It took them several times to sever off the tail.” 

“It’s harder to slice someone in half than behead them,” you said. “What do you hope to find examining her now? Most of the evidence would’ve washed off in the ocean.” 

“It’ll be difficult to pull anything from the body in this state, yes,” Minho told you. “She’d been floating out at sea too long. I’d say about three or four days judging by decomposition, but you never know.” He looked at her face where fluids began leaking from her eyes and mouth. When he checked the flayed skin on her neck, he said, “Could you talk to her?”

“You can talk to dead people?” Han asked in surprise. 

“No,” you shook your head. “Necromancy was never my strong suit, and even if I could, I can’t guarantee I’d be successful. Water and air demonkin are usually trained in that sort of thing.”

“Hm, what a shame,” he mused out loud, managing to open her mouth where more liquid came out. Han gagged at the smell, but Minho seemed unaffected. “I was hoping you might. It’d help us learn who’d done this to her.” 

“Pirates, clearly,” you said pointedly. 

“Yes, but which ones? Han,” he looked over at the youngest deputy, “Start searching the wanted list. Look for anyone charged with piracy or merfolk poaching.”

“Got it.”

He left the room and silence fell over you both. You wished you could find a way to talk to her. Your sense of scent only picked up the water and stench left behind. “Can’t you use your special handprint dust you have?”

“I can, but she’d have to dry out first,” he said. 

He then looked at her arms, and frowned. Several black and purple bruises splotched her wrists and forearms, their shapes indicating fingerprints. Tears stung your eyes realizing what they'd done. 

“They held her down,” you sniffed, “And chopped her while she was living.”

“Or hoisted her up by the arms,” Minho said stone-faced. “She's…She's so young, YN. She didn't deserve this. Nobody does.” 

“All for gold. I might be a bounty hunter, but even I wouldn't do this.”

“You hunt animals all the time.”

“But not for sport. I'm either paid or it's to eat. I'd never do it like this.”

So callous. So cruel. You saw the young mermaid thrashing and screeching as faceless figures restrained and mutilated her. A surge of anger started in your chest and flowed towards your palms. They did not even have the decency to give her a proper send off; they dumped her into the ocean as if she were unwanted trash. That might be customary for their vile breed, but not merfolk. They are buried beneath coral and rocks to become one with the ocean floor as they decay. 

“She should be given back to her people,” you said quietly. 

“When we're done examining her, Chan plans to do that.”

That sounded like something he'd do. Minho finished gathering what he could find, which proved to be nearly nothing at all, then put her in a tub of ice. Coming back into the main room, you saw Han looking through papers. 

“Find anything?” Minho asked him. 

“Not yet,” he answered. “I didn't realize how many people are wanted for piracy until now. It's at least a hundred long.”

“Most of them are probably crew members or associates,” you said. “If you're on a pirate ship, you're a pirate to the law.” Hands in your pockets, you said, “What is the next step?”

“See if Chan finds any more bodies, and work from there,” he shrugged. “He'll likely propose a bounty to you when we figure out who is behind all this.”

“Should I keep my schedule open then?” Felix’s handsome face came to mind, and you smirked, “I did have some opportunities pop up.”

Han snorted but Minho said, “Trust me. Mayor Wallace will pay anything to make pirate trouble go away. It'll be worth the time.”

“I'll see,” you grinned, backing out of the room. 

Right as you did, Mayor Wallace stormed into the station. His eyes immediately landed on you, “YN! Thank goodness that you're still here.”

“Morning, Mayor.” You and Minho exchanged a knowing glance, “What can I do for you?”

“I'm sure Minho already brought you up to speed, but this is worse than we thought,” he said gravely. “Four more bodies washed up on shore, not that far from where the last one was. A wisp came in from a boat out at sea and they say they found skinned mermaid tails too. Those monsters,” he gruffed, “First, they attack innocent towns and now are hunting down merfolk. YN, we need your help on this. The people of Levanter Bay don't shy away from fights, but these pirates…There are too many and they're dangerous.”

“And you want someone who's more dangerous than them?” You cocked your head to one side. “It'll cost, you know that.”

“Of course,” he said, “Of course. We can go over the details in my office.” He took a deep breath, “This is bad, y'all. Really bad. The last time we had pirates in these parts, they nearly destroyed our port. Everyone was out of work for weeks. If these pirates are hunting down merfolk…Well, I hope Chan with all his Hydrus connections can pull us out of this mess before Founder’s Day. Damn Founder’s Day! I gotta go speak with the council. We gotta put a lid on this before it causes a fuss in town. We will discuss details later on tonight,” he told you again before rushing back out the door. 

“He really just flies in and out, huh?” You joked. 

“Like a bird.”

“I guess I'll be helping after all,” you sighed. “Where do you need me?”

“Help us sift through these,” he gave you a stack of documents, “And see what we find.”

Taking a seat at an empty desk, you suddenly realize how many people are on the king's wanted list. 

Too many, for sure. 

*****

This was not a coincidence. Five dead mermaids washed up in the same place? 

Chan stared out into the water from the dock, seeing the calm waters lightly moving with the currents. He thought of merfolk spots the bodies might’ve originated from, and only one came to mind: Peacock Lagoon. Chan imagined it now: all the young merfolk enjoying the water and sunshine in the large circular lagoon, peaceful and happy. But, only merfolk can go to and from the lagoon through the underwater tunnels. How could pirates possibly capture them there? 

“This is the last one, Chan.” A tall woman came up to him with two other men, carrying another torso of a merman. Helga, in her tartan shirt, overalls and boots, stood taller than most men he knew. “What do you want to do with them?”

“Take them back to the merfolk,” he said, hands on hips. “That’s where they belong.” 

“I’ll make sure it gets done,” she nodded at him. “Come on, boys.”

Chan looked down at the bodies they’d uncovered. Three females and two male. His mind drifted back to you, as it often did as of late. He wondered what you’d make of this whole thing. Chan confessed your quick thinking and eye for details impressed him. Your boldness added a flair that was unusual in these parts. He only saw something like that in Minho. He still grinned recalling you bravely walking into a spider’s nest to give him the distraction he needed. While you shook in your boots, you still stood up to the warlock because you cared more about the children than your own fears. He admired that sort of thing. 

He didn’t know what exactly to think about you yet, but he knew one thing. Chan knew he enjoyed your company, and how you continued to amaze him each time you met. 

He’d been examining one of the females when a familiar voice spoke from behind him. 

“Channie! Psst! Chan!” 

He turned around for the source of the noise, but he didn’t see anyone right away. 

“Bahng Chan! Down here!”

He realized it came from under his feet. Bending down, he peeked between the dock boards to see someone floating in the water. When he got a better look, he saw the cat-like eyes of his cousin, Hyunjin. 

“Hyunjin?” he blinked several times to see him properly. There was no mistaking the mole underneath his right eye or the seashell earring. “Is that you?”

“Be quiet!” he hissed. “Meet me by your dad’s boat tonight. I have stuff to tell you.”

“Why can’t you tell me now?”

“It’s not safe. Your dad’s boat tonight right after the sun goes down.”

“Hyunjin, does this have to do with the poachers? Can you help us? Do you know who’s behind this?”

“We. Will. Talk. Later.”

With that, Hyunjin dove back into the water and disappeared. Just like Hyunjin. He leaves more questions than he does answers. Glancing around the dock, he didn’t see anyone suspicious lurking about. Hyunjin never asked to meet in secret before. Chan worried what this might mean for his investigation. Standing up straight again, he watched as Helga and her crew loaded the merfolk onto their boat. He gave her coordinates on where to leave them, and he then walked to the edge of the dock. 

Hyunjin was one of the few Hydrus relatives he spoke to regularly. Being of the “newer generation” he did not hold the same ancient grudges against humans that his elders did. Ethereal and delicate, Chan witnessed the young siren sing from sun up to sun down without ever cracking or straining his voice. He enchanted the pants off any living creature within hearing distance, and could even center it on a singular person if he wanted. However, despite his beauty and charm, Hyunjin carried a quiet melancholy about him that added mystery. His mother used to joke that Hyunjin always appeared to be in thought. He suspected that Hyunjin’s thinking is what prompted the meeting. 

Pulling off his boots and socks, Chan removed his shirt as he hummed a tune in his throat. It loves his singing. He’d inherited his parents’ talent for song, except in his case, it attracted marine life instead of other humans. He learned how to use this very quickly. His shirt on the floor, Chan took a few light stretches before breathing in deeply. In a perfect form, Chan dove into the dark, cold water below. While most humans struggled to hold their breath, Chan tolerated the slight stinging around his rib cage. He’d forgotten how long it’d been since he swam underwater. On his defined torso, six slits appeared underneath his skin to act as his gills. 

With a single kick, Chan flowed through the water quickly. All around him, he saw the ocean life going on underneath the surface. Schools of fish broke apart as he moved through them; he caught brief glances of color from the shelves of coral growing on the floor. He could hear the whitenoise hum of the underwater world, which comforted him more than unnerved him. The freezing temperature took a bit getting used to as always, but he warmed up to it as he swam further from shore. Once halfway into the bay, he started singing softly. It’d be gurgled to non-merfolk ears, but to him and any other creature it’s clear as a bell. 

He likes jaunty tunes. 

“Come all you young sailor men, listen to me! I’ll sing you a song of the fish in the sea! And it’s windy weather, boys! Stormy weather, boys! When the wind blows, we’re all together, boys!”

Chan waited. He kept his eyes peeled for any sign of movement in the half-light. Nephrem rarely came up this close to the surface and this close to the dock, but he’d give it a shot. Chan continued singing, aimlessly swimming as he kept watch over the open space. While he’d told you the local sea serpent wreaked havoc further up north, hence why there’s no ferry rides, the creature enjoyed wandering into the bay from time to time. 

He’d gotten close to the edge of the bay when a current brushed cold water over his legs. Chan chuckled when he stared down in the abyss. It appeared at first glance to be empty, but those with keen eyes saw the glint of green and blue pass underneath him. When he lowered himself down, he still felt the smooth scales brushing the bottom of his toes. 

“Hello Nephrem,” he said. 

He rolled over to see the thick, strong body of the serpent circle him as the beast turned his head. Wide amber eyes blinked at him, a low rumble coming from its underbelly when it rounded him. Years ago, Chan would be terrified. Any sane person would be in the presence of a centuries old sea snake. But, not Chan. Not anymore. 

“Hey there, boy,” he said gently, reaching forward when the snake brushed its body close to him. The hard body passing under his fingers, he let Nephrem enjoy his gentle scratches for a moment, “You’ve been eating well. You’ve gotten bigger since I last saw you.” 

He hissed softly. 

“Some mermaids washed up on our shore this morning,” he told the snake. “My friends want to bring them back to their kin. Can you pass the message to Mama? You can reach her faster than me.” When it grumbled, he said, “Now, come on. Don’t be that way. They’re not pirates; they’re friends of mine. They won’t even be looking for you. Come on, do it for me?” Lacking a response, he said, “How about a shark?” No response. “Two sharks?” Still no response. It’d have to be a big trade to get a sea serpent near a merfolk residence. “Fine, three sharks! Big, meaty ones!” 

Nephrem’s body rippled as he shook and Chan grinned. “Good boy. Come back and I’ll have them for you.”

Three sharks will be hard to catch, but not impossible.

****

“Park Jinyoung, human, aged 52,” Han read from the document in his hand, “Captain of the Black Harpy. Wanted for poaching in conservation waters, to which the sentence is two to five years of hard labor or four to six years in imprisonment. Bounty reward set at two-thousand as of February 15th.” 

“Sounds like he could be our man,” Minho said, nodding to himself. “What else does it say about him?”

Han picked up the second page, “Huh, this guy has a pretty long list. Poaching is just the newest thing he’s being charged with.”

He handed the page to Minho, who read it before handing it to you. The three of you spent a good chunk of the day reading wanted listings and bounty advertisements. You all found a list of candidates who could be your pirate crew, but as time went on, the list dwindled to three people. 

“The next one is Kim Jennie, human mage, aged 28 years,” Han continued, “Wanted for selling illegal goods, theft and poaching. According to this docket, the goods she’d been trying to sell were hybrid skins,” you saw his jaw clench slightly, “She’s charged as Park’s accomplice here.”

“Eric Nam, goblin, aged 35 years,” you picked up the third stack left on Han’s desk. “Wanted for questioning?”

“Questioning?”

“Wanted for questioning by The King’s Inquisitor in regards to crimes committed on the 10th of June of the 18th Age,” The date sounding familiar, you turned back to Kim’s page and found the connection, “Kim is reported to have been there too. It says it here: ‘Charged with the murder of Sheriff John of Buckville and others; the theft of several crates of fine sugar, spices, and cloth from ships weighed anchor and the destruction of Port Buck.’”

“Park has the same thing in his report too,” said Minho, rereading the pages over. “The three of them must be working together.”

“Buckville is on the other side of the country,” Han noted, pulling up all three wanted posters. “It’s likely they’re sailing the opposite side to avoid the navy and pirate hunters.”

“Any pirate hotspots around here?” you asked them. 

“There’s a few further down south near the beach towns, but the closest one to us,” Minho consulted a map hanging on a nearby wall. He scanned Levanter Bay’s section of the map before finding one spot, “Cortuga is a pirate town on an island outside of The King’s jurisdiction. Several pirate lords of the time founded the land, and have since made it a refuge for pirates on the run or looking for a good stopping place. From what I’ve heard, the place is a lawless, forsaken city. All manner of crime is committed there, and the only person in charge is a pirate who is as ruthless as he is crazy.”

“It’s also out of The Crown’s jurisdiction,” Han added to it. "Since it’d gone unclaimed by any real government, people on the run can live there without worrying about being arrested.” Han stared at the map with Minho, eyes scanning over the painted canvas and fingers tracing a red line curving along with the coast. You watched him follow it south, then stop at a specific spot. “Peacock Lagoon.”

“What about it?”

“It’s a merfolk hang out,” he said. “They could have found a way inside and captured the mermaids. As they sailed away from the lagoon,” he went up to Cortuga, “They would’ve dumped the bodies somewhere in between and the water currents brought them over to us.”

“Then they’re likely still in Cortuga,” Minho said defeatedly, “And as long as they’re there, we won’t be able to arrest them.”

“Unless they somehow made their way back onto land…”

Park Jinyoung wouldn’t be the first pirate you’ve come across. During your travels, you met plenty of pirates and pirate lords. Most of them claimed to be dangerous people who are not meant to be crossed. That is, until they met you. Picking up his file again, you reread Park’s history sheet. He’d been charged with piracy at the age of fourteen, working on a pirate ship. Then, he’d gone throughout the world murdering, raping, and thieving. He disgusted you. You briefly wondered what sort of punishment he’d face in The Mar. No doubt, it will fit the magnitude of his crimes. It is part of the oath every demon recites when they pass their trials. ‘I shall protect the innocent and punish the damned’. 

“YN,” Han came over to you, “I know you’re probably a big scary demon, but Cortuga isn’t a safe place. You could seriously be hurt there. The people who go there won’t be afraid of you.”

You snorted, “They haven’t met me yet.”

“You’re not seriously thinking of going?” Minho said in disbelief. “YN, we have no definitive proof this gang is even there. You might be walking towards a dead end and get yourself killed in the process.”

“Death doesn’t scare me,” you told them. When you saw their unconvinced faces, you said, “I’m not saying this to come off as tough or brave. Demons don’t fear death the way a mortal might. To us, it’s not the end. It’s only the beginning. The people who have something to fear are the mortals who end up dead.”

“Also helps that you already know what’s on the other side,” Minho said. 

“Where’s Chan?” You noticed the darkening sky outside. “Shouldn’t he be back by now?”

“He’s likely still searching,” said Han, “Or went to go see his mother in Hydrus.”

“Worried about him?” Teased Minho, who went back to studying the map.

“He’s been gone a while, and I think he’d like to know what we’ve learned so far.”

You wouldn’t admit the idea of Chan in pirate infested waters did upset you. He might be part merfolk, but he’s only one man. Pirate ships can have crews of up to thirty men. Walking up to the window, you noticed groups of people returning to town. While lamps started being lit, the forest and beaches must be too dark to search through properly. There’d be no point in him searching late into the night. 

You hoped to find Chan among them, worn out from a long day of scouring empty beaches and sparse woods for more evidence. He won’t like the idea of you leaving town to go to Cortuga. You suspect he’ll offer to go with you, and you couldn’t have that. As much as you admired his courage, Chan also had honor. His morals and natural need to defend others could get him killed in a place like Cortuga. Still, he’ll insist that someone accompany you. Han, while a deputy and good with a rifle, is too soft for a hard pirate town. But Minho, the dark fairy from Incheon, carried a bit more fire than his colleagues.

“He’s here…”

Chan walked through town from the docks, the road passing right by the station. You couldn’t help noticing his weary eyes and dragging feet. Yet, you also saw the state of his clothes. He held his boots in one hand, and his shirt in the other. Black pants rolled up to his knees, they appeared damp in the lamp light. Warmth crept up your cheeks when you realized he walked around shirtless. Nobody else appeared bothered by his dressed down appearance, so you guessed it’s a regular sight for locals. You stopped yourself from scanning his lean torso, tracing his muscles with your eyes and wondering how often he worked out to maintain the physique. Chan’s fitness was no secret to you, but it was a fact you normally ignored. Over the course of your stay in Levanter Bay, you’d grown fond of the sheriff. You supposed that platonic fondness naturally led to other types of “fondness”.

No, that’s dumb. You hardly know him.

“Evening, boys,” Chan greeted as he walked in the door. Hanging up his shirt and putting his boots by the door, Chan didn’t notice you at first.

“Evening,” Minho and Han both replied. “Did you find anything?”

“Four more,” he answered, walking into his office. “That makes five bodies in total,” he said from inside. “They’re all skinned too and missing their tails. Our pirates are clearly after authentic mermaid scales. I’m meeting my cousin Hyunjin at my dad’s place. I think he’s got information that can really blow this case wide open for us.” Walking back into the main room, you saw he’d changed into dry pants and busied himself with  towel drying his black curls. You focused on his face rather than his muscled shoulders and arms.

Minho cleared his throat and nodded his head over at you. A blush immediately filled Chan’s ears when he finally spotted you. “YN! oh, um, wow,” he stammered, “I didn’t know you were…here.”

“Mayor Wallace offered me the bounty,” you explained awkwardly. "I’ve been helping Han and Minho look for more clues. We, um, found some possible suspects and we-were thinking of a way to capture them.”

“Oh, is that right?” he turned to Minho, avoiding the shirtless elephant in the room. Why is he not scrambling for a shirt or at least using the towel to cover himself? “Who?”

“Park Jinyoung,” Minho responded, picking up the page to hand to Chan.

“Yes, Jinyoung could be good for this,” he nodded, reading the page. “My dad used to mention him from time to time. He’s a rotten bastard, for sure…And Jennie Kim, that wouldn’t be a surprise. She’s attached to the man by the hip.” He handed him back the page, “Any idea where they may be?”

“Cortuga,” he answered. “YN thinks she should go there and bring one of them back here for questioning.”

“No,” Chan said abruptly. He turned to you, “No, you’re not going there.”

“And why not?” 

“Because…Because it’s dangerous there,” he struggled to say. “You could get seriously hurt or captured. There’d be no way for us to come get you.”

“Who do you suppose should go instead?” you challenged, “You?”

“Yes, me,” he said. “I’ve dealt with more pirates than you know. I don’t get scared very easily.”

“Neither do I,” you replied stiffly. You saw the determination in his eyes, and knew you’d need to convince him more. “Chan, I’m not saying I believe you’re incapable or scared of them. I know you’re not. You’re a tough guy, but you’re also a tough guy with a moral code and an honorable inclination to defend and protect others. It’s why you’re a sheriff.” This evaluation of him seemed to stun Chan into silence. “The people on Cortuga are neither honorable nor honest. They don’t play fair. They’ll likely capture you for ransom or worse, and…” you hated the picture that crossed your mind, “It’s just better if I go.”

“No, it’s not,” he argued, walking to meet you by the window. “You’re tough, yes. You’re a demon and your demon form will likely scare the shit out of even the baddest pirate. But, you’re also a woman-”

“-Okay, wow-”

“-I don’t mean it like that,” he cut you off. “I mean that they’re not going to take you seriously.”

“I’ll make them.”

“And they might figure out a way to trap or subdue you, and then you’ll be stuck there with nobody to help you.”

“You won’t have anyone to help you either.”

“They’ll put a sheriff up for ransom, but a demon bounty hunter? They’ll have no problem just killing you.”

“They can try.”

“YN, please,” you heard the plea in his voice, “It’s dangerous, and I don’t…I mean, we wouldn’t want anything to happen to you-”

“-I’m not a baby, Chan. I’ve handled myself fine before-”

“-And I’m not arguing that-”

“-Then why are you so against my going there?-”

“-Because it’s unsafe-”

“-It’d be unsafe for you too-”

“-But it’d be worse for you-”

“-Hey!” Minho interrupted you both, walking across the room to stand between you both. “I’ll go,” he declared, “And you two can stay here.”

“Minho, come on-” Chan began, but Minho put up a hand. 

“I’m the best with magic out of the four of us-Oh, don’t make that face, you know it’s true-” he said to you when you scoffed. “I’m a shadow fairy. We’re made of pure black magic. Even the toughest warlock or mage has trouble going up against me. Besides, I’m not as rough as you,” he turned to you, “Or as noble as you,” he said to Chan. “You said Hyunjin wants to meet you? Take YN and go speak to him.”

“And what about me?” pouted Han from his desk. 

“You’re coming with me, love,” Minho told him. “You’re handy with a pistol and you can sniff them out better than me.”

“Minho, no,” said Chan. 

“Chan, shut up and let me do my damn job,” Minho hissed. You noticed his wings give a quick flutter. “Hannie, we’ll leave in the morning. Let's get some sleep.”

“You got it, sir…” said Han, getting up from his desk and grabbing his jacket.  

“I can also travel there faster than either of you,” Minho said next. “Meet up with Hyunjin, and we can talk about it when Han and I come back tomorrow.”

Chan stared at Minho indignantly, but Minho stared back. Deciding he won't win, Chan conceded, “Alright. You go to Cortuga, and YN and I will go talk to Hyunjin.”

“Good. Glad this got squared away. If you two don't mind,” he lifted himself off the floor with his wings, “I have a big day tomorrow.”

He flew out of the station through an open window, leaving dust trailing in his wake. Silence fell over both you and Chan. 

“I wasn't saying I think you're not strong enough,” he began but you stopped him. 

“No offense taken,” you assured him. “Honestly.”

He nodded, and said, “Do you want to come with me? It's alright if you'd rather relax at the inn. I heard Felix is in town, so he's likely going to do a set-”

“-And miss out on meeting a mermaid?” you scoffed, “Please. Do you know how rare seeing a mermaid is? Talking to one is even rarer.”

He chuckled, “Hyunjin's a siren.”

“Even rarer. You think he'd sing for me?”

“If you want to drown, sure,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “Come on then. My dad's boat isn't far from here.”

It was then you noticed the smell. 

“Did you go fishing?”

“Huh? No,” he answered strangely. “I was out near the fishing boats, so that's why I probably stink a bit.”

“Is that also why you came on here soaked and shirtless?” 

“I fell in.”

“But your boots and shirt are dry.”

“You should consider a career change,” he snapped, “You'd make a great sheriff.”

“I'll pass. I've carried enough responsibility to last a lifetime.”

You walked past him with a playful grin and he followed you. 

Still shirtless. 

Chan's father lived on a houseboat docked in the residential part of the marina. A small furry dog laid down on a bed next to the door, head on their paws under a wall light. The moment you and Chan approached, the charles spaniel lifted its head, floppy ears dangling. 

“Hey Berry!” Chan beamed brightly, bending down and extending his arms as Berry ran to him, barking with excitement. “Hey there, girl. Aw, you missed me?” He laughed when she licked at his face, “I missed you too!” 

Berry noticed you, and your body froze. Animals always gave you different reactions. You did your best to appear harmless, hoping the dog took to you as she cautiously approached you. Wet nose sniffing around your feet, when she did not immediately growl or snap her jaws, you thought you might be in the clear. 

“You willingly pet and feed a grizzly bear,” Chan snorted, “Don’t tell me dogs scare you.”

“They don’t,” you answered, bending to gingerly pet Berry’s head, which she allowed. “I’ll admit I get skittish around new animals. I never know how they’ll react to me because, you know,” you lifted your eyes to your forehead, “The stumps?” 

“Berry’s not like that. She likes everyone.”

Berry’s rough tongue licked at your palm, and you smiled as you scratched behind her ears. A shift of light ahead of you made you snap to the door where a man stood watching the three of you. He wore a loose flannel shirt and worn out denim and boots. You noticed he held something in his hand, but you couldn’t tell what from the distance and light. You knew he must be Chan’s father. 

“Bahng Chan!” the man said, affronted. “What are you doing?!” He left the doorstep, shock on his face, and came towards you. His approach sent your body into a defensive mode. “Put a shirt on young man! There’s a lady present!” 

The item he held happened to be a shirt, which Chan took sheepishly. “Evening, Dad,” he said, pulling on the tank top. “Jacob and Donny went home?”

“A few minutes ago. We’d been looking up these parts for more merfolk, but didn’t find anyone,” he replied. “Aren’t you going to introduce your lady friend, Chan?”

“Dad, this is YN,” Chan obliged. “She’s been helping with some bounties around town, and took up this case. YN, this is my dad, Jack.”

“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” you outstretched your hand.

“A demon with manners,” Jack said, amused. “The last demon I saw wanted to slice my head off rather than shake my hand.” The both of you shook hands, “I never thought I’d meet The Multak in person.”

The response took you back for a moment. “You served, sir?”

“In His Majesty’s navy,” he nodded, turning to walk back into the house. You both took this as a sign to follow him inside, Berry trailing behind at the rear. “I was there at the Battle of Busan when the demon forces took to the water on stolen ships.”

“Dad was a naval captain,” Chan said with a proud smile, “Before he retired.”

“You were in Busan?”

“On the front lines,” he nodded.

Jack’s home was modest and homey, the back end going out past the shore and into the water. Nautical trinkets hung from fishing lines like wind chimes, and you saw a row of medals and trophies along a window sill beside the back door. You also noticed a photo of Jack with a woman and a baby Chan. Yes, you knew she was Chan’s mother. They looked too alike to be anything else. 

For a brief moment, you wondered what having a mother felt like. Demons aren’t born the same as mortals. You’d been created from fire and rock; a child born in the lava of the Burning Range around The Mar. You supposed the Keepers charged with caring for demonkin underlings could be your mothers and fathers. Your mentors in the training yards could be parental figures in their own way. One person in particular came to mind: Zunar, overseer of Keepers.

A demon of immense strength, he shaped underlings into full-fledged warriors for centuries. Muscular with the runic tattoos of your people on his body, he was one of the few fire demons with wings. You always asked him when you’d get yours, and he’d tell you that wings came at birth. All underlings, demonkin children, were under his charge from infancy to eighteen. While he did care and mentor all underlings, he took a special shine to you. He said you carried an aura far different than any underling he’d ever met. He prophesied that you’d grow up to do great things when your egg cracked in the lava river. He said it should have killed you, but you survived. You supposed his premonition came true.

“Upon one summer’s morning, I carefully did stray down by the walls of whopping, where I met a sailor gay…”

The singing voice broke you from your memories. You heard it coming from the stern of the boat. 

“Conversing with a young lass, who seemed to be in pain. Saying ‘William when you go I fear you’ll never return again…”

While Chan and Jack talked, you stared transfixed at the source of the singing. The back of the ship led out to a low platform that acted as a porch. While the sides had railings, the very end remained open. Sitting on the edge of the boat was a young man. Black hair hanging down to his shoulders, you saw his back covered in blue scales that started dark blue at his tail and gradually became white towards his shoulders and arms. You didn’t see anything else but him. He drew you to him like a moth to a flame, and you knew you’d get burned.

“My heart is pierced by cupid. I disdain all glittering gold. There is nothing can console me, but my jolly sailor bold…”

The creak of a deck board interrupted his singing. When it stopped, your brain felt fuzzy and muddled. The siren turned around, and you couldn’t stop looking at him. His round face ended with a square jaw and pointed chin. Cat-like eyes, the color of dark topaz, blinked at you once before clouding with suspicion. Thick, pouty lips turned into a scowl when he looked up to see your stumps. You felt him surveying you, deciding whether you may be a threat or not.

“Who are you?” he asked, defensively. “Where’s Chan?”

“I’m YN,” you said breathlessly. “Chan’s inside with Jack. You…You must be Hyunjin, right?”

“He didn’t tell me he’d bring a stranger. I was expecting Minho or Han.”

“They’re busy with another lead.”

“And why are you here?”

“To help.”

“Why?”

“Because what happened to those merpeople is evil and needs to be punished, which is something I vowed to do,” you said.

“And because Chan offered you money. Yes,” he nodded at your stunned expression, “I know a bounty hunter when I see one.” He eyed the Sunwind charm and claws around your neck, “Where’d you get that?”

“An elf gave it to me after I saved her son from a spider hybrid.”

Hyunjin clearly appeared to be weighing this response. “They don’t give those freely,” he said.

“No, they don’t.”

“And those claws?”

“Werewolf and werecat.”

He stayed silent again, “What do you know of merfolk, YN?”

He turned fully to face you, and you saw the scales spanned from his back to his abdomen and chest. The only flesh available was the very middle of his belly and the sternum of his chest; only the contours of his face glimmered pale blue and nearly white. Light blue and white fringes went along the sides of his thick blue tail, the scales glittered like gems in the lamplight hanging from the ceiling. Seeing him up close, you saw the crown of tiny starfish and pearls attached to his head. It reminded you of the young mermaid you saw today, who had coral pieces in her hair. A beautiful, young siren like the ones in the fairytales and paintings. 

“That they believe in water spirits,” you stared, “And find omens in the skies and currents of the seas. I know mermaids can call upon the magic of the ocean to aid them in battle, and that a siren’s song can lead a man to his death. I know they’re also stealthy people who can hide in plain sight.” You gave a small smile, “A naval commander I sailed with said the difference in mermaids and sirens is that with mermaids you can’t see a mermaid, but it can see you; with sirens, you can hear them, but you don’t see them until it’s too late.” 

The corner of his mouth twitched at this saying. He turned back to the waters ahead, and you took this as a sign to join him. 

“That’s all true,” he said. “But, what do you know of our king?”

“Not much, to be honest. I only know his name is Tytos and he was the one who stopped the mighty water snake, Cierian, from destroying Hydrus.”

“Those things are true, yes,” he replied, “But King Tytos is so much more than his deeds. Ever since I was a baby, King Tytos has ruled the seven seas from the capital city, Hydrus. He is an understanding, compassionate, honorable merman who does what is best for his people. He has built alliances with creatures we never thought to befriend before, and has opened communications between our people and the mainlanders. He listens to everyone’s opinions and concerns. He seeks counsel even from the smallest, most common of merfolk. Tytos is the king that Hydrus needed during those dark days.” You saw his eyes twinkled with tears, “He saved my father during a battle between our people and the bloodbane merfolk. He is a good, noble man, YN. He is respected and admired by anyone who meets him.”

“What’s happened to him?”

“We don’t know,” his voice became thick with tears as he looked at you. “He’s sick, but not a normal sickness that can be cured with tonics or herbs. It’s a sickness of the mind. He isn’t himself. My aunt, Chan’s mother Yejin, says he’s bed ridden most days, and that he gives all his commands through his chief advisor, a merman named Mizu.”

“Mizu? What’s he got to do with all of this?”

Chan came up from behind you with a beer bottle in his hand, concern on his face.

“Your mother thinks he’s poisoning the king,” Hyunjin revealed, “Or using some form of magic to control him and keep him sick.”

“How is this connected to our merfolk?”

He took a seat on Hyunjin’s other side, and the siren continued. “Your mother says that ever since he became ill, Mizu has been in charge. Mizu claims that Tytos ordered soldiers to withdraw from the smaller villages and return to Hydrus. This leaves those people defenseless. These new pirate attacks are the first in a long line of threats to come. She said one commander reported seeing a leviathan roaming the borders of the Caspian Seas. Another said that the fish populations are migrating further north as the predators grow in vast numbers. Hunters do what they can to keep them at a minimum, but they’re becoming a major threat to the plains. She and the other advisors have tried speaking out against him, demanding to speak to Tytos himself but Mizu forbids it.” His voice dropped to a whisper as he said, “He confined the queen to her tower, and banished Murrow.”

Chan’s mouth fell open, “He banished Murrow?!”

“Who’s Murrow?” you asked.

“He’s the commander of Tytos’s personal guard,” Hyunjin said. “Rumor has it he tried garnering support to overthrow Mizu from his position and ended up being arrested allegedly on The King’s orders.” 

“And where is Ormand in all of this?” asked Chan. “He’s Tytos’s son and should be in charge after him.”

“Ormand is dead.”

“What? You’re kidding!”

“He and his men were ambushed by a group of bloodbane merfolk,” he said, “But a lot of the advisors think Mizu orchestrated it. The only royals left are the princes and princesses: Ronan, Arielle, Arista and Kenn. None of them are old enough to rule on their own; besides, they’ve been locked up with their mother this entire time. It’s awful, Chan. Everyone in the palace is terrified, and the people in Hydrus are starting to lose hope and faith that their king will pull through and come to his senses. We need your help.”

“How can I help?” he asked, “I don’t have magic.”

“But your friend, Minho, does. You’ve always said he’s the best magic wielder you know. Your mother suspects this runs so much deeper than what’s on the surface. She can’t confront Mizu directly, since then she’s likely to be taken out next. She can’t speak to the king because she’ll end up in prison like so many others. We both thought Minho might have a solution, or know of a way to break Mizu’s curse.”

“Minho is good with magic,” Chan said, “But he’s going to Cortuga tomorrow to talk to some pirates we think are responsible for what happened today.”

“You mean Park Jinyoung and his crew?”

“Yes,” he perked up, “Was it them?”

“It might be,” he replied. “I know his first mate is a mage. She’s likely the reason pirates were able to invade Peacock Lagoon in the first place.”

“Minho mentioned Peacock Lagoon,” you chimed in. “He said it’s impenetrable from above water.”

“It is,” Hyunjin confirmed, “I was there when it happened. There we all were enjoying the sun when they appeared out of thin air. Some of us sirens tried screeching to get them to leave, but it didn’t seem to work. They were immune to our powers.”

“Candle wax,” Chan suggested before sipping his beer. “They stuff it in their ears before going into merfolk waters to avoid falling into trances.”

“This lagoon of yours,” you began, “What are its defenses?”

“The reefs and rocks surrounding it mostly,” he answered. “An aerial attack would be possible, but the lagoon isn’t a town or a castle. It’s more like a meeting place. It’s one of our safe havens from humans. Whoever brought them there knew the precise location.”

“And you think this is connected to the other threats?”

“It must be. It’s not a coincidence all these things are happening right now. If people believe Tytos is too weak to fulfill his duties, he will be deposed and someone else will be put in his place,” Hyunjin then glowered, “Mizu has his eyes on the throne. I know he does. Why else would he be doing this?”

“Power does strange things to people,” you mused out loud.

“Can you help us?” Hyunjin’s question sounded cautious and uncertain. “Well, you are a demon,” he continued, “And if there is any being versed in dark magic, it’s demons. Dark magic is at play here, and we need someone who can defeat it.”

“And if anyone is good at defeating dark magic,” Jack said from behind the three of you, “It’s you.”

“I got lucky,” you told them. “I had help.”

“You’d have help this time.”

“I don’t even know what’s wrong with your king,” you told Hyunjin. “Have you seen him?”

“No, but Chan’s mother has. She can describe to you what she’s seen and what goes on inside the palace,” he said.

“My wife is good friends with the king and queen,” Jack said, drinking from his beer and petting Berry’s head. “If anyone can get close to them, it’s her. Yejin will help you the best way she can.”

“My kind don’t do well underwater,” you said. “It’s too cold for us fire demons.”

“You’d be fine,” insisted Chan. “We’ll go to Hydrus tomorrow and talk to Ma.”

“Chan, I don’t think I’d-”

“-You will?” Hyunjin asked with hope in his eyes. “Really?”

“We need to stop these pirate attacks somehow. Minho might learn what’s really going on when he questions Jinyoung’s crew,” he said, “And we can assess Tytos’s condition for ourselves.”

It was the least you could do. Hyunjin said he’d meet you both back at the house tomorrow, and you’d all go together. However, there was one detail neither of them failed to bring up.

“Um, you both might be able to breathe underwater, but this gal doesn’t,” you jerked a thumb at yourself.

“Don’t worry about that,” Hyunjin comforted you with a pat on the knee. “See you two tomorrow.”

A fresh sense of hope spread across Hyunjin’s face, and he glowed with pride. He pecked Chan’s cheek, then dove back into the water. You sat there on the edge of the porch with Chan, who quietly sipped his beer for a while. The faint sounds of the ocean came to you from afar, and a cold breeze made you shudder. 

You hated the cold. 

****

The next morning, you stood on Jack’s boat at the edge of the bay area. Minho and Han went ahead of you and Chan to Cortuga, where you prayed they’d be successful. Mostly because you didn’t know how successful your endeavor would be today. You stayed by the stern of the ship, looking down at the blue waters lapping at the bottom of the hull nervously. You didn’t mind sailing on the ocean. You didn’t mind lakes or rivers or ponds, but that was because you’re above the surface. The cold can’t reach you on the boat. Simply seeing the vast depths below gave you shivers. 

“Don’t be such a scaredy cat,” Chan laughed from behind you. 

He came out of the cabin without a shirt again. The sight of his naked torso distracted you from the deadly waters for a moment. 

“I’m not scared,” you retorted. “I’m just confused on how I’m going to breathe underwater.”

“Well, you’d get kissed obviously.”

“Kissed?” you gulped, “By who?”

“Hyunjin,” he said simply, fixing his shorts over his hips properly. “A siren’s kiss grants you the ability to breathe underwater.”

“Um, well…I guess…”

“Besides, it’s not that you need to worry about,” he started stretching his arms and legs. You supposed you should do the same. Swimming was never your strong suit. “It’s the beasts.”

“You mean that supposed sea snake that has been keeping the ferry docked?” you asked, eyebrows raised in suspicion. 

“Him, and others like sharks, squids, and all the rest. There are also the bloodbane tribes. Think of them like evil mermaids.” 

“Hm, makes sense.” You bent your body sideways with your arm, “I don’t know how useful I’m going to be to Hyunjin. I don’t think my powers will work underwater.”

“You never know until you try, and besides, you won’t be going anywhere near the palace. We’re meeting Ma and Hannah in her shop. She’ll tell us what we need to know to get a feel for this from afar.”

“Do you really think the pirates are related to this?”

“I do,” he nodded. “It’s odd to see pirates and merfolk working together, but it might be that Mizu promised them something. That or the person they’re both working for has offered them something they each want.”

“There’s someone else involved now?”

“There has to be. Mizu didn’t wake up one day and decide he’s going to take over the aquatic kingdoms,” he said, twisting his body left and right. “This is bigger than just poaching. I can feel it. I know you can too.”

He crossed your mind as he always did. Nor’goth. The monster who seduced good, honorable men and made them his slaves. He promised them power in exchange for their servitude. You’d spent a majority of the war fighting against those who worked for Nor’goth: lords who sought out wealth and power; criminals who wanted excuses to hurt others; the foolish and the weak seeking his protection. No. No, Nor’goth is in The Abyss where he belongs, powerless and slowly dying. 

A splash from nearby caught your attention. You stopped stretching and looked over the stern to see Hyunjin floating in the water. He grinned up at you, making your heart flutter. Sirens truly are things of beauty. 

“Morning YN,” he said, “Ready?”

“As ready as I could ever be, I suppose.”

“You'll be fine,” he assured you. “Come down here.”

You climbed down the back steps of the boat and sat on the bottom landing. Your bare feet slipped into the water, which you then immediately yanked back. 

“It's cold!” You exclaimed, hugging your knees. “I'd rather fight pirates. I'm gonna go and fight pirates.”

“Stop being a baby, and get in there!”

A hard shove from behind made you tumble into the water. The temperature might be a bit chilly for a mortal body, but for you, it pinched your insides until they turned to ice. You swore the water completely doused your fiery insides. The brief moment underwater, your feet not touching anything solid, sent you scrambling to the surface. You scowled at Hyunjin and Chan’s laughter and vowed revenge somehow. Chan made a perfect dive into the water and through the crystal surface you saw him transform. While his legs remained separated, you saw webbing grow between his fingers and fins elongate out of his toes. Six clear slits cut into his ribcage, opening and closing with each breath. His fair skin even seems to shimmer in places, iridescent in the morning sunshine. Chan turned from a small town sheriff into a halfling merman. 

“Wow…” you let out in a breath, seeing him dive further beneath your feet. 

“Your turn.”

“Huh?”

Hyunjin gently grabbed both sides of your jaw so you faced him. You never noticed the small mole underneath his left eye. Up close, you found yourself falling into a hazy trance.

“Don't worry,” he said, leaning closer, “It only hurts for a second.”

“What hurts?”

Then he kissed you. His lips and hands were the only sources of warmth your body found, and it clung to them fiercely. However, the comfort did not last long as he pulled away. 

“Now I can tell all my friends I kissed a demon,” he smirked, and then took hold of your hand. 

And brought you under the surface. Holding your breath out of instinct, you let out small air bubbles as the sharpness hit your abdomen. You kept each breath in, but it became difficult as the sharp burning pain extended to your back and your mouth opened up. Gulps of water filled your mouth and throat, your vision blurry and stinging underwater, and you tried reaching the surface. But suddenly, the pain faded away. The sensation of your breath coming through the gills made in your skin felt surreal. The blurriness from before went away in a few blinks, and you saw everything as clear as day. Both Hyunjin and Chan remained stationary, giving encouraging smiles as the realization hit you. 

“Wow!” You let out a giggle, glancing around the vast space around you. “Wait. I can talk? Can you guys hear me?!”

“Yes,” Hyunjin laughed, his voice clear even through water, “We can hear you just fine.”

You kicked yourself forward a few feet, your body used to struggling under the weight of your clothes. Yet, you found yourself gliding smoothly past both men. You made twirls, spins, and dove up and down. The water made you feel weightless. You saw coral reefs, vibrant and rocky, on the ocean floor. Going closer, you saw the tiny sea critters living in their own ecosystem. Life bloomed even underwater. You took in the colors, the species and fish you'd never seen before. The sand on the floor felt soft like powder, floating out of your hand in each current. Now you understand why water demons stuck to their rivers and lakes back home. The world was different under the sea. 

“Come on, little explorer,” Hyunjin led you away from an octopus you'd been observing, “You can see more later on.”

Hyunjin led both you and Chan further out to sea. The dark blue ahead of you shrouded any dangers ahead with its cloudiness. You forced yourself to focus on the bits of fish and seaweed you could see as you swam by. It was halfway through that you heard high pitched sounds coming from nearby, mingled with deep tones responding back. Hyunjin grinned at the whale calls from beyond. 

“Looks like we found ourselves a ride,” he grinned at you and Chan. 

“Huh?”

Hyunjin guided you towards the sounds, and out of the cloudiness you saw them. Several large blue whales swam by you in a herd, communicating with one another. At first, you thought they were only fish but then you realized the smaller beings swimming with them were merfolk. Merpeople, sirens and aquatic hybrids clung to the whales’ sides and fins. It appeared to act like a transport system. 

“When I say go,” Hyunjin said to you, “You go.”

Chan, already accustomed to this, hopped ahead of you as a whale passed by you. 

“Go!”

With a slight shove, you crashed right into the bumpy side of the whale. Briefly, you wondered if you'd hurt it. Catching hold of a larger bump, you kept yourself steady as the whale kept swimming. 

“Don't worry,” Hyunjin said, holding onto the space next to you, “They don't feel it!” 

“Is this how you get around?”

“Mostly, when going from city to city.”

“There are other cities?”

“Tons! Hydrus is the capital, but there are plenty more across the seas.” 

You took in the scenery as the whales went down their path. The rushing waters turned the passing scenes into dashes of color mixed with seafoam. You gave an elated giggle. The whale's deep breaths pulsed against your hands, the bumps pushing gently into your hands. The other merfolk chattered and laughed together, as if riding a tram car or an airship. Some of them sat atop the whales, eating clams and other shellfish. You watched them talk to one another, seeing their faces and taking them all in. He wanted to ruin this. He wanted to make the merfolk his slaves, stripping them of their freedom and turning them into amusement attractions. You envisioned them all rounded up in cages, forced to sing and perform until they died. It stung your eyes. 

“Don't be scared,” Hyunjin said, misreading your emotions. “Just hold on tight and don't let go.”

“He wanted to destroy all of this,” you said, gulping back a lump. “He would've if we hadn't stopped him.”

“Who? Nor’goth?”

“Yes. He said merfolk were pointless, and that he'd give them a purpose,” you saw two children racing one another alongside one of the whales, giggling with delight. “He wanted to enslave your people. He would've torn everything down.” It hurt you imagining those children without homes or families. 

“I heard he was awful, and so were the people who followed him.” He then asked, “Were you one of them?”

“No,” you shook your head. “Never.”

“YN was the one who killed him,” said Chan.

“You were?” Hyunjin asked, surprised by the news. 

“Yes.”

Hyunjin saw your dejected face. “Did you know him well?”

“Too well.”

“Was he family?”

“In a way. He was Lord of The Range, where my clan lived.” 

You sometimes thought of him late at night. Nor’goth, Lord of the Burning Range, Commander of The Fire Clan and Guardian of Damned Souls. Nor’goth, who sat upon a throne of molten lava and handed out punishments. Nobody believed you when you said he hadn't always been that way. He might've had his warped views about mortals and believed in demon supremacy, but he held true to his oath once. When you finally met in Incheon, a land of rivers and lakes and trees, the Nor'goth you'd respected turned into a different being altogether. You saw how his own darkness consumed him; the way his arrogance and bigotry blinded him to the old ways, and that he must be stopped. 

“That must've been hard,” Hyunjin’s voice broke you from your thoughts. “It's not easy fighting against those you know.”

“It wasn't, but he'd become so deranged by then that I didn't see him as the lord I'd known. I saw him as another monster who needed to be put down.” You looked back to the two children, who'd stopped their race to eat. “He would've killed them. He would've killed all of them.”

‘We must take this world and make it ours!’

‘This world is not ours, Nor'goth. It is theirs. We have no place amongst them!’

‘No! THEY have no place amongst US!’

Zunar had been there that day. He'd led the distraction off to the west to draw Nor’goth's minions away from him. As the whale carried on, you remembered his solemn face when you volunteered to distract Nor’goth. He knew it must be you, but he wished it were otherwise. You swallowed thickly. His blood felt like fire on your palms, his choked gasps blocking out the battle raging around you. He'd died fighting, as every demon warrior hopes for. Back then, you didn't know he’d return home to heal. You only knew the one person you looked up to had died in your arms, and it'd been Nor’goth’s fault. 

“Hydrus, next! Hydrus is the next spot! Please gather your belongings and wait until the transport comes to a full stop!” A male siren sitting on the whale's head shouted down the line. 

You saw what resembled an airship stop up ahead. More merfolk stayed floating on a platform as the whale pulled into the station. When it came to a complete stop, some people let go of the whale, while others stayed “aboard”. Someone took your hand, and you thought it was Hyunjin. Yet, when you looked, Chan swam beside you. His fingers delicately wrapped around your wrist, you felt his thumb pressed to your vital point. Your pulse quickened at his touch. He never gripped too hard or tugged you behind him. He always kept the same pace. You liked it. 

“Welcome to Hydrus, YN.”

Swimming out of an old ruin doubling as a “transport station”, you saw the city up ahead. A city of lights and stone buildings stood a mile or so away from the station, where more merfolk lived in peace. 

“It's beautiful,” you marveled, seeing the marble towers even further off, “And that's the palace?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Come on. It's even better up close.”

The three of you went into the city together. By the stone buildings and cobbled streets, Hydrus had once been a city that went underwater. Coral, seaweed, and other small creatures made the cracks in buildings their home; luminous fish lived inside the lanterns going down the streets. You passed people doing their morning shopping, and children on their way to school. It resembled any other city, only for merpeople. 

“This is the trade district,” Hyunjin said as he took you down an adjacent street and into another lane. “Tailors, jewelers, blacksmiths, butchers, and anything else that can be made is sold here. Chan's mother owns an apothecary down here.” He brought you to a small shop wedged between two taller ones with a silver shooting star sign hanging over the door. 

“Silverstar Apothecary,” you read the sign.

Through a display window of books, bottles and vials, you saw a young mermaid behind the counter. Her black hair tied back in a long plait, you noticed the gold bands braided into her hair. Bands that matched the yellow coral encrusted around her temples and eyes. Chan's smile widened at the sight of the young woman, and he swam ahead of you inside. 

“Hey, fishead,” he smirked, leaning against the door. 

The woman looked up from her work on the counter and sneered back. “Hey, blobfish.” 

The two siblings laughed and rushed to embrace one another. Hannah clearly took on her mother's genes with her mermaid tail and coral head pieces. 

“I'm so glad you're here!” Hannah cheered, spinning him around. “Ma’s gonna be so happy when she sees you!” She released him to turn to a beaded doorway. “Mama! Mama, Chan's here!” 

A woman came through the beaded curtain, her eyes landing right on Chan when she entered. The young woman in the photo now had laugh lines and crow's feet; black hair streaked with thin gray hairs contrasted with the amethyst gems and geodes in the crown of her head. She has Chan's downturned eyes and cupid's bow lips. Her tail was white with lavender stripes, fringes of pale purple flowing off the sides. She was beautiful. You understood immediately why Chan's father became so enamored with her. 

“Channie!” She cried out, hugging her child tightly. Her face buried in his black curls, she savored the brief seconds she held him. “Oh, my baby's home!”

“Ma!” Chan chuckled, “Mama! I wasn't gone that long!”

“Anytime you leave it feels like an eternity,” she said, releasing him. She then hugged Hyunjin, kissing his cheek. “And you too. Your father came in here looking for you. He said something about your spear throwing.”

Hyunjin gasped, “The test! I'll see you all later!” 

He dashed away, leaving air bubbles in his wake. Then Chan's mother noticed you, and paused. You didn't sense fear in her at all, but instead clarity. 

“Eternal fire,” she said, mesmerized by you, “Always burning, never doused or snuffed. What's your name, demonkin?”

“YN, ma'am.”

“No, your true name. What is it?”

“Multak,” you didn't see why this mattered. 

“Shield of fire,” she said, a smile growing on her face. 

“Mama?” Chan called to her, but she seemed to be entranced. “Are you okay?”

“I've seen you before, demonkin,” she said, ignoring him. “I saw you in the stars.”

“Oh, Ma,” Chan dismissed her. “Come on, there's nothing written in the stars except old stories.” 

“You've come to help us, haven't you?” She asked you. 

“Yes, ma’am. Your nephew said it might be related to some bodies that washed up on shore.” The way she stared unnerved you. She stared as if her salvation had just arrived. 

“I'm Yejin,” she said, giving a bow. “Welcome to Hydrus, YN.”

“Thank you, ma'am.”

She breathed a sigh of relief, and you said, “Hyunjin mentioned the king has been ill lately?”

“Very,” she nodded. “Come. I think I know what's happening to him.”

She led you all behind the curtain into a work room. A room full of plants, equipment and books remained lit up from the three glowing fish in the lantern above. She took you over to a table next to the bookshelves, where she kept a leather bound book propped up against the window. On the page, you saw a drawing of a man with drowsy pale eyes, sagging skin and thin hair. He appeared to be in a daze, thin purple and red lines coming from his eye sockets and onto his skin. The book was written in a series of runes going from top to bottom. You kept the runes straight as you read them. 

“Fogginess of the Mind?” You read the text out loud.

“Also known as brain fog,” Yejin said. “It's quite self explanatory. The afflicted experiences immense memory loss, loss of time and place, and is in a state of sedation. Mind control, brainwashing and manipulation is a lot easier with Brain Fog.”

“And you think Mizu is using this on your king?”

“Yes. He must be. People in the palace say he looked more or less like this,” she pointed at the drawing. “The vacant expression, the pale eyes, and most importantly, the veins.”

“And nobody else has realized this except you?” you asked, a bit suspicious. “Only you’ve seen the king?”

“YN, really?” Chan asked, affronted. “My mother would nev-”

“-I haven’t seen him, but the queen, Calypso, has,” she answered unfazed. 

“And she told you everything she saw?”

“She did. Calypso wouldn’t lie to me about her husband’s condition. I was the first person she reached out to when he started to fade,” she said. “She told me whenever she tried talking to him, he slurred and didn’t seem to know where he was. When he saw their youngest son, Kenn, Tytos thought he was Ormand. Kenn is six. I’ll let you realize how odd that is.” 

You looked back at the book. The runic text on the side was faded, likely written by a mage or warlock hundreds of years ago. 

“I would have told the other advisors, but to do that would raise Mizu’s suspicions,” she continued. “I knew I needed to keep quiet until I had definitive proof to accuse him, and a way to heal Tytos. I’m sure you know illnesses of the mind are harder to treat than physical ones.”

The text explained that the afflicted would eventually lose all sense of self, and slowly begin a descent into insanity. You examined the drawing again. Tytos most likely lost all proper sense at the beginning, and now cannot tell one of his children from another. Your stomach churned recalling a similar incident during the war. 

“I’ve seen something similar to this before,” you said, rereading the symptoms. “During the war, I was sent to Bouyard on the east side of the country. It’s one of the larger towns, and is in a very comfortable position on a hill. It’s near impenetrable from its vantage point. It was a perfect spot for any army wanting a few days of rest. One of Nor’goth’s lieutenants, an air demon named Darnesh, came to Bouyard and demanded to be given entry. When the lord there refused, she cursed him.”

“And the curse was similar to this one?”

“Yes. He was delirious, nearly blind, muttering incoherently, and half-naked when we found him wandering in the forest. Darnesh entered his mind and manipulated him into letting her forces stay in his city. Of course, her army slaughtered everyone inside and took his family hostage, but she did much damage to our side by keeping him so subdued. When she had no use for him, she left him to battle with his own madness.” 

“How terrible,” breathed Hannah. “Did the man get any better?”

“An alchemist I knew managed to save him,” you said, “But I heard it took months for him to be himself again.” You pictured Tytos in a similar state, “I don’t know if this is the same thing, but it’s close to it. I’d need to see the king in order to be certain.”

Your throat closed up, and when you took deep breaths they came through your newly formed gills. It can’t be them. Darnesh was killed in battle. You didn’t see it yourself, but those who’d left the waters of Busan alive saw her be slain by a dragon-hybrid. 

Because if anything can truly kill a demon, it is dragon fire. 

“I need to see him,” you said again. “How can I do that?”

“Not easily,” she replied. “I'd normally suggest asking for an audience with one of the advisors, but that is impossible these days. You could’ve snuck into the palace, but Mizu has tripled the amount of guards around the place. All passages known and unknown are sealed and guarded tightly. The palace has become a fortress; nobody can leave except by Mizu’s written permission.”

“Well, people have to get in somehow,” Chan said, coming to the book. “They need food and supplies if they want all those guards to stay alive.”

“Under heavily guarded supervision,” she answered. “The only way in is through special permission or a summons.”

“And we obviously can’t wait around for Mizu to summon you,” he said. “He might end up doing that when the king is already dead.”

“I can ask for an appointment with the king,” she suggested. “I’m sure with a bit of persuasion and a secret weapon, Mizu will be more than willing to allow a brief audience.”

“Special tonic?”

“Invisibility potion,” she nodded to a cabinet of vials and bottles behind her. “I can whip one up quickly, you can drink it right before we enter the palace, and be there in secret.”

“Can’t you turn invisible?” asked Chan.

“Briefly,” you said. “A potion will be fine. I mean, they taste awful, but if it helps us get into the palace, then it can work.”

“I’ll send a request right away,” Yejin said, already moving to a table nearby. “I’m not sure when a reply will come,” she grabbed a fishbone quill and began writing on a small slip of paper, “But Sungwoo is a night owl. He’ll answer at any time.”

“Good to know,” you nodded. You looked at her books on the shelves. Perhaps the answer to the king’s illness is in one of these. “Do you have any ideas on how to cure Brain Fog?”

“Usually a clarity potion or some sort of herbal tonic can clear his mind,” she answered, folding the slip and placing it in a small pouch, “But I can’t find anything strong enough to relieve him.”

“Do you remember the spell the mage used?” asked Hannah. 

You did your best to picture the event in your mind. The young lord laid on the ground, half-crazed and muttering, while the elderly mage held a cystal above him. “He’d used a black and white stone, and mumbled this enchantment that sapped into the stone instead.” 

“A black and white stone?” Yejin said thoughtfully, “Black Tourmaline?”

“Black what?”

“Tourmaline.” She went over to the bookshelf, and scanned the shelves. “It’s meant to protect and banish negative energies. It sounds like your mage used the stone,” she pulled a book off the shelf and quickly flipped through it, “As a harvesting tool.”

“Yes!” you nodded, remembering a bit more of the ritual. “Yes, that’s exactly what he did.”

“Here!” 

Yejin showed you a drawing of a jagged black stone labeled ‘black tourmaline’. You assumed this must be the same stone, “Black tourmaline. ‘Considered the king of protective crystals, black tourmaline is believed to associated with grounding and protection…’” she turned the page, “Many magic users suggest black tourmaline in curse warding or sapping rituals. The proper incantation paired with black tourmaline will ensure your afflicted is absolved of their negative energy and relieved of their curse.’”

“Do you know where we can find it?” Chan asked his mother eagerly. “Do they sell it down here?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” she frowned, closing the book. “It’s not native to our lands.”

“But it will be to Minho,” said Hannah. “Fairies use crystals all the time. He might have one or know where to get it.”

“I can ask him when we get back home,” Chan told her. “He might know something we don't know about all of this.”

“Great!” Yejin smiled, relieved to have a solution. “I’ll give this request to the postman, and then we’ll see how our plan unfolds.”

“How soon will Sungwoo respond?”

“Soon enough. You kids enjoy yourselves in the meantime. I’ll send for you when he answers me back!”

Yejin then swam out of the room, and left the three of you alone. You picked off a book from the shelf, reading the title and wondering if it’d be of any use when Hannah caught your attention. 

“You won’t find the solution in Ma’s books,” she told you. “If she hadn’t found it by now, then it’s not in here.”

“You never know. It could be easily-”

“-Drop the book,” she insisted, taking the book from you, “And come let us show you around, YN!” Hannah beamed at you, swimming ahead out of the store. “There's loads to see here!”

Always up for an adventure, you eagerly followed her. The promise of new sights and experiences excited you, but the situation at hand hung in the back of your mind. Sources told you Darnesh died after a dragon-hybrid cut her with its flame forged sword. Those who’d been there say her body turned into wisps of smoke that clouded the air with noxious gas. When they told you what he killed her with, you understood at once. Only substances like dragon fire can truly kill a demon. Even you, a child made from flames like a dragon, was no match for their magic. 

When you needed to reforge your sword, you used dragon flame to embed your runes. Your kinfolk didn’t understand, but Zunar did. 

‘For the day he returns?’

He won’t return. Nor’goth cannot come back from where he is now. Even if he is imprisoned, The Abyss slowly but surely will drain him of life. He must be dead or dying by now. Yet, all the possibilities rushed you all at once. While Darnesh or Nor’goth cannot hurt anyone, those they taught their ways can and will. You’ve come across them in your time in the mortal realm: hyped up, arrogant humans who’d been given dark gifts and brainwashed into finishing “The Dark Lord’s work”. You finished them easily enough. 

‘You may have chained me, but you cannot chain a belief!’

“Hey,” Chan swam up beside you, “You’re not admiring the scenery. Something up?”

“Yes, Chan,” you said irritably. “Someone down here is using demon magic, and I don’t know who they are or how they got it.”

“Come on, it can’t be demon magic. It’s most likely extreme dark magic. If it was demonic, it would’ve spread, wouldn’t it? My dad said he’d seen whole regiments be cursed with pestilence.”

“Pestilence is different from this,” you shook your head. “If the king has what I think he has, it’s not contagious.”

“Well, don’t start counting chickens before they’ve hatched.”

“You’re being annoyingly calm about all of this,” you griped at him. “These are your people too!”

“It does bother me,” he stopped mid-float, “But right now we need to have some patience. I’d like to practice that patience with a drink or two and you…and, okay, Hannah too because she’s already here…” He saw your unconvinced expression and brought you closer. His fingers wrapped around your wrist until they slipped over your palm and between yours. Why did he do that? Why did you let him? “Let’s loosen up for a little bit. You do it plenty at home, and how many times in your life will you get to see the magnificent city of Hydrus?” he raised his eyebrows and smiled to convince you. 

“It is…” you hesitated, “It is beautiful here.”

“See? Now, come on,” he kept your hand in his and guided you down the street, “Hannah will probably want to show you all the jewelry and enchantment places around here. They really are incredible.” 

Hannah and Chan spent a good amount of the day showing you around Hydrus. The city truly was magnificent. It offered so many things you'd never seen before: mermaid charms and jewelry carved from gemstones and coral, small fish domesticated to be pets, books about merfolk culture and artifacts, items embedded with aquatic runes and the range of weapons sold around the city. You held a spear made entirely from leviathan bone, one of the strongest materials known to man. A woman offered you a necklace of aquamarine inlaid in silver, and another showed off a sculpture made of kelp and coral. 

“A star searcher,” Hannah told you when she saw you eyeing a square piece of glass in an astronomy store. “It can help you find any star constellation you might need. You usually use it with a guide, so you know what each star means or represents. It's not very handy in fights, but a lot of whale navigators and seers use them. Ma has one at home.” She swam closer to you, grinning teasingly, “So, what do you think of my brother?”

“What?” The twinkled star searcher kept your attention from her. 

“My brother,” she whispered. “What do you think about him?”

“He's…” 

What did you think about Chan? You did think he was good looking, and you enjoyed working with him. His easy going nature. His care for others. His insistent need to protect and defend people. You found those to be admirable qualities. Yet, you didn't know how you really felt about him. You saw him through the window looking at the street. He spoke with two men, laughing and catching up with them. His smile, wide and straight, gave the tiniest inkling of warmth in your cold body. You nearly smiled before you caught yourself. 

“He's a good man,” you finally answered, picking up an advertised star guide. 

“That's all?” She asked in disbelief. 

“I haven't known him very long,” you admitted. “I know he has a good heart, always thinks of everyone else before himself, and has a lot of leadership qualities. He'd make a great Divinity soldier.”

“Okay, yes, my brother is a good guy,” she waved off, “But I meant how you feel in terms of, well, attraction?”

“Why are you asking this?” You said, adding a soft laugh to ease the sharpness. 

“Because my brother never lets go of your hand, and smiles when he looks at you,” she pointed out.

“He’s only looking out for me. I’ve never been here before, so he doesn’t want me to get lost or eaten by a shark or something.”

She giggled, “Ah, YN…My Ma will probably say your stars will line up eventually.” 

“I passed my test! Hannah!” Hyunjin appeared in the doorway, grinning widely and giddy with excitement. He scooped her up into a hug, “I passed my test! I get to go to the next trial!”

“That's amazing!” She giggled, yelping when he spun her around.

“What test?” You asked him, putting the star searcher back on its shelf. 

“To be a whale navigator!” he let go of Hannah, “You have to go through a bunch of tests to become one, and I passed the first one!”

“Congratulations,” you said kindly. 

“Thanks,” he beamed, breathless. “We're going to celebrate! Come with us!”

“Oh I wouldn't want to-”

You didn't have a choice in the matter. Hyunjin took you ahead of both Hannah and Chan, guiding you down the crowded streets until you reached a tavern. Inside, you saw merfolk filling up tables, talking over plates of food. Hyunjin, Hannah and Chan appeared to know many of the people there; one or two stopped Chan for a brief catch-up before moving onwards. Hyunjin brought you over to a table in the middle of the room, where the people seemed to be the loudest. A young mermaid came to the table, asking for food orders, and you let your companions order for you. 

“How could they possibly cook underwater?” you asked curiously when she left. 

“Like that.” 

Chan pointed to a kitchen area behind you. An older merman stood by what appeared to be a stone grill built on top of a heating vent. Seeing the churning lava inside it, you guessed it was a heating vent from a nearby volcano or other source underneath the floor. 

“Also, magic, duh?” Hannah pointed to two women by a boiling pot: one held it with her hands, effectively heating the contents inside, while the other stirred. 

“Interesting,” you nodded. “I imagine it’s pretty salty still.”

“It’s not Wooyoung’s cooking,” Chan said, “But it’s just as good.”

“What I want to know is why are we at Rock Lobster when we can be at Scuttle’s eating fresh crab?” asked Hannah, a bit annoyed. “YN should be seeing the best Hydrus has to offer. Scuttle’s is peak-”

“-I brought us here because Scuttle’s is too quiet and fancy and a lot of elite people go there,” Hyunjin cut her off. “Nobody will overhear us here,” he glanced around the rowdy room of merfolk. He was right. “The people who saw us will say we were here, but they’ll think we’re just three relatives showing around our demon friend.”

“And why do you not want people to overhear us?” Chan asked, smirking softly as he spoke. 

“Because Mizu was at my exam.”

“What?” This caught everyone’s attention. 

“Yes, he was there.”

“What for?” Asked Hannah. 

“He told us he came to see the potential navigators,” Hyunjin said. “He mentioned something about His Majesty needing personal navigators, or whatever but that's not what struck me as weird. It's not really him, but what I saw him doing afterwards.”

You leaned in closer, “Start from the beginning.”

“Okay, so I take the test, right? I get the spear through each dummy head, and pass with flying colors. When I finished, the overseer asked all those who finished to wait outside the range yard so we don't distract anyone. I finish my test and go outside like they asked. Once I'm outside, I notice Mizu’s seahorse carriage is still there, but he'd left right after his little motivational speech. I went to the carriage-”

“-Hyunjin,” Chan cut him off, “You went to his carriage? Do you know how stupid that is? Did he see you?”

“No. He was too busy talking to someone to see me at the window. His driver was flirting with some girl, so he didn't see me either. Anyways,” he continued, “I overheard him talking to someone!”

You almost did not want to hear any more. 

“Who? Did you see them?”

“No. He was alone in the carriage, but…” Hyunjin scrunched his brow, “It was weird. He had his eyes closed and he was gripping his knees really tightly.”

“Telepathy,” you said. The waitress brought back food, but you couldn't stomach anything. “He was likely speaking to whoever he is working for. Did you hear any of the conversation?”

“Only the end bits,” he said, grabbing a blue drink. He then whispered, “He mentioned something about his plan taking longer than expected, and that with the pirates and sea snakes distracting the crown and mainlanders, the throne will be in their grasp.”

“Then he is after the crown,” Chan concluded. 

“Or the person he is answering to is,” you said, gripping the sides of your cup tightly. “You said his eyes were closed, right?”

“Yes, they were.”

“I have to ask: Was Mizu always power hungry or shady? Did he ever disagree with the other advisors or the king on certain discussions?”

“Ma said he might've not been the nicest guy at times,” Hannah answered, “But he deeply loved and respected Tytos. He wouldn't have hurt him on purpose.”

“That means this mysterious puppeteer got their hooks into someone who already showed signs of dissent,” Chan said. “Did Ma ever tell you when this started?”

“No,” she shook her head, “She never mentioned a specific time. I only remember her coming back one day and saying the king was sick, and that she wasn't allowed to see him. She only got her audience with him because she'd gone to treat the queen for stress and nerves.”

“The person controlling Tytos is likely controlling Mizu as well to an extent,” you said. “They likely promised him the throne in exchange for his help.”

“Mizu used to be a decent guy,” Chan mused. “I wonder what made him turn back on the people.”

“Ambition, power, greed, a sense of validation and attention,” you listed as you faced a terrible scenario. “The basic reasons, pretty much. Did he ever say a name or title?”

Hyunjin thought for a moment, then said, “He called them Creator.”

You nearly choked. Coughing, you felt Chan patting your back as you swallowed before anything came out onto the table. “Creator, you say?”

“Yes, why? Do you know who that is?”

“Darnesh used to consider herself a creator, because she crafted new people out of the ones she cursed,” you said, throat stinging from the cough. “But, it can't be her.”

“Then someone who followed her?”

“Possibly. A lot of demons were exiled or burned at the stake for their war crimes,” you said. “It could be any number of them who managed to keep their powers or use human vessels to contain it. If Mizu is following their orders, it makes sense that they're a former demon.”

“You can stop being a demon?” Hannah asked, unsure about your information. 

“In a way. Varaleth is the Queen of the Mar, and Shadowland lords are capable of removing a demon's powers. They do this to avoid the demon using it to escape their prison cells or hurt other people,” you explained. “Exiled demons don't have their natural gifts anymore. This demon is likely using a subsidiary version of what Darnesh used.” 

Your chest began tightening. If there is a demon going around trying to take over other mortal lands, they may be attempting to bring back their masters. First his lieutenants, and then finally Nor’goth himself. When the waitress brought out lobster tails, clam stew, crab legs and shrimp, you barely touched the delicacies. You did not want to bring up any more theories until you saw the king yourself. That was the only way you'd know what to do from there. 

A band started playing music, and Hannah and Chan took to the small dance floor by the stage. You and Hyunjin sat at the table, watching the siblings have their own dance off with you two clapping for the winners. 

“It scares you a little, doesn’t it?” Hyunjin asked, picking at one of the shrimp in the bowl. 

“What does?”

“The thought that a demon might be trying to stir up trouble again,” he said. “You grew very quiet when I mentioned a possible third person involved.”

“It…” you rolled a crab leg between your fingers as you said, “It does. I spent years of the war trying to bring down Nor’goth and his circle of bigoted zealots. I nearly lost my life a few times trying to do it. If any of them ever returned or their work was picked up by another, all the fighting and loss we went through will have been in vain.”

“So, you really did fight in the war,” he said. “Aunt Yejin said she saw an eternal flame flying down into the water from the sky. She told me the flame burned down fields of infected, sickly coral and kelp and up from the ashes they came back strong.” He grinned at you, thin eyes glinting playfully, “She thinks you’re that flame because you’re a fire demon and because of your name.” 

You snorted amusedly, “She reminds me of my mentor.”

“Your mentor?”

You nodded, “Back home. His name was Zunar. He was one of the overseers in the range. His job was to form little underlings into strong warriors of The Mar, and he was good at it. He used to have premonitions and read things in his flames.” You chuckled recalling his most recent one, “He once told me that my fires would burn away all the wickedness in the world; that one day my fire will burn bright and I’d vanquish the one who couldn’t be killed.”

“Nor’goth,” Hyunjin said, “He predicted you’d kill the demon lord and bring back light into the world.”

“Lucky guess,” you murmured, watching Chan spin Hannah around. 

“Or that he truly had a gift and saw your destiny.”

“Then in that case I already fulfilled my destiny,” you replied. “What does one do after they’ve completed the objective fate gave them?”

Hyunjin scooted closer to you, “Enjoy the life left to you.” 

He slipped his hand into yours and guided you to the dance floor. Music flowed easily through Hyunjin, whose body immediately swayed and twirled to the steel drums and maracas playing. You took in the sight for a brief moment. Scales spanning over his slim torso and arms, they shined this way and that whenever he moved. The scales on his cheek bones, jaw, and forehead stood out against his skin and sharpened his features. He was beautiful. Hyunjin did not need music or singing to make himself the most enchanting creature in the room. Sirens are a rare sight, often living in the deepest parts of the ocean. You’d gladly take in Hyunjin as long as possible. 

“Stop staring and enjoy life, demonkin,” Hyunjin teased, pulling you towards him. “Or is that hard for a demon to do?”

“Not for me,” you brushed into him, “Not when I have the chance to see a real siren without losing my life.”

He snickered, “I’ve known a human or two who had the pleasure and not lived to tell the tale. But you?” He drew you closer, voice dropping so only you heard him, “I think I could make an exception.”

You laughed through your nose, unable to take your eyes off him, “Have the pleasure and not meet a painful end? Sign me up.” 

Hyunjin may have been of the sea, cold-blooded and built for freezing temperatures, but when he kissed you, it warmed every muscle in your body. Full lips massaged against yours until they opened, and locked right onto them. Chills slipped up your spine with his hand, traveling over your back to the nape of your neck where he held you as you kissed. Your own hands slid over smooth scales and into his flowing black hair. Mortals never understood how precious love and romance can be; they take it for granted in so many ways. In The Mar, there’s so little room for it. The first person you ever kissed happened to be a water fairy with bright eyes and pink cheeks. Ever since then, you savored every kiss you earned, received or stolen in private moments. 

“It’s a shame you came for the king,” Hyunjin said against your lips, eyes closed, “Because you should be coming for me.”

“Why can’t I have both?” you replied, licking his lower lip before kissing him one more time. 

“Greedy,” he chuckled in between kisses. 

“I am a demon, darling.”

The two of you danced and kissed longer. You found yourself drawn in by his natural charms, his kisses like honey on your tongue and words lulling you into his trap. You might’ve stayed there all night if someone hadn’t touched your shoulder. Turning, dazed from Hyunjin, you saw Chan. Your mind instantly sobered at his eyes, delighted by the atmosphere around him. Seeing him in the glowing lights, you couldn’t stop yourself from remembering the shirtless Chan from yesterday. The family merfolk genes proved to be a curse upon you and a blessing for them. 

“We, um, should go now,” Chan said, not meeting your eyes. “My Ma’s probably waiting on us to get back.”

You saw the lights of Hydrus begin burning brighter as night came over the ocean. All the warmth Hyunjin created left you in seconds. An empty feeling filled your stomach as you kissed the siren goodbye and left with Chan.

“What was that all about?” Chan asked, neither upset or disgusted. He sounded more curious than anything.

“Psh, like you never kissed a stranger before,” you chuckled, rolling your eyes.

“I actually haven’t,” he admitted to you. “All the girls I kissed were girls I knew.”

“And I bet you kissed loads,” you said, “A handsome halfling like you must’ve attracted all the girls at school.”

He laughed, pink tingling his ears, “So, you think I’m handsome?”

“Even a blind woman would think you were handsome, Chan,” you said, thanking the gods that he couldn’t see your soft smile. “You've got brains, brawn and beauty, and small town girls like the sort of guy. They’re like the heroes in fairy tales.”

“You do too,” he told you.

“I do what?”

“Have brains, brawn and beauty,” he answered. “If you knew the effect you had on certain people, you wouldn’t need magic to defend yourself.” 

“Pfft, sure. I doubt Mizu will find me so beautiful he lets me come in and ruin his plans.”

“I didn’t say everyone, just…certain people.”

You reached the apothecary, and you tried not thinking about Chan and how his hand feels in yours. Hannah’s question about how you felt about her brother came back when you saw Chan talking to his mother. He’ll likely suggest coming with you. He always wanted to be your back up.

“I received the acceptance quite quickly,” Yejin told you. “He says he can get us an audience with the king while the queen distracts Mizu. He is…very fond of her.”

“I bet his boss said he could have her if they succeed in their plan,” you snorted. “Hyunjin told us he overheard Mizu talking to someone called The Creator. Does this mean anything to you?”

Yejin considered this as she rifled through bottles on her shelves. “No, nothing immediate,” she said. “But, it could always be a reference to his master.”

“I believe his master may be an exiled demon,” you told her. “A lot of my kin were exiled after the war; this may be someone who followed Dranesh. I will need to see the king for myself to be certain, but if we have a demon here, there will be only one way to defeat them.”

“And how would we do that? There are no dragons underwater, YN.”

“You said I am an eternal flame, right?”

“I saw it in my visions, yes.”

“Well, my magic is not the only weapon I have,” you smirked. 

Pulling your sword from your back, you held it with both hands. The fire magic runes etched along the sides glowed orange and yellow upon being unsheathed. You swung it around a few times, but since it was underwater it only steamed and glowed. 

“When the war ended,” you explained, “My blade had broken after stabbing it into Nor’goth’s chest. When I went to reforge it, I used dragon fire instead of our usual magical elements.”

“How did you get close enough to a dragon to do that?” she asked, curiously. 

“Our blacksmith had recently acquired a baby dragon, and he used it to forge new armor for the warriors,” you sheath your sword. “I forged mine in dragon fire for the next time I fought a demon.”

“What made you think you’d ever fight a demon again?” Chan asked. 

‘You may banish me to The Abyss, you may take my power and my heart, but my children will continue my work! You will never be rid of me!’

“Well, there are demons still in the world, and I did it in case I ran into them,” you shrugged. 

Chan sensed your hesitancy, but didn’t say anything about it. “Sungwoo replied to your request, Ma?” 

“He did,” she nodded. She picked off a bottle from the shelf, “He said he can get me a few minutes with the king. We won’t have long before Mizu interrupts us, but you’ll at least be able to make a proper diagnosis.”

“Works for me,” you said. “When do they expect us?”

“Now, actually. Here,” she gave you the bottle, “Drink this when we reach the palace. It will make you completely invisible.”

“Sounds easy enough,” you replied, studying the bottle. 

“But, make sure you stay away from the sharks.”

“Sharks?”

“Mizu recently tamed a few sharks to act as watch dogs,” she said. “If they sense you, they will kill you.”

The idea of getting horrendously bitten by a shark crossed your mind. But, it’d be worth it to see the king. Yejin suggested you’d leave sooner than later. She told you she’d be meeting Sungwoo first, and then she’d be taken to the king. Calypso promised to keep Mizu occupied so he had no reason to check on his victim. As you made to get into a seahorse-driven carriage, Chan reached for your wrist. 

“Be careful,” he said. 

“I always am,” you replied playfully, “See you later, handsome.”

Inside the carriage, you hoped the silence between you and Yejin stayed as such, but she had other ideas. 

“You fear his return, don’t you?” 

Her question stunned you for a moment. You thought to lie to her. She wouldn’t understand if you explained yourself. She wouldn’t understand the nightmares or fears that creep over your neck whenever it comes up. Every nerve in your body bundled in your stomach thinking about him. 

“He’s banished to The Abyss,” you said, clearing your throat. “He can’t hurt anyone anymore.”

“But people who followed him still roam this realm,” she said. “If they tried hard enough, they could restore him to his full power and we’d be thrown into war once again. More death. More devastation. More-”

“-He won’t come back because I’ll put my sword in him before that happens,” you snapped. Your heart thumped hard in your chest, going up to your throat where you struggled to breathe. “He was…It was…” you gripped the carriage door handle. Your skin stretched tight over your knuckles and you couldn’t uncurl them. 

“A hero’s burden,” she said, touching your free hand. Her hand was cold from the blood in her body, it still comforted you. “I did not witness the final stand, but I can still imagine it left its mark on you.”

You remembered Nor’goth’s orange eyes, mocking you from afar and eager to take on your challenge. Sweat stuck your shirt to your body, and you still felt the weight of your armor on your shoulders. The stench of the dead and decaying filled your nose, smoke and fire lingering in the air as you threw fireball after fireball at him. He’d laughed at your weak attempts, but that was your whole plan. Distract him long enough for the Orc and Elf forces to attack. Except, the large crossbows the Orcs crafted jammed, and were destroyed by Nor’goth’s forces; the Elves managed to shield and heal you when Nor’goth’s claws slashed through your chest, but became overrun by goblin loyalists. You touched your chest, rubbing out the phantom pain there. It eventually became just you and him. Bleeding, bruised and drained of magic, you stood on the highest point of Incheon's ancient tree, The Great Oak, and faced Nor’goth head on. Dodging bolts of shadow magic, you used an old branch to reach him from above. 

“I wasn’t the only one there,” you excused, not looking at her. 

“But you were the one to vanquish him. Friends of mine told me they saw you standing on the topmost level of The Great Oak with your flaming sword burning brightly.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. The swirling winds meant to douse your flames only fanned them hotter. They almost carried you to him, blade in both hands as you stabbed it right into his heart. 

“Oh no, I’m so sorry, YN,” Yejin immediately said, sensing your tension. “I didn't mean to-”

“-He taunted me the entire time,” you said, voice unsteady as you spoke. “He told me that I’d regret not joining him. He said I was strong, but not strong enough. I almost believed him, but then…”

“But then?”

“I thought of my mentor Zunar and all my loved ones back home. I thought of the friends I’d made in the mortal world, and saw the beauty it held. Nor’goth wanted to corrupt it. His plans would not be contained to just mortals. He’d eventually try enslaving the other realms as well. If I didn’t kill him, he would’ve destroyed everything good.” 

“Your love for humanity outweighed your fear,” she sounded proud of it. “I think that’s quite admirable. You remind me of my son.”

“Chan?”

She shook her head, “No, Lucas.”

“Chan never mentioned a younger brother,” you said.

“He doesn't talk about him often, but,” she let out a sigh, “He was my youngest. The sweetest boy you ever saw.”

You thought back to the baby photo and the medals in Jack's house. “Did he fight too?”

She nodded. “He died in Busan, fighting alongside his brothers in arms,” she played with a ring around on her finger. “He said he felt it was his duty to serve his country and that he wanted to help others. He was  a field physician on the front lines. They told us he'd been killed pulling people out of a burning wagon; it exploded when a goblin threw dynamite into it, and my son was trying to save those left alive. Chan…He doesn't talk about it. He and Lucas were very close.”

“It couldn't have been easy to deal with. I'm sorry that happened.”

She grinned appreciatively. She peered out the window once again, and saw the stone palace ahead. “Ah, we’re almost there,” she said to you. “Once again, Multak, you are running straight into the beast’s jaws.” 

“That’s what the blade is for.”

The two of you shared a smile. It was in her smile that you saw Chan. Wide, bright and full of mirth each time it flashed at you. You waited until carriage came to a full stop to pop open the bottle and drink. Within seconds, a warm tingling sensation started at your fingers and toes and gradually made its way over both skin and clothes. You looked at your hands to see nothing but the carriage seat and floor. 

“This is magnificent, Yejin,” you beamed at her, though she couldn’t see you. “I could never have achieved this on my own.”

“Remember what I said,” she said quickly as guards came to her door, “Stay away from the sharks and remain as quiet as possible.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The palace guard opened her door, and a slight, withered merman floated on the bottom steps. He wore a deep red vest with gold buttons down the front; a seashell pin made of pure gold shone on his breast. An advisor, you assumed. 

“Yejin,” he said in a high voice, “So good to see you, my lady.”

“And you, Sungwoo,” she replied, getting out of the carriage. “Forgive me for calling upon you so late.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” he said, offering his arm which she took. “Considering the current political climate, I believe there is always time to discuss any possible solutions.”

You waited until the guard shut the door to swim through the opposite side. When the guards returned to their posts, you quickly lunged towards Yejin and Sungwoo before they could close the doors. 

Like other buildings in the city, the palace was a reconstructed and repurposed mansion. Tall stone walls inlaid with gold seams were occasionally broken and fixed with patches of coral. The different coral reefs and shelves brought splashes of color to the eroded walls, and covered up large cracks in walls or windows. Inside, you saw more glowing fish swimming around giant bowls meant to act as light fixtures, bringing warm light into the palace. You imagined under Tytos’s rule the palace might’ve been lively and full of people. 

“The palace has truly changed,” you heard Yejin say a few feet ahead of you. “Remember when the children used to swim all over the palace, and drove their nurses insane?”

Sungwoo laughed, “Ah, yes I do. This place was once a place of life and laughter. Tytos never believed in closing himself off from his people; they were once free to come and go. It’s a shame the place has become so…quiet.”

You found this conversation strange. Surely, they both already know all of this, so why say it out loud? 

“How is Calypso?” Yejin asked him as you followed them up the stairs. 

“More or less the same. The other advisors and I have tried assuring her that His Majesty will eventually make it through this terrible illness,” he said. “Ever since the death of Ormand-”

“-May the waves be kind-”

“-May the waves be kind,” he repeated. “Ever since he passed, she has spiraled into a deeper depression. She doesn’t leave her chambers, and hardly eats. The children are confined to their rooms, and rarely see her anymore. Mizu-”

“-Tries his best to comfort her, I assume,” Yejin said right as she passed a guard. “His top concern has always been the royal family.”

“Calypso in particular,” Sungwoo sighed. “I hope we see the end of this struggle, and get back to what truly matters: Hydrus.”

“As do I.”

They brought you to a chamber at the end of a hallway. It appeared to be a sitting room with the usual amenities available. While you supposed there’d usually be someone in here, now it remained untouched and unoccupied. Yejin sighed sadly. 

“Where is she?” she asked Sungwoo, concerned but dreading the answer. 

“Exactly as I’d told you in my letter: she is entertaining Mizu at the moment,” he said. “But I cannot guarantee he will stay there for long. You know he has eyes and ears everywhere in this palace.”

“Then we must be quick about this,” she nodded. “Take me to him.” 

You waited until Sungwoo opened the double doors and Yejin went through them to shoot yourself forward. It was Yejin’s horrified gasp that brought you further into the bed chamber. 

“As you can see, my lady,” Sungwoo began, “His condition is worsening.” 

The man Hyunjin described to you did not match the one sitting before you. On a stone bed near the balcony windows was a frail, thin man with long white hair. The silvery hair must’ve been lustrous at one point, but now thinned immensely and left red sores on his scalp. Sun-kissed skin lost most of its pigment, and lean muscles turned into flat bones and sagging skin. Yet, it was his eyes you noticed the most. You never knew the color of the king’s eyes, but you knew they weren’t pale with blindness. A breath caught in your throat when you saw the deep purple veins extending from them like rivers on a map. Cracked, dry lips parted in each rattling breath, a rambling stream of words barely reached your ears. Yes, this was worse than simple Brain Fog. 

“Oh by the gods,” Yejin cried, hands over her mouth. “It is worse than I thought.”

“He has no appetite for food or drink,” Sungwoo said. “He can hardly see anything beyond his own delusions. The affliction is progressing, Yejin. He can hardly tell one person from another, which I suspect makes him easier to influence and control. He doesn’t even know his eldest son is dead, and he can’t distinguish his wife from other women.”

You went around the other side of the bed, and hovered over the king. A foul stench seemed to come from his very pores; his yellow teeth and dark gums showed signs of his body giving into his illness. This is not brain fog. Brain fog only affects the mind and the body. The young lord you remembered resembled a skeleton when they found him. Tytos is well on his way to a similar situation. Tears blurred your vision as you touched his bare chest. Feeling bone right against your fingers, you sensed his heart beat slower than the average man. His lungs struggled to breathe; he would need assistance with it soon. 

Mizu and his “Creator” are slowly killing Tytos. 

“Please,” Sungwoo pleaded, “Please tell me there is something you can do, Stranger.”

You perked your head up, stunned and frozen in place. 

“I cannot see you clearly, but Yejin mentioned she’d bring an ally,” he whispered, leaning over the king to speak. “She mentioned that you might know of a cure for this wretched curse.”

Yejin nodded her encouragement, then you said, “It is exactly what I feared it’d be, Advisor. This is not simple brain fog; it is something much deeper. If we do not act quickly, the king may die.”

“Do you know how to stop it?”

“Yejin and I have our theories,” you said, “And I think it may work with a bit more research. I have a friend on the mainland who is much more knowledgeable in dark magic than myself.”

You could tell Sungwoo expected a more solid answer, but he still nodded his understanding. “It’s better than grasping in the dark,” he said, standing up straight again. 

“But, I promise you, Advisor, that we will cure the king.”

The king groaned at the sound of your voice. “Arielle?” he croaked, "Is that you?”

You hesitated, body frozen beside the bed. Looking at Yejin and Sungwoo, they looked at one another in confusion. Then, you said, “Yes, Papa. It’s me.”

“Oh, sweet angelfish,” he wheezed, “How good to hear your…your voice. I…I brought you a seashell from Oceania.”

“It’s beautiful, Papa,” you replied. “Thank you.”

“Where is-Where is Ormand, darling?”

“Ormand is gone, Papa,” you heard Sungwoo gasp, but you continued. “He died, remember?”

Tytos furrowed his brow, then you saw tears fall from the corners into his temples, “Ormand…Not Ormand!” he sobbed, “My sweet boy! My son! Where is he?!”

“He’s with the waves, Papa,” you touched his hand, feeling the skin smooth like stones. “He’s at peace.”

“Ormand!” he cried, “Where is Ormand? Take me to him!”

His bones cracked as he sat up from his bed. “Your Majesty, please,” Sungwoo kept him from rising, “You must rest. You will see Ormand later.”

While Yejin calmed him with a tonic she’d brought with her, you grasped the king’s hand. “Papa,” you called him, “Papa, what was Ormand’s favorite color?”

“Huh?” he stared in your direction, confused and unfocused. “His what?”

“Favorite color,” you repeated. “Mama wants his shroud to be his favorite color, but none of us remember.” You shared a glance with Yejin, who is as sharp as her son. “Do you?”

Tytos sunk deep into his thoughts, brow furrowed and lips trembling. You saw him struggle for the answer. “Orange,” he croaked, “The color of the sunset. He loved going up to the surface at that time to watch the sunset. He used to tell me it was…was the most beautiful color imaginable.” You saw tears brim his drooping eyes, “Oh, my sweet boy…My children…Where are they? Where is Calypso?” 

Yejin came forward, touching his other hand, “They are well, my king. They think only of your health.”

The sound of doors slamming open came from the next room, and quickly Sungwoo rested the king back into his bed. You stepped away towards the shadows where the guards walking in did not see you. Behind them, a merman came into the room. Crimson spikes and fringes went along his back, sticking up and jutting outwards. They matched his red and purple tail, and the scales spread along his arms, neck and stomach. He didn’t wear a crown, but the thick necklace made of golden doubloons played as a symbol of high status. Crystal eyes narrowed at the sight of Yejin beside the king. 

“Lady Yejin,” his raspy voice gave you chills, “I was not expecting to see you here so late.”

You then saw the guards following him guided sharks in by leather harnesses. Small and gray, their sharp teeth still kept you up against the wall. 

“I came to visit His Majesty,” she said, head up high and hands clasped together, “Calypso has been very worried about him.”

“As she told me herself.”

With a snap of his fingers, the two guards with the sharks began moving about the room. You realized then Mizu must have been tipped off about Yejin’s visit. Keeping yourself flat against the wall, you heard your heart beating in your chest. 

“As you can see, Lady Yejin,” he continued, “His Majesty’s illness has progressed far beyond your expertise. The most we can do is ease his pain and suffering until the waves take him from us.”

“Nothing would please you more,” Yejin seethed. 

“Oh, my dear lady, how can you say such things? My heart hangs the lowest out of us all for the king.”

One of the sharks came within a few feet of you, and it turned its head in your direction. You slowly took side steps, hoping to get out of its range before anyone else noticed. 

“His Majesty needs his rest, as Advisor Sungwoo knows,” Mizu said. “If you’d kindly follow me, then we can discuss arrangements for…for his passing.”

“The king can still be saved yet, Mizu,” Sungwoo said. “We must not give up hope.”

“I hate to say that I believe all hope is lost. The king is not in his right-”

“-Arielle,” Tytos cried, “Arielle, my angelfish, where have you gone?”

“You see? The Princess is not even with us, and he cries for her.”

Tytos looked in your direction, reaching out to you. “Arielle, tell your mother…tell her he loves sunsets.”

Mizu paused, watching the king closely and comprehension came over his pale, pointed face. “Let us leave His Majesty to rest. He has had a long day of treatments.”

“What treatments?” Yejin asked, affronted as a guard started leading her and Sungwoo away. 

“The usual ones…”

Mizu began listing various medical treatments that he likely hadn’t administered. The shark who’d sensed you pulled on its leash to reach you. Panic struck your stomach and went up your chest as you went along the walls. 

“What is it, girl?” the guard asked his companion. “Do you smell something?”

You found a potted seaweed plant, and hoped it might mask your scent as you stepped behind it. The shark kept its black eyes on the pots.

“Probably just a fish, Poseidon,” his comrade said to him. “You know these sharks. They sense a little blowfish and they lose their senses. Come on, before Mizu gets upset.”

The two guards left, the latter having to tug on the shark’s leash to make it move. Once the doors shut, you moved out of the plants. On the bed, the king muttered incoherent words and continued falling into a daze. 

“Make sure Lady Yejin and Lord Sungwoo are escorted back home,” you heard Mizu in the next room. “Then post guards at these doors. We do not need anymore people disturbing the king’s rest.”

The moment you heard the doors open again, you swam away from the bed. Mizu entered the room alone this time. He sucked his teeth when he saw the king mumbling and groaning.

“Ah look what they did,” he hissed. “All that hard work…”

Standing by the plants, you watched Mizu lean over the king. He rubbed his hand over the king’s forehead, his thumb pressing to the center. In small circles, you heard muffled words being said as he rubbed the spot in circles. The bits of clarity the king might have faded away as Mizu strengthened the curse again. He went back to remaining nearly silent.

“The Creator will have you soon, Your Majesty,” Mizu said disdainfully. “She will have you soon.”

You watched him leave the room, and heard the soft click of a latch on the other side. Locked in the bedroom with Tytos, you returned to his bedside and examined where Mizu touched him. Black ash contrasted against his pale skin, starting from the center and reaching the bridge of his nose. You didn’t dare touch it in case the powder was contagious. But yes, this was Dranesh’s curse. You knew if it progressed further, the king would surely die. You couldn’t let that happen.

“I will find a way to cure you, Your Majesty,” you whispered to him, pushing strands of hair from his face. “I promise.”

This time the king didn’t respond to you. Not able to leave through the door, you went for the balcony left open. You’d circle around and meet Yejin back at the shop. 

You had work to do. 

****

You and Chan decided you had enough of Hydrus for one day, and with night fast approaching, you returned home. Hyunjin and Hannah insisted on going back with you. 

“Do you really think Minho can help?” Hyunjin asked you as the transport whale took you away from the city. “Chan says he’s the best with magic.”

“He is,” you said. “I’m sure we’ll find the crystal and figure out how to cure the king. Now that we know what’s going on, we should be able to do it.” 

You looked out into the water. The sunset skies above broke through the first few feet before your surroundings gradually darkened. You did your best not to imagine what predators might be swimming about near your ship. Kim Jennie had been enchanting them to attack people they come across. Another part of your theory appeared correct: the pirates are creating distractions and threats to lessen Tytos’s approval amongst the people. Soon, they’ll turn on the king they think left them defenseless. A warm hand then touched yours on the whale bump. 

“There’s nothing out there,” he comforted you. 

“How do you know?”

“Because what you think is out there doesn’t come up this close to the surface,” he nodded upwards. “We keep our routes higher up to avoid them and also for the whales to breathe.” 

“I see.”

You felt him watching you. His eyes, still twinkling like stars, examined you in the half-light of the moon. When you looked at him, his black hair blew back from his face, billowing in the waves flowing through them; the starfish and pearls on his head gleamed like the scales on his face. You thought about your kiss in the tavern, how it warmed your insides. 

“It’s a shame, you know,” you began, “That we met like this.”

“Like how?” he drew closer to you, Chan was too busy talking to Hannah to notice. 

“In an investigation into the merfolk crown and the possibility of war,” you said. “Though, I’m sure if we met another way, I’d be a skeleton at the bottom of the ocean.”

Hyunjin laughed, “Oh, I wouldn’t eat someone as lovely as you. At least,” he smirked, “Not in a way you wouldn’t like. It’s not every day a siren meets a demon, especially a fire demon at that. One of my friends met a fire demon once,” his fingers brushed over your knuckles, and his eyes glanced down to your lips, “She said it was an interesting experience.” 

“I can imagine sirens are more so than us.” You couldn’t help noticing his pouty lips, full with a prominent cupid’s bow. “Maybe next time I’m in town, you can show me around? I’d love to see all of what Hydrus has to offer.” 

“Perhaps if you hadn’t been busy saving the king, I could have shown you the absolute best.”

“It was for the case, pretty,” you pouted. “I am being paid for this gig, you know.”

“Well,” he leaned in until he was centimeters from kissing you, “Next time I see you, I’ll make you forget about your cases completely.”

Your body tingles with anticipation from the closeness. You understood then why sailors fall for sirens and their deadly songs. He brushed his plush lips to yours, then locked you in for a kiss. 

“I hope that’s a promise.”

“A promise, and I never make empty ones either.”

***

A/N: thank you so much for reading! Things are only just starting for this gang, and it's a rollercoaster lol please like and reblog, thanks <3

Episode 1 < > Episode 2.A

#stray kids #stray kids fanfiction #bangchan #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x you #chan stray kids #hyunjin stray kids #stray kids fanfic

[greenorangevioletgrass]

it's classified | b.r.b. (1/2)

pairing: bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x actress!reader

summary: what was supposed to be a simple one-night stand during the training for your upcoming movie turns into an epic strangers-to-lovers-to-enemies-to-friends-lovers adventure... 10,000 feet in the air.

word count: 4.2k

warnings: language, drinking, behind-the-scenes nerdiness, fluff, smut [dirty talk, fingering, overstimulation, praise, protected sex], rooster is secretly a softboi, pining idiots

notes: im falling for rooster and im falling fast and hard y'all, and the the way this movie was made is making my nerdy ass giddy skdjfhskdjhf please join me in this dumpster fire. reblog, send me asks, talk to me bc a bitch is horny, okay???? happy reading!

✨ follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass to get notified for my latest words <3 happy reading and please reblog if you liked it! ✨

***

i. Bruce Springsteen — Born To Run

You wanted to sleep in.

You were planning to sleep in. That’s the sole reason you arrived in this new town a day earlier than the rest of the cast before the rigorous final phase of flight training for your upcoming movie. But as the old saying goes, you make plans and Siri laughs and fucks up your alarm.

And the more you try to go back to sleep, the more anxious you get about the big day. It’s like a schoolkid before a field trip —if only said field trip was where you’d get your ass kicked black and blue. You’re not ready, you knew that. But you had to be. As the new kid on Top Gun, arguably the biggest action film this decade, there’s too much catching up to do. Every minute you’re not spending in training should be a minute spent preparing for it.

That’s why you're giving yourself a head start; sleepwear shucked off, sports bra on, workout playlist thumping from your AirPods. And with a short pep down the steps, your stride hits the sand.

It’s sweaty, hot, heavy as the ground underneath you crumbles a little with every step in your run. It takes you everything to maintain your pace so you don’t sink into the sand and make it even harder for yourself —even if you pay for it in burning heels and lungs and limbs and muscles.

But the view is nice. Lines of blue, yellow, orange, and white fading into each other on the horizon. Seafoam washed up on the shore, clearing your shoe prints like you’re starting over with every lap, every set of lunges and crunches and what-have-you. And through it all, not a single soul in sight.

Well. Except for one man. 

Jogging in your opposite direction about 20 minutes into your workout. He runs laps on the mile-long strip of empty beach, bare torso gleaming in the sun and sweat, aviator glasses perched atop the bridge of his nose. You’re not usually into pornstaches, but it suits him. You’d take a longer, better look, but he catches you staring and nods at you briefly with a coy smile as he runs past you.

Fuck. 

You push through until you hit the quiet, closed beachside bar called The Hard Deck, and jogs up to the sidewalk, sighing in relief upon finding an even surface —and enough distance to hide your embarrassment from the sexy, sweaty stranger, as you jog back to your apartment.

Out of sight, out of mind. 

***

ii. Cage The Elephant — Cigarette Daydreams

But later that evening, sun barely setting outside the window, when The Hard Deck’s come alive with patrons drinking and conversing and playing pool, jukebox music playing in the background, an all-too-familiar figure strides into the room. His six-pack abs are clad in a white tank this time, a flowy Hawaiian shirt thrown over his broad shoulders. The sunglasses, however, seem to be a mainstay, and you force yourself to look away before you embarrass yourself. Again.

He walks over to the empty spot next to you, fingers drumming against the wooden counter.

“Hey, Pen, can I have my usual, please? Thanks.” He tears off his aviators, stealing glances your way not so inconspicuously, as you try to keep your gaze ahead. Don’t get reeled in by the smell of sunscreen and saltwater on him… “Fancy seeing you here.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you try your damnedest to stay cool as you turn towards him. You don’t know what to expect, but you surely don’t expect the warmest, coziest brown eyes looking right at you with a little smile. “I could say the same about you.”

“Nah, I think you just happen to be in my general territory.” He smiles in teasing, murmuring a thanks as he receives his beer. “So what brings you to Fightertown?”

You pause for a second, studying the way he earnestly waits for your answer. He doesn’t know who you are —and you like that. The moment ‘actor’ gets thrown into the conversation, the moment it clicks that they’ve seen you in movies or Netflix, some people can’t get past it. And right now, this stranger is seeing you not for what you do, but who you are —and you want to keep that just a little longer. So you decide to go with the vague answer,

“Work.”

“Oh, yeah? What kind?”

“It’s… classified.” You smirk over your non-answer.

His grin widens as he shakes his head —he knows what you're doing, but he’s not pushing any further. Instead, he cheekily remarks, “You know, with the reps you’re putting out there this morning, I would’ve thought you were gearing up for a mission.”

Well, he’s not wrong. But he can’t know that, so you settle on the next best thing. “I don’t think I’m cut out for the Navy,” which is not a lie —just because you’re playing one, doesn’t mean you’re really one. “You?”

He leans in just a tad closer, and oh God, you can smell his aftershave. “Between you and me, I ask myself that every day for the last 15 years.” And just as quickly as he closes the distance, he straightens up again on his seat. “But yeah. I’m a combat pilot.”

“Wow!” your eyes light up; partly because this is great extra research materials —great coincidence, too, as you’re flying fighter jets in the movie—, and partly because his face lights up, too. “What’s that like?”

“Do you like flying?” he props his knuckles underneath his chin, looking at you thoughtfully. It’s a little unnerving, but you don’t hate the butterflies in your belly.

“Um, it’s… okay?” You chuckle somewhat bashfully. “I guess I’ve never really thought about it more than just… getting from one place to another. Looking at clouds and oceans from a tiny window.”

“Oh, there’s so much more than clouds and oceans with this one. It’s the best fucking thing ever.” He gushes. And pauses. And pipes up, “I can show you better than I can tell you.”

“Really?” You lean against the counter, casually moving closer to him. “Wouldn’t you get into trouble for that?”

“Might just be worth it,” he shrugs, “for both of us.”

His honesty is refreshing. He treads the fine line between cutting to the chase and respecting your space, and you really, really like that about him. “Why don’t you buy me a drink first and we’ll go from there, Mister…?”

“Bradley Bradshaw. At your service, ma’am.”

***

ii. Ryan Adams — Wildest Dreams

Bradley Bradshaw, as it turns out, is at your service. Taking you to his bed, gently resting you on the edge of the mattress as he ravenously devours you in hot, wet kisses —from your lips to your neck. Undoing your buttons one by one, his mouth doesn’t seem able to leave you alone as it follows his fingers down your chest.

“Fuck me, you’re gorgeous,” he breathes out. 

He nips at the soft swell of your breast, impatient as he tugs the cup down your chest. Toying at one hardened nipple with his tongue while he teasingly thumbs the other, making you arch your back. And with that, he unclasps your bra with just one hand —one swift movement. Equally as frenzied, you push his open shirt off of his shoulder, his arms more tanned and golden than God.

You chuckle. “I could say the same about you.”

You would think you’d get used to his curious, thoughtful, lewd gaze after a whole night of flirting, but the heat creeps up on your cheeks anyway. “You’re a sweet talker, you know that, baby?”

Bradley pulls away as he shucks off his remaining clothes, white tank tossed aside and faded blue jeans left on the floor. His gray boxers are tight on the front, his hard-on straining from the inside. His sun-bleached hair ruffled by your doing, a soft smile ghosting on his mouth, and you have to admit… you meant every word of it.

Gorgeous.

A little chuckle escapes you as he pulls you back towards his lips. The mustache tickles your skin, unusual but not unwelcome, but you’re far more giddy with the prospect of feeling it everywhere. And the hand… 

Venturing down.

Lower.

Gently caressing your soft cleft through your panties.

“Jesus Christ, you’re soaked…” he groans, slipping his hand underneath the fabric.

On any other night, you would’ve been embarrassed by how wet you are, and how blatantly he pointed it out —and truth be told, you’ve been wet since he put his hand on your thigh the whole car ride. Not quite dirty —he didn’t do anything in that manner; but not quite innocent either, knowing what happens next.

But his bold hand indulges like the rest of him. His middle finger slides right along your slit, finding your swelling bud, and he moans like it makes him feel good.

If the little figure-eights weren’t enough to send waves of pleasure all over your body, the stretch of his middle and ring finger entering you at once sure is. You pull him closer, so that his body rests on top of you, worried that you might float in mid-air if he’s not there.

He is, very much, there. Pumping his digits in and out of you, capturing your lips, your tits, every inch of your skin with his mouth. Nuzzling the side of your face like he’s listening to every hitch of breath. Figuring out how to make you sing, how to make your body twist deliciously. You’re so close, so fucking close already, God, and when he curls his fingers inside you just right…

It’s too fast. Too easy. But you’re way too blissed out to think much of it. You can barely think of a response when he doesn’t slow down after her first orgasm, not even a little bit. Whether you like the drawn-out high.

(You do. You really do.)

And you have a feeling he knows that. If the hard cock grinding against your thigh was any indication, you would think he’s into it, too.

“Yes, baby, that’s it. Give me one more —one more before I fuck you…” he murmurs against your jaw, his soft voice reverberating on your skin. “Can you do that for me?”

You don’t always do strangers a favor, but when said stranger is handsome and funny and two fingers deep inside you, an exception can be made.

Might just be worth it. For both of us. 

You don’t know when your first orgasm ends and your second begins. Blood and thrill and pleasure just course through your entire body from tip to toe, and it takes you a few moments to realize your moans and whimpers filling the air. He swallows your sweet noises into his kiss, and takes what he can get until you falter from his lips.

He smooths your hair away from your forehead tenderly, watching you regain some semblance of composure through heavy lids and thick lashes. Your finger brushes against the scars on his face. Two lines running down one side of his cheek, smaller ones on his chin. You don’t ask, but maybe the featherlight caresses over the lines is enough of a question.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he rasps, “You still wanna do this?”

“You still need to ask?”

A smile breaks out on the corner of his lips as he bites the inside of his cheek. You push him off with a single finger to his chest, sending him to fetch a condom. This is not the time for stories or sentiments. You’re just two strangers tumbling into bed, looking to scratch an itch.

You flip onto your stomach, listening into the crinkle of the foil, fighting the temptation to sneak a peek at his… asset. But no. Let his length, his girth, his sheer size surprise you. You bury your face in his white sheets, soft and fresh and now wrinkled and bunched.

His large hands stroke your hips, soft on his calloused palms. Pulling you in with a trail of kisses up your spine. Nudging your opening with the tip of his cock.

“Fuck, you’re killing me, sweetheart…” Bradley grunts through gritted teeth. 

“What?” you grin, grinding against his hard length. “I’m not doing anything.”

Smack! His hand lands sharply on your ass cheek. Not enough to actually hurt, but definitely enough to make your skin tingle. Enough to make you turn to face him, throwing you a dirty look. “Like hell you’re not.”

“Are you gonna do something about it?”

And then he does.

The smartass remark dies in your mouth, and a low groan comes to life in his, as he stretches you open. Deliciously painful and painfully delicious in the best way —the kind that makes your mind go blank for a moment.

“Fuck, I…” Bradley stills, fully sheathed inside you. “Can I —can I move?”

He sounds so earnest like this. So vulnerable. Boyish, almost. You’re almost tempted to kiss his stupid face senseless, if only moving your hips weren’t a much better way to satiate your desire. Drawing yourself nearly all the way off of him, and hitting your ass back. The sound of skin slapping against each other is filthy, but it still doesn’t beat the groans rumbling out of his chest and the breathy moans you bury in the bedsheets.

The California air is warm that night, but you want it to set you on fire. As he finds his pace, pounding in and out of you with more grit, you reach back for his waist, his hip, his anything, just to say,

“Harder.”

He slows down, the intrigue audible in his voice. “What’s that?”

“I said…” you take a deep breath, setting your jaw as you clench around him, “Harder.” 

He curses under his breath and slams you back into his hips. Slower. Deeper.

Definitely harder.

“That hard enough for you, sweetheart?” The spank he gives your ass right after is a sweet consolation prize. He grabs your hair, buries his hand in the roots, and pulls you up so that your back’s flush against his bare chest and good God, you feel like you’re winning.

His hands are everywhere —on your tits, around your waist, between your legs— and he laves wet, desperate kisses on your shoulder, panting in your ear, thrusting up into you mercilessly. And as you inch closer to another orgasm, he holds you closer, cages you in his strong arms.

“Shit… good girl. Come for me…”

It’s too intense. Too intimate. You shouldn’t be able to zone in on his heartbeats matching yours. Or the little kisses pressing on your cheek. But your resolve is slipping, and you fall apart in his arms as he holds you in place —and as he comes inside you, you wonder if you’re in the right place, after all.

He pulls out, and you let out a little whimper, hand digging into his wrist at the loss. But he soothes his hand up and down your thigh in reassurance, and with a final kiss to your jaw, gets up to discard the condom while you catch your breath.

“Didn’t know you had it in you,” you remark, propping yourself back on your arms. “I thought you were an… all-round vanilla kind of guy.”

“Well, you know what they say. Always assume vanilla until proven otherwise.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, interest piqued. “Huh. Does that mean you’re… not that vanilla?”

“Maybe,” he drawls mischievously, though you don’t miss the glance he stole at your bare chest.

“Care to share with the class?”

“I think I can show you better than I can tell you.” He sits on the edge of the bed in front of you, closing the distance to your lips dramatically.

You fall back into his bed, laughing into his kiss, noting his penchant for corny one-liners —of which he’s openly proud of. And amidst all the jokes and the talks of less-than-vanilla sex, the two of you seem to forget about the very action of sex itself. Even in the nude and the sweat of the heat, the two of you are perfectly content lying around in lazy kisses and soft touches. Along his arm. Down his chest.

His face.

“Car accident,” he says out of the blue.

“What?” It takes you a moment to realize you’ve been tracing the scars on his cheek—again. Featherlight against the harsh lines. You retract your hand ever so slightly —you really didn’t mean to pry, but he really doesn’t seem to mind.

“Junior year of high school.” He nods matter-of-factly. “The car flipped eight times, I was thrown out the window, landed like 50 feet away… I even still got gravel in my face.”

He juts out his chin, and you tentatively reach out. The bumps were minute, but they’re there.

“Shit. That’s awful,” you mutter. “Bet the ladies think it’s badass, though.”

“I don’t know, you tell me.” His eyes flutter heavily with each blink.

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you take a good look at him. So… soft in his broad and gruff and masculine glory. And then ultimately you decide, “It’s cute.”

“Cute?” He opens one eye, looking at you curiously for a moment—proving your point even further—before relaxing back into his pillow. “That’s not too shabby, ain’t it?”

And as he lazily strokes your hair, you can’t help but agree.

Not too shabby at all. 

***

iii. Lizzy McAlpine — an ego thing

The next morning, 0800 sharp, the principal cast is gathered in a hangar of the Naval Air Station, making small talk with each other on the weather and the flight in and the training that lies ahead. Your co-star Pedro makes a joke about a dramatic entrance his character makes in the beginning of the story, and you simply laugh it off.

But then you hear footsteps. The heavy combat boots against the concrete, and you turn around. And it’s really, really funny how life imitates art.

Your stomach shouldn’t have dropped so quickly —the sun hits him from the back, and you can only see his silhouette for a moment— but it did. The outfit may be different —gone is the flowy yellow Hawaiian shirt as the muted forest green flight suit takes its place—, but it’s still the same swaggered gait. The same pair of Ray Bans. The same 80’s mustache.

The same fucking guy you slept with last night.

“Everyone, this is Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw, callsign Rooster,” Kevin, the stunt coordinator, addresses the whole team, “He’ll be replacing Lieutenant Natasha Trace as our resident naval pilot for this project.”

Shit.

“Morning, everyone.”

You hear an unruly choir of replies around you, but you can barely force out a response.

“Did you guys get a good night’s rest last night?” His eyes flicker your way for a second, and it feels like a cold stab to the heart. More replies from your crowd —seems like nobody caught wind of it, thank God. “Great. ‘Cause we got a long day ahead of us, folks.”

He moves on to the briefing, and you’re trying your damnedest to pay attention —this information is life-and-death, after all— but your head is still reeling. How fucking stupid were you for thinking life would let you off easy.

As if all this pilot training was a cakewalk.

“Who wants to go first?” The aviator snaps you out of your reverie, looking out at the whole group with a simple smile.

The boys exchange looks and kind of murmur ‘ladies first’ out of nerves and hesitation, and you’re a second too late in making any kind of response. This is your worst nightmare.

Kevin looks at you expectantly. “What do you say?”

You shoot your friends a dirty look, as you find yourself caught between a rock and a hard place. The last thing you want to do is to be stuck in a cramped cabin thousands of feet in the air with the man you ghosted after hooking up last night. But at the same time, you don’t want to be a diva. You made a promise to yourself that you were gonna take on whatever challenge they throw at you head-on. And you’ve been making good on the promise so far. 

You’re not gonna let some man ruin your streak. 

“Lt. Bradshaw, this is Y/N,” Kevin introduces the two of you as you step up to formally introduce yourself.

You offer him a handshake. “It’s nice to meet you… sir.”

He doesn’t flinch at the honorific, but he does pause, as if processing how it rolls off your tongue. How strange it is to shake your hand after touching you everywhere else. “Just Rooster is fine. There’s no ranks in the cockpit. Got a callsign yet?”

“Houdini.” you nod briefly.

He tilts his head to the side ever so slightly, curious.

“Passed the Dunker test in record time,” Kevin proudly notes. “She’s a tough one.”

“Let’s not jinx it, Kev.” You pat your friend in the arm with a tight smile.

Bradley —Rooster— isn’t unfriendly, by any means. He makes small talk about how the aircraft works and the training that’ll come in handy as the two of you suit up and get ready to fly. But as soon as the canopy closes, and it’s just you and him inside the jet, not a word is spoken between you. With the engine roaring underneath you, it’s still the most deafening 20-minute silence of your life.

“Houdini, huh?” Rooster flatly pipes up through the comm. “That’s fitting…”

He’s not gonna make this easy on you, but you try anyway. “Look, I—”

“Tower, this is Rooster on Joyride One. Are we clear for taxi?”

“Joyride One, you are clear for taxi,” an operator responds in your headphones.

The plane starts moving, but the only reason you’re taking a deep breath is the front-seater before you. “Rooster,” you call him again.

“I read you loud and clear, Houdini. Do you read me?” He sounds oddly calm. Even. Like there’s no subtext underneath his words. 

But no subtext is enough subtext, and you know how to pick your battles —this isn’t one you’re gonna win. “Loud and clear,” you huff in relent. “What happened to Phoenix?”

“Duty calls.”

“That’s a shame. We were supposed to fly together.” You’ve met and talked to her a few times, and you really liked her. You were genuinely bummed that you no longer get to work with Rooster. It has nothing to do with avoiding Rooster.

Well. Maybe a little bit.

And with that, his facade finally cracks, and you can distinctly hear the coldness in his tone. “Guess you’re stuck with me now. Unless you wanna Houdini your way out of that, too.”

Motherfucker. You straighten up, bracing yourself as the aircraft starts gaining speed on the taxiway. “Nope, I’m good. Whaddya got for me?” 

“We’re gonna start easy, get you accustomed to the height and the G-Force, and we’ll talk about the basic turns and spins when we’re in the air. Think you can handle that?”

“Oh, yeah. Bring it on.”

And you mean it. You’re taking every bit of willpower in your gut to use everything you’ve ever learned in the training. Every turn, every inversion, every multiplication of the gravity pull. Every thousand feet higher in the air.

You nearly throw up several times, but you’re much too spiteful to admit defeat. Not today.

Not ever.

And even if you get off the plane feeling like you’re about to die, you don’t show it. As soon as your feet touch down on the tarmac again, you simply take off your helmet and take a deep breath. In, out. Take in the smell of fuel and afterburner, which still beats the suffocating air of being stuck with Rooster.

“Kevin’s right.” he admits, fluffing out his matted hair once the helmet’s off. “You are a tough one.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, tight-lipped. “Hey, about last night—”

“I told you, I hear you loud and clear, Houdini.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he cuts you off, stopping in front of you.

“You left in the middle of the night—no number, no goodbye, nothing. Message received, okay? There’s no need to bring it up again, especially not when the comm lines are open.”

Oh.

He steps forward, lowering his voice yet somehow it feels even more intense. “In fact, let’s not bring it up again —ever. Just… forget it ever happened.” He turns on his heels and walks away, towards the hangar where everyone else is waiting.

It pisses you off beyond belief, that he scolded you like you were a child, and then he stormed off like one, and didn’t even let you get a word in. And it pisses you off even more, knowing that he’s right. You were wrong for leaving without a word. Wrong for leading him on, when you know there’s absolutely no chance for you. Wrong for indulging in his company anyway, knowing what you know.

You shat the bed, and now you’re gonna have to lie in it for a whole year.

<<<read part 2 here>>>

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