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oleander-nin · 1 year ago

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Horrortober Day 10- Collar(Yandere Mud Dogs x Reader)

A/N, not important: Watch this be the longest thing I post. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

CW: Kidnapping, dehumanization, collar, blood, picking at the skin, forced name change(?), mention of being sold, gag, restraints, yandere themes, dark themes

Words: 4342

Summary: Mickey ran his mouth and now the Mud Dogs have to deal with Big Mama knowing about you.

The ropes around your arms burn, making it uncomfortable for you to sleep. The position you were forced in was awful, your arms tied together in front of you from your elbows to your wrists, and your legs strung from your knees down. The gag in your mouth hurts your jaw, your tongue stale and dry from having the rubber holding your mouth open for so long. Your eyes lazily scan the ceiling, not bothering to struggle.

The skin on your arms was already rubbed completely raw, no need to add to your own pain and suffering. You do your best to roll your shoulders, twisting your waist until your back cracks with a loud, satisfying pop. How long has it been since they left? One hour? Three? You shake your head, unable to fully tell. Your dazed mind had lulled you into a fitful sleep moments after they left you alone, the safest you’d felt since they first took you.

They cited a meeting for their reason to leave you unattended, apologizing despite how clearly ecstatic you were at the notion. You hadn’t realized it would come with the price of chaffed arms and sore joints. Maybe that was what they were apologizing for, you muse to yourself despite knowing they wouldn’t care about such a thing. Your arms especially hurt, the perpetual hold of the rope feeling as if your arms would pop clean out of your sockets if you move.

You hear the lock of their base click, the sound echoing through the silent warehouse. Their voices quickly take over the silence however, Leonard clearly scolding Mickey over something that had gone down. It’s clear they’re trying to be quiet, their voices slightly hushed while Leonard drones on and on, Mickey snapping back every so often. The only one you didn’t hear much was Danny, but you knew he was there. He always is.

You shift your body to the best of your ability as their hushed voices grow near, your ears perking at the sounds. They never tell you anything, so eavesdropping became the only way you could get information from them. It had only taken you three times of being caught before you figured out how to do it the most inconspicuously. You close your eyes and calm your breathing, letting your heart settle so it wasn’t hammering in your ears. Their voices become more clear as they walk closer. Mickey was never truly able to keep his voice down for long.

“It’s not my fault. She asked and I answered.” Mickey growls, the clatter of the trio in the kitchen sounding through. A low murmur of Leonard's voice comes through, his voice too muffled to understand.

It’s quiet for a second, their voices depleting and being taken over by the clinking of plates and dishes. You wait for the voices to pick up again, your heart rate spiking slightly. You wanted to know what wasn’t Mickey’s fault. You wanted to know how she was, and what she asked. You wanted to know. You needed to know. You were tired of being in the dark, of not knowing what was going on until you were thrust into the thick of it.

“Leonard’s right, Mickey. There was no reason to tell her about Pumpkin.”

Danny’s voice sounds above the ambient sounds of the kitchen, the words clarifying only slightly. Mickey told someone about you, someone Leonard doesn’t want to know. Which… doesn't narrow it down much. You grumble under your breath, annoyed. You wished you knew what was happening.

They continue to talk in low voices, too quiet for you to pick up properly. Anything you could was mostly just Mickey whining about it not being his fault. You shift in the bed, sighing. Maybe they will tell you this time. You just have to ask nicely.

The door opens and your three captors walk in, a small tray of food being balanced in Leonard’s hands. Danny walks closer, pulling you into a sitting position and moving your hands down. You hiss slightly, your shoulders protesting the movement. Having them tied for so long was starting to take a larger toll on your joints. Even if they untied them, moving them would hurt for a while.

“We got you food. I’m sorry it’s been so long, but we got busy.” Leonard says softly, keeping his voice low as if he were talking to an infant. You lean away from Danny’s hold, hitting the squishy body of Mickey instead. You grimace, quickly moving back into the middle of the two and trying to stay as far away from each of them as you could in hopes to escape their imprisoning arms.

Leonard sets the tray down on a stool by the bed, reaching over to take the gag off of your mouth. His hands land on your cheeks, his eyes meeting yours for a second, the look in his eyes hinting his hesitancy to remove the insulting item.

“Don’t bite, and don’t yell.” He warns, the threat heavy in his tone. He waits for you to nod before sliding the gag off your face, setting it down on the tray that held the food. He grabs the bowl of oatmeal they had made for you, taking a spoonful and holding it to your lips. He waits patiently for you to open your mouth, as if he has all the time in the world. Mickey nudges your arm, grinning slyly at you.

“You should really eat, Pumpkin.” He says, moving his chin to rest on your shoulder. You try to shift away but he wraps his arms around your middle, his eyes flashing with a dangerous edge. You awkwardly settle down, letting him lean on you as he was.

“My name’s not Pumpkin.” You grumble under your breath, despising the literal pet name with your entire being. They decided to rename you when taking you in, trying to assimilate you into their world more. You thought it was a stupid name, one more fitting of a dog than a human. Although, you doubted they saw you as such. The way they treated you, the way you acted. You were more a child, or even a glorified pet to them. You never knew you would’ve missed free will so much.

Danny tsks at your renouncing of the name, his face curling into a sneer. He was the one to pick out ‘Pumpkin’ as your new name, and was always the one who got the most upset when you protested it.

“Just eat your dinner, Pumpkin. We need to go somewhere again soon, so we don’t have time to waste.”

You keep your face schooled into a neutral look, trying to not seem interested in his words. He wouldn’t tell you anything if he thought you might try and use it to your advantage. Whatever that means.

Leonard sticks the spoon in front of your face again, his eyebrows furrowing slightly while he waits for you to bite. He sighs, setting the bowl down but still holding the spoon.

“I don’t want to force you, Pumpkin.” He coos, his voice dangerously smooth. You know what happens next, what happens when Leonard gets impatient while you’re eating. You shudder at the memories of him prying your mouth open and shoving food down your throat until you felt sick. You open your mouth and take a bite. Leonard smiles and nods in approval, grabbing the bowl again and continuing to feed you.

You all sit in silence for a while, Leonard feeding you slowly while Mickey and Danny sit beside you lazily. Almost all of Mickey’s weight was on you, his eyes half lidded while they flickered around the small room. Fit with only a stool and a small twin sized bed, it was never meant to be comfortable. The longest you’ve stayed in here was two days, and that was when you first tried to escape. Even Mickey couldn’t argue against locking you away.

Leonard’s voice pulls you out of memory lane, your mouth full of now lukewarm oatmeal as he waits for you to take the next bite. “We’re taking you out tonight.”

The sudden news surprises you, your eyes meeting his own in confusion. You swallow the food in your mouth, opening it to ask a question, but he shoves the spoon down your throat before you can say a single word.

“I know you’re still getting used to us and all, but Mickey decided to run his mouth and now we’re in a bit of a bind.” Leonard explains, ignoring the way Mickey glares at him for the slight. “You’re going to be meeting someone very important, and you’ll need to be on your best behavior.”

You roll your eyes as you take the last bite, chewing the mush before swallowing. You doubted what Leonard was saying was as important as he made it, but it still peaked your interest. You hadn’t been outside in so long, even being shown off in a sense might be worth the trip.

Danny reaches over to your arms while Leonard kneels in front of you, both yōkai quickly undoing the ties around you. As the ropes loosen and fall off, you stretch your muscles, almost trying in relief as you hear your joints click and pop back into place.

Mickey grimaces at the noise, his face scrunched up in disgust. You don’t bother to grace him with your gaze merely staring straight at Leonard as he picks up the gag once more. You try to lean back when he moves closer, but Danny’s hand firmly presses itself into your back, stopping you from moving too far.

Leonard fixes the gag in your mouth once more, smiling down at you like he wasn’t humiliating you. He stands up and ruffles your hair, nodding to the other two. You clench your teeth down on the rubber stick in your mouth, the cylindrical shape reminding you of a horse's bit. No matter how hard you bit it or pushed on it with your tongue, it wouldn't come off. You reach up your newly freed hands, trying to claw at it in hopes you’d be free. You were tired of the ache in your jaw.

"Stop messing with it." Leonard chides, pulling you off the bed. The other members of the group follow, each standing and making their way towards the door. Danny stops for a moment and stares down at you past his snout, his nose twitching while he looks you up and down.

"Should we change them?" Danny asks, clearly wanting to but not wanting to make it any more obvious. Mickey snorts, pushing past the Rat and moving towards you.

"They look fine, Danny. Big Mama won't care much what they're wearing." He says, wrapping himself around you. Danny rolls his eyes, grumbling as he kicks the ground.

"I care."

"We know you do." Leonard says, clapping him on the shoulder. He shakes his head at his partner in crime, shaking him slightly. "However, we don't have enough time to change them. Big Mama is going to be mad if we’re late again. You can always give them your present now, though."

Danny lights up at the suggestion, rushing out of the room. Leonard turns to you, his eyes narrowing at your hands clawing at your gag. "Behave. Big Mama is important. Sit still and be quiet, and just do everything we say."

Your hands drop to your sides as you huff, Leonard nodding in approval before turning to talk lowly to Mickey. Danny returns a moment later, an object hidden behind his back. You try to take a step back, nervous for what he was about to present you, but he grabs you by the arm and yanks you forward.

“Stay still Pumpkin.” Danny says, glee shining in his tone. You didn’t know what he was doing, but it seemed like something he was looking forward to. You grimace. If it excited him, it was most likely bad for you.

Danny pulls out a small black collar from behind his back, the bell on the front tinkling and rattling as it moves. Your face drops at the sight, unable to fight back from the shock of being collared. He takes no notice of your horrified expression, quickly fitting the collar around your neck. It clips on and a familiar surge of energy rushes through you, whatever spell entwined with the fibers of the collar activating once it was set on your neck. Your hands go up to grasp at the fabric, hoping to be able to pull it off. You stare at the ground in horror, your fingers unable to even pull at the smooth material. There was no indication of where your skin ended and the collar began, only a small bump and the feeling of a smooth material alerting your brain to the alteration. It was as if he had fused it with your skin. The cool metal of the tags and bell felt like they were burning your skin. You wanted it off.

Danny looks down, his finger flicking the bell and making it jingle. Mickey grins moving over to you and flopping his body over your back and leaning over your shoulder. “Do you like it?”

You don’t answer the eel, too mortified to speak. Danny grins, still admiring the accessory he had more or less glued to your neck.

“Sorry it’s not too pretty, but Leonard didn’t want you to have anything too… Flashy. You’ll be wearing this every time you go out at the least, and to our preference at home. Now,” Danny looks back at Leonard, nodding. “Anything else? Or should we leave?”

Leonard nods towards the door and the other two follow, no one paying attention to your face that was drained of color or shaky limbs. The bell rattles with every step, the quiet jingle sounding more like gunshots to your ears. You briefly wonder how they were bringing you, considering you were human and they were criminals. They’d filled your head full of the stories of how the yōkai hated humans, and while you were skeptical of some of the specifics, you really didn’t want to chance it if they were right.

“She’s sending a car, right?” Mickey mutters, his eyes flickering back and forth. Leonard nods, and your question was indirectly answered. You reach the door of the hideout, your hope raising for a small moment. It had been so long since you had been outside, since you had seen anything other than the four walls of their lair. The thought of bolting enters your mind, but only for a moment. Pushing any limits right now would be a bad idea, especially with how tense the three looked.

Leonard wraps his hand around your bicep, keeping you close and tightening his grip every time you try to pull back. He opens the door, keeping you in front of him while Mickey and Danny both stick to your left. A small limo sits in front of the area, a pig yōkai staring at the four of you. Danny nods at him, the pig opening the car doors and allowing you in.

Leonard has you move inside and sits next to you, not letting you go until Mickey and Danny were both seated as well. The eel and rat sat across from you, the seats laid out in rows of two, facing each other. You felt small, like every movement was being scrutinized by the two in front of you. Leonard leans back in the seat, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Mickey’s eyes are locked on you, the nubs he has for hands curled like a fist in his lap.

You shift in your seat, none of the Mud Dogs speaking and letting the silence rest over the car. Mickey looks out the window while Danny stares down at his lap, tapping away on the phone he had out. Your hand finds its way to the new offending piece that was situated on your neck, your nails scratching at the bump that signaled the start of the collar. You hadn’t noticed how deep you were scratching, your mind focused on extracting the offending object from your skin. It wasn’t until you hear Danny curse loudly that you realize there’s a small amount of blood coating your fingertips.

Leonard quickly snatches your wrists, pulling your arms away from your neck and stopping you from worsening the wound. Mickey stares at your neck in slight horror, his fishy lips gaped as he stares at you.

“What are you doing?” Danny hisses, reaching over to you and taking your chin. You hiss in pain when he tilts your face up to look at the wound, his eyes narrowed.

“Why did they…?” Mickey starts to question, his eyes narrowed at the marks on your neck. You try to speak, but the gag muffles you and you feel drool roll down your cheek instead of the words falling from your lips.

“Because Pumpkin’s an idiot.” Danny hisses, taking a handkerchief from the pocket of his flashy suit. You don’t try and make a face at the name this time, leaving it be. You didn’t want to push them any further while they carried that look in their eyes. Leonard stays quiet while Danny wipes the blood from your neck, his eyes dark and grip painfully tight on your wrists. You stop struggling as Mickey also moves forward, the trio crowding around you with concern and anger mixing dangerously in the air. You shift uncomfortably, your jaw aching at the need to speak, or to even shut your mouth.

Danny leans back, the corner of his handkerchief now pink with your blood. He shoves it in his pocket, eyeing your neck. He looks at Leonard and Mickey, sighing deeply. “That’ll have to do until we get home. I don’t have any bandages or disinfectant.”

Mickey nods, staring at your neck in interest. His eyes drop to your fingers, Leonard’s hand still encasing both of your hands. The blood had dried and stained your fingers a soft red, but the blood blended into your skin too much for it to be a noticeable worry.

Leonard yanks you forward as Danny and Mickey return to their seats, everyone’s eyes now on you. Leonard stares at your hands, the pads of his fingers running over your nails. He grumbles in annoyance, turning to Danny.

“Do you still have those gloves?”

Danny nods and pulls out a pair of black cloth gloves, one you usually saw him wearing after they came home from a heist. Leonard takes the gloves and slips them over your hands without much protest from you. You didn’t want to rock the sinking ship more than you already had. Leonard pulls them as far down as he can so they’re snug on your hands before tightening the pull string at the bottom. He lets go of one hand, but keeps the other, his grip tight on your wrist. You gulp, slumping in your seat as you fight the urge to claw at the collar once more.

The rest of the trip is silent, no one daring to say a word.

You lean your head on the window of the limo as it pulls up to the entrance of the hotel, Leonard ushering you out and towards the door. All three were still tense, but no longer looked like they would bite your head off the moment you spoke. Walking up to the entrance, the doors open as soon as you reach the top step. There were two yōkai standing at the doors, both wearing purple uniforms with brass buttons. You stare at them in fascination for a moment, neither looking down at you as they continue to face forward with their backs straight and heads high. They remind you of royal guards for a queen, more for show than anything.

Leonard tugs you through, Danny walking a half step behind as Mickey grabs your other hand. The moment the eel has you, Leonard let's go, the responsibility of holding you being successfully transferred. The trio lead you into an elevator, another yōkai in the corner to press the buttons for the rider. Danny tells the operator something you didn’t catch, and he presses the corresponding button to wherever you were heading. You subconsciously lift your free hand up to your neck again, playing with the bell hanging from it instead of trying to attack your skin. You can see Leonard eyeing you, but he says nothing to your fiddling.

You stare at the scale of the moving numbers at the top of the elevator, watching them go up in mild disinterest. You could feel the anxiety rolling around in your stomach and flooding your veins, making every small movement of the elevator feel like an earthquake.

The elevator opens and you exit, Mickey dragging you happily to meet whoever or whatever it was that they took you here for. Your eyes move to the desk in the middle of the room, a small woman sitting at it. She stands up as the trio brings you in further, your eyes widening at the sight of her.

She was so… Human. Sure, her skin was a bit of an odd color(too purple to be normal, but maybe it was the lighting), and her teeth seemed just a wee bit too sharp, but other than that? Human. Completely and safely human. Your worries melt away despite the aura of danger drifting from the woman as she walks nearer, her humanness easing every bit of panic you had. She closes the distance and looks at you, adjusting the thin blue glasses on her face with a small smile.

“Oh my, look at this little doll.” The woman says, taking your chin and moving it back and forth as she scans your face. Your eyes are drawn to hers, the cool lilac of her iris’s burning into your mind. Was she wearing colored contacts? Her appearance and clothing showed her to be a woman of high authority, and she seemed to be the boss, or main leader, of your captors. It was an odd choice for someone of her ranking, but not one you could fault. The lilac eyes looked beautiful on her.

The woman leans back, her hand forcing your face to follow. She cups your face with both hands and smiles down at you, her eyes swimming with a false security. “Wherever did you find this one, dears?”

Leonard grins, his chest puffing out as he answers the strange woman. “I found them near one of the entrances to the city a couple months ago. I couldn’t just leave them alone and lost, so I took them home.”

A small smirk is held on her face as she continues to examine you, squishing your cheeks and lifting your lips to check your teeth and gums. You nip at her fingers for the intrusion, narrowing your eyes in warning. It was the first sign of aggression you had shown to the woman thus far. She merely smiles, cooing down at you.

“It truly is a marvelous example of a human. Quite scrumptious, if I do say so myself.” She finally drops your chin, moving over to her desk and toying with a pen on the surface. Her wording confused and worried you, bringing back the earlier unease with full force. She was speaking as if she wasn’t human herself, and it worried you to no end. “How much do you want for them? I do need more humans for the nexus entertainment, and I’m not quite sure you three would take good care of one like this.”

Leonard stiffens and I rub at my chin, the smooth texture of the gloves easing the ache in my jaw. Danny snarls, grabbing me and tugging me back. My eyes widen in surprise at the sudden pull, my hands flailing for a moment as I lose my balance.

“Pumpkin is *not* for sale.” He hisses, both Mickey and Leonard joining him in a tense stance. Danny shoves you behind him, not caring for your indignant cries. You can barely see Big Mama from behind the three, their bodies blocking you from sight almost completely.

Big Mama sighs, her voice clouded in fake dejection. You highly doubted the woman even cared. “Very well. Now, I do hope you bring them along another time then. But I am a very busy woman, and my schedule is oh so scrumdiddly packed. You boys should be on your way.”

The Mud Dogs take the sendoff at face value and tug you back, quickly going through the hotel and back down to the car. You’re shoved into your seat once more, and you’re hit with the regret of not trying to hightail it the moment you stepped outside. The car moves and you watch the window. There was still one more chance.

When the car pulls to a stop in front of the Mud Dog’s base, you tense. You go through the plan in your head, trying to memorize each step and each reaction you may need to take in case something goes wrong. Leonard pulls you out, and in the transition of Mickey and Danny leaving, you knee the ogre yōkai in the stomach. His grip goes lax as he doubles over, a wheezing cough ripped from his lungs.

You yank your arm away from him and dash down the street, your arms pumping wildly as you run. You didn’t notice how mast Mickey was until he caught you, volts of electricity buzzing through your veins and tensing your muscles. You collapse into the eels arms, your eyes heavy and body spasming. With your brain so fried, It wasn’t until you saw the others' eyes that you knew just how badly you messed up.

They drag you into the hideout, not one of them caring about your muffled screams.

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bisexual-horror-fan · 1 year ago

Note

I know you’re requests are closed but I had an idea for a Mickey fic and I’m an awful writer and you’re amazing so imma just leave this here. What if reader and Mickey are both the Ghostfaces along with Nancy and they’re both like, literally insane. Like to the point where after they kill they gotta fuck then and there whilst covered in their victims blood blah. blah but in the end Nancy kills one of them and it makes the other completely fucking INSANE for revenge.

OKAY! SO! Anon! I fucking love this ask. I went so hard. I hope you enjoy this enemies to friends to lovers over 7K massive fic! I stretched out the timeline of Scream 2 because fuck you, this is fanfic and we can do whatever we want to! I love this request and where it leaves off? I already have a sequel planned and mostly plotted. So thank you Anon seriously. Also, shoutout to @mrsaltieri-real for helping me out on this one! You are the best.

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 7.9K. Mickey Altieri X AFAB! Ghostface! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Reader Is A Killer. Reader Has Anger Issues. Fighting. Taunting. Teasing. Mickey And Reader Are ASSHOLES To Each Other. Blood. Gore. Murder. Death. Mild Fluff. Enemies To Friends To Lovers. Ghostface Partners In Crime Couple. Mickey Is Crushing Hard. Angst. Hurt. Crying. Emotional Pain. I Apologize In Advance.

—

“So Good To You.”

—

You never cared much for the idea of getting a college education, or at least that is what you told yourself because financially it was way out of reach for you, an impossibility. That was until you got an offer you simply couldn’t turn down, what that offer was? It was for a free ride at a college by a benefactor with money to burn and some revenge she needed to be carried out. It would be a hindrance for some, but not for you. The reason you were chosen was because of not only your previous experience with this, but your outright willingness to spill blood. So you accept, you follow her instructions to the fucking letter and arrive at school in September.

Once moved into your dorm, a few days into college you were meeting up with her in person, all the correspondence up to this point has been online and on the phone, meeting her had to be done carefully. The meeting is not even in town, the process must be delicate, and the wrong people cannot see you together lest there be talk and suspicion. When you show up and see that she is not alone you are confused, when you sit down, and she explains that you are not the only student she is “sponsoring” you are pissed.

You don’t hide this either, gripping your menu, so tightly it might bend, speaking in a hushed yell whisper, “Nancy, what the fuck?”

He, whoever he was, agreed, leaning forward and voice low, “Yeah actually, what the fuck?”

Nancy tried to have a measured response, attempting to calm you both, she set her own menu aside, fingers laced together, hands resting on top of the tablecloth. She says your name and then his, “Mickey-” you scrunch your nose, who the fuck is named Mickey? Like the fucking mouse?

“-I have to make sure this happens. You both know the motive and I figured having two of you would make this better, all the easier. I can be very hands-off and honestly, you are both such great talents. How could I choose just one of you?”

That pissed you off further. You keep your voice hushed, not wanting to be overheard, “It sounds to me more that you don’t think I can handle this myself and that I need some shitty fucking guy’s help to kill.”

Mickey scoffed, a roll of his eyes as he leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed as he said, “Yeah, you are such an empowered woman who doesn’t need any help to kill. So tough. So strong. If you are so capable, why do you need someone to fund your college career?”

You hated him. Everything about him. His stupid spiky hair, the dumb shade of blue on his sweater, his face, his voice, what he said in tone and also in content. “It’s called a scholarship. I know it’s a big word, you’ve probably never heard it, and what about you? She thinks that YOU need a woman’s help to kill, how sad is that for you?”

By the way his eyes narrowed, you feel like he doesn't like you either. Good. You don’t want him to.

The dinner is tense, but you manage to make it through and Nancy makes it clear that if you want to go or if he does that you can, but she will pull her funding and whoever is left will get to do it alone. You don’t back down and neither does he, so you are forced to work together, and you accept this fact with extreme reluctance.

The plan is for you and him to get as close to Sidney and her friends as possible, to insert yourselves and get in the right position at just the right time to make sure that this happens just as Nancy wanted. You did, and you were barely able to restrain your rage against him, it comes out sometimes, everyone else thinks it is an affectionate thing, a long-running joke of both of you disliking each other and exchanging barbs, but no one thought it was serious.

You had to get used to his presence, but that proved to be difficult, you would sometimes get so riled up after an argument with him that you felt like screaming and ripping your hair out, he got under your skin in the worst way possible. You got to him similarly it seemed, you sometimes knew he left your interactions being the one who could barely reign in his temper, part of you liked getting to him like that.

Staying away from him and avoiding any time you and Mickey were solo was a must, but sometimes you can’t help it when you are in the same friend group like this. You and he were at the same party and Sidney left to go use the bathroom, and Randy went to go get a drink, and that left you and him in proximity.

You and Mickey were both leaning against the same wall. He speaks first, “Getting real friendly with Sid there.”

You smile, proud of yourself, you were making a great impression, fantastic progress, you allow yourself to indulge in feeling pride as you agree with his assessment, “Yeah, I am.”

“She seems super invested. You do know that you need more than a low cut shirt to get her fallin’ all over herself for you, right?” He turned to face you, and you turn too as you respond, “Yeah unlike you, I am not a total slut, I am not trying to fuck her.”

“Why not?” He asked, and you laughed into your cup, making sure to keep your voice low enough just for him to hear, “Who am I? Billy Loomis? Gonna fuck her then gut her?”

He shrugs before taking a sip from his own cup, a swallow before he says casually, “I’ve read your papers in film class, derivative is your whole thing.”

“Is it now?” You ask and he says, “It is. Taking from someone great, and regurgitating it back out as if it is some amazing new or profound thought, something original all your own, when it very obviously is not.”

He was such an insufferable asshole.

You swallow what is left in your cup and then push off the wall, “I need another fucking drink if I am gonna have to be around you.”

He lets you go.

After lunch one day you, and he ended up in the same direction, you don’t want to deal with him and so you pick up the pace, walk faster, and he makes sure to speed up too, “Awe where you off to in such a rush? Gonna be late for your gender studies class, princess?”

“Gross, do not call me that shit.” You say as you adjust your backpack, rolling your eyes before you retort, “You ready to fail that test tomorrow? I know you haven’t been studying.”

His hands are thrown up, eyes skyward and a grin as he says, “Heaven forbid, I wanna enjoy the college experience and make the most of it out and about, not with my nose in a book all the time.”

“I think you could stand to be a little more well-read, you are painfully fucking dull whenever I am forced to talk to you.” Breaking off for the turn you head towards the building for your next class, he calls after you, “I am so, so hurt. Hey, don’t forget to spell women with a y, you’ll lose points otherwise, okay?”

He knew just how to really fucking bother you.

You know how to bother him, too.

A different day, you and him were meant to have a meeting with Nancy. You were waiting for her to arrive, and he was boasting about how he had gotten in with Randy and Derek, you said, “Finally, took you long enough. It’s weird, though, considering that you are the fucking worst.”

“I’m the worst?” He asked, and you nod, “Yes you are, I don’t know how you pulled it off, I have seen your acting ability.”

His hand rubs over his eyes as he asks, “You insult my acting ability now? What is wrong with it?”

“Mickey. Virgin teens faking on prom night are better actors than you are.”

His jaw drops, brows pinch together, and you pile on before he can respond, “You seem so chummy with Randy though, you blown him yet orrr?”

Nancy walked into you both locked in another augment, and she slammed the door, making you both stop. “Can you please, please, for the love of God, not fight for one day? I know it must be very hard, but do it for me?”

“It isn’t my fault she is such a frigid bitch.” He spits, and you say back, “Rich coming from the school slut, seriously, do you sweat chlamydia?”

Mickey opens his mouth and Nancy cuts him off, “Please, save it! Can’t you be the bigger person here?”

Mickey doesn’t even look at her, eyes locked with you, he says, “I know you are a real maternal figure, but I am not your fucking son so can you not talk to me like I am?”

You have to bite back the laugh you were about to bark out, and Nancy was just done, thoroughly over you both and your petty rivalry. “If you both don’t knock it off, I will call off the whole thing!”

That had you and he both turning to her, “You can’t!”

It is reminiscent of a tired parent on a car trip sick of hearing, “Are we there yet?” and responding with, “I will turn this car around!” When she tells you both, “I can, and I will if you don’t play nice at least in front of me!”

You and Mickey both know she is serious. You do your best to chill the hell out and just get through this without killing each other.

The road is long until the first kill is meant to happen. You and he have ebbs and flows of seriously deep hatred, neutral times of acceptance and even an instance or two of actually kind of getting along, at least on the surface. Below that, you still find times of hating each other.

One night after yet another tense meeting, after yet more endless frustration, you and he locked in another fight it happens without you meaning to. Both of you are just too pent-up and when he spits, “I am so tired of you being such a bitch, have you tried loosening up sometimes?”

“How would you recommend I do that in between keeping a low profile, getting closer to Sid and the rest, and keeping my grades up?” He tells you with crossed arms over his chest, “I’d recommend you taking a good dick every once in a while.”

“Does it always gotta come back to that? Just fuck my stress away and that will fix me?”

“Why not try it?” And he says it so smugly, something inside just snaps inside of you, leading to you both being in your bed. Your clothes don’t even totally come off, it is a messy hate-fuck, “I knew you wanted me-”

Your teeth sink into his throat, a sharp bite that makes him jerk back, his hips faltering as you respond, “I don’t want you, this means fucking nothing, you mean fucking nothing, okay?”

“Fine, fuck.” Another roll of his hips pulls a moan from you before he mutters out, “Crazy fucking bitch, just stop biting me.”

A terrible idea hits, and you execute it, a slap to his face as opposed to a bite and it is so shocking, catches him so off guard he has to actively fight the urge to cum. “Better?”

You ask sugary sweet, and he grits out, “I fucking hate you.”

“I fucking hate you too.”

Hate fucking when the wait for the plan to kick off becomes a somewhat regular occurrence, one neither of you chose to acknowledge unless you were splayed over a surface together.

Currently, you were in Mickey’s place. You and he agreed to head over to a party together to meet up with everyone else, you were in one of those times when you didn’t totally hate his guts, just mostly did, so you could tolerate his presence. You were getting impatient, you were a punctual person, and he was not when it came to things like this. You were tapping your foot on the bottom rung of a stool as you sat at the bar as you waited, calling out to him while he is in his bedroom, “What are you doing in there? Jacking off? I’d like to go sometime this century.”

“Yeah, I bet you like to think about that.” He called back, and you scoffed, “As fucking if.”

While you waited, your eyes flitted over the bar, and you noticed there were scattered papers about, you are so bored you start to sift through them, looks like some kind of project he was working on. You look further, wondering what it was, you skim pages and words caught on, “slice” and “blood”.

You start to look further, flip through pages, and you find descriptions of murder, violent kills, strangulation, knives stabbed into warm bodies. You read of terrible brutality and the feelings that are invoked while experiencing it. You become so absorbed in the reading when his hand touches your shoulder, you jump nearly a foot in the air, heart hammering.

“Catching up on some reading?” He asked with a grin, and you roll your eyes as you shake off his hand, “Creep.”

“Says the girl who is currently rummaging through MY shit.” Your eyes are back on the papers, ignoring what he said, and instead you ask, “What even is all this? Some fucked up project for a class?”

He takes the seat on the stool next to you, “It’s my work before coming to school.”

Your eyes go wide, you look at him, “Wait is this-”

He brightens further, “A scrapbook, yeah! I was rearranging it before you showed up, got a bit too into it, lost track of time, so I couldn’t clean it up before you came in, and then you were fucking rushing me-”

“Holy fucking shit, you have a scrapbook of your previous kills?” You flip through, detailed accounts, pictures, small souvenirs, more still. It was amazing but also infuriating, how the fuck did you never think to do something like this? Most you had was scrawled out diary entries post kill, but this was truly in depth, a testament to his commitment to wielding a knife and bringing pain.

He leans closer, starts pointing out particular details, and you have to admit, an impressive body of work, clear effort put forth into this catalogue of violence. “She was the first. She was in my math class in high school, the kind of girl who thought she was way too good for everyone, you know the type.”

His eyes meet yours, a taunting smile, and you find yourself letting out a laugh. He kept talking, and you kept listening until he says, “You are being awfully quiet.”

“Am I not allowed to be quiet?” You ask, and he laughs, “No. It just isn’t like you, normally you make your opinions very painfully known.”

You sighed, “I just can’t get over what a good idea this is, I’m fucking pissed I didn’t think of it myself.” You admit, and he laughed louder, “I got one up on you and you admit it? Fuck, it is a good night.” He gets up, collects the papers and puts them in the open box nearby. You try to stop him, “Wait, where are you going?”

You ask as he takes the box back to his room, and he says, “We have a party to get to, remember? I’ll let you read it in full another time for you to cream yourself over, alright?”

Yeah, sure, cream yourself over is what you’d do. You are simply curious about his work before you both met, you liked getting a feel for him and what he had done, it only makes sense since you are going to work together. He comes back and you both leave, but that night you had to admit is what started the shift, you started to look at Mickey a bit differently, had more respect for him. He obviously had skills to back up his talk, it was a comfort as well as just nice to get to know him on this level. No one else understood that side of you, getting to talk with someone else who has killed, he understands the depth, the complexity and more, you didn’t know how nice it would be.

After that night, you and he talk some more about it, his kills and yours, it is bonding, and it goes from hating each other and somewhat tolerating to being more like co-workers. A different night you were in your dorm room alone and both going over what your pasts. He showed you his newly minted scrap book, and you read aloud from your diary about how your first date ended in your killing the guy.

“How often have you gotten blood in your mouth?” He asks, and you gagged jokingly, “Too many times! You never think that it is gonna spray like that until the first time you slash a throat, right?”

“Seriously. Okay, okay. Least favourite part?” He asked, and you groaned, “Disposal, dead weight is such a bitch at times. Once a guy almost got away from me, I cornered and killed him at the bottom of some stairs, but once he was dead I had to drag him back UP those same stairs.”

“Fuck, how did you do it?” He genuinely asked, and you tell him, “With ropes and determination. How about you?” He hums, “My least favourite part has to be when the chase goes on for too long. Nothing worse than being winded before you even get the knife in them, feel like I can’t enjoy it properly, and I hate to do a rush job like that. It’s like the option is taken from me.”

“Lack of control is truly the worst.” You agree.

While you felt closer, a small kinship as well as more mutual understanding, Mickey could still be a bit much at times, you still clashed on occasion, but those times were becoming fewer and further between. It makes the path to the plan easier. You study on occasion, able to have meals together, Nancy is pretty pleased you’d both calmed down, and you find yourself consumed with regular daily life. The hate fucking isn’t so hateful and has also slowed considerably to a near stop.

When you got the go ahead, you and he were giddy. Alight. It caused one of the worst fights you had with him where you insisted that you be the first one to kill, you wanted to show that you could, prove yourself and also, it had been so, so fucking long since you had. Eventually, Nancy sides with you but insists Mickey be nearby in case shit goes screwy, and you can deal with that.

You revel in it. The phone call, the break in, the case and the actual kill. You being on top of her, stabbing her, running her through with one hand as your other is over her mouth. She struggles and whines, and you feel powerful, watching the light drain from her eyes the same way the blood does.

Perhaps you linger just a touch too long, but you just can’t help it. Mickey comes to get you, urge you out, and then he sees it, the aftermath. You still sitting on top of her in your costume, the knife to the hilt inside of her, and you turn, ghostly white mask with small spots of red and his breath catches. He read your accounts, you’d talked in depth, he’d killed people himself, but this, seeing it, you, post kill, was a totally different animal.

You pull off your mask, hair a mess, face sweaty with the effort, a manic smile as you ask, “What’s up?”

He lingers by the door of the balcony you were on, stuck in the threshold, the sliding glass was acting like a metaphorical doorway as much as a physical one, a turning point, one that cannot be forgotten or ignored. A shifting tide, your relationship, how he viewed you, permanently changed. His mouth feels dry, he swallows and says, “We have to go.”

“Shit, yeah, you’re right, just got a little uh-” You look down at the body, pull the knife out and drive it in one last time, you sound gleeful, “-stab happy.”

The laugh spills from you both unbidden and then, you flee the scene of the crime. Costumes stowed in bags and knife hastily wiped down. He couldn’t stop looking at you after that night. Every time he saw you, it was like you went from black and white static to live and in colour, as if he was seeing you for the first time, truly seeing you. He had it and had it so fucking badly for you, it was embarrassing.

You could get him, understand him on levels no one else could or probably ever would.

Mickey started treating you differently. You think it is because of what he saw, he finally was respecting you and sure it was part of it, but much more than you could have realized went into it. He was being much more than pleasant to be around, he was nice, fun to be around, he wasn’t an asshole like previously and slowly, much, much too slowly, after many meals bought, coffees given and notes shared you figure out that you think, he has a crush on you. It slips through even when with your “friends” and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Especially because he doesn’t hide it. He is kind, he flirts shamelessly, he makes his wants and intentions known.

You don’t know how to deal with or process that.

So you don’t.

You let him treat you better, you feel previous hate and anger melt, but you write it off as friendship, nothing wrong with that considering what you were doing. You take his compliments with a smile, you laugh off his over the top promises of “I’d be so, so good to you.” with a wave of your hand.

The plan continues on, stretches out from days to weeks, Nancy claims she wants Sidney to really suffer, and you aren’t going to question or complain.

The next kill is up to Mickey, you weren’t able to be there, but you got to see him after. Amped the fuck-up and excited, he told you about it all, how it went. “He was so pathetic, you should have seen him, begging for his life, crawling on the ground, oh my God.”

You watched him pace back and forth, animated hand gestures, his t-shirt was sticking to him from the sweat, your eyes aren’t sure where to linger, defined arm muscles or that wide sick smile. He flops onto the couch beside you, a large exhale, “It was fucking incredible.”

“And what are you feeling like, right now?” You asked as you looked down at him, and he says as his head pitches to look up at you, “I am feeling fucking starving. You want to order in a pizza?”

So you did. You ate sprawled on the floor and talked about the fact everything was meant to ramp up soon, that you and he were expected to both go in hard within the next few weeks.

It still goes on, you and both grow closer, another kill here, one there until finally there is a night where you have to murder together. The talking beforehand is frantic, both planning what was going to happen, honestly excited to do this together. You and Mickey started off hating each other's guts, but that seems so far away now, you and he were actually good friends and a united front on this plan.

It doesn’t go well at first.

The struggle is hard, you and he almost lose the two people you were planning on killing, but you manged it. Watching Mickey up close, not only that but you both doing this together, it makes something in you and your perception of him change. It is startlingly intimate, you are so in the moment, weirdly in sync with very little verbal communication, at one point you are gutting one of them while he holds them down and even through the masks, you know your eyes are locked, you can’t see his gaze, but you feel it.

It’s then. Between the smell of blood, the sweat making your black robe stick to you, over the screams of your shared victims, that all of it hits you.

It all comes crashing in, you thought he was the only one with a crush, with deeper feelings, that is not the case. You’ve come to realize that you have feelings for him too, deep and intense, scary and all consuming feelings, you care about Mickey and more than as a friend, a fellow killer, a partner in crime. You like him. Old memories flow through your mind now tinged differently, a highlight reel of neon recollection, synapses sparking, forcing you back, dragging you along to really look at those moments in the new light and context of your now fully exposed feelings. Raw and wriggling and out in the open air for you to contend with, screaming for acceptance and to be dealt with in some fucking fashion.

You had liked him for a long while and were far too stubborn and stupid to realize it. And you can’t ignore it any longer.

Snapped back into the moment you are staring. His strong gloved hands around the bitch’s throat, you can see the power he has, the way his arms strain from the effort, you can’t look away.

Once it was over, once they are both dead, you and he had to separate, and it made your mind run. You were so nervous, you trusted him completely now.

You knew Mickey was more than capable, but still, the thought of him actually being caught, you don’t know how you’d handle it. The sudden change steals your breath, you feel crushed by your new feelings, the unexpected care you feel for him.

The emotions run high during a kill night on the best of times, but the rough and rocky start, the joined act of killing, the fact the police presence as stepped up, it all mixes together. You were worried, very fucking worried, and that makes you terrified.

When you come back to the meeting point, he is already there, his mask is taken off, and you hastily remove your own. Staring across the space at each other, heavy breathing, and the look in his eyes upon meetings yours, he knows. He knows you feel differently now, and it can be felt in the air. You stride forward first as you exhale out, “Thank fuck you’re okay-”

As soon as you are close enough Mickey’s hands are on the sides of your face, pulling you to him and his mouth crashing into yours, swallowing you up in him, preventing you from speaking, stealing all words, you return his affection hastily, clumsily and with a moan of relief. Even during all your hate fucking, it wasn’t like this. There were no presses of your mouth to his, the only times your mouths were used were to bite, cause pain, or on occasion give each other some truly rough but brutal oral sex.

You are greedy, need to make up for lost time. You kiss him hard, want to make him as breathless as you are, more than the chase made him. You and he end up on the couch in his place. Costumes are long forgotten on the floor. His hands wander, touch you all over, help pull clothes away and aside, “I’ve been thinking about this so fucking much.”

A laugh slips out as you straddle him, helping him out of his shirt and throwing it aside, “Yeah Mickey?”

He takes in the view of you in just your pants and bra perched on his thighs, his hands run up your sides, fingers press over an already flowering bruise left from when one of your murder victims kneed you in the ribs. You hiss slightly, a sharp intake of air from the stab of pain, you retaliate, fingers in his hair, you thread, twist and pull. He gasps, smile widens, and he nods as much as you allow, “Yeah, been thinking about you just like this.”

“Just like this?” You grind on his lap, bare down on his clothed erection, short muted sounds of pleasure leave you both as you lose yourselves in the action, the friction before he manages to get out, “Almost, there are no clothes in the way, and I am buried deep again in that sweet fucking cun-”

You pull even harder and his sentence breaks off with a groan as you prompt him. “Stop talking and start doing.”

He was losing it. Normally whenever he hooked up with people he was sure, in total control, but you got the drop on him. He should know better, especially after all the previous very violent hook-ups.

At first, he was on top, or rather, he was trying to be, but all of a sudden a leg was around his hip and hands were on his broad chest pushing him until he fell onto his ass, back propped up on the arm rest of the couch. You settle into his lap quickly, straddling him and then lowering yourself, taking him deep, to the hilt, before he could protest. The moan leaves him on an exhalation at feeling how soaked and hot you are. His hands are on your hips, and he rocks up into you once before your hands are in his hair once more. Fingers thread anew, wrap around and twist before pulling, it makes his eyes shoot open, a harsh inhale from the pain, brows knitted together in confusion when you tell him firmly, "Stay fucking still. This is for me right now, not you."

He is shocked, stunned, your tone so harsh, leaving no room for argument, and you start to move, hips rise and fall as you ride him for all he's worth.

You look fucking stunning, gorgeous, and you feel even better.

He didn’t know he could be so into this, but he thinks it is because it’s you. He has seen you kill, seen how capable and powerful you are, he is so fucking into you, feels so deeply for you, he thinks you could carve your name into his flesh and he’d beg for more. The praise tumbles out between groan and gasps, timed with the falls and of your hips, the rolls of your body, and it makes you laugh breathy, “You are really into this.”

“Been a, fuck, while.” He confesses, and you slow your hips, “Mickey, have you kept it in your pants? Stopped fucking half the student body?”

You knew he was seeing other people in between your fucking for a while, but when you and he stopped, did he not get his fill elsewhere? He shrugs, tries to seem unbothered, but it’s hard when his hands are gripping your hips so tightly, browns pinched together, you clench on him and his head is thrown back against the arm rest of the couch. Sweat is down his temple, tendons in his throat as he swallows thickly, “Been busy.”

It is all he can force out. This is serious. Mickey the slut stopped screwing anyone else because he was crushing on you so severely. He did really like you, holy shit. Not an act at all, he was so consumed with you that fucking other people wasn’t something he wanted.

The emotion radiating off him is filling you, bleeding back into you, and you let it take you without trying to show it too heavily. You fucking care about him, you really fucking do.

Your hand below your waist, quick fingers bring you to your peak twice in short succession as you ride him before he finds his own high. The first time is frantic, needy, more about getting it out of your systems after so long without. It is undeniably satisfying and thoroughly enjoyable.

The next time happens that same night. With reheated Chinese and in his bed. You talked about it all, how the kill that night went and in the process worked yourself up once more and made the shower you shared after your time on the couch utterly pointless from how sweaty you got again.

After that night, you were together. You and he often fucked, maybe more than you should, but you just could not get enough. You’d been so busy that you hadn’t really fucked anyone other than him since getting here over a year ago. Times in your dorm or his, shared showers, traded oral in places that you shouldn’t like between library stacks. Once you had sex in the band pit of the theatre, your hands over his mouth and his over yours as you worked to keep quiet, him thrusting up into you, and you are slamming down on him as you worked each other over, bringing him and yourself to Earth shattering pleasure.

Both of you kept it more hush, hush, but another secret just added to it. You didn’t run from your feelings, nor did you attempt to hide how into him, you were. The dates squeezed in everywhere you could also try to make up for your stubborn bullshit earlier. Affection was, often, moments of tenderness and vulnerability in private were shared.

There is a moment that you keep coming back to.

Another kill. You and he are blood splattered, you had a quickie next to the body, a rushed moment of passion with you pushed over a desk. Your legs were shaking from the strength of the orgasm he fucked out of you. Over the past while you’d gotten much more comfortable with him taking control, it wasn’t a fight for dominance, it was shared responsibility that you give into as often as he does. His cum was leaking out into your panties that you had just pulled back into place. You were heaving, body slick, and resting for a moment when he comes around the desk. His mask is pulled up, and he leans down, gloved hands come to your face, one hand holds the knife in his leather clad grip, the other holds your cheek. You feel the knife handle against the opposite side, and he moves in, he kisses your forehead half-in-half-out of his killer garb, and you melt. You smile up at him and he returns it.

The lies and secrecy shouldn’t turn you on like this. Lying to Sidney and everyone else, the high you are both on from so far getting away with it is immense. You and he are too perfect of a fit.

It’s the day of. You and he are about to head out when the urge strikes. “Hey-“ Your hand quickly reached out and grabs his wrist, pulling him back from the door, so he was stood facing you again. His hand dropped to your waist, and he smiled down at you, that stupid damn devastating smile you used to hate that you now couldn’t see yourself living without, “- before we do this, there’s something I wanna tell you. Just in case.”

He noticed you looked almost nervous, weight shifting from one foot to the other, he had never seen this emotion on your face before, and he knew exactly what was coming before you took a deep, unsteady breath and opened your mouth to speak again. “I lo-”

“Don’t.” He said quickly, eyes wide, raising his hand to place it over your mouth, an action you had both done to each other God knows how many times in a much different context. “Save it. Tell me after we’ve won, okay?”

You rolled your eyes slightly, prying his fingers away from your mouth. “God, you’re such an overdramatic dork, Mickey. Okay.”

It was stupid. You shouldn’t have listened to him. You should have said it.

You and he and Nancy were in the theatre with Sidney. The monologue was underway, big speeches, reveals, shock and awe. You’d been watching from afar, waiting for your cue to come in, when it happens all too quickly. Sidney made Nancy so angry so fast, unable to control herself, and she points the gun and with a simple move of her finger, the trigger is pulled and all of a fucking sudden just like that night your world is coming crashing in. He wasn’t expecting it, the bullet holes in his chest pour blood out rapidly.

You are frozen in place. Rooted to the spot. You watch as his body falls. Here then gone. Stole from you in a single moment, no time to react, nothing to do, no time to process either. He was ripped from you, and it takes a moment for everything to come back into focus. Sidney and Nancy are struggling, and you find the strength.

You move.

The weapon in your hand is used on Sidney, not the way you’d intended to, the butt of your own gun is smacked full force on the back of her head. You knock her out and let her fall to the stage. You are left standing there with Nancy, who is wondering what you are doing. You are holding up the gun, pointing it straight at her, questioning her in the same way, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Why are you pointing that at me?” She asked in seeming disbelief, and you scoff, “Why do you think?! I heard you! I heard what you said, I watched you shoot Mickey, I know you want me dead next, right? Clean up the loose ends?”

You spit it at her with vitriol before you do your best impression of her annoying voice during her speech to Sidney, “There was a big scuffle, and you-” your foot kicking Sidney’s boot for emphasis, gesturing down to her with your other hand, “-shoot Mickey-”

Saying it makes you sob. Tears start to stain your cheeks, “I cannot believe you! Bringing us here, making us do your dirty work, and you were planning on killing us the whole fucking time!”

“What, did you really think that he’d get away with it? His big plan about blaming the movies? What jury would believe that-” She shouts, and you stomp your foot, “Shut the fuck up, that isn’t the point!” You weren’t going to tolerate her speaking ill of him, not while he is still bleeding out in the band pit, you kept talking, “You double-crossed us!”

Your gun moves down, and you shoot, getting her in the knee. She crumples under the weight of her own body. She is on the ground, and she is the one sobbing in short order. You make your way to her, you step onto her busted knee, grinding your boot down into it and revelling in her anguished screams. Blood gushes and you still are not satisfied. You sink down, you lay into her. First the gun across her face, teeth are knocked out, displaced and rattle as they roll across the wooden stage.

You hit her again and again, next the gun is dropped, your hand takes over, punching her, nose breaks, cartilage cracks, bones snap, she is coughing and wheezing and weak. Your knife is removed from the holster stored in your boot, and you hold it to her throat, “You are such a stupid fucking bitch.”

She was delirious, and you slammed her head against the stage, “Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

Her eyes are unfocused, but they are on you, “This is your fault. You are going to die, but you didn’t have to. You killed him first, and now I’m gonna kill you.”

The response is weak from her dry cracked lips, “Why?”

“Why?” You asked, a bitter laugh, you hold the knife closer to her throat, “Dumb cunt wants to know why? Sure, I can tell you.”

A deep inhale before you say, “You brought me here under false pretenses, made me work with one of the most annoying and insufferable people I have ever met in my life, forced me to be around him and in the process made me realize that…”

You can’t bring yourself to say it, but you instead say, “-That I care about him. That I needed someone else who could truly understand me on this level, who cared, who showed me how I deserved to be fucking treated and then, you just…You kill him, snuff him out, like he was nothing!”

You feel the tears falling again, “After all we’ve done to make your fucked up dream of a revenge plot come true, and you expect me to just lie down and take it when you kill him?!”

You can’t see her properly, not through how watery your eyes were. A steadying breath before you say, “And the way you did it. With a gun? It is insulting! Where is the intimacy? The care? The artistry, if he had to die by murder, he deserved better! Do you care about the art form at all?!”

You are tired of her, the anger and sadness had been bubbling up, it all comes to a head and bursts, the knife slices through her throat, she is choking on her blood when you tell her, “I’m not playing along, I’m not doing your stupid plot, not anymore. I’m rewriting it, Sidney’s gonna live.”

You don’t stop there. The knife is forced into her over and over. By the time you are done, her stupid white unflattering white suit is stained completely red.

Getting up from the complete mess, you look over your shoulder, Sidney is still passed out. This is your chance to run, but you can’t. Not yet.

Your steps are tentative, your knees hurt from how long you were on them while hunched over Nancy’s body while you were killing her. Your hands shake, and you peek over the edge of the stage and see him down there, amongst upturned band chairs, and your breath is stolen. You and he hooked up down there weeks prior, and now he was down there, looking wrong, totally fucking wrong. He looks lonely, and you hate that, you move quickly, one hand on the edge of the stage, and you jump down, it hurts your ankles from the height, you don’t care.

You stay there with him. You cling to him, you are reminded of that conversation, your least favourite. Dead weight. Quickly going cold, lifeless eyes staring up, past you, to some point on the ceiling, unseeing. You let yourself cry. You want to say it, tell him the depth of your feeling want to force the words out, you want to tell him you love him, but now it doesn’t feel right at all. He should have been able to hear those words from you while he was alive, while you still had a shot at a future together, whatever it would have looked like.You let yourself say this at the very least.

“You were right…” You sniff, you wipe at your cheeks and say, “The time we had was short but fuck. You were so good to me. I should have let you be good to me sooner. I should have been better to you, too.” The next words sit heavy on your tongue, no matter how much you want to they are left unsaid, and you make yourself leave him.

Before you do, there is one thing that feels necessary, like you have to. Hands cradle his face, one hand still holding the knife, and you lean down, you press a blood stained kiss to his forehead, near his hairline just like he did to you before. A mirror of that previous act of tenderness on a scarlet tinged afternoon but so much sadder because it was the last moment like this you’d ever have with him and again still, it was totally wrong. He can’t feel it, because he’s dead.

You get up and with one last forlorn look to him, you run.

Sidney wakes up unscathed but dazed, Mickey dead and Nancy too. You hadn’t revealed yourself, she hadn’t seen you, Nancy and Mickey hadn’t made mention of you, you’d been wearing gloves and there was none of your blood or DNA at the finale’ site, so you got away with it. They think the last person is still at large, but they have no clue who.

Your sadness is understandable, your real grief is able to be spread around, it is believable that it is for Hallie and Derek and everyone else but Mickey on the surface. You and Sidney drift apart. You tell her it’s too hard and she more than understands, she was initially suspicious at first, but you were too good an actor, your alibis too well planned and airtight.

The unmarked account that your tuition came out of was still full. You intend to transfer to a different college next semester. You can’t stay here, the idea of graduating from here without Mickey is horrible. You need a new state, a new school, a fresh chance to try and attempt to move on. It’s after winter break at that new school that you meet.

The events happened over a year ago, and you were still not doing good. Still sad, you wonder how you can ever process this pain, this total loss, no way can you talk about it, no way another person could ever understand.

Until that is one fateful day, you get a knock at your apartment door. You answer it and standing in front of you is a ghost, one person who you thought, just like everyone else, was dead, and maybe, perhaps, the only one who can relate to you.

Brows furrowed and gripping the door, so your legs won’t buckle, you asked nervously, in total shock and disbelief, “Stu Macher?”

He grinned with a point to himself, “That’s me. Can I come in?”

#Mickey Altieri X reader #slasher x reader #Ghostface x reader #BHF asks #BHF writing #HERE #HAVE IT #ENJOY IT #FUCK #FINALLY #Been working on this one for a WHILE

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fanboyswhore9 · 1 year ago

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Addicted to Love

Moodboard by: @mshistorylover

Pairing: Mickey “Fanboy” Garcia x Fem!Aviator!Reader (as a part of @roosterforme Rocktober Celebration), based on the song, Addicted to Love by Robert Palmer.

Summary: Mickey “Fanboy” Garcia, consumed by his passion for aviation, discovers a new addiction in the captivating Y/N at Top Gun Academy. Their love story soars to new heights as they confess their feelings at the iconic Hard Deck bar, promising romance amidst the thrill of flying.

Warnings: just a lot of fluff

A/N: this is my first fic! Tbh, I don’t think I’m great at writing, so if you have any comments, please tell me if I did something wrong, but be nice about it, especially since I don’t write that often.

———————————————————————————

Mickey “Fanboy” Garcia had always been a passionate soul, known throughout the Top Gun Academy for his unwavering enthusiasm and dedication to aviation. However, lately, there was something else that had captured his heart—a melody that played only for one person. As he walked through the bustling corridors of the academy, he couldn’t help but let his thoughts drift to the one who had managed to steal his attention from the skies.

She was a force to be reckoned with—a brilliant pilot with a fierce determination that matched his own. To the world, she was Y/N, but to Mickey, she was everything.

Their paths had crossed countless times on the tarmac and in the briefing rooms, and every encounter left Mickey craving more. He’d catch her gaze from across the room, her eyes a magnetic force he couldn’t resist. She was confident, strong-willed, and utterly captivating.

But it wasn’t just her skills in the cockpit that drew him in; it was the way she moved, the way she spoke, and the way her laughter could light up even the darkest corners of the academy. It was as if she carried her own gravitational pull, and Mickey found himself orbiting around her, unable to break free.

The first time he heard the song “Addicted to Love” by Robert Palmer on the radio, he couldn’t help but think of her. The lyrics seemed to echo the rhythm of his heart whenever she was near.

They say, “Might as well face it, you’re addicted to love.”

And in Mickey’s case, it was undeniable. He was addicted to the way her hair tumbled down her back, to the sound of her voice when she shouted orders during drills, to the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about flying.

Mickey had always been a fighter, but this was a battle he had no intention of winning. He wanted to be addicted to love, addicted to her, for as long as she’d have him.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Mickey and Y/N found themselves standing on the back porch of the Hard Deck, the soft glow of neon signs casting a warm and intimate ambiance around them. The bar was owned by Penny Benjamin, a place where pilots often sought refuge after a long day of training. Tonight, it served as the backdrop to a pivotal moment in their story.

They leaned against the railing, the hum of conversation and laughter from inside the bar providing a comforting backdrop to their conversation. Mickey’s heart pounded as he gazed into her eyes, the neon lights reflecting in her captivating gaze.

“Y/N, there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you,” he began, his voice filled with sincerity, his hands gently cupping her face. The gentle breeze ruffled his flight jacket, but his attention remained solely on her.

She turned to face him, her eyes locking onto his with a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. “What is it, Mickey?”

Mickey stepped closer, his breath mingling with hers, his thumb caressing her cheek. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “Every time I see you, it’s like the world fades away, and all I can think about is how much I want to be with you.”

A soft smile tugged at the corners of Y/N’s lips. “You know,” she said, her voice equally hushed, “I’ve been feeling the same way.”

Their breaths mingled in the cool night air, the tension between them palpable. Mickey couldn’t wait any longer. He leaned in, their lips inching closer together, and then he paused, his eyes searching hers for consent.

“Is it okay if I kiss you?” he asked, his voice trembling with anticipation.

She nodded, her eyes never leaving his, her heart pounding in sync with his. And with that silent agreement, their lips finally met in a passionate and long-awaited kiss.

Their embrace spoke volumes, but when they finally broke away, Mickey couldn’t help but smile. “I don’t want this to end, Y/N.”

Her eyes sparkled as she looked up at him. “Then let’s make sure it doesn’t. What do you say we have dinner tomorrow night, just the two of us?”

Mickey’s grin widened. “I’d love that. How about The Sandbar? It’s not too far from here, and it has an amazing view.”

“That sounds perfect,” she agreed, her hand finding his, their fingers intertwining. “I can’t wait.” She said, smiling widely, gazing into his dark chocolate brown eyes.

Mickey brushed a strand of hair away from her face and held her gaze. “And, Y/N, before we go back in there, one more thing.”

“What is it?” she asked, her voice filled with anticipation. He stepped closer, his hands cupping her face, and with a soft, tender look in his eyes, he asked, “Is it okay if I kiss you again?”

Her answer was a smile that spoke of unspoken promises and endless possibilities. As their lips met once more, they knew that their love story had only just begun, and it was bound to be the adventure of a lifetime.

Their lips parted, and as they turned to head back inside the Hard Deck bar, Mickey and Y/N couldn’t help but smile at each other, their hearts dancing to a newfound rhythm. It was then that they noticed the commotion inside.

The Dagger Squad, their fellow pilots and friends, had gathered at a table, raising their glasses and cheering them on. “About damn time, Garcia!” Payback shouted from the inside as he wore a triumphant grin as Coyote, Hangman, and Rooster begrudgingly paid up on a lost bet, their laughter filling the air.

They exchanged a knowing look, realizing that they weren’t just stepping into a bar; they were entering a family that celebrated their love and triumphs as much as their daring flights. As they joined the group, they felt the warmth of camaraderie and the promise of many more adventures together, both in the skies and in each other’s hearts.

#rocktober #first tumblr fic #mickey fanboy garcia × reader #mickey fanboy garcia #mickey garcia x reader #fanboy garcia x reader #fanboy imagine #fanboy x you #fanboy top gun #top gun fanboy #fanboy x reader #mickey garcia #emily’s Rocktober celebration #Spotify

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demxters · 1 year ago

Note

✩ for the blurb requests; jake and ace, date night, cuddling on the couch, eating take out and just being with each other, maybe falling asleep in each others arms

—DATE NIGHT

frat!jake seresin x f!reader

wc: 494

warning(s): 18+, fem!reader, no y/n (reader goes by nickname ace),

catch up with jake and ace here!

»»————- ♠︎ ————-««

As extravagant as Jake could get with date night, he knew that you also loved a casual night in.

Take-out, a movie or two, and your pajamas was all you wanted as long as it was in the company of your boyfriend.

When Jake saw just how exhausted you were after your last round of classes for the day, he knew that a night in was exactly what you needed.

“I am so full right now,” Jake sighs as he sinks further into the leather cushions of your couch.

You scoff, following suit. “I have never seen someone devour so many crab wontons at once.”

Jake laughs, nudging you gently in the side. “You’re one to talk. One second I was grabbing some chow mein, the next the entire box was empty!”

Joining in on his laughter, you slide underneath his arm and muzzle into his side. With a tight arm holding you in place.

He feels your body get a little heavier in his arms and he looks down to see your eyes already fluttering shut. Jake traces a finger lightly down the bridge of your nose. You scrunch your nose in that adorable way that he loves and he presses a kiss to your head with a heart full of love.

You intertwine your fingers with his that lay gently on your belly.

“I thought you wanted to watch that new true crime documentary,” he comments.

You shake your head. “Too tired.”

“Alright, sleepy head, let’s get you to bed.” Jake tries to get up but your arms squeeze tighter around his waist.

“No, stay,” you whine. In any other circumstance you would’ve felt pathetic. But your boyfriend was just too comfortable and warm that you didn’t want him to move.

Jake settles back into his position, hesitantly. “Bob and Mickey are gonna kill me if they find me asleep here.”

“Oh, please, they let Javy sleepover all the time.”

“You sure?”

“Promise. Now shhh… I’m trying to sleep,” you mumble into the skin of his neck.

A hushed chuckle leaves Jake’s lips as he gives you a soft peck on the forehead. “Love you, Ace.”

You sigh happily in his embrace. “Love you more, Seresin.”

Jake waits until he feels your breath even out before finally closing his eyes. He could never fall asleep before you, always one to make sure you were safe and sound first.

“Not possible,” he finally whispers into the night.

Had you been awake to hear him, he knows you’d argue with him until your throat goes dry. Jake finds it endearing how adamant you are that you love him more. You could argue all day about it. He doesn’t doubt that you love him, he just thinks there’s no way you could love him more than he loves you—his perfect girl.

Knowing he got the last word in your playful little argument, though unfairly, Jake finally allows himself to drift off into a restful sleep.

tgm taglist: @joaquinwhorres @harrycherrylove @smoothdogsgirl @t-nd-rfoot @dempy @ollyoxenfrees @potato-girl99981 @averyhotchner @2guysonascooter @loveforaugust @blue-aconite @fandom-life-12 @stiles-banshees @iamdannyday @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @breezemood @eli2447 @angelbabyange @finelytaylored @pono-pura-vida @hecate-steps-on-me @blueoorchid @aviatorobsessed @blackwidownat2814 @hallecarey1 @averagereader35 @laneylovesglen @atarmychick007 @kajjaka @urfavelocagirl @clancycumber230 @memeorydotcom @kmc1989 @percysaidnever

#jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x f!reader #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin x you #hangman x reader #hangman x f!reader #hangman x y/n #hangman x you #college!au #frat!jake seresin x reader #hangman x ace 📚#loving you universe #demxters writing

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southernbluebellereader · 2 years ago

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Can i request for a family trip with captain price x fem reader and the task force 141 going on a trip to disneyland and price and reader being ultimate parents mode and they also act like a old married couple and the task force teases them about it 👀

Family Day

Captain John Price x F! Wife Reader acting like a old married couple

Warnings: Some cursing, Price being Dad, Task Force 141 being absolut children. Mention of death.

Master List (Tag List at the bottom)

A/N: OMG THIS THIS THE CUTEST THING I'VE EVER SEEN. I LOVE IT. I'm gonna make the reader a civilian because for some reason that makes more sense to me? I hope you like it though! Thank you so much!!

"Simon, baby, your face paint is not sunscreen," You sigh as you beckon him to come closer to you as you pull out a baby wipe out of your pocketbook.

"Bu-"

"Ah! No buts, no cuts, no coconuts! You ain't leaving this room until I get this off of you. C'mere."

Simon did as he was told and leaned forward, letting you, Mrs. Price, wipe the black face paint he habitually put on nearly every day. Johnny snickered as he watched you wipe Simon's face. Annoyance radiated from his body.

"Oh hush, Johnny! Didn't you burn your ears on your last mission?"

Johnny stopped laughing, mumbling under his breath.

"Hey!" Johnathan shot at Johnny, then chuckled, "Don't burn your ears off, Johnny."

Kyle was looking around the hotel room, scratching his head, "Anyone seen my hat?"

Simon and Johnny let out a 'dunno' in unison, making you and Johnathan sigh in unison, "Didn't you wear it when we got here?" he asked.

"Yeah bu-"

"You mean this one?" You held the hat in your hand, smiling. Kyle thanked you and put it on. Johnathan rounded everybody up as you packed extra sunscreen, snacks, and water.

---

How you and Johnathan managed to bring three adult soldiers to Disney World, neither of you know. But all of you are here. Johnny wanted to go on every ride. Simon refused to take pictures with Mickey Mouse. Kyle thought it was too hot.

"Simon, please, it's just one picture. You like Mickey Mouse!" You begged and pleaded. Johnathan chuckled as he held the camera. Kyle and Johnny whined. You eventually pulled Simon by the arm and placed him beside the person dressed up as Mickey Mouse.

You looked up at Simon and adjusted his collar, "Just one picture, that's all I'm asking for, aight?"

"Yes, ma'am," he mumbled and took a deep breath. You gave him a reassuring smile, "I promise you won't regret it, sweetheart. I know it's a little overwhelming, but we gone go eat soon."

You went back to your husband, letting him take a few pictures of the boys, trying to encourage them to smile. Such an odd sight. You and Johnathan and his stupid hat that he insisted on bringing with him, he almost had a fit at the airport security when he had to take it off to run it through the x-ray.

But here you were, in front of Cinderella's Castle at Disney World, trying to convince three grown super soldiers to at least not whine in order to get a picture with Mickey Mouse.

Once finished, Kyle started complaining that he was hungry.

"Alright, alright. Let's go get something to eat," Johnathan gave you the camera and waited until you'd put it in your pocketbook before wrapping an arm around your shoulder, following Simon, Johnny, and Kyle in the direction of whichever restaurant they wanted to eat at.

Out of nowhere, you started laughing, then sighed.

"What?" Johnathan inquired, smiling at you, his beloved wife.

You wrapped an arm around his waist and looked up at him, "Oh Johnathan. What are we going to do with these boys?"

"You tell me. You're the one mothering them."

"What'd you just say? Who was the one who suggested to go to Disney World?" Both of you chuckled.

"It was Kyle actually."

"And somehow all of them, including you, forgot sunscreen, Johnathan."

They looked back up and saw the three musketeers standing by one of the smaller restaurants, waiting for you and Johnathan.

"Quit acting like oldies and get in here," Johnny crinkled his brows in hunger as he rubbed his stomach.

"Did you just call my wife old, MacTavish?" John playfully spit back.

"W-what?" Blushing, Johnny apologized and scratched the back of his head, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Price."

"Oh it's ok, Johnny, I forgive you." You rub his cheek gently.

Once the five of you arrived to the front of the line, suddenly the four men forgot how to order.

"Oh my God, you can't possibly be serious?" Mumbling under your breath, you turn to the restaurant worker, "I'm sorry for my husband our boys, but can we get started with some appetizers."

Our Boys. That's what you called them. Johnny, Kyle, and Simon looked at each other for a moment, then back at Johnathan. Johnathan just smiled and gave them a reassuring nod. They were your boys. Whenever you could, you sent Johnathan with copious amounts of food - most of it not allowed on the base - so that he and your boys could eat good food.

Sometimes you'd visit the base and bring food. You'd do their laundry. You'd clean up after them. If you were there, they wouldn't go to the doctor, they'd go to you for injuries - despite the amount of times you scolded them for it.

Sometimes when you happened to be on the base and sit in on a meeting and Johnathan would raise his voice at one of them, you'd chime in and say, "Excuse me? Why are you yelling at him? He did his best." The rest of the conversation would go as follows:

"Yes, I know, sweetheart. But this is important that they know they can't make mistakes-"

"Ok but there's no need to yell, Johnathan."

Johnathan would pinch his nose and sigh. Kyle and Johnny tried their absolute best not to snicker, but would be met with Johnathan yelling at them some more. "Why are you laughing right now?" Simon would just stand there in awe. His mask luckily covered enough of his face to hide it. He honestly didn't think that Johnathan could've ever met a woman like you - someone who could talk back to him and scold him, as if Johnathan wasn't a Captain of a military test force.

You always went above and beyond for them, whenever and however you could. You all reminded them of home - or what home could've been. Johnathan and you were those very few people who'd seen Simon's face. Around you, he could be Simon. You reminded him of his own mother. And sometimes you'd ask him about his own mother. Not to get information out of him, just to make sure she's taken care of. You were the first to notice a change in him when his mother passed. You had a silent bond with him that he truly appreciated.

---

By the end of the day, the five of you were spent. You all returned back to your hotel room. There were way too many blankets and pillows on the floor in front of the TV.

You stood in the bathroom doorway, brushing your wet hair as you watched the your boys scroll through the TV channels while all laying on the floor of blankets and pillows. Johnathan comes up behind you and hugs your waist, resting his head on your shoulder.

"What're you thinking about, Y/N?" He whispered.

You kissed his cheek and placed a hand on his cheek, caressing it gently, then looked back at the scene in front of them.

"Would you want a Mini-141?"

Johnathan turned his head and looked at you in awe - no, shock.

You waved your hand in front of him, "Oh, not now! When we get home."

The both of you chuckled, making the three men turn their heads and look at the both of you.

"What are you talking about?" Johnny dared to ask.

You blushed and started giggling, Johnathan blushed slightly shot back at Johnny, "Shut up, Johnny!"

"What? I just-"

"Johnny, be quiet and pick a movie!" Simon voiced in annoyance, making the Scotsman mumble under his breath.

As they returned to the movie, you and Johnathan went back into the bedroom, picking a movie of your own. You occasionally looked up at your husband as he watched the movie, thinking about all the things that happened today. You wanted a family with him. But it was hard to start one with how often Johnathan had to leave. But you think that today was a glimpse of what having kids would be. And you couldn't wait to get home to begin that chapter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TAG LIST

@ateliefloresdaprimavera @galagcica @sweetybuzz25 @wisedinosaurpolice @itsasecrets-things @ronbon @lieutenantlashfaz @piper570 @shuttlelauncher81 @thanksbutno98 @gabriellathegreat

#cod #cod request #call of duty #captain John price #John price #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty mw2 #call of duty mw #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #cod mw2 #Johnathan price #captain Johnathan price #captain price #price x reader #John price x reader #captain John price x reader #captain price x reader

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ang3lik · 2 years ago

Note

congrats on 1k bae!!!

💡

Mickey Altieri

69 🤭

📜 | RED. mickey altieri

[ AFTER ] : sender has just impulsively and passionately kissed the receiver without any warning nor apparent reason. how does the receiver respond? warnings: murder, death and blood. w/c: 353

scream masterlist main masterlist

mickey stood above sidney, her body laying limp as he had finished slashing at her with his knife. he lifted his mask for the second time that night, as he looked towards your stiff body only a few metres away. you had just watched him kill sidney, watching on in horror as she screamed for your help.

you were unable to move forward, your feet cemented to the ground. mickey stepped forward quietly, his shoes scuffing the stage as he held his hands out forward, approaching you cautiously, still wary of your reaction. your glossy eyes darted towards him a mixture of despair filled with something mickey couldn’t decipher filled the tears at your waterline.

he looked over your body, checking for marks, his eyes catching the red streaks of blood, splattered across your skin. his tongue slipped out, wetting his lips as he looked at your face again. doe eyes stared back at him in questioning and to mickey surprise, admiration too.

you looked down to his hands, free from the gloves he had pulled of a a few seconds before coming closer. the red liquid pooled in the palms of his hands, still dripping of the tips of his fingers as he raised them to your face. he held you gently, keeping eye contact ad he smeared stains across your face.

his thumb trailed your lower lip, pulling it down gently as his eyes followed his movements. your breath hitched as your tongue moved slightly, catching a lick of the iron taste from the tip of his thumb. a quiet whine sounded from the back of your throat as he smirked, his eyes darkening as he caught on to your fascination.

his face rushed towards yours fast, his lips colliding with yours as he pushed closer. his tongue teased your lips as you let him in. his tongue battled yours, a coppery taste seeping in from the sides of your lips as he pulled away. a string of crimson dropped from in between you both as he spoke in a hushed tone.

“you know red really does look good on you.”

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princessmisery666 · 2 years ago

Text

Fries, Goodbyes & The Rest Of Our Lives

Summary: Being stood up isn’t always a bad thing.

Warnings/Genre etc.: Fluff, lousy singing.

W/C: 2k

Characters: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw, Mentions/Small Parts: Natasha ‘Phoenix’ Trace, Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia, Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd, Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, Harvard.

Pairing: Rooster x Fem!Reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

Notes: I saw this post on Instagram, and it immediately made me think of Rooster. Songs: Is This Love by White Snake, Can’t Take My Eyes Off You by Frankie Valli.

A/N: the wonderful and brilliant @writercole helped with ideas, summary, and title and helped make the muses comply.

Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch

Master Lists: Top Gun: Maverick // All The Fandoms

Fries, Goodbyes & The Rest Of Our Lives

It’s been a week. It’s not even worth listing all the things that went wrong. The icing on the cake (presumably made with salt and not sugar - cause it's that kind of week) was your date canceled on you as you took a seat at a booth in the diner.

You sigh as the waitress comes to take your order, accepting that you’ve been stood up and decide you may as well eat since you’re already there.

“I’ll take a cheeseburger, side salad, no tomato, extra dressing, please.”

The elderly waitress smiles. It’s comforting and sweet. Her name tag says Pattie, and you imagine her grandkids get overly excited whenever Granny Pat visits. “You want the fries with that?”

You ponder for half a second before declining, “No thanks.”

“You sure, hun? They’re included in the price.”

You had dirty Cajun fries from the food cart outside the office at lunch. You know the diner’s fries won’t taste as good, besides you want to leave room for dessert, so you politely decline again.

“I’ll take them, Pattie!”

You twist in the booth to look over your shoulder and find the source. A handsome guy sitting at the bar, wearing a light yellow floral print shirt, smiles and gives a two-fingered wave. You’d clocked him when you’d entered. You’d caught his eye too, and he’d given you a broad smile. His mustache was a flashback to a decade or two ago, but he wore it well. He carried it with a sense of pride and confidence. It looked good on him. Anyone else, you’d have thought it was creepy.

“Hush now, boy,” Pattie scolds, but she’s smiling when she turns back to face you.

You chuckle, nodding toward him, “He’ll take the fries.”

Pattie takes your menu and disappears to the kitchen. You look at Mr. Mustache, who tips his beer bottle to you before bringing it to his lips.

You grab your phone and message the “No Scrubs” group.

You: Stood up again. Where you guys at?

Cole: At that navy bar I was telling you about. Come meet us.

You: I’ve just ordered dinner. Will see how I feel after.

You scroll social media while you wait. Pattie comes by a few times, brings cutlery and sauces, and refreshes your drink.

You hear the bell ring to signal an order’s ready, and your mouth waters when you see Pattie heading toward you. The burger looks delicious. The brioche bun glistens under the lights as the cheese melts over the edge onto the plate. It's so tall there’s a wooden skewer through the top to keep it in place, and the fries are fat and look perfectly crispy.

Pattie sets the plate down, “Enjoy, sweetheart,” and you swallow before drool slips out.

Just as you pull the skewer out of the burger, you hear, “Those are mine, remember.”

You laugh, twisting to look at him again. He’s got a cheerful smirk, but his brow is raised as if challenging you. “Why don’t you join me?” you offer.

He grabs his beer and twists off his stool. The smile remains while he saunters over, and you can’t take your eyes off him, admiring the sway of his hips. He’s confident in an almost bashful way. The open floral shirt shows a white shirt beneath it, and the contrast against his tanned skin looks as edible as your burger.

“Tell me,” he says, grabbing a fry and biting off the end. “What kind of psychopath doesn’t have fries with their burger?”

You shrug, “The same kind that offers to take a stranger's fries.”

“Touché,” he chuckles.

You laugh, explaining, “I had fries at lunch and want dessert.”

He nods as if now understanding your logic. “Ah, she’s got a sweet tooth.”

“I’ve heard that the chocolate malt here is the best in the state. I can’t pass that up,” you grin.

“Well, that is true,” he shrugs, popping another fry into his mouth. “Make or break question here, whipped cream on top of the shake?”

“I fear this will affect our budding friendship,” you tease, “but ab-so-lutely whipped cream on top of the shake. Among other places,” you wink.

His boldness flounders for half a second, recognizing he’s met his match, but he recovers quickly. Wetting his lips and giving a cheeky smile. “Are you flirting with me?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“I don’t see a ring, and you’re here alone. Are you single?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes, I’m definitely flirting with you.”

His smile widens and remains while the conversation flows and the two of you eat. Flirtations and laughter pass back and forth effortlessly.

Your phone chimes with another message, and you see the ‘No Scrubs’ group chat has two unread messages. You don’t want to be rude and pick it up to reply, but you know if you don’t, they’ll likely call to make sure you’re okay.

“Somewhere else you need to be?” he asks, a hint of disappointment in his voice that he attempts to hide behind a sip of beer.

“No, just some friends trying to get me to go meet them at some Navy bar.” You roll your eyes and type a quick ‘maybe’ before locking your phone, setting it face down on the table.

“Navy bar? The Hard Deck?” he questions, tilting his head to the side.

“I think that’s what Cole said. Do you know it?”

“That’s actually where I’m headed after. I could give you a ride. If you need one, that is.”

“I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Bradley, but my friends call me Rooster.”

“Rooster?” you laugh. “Please tell me there’s a good story there.”

“There might be. I guess that depends on if you want to hear it.”

“How about you tell me on the way to the bar?”

The open window lifts your hair slightly, and every time Rooster gets a hit of your perfume, he inhales deeply, savoring it.

He sticks to the speed limit, if not a little below it. He’s not quite ready to say goodbye to you. He’s never had such an instant, effortless connection with someone, and he wants to make it last as long as possible.

You’d laughed at the story about his name. You’d have never guessed that it was a nickname his uncle gave him when he was a kid. The radio is playing at a low volume, but as soon as the opening bars of Is This Love by White Snake start, you lean over and crank the volume as loud as it will go, singing along as if he isn’t there.

“Is this love that I'm feeling?” you sing, holding a pretend microphone. “Is this the love that I've been searching for? Is this love, or am I dreaming? This must be love. 'Cause, it's really got a hold on me. A hold on me.”

You can’t hold a tune, and your voice cracks a few times, but still, you belt it out with vigor, and Rooster thinks he may be falling in love. Did Pattie put something in those fries?

“Sorry,” you say, settling back into your seat, “that’s one of my favorites.”

It’s one of my favorites now too. But he doesn’t say it. Instead, he laughs, “I never would’ve guessed.”

“Are you not a car karaoke kinda guy?” you ask. “You seem like you like to sing along.”

“I’ve been known to hold a few car concerts,” he admits, “but I didn’t want to interrupt your flow.”

“Can you sing as good as me?”

He looks at you and sees the jesting expression. You know you can’t sing, and you don’t care one little bit.

“I’d love to serenade you,” he says, “but unfortunately, we’re here.”

“Some other time?” you ask, and he swears you sound hopeful.

Rooster opens the Hard Deck door, and as soon as he hears the hustle and bustle from inside, he wishes he’d suggested you stay at the diner. Holding the door open, he gestures for you to enter first, and you smile a thanks as you pass by.

You stop a few feet inside, scanning the room as he stands beside you. This is the one time he hopes Hangman is being himself and has, by some miracle, coaxed your friends over to the group so Rooster has an excuse to keep talking to you.

“Those are my friends over there,” you say, dashing all his hopes as you point to the pool tables on the opposite side of the room.

“I’m over there,” Rooster says, pointing to where the Dagger squad is assembled.

“Thanks for the ride.”

“Thanks for the fries.”

“Anytime.”

“Enjoy the rest of your night.”

“You too.”

There’s a pause, neither of you knowing what to do. You rise to the tips of your toes, and he dips to let you place a gentle kiss on his cheek.

His cheeks quickly flush, hearing the jeers, shouts, and wolf whistles, but you drop back down with a laugh.

“Sorry,” he says. “They’re a bunch of idiots.”

He scolds himself for being an idiot as you walk away. He should invite you over or ask for your number, but he’s suddenly tongue-tied. He stares at you, frozen to the spot, long enough to see your friends turn to look at him as you settle into your seat.

Throughout the night, flirtatious glances are passed back and forth, and smiles exchanged when they linger. Of course, it’s Hangman who notices the consequence of Rooster’s error.

“Looks like you lose again, Rooster,” the blond pilot remarks, a way too smug grin showing off his perfectly white teeth. “Too snug on that perch, and Harvard is gonna take your lady right out from under your beak.”

Rooster doesn’t care if it proves Hangman’s point. He looks directly at you. Harvard is whispering in your ear. You're smiling, but Rooster thinks it's more of a polite, courteous smile than genuine interest.

But it’s the kick he needs to take action. He looks to Phoenix, Bob, and Mickey, almost pleading, “I need your help.”

Phoenix nods once, Bob smiles, and Mickey asks, “What?”

“He wants to do the Goose move,” Phoenix explains without Bradley needing to tell her any more.

“What’s the Goose move?”

“It’s the move his Dad did to get his Mom,” Bob says.

“I don’t know what that is,” Mickey shrugs.

“Technically, we've been doing it for years,” Rooster says, “it’s just that this time, it involves my future wife.”

“So, no pressure,” Bob gulps.

“Relax. I’ve got a plan,” Phoenix winks, gesturing for the three guys to come closer.

Harvard doesn’t seem all that smart, and you wonder if it's an ironic nickname or callsign, as Rooster had explained. Harvard certainly doesn’t understand body language. You’ve tried, unsuccessfully, to put some distance between you three times. The third time he slides his arm around your shoulders.

Before you can shrug, his arm slips off, and suddenly, a pretty brunette woman is in his place. “Hi,” she says brightly, her back to a flustered-looking Harvard. “I’m Phoenix, and this is Fanboy. We’re friends with Rooster.”

Butterflies dance in your stomach. Before she can say anymore or you have a chance to wonder why he’s sent his friends to rescue you, the jukebox cuts off, and a collective groan echoes around the room.

“That was supposed to happen,” Phoenix smiles. Fanboy is speaking quietly to Harvard, and he doesn’t seem happy about whatever is being said, but you're grateful for the interruption.

There’s a soft twinkling from a piano somewhere in the room, and after a few more notes, you find the source. Phoenix continues, “That’s Bob, and you’ve met Rooster.”

Your eyes drift up from the piano player and land on Bradley, fingers tapping the wooden top, while Bob continues to find the right melody.

Rooster’s eyes are locked on you, a shy smirk lifting the corner of his mustache.

“Thanks for the save,” you say to Phoenix but keep your eyes on Rooster.

“Well, it wasn’t the actual intention, but Harvard can be a bit…” she trails off.

“Thick?”

“That’s a good word for him,” she laughs.

The bright random notes turn into a clear, rich melody that flows through the room moments before the smooth baritone of Rooster’s voice fills the air. “You’re just too good to be true. Can’t take my eyes off of you.”

Damn, he can sing!

Taking the lyrics literally, he doesn’t avert his eyes while he serenades you. You feel Phoenix’s hand at your elbow, but you can’t look away from the gorgeous man belting out a song just for you. Only when he draws closer do you realize she’s guiding you to him.

The bar is packed, and the crowd gathers around the piano, but somehow Rooster is always in your line of sight, and then Fanboy is in front of you, splitting the crowd to let you through.

It feels surreal but magical when somehow there’s a clear path straight to Rooster. It looks like an aisle leading to an altar, and the man that awaits you has been sent from the heavens because he’s gorgeous, kind, funny, and clearly has a talent for commanding a room. You wonder what else you could uncover, given some time.

“At long last, love has arrived,” Rooster sings as you reach his side. Phoenix slips away as you reach for Bradley’s outstretched hand.

Definitely an altar, and you’ll happily worship here for eternity. Interlocking your fingers with his, he pulls you against him. “Now that I found you, stay,” it’s more than a song, it's a question, and you nod.

Slowly, he inches closer, and the crowd takes over, singing the chorus, when his lips connect with yours and the world melts away.

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averagewriter-inthedark · 2 years ago

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My Heart Will Go On 🤍 | Bradley Bradshaw Imagine | Titanic AU

Set where Bradley falls in love with a first class passenger aboard Titanic

TGM Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: third class!Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x first class!female reader (romantic), Natasha Trace x Jake Seresin (romantic), Robert Floyd, Mickey Garcia, Reuben Fitch, Javy Machado, OCs for family members.

Content Warnings: fluff, major angst, profanity, classism and mentions of sexism & misogyny, historical event disaster, death, emotional, light smut-Minors DNI! | female!reader (she/her) wc: 18.3k (this is long be warned)

Requested 📨 yes/no (rules for requests)

Premise: On Wednesday April 10th, 1912, RMS Titanic set sail from Southampton, England on her maiden voyage to America. She carried thousands of passengers from across the world, including 21-year-old American socialite Y/n L/n. No one could have predicted the outcome the ship they said was unsinkable would endeavor. And for Y/n, never did it come to her she’d be boarding a ship with a path of leading her to her soulmate.

Note: Y’all I literally was a MESS during the final few scenes I wrote—I literally had to stop because I was crying. It didn’t help I was playing the Hymn of the Sea and My Heart Will Go On and envisioning the scenes as I wrote them. It was too much really—and I always cry at the end of the movie so it felt the same. Please not this is NOT an exact retelling of the movie plot, i referenced a lot but also did research on the real story of titanic (for example how it was a moonless night so it was very dark). Anyway I’m sorry if this made you a mess like it did to me….we can cry together.

———————————-

1958

“Grandma, can you tell us the story about how you met Papa?”

Crickles rose next to her eyes when she softly smiled, bringing the bed sheet up to tuck in the children. Only the dim light from the candle lit the room. Down the hall, the faint sound of Frank Sinatra’s “Fly Me To The Moon,” on the record player could be heard. She didn’t even hear her daughter, the children’s mother, come in.

“Honey, you both need to sleep,” the woman knew the subject was a sore one for her mother and father, despite being why they met. In her nearly forty years of life, she’d only heard the story first hand from them once. Any other information was the lectures in history class of the historical tragedy. “We have a long drive ahead of us tomorrow so you need to be well rested,” her look was scolding, causing the children, ten and twelve, to pout.

“Pleaaase.”

“Amelia.”

“It’s only half past eight, mama.”

“Yeah, please just one story,” Rebecca pleaded with her sister, “You said they met on a boat like the one we went on last summer!”

Their mother hushed them, “No, I said they met on a ship—that’s very different from the little steamboat your uncle and aunt have.” Her voice goes lower, careful to not to disturb her father from down the hall, “and what did I tell you about asking such things?”

“Sweetheart, it’s alright,” the older woman finally stepped in, casting a soft look to her daughter.

She didn’t look convinced, aware of the painful memories the story would bring up. Losing friends and family so suddenly on what was supposed to be the journey of a lifetime. “Mom…..”

“Trust me, Cynthia, it’s okay. You need not to worry about me,” she turns to her grandchildren who appear confused and a little ashamed for causing their mother to scold them. “I think it’s time these little ones get a little history lesson about your father and I. How the Bradshaws came to be.”

“Are you sure?” Cynthia stepped further into the room. She didn’t want to admit it, but she too wanted to hear the story again. The first time had been when she was eighteen, confronting her parents after she found newspaper clippings and the ticket for a first class passenger reading her mother’s name, Y/n L/n, stashed away in a box when they were moving. That’s when they sat her down at the table detailing everything from start to finish.

By the time her parents finished telling the story Cynthia was in a puddle of tears. She understood why her parents always had a haunted look in their eyes whenever April 14th rolled by. It never left them until the 16th, since the 15th was just as significant. Her older sister by eight years, Caroline, warned her to refrain from asking their parents about how they met and she soon realized why. After doing the math, her sister’s birthday was exactly nine months to the day, born on the 14th of January in 1913.

As she got older Cynthia met more children like her. Those whose parents, grandparents, uncles, and aunts were among the nearly 2,300 passengers and crew aboard. Children whose family members survived had the same look when the anniversary passed. Just like Cynthia’s parents.

“Mom,” she took a seat on the armchair in the corner of the room, “I don't want you to relive it if it’s too much.”

“I appreciate your concern, honey,” Y/n smiled at her, “but I’ve learned to cope and manage. Your father has too,” she watched Cynthia visibly relax. “In fact, he and I have talked about it a few times since you left home. And I promise to keep it short—and not go into detail about….you know,” she didn’t have to explain further for Cynthia already knew what she implied.

With a nod from her daughter, Y/n adjusts her position so she’s seated more comfortably, allowing the children and Cynthia to see her better. “To tell you the story of how Papa and I met,” she begins, the flicker of the candlelight reflecting against her. “We have to travel back forty-six years. To April tenth, nineteen-twelve…..”

“Hurry, Y/n, we’re gonna be late for check-in!” Her father shouted from in front of her, moving at a fast pace with her mother and younger brother. Clutching a bag in each hand, Y/n tried not to trip while apologizing left and right to people she bumped with. The dress she had on was tight, the skirt brushing against her ankles and Y/n wished she opted out of wearing the pillbox hat her mother insisted she wore.

“Sorry!” She said when she caused a man to drop his basket of apples. “I’m so sorry!” As much as she wanted to help she couldn’t, the whistle of the luxurious ship sounded off in the near distance, resulting in more stress to consume her. Her family was supposed to be dropped off right in front of the dockway, but due to a rough start in the morning they ended up getting caught in traffic just before the turn into the lot. Now they were running with little time until the ship would set off for Cherbourg, France, the first of two stops before sailing to New York.

It wasn’t a classy sight for such a wealthy family. Surely their fellow first class passengers were watching them with disapproval. But then again they always did.

The L/n’s were not your average high class family. While the majority of the first class aboard came from generations of money, Y/n’s father built his real estate business in New York from the ground up after being in the working class for thirty years. They were what you would call ‘new’ to the high class scene and still did things working class people did. She and her brother went to public schools instead of private institutions. They didn’t have an army of maids and butlers in their home, her mother preferring to do the housework herself. Y/n was in her last semester of NYU with passions of being a writer. And her father was very involved in his business despite making it big to the point he could just hire a bunch of people to run it for him.

To them, money was a privilege that could easily be taken away at any point. They were humble in their wealth, sharing it by putting resources into the low income neighborhoods they once lived in. Unlike their newfound peers who’d rather stockpile it away for safekeeping.

Yeah, even with money you hide away from judgment.

Out of breath already, Y/n finally reached the corner her parents had just turned to arrive at the docking platform. There was no stopping the awe-struck expression in face the second her eyes landed on the giant vessel. The smell of fresh paint struck her nose, gaze drifting to the large lettering that sent chills along her arm.

Titanic.

The rumors did no justice when describing the beauty of the ship. Titanic was magnificent. She wondered if her parents were as captivated as she was.

“Y/n! Come one!”

Scratch that thought. Maybe they weren’t.

Picking up the pace, Y/n hauled up onto the platform with her ticket in hand, amazed she didn’t drop it in the chaos.

“Ticket please,” the man dressed in a White Star Line uniform said with his hand out. Her parents and brother were standing off to the side, now taking in the beauty of the ship since they made it on time.

Handing over the paper, the man read over her information and stamped it, allowing her to pass where another man was waiting to escort them to their suite. Settling in Y/n unpacked her gowns and nightwear, hanging them up to prevent wrinkles. Makeup and what little jewelry she had filled the vanity, school books claiming the nightstand. When she finally finished her back hit the bed with an audible huff of relief, sinking into the mattress adorned with fine silk sheets.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” her father said when he found her just a short moment later. “Lunch will be served and my colleague wishes for us to join him and his son. He’d like for the two of you to meet.”

Instantly Y/n bolted up from the bed, suspicious in her eyes, “Why?” There was no denying the possible reason. At 21 years old, finding a suitor to settle down with was expected of her. Personally Y/n wanted to focus on her studies. Not finding a husband. Her parents never pressured her to find someone, but now it seems her father was suggesting such.

Her mother comes into the room, wearing the same expression as her. Her eyes go straight to Y/n’s father, “I told you, I don’t like that man—nor his son. He has no respect for you and you know that!”

“I know that, dear,” he sighs, exhausted in his tone. “Believe me I’m very aware. Look, I’m not trying to set her up on my own accord—in fact, I’ll be happy to decline a proposal if that is what he’s seeking. But he invited us to have lunch with them and I accepted because that’s how things are done. Honey,” he faces Y/n, giving her an assuring gaze, “I’m not pressuring you into anything. Okay? If I said no to this he’d likely pester the entire journey to America and I did not want that for us. So please, give me an hour of your time to get through this meal? Bore the man if you have to so he’s less interested.”

Y/n was eternally grateful she was blessed with a father who did not engage in the typical high class behaviors. Any other man would be presenting her hand in marriage like an auction. She’d seen it with the few friends she’d made. It always started with a ‘meeting’ arranged by the fathers of two people and before they knew it a rock was on the girl's finger.

Her father respected her. He warned her before she sat at the table and found out for herself. Even given his blessing to scare the man off or assuring he’d say no to a proposal. Not many fathers would do that.

“Thank you for telling me in advance, dad. I’m starving too so let’s get this over with,” she makes a face, knowing what he was going to ask of her next. “And I promise to watch my tongue.”

That didn’t last long. She knew the second she sat at the table it wouldn’t. Not only was her father’s colleague the most arrogant man on the planet with no respect for his peers, but his son was as equally the egotistical maniac as he was. Throughout the entire lunch, Y/n didn’t know who exactly was trying to win her affection. Both men seemed to be trying to one up the other. How odd of the father for doing such when it was thought he planned for his son to hopefully become her suitor.

Not the case really.

One comment from Richard to undermine her intelligence had Y/n bolt from the table with a sneaker remark, disregarding the looks of disdain from the two men and others. Her parents remained invested in their meal, shooting a smirk of approval to their daughter.

“You promised me this would be a mutual agreement!” The man shouted in frustration. Her father simply sipped his champagne.

“I promised no such thing, William. I said your son may meet my daughter, but I made no commitments for her to agree to anything more.”

The fresh air and sound of the sea hit Y/n as she stepped onto the deck, overlooking the rear of the ship where the second and third class decks were. Closing her eyes she took a deep breath before slowly letting it exhale. Men like Willam and Richard were not the first she’d interacted with. Unfortunately most of the male population in high class shared personalities in similar nature.

Egotistical, arrogant, narcissistic. The list goes on. Very little respect for women or those of lesser wealth. Y/n prayed she’d never settle for someone like that. The marriage would be a disaster.

Opening her eyes, Y/n rubbed her hands along the smooth railing before slightly leaning over to get a better look. Murmurs filled her ears, children laughing from the lower decks, the band playing a light melody. It was a pretty scene with the sun high in the sky and seagulls flying overhead. They’d be docking in France soon before stopping in Ireland until finally crossing the Atlantic.

As her eyes drifted over the area, Y/n locked gazes with a man who made no attempt to hide he was staring at her. It caught her off guard, but the young woman couldn’t let but stare herself. He was the most handsome man she’d laid eyes on. Brown hair with almost a golden hue to it. Though it was hard to see the color of his eyes from the distance she assumed they were as beautiful as the rest of him. He was tall—even with the distance she saw in the way he towered over the railing he was beside.

And he was looking at her like she was the only girl in existence.

Blinking, her admiration was cut short by the sound of a cheerful voice shouting, “Y/n!” Spinning around, Y/n was met with the dazzling smile of her best friend, Natasha Trace. Surprise etches her expression.

“Natasha!” The two embrace in a hug. “What—you didn’t tell me you were returning to America. I thought your studies were to finish in London.” Natasha was the only genuine friend Yn had made since her father hit the money pot. Maybe it was because Nat’s family was of humble beginnings like the L/n’s.

“I discussed the potential of finishing the semester early,” Natasha explained, beaming and looking radiant with the way the sun was hitting her. “My father sent a ticket through the post once I told him the news.”

“When was this?” Y/n had recently visited the woman when her family were in London. Her father had a business convention and with the finishing of Titanic, he wanted them to be one of the ships first passengers. During her visit, Nat revealed no indication she’d be joining the maiden voyage to New York.

“Shortly after you departed for Southampton. I only had few exams remaining and my professors were very forthcoming with allowing me to do them early. Plus I missed home. My mother has been writing me daily it seems—waiting for me to come home. I think my father spent all his fortune to get the ticket to me in time.”

“I’m amazed he managed to get one,” Y/n commented, taking her arm in hers as they begin to walk away from the railing, but not before casting a second glance to the man on the lower deck. A swarm of butterflies filled her to see he was still looking at her, his friend having to wave a hand in front of his face as though to pull him from a trance. Another gentleman beside him appeared to be staring at Natasha. She must’ve noticed, a faint blush appeared on her cheeks as Y/n escorted her away. “I heard many had to trade services and goods to get one.”

“I can see why,” Natasha waved to the beautiful vessel surrounding them. “This place is magnificent. Almost as though it were a ship made of dreams.” They continued to walk along the deck, nodding to passengers and crew members who greeted them.

“What are your plans once we arrive home? Off to visit your family I presume?”

“Yes,” Natasha confirms, waving to a small child. “I’ll spend a few days with them—my sisters cannot wait to hear of my adventures in England.”

Y/n hums, turning her head slightly with a knowing gaze, “And what of Alan?” She watched a tired sigh leave Natasha, face becoming defeated.

“He expects an answer from me as soon as I return.”

“Have you thought about it?”

“Of course,” Natasha replies, stopping to face her. “I’ve weighed in the advantages marrying him would bring me and my family—my mother is sure to remind me in every letter she writes. He is kind, generous, not like the other men my father wished me to court.”

“But….” Y/n trails off, eyes sympathetic.

“But,” her friend sighs again, “I do not feel what a woman is supposed to feel for her potential fiance. I can’t bring myself to love him. I like him, Y/n, I truly do. But I’d only be hurting the both of us by accepting.”

“Then tell him the truth,” Y/n tells her, bringing a comforting hand to Natasha’s shoulder. “Alan is an understanding man—you’ve been a friend of his since grade school. I doubt he would fault you for not being able to return his affections. Why subject the both of you to pain and a miserable marriage? What happens if you marry him and then fall in love with another?”

Natasha didn’t answer, glancing to the floor with heat coating her cheeks. Y/n squeezed the shoulder she was touching, “Come, let us have a drink,” she began to lead Nat to one of the many lounges in first class, “Take your mind off things while I tell you all about the father and son I recently had lunch with.”

“That sounds interesting…and a little concerning.”

“Trust, dear friend, it was.”

Later on in the evening, Y/n was pulling Natasha to her room to hand over clothing for her to change into.

“This is a horrible idea, Y/n!” She spoke in a rush, untying her dress and moving to be hidden from view.

“Oh it’s not so bad,” Y/n laughed, tossing the clothing she wore on the bed before pulling on the slacks and shirt. “Have some fun. Were you not the one who wanted to explore the ship earlier?”

“Not by sneaking into the third-class compartments!” She waved a hand like it was obvious, “We’re not allowed down there. What if we get caught?”

“That’s why I told you to have your ticket with you,” Y/n reminded her, placing her own ticket into the pocket of her trousers. “And your identification card. If we get caught we show them and if they still do not believe us I will send for my father.”

“You’re awfully confident about this.”

“Natasha, who’s to say we’ll get the chance to travel this ship again once we dock in America? Let us make the most of it while we can.” Placing a scarf around her neck, Y/n nods for Natasha to follow. “Follow my lead.”

Getting caught by crew members when passing between the class decks was what Y/n was prepared for when she first made the impulse decision to explore the ship. Running into the man she had a staring contest with earlier in the day was not something she had planned for.

“Hello,” she breathed out, hands clutching his biceps when he caught her before she could hit the ground after running straight into him without paying attention. He was even more beautiful up close. Hazel eyes boring into her with a small smile painting his lips. He must’ve recognized her too.

“Hello.”

“I think we lost them,” Natasha caught up to her, equally out of breath before freezing at the sight of the group of six men staring at them like deer in headlights. “Oh…”

“Ladies,” the blonde haired man, who Y/n caught looking at Natasha that afternoon tipped his messenger boy hat at them.

“S-sorry,” Y/n stuttered, flickering between the men but always coming back to the one holding her arms. Finally she broke away, embarrassed to have been seen in such a state. “I should have been watching where I was going—.”

“It’s alright,” he replied, voice as soft as his eyes. “No trouble at all, ma’am. Are you both okay?”

“We’re—.”

“There you are!” A shout captured all’s attention, Natasha and Y/n groaning before shooting apologetic frowns to them. “Stop them!”

“We have to go!” Nat grips onto Y/n’s forearm, pushing her to move. “Y/n, I’d like to make it back home and not be forced off this ship in Ireland!” Frantic sounds of approaching footsteps could be made out by the two crew members pursuing the women.

“We know a way,” the man she had yet to learn the name of suddenly said, holding his hand out. “C’mon.”

Maybe it wasn’t wise for two ladies to be following a group of strangers. But considering they’d be facing the wrath of their parents if caught they impulsively agreed, Y/n’s hand taking his. The blonde offered his to Natasha, the woman looking hesitant before accepting and the two led them away from the deck and towards a corridor. With the remaining of their group following from behind, it made it easier for the crew members to lose sight of them.

Music filled their ears, as did the chatter of a crowd the closer they got to wherever they were taking them. Y/n and Natasha shared a look, equally confused, concerned, and intrigued. When they turned the corner into a spiral stairwell, it revealed the source of the noise. Third-class passengers had gathered what appeared to be a celebration. Children and adults were dancing, drinking beer which had to have been smuggled in. A group of men were playing instruments while couples standing in corners displayed affection to one another.

A smile formed on Y/n’s lips. The energy was contagious, making her want to join in on the festivities. She’d almost forgotten what brought her there in the first place.

“They won’t come down here,” his voice brings Y/n out her thoughts, the young woman remembering she was still holding his hand. It felt warm in her own, bringing a heat to her veins that carried to her face.

“Are you sure?”

“They would’ve been here by now if they were that desperate to catch you two.” Pulling her further in, he and his friend let go of the women. “Apologies for being so forward—didn’t think you two would mind seeing you were in such a hurry.” A couple of the friends they were with already went off to mingle, leaving the four off to the side.

“We should be thanking you really,” Y/n replied, hand moving to run her arm nervously. “You’ve saved us from a load of trouble.”

“Looked like it,” the blonde removed a cigarette from his tin, lighting it with match. Offering one to them only Nat accepted, which would’ve been seen as scandalous to their peers above. “So…what brings a couple of first-class gals below deck?”

The two are instantly flustered, “H-how did you—.”

“Well, for starters there’s the fact we saw you ladies this morning on the first-class deck,” Green eyes drift over to Nat, causing her to blush. “And though you dressed the part to pass as someone like us, anyone could tell from the way you carry yourselves that you belong above.”

They didn’t know whether they should be impressed or offended.

“We wanted to explore the ship,” Y/n admits, arms going behind her back like a child caught doing something they weren’t supposed to. The man she was interested in raised a brow, “By dressing up like third-class passengers?”

Natasha made a sound, muttering, “I warned you this was a bad idea.”

“I realize that now, Natasha.”

“What are we supposed to do?” She groaned, “Wait it out till the sun rises? Or when we dock in Ireland when they’re easily distracted?”

“Do you want me to answer that with a plan or were those rhetorical questions to further prove you were right?” Y/n glanced around the place, aware of her friends' annoyed gaze compared to the men who looked amused. Huffing, Y/n faces them, “It’s come to my attention we have yet to know the names of our saviors. Mind telling us, and anything you could offer to help our situation.” Instantly the two straighten.

“Jake Seresin,” said the blonde.

“Bradley Bradshaw,” his hand extends to formally introduce himself. Y/n shakes it, mirroring the smile he gives her. “And about your situation, I’m afraid you can either attempt to sneak past the guards during shift change or like your friend mentioned, wait till we dock in Ireland.”

“That’ll be just before noon,” Natasha sounded like she didn’t like that option. “Your parents would notice you’re not in your room when it comes time for breakfast. We must return as quickly as possible.”

Bradley tilted his head, “Well if that’s the case then you better off with your chances sneaking past the crew, Miss…..” The trail off in his words made her realize she hadn’t given her name. But then again he may have heard when Natasha said it moments prior.

“Y/n L/n,” his reaction to her name was visible. As was Jake’s when she added, “and this is my friend, Natasha Trace.”

Both men shared a look. “L/n, huh? Like the name of that big building on 21st street?”

“That’s the one,” her lips tightened, ready for the judgment and assumptions about to be thrown at her.

Nat felt the same when Jake added, “And your daddy is the one competing with Rockefeller for king of the oil business. I remember reading something about it in the Times.”

“I wouldn’t go as far as to use the term ‘king,’” she crossed her arms, tilting her chin up with her walls already in place. “And I wouldn’t trust all you read in the papers. My father has high respect for John—he taught him everything he knows.”

Jake raised his hands in defense, “I mean no offense, ma’am. How about you tell me more over a drink?” The look of surprise had the man grinning, Y/n having to bite back a giggle to not embarrass her friend. She gave Natasha an encouraging nod that read, ‘he’s on the make with you!’

“While you two are chatting,” Bradley suddenly cut in, a determined look in his eyes as they set on Y/n. “Would you like to dance?”

“O-oh,” she began to stutter, now in Natasha’s shoes considering she had yet to accept Jake’s offer of a drink. They both were hesitant to agree to the offers. “Uh—shouldn’t we be looking to see when the night guards change shifts?”

“That’ll be towards dawn,” he assured, “plenty of time for you to return to your room before your parents wake.” At her still unsure gaze, Bradley’s voice turned softer, “just one dance. S’all I ask.”

Meeting Natasha’s eyes, who simply nodded in silent exchange, Y/n raised her hand and let it fall into Bradley’s grasp. “One dance, Mr. Bradshaw.”

“Did you really only dance with him for one song, Grandma?” The twelve year old girl, Amelia, was flabbergasted when her grandmother ended the story with, “and we lived happily ever after.” She yearned to hear more.

“That was the plan,” Y/n booped her nose, “but your Papa was a charmer back in the day—still is I should say. One dance became two, and then three. Before we knew it the sun was rising, Natasha and I were in a hurry to return to the first-class deck. Thankfully we made it before anyone could spot us,” lips curl up, a fond memory surfacing in her head, “though to this day I believe my brother knew what we did.”

“How?” Rebecca asked, earning a look from her mother.

Y/n chuckled lightly before responding, “He had that look in his eye that he knew something I didn’t. I never got the chance to ask him if he did,” a sad sigh leaves her, but she quickly masks it to not concern the girls, “but my brother and I had an unspoken connection when we were growing up. Able to know what the other was thinking or trying to imply with little to no words at all.”

“What happened after?” Amelia sat up straight, eyes full of hope. A hopeless romantic, even at a young age, she loved hearing the tales of how people found love. Fairytales were her favorite, where the princess meets the handsome prince and they live happily ever after.

The clock was pushing 9:30, well past the time she and her sister were supposed to be asleep. Amelia believed her mother would’ve stepped in earlier to cut the story short.

And it looked like she was about to do it just then. Standing from the armchair, Cynthia stopped her mother before she could answer, knowing the story was about to take a different turn if it went any further. “I think that’s a story for another day,” her tone was apologetic, but Y/n’s gaze assured her she was right to interrupt. The story would end on a happy note for the girls.

“But—,”

“You mother is right, sweetheart,” Y/n lightly pushed against Amelia’s shoulders to get her to lay down, bringing the sheet back up. Disappointment filled her granddaughter’s expressions, Y/n offering a small smile, “One day, I will tell you both more of my time on Titanic—and how your Papa and I fell in love in those short days sailing the Atlantic. But for now,” she goes to press a kiss to their foreheads, “sleep. We will have breakfast in the morning—I’ll even make French toast for you two.”

Though the girls wanted to hear more, the exhaustion soon took over, both releasing a yawn. Amelia drifted off, picturing Titanic and all its beauty from how Y/n described it, making a mental note to ask to see a picture one day.

Cynthia kissed her daughters goodnight as Y/n blew out the candle, the two exiting the room with Cynthia closing it behind her, leaving it slightly ajar. Approaching the kitchen, Cynthia debated on asking the question on her mind, growing bigger with each second. Everett, her husband of 15 years, had already gone to bed in the guest room they’d been staying the past weekend, leaving her father as the only person other than them still awake.

Y/n was handed her nightly cup of tea from Bradley, the man leaning to kiss her cheek. Sipping the hot contents, she released a sound of content, his arm going around her while he sipped his own. Leaning against the doorway of the kitchen, Cynthia admires the scene in front of her. The look of love in her father’s eyes while he gazed down at Y/n, his own wrinkles adorning his face. Both grayed haired with skin beginning to frail as they approached their 70s.

Cynthia pictured them at 21. Young and carefree with dreams and aspirations. Her mother, a timeless beauty and her father, the handsome charmer. Boarding Titanic to return home after being gone so long, unaware they’d meet their soulmate and experience an event regarded as the deadliest peacetime disasters in history.

They were one of the lucky ones. Surviving when so many were lost, yet they had their fair share of perished loved ones. Cynthia saw it anytime Y/n mentioned her father and brother. Saw it when her father discussed the days he spent with his best friends.

“Little ones finally in bed?” Bradley’s voice removed her from her thoughts, Cynthia nodded when she realized he was asking her.

“Yeah,” she rubbed her arms, “they insisted on hearing a story from grandma.”

“Oh really?” he looked intrigued, peering down at his wife, “which one this time?”

Y/n tightened her mouth slightly, “About how we met.” Instantly his expression changed, but it wasn’t like in the early years where Bradley would shut down at the mere mention of Titanic. Instead a hint of a smile found his lips, knowing it was his granddaughter’s wanting to know how they fell in love.

“Oh,” he hums, shuffling his feet a bit and tightening the hold on Y/n. “What all did you tell them?”

“Up to the morning of the eleventh.” A laugh leaves him, making Cynthia mentally sigh in relief.

“What a night that was,” the memory of him and Jake ushering Y/n and Natasha through the secret pathways they’d found that led straight to first-class replayed in his mind. Peering behind the corridor at the night crew relieving themselves from post, giving only three minutes for the women to cross into the deck without notice. Bradley catching Y/n’s hand before she could leave, “May I see you again, Y/n? If not tonight but the next?” The eye contact between them was intense, desire and what could only be described as the beginning stages of love swarming.

Y/n promised to return, noticing Natasha was promising the same to Jake and handed Bradley the handkerchief she had on her. A kiss to her hand and Bradley watched her go, dragging Natasha away until they disappeared out of sight, leaving the men to avoid being seen as they headed back to the third-class compartments.

“One to remember,” Y/n echoes, leaning more into him. The image of her and Natasha giggling when they made it to her suite flashed in her mind. “I cannot believe that just happened! Oh, Natasha, do you feel what I am feeling? It’s like walking on a cloud!”

“Mom, dad?” Cynthia suddenly spoke, nervous she was about to make them upset by asking the jarring question nagging her brain. When their heads turned the words flew before she could stop them, “Could…could you tell me again about that night?”

Sunday April 14, 1912 started out like any other aboard Titanic. Y/n rose early to accompany her family at breakfast before meeting with Natasha for lunch. Throughout the day they’d reside close to the railing of the first-class deck to oversee the third-class one where Bradley and Jake would wait for them. Subtle looks and waves would be exchanged, the men subjected to howls and whistles from their friends.

In the days leading up she felt like she was living in one of her fairytale novels. The night of the 11th she and Natasha were formally introduced to Mickey, Reuben, Javy, and Bob when they snuck back during the shift change between day and night crew. Y/n enjoyed being with the group. They were funny and outgoing, very different from the men she was usually surrounded by.

Together they’d drink whiskey and smoke cigarettes, dance to the music passengers played and tell tales of their upbringing. Y/n learned Bradley and his friends were all aspiring aviators with backgrounds as mechanics and had grown up in the same neighborhood. He was originally from Virginia and lived in New Jersey with his Godfather after losing his parents to illness when he was sixteen and had no siblings.

Y/n told him about her family, explaining how they were once working class citizens until her father had a leading hand in constructing The National Association of Realtors. Bradley appeared impressed when she told him, finding admiration in those who worked hard for their wealth and not had handed to them on a silver platter. She explained her studies at NYU, dreams of being a writer—a novelist to be more specific, and hobbies of hers such as horseback riding, reading, and writing.

“What type of novels do you wish to write?” Bradley popped some chocolate into his mouth, offering a piece to her which she gladly accepted.

“Thrillers would be interesting to do,” she walked with him along the deck, the sound of the water hitting the ship loud against her ears. Jake had dragged Natasha off God knows where. The others were likely enjoying the company of their new Irish friends they made who boarded during the stop in Queenstown. “A good mystery could be fun. Also who does not like a happily ever after when it comes to love stories?”

“Think this journey may inspire one of the sort?” Bradley’s voice took a different turn, Y/n glancing to see he was already staring at her, a look she could only describe as adoration. It made heat rise in her, butterflies pooling that were threatening to burst from her stomach.

‘Is this what they mean when you’ve fallen in love at first sight?’

Feeling confident, returning the same gaze as Bradley, Y/n replies, “It is too early to say, but if what I feel happening is the same for you…. I find it very well could be.”

That night ended with their first kiss. Shared before the sun rose and Y/n made her leave to her room. Though she was scolded by her mother for missing breakfast due to sleeping in longer than she should have, Y/n didn’t care. The tingling sensation from where Bradley’s lips met hers remained all day, making the young woman yearn for more. A light feeling in her chest as though she was walking on a cloud. It grew stronger with each time she was with Bradley.

Hours were spent together once the night sky took over. Y/n departing for bed right after supper to get a few hours of sleep. When she awoke Natasha was knocking at her door and the two would sneak off—careful not to draw attention to themselves. The night of the 12th Bradley and Y/n crept into the area where the motor vehicles were stored. It was like a candy store for the man, who worked on cars for a living.

They’d play pretend with Bradley acting like Y/n’s driver. “My lady,” he’d say while helping her into the unlocked vehicle. “Why thank you,” her giggle made his heart skip, wishing to hear more of it. Y/n would lean over the seat between them while he leaned back, the two sharing kisses between laughs.

Two young adults living in their own little world. Slowly falling in love as the day turned into night. Each time Y/n left there would be a gaping hole in her heart. Drifting off to sleep with Bradley’s face as the last thing she saw. When the cycle continued on the 13th, all Y/n could think about was coming clean to her family. She could no longer deny there was love between her and Bradley. Despite only knowing each other for three days, Y/n saw his love for her each time they locked eyes. Every little touch had her wanting more. The words he spoke to her were like a poem, her hand itching to write them down so they stayed with her forever.

She wasn’t worried about them judging Bradley for his status. They were once in his position not even a decade ago. Discriminating him for being lower-class would make them hypocrites and just like their peers they criticize on the daily.

Y/n knew her parents wanted her to be happy. Regardless of who or where the person came from, as long as they loved and respected her then Y/n’s parents would accept them. Her happiness was their priority. It was why they constantly turned down marriage arrangements from her father’s colleagues. And when looking at all the qualities Y/n desired in a life-long partner, Bradley possessed all of them.

“Are you going to tell them?” Natasha raised her teacup to her lips, eyes unconscious flickering over the railing to find Jake. They were seated at a table, discussing the feelings rising between them and the men who’ve caught their eyes. Raising her own, Y/n followed her movements and saw Bradley kicking what appeared to be a ball with his friends and some children.

“I don’t know honestly,” she sighed, placing the teacup back on its saucer. Tiny sunglasses framed her face, protecting her eyes from the sun directly in front of her. “Do you plan on telling your family about Jake?” Now it was Natasha's turn to sigh.

“I guess I share the same fears as you. While I believe my father would approve of Jake, I’m scared he will worry too much about his public image. Of my parents, he’s the one with the most hopeful I say yes to Alan’s proposal.”

“Your mother doesn’t want you to marry Alan?”

“She doesn’t want for me to end up like her. Though she grew to love my father eventually, their marriage stemmed from their parents pressuring them,” Natasha’s gaze wandered back over to Jake. “It wasn’t until they had my siblings and I that she felt the love a wife is supposed to have from her husband—and that was because of us. Truth is, Y/n, I don’t think I see myself falling in love with Alan even if we have children.”

“Then be honest with yourself and your parents, Natasha,” Y/n finally said, declining when a server approached with more tea.

Her friend gives a look of challenge, “only if you do the same.”

“I will,” Y/n spoke confidently, before making a face of unease, adding, “when we arrive in New York.”

“And have you discussed this with him yet?” Natasha didn’t have to say Bradley’s name for her to know he was who she was referring to.

“No, but I will bring it up when I see him tonight. We’ve only a few more days till we’re stateside, that gives me time to prepare.”

Y/n was late to meet Bradley that evening due to Richard visiting her unannounced. “Apologies for the interruption this late, Y/n. But do you have a moment?” It took her by surprise, casting a worried glance to Natasha who mirrored it.

“Um, of course. Nat, I’m going to step out for a minute. I’ll be right by the door,” a nod from her friend and Y/n stepped into the corridor, closing the door so it was slightly ajar. “Yes, Richard?”

“I wanted to apologize for my behavior on Wednesday,” the words shocked her, Y/n visibly reacting to them as though she was in disbelief he was actually saying them. “I mean no offense to you and feel as though I was misunderstood in what I was trying to say.” It took every nerve of her to not roll her eyes. Of course he was trying to pass it off as her not understanding him. He was only a few words shy of calling her over dramatic. “If you allow me, I’d like for you to reconsider my proposal of courtship.”

Y/n stated the obvious, “You never offered a proposal, Richard. I took my departure before any proposal could be made.” Naturally he didn’t expect her to point out his flaw, thinking he could get away with gaslighting her into believing she rejected him when in fact there was no rejection at all.

Quickly Richard attempted to improvise, “Well, then allow me to make one now,” he removed his hat, placing it over his chest in a slight bow, “Would you do me the honor of courting you in hopes a beautiful, highly respected marriage may blossom out of?”

Now she was put on the spot, heart increasing well over the average beats per minute. No doubt Natasha was listening in, equally as anxious to hear what Y/n would say. Mentally cursing, Y/n fumbled over her words, “I-I…I must discuss this with my father in the morning. Surely you understand, Richard,” of course she wanted to say no, but without her father with her Y/n feared the outcome. Even with Natasha behind the door, there was no saying Richard could react negatively to rejection. “I cannot give you an answer just yet. B-but you shall have one by tomorrow evening.”

Though Richard obviously didn’t like her answer, he did a job of concealing it, “Of course. It was foolish of me to come so late in the evening—and to assume you’d agree without consultation. Please, take all the time and I look forward to hearing from you tomorrow. Have a good night, Y/n.” Once he was gone, Y/n leaned against her door and released a breath she had been holding, Natasha bolting from her chair with a, “What the hell was that?!”

After explaining in depth the details Natasha couldn’t hear and a much needed vent to cool off, the two finally made their way to the third-class deck just after midnight. They found Jake and Bradley in the meeting spot they’d established, sharing a cigar and asking what took them so long. The nervousness in Y/n’s demeanor worried Bradley, who gently pulled her away to give them privacy, “What’s wrong?” The one question had Y/n spilling everything off her chest. From Richard and his stupid proposal to her wanting Bradley to meet her parents.

“I’m very overwhelmed and don’t know what to do,” she cried, eyes lining with unshed tears threatening to spill. “The man is already acting as though I’ve said yes and there’s no way in hell I am going to end up in a loveless marriage for my entire life—not when you’ve taken claim to my heart, though it seems foolish to think you could fall in love with someone in just three days a-and I worry my family is going to say absurd things about your status when it shouldn’t define you because you, Bradley, are the most perfect man I’ve ever met and I love you—.” Her last words are cut off when Bradley’s lips meet her. Large hands cupping her cheeks, the scuff on his face burning her chin as the kiss turns more passionate. Y/n’s hands fly to his hair, soft curls against her fingertips and the woman letting out a light moan when Bradley slips his tongue into her mouth in what people would call French kissing.

Pressing her chest further into his, Y/n feels his arms fall to her waist, lifting her slightly off the ground all while continuing to keep his lips on hers. The wind brushes through her hair, cool air sending chills along her otherwise flaring skin.

“I love you,” he finally whispers against her lips, saying it once more before retraining them to hers. Nothing is said for the remainder of the night, the two finding claim to a storage room where they make love until dawn. The only sound exchanged are hot pants of breath and sighs, Y/n’s nails digging into Bradley’s back while his arms cradle her like she was made of glass. He brings her to a climax so many times she loses count. Moans grew louder to the point she feared someone would walk by and hear them. Bradley swallowed each with a kiss, holding her hand and becoming lost within her. If cloud nine was what she felt when with Bradley, then at that moment she was experiencing euphoria. Feeling the reminisce of him lingering inside her well after they were done.

Basking in the afterglow, Y/n laid her head on Bradley’s chest and felt his fingers trail along her back, making her release a sound of bliss, “Where are you going when we dock?”

It takes a second for him to answer, sleep threatening to consume the man, “Back to New Jersey with the guys—see my Godfather and probably go back to working in his shop. What about you?”

“My studies end in late May so I will return to school for the time being,” she replied, lifting her head slightly to see into his eyes. They were the same as hers. Content, blissed, overwhelmed with happiness. “After that….I do not know. My father I think wishes for me to assist him and my brother with the business. But I’d like to travel—see different places on my own.”

“You know,” Bradley hums, a smirk forming on his mouth, “New Jersey is only a short drive from New York—actually it’s across the harbor, the ferry will get you there quicker.” Y/n’s own lips curled up.

“Are you implying I come visit you in New Jersey, Mr. Bradshaw?”

“Only a mere suggestion Miss. L/n,” he defended, cheekiness in his tone. He then becomes serious, hand cupping the side of her face, “I don’t plan on letting you go after this. My heart won’t allow it. It won’t go on without you.”

It was probably the most romantic thing Y/n had ever heard. Better than any writing on paper and forever engraved into her mind. “I don’t think mine will either.”

All throughout the 14th, Y/n was in a constant inner battle with herself. Wondering how to approach the topic of Bradley to her parents and declining Richard’s proposal. Once they learn she’s no longer a maiden Y/n worried about what their reaction would be. If her father would make Bradley marry her right then and there—not that she would mind honestly but she didn’t know if Bradley wanted the same.

“What is wrong today, my dear,” Y/n flinched from the sudden intrusion. Coming up beside her was her father, placing a hand on the railing in her typical spot on the deck. Natasha had stepped away to find a powder room, leaving Y/n to herself until her father appeared. “You appear to be in distress. I find it difficult you can be in such a state when you’ve got a view like this,” he gestures with his hand to the scene in front of them. Nothing but the beautiful ocean and clear skies, the scene straight from a painting.

“I am only deep in my thoughts, father,” Y/n fidgeted with the material on her dress sleeves, looking away when she saw Bradley as the memory of that morning flashed in her mind. “Thinking about my studies and what to do after.” She heard her father make a ‘humph’ sound.

“Nothing to do with your little admirer then?”

Instantly her stomach fell, heat flaring within her, eyes wide like saucer. Snapping her head to her father, she found his gaze forward and when she followed it, Bradley stood in her vision. Dread consumed her, quickly trying to play it off, “I-I…I don’t know what you mean.” A chuckle fills her ears.

“Darling, I may be getting old but I still have eyes and ears,” a hand rests on her shoulder, pulling her closer. “Do you not think I’ve noticed a shift in you these last few days? Ever since Wednesday’s luncheon you’ve spent every moment of your time on the deck. The knowing glances between you and Natasha—how you two come to this spot every day and spend hours watching those fellas over there,” he lifts his finger to point in their general direction. Crinkles appear beside his eyes when his lips curl, “Not to mention I checked your room the other night to find it vacant. Then when I went to have my late night cigar, I saw you in the distance creeping out of the stairwell with Natasha—but you weren’t alone. Those fellas were with you..” his voice becomes softer while Y/n’s heart picks up pace. “And I know the face of someone smitten. And that one over there—,” he points directly at Bradley, who stood frozen when he looked up to find them staring at them. “He’s smitten with you, my dear girl. Trust me, I know, it’s how I look at your mother.”

While she felt a sudden rush of calmness from her father’s implied approval, the linger of worry still remained. “Are you upset with me, dad?”

“What for, Y/n?”

“Because…” She struggles to find the words and lets out a sound of frustration. “Ugh—I know you are not one to invest your time in gossip but I still cannot help but worry. About how people will view you and all the work you did to give us this life—with these high expectations of who I’ll marry and for me to—.”

He stops her before she could finish, “do you love him?” She’s taken aback by the question, stuttering at his bluntness.

“It—it’s only been four days—.”

“I knew I loved your mother within two,” he tells her, still smiling to help put her at ease. “But let’s not make it a competition. And you didn’t answer my question. Do you love him, Y/n.”

“I do,” she falls to a whisper, finally answering when she locks eyes with Bradley. She could tell he was worried for her, slight strain in his face as though he was trying to decipher what the two were discussing. Offering a small smile in hopes to show it was all okay, Y/n says, “I think I knew from the moment I laid eyes on him he’d be someone important to me. But then talking to him every night since we departed England has only confirmed what I already know. My heart belongs to him.”

With the seal of approval from her father, Y/n spent the rest of the day avoiding Richard—even hiding when she caught him and his father walking the deck in a hurry, as though they were searching for something. More like someone.

She and Natasha had supper in Natasha’s suite, gushing over their newfound happiness with their lovers. Y/n wrote in her diary every single detail so as to not forget it when she got older, capturing the memories in writing. While braiding Natasha’s hair the two discussed the brunette's plans for when they docked. “I’m going to come clean to my parents,” Natasha declared, trying not to move while Y/n finished with the first of two braids. “Tell Alan I cannot marry him and let him know I’m spoken for. He’ll understand…I hope. And for my father he will learn to accept it if he has any objections.”

“I’m happy for you, Nat,” Y/n smiled at her through the mirror. “Truly I am. You deserve to be happy—and Jake is smitten with you.”

“As is Bradley with you,” Natasha smirked, causing her friend to look away shyly. “Oh don’t be shy about it now! I know what took place this morning.” At Y/n’s horrified expression, Natasha laughed, “You were way more tired than usual when we returned to our room. And I couldn’t help but notice a slight struggle when you walked.”

“Good heavens, Natasha!” Y/n let go of the hair to cover her face with her hands, cheeks hot from embarrassment.

“Was it nice?”

“Are you seriously asking me that?”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” eyebrows wiggled at her, Natasha giggling as Y/n playfully tagged at the braid before moving to the next one. Moving on from the subject the two finished getting ready until it was the typical time for them to leave, silently thanking whoever above that Richard did not find her. She’d have to confront him eventually. It was that or pray she could avoid him the remainder of the journey—which was only a couple more days.

Bradley lifted her in the arm when she met him, capturing her lips in a kiss before placing tiny ones over her face. It made her giggle, his scruff tickling with each kiss. “Everything okay today?” was the first thing he asked, “I saw you and who I assume to be your father this afternoon. Looked to be a serious conversation.”

“He’s aware of our endeavors,” she spoke truthfully, not wanting to lie or sugarcoat the inevitable. At his anxious eyes she was quick to explain, “He knows I’ve been sneaking at night to see you—he caught me returning to my room. He doesn’t know about this morning….” She watched him bite back a smile, her own forming as the memory resurfaced. “But from our conversation, my father has no objections about us. He wishes to meet you once we dock.”

“He does?” His tone was surprised, Y/n nodding to show she was serious.

“Yes. I told him about your work and he was impressed. Is….is that okay with you?” Her voice goes low, fearful of his answer. A hand cupped her face, holding her gaze to his and Y/n felt her heart nearly stop at the love in his eyes.

“I would be honored to meet your father, Y/n. It disappoints me we have to wait, but I would wait longer if it means I get to receive his blessing.” Before she could say anything else he kissed her, thumb brushing over her cheek making Y/n sigh with bliss. There was no way she could let go of Bradley after they arrived in America. Even if her father had disapproved of them she’d find a way to see him.

Chills run along her body causing Y/n to shudder, the air suddenly dropping in temperature. The reaction has Bradley pull away, “Are you getting cold?”

“A little,” she mentally cursed herself for deciding on a dress instead of trousers and a coat. It was one of her old ones from when she was fifteen. It was ivory colored and a little worn out from wearing it so often as it had been Y/n’s favorite until she got the privilege of purchasing high quality clothing. Though a little tight on her figure it still fit rather good on her.

Removing his jacket, Bradley pulled it around her shoulders before fixing her hair and ignored her protests. It was freezing outside, their breath visible. Surely Bradley would freeze to death as his long shirt would do nothing to combat the cold.

“There you go, doll.” Her reaction to the nickname had him grin, “That should warm you up. Though I could think of another—.”

“Shall I remind you, Mr. Bradshaw, you’re in the presence of a lady and you should refrain from insinuating such scandalous remarks.” Biting his lip, Bradley leans down to hoarsely whisper, grinning at the gasp she releases when she feels his breath hit her ear.

“I don’t recall you reminding me this morning…”

The heat Y/n felt rivaled a fire in a chimney. Consuming her with every inch of her being, she could do nothing but grin while Bradley hid his face in her neck, peppering kisses throughout.

For the next hour they laid on one of the benches, talking of what their lives would be together as the stars danced above them. Y/n pointing out constellations from time to time, making a point to identify Sirius, the brightest star of all. They laughed. They kissed. They dreamed of the future. What their house would look like, “At least two stories. With a big backyard and a dining table to fit ten people.” How many kids they’d have, “Two would be nice, but I wouldn’t mind three. A little mini you and me running around.” If they’ll have animals, “a dog of course. Ooh—a chicken to have fresh eggs for breakfast and possibly a couple of goats.”

It was perfect. Complete and utter bliss.

But that disappeared in the blink of an eye. Right as the clock struck 11:40 pm.

“What’s happening?” Y/n lifted off of Bradley’s chest, sitting up straight by the sound of people shouting on the decks above. Following her suit, Bradley made a motion to stand when he caught sight of Jake and Natasha running toward them.

“What is it?”

“It’s hard to tell,” Jake was out of breath, face red with worry. “But I think I heard someone yell about an iceberg—.” An ugly sound rocketed before Jake could finish his sentence. Jolting movement on the ship deck had them all stumble, Y/n clutching onto Bradley’s side as his arm met her waist. Moments later an intimidatingly large iceberg appeared in their view. Slowly moving as the ship literally whined with effort to avoid collision. But it was to no avail as more striking sounds of ice hitting metal echoed in the night. Pieces fell onto the deck, the four moving slightly aback.

Moments later the ship's engines stopped. Dazed and confused by what they witnessed. Titanic had hit an iceberg. A large one at that. The sound alone was an indicator of how bad the collision was. Stressed shouts of crew members only further confirmed it.

They were left to wonder what would happen next. Were they waiting for the crew to assess the damage before restarting the engines? Would they even be able to? Were they already sending signals to other ships about their collision?

Leaning over the railing, Y/n found the reflection of Titanic’s lights staring back at her. The water was eerily calm, no doubt below freezing. Several other icebergs could be made out in the distance surrounding the ship if she squinted her eyes. With no moon in the sky it made it difficult to see.

Y/n anxiety increased when the thought crossed her mind, ‘Are we going to sink?’ She removed the thought as it appeared. No. There’s no way the Titanic would sink. She was deemed unsinkable by everyone involved in the making of her. She was designed to remain afloat even if four water compartments were flooded.

‘It’ll be alright,’ Y/n thought silently, trying to convince herself more than anything.

But that didn’t last long when Bradley and Jake’s friends rushed over not even twenty minutes later, their nightwear drenched in water and fear coating their eyes. “It’s flooding down there,” Mickey huffed, “all over the floors.” Passengers filled the deck, families huddled together as they awaited information. Mickey’s news sent dread to the young women. Flooding was never a good sign.

Something in Y/n’s gut was telling her to find her family. “I-I need to go,” she glanced at Natasha first and then Bradley, “I should find my father. T-they may know more on the upper deck a-and are not telling us how serious it is down here.” Bradley looked hesitant to let her go, Y/n’s voice turning softer, “I’ll come back. I promise I will—a-and I’ll find out what’s happening.”

“I’ll go with you,” Nat removed herself from Jake, the man wearing the same face as Bradley. “We should go now while the crew are distracted.” Without consulting further, Y/n picked up the skirt of her dress and hurried away with Natasha trailing behind. They made it past each deck, racing up the grand staircase to the level Y/n’s parents were to find them in evident distress. Several other members of their circle were also there.

One look at her father and Y/n’s heart dropped to her stomach. “Dad…” it took everything to remain calm, realizing her hands started to shake when he took them in hers. “What’s happening?” He didn’t want to admit the truth she already knew, but as she squeezed his hands the words left him, confirming the worst.

“Titanic’s taking on water,” the choked gasp was audible no matter how hard she tried to hide it. Her father squeezed her hand, “They’re preparing the lifeboats—you two should go gather some belongings to take with you.” At the mention of lifeboats Y/n mentally thought back to the ones she’d seen lining the ship deck. Counting, her heart further shrieked at the number she summed.

“There's only twenty,” she whispered, horror on her face. “T-there’s got to be three thousand people on this ship. Wha-what—how are they going to save everyone?!” Her voice grew louder with each word. Suddenly she went quiet, the realization hitting her. Behind her Natasha gasped, also realizing the obvious.

All the lifeboats were on the boat deck. Right above the first-class one.

“O-oh my God. They’re not going to be able to save everyone.”

“Y/n—,” her hands slipped from his grasp, “Y/n!!” She was running, skirts dragging along her ankles as she hurried down the path she’d just come from. Urgent footsteps behind her signaled Natasha following, the two women bumping into people without apologizing. Tears lined her eyes the entire way, wishing it was all a horrible nightmare she was going to awake from at any moment.

When she finally found Bradley she collided with him, oblivious to the fact his trousers were soaked in water. Too frantic she made no mind to ask where it came from. “We’re sinking,” she cried against his chest. Even in his arms it did nothing to ease her fear. “The ship’s sinking.”

“Wh-at? No, that’s not possible.”

“She’s unsinkable!”

“It must be a mistake—I’m sure they are working it out as we speak.”

It was utter chaos from then on out. Minutes passed where slowly the passengers would realize the extent of the situation. Cries of children and babies were heard, their parents attempting to calm them despite their own emotions surfacing. Y/n rushed to her suite with Bradley, the man unable to contain his awe at how luxurious the first-class compartments were. He stood like a fish out of water as she flung open her small makeup bag to place her diary, ticket, the few photos she had, and whatever small compatible items Y/n thought were valuable. Clothing and anything else could be replaced.

The door flying open caused her to shriek, Bradley stepping back when Y/n’s father appeared in the doorway. He let out an audible sigh of relief when his eyes landed on her, “Where have you been?” He stepped further into the room, Y/n’s mother and brother trailing behind. All froze at the sight of Bradley standing with her, her father being the only one to recognize him.

“Who’s this?” Said her mother, not shying from looking Bradley up and down. It made him blush, glancing at Y/n for help. But she was also at a loss for words.

“This is the boy I was telling you about. Now as much as I wish we were meeting in any other circumstance,” her father strolled up, closing the bag for Y/n and pulling into his hands while using his free hand to gently push her toward the door, “We need to get to the boat deck this instant.” As they were coming out they met Natasha and Jake, Bradley asking his friend where the others were.

“I don’t know,” Jake stressfully removed his messenger boy hat to run a hand through his hair, “Mickey went to find that girl he’d been shacking up with and Javy I-I thought was behind me.” Bradley gulps, sweat pooling at his hairline.

“We’ll find them,” he firmly states. “We’ll find them all.”

When they reached the boat deck they were faced with the grim reality. Less than two dozen lifeboats would not be enough to get Titanic’s 2,500 passengers to safety. She was going to take many down with her. Time was their emissary. Slowly ticking away by the second.

Coming to the end of the first hour since impact, Bradley brings Y/n’s attention to him when he sees they were only allowing women and children into the boats. Crew members were telling passengers it was only minor damage and they were only putting them in the boats for precaution. Sparks from flares shot into the sky, with hope neighboring ships would notice.

Bradley stared deeply into the eyes he loved, “Marry me.” The question stops the world around them, Y/n’s eyes becoming wide as saucers.

“W-what?”

“Marry me, Y/n,” his tone is serious. “Right now on this ship. Under the stars you love while in front of your family and our friends—i-if tonight…” he trails off, voice becoming shaky. It brings tears to Y/n’s eyes at what he was trying to say. “If tonight is my last night I don’t want to waste another second.” The reason he said ‘my’ instead of ‘our’ last night was knowing deep in his heart Y/n would likely survive instead of him. She would get on a boat and hopefully be rescued.

“Yes,” she whispered, no sign of hesitation in the answer. All the love she felt emitting with one word.

And so the unthinkable happened not a mere ten minutes later. Y/n standing in front of Bradley, hands entwined as the ship’s Chaplin read off vows they repeated. Y/n’s family had tears in their eyes, as did Natasha, Jake, and their friends—who managed to find them at the right moment. Other passengers stopped and stared, some looking on with unreadable expressions, mostly women who found the sight bittersweet. It was almost fitting considering Y/n was wearing a near-white dress.

When asked about exchanging rings Y/n went to say, “no rings,” but Bradley stopped her.

“I have this actually,” his hand goes to his trouser pocket, “It’s not a ring but I think it’ll do.” Removing what could only be described as the most beautiful necklace Y/n had laid eyes on, her mouth parted in disbelief. Diamonds lined the chain, coming down to surround a large blue heart-shaped gem. “It’s a diamond,” Bradley said softly, making Y/n’s eyes widen even more. Wondering how he acquired such a magnificent piece of jewelry that looked like it was worth more than anything she owned.

He must’ve read her mind because Bradley was quick to explain, “My father gave this to my mother when he proposed to her. He got it from his mother, who received it from his father on their wedding day. He never told me how our family came into possession of it, but I once heard him refer to it as the ‘Heart of the Ocean’.” How fitting when they were in the middle of the ocean, and Y/n had become the owner of his heart. “It’s been passed down from Bradshaw to Bradshaw as a gift from a husband to wife. My mother made sure to give it to me before she died,” bringing the necklace around her neck while still facing her, Bradley secured it into place, adjusting it so the heart laid on her chest. Above her own beating heart. “And now it’s yours.”

Hand coming up to her chest, Y/n felt the smooth cut edges of the diamond, tears falling from her eyes. “It’s beautiful,” she croaked, sniffing from the overwhelming emotion. “Thank you. I’ll protect it with my life. H-how did you—.”

“Before you came back to find me I made sure to grab it from my room.” So that’s why his pants were soaked. He went to get the necklace before the compartment flooded.

“I-I,” she stuttered, glancing behind to peer at her father. “I don’t have anything—.”

“Worry not, my dear girl,” the watch he always wore unclipped from his wrist. It was his favorite one, the only item he splurged on before they became wealthy. And now he was given it to Y/n’s husband.

“I can’t take this,” Bradley goes to object, but her father silences him. Y/n kisses the older man’s cheek, whispering “thank you,” as she takes the watch before placing it onto Bradley’s wrist.

“By the power invested in me,” the two hold hands once more, letting the tears fall freely. “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the Chaplin turns to Bradley, “You may kiss your bride.”

Warm hands cup Y/n’s cheek, lips meeting in the middle to seal the act. No longer was she kissing the handsome stranger who caught her eye aboard the ship of dreams. She was kissing her husband. The man she was to grow old with. To explore the world. Raise children together.

Their fairytale was only beginning. But tragedy was on the horizon. Ending the journey before it could start.

Their friends clapped and cheered, her mother cried. Passengers and crew members witnessing offered nods of congratulations. Before long the happy moment was gone and replaced with the dread once more at the reality facing them. At first Y/n thought Jake and Natasha would marry next, spotting a ring on her friend’s left hand.

“It’s his class ring,” Natasha softly said, admiring the jewelry with glistening eyes. “I told him I’ll marry him once we reach land.” Taking her hand, Y/n squeezes and offers a small, encouraging smile, “We’ll make it the wedding of your dreams.”

The hour reached a half after one, almost two whole since the iceberg struck Titanic. They all gathered to the edge of the boat deck, Y/n’s father ordering her, her mother, and Natasha to put one on. As they did they could hear the crew member shout the same thing he’d been shouting the last hour and half. “Women and children! I need women and children!”

It was then Y/n realized why her father and Bradley were slowly moving them closer. “No,” she whispered, turning fully around. Over Bradleys shoulder she spotted her father speaking to her mother. Behind her children were crying out for their daddies. “I’m not going without you.” His hands met her shoulders. “Don’t ask me to get in that boat, Bradley.”

“You have to.”

“No.”

He squeezed her jacket clad shoulders, “Y/n, please do this for me. Get in the boat with your mother and Natasha. You guys will be safer there.”

“And leave you here!” She shouted, not caring who heard. Here was her newly wedded husband saying goodbye. “You married me not even ten minutes ago—a-and you’re already telling me to leave!?”

“As your husband I’m ensuring you make it off this ship safely! That is my priority—that you’re safe!” His own voice raises, hand going to Y/n’s jaw to force her to look at him when she fights his hold. Bradley was doing his best to keep calm for her sake, not wanting her last image of him to be where he’s scared out of his mind. Though the crew made efforts to conceal the truth, Bradley wasn’t blind. The water was rising closer to the deck, submerging the lower floors past the point of fixing.

Titanic was sinking.

“Don’t ask me to leave you,” Y/n closed her eyes, lip trembling to hold back the sob threatening to escape. “My heart won’t go on without you, Bradley.” It wouldn’t allow her to. Bradley was the keeper of her entire soul. Losing him would destroy her.

“Look at me,” his thumb caressed her cheek, running over her bottom lip to wipe the stray tear. When her eyes opened, Bradley brought her into a kiss. “I’ll find you,” he said pulling away, “Get it in that boat and I promise I will find you when this is all over. I won’t stop till I do.”

“N-no—.”

“I promise you, baby,” he says again, tightening the hold on her. “I will see you again.”

A choked sob left Y/n, pressing her lips to his desperately, the taste of salt hitting her tongue from the tears mixing in. “O-okay.”

“Okay,” he repeated, offering a watery smile. “Hey, I’m the luckiest bastard in the world. You’ve made me so.” They kiss once more, Y/n being passed to her father. She leaps into his arms, shaking against him when he tells her he’ll always love her and to take care of her mother.

“Thank you, daddy,” she cries, nuzzling her face into his chest and not wanting to let go. She didn’t have to explain because he already knew the meaning behind her words. ‘Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for always believing in me. Thank you for letting me open my heart to him and giving your blessing. Thank you for loving me.’

“I love you, my dear girl,” his lips meet the crown of her head. “I’ll see you soon.”

After hugging goodbye to her brother, who was refused by crew to board with them since he was seventeen and viewed as a young man rather than a child, Y/n followed behind Natasha and her mother onto the lifeboat. A crew member assisted, taking her hand, “watch your step, madam,” Y/n’s heart raced with each step, falling to the seat on the edge of the aisle, closest to where Bradley stood.

“I love you!” He shouted to her, going as far to lean over the railing of the ship, Y/n rising enough from her seat to offer one last kiss. It was brief, but she poured all her emotion behind it. A shout from the man in charge of the lifeboat yelled for her to sit and Y/n unwillingly listened. All the way down Y/n kept her eyes on Bradley, briefly meeting those of her father and brother. Jake was next to her husband, no doubt watching Natasha seated next to her.

Even when they landed on the water Y/n could not relax. As the crewmen paddled them away, the sight of Titanic was more frightening than she imagined. Growing worse by the minute. The dark blue section of Titanic lower levels were nearly submerged leaving only the decks above the surface.

“I thought it was unsinkable,” a lady gasped, making murmurs of worry echo among the passengers. Y/n shared a look with Natasha, finding the same emotion etched in the other's eyes. It increased when an unpleasant noise filled their ears, snapping their heads to see the rear of Titanic rising in the air, the front completely foregone in the sea. Without realizing it Y/n had stood from her seat, face wretched with horror.

“Oh my God.”

Hands flew to her mouth, gasps radiating behind at the sight of Titanic going dark. Barely could Y/n make out the vessel due to little light without the moon. It made Y/n strain her eyes, desperate to see what was happening. Praying to whoever above Bradley and her family aboard was on the side of the ship still afloat. Y/n’s breathing increased, feeling Natasha stand beside her.

Everything happened so fast after that. What sounded like gunshots rang out mixed with the screams of those still aboard fighting to make it in time to the rear of the ship. Metal and wood crunching caused bile to fill in her mouth, feeling nauseated by the overwhelming panic.

Whimpers escaped Y/n, becoming full force sobs when a horrible *crack* echoed in the night. Titanic had been split in half. And though hard to see in the dark, the sound alone of the moaning ship sent her into despair. Within minutes the rear half of Titanic lifted once more, fully disappearing out of view forever, leaving the cries of her passengers stranded in the 26 degree water desperately fighting to stay alive.

Y/n dropped to her knees, cries mixing with everyone else. The scene was too much to handle. Screams echoing in the darkness, utter misery to show the terror. She didn’t want to imagine how many people were trapped when the ship sank. All she pictured was Bradley’s face. His smile when the lifeboat descended. That one last look of love.

Then Y/n thought of her father and brother. Were they already at the bottom of the ocean? Or were they part of the hundreds screaming in the distance? The sound that was slowly becoming lower signaling their battle was with cold water was ending. Whatever the case Y/n didn’t want to picture their dead bodies—the thought only made her more devastated.

She cried for her mother. She cried for Natasha—who was in the same state as her. She cried for those on the lifeboat. But mostly Y/n cried for herself. For what could have been

For what should have been.

The screams soon drowned out. Leaving a ghostly silence as Y/n’s sobs returned to whimpers. Soon the exhaustion took over and she fell asleep against her mother’s chest. The cold air was a painful reminder of what had taken place. When Y/n awoke it was to the sounds of engines and for a moment she thought it had all been a nightmare. She’d find herself in bed with the sun peering in from the window. Hearing the footsteps of passengers leaving their suits to attend breakfast. And she’d go about her day the same way until it came time to see Bradley.

But it wasn’t a dream. Confirmed when her eyes opened to the dark skies turning an array of colors from the sun rising in the east. First she felt panic, then came the anguish and soon she was silently crying as her heart broke in two, hand coming to hold the diamond on her chest.

RMS Carpathia was their saving Grace. Y/n was pretty much a walking shell of a woman, reluctantly allowing the crew to help her onto the ship. A blanket was placed around her shoulders, a hot tea in her hand, the saucer shaking from her slight tremor. Guiding her mother and Natasha to a spot away from others, Y/n made no effort to drink the tea. She had no energy even though it would warm her up.

A piece of her was missing—forever lost in the ocean.

People stood at the entryway of where passengers were coming in. Hoping to find their loved ones among the survivors. Seeing Natasha peek around to get a better look, Y/n plainly said, “What are you doing?” Her tone was void of emotion, depicting her mental state.

“I heard someone say one of the lifeboats went back—they were searching for survivors in the water.” Instantly a wave of hope rose within her though Y/n was careful to not let it grow. Scared it’d only be met with heartbreak.

But then sandy hair caught her vision causing the teacup to fall from her hand, contents splashing onto the deck. “Y/n?” She ignored her mother, moving to stand on top of the bench a few feet away to overlook the crowd. Heart racing, she desperately searched for the owner of the sandy hair. She didn’t have to search too long.

“BRADLEY!!” The strangled cry escaped her, the man that stood roughly thirty feet away spinning around in a flash he nearly broke his neck. Y/n could see a girl resembling her beside him, Bradley possibly thinking it’d been her and was disappointed to find it wasn’t. Their eyes met, a mix of astonishment and relief, but most of all pure love pouring into their expression.

“Bradley!” Y/n yelled again, dropping from the bench just as he started to run in her direction. It was like slow motion. Y/n pushing through the crowd, frantically keeping her eyes on him to not lose sight.

“Y/n!” She heard him yell. The crowd between them separated and not a moment later Y/n was leaping into his arms, a sound mixed between a cry and laugh falling from her mouth.

“Oh God,” it was really him. He smelled of sea salt and shook like a leaf, but it was him, Y/n pulling away from the embrace just to make sure. “It’s really you.” His hands cupped her cheek, the feeling all too familiar.

“It’s me.”

“Y-you….I thought you were dead!” A tear trailed her cheek, his thumb moving to wipe it. “I saw the ship sink—and I could not see where you’d gone. How—?”

“The boat that came back,” he started to explain, voice shaking from the cold making Y/n stop a man with teacups, handing one to her husband. “I-I was on a piece of driftwood. It kept me from being…being in the water—.” He gulped, flinching as his eyes watered before closing them. Like he was trying to avoid the painful memory.

Now it was Y/n’s turn to hold his face, offering comfort in the best way she could.

“I-I tried get-getting them on but it was too small for a-all of us. Y-your….” He didn’t want to meet her eyes, shame and guilt visible in his face. “Your father wouldn’t get on—no matter h-how much I told him to. Your brother…” he trailed off, tears spilling from his eyes and Y/n brushed them away while fighting her own. Understanding what Bradley was trying to tell her. “And the others…..wh-what they held onto wasn’t enough to keep them out. I-I thought they’d be okay—I kept calling to them when I saw the boat—b-but they wouldn’t—they wouldn’t answer.” The last word ended with a sob, Bradley’s head dropping down onto Y/n’s shoulders as she held him.

They cried together, Y/n cradling the back of his neck with a hand and feeling the rock of his shoulders against her. Mourning the loss of their friends and family. Y/n grieving the death of her father and brother. When her mother and Natasha arrived, both with hopeful eyes turning into despair in seconds. Seeing Bradley in her arms knowing he was on the boat with the other survivors pulled from the water. Neither Jake nor Y/n’s father and brother with him.

Y/n felt Bradley remove himself from her hold. He looked broken, a shell of a man. Placing a hand in his pocket, they watched him take out an item they couldn’t make out. Only when he unfolded it did they realize what it was.

Jake’s hat.

Natasha let out a gut wrenching weep, covering her face with the hat when Bradley handed it to her before falling to her knees. “I’m so sorry,” a fresh wave of tears threatened to escape, Bradley unable to look at her without feeling the guilt for not saving the man she loved. Y/n moved to hold her friend, Natasha clutching onto her forearm while her mother silently grieved beside them.

All around them was a similar scene. Haunting and dreary. Completely different from the joyous celebration not even a week prior when Titanic sailed off on her maiden voyage. Carrying close to 2,300 people across the Atlantic. Some traveling to America for the first time or were on their way home. Now at least 700 of those passengers were on the Carpathia while the other 1,400 belonged to the sea.

The ship’s crew went around to collect names. Recording them to make it easier when going through the logs when they docked to account for all who survived and persisted. Y/n nearly forgot what name she was supposed to give. Boarding Titanic as a L/n but leaving as a Bradshaw. At the crew man’s confused eyes by the hyphenated name she gave Y/n simply stated, “We married as she sank, but the records will show Y/n L/n.”

Three days. It took three days for Carpathia to arrive in New York. The Statue of Liberty greeted her like an old friend, the people she carried unable to enjoy the scenery they’d been anticipating for so long. The sky rained as though it were crying in mourning. Grieving the lost souls instead of welcoming them.

When the ship docked, Y/n held onto her bag in one hand and Bradley’s arm on the other. Her mother and Natasha followed behind, displaying their grief in every movement. Stepping foot onto the pavement, Y/n let out a breath she’d been holding, feeling only a glimmer of relief at the fact they were home. “What now?” Bradley squeezed her hand, conveying everything in the simple gesture.

“We go on,” he admires the skyline briefly, settling his eyes on hers. “As best as we can we go on. We go on for them.”

“My mother was never the same after that night,” the cracking of wood in the fireplace echoed behind Y/n’s words while she sat on the couch beside Bradley in their sunken living room. Cynthia was across from them, wiping at her puffy face from time to time. Unable to control her emotions.

Y/n’s left middle finger unconsciously traced over the jewelry on her right hand. Her mother’s wedding rings. And nestled beneath her blouse was the necklace worth more than what remained of her family’s fortune.

“She nearly sent herself into an early grave trying to stabilize the business my father built from the ground up. Difficult to do back then when men wouldn’t respect a woman's authority,” Y/n smiles fondly at the memory of her mothers strong willed temperament. “My mother was an intelligent woman. She always prepared for the worst at times. And when deciding what to do about the company, she wanted to make sure our family would be okay if disaster were to strike again. It was like she predicted the fall of the stock market—-preventing us from being affected by selling our shares and interests years before the crash even happened.”

Cynthia thought of her grandmother. How hard it must’ve been to lose her husband and son so suddenly then having to become the face of the family. Her daughter discovering she hadn’t bleed since the week prior to boarding Titanic, the family doctor confirming the pregnancy not a day later. Never remarrying despite the many suitors itching to get a hand on the L/n fortune. Cynthia thought of how her grandmother would wake up bright and early every morning to watch the sunrise. Remembering the smell of her perfume and taking Cynthia and her sister to her favorite bistro for afternoon tea. Teaching them how to be independent women. Even on her deathbed as the illness consumed her right as America joined the Second World War, Y/n’s mother never lost her strength. Thinking of the memories had Cynthia missing her.

“And what about Natasha?” In all the years she’d been alive, Cynthia only heard her parents mention Natasha a handful of times. Each one was met with a distant look in her mother’s eyes, followed by grief until she thought of a happy memory associated with her, causing a small smile to form on her Y/n’s lips.

“She was never the same either,” the answer came with a sad exhale. “After reuniting with her family, Natasha spent several weeks at their family home. I visited her often while I finished my studies and did my best to comfort her in any way she needed. She ended up accepting Alan’s marriage proposal, but on the condition that they travel across America first before being wed. The journey would last several months, but in the end they wedded in Manhattan in the winter of 1913 and welcomed a son and daughter soon after,” the memory of Y/n holding Natasha’s son in the hospital flashed in her mind. “They were happy. As happy as they could be. But Alan, the amazing man he was, knew he couldn’t live up to what Jake was to her. The impact he made on Natasha’s heart. Yes, she grew to love Alan eventually—the birth of their children being the main reason she did—but he was not her true love. And he accepted that,” Y/n felt the lump form in her throat. As it always did when she thought about what came next for her friend.

Bradley’s hand rested on her knee, offering consultation knowing it was hard for her to think about Natasha. Her fingers interlaced with his, swallowing back the lump.

“After the end of the War—the first one—Natasha was traveling with her children home from a weekend visiting her parents. It was late and raining, difficult to see….a vehicle ran the sign and plowed straight into them.” Cynthia didn’t hear the soft gasp leave her mouth, her mother’s own tightening to prevent her lip from quivering. “She was gone instantly. Her children too. Alan was a mess as you can imagine—drowning himself in alcohol daily until I stepped in….”

“Wake up, Alan!” Y/n’s palm met his cheek after knocking the bottle from his hand. “What is the matter with you? Is this how you want to die?” She gripped the labels of his stained dress shirt to make him look at her, voice rising with each word. “By wasting away like some goddamn bum when you could be living for them. By continuing on instead of disgracing yourself or their memory. Natasha could have done what you’re doing when Jake died. And she watched him go down, unable to do anything and hear his screams go quiet as he lost his battle with survival. How do you think she dealt with that? She had every reason to not go on. Let the grief consume her and become the shallow of the person you’re on your way toward. But she didn’t!” Y/n let her emotion release. “She went on—she lived for him! And built a life with you—and you may not believe it but Natasha did love you, Alan. Maybe not the way you wished, but she loved you and you are disgracing it by doing this to yourself! Honor her and your children by finding the strength to live for them. Because so help me God, Alan, I will not watch you waste whatever is left of your life like this. You will die alone with no one to show up when it comes time to be there. The choice is yours.”

“Did he?” Cynthia couldn’t help but ask, “Did he eventually learn to cope?”

“He did,” Y/n smiled. It was a genuine one to show she was happy her friend made it through his hard times. “Alan moved to London about a month after that visit. He wrote to us often, telling about his adventures in England and even traveling across the channel to France where he continued exploring Europe. In 1921 he met a nice woman and married. They had a son and permanently resided in London,” Y/n’s tone went lower, the smile slightly falling. “The letters stopped coming in 1943–during the Second War. I do not know to this day what happened to him. If the bombings claimed them or if he died of disease,” she sadly shrugs, “I only hope he was happy with his life. That despite losing Natasha and their kids he was able to find peace.”

“I’m sure he did,” Bradley finally enters the conversation, having been quiet for most of the time and only adding input during the moments Y/n wasn’t there for. Keeping his experience in the water after Titanic sunk short and limited. While he learned to accept what happened and cope with the grief of watching his friends die in front of him, Bradley still felt the open wound in his heart. “You stepping in is what saved him. Had you not said what you did that day, I confidently believe Alan wouldn’t have made it to the next year. Going to London saved him. All he needed was a strong push.”

A moment of silence passed between them before Cynthia broke it. “Do you think they’ll one day find her?” At the confused looks she received her voice went softer, “Titanic. Do you think she’ll ever be located?” She watched her parents take a sharp breath, like they had never thought of the idea.

“Well…” Y/n brought a hand to rub her shoulder, unconsciously moving it to touch her necklace. “I predict she’d be in the place where she sank, at the bottom of the Atlantic. Either in two pieces,” she winced, “or held together by whatever was able to withstand the pressure.”

“I’m sure if the government or whoever is that interested would be able to locate her,” Bradley comments, rubbing Y/n’s knuckles with his thumb. “But I don’t know if we’ll ever see it happen.”

The rest of the evening was filled with Cynthia hearing stories of her parents' lives before Titanic. Laughter fell between them as Bradley relayed the times he and his friends had gotten into trouble on occasion. Y/n talked about her adventures with Natasha while in college and how her father went from a working class man to one made of riches. How her brother was a mischievous child, playing pranks on the higher-class members who would say mean things about their family. Bradley spoke of Pete, his Godfather, and of his parents who were the reason he went to England in the first place in 1912 to fulfill a dream they once wished of.

When it came time to call it a night, Cynthia kissed her parents on the cheek and departed to her room, thanking them for everything and being open with her. Once in their room Y/n removed her necklace, admiring it like she always did before bed and placed it on its holding, letting her thumb run over the smooth surface. On his side Bradley unfastened his watch, placing it next to the framed sepia photo of Y/n from their official wedding day that took place in May of 1912. Next to it were other photos, some black and white, of them over the years after Titanic. Y/n in her graduation gown. Their daughters as children and teenagers, on their wedding days and the birth of their grandchildren.

Tucked into the covers, Y/n smiled at the feeling of Bradley placing a kiss on her forehead. “You okay, doll?”

“I’m good,” she answered, leaning up to press her lips to his jaw. “Are you?”

“I am. More than what I thought I’d be. But you know,” his hand goes to take hers. “Having been so many years and with you by my side every day since, It’s made it easier. When I think about that night I still feel some guilt, but I don’t let it control me. Now when I have so much to live for. You, our daughters and grandchildren. Them.” He didn’t have to say their names for her to know who he was referring to.

Reuben, Javy, Mickey, Bob, Jake, Natasha, her father, her brother.

They didn’t get to experience the lives they should’ve had. So in their place, Y/n and Bradley live everyday like it’s their last. Making it count so when they reunite with them they’ll have plenty of stories to share.

“Me too,” she whispers, curling into him so her head rested on his chest. The gentle beat of his heart filled her ears, bringing ease to the old woman as she drifted off to sleep. Echoing the words Bradley spoke to her the night they docked in New York.

“We go on. We go on for them.”

54 years later. April 2012.

Amelia stared at the pictures lining the wall, under the giant lettering that read First-Class. Hazel eyes drifting over each, reading the words inscribed on the plaques before moving to the next. When she landed on the one she searched for, her gaze turned soft. The black and white picture depicted the woman at a young age, the most eye-catching detail being the heart-shaped diamond around her neck. A moment later Amelia felt movement on either side of her.

“Is that her, Nana?” Her granddaughter, Melody, asked from her right. On her left was Melody’s mother, Amelia’s daughter, Y/n. Named after the woman on the plaque in front of them.

“It is, darling.” Together they read the writing detailing her grandmother’s fate following April 15th, 1912.

Y/n L/n: February 14, 1890 — December 1, 1985

Daughter of New York real estate developer, Y/f/n L/n and his wife Y/m/n L/n. Set sail from Southampton with her parents and younger brother.

Boarded Titanic at age 21.

Passed away at age 95.

Married third-class passenger Bradley Bradshaw aboard Titanic on April 15, 1912 as she sank. Graduated NYU May 1912. Moved to Virginia Beach, Virginia. Two daughters. Published romantic thrillers and a best-selling autobiography. Returned to Titanic wreckage site at age 95 in October 1985. Died from heart failure two months later.

“Wow,” Melody breathed, letting her eyes admire the beautiful woman in the photograph. Her great-great grandmother. When the idea of going to the Titanic museum on the 100th anniversary of the wreck came to her for her school project, Melody had no idea of her linkage to the disaster until the night before when her grandma Amelia said she had a confession to tell her. The whole night was spent sitting in their hotel room with Amelia relaying the story her grandmother Y/n told her when she was 12 before revealing the events of April 15th when she was 18.

Amelia’s own daughter, named after the woman who made a lasting impact on her life, hadn’t heard the tale either. She was just as shocked as Melody to learn her great-grandparents were on Titanic when she sank.

Originally Melody’s idea for her project was to discuss the impact on society the disaster made. But after hearing the story of how her great-great grandparents fell in love aboard the ship, married while it sank, and reunited on Carpathia and lived their lives in memory of the ones they lost, Melody shifted her idea, Focusing on how even when all hope seems to be lost, love finds a way to break through.

“She was beautiful.”

“She was. My grandpa said she was the most beautiful person aboard,” Amelia chuckled. “Though I think his best friend Jake would say otherwise.” Natasha, her grandmother's best friend, came to mind. Amelia takes a moment to point out Natasha’s plaque where they read her unfortunate fate. “It was love at first sight—as cliché as it sounds, but it’s the truth. Four days was all it took for my grandparents to fall in love. Waiting every detail in her diary. Marrying during the moment everyone was in a panic.” Together the three women stepped over to the opposite side of the wall where the third-class survivor plaques were. There Amelia found her grandfather’s handsome face near the top.

Bradley Bradshaw: June 10th, 1889 — September 5th, 1985

Traveled to New York from Southampton with his friends from childhood. Only one to survive after being pulled from the water having climbed onto driftwood after Titanic fully submerged.

Boarded Titanic at age 21.

Passed away at age 96.

Married first-class passenger Y/n L/n aboard Titanic on April 15, 1912 as she sank. Moved to Virginia Beach, Virginia. Two daughters. Became a fighter pilot for US Navy 1914. Drafted into First World War 1915. Died in his sleep four days after the wreckage of Titanic was discovered 1985.

Amelia’s smile was bittersweet, “My mother told me shortly after I learned the full story that she discovered their secret when she found her mother’s ticket tucked away in a box of newspaper clippings about the wreck. NOt too long later my grandmother shared with her the diary detailing her first-hand experiences on Titanic. The night they told her was the first time they had told the story from start to finish—telling it once again the night my grandmother shared with my sister and I how they met. Only she left out the details of that night for the sake we were too young to understand,” Amelia paused, her gaze still on her grandfather’s image. “They told us the rest when I was eighteen. After that, I don’t think I ever heard them mention Titanic until the news broke out that the shipwreck had been discovered. Four days later, my grandfather died in his sleep. His heart just stopped,” Amelia went quiet after adding. “It was like he was waiting.”

Though quiet the entire time, Amerlia’s daughter Y/n was deep in thought. Thinking back to her childhood and the short ten years she got to spend with her great-grandparents. Having been named after Y/n, they two shared a connection and even got the chance to wear the beautiful diamond necklace she always had around her neck. Little Y/n had been shielded from the media attention the family was receiving in the months after Titanic’s discovery. First the death of Bradley, then the elderly Y/n went on a secret trip she had no idea was about. Ending the year by attending her funeral that winter.

Knowing what she did now, Y/n understood why her family reacted a certain way whenever the famous ship was ever mentioned in conversation.

Melody read over the information, frowning slightly. “Do you think she died of a broken heart? Your grandma?”

“Oh I’m certain,” Amelia traveled back a few paces to see Y/n’s plaque. Careful to not bump into other guests in the exhibit. The significance of the day brought many visitors to the museum.

“Being with someone for seventy-four years..how could she go on? My mother feared the journey to the wreck site would kill her, but my grandmother was adamant she’d go. She and my grandfather never believed they’d be alive to witness the ship be located. With his death four days after, my grandmother fulfilled an unspoken promise between them. So she went with my mother and aunt—ninety five years old remember, and saw the waters one last time. One thing you should know is my grandmother never crossed the Atlantic again after 1912. My grandfather did, because of the war, but I think Y/n was waiting until Titanic was located to travel the sea again. A part of her soul was left behind that night—losing the father she adored and her brother. Then you had my grandfather’s best friends.” She took another pause, hands moving to her pockets where she felt the leather bound diary.

Y/n’s diary.

The one she wrote in her will that was to be donated to the Titanic museum on April 15, 2012. Exactly 100 years to the day that the ship of dreams became one with the sea.

“Going to the site filled that final gaping hole in her. But the loss of her true love was too much for my grandmother. And so she passed in her sleep exactly three months to the day after Titanic was found.” Amelia removed the book from her pocket, hand softly touching the rough and dated surface of the leather. “Leaving me with this to fulfill some of her last wishes.”

“Is that…..” Melody leaned closer, her mother doing the same. Both were staring at the book with wonder and awe.

“Her diary,” the older woman confirmed their suspicions. “She wished for it to be donated here on the centennial anniversary,” Amelia gave her granddaughter a look, “I didn’t plan for you wanting to come here when I made sure to fulfill the promise. Having you two here is a bonus—especially now that you know everything.” Amelia could see in their eyes they were practically itching to open the book, wanting to see the contents that laid within.

Moving to a bench in the corner away from prying eyes, Amelia motioned for them to sit on either side of her. “The museum director is expecting me once we finish here so I must be careful with this. For preservation reasons, I’ll be the one to hold and turn the pages, but I’d love to share with you her words. And I know she would want the same,” glancing at the women, she received eager nods. “Alrighty then.”

Opening the cover, their eyes met the cursive writing that belonged to Amelia’s grandmother, her name in bold cursive, Y/n L/n. Amelia gently turned to the first page, dated one month before Titanic sailed on her maiden voyage.

“Monday, March 10, 1912. Father has come home with the news of his invitation to a conference in London next month. Not only has he informed my mother and I of his wishes for us to join him, but also he has purchased tickets for the White Star Line’s new vessel expected to set sail one month from today. They are calling her, Titanic…”

As Amerlia read off the words of her grandmother one last time, she wondered if her grandparents were back on the ship of dreams with their friends and family. Crossing the Atlantic in a place where time and space ceased to exist. Only the open ocean and the beautiful skies. Where Bradley was chasing a giggling Y/n down the corridors. Where Natasha got to live the life she dreamed with Jake. Their friends with them and Y/n’s family together at last.

It was a long wait full of patience. One seventy-four years in the making.

But as Y/n took her last breath on the night of December 1st, 1985, she was young and full of life, wearing the Heart of the Ocean as she ran to board the ship about to sail for a journey that would never end. Coming to the platform where a young Bradley stood, a spitting image of what he looked like the first time she laid eyes on him, his hand out for her to take. Behind him were the smiling faces of her family and friends—some of whom she hadn’t seen in seventy years, with the passengers of Titanic on the decks above. A beaming Natasha holding Jake’s hand, waving to Y/n as her children peeked from behind her legs.

Y/n locked eyes on her husband. The soulmate she had been without for three months. No words were spoken. Conversing everything they wanted to say in just the one look.

‘We’ve been waiting for ya, doll.’

‘I had to do something first.’

‘We know,’ a silent nod passes. ‘We were there with you.’ Gesturing his head to the ship as if to say, ‘You ready?’ Bradley stepped forward, hand still out for Y/n to take. Not even hesitating, Y/n grasped his warm palm in his, the feeling all too familiar as a spark of life shot through her chest.

Boarding Titanic together for the first and final time.

………………

TGM Tag List: @avaleineandafryingpan @caitsymichelle13 @poppyalice2001 @cutelittlepotatofry @luckyladycreator2 @americaarse @elenavampire21 @back-tooo-black @wildellaa

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arcane-vagabond · 1 year ago

Text

Meet Me at the Sea: Chapter Six

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Your best friend, Bob Floyd, had insisted you join him for the summer at his family's home along the Carolina coasts. You had been hesitant at first, but ultimately agreed to his request. Now, here you were in a new town with strange locals who spoke in hushed whispers and cryptic retellings about glistening scales, glowing eyes, and haunting songs that echoed from the sea. You didn't believe them at first, but when you wake up on the beach one morning after having fallen overboard the night before, you can't help but think that maybe you hadn't imagine the strong arms and deep, green eyes of the man that had saved you.

Trigger warnings: Language, Murder, Flirty Bradley, Mean Girl Mandy, Dry humping, Kissing, Possessive Jake, Skipper having a mental breakdown of sorts.

Word Count: 5.1k

A/N: I'm on a roll, y'all, but just know that a lot of this chapter was just pure self indulgence. If you're feeling kind/generous, please consider buying me a ko-fi! As always, reblogs, comments and likes are greatly appreciated! Asks/requests are always open! 18+ ONLY!! You can find me on AO3 under arcane_vagabond where I also post my updates!

Series Masterlist

The rest of the night had been a blur, your head fuzzy from your encounter on the beach. Javy and Nat had kept a close eye on you after you almost walked into the water, making sure you stayed close. The rest of the gang had checked in on you, Bob wanting to take you back home, but you had insisted that you were staying, not wanting to ruin his night. You had caused enough trouble.

Your eyes had been unfocused as you stared down at the sand, vaguely aware of everyone laughing and having a good time. Your mind felt slow, your body sluggish as you sat by the fire. Your arms were wrapped firmly around your knees where they were pressed up against you.

You jumped when someone plopped down next to you, and your eyes widened as they took in Jake’s form. He sat cross legged, back straight as he gazed into the fire.

“You’re not nearly as good at pretending as you think you are,” he murmured, peeking at you from the corner of his eye. You felt your cheeks flush as you looked away from him.

“I don’t want them to worry.”

“It’s a little late for that, I think,” he murmured, a humorless chuckle escaping him. You squeezed your knees tighter, attempting to make yourself smaller as the guilt ate away at you.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you admitted quietly, feeling Jake’s stare on the side of your face. “I’m not usually like this, I swear.”

“I believe you,” he told you gently, earnestly. “No one here blames you for anything, Skipper.”

“They deserve to have fun,” you muttered miserably, feeling the tears prickle at your eyes. “They shouldn’t have to worry about me and whether or not I’m going to pass out or drown at every turn.”

“Trust me,” he said, turning to face you, “everyone here is having fun, and they like hanging out with you. If they didn’t, then they wouldn’t be worried in the first place.”

“Yeah?” You whispered, looking at him with uncertain eyes. He gave you a soft smile, nodding.

“Promise.”

Bob had come to collect you shortly after, the smell of beer on his breath as he dragged you to your feet, insisting that he was tired and that it was time to go home. You had given Jake a small smile before following him back home, Mickey making sure the two of you got there in one piece.

Now, you sat on the end of the couch in Bradley and Jake’s living room, the group somber as the news from earlier that morning hung in the air.

Another body had been found, a young woman who had been visiting her family on the island. She had been at the bonfire the night before, and you remembered seeing her briefly. Her body had been found in the early hours of the morning, and the police had told reporters that they were investigating all angles, meaning that despite the apparent murder spree, there had been alcohol in her system and they weren’t sure yet if she had been the victim of a freak accident or a murder.

“Mav won’t tell me much,” Bradley said, scratching his chin. “But he told me they think it’s connected to the others, even with all the beer she drank.”

“Should he really be telling you all of that?” Reuben asked, an incredulous look on his face. “I know he’s your godfather and all, but still.”

Bradley shrugged, seemingly nonplussed at the idea.

“We should go out and do something,” Nat suggested, looking around at everyone. “I don’t want to sit here and think about this all day. We need to go and get our minds off it.”

“And do what, exactly?” Mickey drawled, raising an eyebrow at her.

“We could go to the boardwalk?” Javy suggested, looking around at everyone as Mickey let out a groan.

“Again?” He asked. “There’s only so many times I can ride the coaster before it stops becoming fun.”

“Then ride something else,” Nat snarked, rolling her eyes.

“I think the boardwalk sounds like fun,” you smiled. “We could go swimming after? It would be a shame to waste the day inside.”

“I agree,” Jake nodded beside you, barely letting your mouth close before doing so. “Skipper makes a good point.”

“I’m sure she does,” Reuben snorted. You saw Jake frown at the other man as Mickey and Bob both tried to disguise their laughter with coughs.

“I’ll do whatever,” Bradley chimed in, looking more bored than anything. “Just so long as I don’t have to keep sitting here.”

“Wait,” Bob said, brow furrowing. “Isn’t the ocean dance festival tonight?”

Nat let out a groan as Mickey wrinkled his nose.

“They’re still doing that with everything going on?” He asked.

“Damn, I completely forgot about that,” Nat muttered, checking the time on her phone. She looked up at you, chewing on her bottom lip.

“Skipper, you didn’t happen to pack a fancy dress or anything, did you?”

“No?” You said slowly, regarding her carefully. She blew out a breath, nodding.

“Didn’t think so,” she muttered, moving to stand. “Well, you boys will have to have fun without us. Skipper and I have some shopping to do.”

“What?” You asked, eyes widening as Nat pulled you to your feet.

She chuckled. “We have to go get you a dress for tonight.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Reuben laughed, “the ocean dance festival is the one event all the girls in town look forward to. It’s an excuse for them to get all dressed up in pretty, fancy dresses and elaborate makeup while the rest of us try to decide which shirt is nice enough for us to pair with our jeans.”

“Ignore him,” she scowled, turning her attention back to you with an excited look. “It’s a lot of fun, Skipper. You gotta come!”

“I don’t know,” you trailed off, taking your bottom lip in between your teeth. “I don’t even think I have enough to buy a fancy dress…”

“I’ll get one for you,” she said, raising her hand as you moved to protest. “Please, call it a ‘welcome to the island’ gift.”

“Also known as ‘Nat hasn’t gotten to play dress up with anyone in God only knows how long,’” Bradley joked, earning a glare from the brunette. Nat turned her pleading gaze to you, and you felt your resolve crumple.

“Alright,” you sighed. “Fine.”

An hour later you had a dress in your hands, Natasha still gushing about it beside you.

“You look so pretty in it, Skipper!” She exclaimed, mouth curved into an infectious grin, excitement radiating off of her in waves. “You’re going to be the talk of the town!”

“I highly doubt that, Nat,” you giggled.

“Trust me,” she chuckled, wiggling her eyebrows at you, “no one will be able to keep their eyes off of you once I’m through.”

You shook your head, not able to keep the amused smile off your face as the two of you made your way down the boardwalk. Several people were decorating a roped off area. Balloons, streamers, and ocean themed decorations littered the area, a stage sitting off to the side where a group of musicians were setting up their equipment.

“They really go all out for this dance, huh?” You mused, and Nat nodded.

“It’s been a part of the summer festivals since the town was founded. The city council and founding daughter’s group goes all out, which is the biggest reason why it wasn’t cancelled this year,” she explained. You hummed, eyes drifting to the familiar shop sign, and your eyes lit up.

“Oh!” You exclaimed, grabbing her hand. “Can we go in here really quick? There was something I wanted to get.”

“Mrs. Cambroni’s shop?” Nat frowned. “What could you possibly need from in here?”

“You’ll see,” you smiled. “Come on!”

The bell chimed as the two of you stepped in, and you greeted the old woman behind the counter with a smile. A handsome man stood with her, his eyes trained on the two of you, and you couldn’t help but feel like you had seen him somewhere before. His mocha skin had an underlying gold tone to it, dark hair cropped short. His dark, green eyes sent a shiver up your spine as he watched you.

“Good morning, dear!” Mrs. Cambroni greeted. “Back so soon?”

“Yeah,” you smiled. “I’m actually looking for something, and I wondered if you might have it.”

“I’ll bet you anything she does,” the man chuckled. “My aunt has almost everything under the sun here in her little shop.”

“Oh, how rude of me,” Mrs. Cambroni muttered. “This is my nephew, Cole. He’s in from out of town. Natasha, dear, you remember Cole, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” she smiled, shooting him a small wave. “It’s good to see you again!”

“Likewise,” he hummed, eyes darting back to you. “And you are?”

“Oh, sorry,” you blushed. “I’m Skipper.”

He chuckled once more. “That’s an unusual name.”

“It’s a nickname,” you murmured, ducking your head out of embarrassment. “It’s just what everyone calls me.”

“What was it you were looking for, dear?” Mrs. Cambroni asked you. “Was it something for the festival tonight?”

“Sort of,” you started, moving forward and digging in your bag. You pulled out the large, black pearl, showing it to her. “I was hoping you’d have something for me to put this in so I could wear it.”

“I have just the thing,” she smiled, rounding the corner of the counter as she darted off to one of the far corners of the shop.

“Will we see you at the festival tonight, Cole?” Nat asked him, moving to stand next to you. Cole laughed lightly, ducking his head down before looking back up at her.

“I might make an appearance, yeah. It’ll be nice to see some familiar faces again.”

“You’re from here?” You asked him. He nodded.

“Grew up here before deciding to go to school down south. I live there full time now, but figured I’d come up and visit with my aunt for the summer.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet of you,” you grinned. Your grin faded as the nagging feeling in the back of your head grew louder. You knew him, you were sure of it. “I’m so sorry, but have we met?”

He grinned at you. “Not officially, but you did bump into me the other day over by the tilt-o-whirl.”

“Oh,” you balked. His words sank in, and you felt your skin flush as embarrassment washed over you. “Oh. Oh my god. I’m so sorry!”

“It’s all water under the bridge,” he said, waving you off. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fallen victim to that damn thing myself.”

You smiled at his words, feeling the tension lift from your shoulders.

At that moment, Mrs. Cambroni came walking back over, a golden chain dangling from her hand. It was beautiful, the chain holding a collection of smaller ones that held a cradle for a pearl to rest in, practically forming a raindrop. The old woman held her hand out, and you placed the black pearl gently in her outstretched palm. She fiddled with the necklace before showing it to you proudly.

“Turn around, dear, and I’ll put it on you.”

You did as instructed, moving your hair to give her easy access. Once she was done, she gestured towards the mirror that rested on top of the counter.

“Have a look!” She smiled. You did so, marveling at how the pendant rested perfectly just above the curves of your breasts.

“It’s perfect!” You gushed, looking over at her. She returned your smile warmly resting a hand against the counter.

“You know,” she began, a knowing glint in her eye. “The ocean dance festival has a longstanding tradition in this town as being a way for sea people to gain the attention of a potential mate.”

You could practically feel Natasha’s eye roll as you looked at the old woman, eager to hear more.

“It was a festival where potential mates dressed up in their best clothing to attract attention. Boys and girls alike dressed in elaborate costumes to showcase their assets,” she hummed as you paid for the necklace. “But, I suppose now it’s just an excuse for young ladies like yourself to get all dolled up for an evening of fun.”

“We have a friend who said something similar, actually,” you giggled. Mrs. Cambroni smiled, and Natasha grabbed your hand, pulling you towards the door.

“Well, it’s been fun, Mrs. Cambroni, but we only have so much time to get ready before the festival starts. It was good to see you, Cole!” she called over her shoulder as she walked through the door.

“Why do you keep doing that?” You scowled at her as she dragged you down the street and towards her house.

“Because Cambroni is a nut,” she retorted, sparing you a glance from over her shoulder. “And you should take everything she says with a grain of salt. Besides, I wasn’t kidding. We only have so long before the festival starts, and while I am skilled at what I do, I need all the time I can get to get us both ready.”

Five hours later, and you found yourself standing on the boardwalk once again, fingers fidgeting with the green tulle of your dress. Nat had done an amazing job, not that you were surprised. The dress she had picked out for you was a beautiful sage green, puffy sleeves hanging off the shoulder as they met at the sweetheart neckline. Your new necklace hung just above your cleavage, and your makeup was simple, more natural looking than her own. She had kept it light, forgoing much of the costume vibes that other girls had seemingly gone for. Your eyes were dusted in a gold powder along with the edges of your lips, tiny pearls scattering the edges of your eyes. She had smeared some of the gold dust along your neck as well as your shoulders and collarbone, nothing to ostentatious, but just enough to draw attention to the skin there.

Nat herself looked absolutely stunning. Her red dress was strapless, a bunch of fabric folded on her hip to give the appearance of a rose bloom. Red eyeshadow creeping up her temples, and she had chosen a dark red lipstick to complete the look. She was beautiful, and she carried herself with confidence.

“Where are those idiots,” Nat muttered to herself, typing away at her phone as she attempted to track down the rest of your friends. A low whistle had the two of you turning, seeing Bradley with a wide grin on his face as he looked at the two of you along with the rest of the boys.

“Well, don’t you two clean up nice,” he hummed, eyes taking you both in appreciatively, causing heat to rise to your cheeks. Nat frowned at him, giving him a once over, taking in his jean shorts and Hawaiian shirt.

“Did you even try?” She asked him.

“The ladies love me for what I offer, Natasha,” he retorted with a wistful sigh as he shoved his hands his pockets.

“And what is that? An eighties porno stache and a collection of bargain bin dad shirts?” She threw back, causing snickers to float around your little group. Bradley took it in stride, smiling lazily at her as he shot you a wink.

“She’s just mad because she doesn’t look as good as we do, Skipper,” he whispered to you conspiratorially, causing you to giggle.

“Keep dreaming, Bradshaw,” Nat laughed, eyes peeking over at Javy who looked at her fondly. You smiled at the sight, eyes drifting over the group before they landed on those oh so familiar green ones.

Jake’s eyes bore into you, drinking you in, and you suddenly felt self conscious under his gaze. You smiled at him shyly, and you saw his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed thickly.

“You look great, Skip!” Bob chirped as he popped up beside you. You broke eye contact with Jake to smile up at your best friend.

“Thanks!” You said, giving him a once over and cocking an eyebrow. “Did your mom make you wear that?”

“That obvious, huh?” He chuckled, shaking his head.

“Only a little,” you giggled.

“Man, I’m starving!” Mickey groaned. “Let’s go get some food!”

He moved towards the growing crowd as the rest of you followed suit. Jake fell in step next to you, eyes still watching you.

“You look nice, too,” you whispered, watching as a dusting of pink made its way onto his cheeks. He smiled warmly at you.

“Not as nice as you do,” he murmured. You felt yourself preen at his words, pushing your shoulders back slightly. Jakes eyes darted down, widening at the sight of your pendant. He looked like he was about to say something, but a voice cut him off.

“Jake!”

The two of you turned to see an older woman, maybe in her late forties, waving at him. Her blonde hair was piled intricately in an updo, her white dress glowing in the setting sun. Jake smiled at her before looking back at you, gesturing for you to follow him.

She was even more beautiful up close, smile lines evident on her face as her eyes darted between the two of you, a question in her green eyes.

“Hey, mom,” Jake greeted her, wrapping her in a hug. “Wasn’t expecting to see you so early in the night. Where’s Dad?”

“Oh, your father wanted to wrap some things up at the office,” she chuckled, eyes trained on you as she spoke, a kind smile on her red lips. “Who might this be?”

“Mom, this is Skipper,” he said, smiling down at you softly. “Skipper, this is my mom, Nicola.”

“Please, honey. Call me Nikki,” she hummed at you, eyeing your neck. “My, don’t you look a vision tonight?”

“Oh, thank you,” you blushed. “I love your dress.”

“This old thing?” She scoffed, smiling warmly. “I’ve worn this dress to this festival for the past five years. I’ve been meaning to go out and get a new one, but who has the time?”

“Mom is one of the main people who plans this festival,” Jake explained.

“It’s always been my favorite,” she sighed, eyes growing hazy as she lost herself in thought. “It’s where your father and I became exclusive, you know.”

“Oh, like those stories,” you said. Nikki’s eyes looked at you curiously, and you felt yourself blush once again. “Mrs. Cambroni was telling me about the origin of the festival this morning.”

“Goodness, that woman certainly loves to meddle, doesn’t she?” Nikki hummed. Her attention was drawn away from you as a figure joined you.

“Hi, Nikki,” Mandy drawled, a tight smile on her face.

Nikki smiled warmly at her, taking in her appearance. Mandy wore a dark blue dress that hung off her shoulders, the neckline dipping dangerously low as the rest of the material clung to her every curve. Her eyes were painted in dark blue powder with gold accents, her lips a ruby red. She looked perfect.

“Hi, honey!” Nikki chirped. “You look…nice this evening!”

“Thank you,” Mandy smirked, eyes darting over to look at Jake, a frown on his lips. “I had this dress custom ordered for the occassion.”

“Mandy, do you know Skipper?”

Mandy glanced at you, smirk turning cruel as she took you in.

“Well,” she chuckled. “Looks like you clean up well after all. What a lovely surprise.”

You felt a wave of embarrassment roll over you, eyes darting around to try and find an exit from the suddenly tense conversation. Nikki seemed to notice the shift as well, and she frowned, eyes peering at Mandy who seemed none the wiser. The brunette turned to Jake with a smile as the band began to play.

“Jake, you’ll dance with me, won’t you?” She asked him, batting her eyelashes. You weren’t a jealous person, and you especially weren’t when it came to someone you weren’t dating. That’s why it came as a surprise to you when anger rose up in your throat at the way she looked at him, the mark on your neck pulsing. Mine, it said.

You were briefly aware of the smirk that adorned Nikki’s lips before she turned to Mandy.

“Actually, honey,” she interjected, “I was hoping you could come help me with something.”

Mandy gritted her teeth but offered the older woman a tight smile. “Of course.”

Nikki gestured for the brunette to follow, casting one last look over her shoulder at you, eyes shining mischeivously before disappearing into the crows. Jake let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair nervously before looking over at you.

“Do you,” he started, shifting from one foot to the other. “Do you want to dance with me?”

Your eyes met his green ones, shining with anticipation.

“I would love to,” you said softly. Jake beamed, moving to rest a gentle hand on the small of your back as he guided you towards the dancefloor. Several other couples swayed with the music, and you grinned when you saw Javy and Nat across the way, Nat’s head resting against his chest as he held her gently.

Your attention was torn away as Jake’s hands moved to rest on your hips, and you placed your arms around his neck. The air around you seemed to buzz with a pleasant warmth, the warmth of his hands causing heat to spread through you.

“Your mom is nice,” you commented in an attempt to distract yourself from the all consuming feeling as the two of you began to move with the music.

“She is,” he agreed, smiling down at you fondly. “She likes you, too.”

“How do you know that?” You asked him with a chuckle.

“She wouldn’t have dragged Mandy away if she didn’t,” he surmised, thumb stroking along your hip, sending a shiver up your spine.

“I thought she liked Mandy?”

“She does,” Jake replied. “In her own way. She knows Mandy can be…difficult.”

You hummed. “Then why did she want you to be with her?”

Jake sucked in a breath, lips forming a grimace as he answered. “Her and Mandy’s mom have been friends since they were in diapers. Their dream was for their kids to one day end up together, getting married and growing old. We come from two very prominant families, and it was an added bonus that us being together would help present a picture perfect ideal to everyone else. It was perfect.”

You noted the sense of bitterness his tone took on as he spoke, and your thumb brushed softly against the nape of his neck, causing him to suck in a small breath and tighten his hold on your waist ever so slightly.

“But?” You asked him, and he sighed.

“But, I wasn’t happy,” he admitted, his gaze meeting yours. “I love my parents, but their dream wasn’t mine. I’ve only ever wanted to make them happy, and if it meant putting my own happiness on the backburner, then I was willing to do that.

“And now?” You whispered, the two of you slowing to a stop as the song ended. Jake’s hands still gripped you tightly, no sign of letting go as he stared at you.

“Now,” he said slowly, “I think I’ve changed my mind.”

The two of you stood in the middle of the dancefloor as the band moved into the next song, the couples around you beginning to move again. You suddenly felt too warm, and Jake must have noticed your change in demeanor because he pulled away from you, hand gripping your left one as he dragged you away from the crowd. You let him lead you through the throng of people, and you noticed Mickey, Reuben, and Bob chatting with Mrs. Cambroni and Cole, all of them laughing amongst each other. Mrs. Cambroni caught your eye and shot you a wink as she sipped from her glass. You saw Bradley, Javy, and Nat laughing not too far away, but it was the cold, calculating blue eyes that cut through the warmth that surrounded you.

Mandy watched as the two of you maneuvered through the crowd. She disappeared from sight as Jake rounded the stage, the wall blocking most of the sound as he led you further down the otherwise deserted boardwalk. The music faded as the two of you kept walking, and finally Jake came to a hault. He turned, hands grasping your waist as he lefted you onto the railing, making sure you were comfortable before stepping in to the space where your thighs were parted. His hands remained on your waist as he gazed up at you.

“Feel better?” He asked you.

“Much,” you answered, smiling softly at him. “Thank you.”

Jake hummed as his hands made small strokes up and down your waist. The two of you remained silent, just enjoying the moment.

“The others said you didn’t feel like you had options before,” you hummed quietly, eyes darting up to meet his. “I’ve been wondering what they meant by that.”

Jake didn’t say anything, eyes searching yours before slowly leaning in. You felt his warm breath fan over your face, and your heartbeat quickened in your chest. He paused, eyes hooded as he watched you, watched the way your chest heaved at his close proximity, watched as your eyes begged and pleaded with him to close the gap, but still he waited.

You let out a strangled cry as the feeling of having him so close became too much, and you surged forward, pressing your lips against his. You felt like you were melting from the inside out as your lips molded against his, and Jake let out a pleasured groan, hands pulling you closer to him as his body molded into yours. You gasped as your thighs parted even more, allowing him to press his knee into your core. Jake took advantage of this, licking into your mouth with languid thrusts that matched the slow rhythm of his thigh as it grinded against you. Your hands flew to his hair, tugging on the blond locks in a way that had him moaning into your mouth. You ground your hips down experimentally onto him, earning a groan as he pulled away from you, nipping on your bottom lip before placing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Such a good girl,” he moaned, lips placing hot, open mouthed kisses along your jaw before moving down your neck. You tilted your head to the side, offering him more access to which he eagerly took advantage of. You let out a whimper as his lips brushed the nape of your neck, a smirk forming on his lips as he began to bite and suck on the skin there, leaving behind what was sure to be a sizeable hickey.

“Jake,” you whispered breathlessly, hips still grinding down on him. His hands glided up the expanse of your body, his right hand cupping your breast and squeezing. You threw your head back, crying out in ecstasy.

“So pretty like this, baby,” he rasped, thrusting his hips up into your clothed core. “Think you can come like this? Wish you could see yourself. See how hot you look as you’re about to come just from grinding down on me.”

Your eyes were hooded as you looked at him, silently begging him to make you come. His eyes glowed in the low light, the sun having already disappeared beneath the horizon. Jake pressed a tender kiss to your lips, and you brought a hand down to his jaw to keep him there. He pulled back slightly, one of his strong hands on your waist as he guided you over his thigh.

“So beautiful,” he murmured as he watched you, a hypnotic lilt to his tone as he drank in the sight of you, fucked out and at his mercy. “And all mine. Isn’t that right?”

You nodded vigorously, words escaping you, but Jake shook his head.

“Say it,” he groaned, “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you sobbed, your high so close as you rubbed yourself furiously down onto him. Jake’s eyes danced in delight, a smirk on his lips as he watched you use him for your own pleasure. But then the smirk dropped and his eyes flashed dangerously as he pulled away. You mewled at the loss of contact, reaching out fo him. He took you in his arms, spinning you so that you were pressed behind him, and you were vaguely aware of the sound of a snarl as your head whirled around you. The intense warmth spreading through you was drenched with an ice cold feeling as a familiar cry rang out in the night.

The song was beautiful, higher pitched than the others you had heard previously, sending a mix of terror and a need to obey running through you. You made to move, but Jake’s arms held you firm. The song called to you again and you felt tears spring to your eyes at the conflicting feelings inside you. You’re breath came out shaky, and Jake turned to look at you. He grabbed your shoulders gently, green eyes boring into yours desperately.

“Skipper,” he crooned, a hand reaching up to cradle your cheek. “Listen to me.”

You wanted to, but the song still called to you, warring with the one coming from Jake as he continued.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he cooed, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. “Stay with me. Be my good girl. ”

Your eyes darted back and forth between him and the water where the song called for you to follow. A sob wracked your body as you through yourself into Jake, arms wrapping around him as you buried your face into his neck. He shushed you, rubbing at your back gently, and you were vaguely aware of the sound of your friends joining you. A warm hand rested on your upper arm like the person was going to pull you away, and you let out a desperate cry, clinging to Jake with all your strength as he let out a snarl. You paid no mind to the conversation around you as Jake held you to him, still cooing a song into your ears. You weren’t sure when exactly the other song ended, but you began to relax somewhat in Jake’s hold. You slowly came to, just as Bradley heaved out a sigh.

“Yeah, she’s staying with us tonight.”

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