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sorryimananti-romantic · 10 months ago

Text

Siren

siren!yeosang x sirenhunter!reader

enemies to lovers au but with crack

genres and warnings: fluff, angst, violence warning, sorcerer san and sirenhunter jongho as side characters

word count: 27.8k (idky im still incapable of making shorter fics)

synopsis: yeosang is a siren and you're a siren-hunter. he may have lost his voice and you may be immune to a siren's call, but he has you bewitched anyway. on your journey together to find the sirens who killed your parents and took his voice, you make new friends, find yourself cursed and turning into a siren, and fall for yeosang. he proves time and time again that he's not the monster you thought all sirens to be as he helps you come to terms with yourself and find the person who cursed you.

manager-nim: @eightmakesonebraincell (we fought over who writes a sea au first. now i'm traumatised and she learnt her lesson) (also firing you bc you 🔫 didn't proofread this)

You couldn’t help but wonder just what was different about this part of the ocean because the sound of the waves crashing loudly was strangely calming. Maybe it was the lack of travellers or sailors here- after all, this area was considered remote. Maybe the humans had not polluted this part yet. Humans always left a trail behind them, and you couldn’t really spot any traces here.

Or maybe a kind soul was taking care of this place. As you walked with bare feet on the sand, long having ditched your sandals, the waves occasionally flowing to wash your feet, you noticed a few cabins and cottages in the distance-- someone must be living here. Maybe they knew how to treasure the land they dwelled on, the sea that they sailed in. You smiled to yourself, looking up at the sky, a lot clearer here than where you were coming from. The stars were more visible too, almost looking as if they were near- like all you had to do was jump to grab them. Even the wind smelt cleaner, containing traces of salt and mud, and-

Food. Your stomach rumbled at the thought and you rubbed it as if that would provide it any comfort. You haven't had a nice meal for a while now. You held the strap of your bag tighter in an attempt to distract yourself, glancing at your right and noticing a person walking along the shore lazily as if they had no worry in the world. You reckoned the person must be a resident here and decided to approach them, hoping to find a room for the night and a hot meal if you were lucky.

You jogged towards the person and when he turned, you said hi. “I was wondering if there are rooms available for the night? I’m leaving at the crack of dawn- I need to catch the first boat.”

“The first boat won’t leave until mid-afternoon,” he said and you involuntarily raised a brow at how different his voice sounded from his appearance- it was too much to process immediately. “As for a room… you can usually find them in town, but it’s far too late, isn’t it? And you look tired enough.”

You scanned him and you couldn’t help but notice just how beautiful he looked. There was no other way to explain his appearance- it was like he was crafted with special care. You frowned a bit, not detecting anything odd about him- was he human then? “Mid-afternoon, huh?” You looked around. “Might put a tent somewhere here then-”

“I can offer you a meal and a room… if you’d like,” he sounded cautious, scanning you again. “You shouldn’t be out alone at this hour-”

“I can take care of myself, thank you for the offer-”

“No, you really shouldn’t be out alone- not here,” he glanced at the sea and you understood. “You never know what creatures prowl in the dark.”

You realised he was right- a lack of humans meant more room for other creatures. Your stomach growled again at the thought of a meal and he looked pointedly at you. “You can find a room in town too after you eat something because I can hear your stomach loud and clear-”

“Alright,” you laughed awkwardly. “Thank you. Please, after you.”

He passed a warm smile and you followed him, glancing at the cottage he pointed to- it looked quite homey. You reckoned that if he didn’t find anything odd about the bow and arrows hanging at your back, he didn’t really have any qualms about inviting you to his cottage. You commented on how pretty it was and he thanked you, guiding you inside the warm living room and asking you to wait while he heated up the cinnamon rolls he had baked earlier. You dropped your stuff in a corner and looked around.

“Are you a sailor too?” You asked, noticing the compasses and scrolls on the fireplace mantel.

“Not my occupation but I do travel around,” he said. “You don’t mind fish stew, do you?”

“Nope,” you observed the strange wall hangings- you had travelled around the continent for years but you had never seen such ornaments- beads, pearls, shells and plants intertwined in an intricate pattern. “Where did you get these?”

“I made them,” he started setting the table, motioning for you to join him. “I learned from an elder a while ago.”

You made an impressed face and sat across from him, taking in his otherworldly features again now that you could actually see him clearly. He had highlights in his hair, perhaps from the sun, and you noticed a red mark on his temple. You thanked him for the meal before digging in.

“So what’s your name?” You asked.

“Yeosang,” he said. “And you are?”

You told him your name. “Do you travel around a lot?”

He nodded. “I have, uh… relatives who are scattered across the sea. I sometimes go to visit them. What brought you here, though? We don’t get a lot of visitors here.”

“I have someone I need to find too.”

“Family?”

“Nah, they’re long gone,” you told him. “Just… some people I’ve been trying to find for a while. They know about my family. Must be on one of the islands around somewhere.”

“I hope you find them,” he pursed his lips. “It must be lonely travelling alone all the time.”

“Yeah, but I make friends everywhere,” you chuckled. “Going back to them is nice.”

“Do you know anyone around here then? Propus is a small town.”

“Not really,” you told him, finishing eating and he poured you water. “I just arrived here an hour ago and walked around trying to find a room, but…”

“My offer stands,” he passed you the cinnamon rolls. You narrowed your eyes.

“Feels like you’re bribing me- is there anything you’d like in return?”

He laughed out loud and you couldn’t help but smile at how beautiful he sounded- he seemed less and less human with every passing second, even though you couldn’t find any characteristic feature that could indicate he might be someone else- a merman, perhaps? But they didn’t live on land- he looked human. A sorcerer then? “Nothing. I might put a board outside and call it an inn now. I just like having visitors- they always leave something behind, don’t they?”

“Like what?”

“A memory, a lesson,” he shrugged.

“You’re strange,” you told him. “Well, I think your business might run well. You make excellent food.”

He smiled shyly at that. You sighed deeply. “And I’m far too tired so a room sounds nice. I’ll pay you in the morning, though.”

“No, it’s okay-”

“Please, I wouldn’t want to be a burden,” you got up, gathering the dishes. “Consider me the first guest of your business.”

He grinned at that, turning to place the dishes in the sink and you noticed a strange glow on his temple, right where the red mark was. “Is that… a birthmark?”

“Ah, this?” He pointed at his temple. “Yeah, I guess. I’ve always had it.”

“It’s pretty,” you told him, gathering your stuff and he guided you upstairs to an empty room with a bed and a dresser.

“You can relax and get some sleep- the boats start sailing in the afternoon.”

“Got you,” you said. “I’ll wait for you- I hope you won’t mind guiding me to the nearest weapons shop in the morning? I need to restock the arrows.”

“Of course,” he glanced at the weapons by your bedside. “You’re not a pirate, are you?”

You laughed. “Just a lone traveller- I should protect myself.”

“Good,” he gave you a thumbs-up, saying goodnight before closing the door behind him and leaving. You relaxed, glad that you found a welcoming person tonight. Years of travelling made you good at finding such people.

You quickly washed up and prepared to sleep, stuffing your old clothes in the bag and wondering if you should do some laundry while you were here. You opened the window, the waves and air producing an odd harmony as they clashed-

No.

It wasn’t the sound of the air or the melody of the ocean. It sounded like the call of a siren.

But a siren so close to land? It wasn’t possible.

You took a deep breath, your instincts taking the better of you as you grabbed your bow and quiver, opening the door and halting again- it had to be the song of a siren, but it was being hummed very lightly, and…

It didn’t sound like it was coming from outside.

Not trusting your own senses, you went back inside your room towards the window, peeking out and finding no one in the vicinity. You couldn't locate the source or the distance, so you decided to go downstairs after hiding one of your daggers in your sleeves. You treaded lightly down the stairs, pausing when you found the front door open-

And Yeosang outside, looking absolutely ethereal while he hummed that song.

The song of the sirens.

It didn’t make any sense- sirens couldn’t leave the sea. Sirens had evolved over the years, appearing almost human-like, yes, but… Yeosang wasn’t a siren, was he? He didn’t look anything like a siren. He didn’t sound like a siren- yes, he was singing the song of the sirens that you recognised but it wasn’t luring you. You were immune to the songs but even then, being in the vicinity of sirens would always cloud your mind, but this time…

You were very well in your own senses.

You gripped the dagger tighter, watching Yeosang hum the song as he knitted, his fingers working with expertise. You stepped closer, not daring to breathe any louder, but his shoulders suddenly stiffened as he paused.

“For someone who hunts… your stealth could improve.”

You remained where you were. “What are you?”

He continued knitting and you watched him break the thread with his teeth before he turned to face you, not even flinching at the sight of your dagger. “What are you? Why are you going around the sea with only bows and arrows? Humans belong on the land, not the sea.”

“How do you know the call of the sirens?”

“And how would you know what the call of the siren sounds like?” He narrowed his eyes and now that the moonlight hit the side of his face, the red ‘birthmark’ glowed- no, reflected the moonlight like scales-

The scales- the skin of a siren.

Before you knew it, your dagger was flying out of your hand, aimed for this forehead. He dodged it as if he had seen it coming, the dagger landing on the floor with a clang and he glared at you. “I will pretend that didn’t just happen.”

You were already aiming your arrow at him. “You’re a siren.”

“Come on,” he raised his hands in the air. “Do I really look like one? Or sound like one?”

You didn’t respond, waiting for him to make one wrong move, positive he couldn’t deflect these enchanted arrows that would always meet their target. He turned back, gathering his stuff as if an arrow pointed towards his heart didn’t bother him at all. “You’re not singing anymore.”

“If I was really a siren, my song would have lured you. You wouldn’t be standing here with an arrow aimed at me, miss. You must know that- you seem to know a lot about sirens.”

“Of course I know. I’m a siren-hunter, after all.”

This time, he froze for a good few seconds and you expected to see surprise on his face but instead, when he turned, his eyes were filled with curiosity. “Siren-hunter, you said? You’re not the infamous reaper, are you? You must be the marauder”

“And?”

He smirked dangerously. “There is a way you can pay me back for letting you stay the night here- and ignoring that disrespect,” he told you. “You see, I need to hunt some sirens too.”

“But you’re a siren-”

“And? Can’t a siren hunt another siren?”

You finally lowered your bow. “Are you really a siren?”

“I was, once,” his eyes glinted. “I’m more human now. They took my voice.”

You gulped. “They took your voice? How can they do that? Is that even possible?”

“It is, apparently,” he sank down in his chair as if disappointed. “I’ve been outcasted.”

“But why would they do that to their own kind?” You scoffed. “Aren’t you sirens a very tight-knit community or something?”

“They are, until one of them does something they weren’t supposed to do,” he sounded grim. “Not all sirens wish to eat humans, you see? Maybe I like chicken better.”

You groaned out loud. “You’re not making any sense- ” you took a seat in front of him, the arrow still lodged in the bow. “Just answer me- you’re a siren but you’re…”

“I am a siren, but I cannot lure humans anymore,” he admitted. “I never wanted to do that anyway. They took my voice because I didn’t act like a ‘normal’ siren.”

“Damn,” you muttered. “And you want to hunt some sirens? The ones that took your voice?”

“Yes,” he nodded firmly. “I could have gone on my own, but I had a feeling… that I should wait. Wait for someone like you to come.”

“How did you know I was a siren-hunter?”

“I wasn’t sure at first- I thought you were a fanatic or something, until I sang and you came armed to the teeth,” he tsk-ed. “Is that how you treat someone who gives you shelter?”

You ignored that, scanning him once again- there was a reason why he looked too beautiful to be a human after all. “What do I get out of our deal?”

“You mentioned something about finding someone, didn’t you?” Yeosang hooked one leg over the other, appearing extremely interested in your story. “There’s no relatives out there, isn’t that so? You must be hunting the sirens who killed someone you loved.”

“It’s obvious, huh?” You looked away from his tantalising gaze. “You’ll help me locate those sirens and in return, you want me to help you hunt your sirens. How do I know you won’t turn on me?”

“How do I know you won’t kill me?” He looked pointedly at your bow. “I can fight just as good as you. I cannot lure you, I cannot eat you- but to be fair, I wouldn’t have eaten you even if I was a siren. You don’t look appetising.”

You gaped at the siren- the man in front of you. Unbelievable.

“Just because I agree and we might strike a deal,” you said and got up, lowering your bow and he got up as well, waiting to hear the rest, “doesn’t mean I trust you, okay?”

“Likewise, human,” he said and you almost felt as if he were looking down on you. You glared at him for a few moments, wondering what to do.

“You’re still taking me to the weapons shop tomorrow, by the way. As a siren, you must know which arrows hurt the most.”

Yeosang smirked. “You should get something for close combat too. You never know when you might find a siren in your proximity,” he stepped closer and you tightened the grip on your bow. “The call of sirens might not work on you but you never know when your incantations slip.”

You raised a brow in question but he simply passed you, purposely bumping his shoulder with yours and you watched him disappear in his room before going up with heavy steps to your own room, wondering if you had really made the right decision. Could you trust a siren?

Just what had you signed up for?

—------------------------------

“You know, for a siren, you’re awfully unaware of your surroundings,” you commented as you watched Yeosang trip on a rock for the second time on your way to the weapons shop in the town. Yeosang glared at you.

“If you can’t tell already, sirens aren’t meant for the land.”

“You seemed to be doing awfully well though,” you muttered. “Almost believed you were just a loner with a cottage on the beach with a thing for baking.”

“Gotta lure the humans somehow-”

Before you knew it, you were clutching his collar and the tip of your dagger was digging into the crook of his neck. Yeosang laughed loudly, making the passersby frown at your exchange. “Relax. I haven’t eaten a human in decades.”

“Not helping,” you practically growled, pushing him away before continuing walking. Yeosang didn’t seem offended- his cocky smile only grew wider as he tried to match his pace with yours. You narrowed his eyes at him- what he said sounded like the truth, but just what exactly did he do for the sirens to take his voice and make him turn to the land and live as a human, among humans? Why did the townspeople greet him with smiles and offer him their food? Had he somehow charmed them?

Yeosang spotted you standing awkwardly by the pillar of the shop in the corner while he helped an old woman carry some bags into her shop. The woman patted his arm and Yeosang bowed, politely refusing the fruits she offered as a token of gratitude. Yeosang jogged back to you and pointed towards the north where the weapons shop was located.

“What are you, some philanthropist?” You scoffed. “Charmed your way into the town, haven’t you?”

“No one can resist my charms even when I’m human,” he simply said. “Admit it. You were bewitched into staying the night too. No amount of incantations and spells could have made you resist my natural- “

“Okay, that’s enough,” you warned, wondering if that was the truth and then scolding yourself internally for doubting yourself- you only accepted his offer because he seemed like an okay person. You trusted your gut-

How did your gut not warn you of his nature?

“Are you like… a human now?” You asked him. “I mean… you don’t look like a siren even in your appearance.”

“The longer I live without activating my siren powers, the more human I will become,” he said. “And it’s not just my appearance. I will eventually lose my powers too.”

“Just how long have you been living as a human then?”

“Long enough to age,” he muttered, walking ahead of you and asking you to wait while he checked if the weapons shop was open. “Come inside- and please be civil. I have a reputation to maintain.”

You made a face, the question you had been wanting to ask at the tip of your tongue. You swallowed it though and entered with a smile, greeting the owner with a bow.

“Young miss, what are you looking for?”

You extracted an arrow from the quiver- the one you had gotten from the person who put the spell on you and made you immune to the sirens’ song. The man examined the carving on the arrow and made an impressed face. “This is a rare one. Where did you get that?”

“It was a gift,” you told him and Yeosang looked suspiciously at you. “An arrow like this is very hard to find on this continent, isn’t that so?”

“The ebony wood used to make this arrow is very rare,” the man returned your arrow. “And unfortunately, that tree does not grow in this continent. You will have better luck finding objects made of this wood at the place where its trees grow.”

“But it’s very difficult to cross the sea,” you looked pointedly at Yeosang who pretended to be interested in the ceiling.

“You seem like a person who could cross the sea,” the man smiled knowingly. “Anything else you might need?”

“Well, Yeosang? What weapon do you suggest I should get for close combat?”

Yeosang coughed a bit before glaring at you and asking the owner, “Can we have a look at the longswords?”

About an hour later, with a surprisingly cooperative yet still cocky Yeosang, you were having lunch at a pub in the heart of the town. The atmosphere was lively with sailors eating their fill before they prepared to take off and Yeosang ordered a bunch of food-

“Don’t think I’m doing you a favour here. I want to eat. You can have a little if you want to.”

You rolled your eyes- you still weren’t sure what Yeosang’s approach towards you was supposed to be- did he hate you or did he simply not care, purposely riling you up whenever he could? You glanced at the longsword now resting next to the wall- Yeosang and the owner had helped you find the perfect weight you could carry and the blade was sleek, the hilt firm in your grip. It was perfect for you.

“I wonder if your blood will be the first to taint my sword.”

Yeosang almost choked on his soup. “All my help for nothing, huh?”

“Why would you even help a siren-hunter find the perfect weapon to kill sirens?” You asked. “Do you really hate them that much?”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong- we’re only hunting a selective few,” he reminded you of your deal. “You’ll help me find the ones who took my voice, and I’ll help you find the ones you’re after. We’re not going on a killing spree. Besides, the existence of sirens is essential for natural selection and maintaining a balance in the ecosystem-”

“Stop quoting school books to me,” you scoffed. “What if some random siren comes after me?”

“I’ll protect you,” he said, “so you don’t need to worry about that. Remember- we accomplish our goal first before you resume your stupid siren-hunter job-”

Your heart may have fluttered for a second but he continued, “-which, I must point out, makes no sense. Why would you go around targeting all of the siren community? Why did you become a siren-hunter?”

“Why do you sirens go around hunting humans then?” You countered. “Humans only wish to sail the sea freely.”

“And sirens only wish to live without their homes being polluted. So do the merpeople. You don’t seem to hold a grudge against them. Aren’t they more frequently killing humans than sirens?”

“Everyone is killing everyone,” you sighed deeply. “I don’t go around killing sirens just because I’m immune to the call of the sirens now. I only protect myself while I try to find the ones who… the ones who killed my family.”

Yeosang didn’t respond to that, putting some kimchi on your rice bowl and you chuckled lightly at that. “An eye for an eye, huh?”

“Why do you want to kill the sirens who took your voice?”

“Because even if I do not wish to use it, they stole a part of me.”

“Do you wish to become a siren again?” You wondered out loud. “Getting your voice back will make you a siren, won’t it?”

“I am a siren, sweetheart. I still am. And you should be glad you’re immune to the song of the sirens because if you weren’t and you heard me humming last night? I’m not sure we would be here right now.”

You gulped at his confession. “So you can still lure humans?”

“I haven’t tested it, but one time, someone accidentally heard me hum a song- after I lost my voice,” he admitted. “I thought it didn’t affect them. They appeared normal enough to me. But the next day… I learned that they drowned themself. I stopped singing after that.”

“If you knew that… why did you sing last night, knowing I could hear you?”

“Because I recognised that arrow,” he pointed at your quiver, the arrow you had shown the owner at the weapons shop. “The ebony wood is fatal to sirens. I knew who you were instantly, I was just praying you weren’t the sadistic siren-hunter of the two.”

You scoffed in disbelief. “Do you realise what would have happened if I turned out to be the ‘sadistic’ siren-hunter- the reaper- who I’m sure every siren has heard of? Who has terrorised every creature in the sea, not just sirens?”

“Well… I didn’t think that far,” Yeosang shrugged. “And I don’t think planning that far would have mattered anyway-”

“You’re kidding,” you laughed in disbelief. “You risked your life and hummed like an idiot hoping I would be the nicer siren-hunter of the two?”

“Honestly, you don’t look like a siren-hunter at all,” Yeosang pointed out. “So of course I took my chance.”

You shook your head in disbelief, finishing your food and splitting the bill because you told him you did not want him to have any more ideas about you- you also told him you were debating calling off the deal because you weren’t sure you could ever find your sirens when he was this reckless. He only laughed it off and you both went back to his cottage, packing your bags and preparing to leave.

“What weapons do you possess to guard yourself?” You asked Yeosang, noticing a lack of weapons on him. “Did you hide your daggers in your bag or something? Because you won’t have time to get anything out of the bag if you come across the better siren-hunter out of us two- or what if I decide to attack you in the middle of the night, huh? Are you taking me easy-”

“Stop rambling,” Yeosang scolded, waving at a man standing near a ship by the docks. “It’s only going to be the two of us, right? No sailor?”

“I’m sure we both can manage,” you said and he nodded, asking you to wait while he went to talk to the sailor. He returned with a smug face, pointing at a-

“There’s no way I’m sailing in that piece of trash-”

“How dare you call my boat a piece of trash-”

“It’ll attract too much attention!” You almost shouted. “And honestly? It looks like it will fall apart at any moment.”

You weren’t wrong. The boat had odd planks nailed to it at multiple spots and the reason you realised it was Yeosang’s personal boat was because of the familiar hangings on the boat. It was spacious enough for only the two of you and you weren’t sure it could withstand a still sea let alone crashing waves. You turned towards Yeosang, “Listen to me. We’re travelling in the sea, okay? You might be able to breathe underwater and swim like a fish but I’m human.”

“Alright,” Yeosang groaned. “I hear you. Let’s just begin on this boat- we’re travelling along the continent for now, yeah? The moment we feel this boat is about to give in, we can dock wherever we are and find someone to travel with.”

“Or we could ask someone here-”

“I said it before- I have a reputation and a life here and I will not let you tarnish it.”

“Whatever,” you rolled your eyes. “I will use you as a boat if your boat decides to dismantle in the middle of the sea.”

Yeosang muttered something under his breath that you chose to ignore and you hopped on the boat after him, fearing this would be your last trip in the sea- you probably wouldn’t even make it very far. With a groan, you grabbed one of the oars and the two of you started rowing your boat away from the docks and you both made a bet on how far you could make it.

You only made it to the neighbouring city of Alhena which you would be bordering as you sailed further around the continent. For now, the two of you needed a place to stay after having rowed and complained incessantly for more than half a day. Yeosang asked if you had ever been to Alhena and you told him you had been everywhere, which was true.

“How come you never found your sirens then?” He asked when you settled down at an inn for dinner, having dumped your bags in your separate rooms. “Where did you lose your family?”

You rested your elbows on the table, sighing deeply. “Near Mesarthim Island. We were on the way there from Denebola.”

“Ah, the island,” Yeosang stuffed his mouth with chicken, lost in thought. “I used to live there once.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “As a siren?”

“In the sea, yes,” Yeosang nodded, raising his brows as he looked at the chicken on his plate. “You should try this- it’s amazing.”

You obeyed, nodding along as you ate the chicken, wondering what it meant if Yeosang used to live near Mesarthim too- you had been siren hunting for four years now and you knew that there was only one spot around Mesarthim that hosted sirens- unless something had changed very recently. But if Yeosang was one of the sirens there…

That could only mean he was somehow involved in that attack that killed your parents, or he was related to the sirens that did.

And him helping you find those sirens… this could be a trap.

You finished your food quietly, nodding along to whatever Yeosang had to say before going to your room and counting your arrows. You pursed your lips- you had to get more ebony arrows before you would finally go to kill those sirens.

But for now, you had one, and if Yeosang dared to try anything…

Would you kill him and risk losing the arrow? Risk losing perhaps your only tool of revenge?

If Yeosang noticed the change in your demeanour the next morning, he didn’t comment on it, which made you even more suspicious. You told him you were going to the docks to find someone with a better boat and he said he would join you soon- he had some business in the market. You debated following him and keeping an eye on him but you figured you should solve the bigger problem first.

The docks in Alhena were much livelier than the docks in Mebsuta- a variety of boats, yachts and ships were lined across the docks and the harbour in the distance. You decided a sturdy boat would do- a small but enchanted boat would be your best find. Something that could withstand the storm and the harsh waves…

You spotted a man not far from you dragging some ropes, his get-up screaming sailor, yet there was something different about him. As if having sensed someone staring at him, he turned and passed you a smile. “Looking for a ride?”

You noticed the ink on his neck hidden by the scarf wound around it. “Where are you sailing to?”

“Wherever the waves take me,” he threw the ropes on his boat- the boat looked okay too. “Where are you headed to?”

“Sheratan,” you told him- the city closest to Mesarthim Island.

“You’re travelling a long way,” he scanned you. “Are you alone?”

“I have someone with me,” you said and he considered. While you negotiated the price, you scanned his broad figure and recognised the mark on his neck as the one that sorcerers wore and wondered if it was a good idea to bring a sorcerer into the equation- you were already dealing with a siren-

“Yes, I’m a sorcerer,” he laughed when he noticed your gaze stuck on his neck. “Does that bother you?”

“Not at all,” you assured him. “My experience with sorcerers has been… good.”

“Glad to hear,” he offered his hand and you shook it, calling it a deal. “My name is San. Our stop is Sheratan, but if you’d like to travel after, I can offer you my boat. My life is on the sea.”

“I like that,” you grinned. “I’m y/n. And…” you noticed the familiar figure approaching you. “That’s Yeosang. Don’t mind him, he’s a bit… odd.”

“Ah…” San frowned as Yeosang drew nearer. “He’s not human.”

“Believe it or not, that’s not what makes him odd,” you told him and he shrugged, hopping on the boat and telling you he was ready whenever you were.

“That’s a… good ride you got,” Yeosang said, hands on his hips as he took in the boat- spacious enough for three with a cabin.

“Admit it, it’s better than yours. Far better,” you scoffed.

“Mine was prettier,” he muttered, raising the bags in his hands. “I got us some food.”

“That’s a lot of food,” you took in the sheer number of bags in his hands. “I thought you were going to uh… catch fish on our way there? You can fish, right? Don’t you sirens have claws or something?”

Yeosang glared at you. “If I grow some back when we’re in the middle of the sea… you’ll know.”

You pretended to be scared before jumping on the boat and taking the bags from him, storing them in the cabin. Yeosang went to talk to the sorcerer and you noticed them discussing sailing strategies. You figured as a siren, he probably knew more about the sea than any sailor out there, though it must have been a while since he last navigated the seas. You wondered if he would start to look more like a siren as you stayed longer in the sea-

Could you stomach the sight of him as a siren? Sirens were, after all, the product of your nightmares.

“We’re steering west to avoid the Mesarthim coast,” Yeosang let you know, tossing an apple which you caught, lying back on the bags you had shaped as a couch. “It shouldn’t take too long given the weather remains clear.”

“And what exactly can we expect while on our journey?” You asked. You had sailed around your continent by yourself, yes, but you had never travelled across the ocean.

“Sirens, of course, and then the merpeople… water dragons if we’re unlucky. Pirates maybe. You’ll be surprised to hear that sirens aren’t the worst of these.”

You reluctantly agreed- the pirates were the ones you should avoid at all costs. You thought that it was ironic that you had to worry more about humans than the other sea creatures. San appeared out of the cockpit and said, “Our journey begins now. It shouldn’t take us more than four days to cross the ocean given that we don’t encounter, uh, any unexpected guests,” he looked pointedly at Yeosang who you were sure didn’t get the message. “Shall we begin?”

“Aye, Captain,” you saluted and San chuckled at that, disappearing back inside. Yeosang began to set up his space at the bow of the boat, arranging bags as pillows to rest against. You opted to watch the sorcerer instead, who was currently muttering something under his breath as he ran two fingers along the wheel, probably an incantation for the boat to stay on track. You had seen that before so satisfied, you began setting up your own corner, not much you could use to set camp unlike a certain someone-

“It’s only four days,” you couldn’t hold back. Yeosang looked like he had brought everything of importance from home, which was a bit too much.

“Yes, but I’m finally home,” Yeosang replied, his skin glowing at the temple with an almost blue sheen. “You won’t understand.”

You didn’t want to, so you only shrugged and let him do his thing. The sea… was it your home? For about a decade now, ever since your parent’s deaths, you practically lived on the sea. Sure, the land was where your ‘home’ was but you had always preferred the sea, even before the creatures of the sea stole a part of you.

You shut your eyes though you knew you couldn’t sleep right now. You simply let the sound of the waves and the gentle rocking lull you into a different headspace where there were no worries. Perhaps, that was what you liked so much about the sea- here, without anything holding you back, you could dream of what could have been or what could be. At this moment, you had no concerns, no worries, no expectations until you would reach land. Right now… you were free.

The sound of shuffling made you open one eye and you were a bit surprised to see it was almost dark. San looked at you for permission before sitting next to you.

“So… is our siren going to catch dinner for us or what?”

“I can hear you,” Yeosang mumbled and you snorted- was he trying to sleep or was he just pretending, like you?

“This siren is a good-for-nothing,” you whispered, making the sailor smile. “But it looks like he looted the market before settling here, so shall we prepare dinner?”

San agreed and the two of you went to search through the shopping bags, finding an odd variety of ingredients but still managing to make a decent meal of bread, fruits and nuts, and soup from the inn that San helped heat up. Yeosang looked proudly at the spread and you scoffed.

“You look pleased,” you commented. “Must thank you for the dinner. I thought I was going to get to eat some seafood thanks to you, but… I guess I’ll have to wait until I reach land.”

“I don’t think I’ll have to wait until land to eat some humans though,” Yeosang’s eyes glinted and San coughed to interrupt.

“So, how did a… siren? And a human? End up together in my boat?” San sounded unsure of what you two were, and for right reasons. “I kind of doubt you’re human.”

You frowned. “I am. I’m the marauder. You must have heard about me if you travel a lot.”

“The siren-hunter on an endless journey. I suspected,” he nodded. “I’m just wondering why a human would travel with a siren willingly. If… Yeosang really is a siren, though he doesn’t look or sound like one.”

“He's a siren,” you confirmed, glancing at Yeosang. “He just… got used to pretending that he’s human.”

“For your information,” Yeosang began. “I’ve always been like this. You think what sirens do all day is wait by the rocks for a human and sing?”

“That’s unfortunately what we’ve heard,” San looked amused, “but I’m willing to learn more.”

Yeosang looked disappointed. “You’re humans. You can never know the extent of what the ocean contains. The sirens are devoted to exploring more of the ocean and clearing it of potential threats-” Yeosang looked pointedly at you. “You humans think you’re the only one who does the work around here.”

“Yes, we’ve heard all about the ‘ecosystem’ too,” you retorted. “If the sirens and merpeople could leave the humans alone, maybe we wouldn’t think we’re the only ones doing the work around here. Sirens don’t have to eat humans to live.”

Yeosang smirked faintly and you wondered what he was hiding- or if he was doing that on purpose. He turned his attention to San. “It’s been a while that I’ve been on sea, so what can we expect on our way to Sheratan?”

“I’ll try to steer us as further away from the Mesarthim territory as I can, because that’s the problematic area,” San began and you nodded- you had heard enough tales about the abundance of wild sea creatures there who left no chance to hunt humans. “If you’re a siren, you can probably sense the presence of a threat better than the two of us, so I’ll have to depend on you a little.”

“And if he doesn’t warn us, we’ll just throw him into the sea. He can swim to Sheratan then,” you concluded and San stifled his smile as Yeosang rolled his eyes.

“And if you don’t behave, I’ll gladly hand you over to the pirates because I have a feeling that we will encounter them. Can you believe it?” Yeosang pointed at you as he looked at San. “I offered her shelter in my house and this is how she treats me.”

“His kind killed my family,” you told San.

“Humans are after sorcerers all the time, but we don’t hold grudges,” San shrugged and Yeosang clapped in approval. “But how did you survive if sirens attacked your family?”

“I don’t really remember,” you admitted. You knew you chose to forget some parts of it- it wasn’t the best memory after all. Sometimes, you tried to recall the events of that night but you could never see past the way one of the sirens locked eyes with you as it sank its teeth into your mother’s neck-

“That’s okay,” San started clearing the table, noticing how you zoned out for a moment. “If you’re only targeting the sirens who killed your family, that’s fine. But don’t be surprised if the siren community decides to target you.”

“I’m already targeted. They remember me,” you told them and even Yeosang looked surprised. “The last thing I remember from that night is one of the sirens telling me that they would wait for me. That they would never forget me. There’s a reason I couldn’t let it go and live like a normal human,” you got up, brushing your clothes. “If they’re after me… I can return the favour.”

You took the dishes from San and went towards the kitchen, leaving Yeosang staring at your figure, a faint realisation scratching at his brain, dots starting to connect.

It was too much of a coincidence, he thought. The last words that you heard from that siren…

He remembered them.

—-----------------------------

Yeosang was realising that there was far more to your story than you were letting them know. He was confused after your statement from a couple nights ago when you said the sirens were already targeting you, and he wondered if you believed that because it was the last words you heard from the siren or if they were actually after you, because if that was the case…

That meant trouble. If a siren spotted him with a human, much less a siren-hunter? Yeosang already had a bad reputation among the sirens.

And then there was the matter of you and Yeosang unintentionally, coincidentally targeting the same sirens. He thought about it all night and he was almost sure it had been his family who killed yours. Because he had been there. He had witnessed all of it.

And he couldn’t let you know.

It was good- you were going to kill two birds with one stone. He just hoped you wouldn’t have to find out about him being one of the sirens present when your parents were killed. Those very sirens had taken his voice too. If you were out to kill them, so be it. He would help you, but he would have to stay lowkey. If they found out Yeosang himself was helping the infamous siren-hunter…

He shivered at the thought, prompting you to stop your longsword practice and glance at him. “Feeling cold already? We’re miles away from Sheratan.”

It was usually snowing in Sheratan, but that wouldn’t affect him too much. “If sirens felt cold, they wouldn’t be spending their whole lives on the sea.”

“True,” you nodded, swinging your sword once again, testing its weight. “But aren’t you… a little human now?”

“Is cold the only reason humans shiver?” Yeosang wondered. “Maybe I sensed something strange- ah. I did.”

You turned your attention towards him, taking a look around. “What is it?”

“Humans,” Yeosang dropped the ball of yarn he had been playing with, shifting so he could stare into the distance. As if on cue, San popped out of the helm and found you looking through the lens of your telescope.

“Pirates,” you tsk-ed. “Two days and we’re already in trouble.”

“I’ll speed the boat away as much as I can,” San announced. “Pirates usually have a few sorcerers on board too so I don’t think we can really avoid an encounter at this point… we might have to negotiate.”

“Can we offer him in case they want something?” You pointed at Yeosang who looked amused.

“Good luck finding your sirens after I’m gone,” he simply said and you made a face, knowing it was the truth.

“Shit, I gotta protect you then,” you muttered. “The pirates will think you’re the treasure if they find a siren without its voice.”

“Ah, how the tables have turned,” Yeosang got up to join you, taking the telescope and trying to get an idea of how much time he had to plan something. “Well, lucky for you, I can still breathe underwater. As soon as they’re in your vision, let me know and I’ll just dive into the sea. You both can negotiate on your own then.”

“And if we find ourselves in trouble?”

“Then you know that I haven’t lost my voice completely,” he leaned in to whisper in your ear, making you shiver this time. “Cold?”

You pushed Yeosang away, wondering how immune you really were to the song of the sirens if his normal voice was making you react this much. Yeosang laughed to himself as he went to hide his belongings in the secret compartment of the boat. You stationed yourself at the bow, waiting for the pirate ship to become visible through the fog. The boat sped and started sailing further north-east but the ship was becoming more visible with each passing second and Yeosang started taking off the layers of clothing-

“Woah, woah,” you fanned yourself, unable to hide the heat creeping up your cheeks as you got a peek at his sculpted body- there was no way you were going to drool for a siren. “A little shame would do you no harm.”

Yeosang tsk-ed. “I would like to come back to dry clothes, thank you very much,” he bundled his clothes, thankfully keeping the pants on, tossing them to you with a wink. “Be back soon.”

With that, he dived into the sea and you watched him disappear into the dark depths of the ocean. When your heart rate steadied a bit (you made a mental note to think about why your heart couldn’t handle a half-naked siren), you stuffed his clothes in your bag and went inside the cockpit, taking control of the boat while San went outside to deal with the pirates who were now in your vision.

You could hear the low rumbling of their laughter as a few of them jumped on your boat, passing you sleazy looks. You ignored them, slowing the boat as instructed by San.

“Fancy seeing you here, Choi San,” one of them said. You wondered if he was an acquaintance but San didn’t look too pleased to see them. Maybe they had met in a similar encounter before. “You’ve got a guest, it seems. Only one?”

“Only her,” San said. “We’re going to Sheratan. What about you?”

“Sailing around the continent,” the man adjusted his sword hanging by his side. “Anything of interest you heard or seen lately?”

“Nothing much,” San took a deep breath, appearing very casual. “Just got some food and found someone who needed to travel.”

“I see,” he walked around slowly, observing his surroundings while what you assumed were his lackeys snickered, stealing some apples from the basket in the corner. “We have someone on board who needs to go to Sheratan too. Perhaps… you could do us a favour and rid us off him. We’re getting tired of his lamenting.”

“Oh?” San looked as surprised as he sounded. “That’s new. Don’t you kill anyone who annoys you?”

You wondered who the man was- he sent a dark glare in San’s direction and he tensed. “This one we can’t kill. Man’s the siren-hunter we’ve heard so much about. I bet he could give the sirens a run for their money with his songs.”

Your heart sank to your feet and as if on cue, you spotted the familiar figure of the only other siren-hunter alive, dangling by the edge. The man didn’t ask for permission- he shouted at the siren-hunter to get his stuff and get his ass down on your boat. You looked at San helplessly but his face gave away nothing, even though he appeared tense.

When you heard a low thud, you finally stepped out of the helm and nodded at the man you assumed must be the captain or the mate, catching the attention of the siren-hunter-

“Oh, y/n. What a coincidence. She’s the siren-hunter I told you about- the marauder. Really skilled- could shoot you all dead by the next second.”

“Jongho,” you greeted. Choi Jongho, the one siren-hunter that every sea creature feared- siren or not. The reaper who spared none. “You’re exaggerating.”

Jongho only grinned. “I hope you don’t mind my company- I really need to get to Sheratan. Urgent business- I was lucky to have found someone going in that direction,” he pointed towards the man who looked surprised to find himself in the company of not one but two siren-hunters. “And it seems I’m luckier to have found you.”

“Of course,” you smiled, the approval tasting bitter in your tongue. There was no way he would let Yeosang live. You contemplated proving Jongho’s point and killing everyone in your vicinity including him. “We should reach our destination in two days.”

“Perfect,” Jongho clapped, tossing his bag elsewhere and shaking hands with the man. “It’s been a pleasure, Captain. I hope we can cross paths again on the sea.”

He passed a weak smile, obviously not having found Jongho’s company as pleasing, and after thanking San telling him he owed him one, he went back to his ship and steered it away from your boat. San whistled. “The Captain is in my debt. Never in my lifetime have I thought I would see this day.”

“You’ll have to thank me,” Jongho said, laughing. “I gave him a hard time. He wanted to get rid of me so bad. The only thing keeping him from throwing me off board was the fact that I just saved them from a group of sirens.”

“Really?” You frowned. “Not around Mesarthim, were they?”

“No, why?”

“Because they’re mine to kill,” you muttered. “Remember?”

“Ah, yes,” Jongho nodded enthusiastically. “My offer is still on the table. You can ask me if you want some help.”

You bit your lips, looking at San and silently holding a conversation with him. San shrugged as if to say that there was no other choice.

And there was no other choice, really. You would have to tell Jongho about Yeosang.

But the thing about Jongho was… he hated sirens. He himself had survived the sirens by singing back to them and driving them crazy, was what you had heard though you never asked him if that was true. And then he had made it his life’s mission to hunt sirens- he learned to be immune. He was the ultimate weapon against sirens.

Why would he ever spare Yeosang? He would kill him first and think later. He would tell you you didn’t need Yeosang- yes, Jongho was kind and a good friend, but he was also scary and powerful-

You heard the splash of waves around your boat and you shut your eyes, bracing yourself for-

“Oh… we have company.”

Jongho turned towards the source, frowning when he saw Yeosang, his wet hair thankfully hiding the mark on his temple that would have given his identity away instantly. “And who are you?”

“San, can you tell him to disappear for a few minutes?” You finally sighed and San nodded eagerly, filling him in and putting his hand on his head, practically dunking him back in the sea while a confused Jongho watched the scene unfold in front of his eyes.

“Is he trying to kill him or what?” Jongho turned to you.

You scanned him once- he was wearing a jacket which meant he must be hiding daggers on his upper body. There were no visible weapons otherwise. “I have a favour to ask.”

“Shoot.”

You took a deep breath again, deeming Yeosang safe. “That man… he is um… a siren but a human, if you will-

And immediately, Jongho was reaching for his inside pocket and you grabbed his arm- “No, listen! Please hear me out first before you decide to kill him.”

Jongho wasn’t having any of it. “You had a siren on board? You’re supposed to be a siren-hunter, y/n.”

“I still am,” you glared at him. “That man- Yeosang- he is a siren, yes, but he no longer has his voice. Do you understand what that means?”

That finally made Jongho take his hand out of his pocket, clutching a dagger. “No.”

“Apparently he lost his voice a few years ago, which means he’s not a siren anymore. Oh, and he lives on land now. He’s practically human. He wasn’t a normal siren anyway- he prefers chicken over humans-”

“I’ll do the explaining,” Yeosang peeked out from the other edge of the boat, dodging the dagger Jongho aimed at his head with ease. He appeared out of the water, soaking wet, and proceeded to enter the boat and search through his bags-

Only to take out a towel and rub it over his head.

You groaned loudly- you wondered sometimes if Yeosang had a death wish. He was far too reckless to be normal. Jongho looked confused as well and you took the chance to steer him to the nearest chair, making him sit and then ordering Yeosang to sit in front of him.

“We talk like civil human beings-”

“He’s a siren, though,” Jongho finally noticed Yeosang’s scaly skin on his temple. “I’m not having a conversation with a siren.”

You turned to San for help who looked like he was enjoying this way too much. You stepped between the two glaring at each other with folded arms. “This is my mission, and I am not going to let a stupid, sorry excuse of a siren and a thick-headed siren-hunter ruining it, is that clear?”

Jongho scoffed but nodded. “Let’s hear you then.”

“Yeosang,” you said, going to stand behind him, putting your hands on his bare shoulders for emphasis and finding them surprisingly warm. “Is a harmless siren. He is… a vegetarian in terms of sirens, if you may.”

Yeosang snorted at that but you slapped his shoulder and continued. “He is going to help me pinpoint the specific group of sirens that I need to hunt. Only he can do that. You don’t have to kill him, Jongho. He is on his way to become a siren-hunter too.”

Jongho looked impressed. “What grudge do you hold?”

“They took my voice, and it does not belong to them. It is mine, even if I choose not to use it,” Yeosang said and you felt satisfied to hear his stern tone. “I can still sing, but it’s not the same. Also, she’s right. I don’t enjoy humans too much. Never did.”

“Now, Jongho,” you went to stand behind him, threateningly rubbing his shoulders. “You are not going to kill my guest. I will kill him myself if such a need arises. You can either join me on my mission or we can drop you off at Sheratan on the condition that you don’t tell a soul about Yeosang.”

“I would join you, though I wouldn’t have told anyone anyway,” he looked pointedly at Yeosang. “But I do not like being in the company of a siren.”

“Neither do I,” you told him. “But let’s tolerate him until our mission is over, please? You can kill him later.”

Yeosang tsk-ed. “So much for helping you. Humans,” he spat, picking his towel and spreading it on the clothesline, wearing his shirt back.

“Are you sure he’s a siren?” Jongho asked as he watched him set his little camp back. “I would believe you if you tell me he’s just a human.”

You finally relaxed, smiling. “I don’t know what his deal is, but… he’s an odd one, for sure. Don’t kill him, okay?”

“Okay,” Jongho shrugged. “Don’t expect us to get along though.”

—-----------------------------

You weren’t sure how, within a day, it came to the scene unfolding in front of your eyes, but Jongho was choking Yeosang as he threatened to throw him into the sea. For a split second, you wondered if you needed to remind Jongho that being in the sea would only help Yeosang, but then… Jongho probably knew.

“Say sorry,” Jongho’s voice was dangerously low. You scanned your surroundings, finding nothing odd except for San simply watching the two without doing anything about it. It hadn’t been too long with San but you found that he was someone who enjoyed chaos unfolding in front of him. He wouldn’t be one to step in and stop them, so you decided to do the deed.

“Not one moment of peace,” you muttered, starting towards them, Yeosang struggling to laugh. You scoffed to yourself- you needed to scold Yeosang for the lack of regard for his own life. Jongho repeated his order to Yeosang before you could reach them and do something about it, and Yeosang tapped Jongho’s shoulder.

“...Okay, I’m sorry!” Yeosang struggled to breathe and you paused- you weren’t sure if Yeosang’s lack of breath was due to Jongho restricting his air intake or because he couldn’t stop laughing.

Jongho let him go and Yeosang almost fell face-first into the sea. He laughed to himself while Jongho brushed his clothes, smirking. You put your hands over your hips, shooting a glare in the siren-hunter’s direction.

“What the hell was that?” You asked.

Before Jongho could answer, Yeosang called, “I was wrong, I admit it.”

Your brows rose in surprise- Yeosang admitting his mistake? Was it a good decision to bring Jongho on board after all-

“I was wrong,” Yeosang scoffed. “You’re not cute, Jongho. You’re very cute, actually-”

Jongho whipped around to throw a dagger in his direction and Yeosang nearly got struck, too busy laughing to properly avoid his death. San pumped the siren further, urging him to run for his life if he wanted to see tomorrow and you, arms limp by your sides and jaw hanging open, watched the siren-hunter chase the siren like a cat would chase a mouse.

It wasn’t until San put a finger below your chin and shut your mouth that you realised you had been zoning out. You looked at San in disbelief. “Tell me I’m dreaming.”

San stifled a grin. “Unfortunately… you’re not.”

“When did they get so… chummy?” You watched Jongho intently listen to Yeosang explain why he thought Jongho was cute and you wondered if Yeosang had sung and bewitched Jongho somehow.

“I have no idea,” San finally laughed, finding the situation both hilarious and unbelievable. “But far better than having them at each other’s throats, right?”

San was right and you suddenly saw Yeosang in a newfound light- or perhaps you had been ignoring this fact on purpose. The fact that Yeosang didn’t have to use his voice to captivate people- there was just something about him, and heck, he wasn’t even fully siren. He was very human but he was unconsciously drawing people to him. Jongho was not the kind of person you could crack and yet here he was, the reaper now laughing with a siren over something they found funny.

“I distinctly remember you insisting you would never get along with a siren,” you joined the two in Yeosang’s little corner, slumping down in front of them. “I’m really confused right now.”

“It was only a matter of time,” Yeosang said cheekily and Jongho rolled his eyes in response, though he couldn’t stifle his smile. He was kind of bad at hiding his feelings.

“I figured I’d get to know the enemy better by getting close,” he shrugged and you scoffed.

“And? Have you learned something?”

“He’s an odd one,” Jongho turned towards you, finally finding the opportunity to talk about that fact out loud, waiting for San to settle down too before he continued. “Sure, he doesn’t like to eat humans, which is strange enough for a siren, but… look at this?”

San chuckled at the way Jongho pointed at all the crocheting Yeosang had been doing ever since getting on the boat. “Apparently sirens have hobbies too, Jongho. You find that strange?”

“A siren’s gotta do something to pass his time,” Yeosang pouted, shoving the in-progress crochet out of Jongho’s probing gaze. “I was making hats for you all. Should I not?”

You put a hand on your heart, touched. “You were?”

“Not for you,” Yeosang stuck his tongue out. “For San. He’s been kind to me. And for Jongho because I don’t want him to kill me yet.”

San bowed in thanks and you made a sour face. “Why not for me? I like hats too.”

“You’re just using me to kill me later,” Yeosang sighed dramatically.

“I might change my mind if you make me one,” you offered but Yeosang wasn’t buying it and you looked to San for help who waved a hand at Yeosang.

“You shouldn’t leave someone out. We’re in this together.”

“Yes, and I saved you last night,” you pointed out. “If those pirates saw you or if I didn’t negotiate with Jongho, you would have been long dead.”

Yeosang locked eyes with you. “You sure about that?”

You leaned in, “I’m sure. And this tactic doesn’t work on me, Yeosang. I see right through you. You can act tough all you want.”

Yeosang whistled in approval. “No hats for you.”

You told him that he could keep his damned hats for himself. And to prove his point further, as soon as you reached the shore of Sheratan the next day, you spotted an old lady selling knitted clothes and you took the chance to buy a black hat for yourself- even though it was expensive. You told yourself it wasn’t just out of spite but also because it was extremely windy and cold here.

Yeosang was quite amused at the sight of you and couldn’t help but comment on it. “Jealous?”

“Please, if you were human, you’d know it’s a necessity at this point,” you clenched your jaw to prevent the chattering of your teeth. “Quite rude of you to not make me one.”

“I got something better for you, but you weren’t nice enough to ask for it,” Yeosang tsk-ed and you frowned, turning to him. He unzipped the bag hanging by his shoulder and produced a black muffler just like the one he was wearing and to your surprise, proceeded to wrap it around your neck.

“I don’t hate you, y/n,” he tucked the ends under your jacket and you thought you could hear familiar snickers from behind you but you were too busy gaping at the siren to care. “Even though you hunt my people… I don’t hate you. I understand your reasons. I just hope you understand mine,” he said, taking a step back to admire how his creation looked on you.

“...Thank you, Yeosang,” you finally glanced down, admiring the muffler. “And you must understand that I have a hard time being around you. I may warm up to you but at the end of the day, I can’t deny who you really are.”

“And that’s okay,” he nodded. “You look stupid in that hat by the way.”

“Yeah?” You scoffed immediately in response, glad he wasn’t making it awkward. “You’re just mad it’s not your hat I’m wearing.”

“You’re making it sound like I wanted you to wear something I made,” Yeosang pretended to throw up. “I only gave you that muffler because I couldn’t tolerate the sound of your teeth chattering. And because I don’t want you to freeze to death before you get me my voice back.”

“Whatever you say, pretty boy,” you teased, having picked that name from Jongho. Coming from Jongho, Yeosang didn’t seem to care but now he looked almost offended. Before he could retort, San finally decided to remind you all why you were here.

“Are we having lunch first or do we get straight to business?”

After a majority vote for lunch first, you dined at a local restaurant that had some amazing side dishes. San knew the area quite well and he told you that to find your ebony arrows, you would need to travel deeper into the town and get to the other side where there was a specific area designated for the growth of rare plants maintained by sorcerers.

“So these ebony trees, why are they so scarce around the world?” Jongho asked.

“They didn’t use to be,” San told him as if letting him in on a secret. “Sorcerers are to blame. They had to make a living somehow, so they went around destroying some of the rarest plants around the world just to build a greenhouse here and become the only providers.”

“I did not know that,” you frowned.

“It happened about a century ago, and you won’t find this in the books,” San winked. “I saw your arrows earlier, by the way. The ebony one seems to have some sort of a spell on it?”

“A single graze and the siren dies,” you told him and he whistled. “I had a sorcerer help me with that.”

“That’s a strange spell,” San shook his head in thought. “Are you sure that’s the spell on it?”

“I have no reason to doubt it,” you shrugged. “I’ve heard about similar spells so this must be it.”

“It just feels strange, but maybe it’s because of the medium- the ebony…” San decided to let it go. “Shall we get the horses now?”

—------------------------

“I don’t know, y/n,” San told you, shaking his head in denial. “It just doesn’t feel right. Why can’t you use the arrows we got from Sheratan? I’m pretty sure your aim is good enough.”

“I only have one shot at this, quite literally, San,” you told him, referring to your old ebony arrow. You had three more from your visit to Sheratan. “I can’t risk losing the other arrows too.”

“Maybe you should.” Yeosang butted in, and you rolled your eyes. “What if you miss and kill someone you’re not meant to kill?”

“One less siren to worry about then,” you muttered.

“What if you accidentally graze yourself?”

“If I was that clumsy, I would have died three years ago, Yeosang,” you laughed a little. “Thanks for worrying about my wellbeing.”

“I’m not worrying about your wellbeing,” Yeosang began but when your smirk grew, he simply waved his hands in defeat and sank down in his corner.

You turned to San once again. “You’re a sorcerer, and I trust you, San. What feels so weird about that arrow?”

“The magic has a dark element about it, and I can’t tell if that’s all there is or if it’s the surface of something deeper,” San sighed deeply. “What I mean is that it could have been tampered with or it isn’t what the sorcerer told you it is. There’s no way I can test it either. Maybe just avoid the arrow if you can?”

“Alright,” you nodded. “Maybe I should have listened to you and got the arrow cross-examined when you insisted back in Sheratan.”

“That’s okay, just use the simple arrows,” San felt relieved and you smiled at him, watching him join Jongho.

San had first brought this up when you showed the arrows to the sorcerers in the greenhouse in Sheratan. They had confirmed that the arrow was of the ebony wood that grew right there, and had inquired about the spell on it. You had told them about the sorcerer who went by the name of the Wanderer. The sorcerers looked at each other after hearing that and upon asking, they told you that your sorcerer didn’t have a good reputation around here. You figured if a sorcerer was indirectly targeting sirens through you, he definitely wouldn’t have the best reputation. But after leaving, San had asked about the details of how you met him.

“I met him three years ago while going through a tough spot sailing on my own,” you told him. “I almost drowned but he spotted me and helped me. When he learned who I was, he was very intrigued and offered me the arrow.”

“Just like that?” San found it strange.

“He had a grudge with some sirens too, but he thought he could never get revenge so he decided to forget or something. And I was not going to miss the opportunity when there was a free ebony arrow right in front of me.”

You could tell why San felt conflicted so you picked that arrow out of the quiver and gave it to San. “Keep it safe.”

San smiled and went inside the cockpit and you felt the burning gaze of a certain someone. “What?”

“I can’t believe you’re giving up the arrow now that we’re so close to Mesarthim,” Yeosang said and you turned to him.

“Ebony arrows are fatal to sirens, and I have three of them. Three are enough,” you said. “Besides, if I need to kill you, I’ll still have that arrow, damned be the consequences.”

Yeosang scoffed in amusement. ��You think those sirens will let you be after you kill them? You think there will only be a few of them?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You said you lived there, but you’ve been suspiciously quiet since letting out that information. And now you’re warning me? When we’re right around the corner?” You pointed towards the ominous dark cloud in the sky- the telltale signs of a storm that seemed to be a constant surrounding Mesarthim Island. Jongho, who had been sitting on the edge with his legs dangling, raised a brow at you both.

“I don’t think you need my warning,” Yeosang folded his arms. “You know what it’s like there. You’ve hunted sirens. I haven’t been to that area in about a decade. But if you think you’ll just go trespassing in and killing a few of them and return? You’re wrong.”

“And that’s what he’s here for,” you pointed at Jongho. “And aren’t these the very sirens you want to hunt as well?”

Jongho muttered something like ‘interesting’ while Yeosang gaped at you. “How did you figure it out?”

“Like I said, you’ve been awfully quiet, which must mean the sirens who took your voice are also there. I don’t know how many sirens live there or if we’re hunting the same ones, but first, you’re helping me kill my sirens, and then we help you. I hope you haven’t forgotten the deal.”

“I haven’t,” Yeosang’s voice was low. “You might not have to help me at all.”

Before you could ask what he meant by that, a loud thunder sounded making you jump a little. Tiny droplets started to fall as the boat rocked unevenly with the rough waves and you began wrapping a scarf around your head so your hair wouldn’t get in the way. Jongho checked the weapons he had docked up on again and you peeked inside to see San struggling to steer the ship. You turned to Yeosang. “I think it’s about time you hide. And remember to wear earplugs unless you want to get killed by Jongho.”

“I’m kind of loud,” Jongho grinned. “So I can’t guarantee you won’t get bewitched by me.”

“I still don’t get why everyone thinks it’s totally normal that a human can bewitch sirens,” Yeosang muttered under his breath as he started covering his head and face- he couldn’t be spotted by the sirens here. “Remember to signal me if you need me.”

“Got it,” Jongho said and Yeosang went towards the other corner. You walked to stand next to Jongho, now spotting the faint outskirts of the island through the fog.

“I think there’s something Yeosang is not telling me, and it might be related to my parent’s death,” you whispered and Jongho looked at you in surprise. “Either he knows something about it or…”

“I don’t know, y/n,” he pursed his lips. “Why would he bring you here willingly then? Ulterior motive?”

“He does need his voice back. This could be a trap.”

“Good thing you have me then, eh?” Jongho smirked and you rolled your eyes but you knew that was true. “I won’t butt in until you tell me to, so stay safe, okay? No hasty moves.”

“No hasty moves,” you confirmed and stationed yourself on the edge of the boat, waiting.

The fog only grew thicker and though you had better hearing now, you were wondering if you would ever hear the sirens since the waves were too loud- along with the beating of your heart.

You were finally here. After eleven years, you were here to avenge your parents. Everything about this moment was familiar and nostalgic in an upsetting way. It had been stormy just like today. You had huddled next to your parents who looked worried along with the few other people on the boat. The sailor had been having a hard time steering it away from the red zone.

You shivered when you recalled the moment everyone fell silent and started listening to the sirens. That was your last intact memory before everything got muddled. You took a deep breath, fisting the daggers that hung by your hips, the longsword and quiver hanging on your back, bow on your shoulder. San started steering towards the red zone with his ears safely plugged despite the spell he had put on himself to not get lured by the sirens.

This had to end well.

Right then, you heard the faint humming of a siren and you looked through your binoculars, clicking your tongue in disappointment- the fog was far too thick today and the rain was only getting worse. You reminded Jongho to stay alert and only kill if necessary and then you loaded one of the ebony arrows, waiting to spot the faces of the sirens that had been the product of your nightmares.

You could hear the low humming but this one was different- they were not trying to lure you. You looked at Jongho for confirmation and he nodded. You glanced at Yeosang who was huddled in the corner, looking surprised. You inched closer to him, asking him what was up with the sirens.

“They’re not luring you,” he whispered. “They’re sending a warning call and alerting the others. They recognise us.”

“What do you reckon we should do?”

“I think it’s better if I stop hiding once they confirm they know I’m here, and then I can help you out.”

“I don’t trust you though,” you told him.

“I don’t trust you to hand me over to the sirens who will gladly kill me, but here we are,” he locked eyes with you and for a moment, your heart twitched in sympathy. The humming started to grow louder and harmonious.

“You still haven’t told me why they want to kill you,” you loaded your arrow back, aiming in the direction of the humming.

And just like that, the humming stopped entirely, an eerie silence taking over. You looked through your binoculars and found the faint figures standing still on the numerous rocks bordering the island until one of them spoke.

“One who betrays his blood has no right to return, much less with the enemy. How dare you?”

For a second, you wondered if all your spells had worn off in that moment- the sharp voice sounded inside you. It shook you to your core, and you realised then that Yeosang was right- he really had lost his voice.

Yeosang looked at you as if to say his point was proven, and then he removed the scarf from his face. “You could say I brought a gift… dear old sister.”

You almost lost your footing when you heard that and as the boat drew closer to the rocks, you finally saw a glimpse of the owner of that voice. Your limbs felt limp as recognition settled in and you struggled to breathe-

The face of the siren who killed your mother.

“Shoot, y/n.”

You slowly turned to Yeosang who was now beside you, glaring at who he had called his sister. There was no way… right? There was no way-

You let out a whimper and hastily covered your ears as the siren screamed- perhaps, you should have used those earplugs too. Yeosang tsk-ed painfully and yelled at San to stick to the current route, extracting a dagger from your belt and throwing it with full force at the siren, effectively silencing her as she dodged it and snarled at him, whistling loudly and alerting the other sirens.

“Get a grip, y/n. It’s gonna get messier than I thought,” Yeosang muttered, helping you up and brushing away the stray hair from your face, cupping it for good measure. “This is it, okay? You and I have the same enemy- I’ll explain later, but for now, let’s get rid of them. Okay?”

You nodded, unable to answer verbally and he went to the cockpit to borrow some weapons. You looked at Jongho who was clutching his daggers, waiting for your signal to sing, but he would have to wait a bit more.

You had some unfinished business with a few sirens.

“Yeosang,” you called when he came out with his own bow and arrows. “That siren is the one I’m after- but that’s not the only one. There were more.”

“I understand,” Yeosang aimed an arrow at his sister. “They’ll be right behind her. I’ll take the left and you take the right.”

Thus, the battle began. You kept the simple wooden arrows for the other sirens, the two of you shooting in succession. Jongho kept your backs safe as San dived right into the siren territory and it looked like the sirens had figured out that none of you would give in to their songs- you were spotting glints of silver from the corner of your eyes so you started scanning the crowd of sirens until you spotted another familiar face.

“I’ve found him,” you told Yeosang, motioning towards the male siren with its familiar long blonde hair. “That one killed my father.”

“He has a thing for men,” Yeosang rolled his eyes. “Sorry to tell you that he’s my cousin, of sorts.”

“I’ll deal with you later,” you muttered angrily, extracting one of the three ebony arrows. “I’m going for him.”

You aimed for the siren’s chest and just as the siren met eyes with you having swum from the island to the rocks, you shut your eyes for a second, saying a silent prayer, ignoring the harsh wind and rain, and dismissing the wailing of the sirens.

For you, dad.

You let the arrow loose and when it hit home, you let yourself rejoice for only a second. And then the siren fell on its knees and the other sirens dived into the sea, swimming towards your boat.

“Fuck,” you called Jongho to get back to the centre of the boat. “Yeosang! We’re covering Jongho until we cannot take it anymore.”

“Got it!” He yelled over the storm, getting closer and stealing a few arrows from your quiver. “I’m taking this ebony arrow.”

“Be my guest,” you couldn’t help but share a grin with him. The boat rocked dangerously and San appeared out of the cockpit, his eyes almost glowing.

“The boat will remain as stable as it can, I’ll make sure the sirens don’t mess with my property.”

You made an impressed face and then you heard a splash, a siren climbing on the boat. You immediately sent an arrow for its head which it dodged but Yeosang was quick to redeem you. Two other sirens started climbing from opposite ends and while you shot at them, a few others appeared until it became a cycle of shooting at them while they tried to get nearer. San had some sort of spell going on where phantom hands were throwing the sirens away from the cockpit and Jongho sent dagger after dagger with impeccable aim.

“Y/n, you need to know when to stop, okay? I’m not going to wait for your signal if I think we’re in danger,” Jongho reminded you.

“That one,” you pointed at Yeosang’s sister, still on the rocks watching with an evil smirk on her face, “That one I’ll kill with my own hands, and then we can do whatever.”

The siren seemed to get that message and it dived into the sea. You loaded the last ebony arrow, waiting to spot her but-

Yeosang hissed in pain as a siren raked its nails across his chest and you jerked in surprise- when did the sirens get this close? You instinctively let the arrow loose and killed that siren, turning to assess the damage. Yeosang seemed pale but he shook it off.

“Where’s your ebony arrow?”

“One of the sirens almost killed you with your own arrow,” he explained. “I got to her first.”

You shook your head. “I’ll take care of the rest, get back. Your sister might kill you before I get the chance.”

“No, they’re too much,” he shot an arrow at another siren who got too close. You unsheathed the longsword.

“It’s about time I put this to practice,” you told him and taking a deep breath, you started going after the sirens one by one. They were quick to match your pace with their long and sharp nails which were weapons enough. You slashed their scaly skins, glad it wasn’t sunny here because their glow would have blinded your naked eyes. You managed to get a few of them with only a few scratches and when you took a break, you spotted your target about to take out San who was now in the cockpit steering the boat away from the island-

“Jongho, get her!” You shouted and Jongho sent two daggers for the siren who dodged them, disappearing from your sight. You circled around that enclosed space with your bloody sword stretched out, hearing your own heartbeat in your ears-

And your heart sank in the worst way when you spotted your target with one of your ebony arrows going after Yeosang. You sent a dagger for her which wedged in her shoulder and she let out a cry of pain, alerting Yeosang but she didn’t let it hold her back- she almost jumped on top of Yeosang and they clawed at each other until she overpowered him, seizing him with the tip of the arrow resting on his chest, ready to be lodged in his heart if any of you made the wrong move. You paused in your tracks as she looked at you threateningly, assessing the damage.

“So many of us killed by your hands, brother dearest,” her melodic voice rang. “What would mother think?”

“Bet she would love this sight,” Yeosang was still in her grasp.

“And what would your mother think?” The siren asked you and your blood ran cold. “What would she think when she learns you’re lowering your weapons to save a siren?”

You looked at Jongho who shook his head- you were compromised. If he started singing now, Yeosang could get hurt. You turned to look at San who was glaring at the siren. He met your eyes and signalled at his side-

The ebony arrow you received from the sorcerer. You still had that.

You tried not to let it show as you looked back at the siren- she must be thinking you were defenceless now. “Let him go and we can have a fair fight,” you tried.

“I don’t want to,” she shook her head, her black locks flowing behind her. Everything about her was as beautiful as Yeosang, if not more, but Yeosang didn’t share the horridness a siren had. “And you,” she looked at her brother. “Did you know that killing me means you might not get your voice back?”

“I’d kill you anyway, I’m very tempted to,” Yeosang muttered and she scoffed, digging the arrow into his chest until he winced in pain. You bit your lip, sheathing your sword and clutching your bow.

“Let him go,” Jongho tried. “I could make all of you go mad right now. You might have heard of me- the reaper, your kind calls me.”

“Oh, I’ve heard all about you. Didn’t expect you to look so… human,” she scanned him. “But you should know that your singing won’t work on me. I possess more than one voice, after all.”

You knew then- Yeosang's sister must have been one of the people who took his voice, which meant she was dangerous. Killing her meant that there was a chance Yeosang wouldn’t get his voice back, but…

You had to save Yeosang. There was no other option.

As if Yeosang could hear you, he nodded subtly. He could probably see San slowly creeping near you. While Jongho distracted the siren, San threw the arrow towards you and you caught it, immediately loading it in your bow and aiming it for the siren’s head- and all hell broke loose.

The sirens who had been waiting for orders went after you and Jongho. San used his phantom hands to keep them away and while Yeosang’s sister watched in surprise, you let the arrow loose before she could hurt him.

One graze, and the siren would be dead. All you needed was for the arrow to graze the siren. Yeosang pushed his sister with all his might so she would stay in place and between her attempts to dodge it, the arrow grazed her cheekbone, drawing blood and clattering loudly on the ground- you wondered if the clatter was louder than the thunder booming in the sky. Before you could react further, Yeosang snatched the arrow from her hand and stabbed her heart.

“This is for taking what does not belong to you,” he practically growled, watching his sister fall on her knees, blood spilling from her mouth so dark that it looked black.

“You… you’re killing your own?”

“You almost killed me- a decade ago and today,” Yeosang pulled the arrow out of her body, making her fall on the ground. The other sirens stood watching, unsure how to respond especially after Jongho revealed his identity. “My voice belongs to me, even if I never use it. Even if I never kill a human with it. You all,” Yeosang locked eyes with every siren on the boat. “Take her back. Let her rest with our parents. And let this be a reminder to all of you to not mess with one of your own.”

The sirens looked scared of Yeosang and you wondered who he really was. Why were they obeying him and not killing him? You and San stood side by side, watching the sirens help each other and hiss at you both for hurting them, none of them daring to sing or attack you. Yeosang sat beside his sister with both the arrows, waiting for her suffering to stop and when her body fell limp, he shut her eyes and pressed a kiss to her forehead. He took off her necklace and pocketed it before asking the sirens to take her.

Even the storm seemed to have calmed a bit as the sirens left, silence filling the boat until Jongho looked at Yeosang. “You… you need to answer a lot of questions.”

Yeosang nodded slowly, turning to face you and stumbling in the process. You shook your head, going to him and helping him stay upright. “You’re hurt, you fool. You need to sit down and let me see it.”

He nodded, letting you help him to his corner and you sat him down, looking behind you to see Jongho collecting the weapons and San steering the boat away from the wretched island. You took a deep breath, turning back to Yeosang who was staring at you intently, making you blink in surprise.

“I’m going to, uh, unbutton your shirt- it’s already tattered anyway,” you swallowed the lump in your throat. “Stop staring at me while I do my work.”

“Not how I imagined you would undress me,” Yeosang said in a low voice so only you would hear. “That’s all I’ll say.”

You shut your eyes in mild annoyance. “Not the time to make jokes, siren. You’re hurt quite badly,” you assessed the several claw marks on his chest. “Don’t you have healing powers or something?”

“They’re quite slow now since I stopped acting like a siren,” he admitted. “But I’ll heal- just get me the potion in my bag, there,” he pointed at his bag and you nodded, opening the zip and finding several vials.

“Which one exactly?” You frowned. “Did you bring the whole cabinet with you or something?”

“The one with the purple cap,” Yeosang groaned in pain as he shifted. You tossed the bottle to him, going to your own bag to get your first aid kit and flipping Jongho who wiggled his brows at your concerned face. You settled down next to him and took out a bottle of alcohol.

“I don’t know how your body heals, but I’ll do it the traditional way. Don’t want you getting infected now that you finally got your voice back, do we?” You looked at him. “How would you know you got it back?”

“When her spirit leaves her entirely, that’s when the magic will work,” he told you. You started cleaning his wounds and he clenched his jaw in pain.

“Did you know all this time that it was your family that killed mine?”

“Are you really going to get answers like this?” Yeosang hissed in pain when you pressed purposefully on his wound.

“I think now’s a good time, Yeosang,” you tried not to sound amused. “On a serious note… did you know?”

“I didn’t connect the dots until you told me what my sister said to you right before sparing you,” he admitted. “My sister has always been rogue. We were not raised like this- yes, we hunted humans but she broke a lot of rules,” he took a breather while you continued cleaning his wounds. “And she broke a big rule when she decided to declare me an outcast and took my voice. I would have hunted her down one day. People like her really shouldn’t be in charge of the community.”

“Can’t say I feel sorry for her,” you muttered, starting to bandage the slashes on his chest. “Now, when are you going to tell me where you were when they killed my parents?”

Yeosang fell silent and he waited until you finished bandaging him. “When you overcome the trauma and your memories return to you… you’ll know where I was.”

“Do you have to do this?” you asked him, defeated. “Do you have to make me confused? You’re literally related by blood to the sirens who killed my family, and then you take me to them so I can kill them, save my life multiple times-”

“You saved mine too-”

“And won’t tell me what your role was in the attack a decade ago?” You let out an exasperated sigh. “I really start seeing you as a human sometimes. I really think you’re better than the sirens who are monsters in every sense. I don’t think you are a monster, Yeosang, but if you continue to play with my head-”

A sharp ache, almost like a stab, spread through your chest, making you double up and cough loudly while Yeosang’s breath got caught and he struggled to breathe, falling on his side. You could hear the faint sounds of Jongho and San rushing to the two of you and patting your cheek to make you come back to your senses but you gave in to the pull of the pain as everything went black.

—----------------------

“Too strange to be a coincidence.”

“The timing is very off- and the arrow, I swear it glowed for a second. And then she faints just like Yeosang? Yeosang’s getting his voice back, but what is her reason?”

You groaned loudly, stretching your limbs and making them crack in the process, your mouth curving in pain- it felt like every muscle in your body was cramped. Everything started to feel too much as you regained consciousness and you shut your eyes-

The light was too bright. Their whispering was too loud. Their cautious touches on your body were too much.

“Stop,” your cracked voice sounded and you felt a cold hand tap your cheek.

“Open your eyes, y/n. Look at me.”

“Not now,” you tried wiggling away from Yeosang but he put a hand on your shoulder, preventing you from rolling away and after taking a few deep breaths having curled into yourself miserably, you finally opened your eyes.

“Oh dear,” Yeosang looked at Jongho and San who were equally shocked. “You seeing this?”

“What?” You croaked again, getting up with immense effort and motioning at Jongho to pass you the water bottle near him which you gulped hungrily. “What happened? I fainted?”

“Not just fainted,” San began but paused, wondering how to word it. “How are you feeling right now?”

“Honestly? In pain,” you admitted, looking at Yeosang. “What happened to you? Why did you faint- why did we faint together?” You frowned deeply. “Did you do something?”

“Did I look like I could do anything?” He reminded you of the wounds across his chest. “Just to let you know what's going on, your eyes are, uh… glowing. Like a siren’s.”

You scoffed in amusement. “Just tell me I have pretty eyes, Yeosang.”

Jongho snorted and San looked up at the skies for help while Yeosang tried his best not to pass a stinging remark- you were not going to take it well. “Yeah? Don’t believe me? Go look in the mirror.”

“I don’t need to,” you started getting up, almost losing your footing. “How long was I out again?”

“A few hours,” San said, watching you cautiously.

“Must be the relief catching up or something,” you muttered, going towards the edge to look at the fading remnants of the island.

“Jongho, do something,” Yeosang pleaded and Jongho hugged himself.

“I’m scared of her,” he pouted.

“Okay, that’s enough,” you turned, bringing the stool in front of the three and sitting on it, peering down at them. “Tell me what’s going on. San first.”

“When you fainted, the arrow glowed for a moment,” he pursed his lips. “And then you just shivered uncontrollably for the three hours you were out.”

“Must be the spell, right?” You thought. “A single graze killed that siren, it must have something about it that it takes away from the user. Now, Jongho… what is it about my eyes glowing?”

“They just seem… glossier than usual. Like Yeosang’s.”

“So you all are tired too, I get it,” you shook your head. “Or this is an awful, awful prank-”

Yeosang dug a mirror out of his bag and held it in front of you, and your glowing eyes were not the first thing you noticed.

It was the faint purple mark on your temple. You leaned closer to examine it, noticing it looked a lot like scales-

It couldn’t be.

You turned your face and on the other temple- no, wherever the sun hit, your skin reflected an iridescent purple sheen, not too noticeable but there alright. You unwrapped the scarf from around your neck and shifted towards the sun, and sure enough, it was there as well. As a matter of fact, it was everywhere.

Suddenly it was too silent and too loud all at once. This was not the temporary better hearing spell you had, no. This was you hearing the low gurgles of something deep in the ocean. This was you seeing the very distant island and still being able to count the rocks around it- something you couldn’t even have seen with your binoculars. This was you hearing the breath- heartbeats of those on the boat. This was you smelling their anxiety. This was you feeling the hair on your body rise-

You rushed for the edge of the boat and gasped for air, choking on nothing. You could hear the shuffling of your companions but they didn’t come near- they let you have a moment until familiar light steps drew closer.

Yeosang touched your shoulder cautiously. “You’re still burning up- you need to let us do something about it.”

“What is happening to me?” You searched his eyes for answers but found none. “It’s too much, Yeosang, it’s too much-”

“It will be okay,” Yeosang squeezed your arm assuringly. “I think it’s some side effect of the arrow you used- the arrow from the sorcerer. If it doesn’t fade soon… we’ll do something about it, okay? We’ll figure it out-”

Yeosang couldn’t finish his sentence as your eyes rolled back in your head and you fell unconscious, him holding you in his arms just in time to save you from falling painfully down. He looked at the others helplessly- he had never seen something like this happen before. But you…

You, a human, were turning into a siren.

—----------------------

You didn’t know how long you kept lying on your back, watching the starry night sky and blocking the whispers of your companions on the boat. You were too busy replaying everything that had happened in the past few days in your head and you kept coming to the same conclusion.

The arrow. That darned arrow.

Did the Wanderer really take advantage of your vulnerability? Did he see what he needed in you- someone who would hunt a siren for him- and give you that arrow? Did he know about the spell as a sorcerer or did he give it to you because he was too scared to use it himself and find out what it would do to him? And if he knew that using that arrow would somehow turn the user into a siren…

Why would he want you, a siren-hunter, to turn into a siren? Did he have a personal grudge against you? He couldn’t, he had never met you before, had he? Or did he want you to turn into a siren just because he was someone sadistic? But it still made no sense- if he hated sirens like he had claimed he did, he wouldn’t have wanted you to turn into a siren, would he?

You finally got up, looking around- everything was starting to feel different, more heightened. You wondered for a moment if this was what was normal to Yeosang, but you were a human. You couldn’t be a siren. You hunted sirens for a living, for crying out loud. You walked around the boat until you spotted the three huddled in front of the fire, heating themselves up-

And you realised you did not feel cold either. You scoffed internally- you finally got all your questions about sirens answered. The questions you had been asking Yeosang all this time.

Yeosang was the first one to hear you walking towards them and he actually looked worried as he scanned you. “How are you feeling?”

“Angry,” you settled down in front of them. “And hungry.”

“Hangry…” Jongho acknowledged. “Any unusual craving for humans yet?”

“Jongho,” San warned though he was trying to stifle his smile.

“You’ll be the first to know if I do, human,” you muttered and Yeosang looked awfully proud to hear that.

“Really hope you don’t turn into a siren though,” Jongho casually cleaned his dagger, looking at his reflection on the blade. “Otherwise I’d have to kill two of you.”

“I thought we were friends,” Yeosang put his hand on his heart, disappointed.

“I’m not turning into a siren,” you glared at Jongho and Yeosang and they immediately shut up- you were pretty sure you had never been this angry before in front of them. You turned to San. “Where are we going?”

“I’ve steered the boat away from Mesarthim, so we’ll be bordering Sheratan in a few hours.”

“Good, keep it in that direction,” you nodded. “I need answers from a certain sorcerer.”

“I don’t think it’s safe to go alone, especially in this condition,” San scooted closer to get a good look at you. “You were burning up while you were unconscious and I had to use a spell to bring your fever down. There’s no guarantee when it will come back.”

“Thank you, but I will take care of myself,” you smiled reassuringly at him. “You’ve been a lot of help, San, but I think this is where we should part ways.”

“Nope,” San shook his head. “If you’re dealing with a sorcerer, I need to be there. There’s no telling what he will do to you- he probably planned this. This arrow- it has to be a curse.”

Your heart sank. “A curse?”

“No spell can change the nature of who you are- whether human, sorcerer or siren,” he explained. “It would have taken a curse to do that- and if that is the case… you don’t have to be a sorcerer to put a curse on something or someone, right?”

“You mean…” Jongho shifted uncomfortably, “This sorcerer might not have been a sorcerer at all?”

“That is a possibility, because to put a curse, you simply have to have a deep grudge against something or someone. For the curse to be effective, it takes a lot of negative energy. If the Wanderer placed a curse on that arrow himself and gave it to you…”

“That would make another person with a deep personal grudge against sirens,” Yeosang looked at you. “He wouldn’t have been on the boat with you and your parents a decade ago, would he?”

“No,” you said. “I’m sure he was not.”

“There’s a lot to consider here,” Yeosang rubbed his hands as if he finally felt cold. “Whether he had a grudge against the sirens we just killed or a grudge against siren-hunters, which means it could easily have been Jongho who wielded that arrow.”

Jongho grimaced at the possibility. “He must have purposefully searched for us then but found y/n first…”

You shook your head in disappointment. You definitely should not have trusted that sorcerer- or anyone, for that matter. You should have double-checked the spell on the arrow with other sorcerers. You should have trusted San and not used that arrow at all-

“I’m sorry for tossing you that arrow even though I told you not to use it,” San sighed deeply. “It’s my fault.”

“No, it’s not,” you patted his shoulder awkwardly. “I would have done that anyway.”

And only after saying that did you realise that yes. You would have done that anyway, all to save a siren.

All to save Yeosang, who was currently watching you intently and making your heart flutter, something unspoken passing between you two. The whole ordeal had really been a test for you both and you saved each other’s lives without hesitation again and again.

Before Yeosang could say something or Jongho could pass a comment with that devilish smirk on his face, you got up and went to the other end of the boat, sitting on the deck and taking a few deep breaths.

Everything you had planned had come to ruins. You killed the sirens, yes, but at what cost? You were turning into something you hated. And at the same time, you were so confused about Yeosang and his involvement in everything.

While you were unconscious, you had… dreams. You weren’t sure if they were flashbacks of your deeply buried memories or just a figment of your wild imagination, but you were back at Mesarthim, clutching your ears and sobbing while your parents' blood spilled in front of you as the sirens sank their teeth into their bodies. You were screaming as another siren made its way to you, and your scream got louder when a now familiar face stood between you and the monster.

“Not the kids. That is enough already.”

And then your saviour was thrown away with a harsh push and you scrambled to hide yourself amidst the panic, but the sirens could smell your fear. Soon, the boxes you hid behind went flying away and you brought your knees closer to your chest, eyes widening as the siren made one of its own kneel in front of you, face a bloody mess.

“Kill this child, siren. It is who we are.”

You were pretty sure it was Yeosang, and if this was a memory that finally made its way back…

Had it been Yeosang who saved your life that day?

“Stop staring holes into the poor sea,” Yeosang settled down next to you. You glared at him for good measure, taking that chance to scan his face again- he looked very different in that dream/memory but it had to be him. “And stop glaring at me every chance you get.”

“I’m still waiting for your answer,” you told him, looking back at the sea and swinging your legs a little. “

“I think we have more pressing concerns right now,” he scanned your face. “Can you tell me exactly how you feel? Do you feel any… physiological changes?”

“Well, I can hear your heartbeat, for starters, and that is the most unnerving thing,” you finally laughed a little, making him relax as well.

“We learn to ignore it until it becomes the background,” he smiled. “What can you hear?”

You took a deep breath. “Everything. I can hear them talking if I focus, I can hear the creatures in the sea… I could sense your presence, Yeosang. Is this how it feels to be a siren?”

“You’re not a siren yet, don’t worry,” Yeosang patted your back. “But do let me know if you get intense cravings.”

“I can’t tell if this is a joke or not.”

“I won’t tell,” he smiled cheekily. “Well, excellent night vision?”

“Yep,” you confirmed.

“If you’re up for it, we could test some other things, see how far it has progressed. I could tell you how to deal with it-”

“I don’t need to learn how to be a siren, Yeosang,” you raised a brow. “I’m a human. I will remain human, and I will undo whatever has happened.”

“Yes, you're still a siren-hunter,” Yeosang rolled his eyes. “But sweetheart, if you need to hunt that sorcerer, you need to learn how to live with this body and make the best use of it. It’s probably going to benefit you. And once you find him and we break the curse, you can go back to being a human if you hate it so much.”

“I will go back to being a human,” you said. “But… you’re right. I should learn how to stop stumbling every two steps.”

“Did the siren thing make your perspectives broaden as well?” Yeosang wandered out loud and you smacked his arm. “We’ll take it slow, don’t worry.”

“You’re quite pleased that I’m turning into a siren, aren’t you?” Your voice shook and his smirk fell. “You could leave me be. You could watch me suffer, but why are you offering to help me? What do you want from me?”

“I thought it was clear by now that I want nothing from you,” he looked a bit hurt and that made your heart ache as well. “I only want to thank you for helping me out and saving my life today. I want to thank you for helping me get my voice back, and I want to apologise for the unfortunate consequences of it.”

You looked down, trying to sort your thoughts out. “You’re… too human to be a siren.”

“And that is why I was outcasted by my own family,” he said. “Sirens don’t go around saving humans, y/n.”

“It was you that day, wasn’t it?” You finally looked at him, a clear memory back in your head. “I don’t know why I suddenly remember, but it was you. They made you kneel in front of me, ready to kill you if you didn’t kill me.”

“And you saved my life that day,” Yeosang smiled.

You realised you had. Not only today, but about a decade ago too. When he was struggling to breathe and being forced to kill you, you waited for the other sirens to get distracted before passing him the dagger you had been hiding behind you all this time. He had thanked you silently before he told you to close your eyes.

“I killed my people that day,” Yeosang continued. “And I’m glad you managed to escape that day, y/n, or it would have been all for nothing.”

“But they took your voice,” you whispered. “Because of me.”

“And then you found me,” he looked down at your hands which were almost brushing. “You found me…” he dared to brush his fingers against yours and when you didn’t pull your hand away, he intertwined them. “And you saved me again. It took me a while to remember you, but it looked like you had forgotten me, which is why I decided not to tell you again. It’s not the best memory, after all.”

“Well, I still hate you and you’re a siren,” you said though your smile betrayed you.

“And you still reek of human,” Yeosang retorted, his confession oddly comforting. “But I like you anyway.”

You couldn’t meet his gaze anymore so you looked away but you could tell that he was smiling. You simply squeezed his hand in response, which was enough for now. He continued to play with your fingers as he asked, “If things hadn’t gone wrong today, what would you have done? Where would you have gone?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I never thought I’d make it out alive. I owe you all for that.”

“I never thought I’d make it out alive either,” Yeosang stared into the distance. “It was more like a suicide mission because let’s face it- how could I have made it out alive? We barely escaped this time. I just wanted to get back at my sister for a number of things. You won’t believe it, but I’m not the only odd siren out there. There are others who practise restraint simply because once you give in to your carnal desires, siren or human, you turn into a monster.”

“Wow,” you breathed. “So we’ve just been unfortunate this whole time? Coming across sirens that are monsters?”

“Kind of,” Yeosang smiled dejectedly. “The normal ones won’t really be sitting and waiting for humans, would they?”

“Okay, you’ve got a point,” you said. “So were you the odd one out in your community?”

“More like most of us gave in to peer pressure and had no other choice. And if you rebelled… you end up like me.”

“Not a bad place to end up though?”

“It wasn’t always so easy,” Yeosang shivered involuntarily. “Especially when they took your voice. The first few years were miserable but then I learned to live with it. I pass as a human now, don’t I?”

“Hate to admit but you do,” you tsk-ed. “So what next for you?”

Yeosang looked at your joined hands and you suddenly felt conscious. “I think I’ll stick around. At least until we find the person who did this to you, and then I will make them suffer. After that…” he brought your hand to his lips to plant a soft kiss on your knuckles, making your heart somersault. “I’ll see where this road takes me.”

You heard it- the silent promise to help you out and go wherever you want to go. To be with you. You wondered how he, as a siren, was so… beautiful. Not just from the outside, but from within. How he gave and gave without really asking anything in return. How he was still willing to hunt for you even when you had, till now, clearly reminded him again and again that he was a siren but you hated his kind.

He was a siren, but… he was more human than you could ever be.

—-------------------------

“There is no way I’m learning how to breathe underwater,” you insisted for the umpteenth time. “I have experienced breathing underwater. When the water gets into your lungs…”

“That shit hurts,” Jongho agreed, for once siding with you and you silently thanked him.

“Yes, but that’s when you’re human,” Yeosang was losing his calm now. “You need to learn how to breathe underwater so if that damned sorcerer tries drowning you, you won’t kill yourself.”

“I don’t think he’ll get to that,” you scoffed.

“Then you think too highly of yourself,” Yeosang said. “Do not underestimate someone who has the power to turn a human into a siren.”

“And the sorcerer is travelling around, so chances are we catch him while sailing or we find him at some shore,” San quipped. “He’ll definitely try to kill you- because you’re going to try to kill him too.”

You poked your tongue in your cheek, hands on your hips as you thought about it. Truth be told, you may be travelling the oceans most of the time but you were pretty scared of diving into it, especially when you almost drowned a few times in the past too.

A few days ago, when you finally completed your life’s mission and found everything going wrong, you reached Sheratan’s shore and inquired about the Wanderer. Everyone scattered around town, San tagging with you and after a few hours of asking around and a hearty dinner to celebrate making it out alive on that deadly mission, you got on the boat again to border around Sheratan in hopes of finding a lead.

While you travelled, San practised his spells, trying to either recreate something like your curse only in hopes of finding how to undo it in the process, or actually just get to breaking it himself, but so far, all his efforts had been in vain and a few times even backfired at him. He almost got hurt and you had to put Jongho on duty to make sure San wouldn’t end up hurting himself. So he started focusing on location spells and defensive shields.

Jongho could have gotten off at Sheratan since he had intended to go there anyway, but for some reason he decided to tag along until you got back to normal, and you were pretty sure the reason was not only that he was worried about you and wanted you to turn back to human, or because he wanted to kill Yeosang- which was an inside joke now. If you thought about it, he had become so used to travelling alone that perhaps, he was finding a home and a family within your odd group. You were sure about that because when you tried to tease him about it, he threatened to drown you, which made you snicker to yourself. But you had to admit you found the young siren-hunter endearing especially when he forgot who Yeosang was and just listened to his stories and let him tease him with a stifled smile. There was something about Yeosang that no one here could resist.

And that included you. These past few days, he had been making sure you felt okay and helped you live with yourself not only physically but mentally too, because if you looked past your anger, you knew that there was no telling how long you would have to live as a siren or if you could ever go back to being human. He was helping you come to terms with yourself and you were grateful for that, because if you had been alone, you weren’t sure what you would have done to yourself. Now that you knew so much about sirens and started seeing them as people just like you with emotions and feelings and dreams and wishes instead of bloodthirsty monsters… you were okay.

You were okay with Yeosang- you had been for quite a while though. He had never felt like a siren- even now, when he was fully siren, he was the same. He tried singing once when you were in the middle of the ocean- you all were immune anyway. Despite that, when he sang, you thought it was the most beautiful thing you had ever heard. It wasn’t hauntingly beautiful like a usual siren’s call, but it was almost dreamy. Even Jongho was in awe as Yeosang sang his heart out after what had to be a decade and your face was wet with tears by the time he ended.

He asked you last night if you felt like singing. You told him you didn’t know the answer to that, because currently you were busy repressing every emotion you felt and focusing solely on the anger you felt towards the sorcerer for violating your entire being. But ever since he asked you that, you couldn’t help thinking about it. So you asked him in the morning.

“Why do sirens sing?”

You knew that the sole purpose of singing wasn’t to lure humans, so you were curious why Yeosang wanted to sing so badly even though he didn’t intend to lure humans.

“So we don’t forget who we are.”

Though it was an ambiguous answer, as you narrowed your eyes at Yeosang who was waiting for you to make a decision, you wondered if he was enjoying your misery-

“No, I’m not enjoying your misery,” Yeosang chuckled. “Please, get in the water.”

“How do you even breathe underwater?” You almost cried. “Do you have some gills that I can’t see? Did I grow gills-”

San and Jongho burst out laughing in the corner and Yeosang put his head in his hands. “I’m not a fish, y/n. You just breathe through your nose- the water won’t get in. Come on,” he outstretched his hands and when you still kept giving him the side-eye, he raised a brow.

“Don’t you trust me?”

You took a deep breath, raising your hands and pausing. “I trust you. But I’m scared.”

“You’ll be okay,” Yeosang gently locked your hands with his and tugged you closer, taking off your cardigan and scarf and throwing them on the deck. “No need for these extra layers. Feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, left in a plain black shirt and pants, similar to his. “At my pace, okay?”

“Of course,” he nodded, stepping into the water first and waiting for you. You glared at him one last time before following-

And clutching onto his arms for support.

“Just so you know, I suck at swimming,” you told him and he laughed.

“We’ll change that- for sirens, swimming is second nature to them,” he told you, trying to unwrap your grip around his arms. “Now, let go of me and you’ll find yourself floating-”

“No-” you drew closer, clutching onto his shoulders, your eyes widening as you looked down. “Can you always see that deep into the sea?”

When Yeosang didn’t answer, you looked at him, blinking in surprise when you realised how close you were, practically hugging him. But you couldn’t care right now- you were far too scared to let go. “Bear with me, please.”

“Okay,” Yeosang nodded. “Now, if you’re feeling a little better, you can let go of me and we can go underwater, okay? There’s nothing to be scared of- I’m with you.”

“Alright, I hold my breath when I go down?”

“If you want to,” he squeezed your waist assuringly, only then realising he was holding you there. Good lord, he thought. “It doesn’t matter, but when you open your eyes and get your bearings, allow yourself to breathe- through your nose, okay?”

“Okay,” your voice sounded small. “Let’s try this?”

Yeosang smiled. “Hold on to the boat and watch me.”

You did as he instructed, staying upright and you watched him dive inside the sea and swim around, all the while breathing through his nose. He waved at you and you laughed at the sight, feeling a bit relaxed.

You could do this.

You let go of the boat and held your breath, diving into the sea and opening your eyes, surprised at how everything was visible. You could see Yeosang waving at you and when you looked down, you could see the fish and other creatures. You smiled and swam closer to him and he put his hands on your shoulders-

“Breathe through your nose.”

You almost inhaled water when you heard his voice inside your head and he smiled cheekily, putting his hands on your shoulders again.

“You really are turning into a siren. Sirens can communicate through touch while underwater. Takes a little practice though. Now, inhale.”

You shook your head, swimming away from him- somehow, you could hold your breath longer now. You saw a few fishes circle around you both and while you were momentarily surprised, you had an awful realisation and you looked up-

You were far too deep in the sea. You felt short of breath and you made the mistake of opening your mouth as if to call Yeosang which just made you panic and you shook frantically, Yeosang quick to reach you and wrap his hands around your waist-

“What’s the matter? Breathe through your nose, quick!”

You shook your head, looking up again, silently communicating that you needed air and you opened your mouth again, panicking- you couldn’t hold on much longer and you were going to drown to death-

“It’s quicker to inhale than to go up for air, please, inhale, y/n! Trust me-”

You smacked his chest as if to curse him for doing this to you but he remained close. When you almost gave up, your human instincts overriding your system, Yeosang decided to help you a little-

He pressed his mouth against yours, transferring his breath to you. Your eyes widened in shock for a few moments until he drew back, equally shocked and slightly amused.

“You’re breathing.”

You shook your head in denial- yes, you breathed for a second there and the water didn’t pass through your nose and burn your lungs, but your fear made you lock that again. Yeosang brought his hands to your face, cupping them and looking at you almost lovingly.

“Just relax, y/n.”

You didn’t know which one of you made the next move but you were pressing your lips against each other again and this time, he wasn’t simply transferring air to you. This time, he was kissing you. You were breathing through your nose and you were kissing him back, your hands fisting his shirt and keeping him close, and you could make the excuse that you couldn’t breathe, but both of you knew this was different. He relaxed himself when he realised you weren’t stopping him and then he let one of his hands cup your jaw and angle you better, the other stopping at the exposed skin below your shirt. Despite wanting to continue kissing you for as long as he could, he slowly started swimming upwards and when you finally ascended up and the cold air hit your face, you broke away from him, breathless.

And for once, he was the same.

You took him in, his dark hair matted all over his face, your bodies still so close to each other, his eyes still glued to your lips. You took in your fill and then you cleared your throat. “Uh… I think I’ll try that another time.”

“Try what?” Yeosang asked and you frowned.

“Breathing underwater, you idiot,” you smacked his shoulder, drawing away from him and when he started laughing, you couldn’t help but join awkwardly. “I panicked, okay?”

“I could tell,” he teased and you splashed water on his face, feeling his gaze as you climbed up the boat, San and Jongho waiting.

“How were your adventures underwater-”

“Shut up,” you muttered, going for a towel, positive your cheeks were flushed. Yeosang followed and you avoided his gaze, going towards where your bag was.

“Are you sure you were only panicking?” Yeosang said in a low voice so only you could hear. You clenched your jaw, glaring at him.

“We’ll talk about this later,” you muttered, throwing your towel at him and going inside the cockpit, shutting the door so you could sort your thoughts out by yourself-

You weren’t sure what was worse for you as a siren-hunter. The fact that you were turning into a siren, or the fact that you kissed a siren.

Or the undeniable reality that you had been falling for him for quite a while now.

It was stupid, you thought, to fall in love with a siren. It could never end well. The stories you had heard about sirens and humans falling in love always ended ill-fatedly. You recalled hearing one from an old sorcerer you met in your hometown when you first began your siren-hunting.

“There was once a siren who fell in love with a human.”

“How could a siren love a human?” You asked.

“That’s not what matters, because they have a heart too, they find it when they fall in love,” he said. “What matters is that when a siren loves a human, it gives up everything. It gives up its own life. It forgets who it is but a siren shouldn’t love a human because eventually, a siren will sing. And when it sings, the human gives up everything for it.”

“So did that siren end up singing?”

“That’s what we’ve heard, but we never found out if that’s true,” the sorcerer sighed. “That siren loved his human so very much, but it forgot that sirens are not the only monsters out there. Humans are as monstrous themselves. So when everyone found their secret, what did they do?”

“What?” Your heart sank.

“The humans killed their own while the siren watched,” the sorcerer patted your back. “And the siren lost a part of itself. You are a human, dear. Remember not to become the monster that you hunt.”

You shivered as you recalled the story. You wondered if some part of it was true. And then you wondered if Yeosang felt the same.

Truth be told, you could blame him for being too kind to you, for protecting you, for making your heart flutter with his little actions that he didn’t even give a second thought to. You wondered why he continued to kiss you underwater- did he like you now that you were a siren? Did he like you when you were a human? Or was he simply too touch-starved all these years? Were you starving for love?

How could you fall for a siren-

You heard a knock and you thought it was San but Jongho peeked inside instead. “May I come in?”

“Why are you suddenly asking for permission,” you pouted and he grinned, settling in front of you. “If you’re here to tease me about something, please leave-”

“I wanted to ask you why Yeosang keeps grinning like an idiot. What did you both do underwater?”

You frowned, looking outside from the window and sure enough, Yeosang stood in a corner playing with his ball of yarn and smiling to himself. He almost looked like a kid at that moment and you shook your head. “He might be giggling over how I panicked underwater. I couldn’t really breathe like he thought I would.”

“Really?” Jongho frowned. “Because you were down there for quite a while.”

You could feel the heat creeping up your neck now. “Sirens must have good lung capacity or something.”

Jongho narrowed his eyes. “You like him, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Who am I talking about?”

“Jongho,” you looked at him. “I know you’re talking about Yeosang. And yes, I don’t want to kill him anymore, but neither do you. We grew on each other, that’s it.”

“Yeah, but you two can’t stop staring at each other whenever you think nobody’s looking,” he grinned. “Look, my thoughts about sirens have changed too ever since I met Yeosang, and now that you’re turning into a siren and might stay that way… you know I won’t hurt you, right?”

“I know,” you smiled.

“We’re closer to finding that sorcerer,” Jongho said. “And it’s going to be dangerous. What I mean is… you can’t be distracted or let the sorcerer get inside your head, okay? You understand what I’m saying, right?”

“Yep,” you nodded. “Thanks. I’ll sort myself out. No more tantrums.”

“Nah, you can continue having these tantrums,” Jongho laughed. “That’s not what I mean. I know I would have holed myself in a corner and cried 24/7 if I was turning into a siren. But you need to understand that we barely escaped last time and this sorcerer is powerful enough to do that to you. In case something happens to one of us…”

“We’ll be fine,” you insisted. “We’ll make it out alive, all of us.”

“I sure hope so, but I’d rather be prepared if I don’t make it out alive, which is why I’m here right now, actually,” Jongho said. “What do you think would be your biggest regret if you don’t make it out alive?”

“I… haven’t thought about that,” you admitted. “What would be yours?”

“Well,” Jongho slumped back. “I think it would be that I wasted all these years continuing hunting sirens, even when I got the ones who killed my family. You’ve just completed your life’s mission too. I think if I make it out alive, I’d like to quit hunting and do something else.”

“Oh,” you grinned at him. “Someone’s matured.”

“Right,” he scratched the back of his neck. “Do you think you’ll quit hunting as well?”

You found yourself looking out of the window at Yeosang who was now talking to San about something. “I think I might. I don’t know.”

Jongho smiled knowingly. “What do you say? The four of us continue conquering the sea and helping people get past evil sea creatures or humans?”

“Doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” you laughed. “We’d be called pirates at this rate.”

“Yeah, our reputation already sucks anyway,” Jongho laughed as well. “But I think we make a really good team.”

You nodded, smiling at the sight of the sorcerer and siren clapping at something they found funny. You really did make a good team, and perhaps, you’d like to continue being that way. “We could find some unexplored island and make it our home. I don’t want to go back to my hometown.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Jongho said. “But first… let’s all make it out alive, okay? Let’s stay strong.”

—-------------------------

“What if we get caught trespassing on someone’s private property?” Jongho sounded concerned as he jumped over the wall to get inside the house you had travelled miles to get to.

“I think it’s justifiable considering what the sorcerer did to me,” you said, letting San help you climb up and then you jumped down, Jongho catching you. “I could burn down his whole property.”

“I won’t be surprised if that makes the sorcerer curse you again,” San said as he jumped down effortlessly, dusting his hands off. “I can undo spells like those put around this property, but I can’t undo another curse.”

“Are you sure there’s no alarm here to detect sirens?” Yeosang asked before he jumped down. “Pretty sure he would set one up considering how much he hates sirens.”

“None of you are siren enough to activate one anyway,” San scoffed. “But no. There’s none. I don’t think he ever thought a siren would come parading in his house.”

“Trespassing,” Jongho corrected.

“If you’re so worried about the law, Jongho, maybe you should retire after this mission. We could get you some place by the sea,” you teased. “You could catch fish for a living.”

“Jokes later, we don’t have much time,” San took the lead, unlocking the main door with a swipe of his hands. “Remember not to leave any sort of trace. And try not to make it look obvious that we’re searching his house, will you?”

“Got it,” you all muttered before entering the Wanderer’s house.

While on your journey around Sheratan, you came across the same pirates who had dropped Jongho off and since they were in his debt, they gave you all the information about the Wanderer which was not much but was enough. You had the location of one of his many properties across the continent and you all thought it would be a good idea to search his house for any clues about his real identity or the curse, which was how you ended up here.

“Stick next to me- if any spells have to detect a siren, I’d rather it be me,” Yeosang pushed you behind him, taking the lead. You felt touched and you were just staring at him in disbelief and adoration when he continued, “You can’t even handle one curse. I don’t know how you’ll handle another-”

“Thank you, but I’m good,” you tried overtaking him but he grabbed your arm and locked eyes with you.

“Please. I’d rather it be me.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I can’t tell if you’re genuinely worried or if you’re making fun of me.”

“Can’t it be both?” He grinned and you made a face at him, none of you breaking physical contact.

Somehow, you were getting used to Yeosang’s physical touch. Ever since that day when you both kissed underwater, he had been somehow more gentle with you yet he was still the same. You were too afraid to ask what exactly was your relationship with him now, but it definitely had surpassed the boundaries of ‘just friends’ and you hadn’t even acknowledged him as a friend verbally.

He did talk to you about what happened that day. For two days, you did your best to avoid him though you couldn’t do much, being stuck in the same boat as him. On the second night though, he joined you by the deck and asked how you were doing, making small talk until he finally said-

“Are we going to talk about the kiss or are we going to pretend it never happened?”

You pursed your lips and when you didn’t answer for a few moments, your mind racing with too many thoughts, he gently took your hand in his, caressing it.

“I know what I want,” he said. “Do you?”

His gaze was too much. It was overwhelming, but at the same time… you wished he would keep looking at you that way forever. You met his eyes- they were so warm. So full of affection and love.

“Why, Yeosang?”

“Do I need a reason to want you?” He wondered. “Maybe I just like you, y/n. Maybe I just like who you are.”

You scoffed. “I haven’t given you anything. This isn’t me- you can’t possibly like this version of me.”

“Isn’t this you?” He intertwined your hands, holding them up in front of the full moon. “Isn’t it you, afraid to admit you want a siren, just like I was afraid to admit that I want a human?” He shut one eye as if studying the way the moonlight passed through the gaps between your fingers. “Was that not you who spent all her life searching for the sirens who killed her parents to avenge them?” He put your hands down, still staring at the way they fit with each other. “Was that not you who has a heart of gold- who, even when at her worst, saw the human in me and helped me?”

“Stop,” you almost cried, wanting nothing more than to let him hold you. You didn’t look his way again but he kept playing with your hands and waited for you to continue.

“What are you so afraid of, y/n?” He whispered.

“There’s way too much to be afraid of,” you finally lost your patience and looked at him. “Firstly… I’m a human and you’re a siren- and it can’t end well. I don’t know how this could work- but from what I’ve heard, it can’t work-”

“So you do want me,” Yeosang was grinning now and you shook your head in disbelief. Had he not heard a word you said?

“Do you like me more now that I’m almost a siren?” You locked eyes with him and when you saw his smile fall, you knew you had asked the wrong question.

“If that’s what you think, I’m willing to wait for you until you’re human,” he managed to say though he felt his heart had been ripped. “Though, I thought it was obvious even when you were human.”

“No, I’m sorry I asked that,” you admitted. “It’s just… I’m not certain about the future right now. I don’t want to make a promise to you that I cannot keep- not when I’m in this state. I may have gotten used to it thanks to your help but that does not mean I like it.”

“But… you do like me?” Yeosang asked and in that moment, he looked so vulnerable that something in you broke. All the walls you had built to guard your hesitation, fear, and the stupid second thoughts came crashing down and you almost whimpered with the sheer ache in your heart as you slid closer to him, cupping his face in your hands.

“I want you,” you told him, watching the uncertainty on his face fade away. “I don’t know what song you’ve sung but despite you not having your siren voice and despite my immunity to a siren’s song… I’m bewitched and I want you so bad.”

That was all Yeosang needed and he put one arm around your waist to tug you closer until you were flush against him. You joined your foreheads, simply breathing in the proximity and getting used to it, the brushing of your noses driving you absolutely insane. When your lips brushed, it took everything in you to draw away and look at him, his eyes fluttering open.

“Let me just get that damned sorcerer first,” you said, pecking his lips for good measure and surprising him. “Let me just sort my mess out, and then…”

“And then…” Yeosang smirked, pecking your lips and looking at you- if he meant to drive you insane, it worked because you were kissing him back as if you were on stolen time, trying to draw him closer than ever, his hands every fucking where. This time, he broke away and finished with peppering kisses all over your face.

“You don’t have to be afraid of what’s next, okay?” He said, kissing your cheek. “I’m with you. We’re all with you. You’ll be okay, love.”

You snuggled into his neck and he held you for the rest of the night. And now, here you were, back to being whatever you were. Yeosang led you inside the house and you noticed that there wasn’t much dust inside.

“He’s been here recently,” you commented. “Are we splitting up?”

“Definitely,” Jongho said. “Me and San can cover upstairs.”

“Okay,” you nodded. “Yeosang, you should start with the rooms, I’ll do the living room and kitchen.”

Though reluctant to let you go, Yeosang did, understanding the shortage of time. You had your eyes on the shelves where several books, candles, inkpots and other objects were placed. You skimmed through the titles- they were mostly history and fictional. You made a face- perhaps he was a reader. You found it odd, though, that there were no books on spells or magic like a sorcerer should have. The objects there were mostly stationery and you checked a few letters but found nothing strange. Disappointed, you searched the kitchen and the hallways, finding Yeosang there who was also looking lost.

“Found anything?”

“Seems like a normal person so far,” you sighed. “I hope Jongho or San find something. Found any signs of another person living here?”

“None- he seems to be alone. There’s a locked cabinet in there that San should check, though.”

Right then, you heard the two coming downstairs, empty-handed and perhaps as disappointed at you. San said, “For a sorcerer, he sure hates spell books. There’s a library up there but no books on spells or magic.”

“Isn’t that odd?” You asked. “What does a sorcerer usually have in his possession? At least a spell book or some magical items, right?”

“Nothing like that here,” he said.

“There’s a locked cabinet in there- you should check that,” Yeosang led San inside what looked like the master bedroom and San assessed the cabinet.

“There’s no spell on it,” he said, opening it with ease. “And there’s nothing inside. Must be for whenever he actually stops by.”

“I told you it would be a waste,” Jongho looked happy to have proven his point and you glared at him.

“It won’t be a waste,” San assured. “We know that he stopped by here only a few days ago thanks to the mailbox. I checked his study and found that one of his properties is located in the neighbouring town which means if he’s not sailing right now, he must be there. I tried a location spell but I got nothing.”

“Wow, are you a part-time detective or something?” Jongho looked impressed.

“Just observant,” San scoffed. “Unlike you lot.”

Which sparked a heated debate and while you all argued as you exited the room, Yeosang noticed a peculiar painting hanging in the hallway and he paused to examine it. San asked if something about the painting was familiar. You looked at it- it was a gloomy painting of a lone man sitting on a rock with waves crashing around him.

“I’ve seen this place,” Yeosang sounded sure.

“And?” Jongho asked, waiting.

“I’m pretty sure the place in the painting is the caves where the sirens dwell near Fomalhaut. You see the ashen mountains? The only volcanoes on this planet are near Fomalhaut and near Regulus. I’ve been here.”

“And what’s so special about this location?” San asked.

“The most monstrous sirens dwell there- the elders, we call them,” Yeosang looked at San.

“Interesting,” you contemplated his revelation. “But… what’s the problem with this painting specifically?”

“No one who’s human has ever made it out alive after crossing that place, so… how could someone have painted it so accurately? Down to the specific details about the place?”

“What are you saying?” Jongho asked. “Someone told a painter in great detail or…”

“Or someone painted it themselves,” Yeosang touched the painting. “Did any of you see any painting supplies?”

“In the study upstairs, yes,” San said and Yeosang pursed his lips.

“A lack of spells or sorcerer-related items and this painting… why do I have a feeling our sorcerer isn’t a sorcerer at all?”

You felt your heart sink. “What is he then? Human? But you said no human made it out alive-”

“What if he’s a siren, just like me?” Yeosang looked at you, eyes a little wide. “Pretending to be human- if he hasn’t used his voice in a while, he could pass as a normal human. He pretends to be a sorcerer and wanders around- the Wanderer.”

While you stood having major flashbacks about all your meetings with the Wanderer, San asked Yeosang if he was sure but even San felt like it was more plausible than anything so far. Jongho put a hand on your back, rubbing it. “It doesn’t matter if he’s a siren or a sorcerer or whatever. We’ll get him, okay?”

“I know we will,” you smiled weakly. “I just… if he’s a siren, why?”

That was an answer you’d get soon.

—--------------------------

If you were expecting to find the sorcerer in another mansion like the one he owned in the town you came from, you couldn’t have been far from wrong. You didn’t know what exactly you thought you’d find in this town, but…

The sorcerer sitting on the porch of an old hut by the beach was just not it.

You stood looking at him from a distance, the rest looking as confused as you for their own reasons. You, for one, hadn’t expected him to look so ragged.

“That is not a sorcerer,” San shook his head. “He has some incantations done on him, but he is not a sorcerer.”

“You’re right,” Yeosang looked the most surprised out of you all and he met your eyes before he said, “That’s a siren, not a sorcerer.”

“A siren?” Jongho frowned. “Can you sense him, y/n?”

You couldn’t. You asked Yeosang, “How do you know?”

“Because I’ve seen him before, when he was a siren,” Yeosang held your wrist. “I don’t think this is a good time to confront him- we need to strategise-”

The sorcerer- or whoever he was supposed to be- looked right at the group of you with a faint smile on his face as if he had been expecting you. He got up and brushed his clothes before treading almost inhumanely towards you.

“What a sight,” the Wanderer clapped. “I was expecting you, huntress.”

Yeosang pushed you behind him protectively and finally, the Wanderer looked at someone else other than you and something in his face changed- he looked highly amused. “Oh, look who we have here. A siren protecting a human!”

“Who’s turning into a siren herself thanks to you,” Yeosang’s voice sounded so different from anything that you had ever heard and you looked at him in surprise. “What’s the reason behind this curse?”

“A curse, you call,” the Wanderer scanned San. “As a sorcerer, you must know what drives a person to curse someone.”

“Was it something I did?” You finally asked. “Why me? Why am I turning into a siren, of all the things?”

“I just knew there was something about you when I saw you, and I was right!” He looked up at the sky as he laughed, the black strands of his hair falling back, and you resisted the urge to claw at him. “You, a siren-hunter, have a siren wrapped all around your fingers! Now that’s one variable I didn’t predict.”

You scoffed. “That would be an overstatement-”

“You’re him, aren’t you?” Yeosang began, sneering at him. “The siren we’ve heard so much about. The bedtime story of what would happen if you fall in love with a human.”

“Someone clearly didn’t learn,” the Wanderer looked at Yeosang. “And look at what happened. She’s now turning into a siren. Would you still love her if she becomes the monster that you swore not to be?”

That was it. You unsheathed the longsword and pointed at him, its tip almost meeting with the Wanderer’s chin. He glared at you in response. “I’ve had enough of your rambling. I don’t care what happened to you or who you are. You gave me an arrow that saved lives, cursed as it was. Undo it, now. That’s an order.”

His gaze darkened. “Do you really think it’s that easy to reverse a curse that was born after decades of grief? Grief longer than perhaps this siren’s life?” He pointed at Yeosang. “Your best bet is obviously killing me, but I have unfinished business, human. It’s better if you give in to the instinct clawing at your heart. Don’t you think so, siren? You wouldn’t have to worry about the other sirens hunting you down for loving a human like they did to me.”

“You know, for a siren who claims to be harbouring this grudge for what? Decades? Almost a century?” Jongho began and you met eyes with San- Jongho was definitely going to infuriate the siren so you had to act quick. “You sure have been slacking. Perhaps, you do not possess what it takes to get revenge like these two here. Are you sure you’ve got your revenge story right?”

And though the siren may have long given up on who he was, he sure had a few tricks up his sleeve. In a blink, he had produced a dagger and sent it for Jongho who narrowly dodged it and San immediately drew a shield around all of you. However, having pretended to be a sorcerer for so many years, the Wanderer was prepared. His next dagger went right through San’s shield, grazing his shoulder in the process.

“All of you, stay back,” you muttered, fuming with anger. “I’ll deal with him on my own.”

Yeosang wasn’t having any of that though. He loaded an arrow at the siren and let it loose, hitting him in the calf and the Wanderer sent a wave of air in your direction, throwing you both back a good distance, groaning in pain.

“It doesn’t have to end this way, huntress,” he called, tearing a piece from his clothes and quickly wrapping his wound while you recovered. “You can embrace being a siren. Being a human won’t do you any good in the long run.”

“And what would you know about being human,” you spat. “Why target a siren-hunter like this, huh?” You walked away from where Jongho and San were- it looked like the Wanderer hadn’t recognised Jongho yet and that was good. “You could have manifested whatever grudge you had into cursing the sirens who actually wronged you-”

“You don’t understand,” the Wanderer shook his head. “Sirens… They’re not the real monsters. We have laws and I broke one- I deserved my punishment, but humans?”

He looked so broken in that moment that you finally understood. You recalled the story you had heard about the siren who fell in love with a human and realised with a sinking heart that his grudge against humans was well warranted.

“You humans,” he started nearing the shore and Yeosang muttered a curse, dragging San and Jongho behind him as well. “You are the real monsters. And I’ve thought long and good about how I could avenge humans- I can’t just kill them all, can I? You prowl like ants on the land, there’s too many of you. But… you hunt sirens. You hunt us as if we’re the real monsters- you’re the perfect candidate.”

As soon as the Wanderer’s feet touched the waves, he raised his hands and you gaped at the sight of the waves growing louder, reaching new heights- did he intend to drown all of you? “When you become a siren- which you will, make no mistake- you’ll be hunting your own kind- humans.”

As twisted as it was, it made sense but at the same time… “You’re really going to do this?” You asked, while the boys muttered plans to each other. You could stall. “What have I done? I’m not the human who killed the person you loved. You know sirens killed my family too- how is this justifiable?”

“It doesn’t have to be,” the Wanderer smirked dangerously, raising his hand up and making a huge wave stand still in the air, making all of you take a few steps back and gasp. “I will kill your little group and make you watch, just like your kind did to me. And when you’re about to drown to death, you will give in to your siren instincts.”

Before you could retort, head spinning because there was no way this was happening, the Wanderer sent the wave crashing down on all of you and you lost your footing, almost getting carried away into the sea but Jongho was quick to grab you.

Jongho helped you up while San sent another magical wave for the siren which turned out to be ineffective. Yeosang slicked his hair back, angry. “It’s not going to work- he’s a centuries-old siren. Our powers might be useless against him.”

“What then?” You asked, shooting arrows after arrows for the siren. “We let him kill us? We run?”

“I could try singing- he doesn’t know who I am yet,” Jongho quipped. “I don’t know if it would work against a centuries-old siren, but…”

“But it’s our best bet,” you nodded. “I wish I had an ebony arrow right now.”

“Uh, I may have something better,” Yeosang patted his chest. “I’m wearing my sister’s necklace made of a water dragon’s tooth- it’s fatal to sirens.”

“Why do you even own it,” you muttered, grateful there was at least something.

“She killed sirens with these- those who went rogue. Almost got killed too,” Yeosang grinned. “We gotta get close to him though-”

The Wanderer sent another wave, this time shaped as pointed arrows and you gawked at it, San grabbing all of you and trying to get you to hide behind the boards or anything. “You guys are not helping me at all, find cover immediately!”

You dragged Yeosang behind a shed- he was too in awe at the siren’s powers to react quicker. San stood his ground though, waving his hands and muttering a spell, this time a visible shield in front of you all and when the siren sent those arrows at you, his shield managed to hold it.

“I’m going inside the hut and I’m going to sing,” Jongho announced. “When I give a cue, you better cover your ears, Yeosang.”

“Got it,” he said. “If the singing works, y/n, I’ll go stab him with the tooth- hey!”

You had snatched the necklace from him and you wound it around your arm. You looked at San. “Please make sure Yeosang covers his ears properly. I can’t risk him trying to cover his ears and stabbing the siren at the same time when he’s a siren himself.”

“No,” Yeosang tried grabbing your arm but you stepped back and hurt flashed his eyes. “There’s no guarantee this tooth won’t be fatal to you too- and there’s no telling if you’re immune to Jongho’s song anymore.”

“There’s not, but I’ll take the chance,” you smiled at him, hiding behind San. “Please restrain him, will you?”

“I could do it for you,” San said while grabbing Yeosang who was currently trying to snatch the necklace from you. “I should do this.”

“But you’re hurt,” you said, looking at the hut- Jongho seemed to be preparing. The Wanderer was currently going deeper in the waves, finally having gotten a break from you trying to shoot at him. “I should be the one to do this.”

“Y/n,” Yeosang shook his head, trying to break free from San’s grasp who understood that it couldn’t be Yeosang, at least, out of all of you. “You could get hurt-”

“I’ll be fine,” you assured him though you knew he was right- there was no telling how it was going to go for you. “I’ve got my earplugs so don’t you go shouting for me when I attack him, okay?”

San chuckled at that and Yeosang finally stopped fighting back. “I’ve got earplugs too.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you noticed Jongho’s signal. “You’re staying here.”

Before he could stop you, you walked to Yeosang and asked him to show you his earplugs. When he fished them out, you took them and switched them with yours. “Mine are better- they’ll keep you safe, okay?” You proceeded to put one of them in his ear, and when he held your wrist, pleading with his eyes to let you come along with him, you kissed his cheek. “Thank you for everything. I’ll be back, okay? As a human. I’ve got to do this myself.”

Yeosang understood- perhaps, the person cursed had to do the deed themselves to break the curse. You put in the other earplug and asked San to stay safe. And then you put in Yeosang’s earplugs, unsheathed your sword and marched towards the Wanderer. The vengeful siren sent wave after wave of pointed arrows at you but you fought back, gritting your teeth. You noticed the siren mouthing something but you really couldn’t care less- it was enough. You did not spend all those years siren-hunting only to become a siren yourself.

So you raised the sword and pointed it at Jongho, all the while maintaining eye contact with the siren. “Your mistake was thinking that you were not at fault. Because when a siren loves a human, yes, they give it their all, but do you know what happens when a human loves a siren?”

The Wanderer paused, arrows hovering in the air waiting for his command.

“When a human loves a siren… they forget they are mortal. It consumes them. They knowingly risk their short lives to protect that one brief moment of love they shared and they can die happy if they get that one moment,” you breathed, glancing back at Yeosang who was still struggling to break free from San’s grasp- San seemed to have obeyed when you told him a few days ago to magically restrain Yeosang if it came down to that. “Yes, humans wronged you. You should have dealt with those who wronged you instead of targeting another human who fell in love with a siren- just like your human. You really thought repeating history was the best idea?”

The Wanderer reconsidered for the briefest moment but as soon as you saw his gaze turn dark, you knew he was no longer the siren he once was. He had given in to his monstrous instincts and was too far gone. You raised the sword up and you heard the faint but sharp voice of the reaper pierce through the air. It sounded just like a siren’s call but somehow worse, if that was possible. You had heard it once before but this time, you had to actively resist it and it sent a burning sensation through your entire body.

You looked back at Yeosang who seemed okay but started struggling again when he spotted your pained expressions. You shook your head at him and gathered all your strength, you looked up to see the Wanderer entranced by the song.

It was working.

But he was too far away- even the distance of a few feet was seeming overwhelming when you couldn’t even take a single step. You ditched your sword and clutched your ears, taking one step and then another, practically crawling towards the siren-

And he finally reacted- he looked at you but his eyes were glossy. You clutched the tooth in your fist and he shook his head furiously, clutching at his ears but thankfully, Jongho was overpowering him. Once you reached him, you stabbed him in the chest-

Just as he took out his dagger and stabbed you.

You clutched at your own chest- he missed your heart by only a few inches. Now that you weren’t clutching your ears, you fell on your knees, the siren falling on his side as well, the waves washing over you two. He writhed in pain and you took out your earplugs, hearing the hauntingly beautiful call of the siren-hunter. You shut your eyes for a few moments until the siren fell silent and then you welcomed the darkness.

Jongho stopped singing as soon as he saw you both unmoving and he sprinted out of the hut, Yeosang and San following close. San made sure the siren was dead before extracting the tooth that was half-lodged in his chest, and Yeosang held your unmoving figure in your arms.

“She’ll be okay, let’s get her away from the sea,” Jongho said and Yeosang nodded, jaw clenched in anger and relief as he picked you up, moving away from the waves and laying you down on the sand. San followed soon after, assessing the damage.

“I have a healing potion- do you think I should get it?” Yeosang asked worriedly and San shook his head.

“Let’s not mess with her when she’s trapped in a curse- let me get this out first,” he said, extracting the dagger from your chest while Jongho put pressure on your wound. “Let’s hope the curse breaks after helping her heal a little.”

“I should have done something, anything,” Yeosang rubbed his face. “I should have-”

“No, you definitely should not have,” San reprimanded and Jongho agreed. “She’ll be okay even if she remains a siren. You would not have been okay. She protected you, okay? She asked me to protect you.”

“But-”

“Do you know what’s the last thing she said to that siren?” San was smiling. “She told him it was a mistake to target a human who fell in love with a siren.”

“But she-” Yeosang paused, raising his brows, wondering if he heard that right. “She said that?”

“Yes, you fool,” Jongho smacked Yeosang’s arm. “Give her a little credit. She’s not used to sirens being willing to protect her, okay?”

“Might be, a little,” you muttered, wondering if you were dreaming- everything felt cloudy. “He’s protected me far too many times for my own good.”

And when you heard the loud chorus of the boys asking if you were okay, you decided to go back to being unconscious for a little while longer.

—--------------------------

It was finally a sunny day at the sea after days of gloominess.

You took off your jacket, letting the heat soak through your shirt and spread throughout your body like a warm hug. You shut your eyes, smiling to yourself. Everything felt peaceful-

“Oh, so you can break an apple in half with your bare hands and you think you’re strong?” Yeosang scoffed. “I once cracked a siren in half-”

“Well, obviously the parameter is different,” Jongho pointed out. “You’re a siren.”

“I’ve lost most of my siren strength though. Maybe I should try cracking you in half-”

“Oh, try it on San,” Jongho pointed at the sorcerer. “He seems like he would be easy to crack.”

“Hey!” San scooted away. “You’re not doing that to me- hey!”

Yeosang had picked San up in his arms, quite effortlessly, while Jongho stood giggling at the way San tried to squirm out of the siren’s grasp. You would have tried to ignore them were it not for San having finally escaped and the three now running around you as they tried to catch each other. Yeosang almost bumped into you but with a quick apology, he was back to chasing him. You took a deep breath, willing yourself to let it go but when Yeosang tackled San and the two fell with a thud making the boat shake dangerously, you shouted at them.

“Not one moment of peace!” You glared at the three who straightened. “Yeosang, why would you want to crack San in half?”

“Yes, tell him!” San looked down at the siren-

“He’s obviously the easier prey out of the two and we need the sorcerer. I would be going after Jongho- he’s pretty useless save for his singing-”

“You traitor!” Jongho yelled at you and you grinned as Yeosang went after Jongho. San shook his head in amusement, settling down next to you.

“Enjoying the sun?”

“Very much,” you grinned. “What’s our bearings?”

“On track like we’re supposed to,” San exhaled. “I hope we don’t run into trouble again. The last island was enough.”

Now that the four of you were a team, you were travelling the seas in search of a secluded island you could inhabit and call home- it didn’t have to be secluded. The last two islands you chanced upon were unwelcoming to your group and for all the right reasons.

Your group attracted too much attention and nobody liked that.

“Perhaps we’re meant to live on the sea after all,” you sighed wistfully. “Sailing endlessly, a home with each other, one siren, one sorcerer and two hunters. We should search for more crew members then, what say you?”

“It’ll happen if it has to,” San said. “We didn’t search for each other, did we? It just happened.”

“Well, we’re lacking a pirate and mer- wait, is that a boat?”

You calling it a boat was an overstatement- it was more like a raft with a lone man travelling on it. You looked at San, wondering if you had really manifested something. San asked, “Should I check? Seems like a good time to offer our services in exchange for some money.”

“Sure,” you laughed. “Let’s offer the poor guy a ride anyway- I don’t know how he made it this far in the middle of the ocean on a raft- I’m curious.”

“You’ll stay here- San and Jongho can do the talking,” Yeosang slumped next to you now that San and Jongho were steering the boat in the raft’s direction. “We don’t want a replay of how you handled a potential customer last time.”

“Come on,” you turned to him, scratching below his chin. “Just because I offered him our pretty siren in exchange for his longsword which was way prettier than mine, doesn’t mean I would have actually traded you. You know that, right?”

Yeosang narrowed his eyes. “Do I? Somehow I still suspect you would have gladly traded me for an object.”

You grinned, kissing his lips for a good moment. “Of course not. I don’t think I can part ways with my longsword.”

“But you will part ways with me, after everything we’ve been through-”

“And I can’t make out with a sword, can I?” You winked at him, watching the siren flush a million shades of red. He pursed his lips, flustered, suddenly finding the ends of your sleeves interesting. You enjoyed passing flirting remarks like that so much- Yeosang was experiencing love for the first time in his long life, though he claimed he wasn’t ‘inexperienced’. You made it your life’s mission to give him a love worthy of legends- something that would overwrite the tragic love story of a siren and a human which was all people knew for centuries now.

“Y/n, Yeosang!” Jongho called. “Our guest claims to have escaped a pirate ship.”

“On a raft? Impressive,” you got up, shaking the man’s hand and assessing his appearance- his red hair looked like it was different shades in the sun. His skin was a little tan and he was wearing a lot of jewellery. “Where do you come from?”

“You might have heard of the White Mask? The pirate crew? I was their firstmate but things happened. I no longer wish to be a part of them so I escaped with what I could.”

“Wow,” you breathed- you were in the company of the legendary firstmate of the White Mask. You had heard a lot about those pirates whom even other pirates feared but you never expected their First Mate to look so… normal. “How can we be of service?”

“I wouldn’t have bothered you all- I can make it to the continent on my own, but when I sensed who you were, I couldn’t resist joining.”

“Sensed?” You frowned. “What are you then?”

“Half mer,” he grinned. “Nice to meet you, I’m Hongjoong. I heard you were looking for more crew members?”

You looked at the others who looked slightly amused, a bit shocked, but willing to see if you could have the legend of a pirate joining your crew.

“Well, I sure hope we get along,” you smiled.

#kang yeosang #yeosang #yeosang x reader #yeosang ff #ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez fluff #ateez angst #ateez au #yeosang fluff #yeosang angst #kang yeosang x reader #yeosang imagines #yeosang scenarios #ateez fanfic #atz

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ashascoven · 6 months ago

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❃☆ showering w/ the pyromaniac rat man ☆❃ pt. 2

☆ the demons im fighting to post this... the embarrassment is REAL!!

☆ anyways, hi! this is the part 2 to my junkrat x reader fanfic, except.. this one's.. smutty / NSFW

☆ here is the first part of the fanfic, it's also just on my profile, but you can very much enjoy this without needing pt. 1 !!!

☆ FANFIC DEETS! junkratxreader ☆

THIS IS SMUT / NSFW, meaning it is 18+

reader is a female who's known for working with plants, plant themed nicknames and female genitals are used here

praise, stuttering, edging, mostly dom jamie + fluff?? its intense out here yall..

want a playlist to shuffle to while reading? here's the one i made to write this to <3, i promise it's a hot listen!!

☆ FOR READERS WHO ARE JUST HERE FOR THE SMUT but would like to know about pt 1. without reading it!

part 1 was essentially about the reader and junkrat being sent on a duo mission together. they're temporarily staying in a semi-abandoned hut that resides in a struggling town targeted by Talon, a well-feared terrorist group. anyway, junkrat's annoying and stinky to sleep with, but he likes being cuddled! so, he agreed to only shower (with the reader) if they cuddled under the water of a decently sized shower-room. the reader ends up bathing him, and junkrat opens up about himself, thanking the reader for not treating him differently. this leads to "cuddles"..

“Oh screw you, mate!”

“You probably would.”

“Ya know what? Maybe I woul-” He stopped himself from immediately snapping back, covering his mouth like his life depended on it. His eyes were wide, and yours were closed shut from your own laughter.

“Pfft!! You know what? Fine! Yeah, sure!!” You yawn-giggled, putting your soap and loofah to the side and leaning your back against his chest with a closed eyed smile.

“Uh-huh?? W-what're ya’.. d-doin’, mate??”

“Didn’t you say you wanted.. uh, bath cuddles? Surely you wouldn't mind holding me instead right nooww..” You yawned.

“O-Ohoh! Phew!! Seems like it’s my turn n’ cuddlin’ a fine lookin’ celebrity!” He giggled, not minding a single bit in being able to lowkey return the favor of you cuddling him earlier and cleaning him now.

He happily wrapped his lanky arms around your waist again, his hands landing a little further than intended and was resting on a certain area of yours, but it wasn't on purpose.

This woke you up, and with a little slight gasp at the touch, “I-I.. Jamie..-”

"Oh! W-wait! I-.. Sorry! It.. w-wasn't intended, my brain’s just lost from our talkin’, I swear, mate-!”

“I wasn't complaining..” You admitted painfully.

As if the shower steam wasn't strong enough, a guilty blush overheated your face.

“I-I.. Oh… O-oh..??!?”

“I w-wouldn't mind it if… ya know..” You slowly put your hand above his. You don't know what came over, but you couldn't find it in yourself to ask directly.

“..n-not that i-i’d force it or a-anything! I mean, we a-are still on a mission on after all and we aren't.. even.. together like that!? My mind wandered t-too far anywa-”

“o-ooh~.. J-Jamie..?” You gasped in surprise, not expecting him to actually go through with it.

“lettin’ ya know i’m.. probably not the best a’it..” He hovered over you from behind, mumbling into your ear. His fingers started rubbing between your legs.

“haah.. I-It’s okay, but y-you really.. oh god~..! y-you don't have t-to- mmh..” You fumbled on your words, your back leaning deeper against him.

“shh,” he hushed you, his robotic hand covering your mouth gently as his normal one kept rubbing you, “I’ve got ya’ now.”

“m-mmh.. hnnmhh~..” You moaned into the sealed metal, feeling your hips slowly grind against his fingers. Your hands were now gripping on both of his arms, but you didn't want out.

“just- let me help ya out.. least I could do for a pretty princess..” His voice was a bit more serious, but it made your heart race. You really didn't expect to see this bolder side of him so soon.

He moved the hand from your mouth to one side of your chest, giving it tender squeezes and pinches that earned loud moans out of you.

“a-aah! Jamie~!” You screamed out, throwing your head back in pleasure.

“i’m listenin’, my angel”

It was as if he knew all of the right ways to tend to your buds, ways you could've sworn only you grew to know. The running water also helped touch all of your body, making your senses go wild.

“whew doll.. ya’ sound like sugar n’ sweets to my ears, surely you.. taste the same?” He breathed out, starting to bite down at your exposed neck.

He switched hands, his metallic one now tending to your garden below as his normal fingers played with your other breast. The temperature difference in metal to skin made shivers of excitement run through you upon much contact.

To say he was good at multitasking would be an understatement; he was amazing at it.

“agh! nngh..” was all you managed to get out before continuing your cries of pleasure and repeating his name. All of the sensational spells he had you under only made you so drunk for more.

“i knoow, me’ sunflower..~ le’it all out for me..”

“you’ree soo pretty soundin’.. i could take your beauty in like this aaalll daayy..” He could feel his ears get warm from his own words, grateful to be able to practically worship such a beauty in this moment.

“aaaah~.. p-pleeaaasee..!”

“you're doin’ so good for me,” he praised, his fingers getting quicker, “this feels nice, don't it?”

He rubbed those two magical fingers in all the right circles that had your toes curling for more.

You never wanted him to stop.

“y-yeeaah~.. I-I’m.. alreeaady c-cloose..!” You whined, your hands finding a place to grip on his thighs. You felt your back arch as you neared your release.

His hand below your waist moved even quicker. The other hand that was squeezing your breast moved downward to help your heated area, slightly spreading your folds open with two fingers as he tended to your pearl.

Then, he suddenly slowed down, just enough for you to not reach the top of the hill yet. Earning a whiny moan out of you, the knot in your stomach subsided from the painful change of pace.

“mmmh.. w-why'd youu haaave to stopp..?”

“not yet.. ‘m not done with ya’ just yet, doll..” He breathed out, moving both of his hands to hold at your love handles. You felt himself press against your back as he buried his stubble-haired chin into your neck. He felt.. excited.

“mmghhhh… waarrmm..” He snuggled against you once again, using this moment to take you in a more cozier way. His hands moved up to your chest again, slowly kneading into your softness.

It was honestly kind of like a warning, knowing this man who’s enjoying himself just from hugging you is probably about to absolutely ruin you.

His height? His touchiness? The way he sweet-talked you? All of those things said it all, and you were so into it.

You shuffled around to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. His hands made their way to your ass.

He still managed to enjoy cuddling your neck as you moved, letting out a moan at the way one of your hands reached into his now semi-wet hair.

“crikey, I don't think ya’ even.. know what you're doing to me, lady..” He groaned into your neck, before starting to leave a trail of marked kisses going upwards to your chin.

“aah..ahah, I can definitely feel it.” You moaned into a chuckle, trying to kiss his nose as he kissed your face.

His grip on you tightened as the kisses you two shared grew more passionate.

His lips, slightly unchapped from the water, pressed against yours. Both of you leaned into one another with closed eyes, dancing around each other's tongues and enjoying the tango under the shower’s rain.

You loved the way his mouth felt, how it felt like a new cavern to explore while preparing for the real ride he had waiting for you. The way his gold teeth felt slightly different from the rest that your tongue grazed over made you soak into how real all of this was.

As badly as you wanted him to take you at your core, you enjoyed kissing him up here too. You could get used to this. <3

One of his hands made its way up to your hair, it now being his turn to run his fingers through it. The way he massaged at your scalp as he took his time searching you with his lips made you moan into the kiss.

“mm, you're soo.. pretty..” He muttered, pulling away for a couple seconds before going back to attack your lips. This made you smile against his face, unconsciously pressing yourself closer to his body.

He'd do this a couple more times, murmuring about your beauty in-between catching his breath.

He didn't need open eyes to know that the person he was about to ravish was beautiful.

He could feel your body against his, the way yours still managed to be softer and hotter despite being under the same water as him, and this drove him wild.

His lips moved back to your neck, his kisses going lower and lower.

He made sure to kiss any mark and crease his mouth could find before eventually having you against a wall with his arms wrapped around your legs.

He was basically laying on his stomach, your hands struggling to hold yourself up as he held at your lower body, fully ready to eat you up like ice cream on a hot summer day.

“so.. gorgeous…” He marveled at your display for him, making you silently look to the side in your own embarrassment.

As soon as he started kissing at your core, you felt your nails nearly scratch into the tiles you were sitting on, the fluttery feeling from before making way to your stomach once again.

“aaahh~.. James..” You gasped, your eyes squinting in pleasure.

He kissed all around, making sure to let his mouth tease at your petals.

His tongue traveled inwards when you were quieter, and outwards when you whined for him. He purposely ran it over your bud, swirling around your clit the way his fingers did before, only to slow down when you got louder.

It was a cycle of teasing you and figuring out what made you squeal, just so he could eat you out for as long as he wanted. <3

“J-Jamie..! ohh, g-god..! please~! it f-feels so~oo.. so g-good..” You panted and stuttered a storm for this man, your brain melting to mush at the way he handled you.

You had no chance at being wet on your own; his tongue soaked in all of your juices for him to swallow, quickly replacing it with the wetness of his own mouth.

His hands gripped harder at your thighs. He couldn't get enough of the way you smelled and tasted.

You smelled so.. natural, and tasted so-so-so delicious. His bomb-driven brain couldn't process it any better than going faster with his tongue.

“..nngh~! J-Jami-.. Jami~soonn..! s-so c-close~!”

Your hips rode at his face and his grasp on your legs, one arm shaking at holding yourself up while the other pulled at his cloudy hair.

He groaned at the hair pulling, slithering one of his arms from holding your legs down to help tend to your core.

Two of his fingers made it inside, making your freed leg rise and spread further from all of the pleasure. The hand you had in his hair was now covering your own mouth, desperately biting at your knuckle from being so overwhelmed in the steamy tension.

You didn't know what to do with yourself, your hand immediately making it back into Jamison’s hair as you kept crying his name.

“h-huff.. Jaa~mie..!”

You breathing his name out the way you did made him pump his fingers more quicker, the sound of you being so wet for him making his lower stomach ache more for you.

His fingers curled into you as his tongue focused on circling your clit, occasionally dipping into its hood and making your whole lower body twitch in rhythm with his movements.

It was too much now, and you were gonna burst.

“a-aah! I-I'm..~ I'm g-gonna..! hnnghh~..! nngh-!”

With the last flicks of his tongue on you, you came, your release making you roll your eyes back in pure ecstasy.

Catching your breath, you struggled to focus on Jamison, looking at the top of his hair rise with a daze in your eyes.

He pulled away proudly, admiring his work as you slowly oozed all over his fingers.

The sudden air replacing his tongue and caressing your bare sweetness made your liquids come out with more sudden pressure, truly a sight for him to behold.

He took you in fully with his half-lidded eyes.. the way you closed your eyes and panted because of him, the way your hips buckled in pleasure because of him, the way you were turned on and sent to heaven because of him.. he felt honored.

He reached down to taste you one more time, just to drink at what you had just served him. With some of it dripping from the tip of his nose, he raised himself up with a smile.

“..t-that was the bomb, wasn't it-?”

Now, what he didn't expect was for you to immediately tackle him down afterwards, your lips once again pressed into his.

He grunted in surprise, but happily kissed you back and ran his hands all over your waist.

You pulled away from him with your hands holding his face, staring into his love-drunk eyes with your own of the currently same type.

Your noses were touching, lips nearly doing the same, and the tension that was once released found its way back again.

You couldn't bring yourself to say anything yet, so you spoke through attacking his neck with your own mouth, giving him a taste of his own gunpowder.

The way he looked under the dimmed light and running water made you want to just litter his body in kisses, and god he loved it.

“o-ohh..! d-doll.. mmgh..”

It was his turn to seep into a melty mess, nearly drooling at the way you pecked kisses onto his Adam's apple.

Both of your hands were now on his shoulders as you made your way all over his chest, moving down to his sides.

You left hickies all over his body, the ones you left near his v-line making him squirm the most in his spot.

Your legs held him down, your warmer spot dangerously close to his, but you made sure to make the most of this position, continuing your kissing while grinding against the waist area right above his cock.

Being able to feel the prickly hairs down there rub against you only fueled the fire between you two more.

He groaned under you, throwing his head back with a ‘oh, you've really done it..~’

You looked up at him as you made your way down to his legs, your fingers already teasing the tip of his dick.

He squinted at you with a blush all over his face, all over his body even, shamefully covering his mouth with his metal hand for the time being.

“o-oh? I see now,” you chuckled, “someone wants my help, y-yeah?”

Guiltily, he nodded his head, groaning into his arm as you tended to him.

Your body was still recovering from before, so you saved your shaky voice, reaching for his free hand, guiding it to his own shaft and starting to make him rub himself.

Your hand was resting over his as you slowly brought it up and down, occasionally kissing him or his waist.

He didn't think you could've turned him on anymore than he already was, but he was so wrong.

He felt like he was flying, your desirable pecks on his body making him whine even more into his arm in bliss. The way your mouth and hands felt so perfect on his body made his longing to be inside of you much more stronger than he thought was ever possible.

You started to kiss all over his tip, your tongue slowly making way to the skin right below it. Your teasing tongue made his busy hand move to your head once again, your own hand now working on its own.

Up and down, up and down, you rubbed him, making sure to look up at him every time your mouth made it onto the top of his hard member, each kiss making a ‘pop’ that caused him to twitch in even more pleasure.

“g-gosh, woman.. y-you’re reeaall- mmh.. good a’this..”

“..mmhhmm..?”

“y-you're so done when i get to ya’- oouh~..”

“mmmmhh..” you responded, moaning as you took most of his length into your mouth.

His legs were already weak at how warm your throat felt around him. The grasp he had on your scalp tightened as you moved with your mouth, making sure to really suck at his cock and cover it in your spit.

“augh..~” he threw his head back as he unconsciously started to push at your head every time you went down, “j-just like that.. o-oh yeah..~”

His sides shuddered every time your teeth slightly grazed over his foreskin, making him slowly thrust himself into your mouth. Your hands held at his legs as you enjoyed the taste of him.

His slightly salted taste made your insides throb impatiently to feel him. His largeness made you daringly excited, so you kept swishing your tongue all over, desperate to keep the taste of his liquids in your mouth.

“m-mmgh.. o-ohoh.. this f-feels.. amazing~..”

“i w-wanna be inside o-of you.. soo~oo baad, princess..~”

“dooll~ please..”

You took it on yourself to climb back onto him, quickly positioning him into your entrance and slowly letting yourself down on it.

“mgghh.. p-princess~..” He groaned, his hands quickly finding their way to your sides.

“aah.. ohh J-Jamie..!” You followed, your hands on his shoulders as you started to let yourself adjust his length.

God, he was so big, and so tough; he felt like caramel inside of you, hardened like caramel candy and wet like syrup all at the same time.

Those butterflies in your chest wasted no time expanding down to your core, eventually reaching all over your body. You felt like jittery honey, your tight sweetness wrapping around him in eager neediness.

You needed him, you needed him real bad.

Your hips were tired, but the pleasure made it worth pushing through. You had to lean on him, your chest of perked out buds rubbing against his as you slowly started to move.

He felt something surge through his bones, making his hold on your sides turn into him pounding your softness onto his cock in desperation.

“h-hngh-! a-aah.. b-big..! ha-aah..”

His excitement didn't give you much time to adjust, earning all sorts of whines and squeaks out of you, but you couldn't complain.

His magic tongue from earlier had prepared you more than enough for what was to come.

His length reached all the right spots in your warmth, you already felt so full of it, so full of him..

“hnngh.. you're so.. r-ready for me, aren't ya’?”

“y-yeahh~.. b-been so- aah~! s-so.. ready..!” You huffed out, your face burning endless heat waves.

“yeah you aare.. mmh, so w-warm.. y-you're so..~ hot..” He groaned into your ear, his breath making you shiver in enjoyment.

His praise and gruff voice vibrated through your whole body as he panted between sentences, eagerly thrusting into you.

You were so addicting to him, being inside of you was like opening his senses to a new world of paradise.

He felt himself lose his bearings, thinking of nothing but getting to release all over that pretty body of yours.. getting to admire his work on an ethereal body of art known as you. Whatever he was groaning out about loving your body was unconscious yet so filled with his thoughts.

“need t-to.. take you i-in moore~..” You felt your body try to encapsulate his length deeper into you, but this upright position wasn't enough, and he sensed that too.

Wasting no time in grabbing at your legs, he pushed you onto the tiled floor, now hovering over your laying body with his cock still buried deep into you. He continued his thrusts, his nails nearly digging into the back of your thighs.

“a-aah~! it feels.. h-huff, s-so good-.. p-please~! don't e-ever stop.. nngh..! b-begging-!”

The excitement to get to lick and kiss you all over when he was finished only made him move more quicker, more vigorously.

All he could think about was you, how you looked in every intimate moment you two had just spent together.. how you were going to look, absolutely soaking in his hard work, all wet and heated because of him.

He couldn't even think of anyone, or anything else, just you.

He raised your legs over his shoulders, his face warming up more at the way your stomach pudged together as he kept moving inside of you. He couldn’t stop internally gushing about how real and natural you were about everything, how any type of acne or hair you had made you all the more alluring to him.

“J-jamie~..! y-you’re.. amazing~! aah, g-god..!”

His mind got lost into how pretty you sounded.. how you called his name, praising him and pleading for him.. He was so lost into you, fucking you ruthlessly just to keep taking you in, just to keep inhaling you like some sort of addiction. He was so damn addicted, who even knew when he planned on ever stopping?

Slowly, he started putting one of your legs back to its previous position, trying to get an even deeper angle at reaching your insides. One arm was wrapped around the leg on his shoulder for support, the other making its way downwards.

“you take me.. s-soo~o well~.. augh~..”

“d-damn right i do..~ a-aagh, r-right there..~!”

Your hands squeezed at your own chest, neck, and ran through your own hair, sometimes reaching to touch at his waist. You didn’t know where you wanted to grab, too dazed into the moment to care.

He couldn’t help his hands from really touching you again, his thumb finger rubbing your clit, knowing that it’d make you feel even more great.

Your pleasure was his pleasure, the way you looked and felt made him feel like the luckiest man on Earth just for breathing the same air as you.. He had the honor of making a queen feel good, burying himself further and further into your guts.

“i-i’m.. so f-fuckin’ close~! k-keep going..! y-yeah~.. i’m s-so- aah~! p-please-.. so c-clo~ose..!”

You were so fucked stupid, all you could get out were pleas of never wanting this to end.

Any thoughts about being tired or annoyed by this man were long gone; only wanting the feeling of his thrusts, kisses, and rubbing to never end.

“J-jamie~! Jamie-! I..- I’m~!”

“let it aaall outt~.. i’m a-almost there too, l-love~..” He huffed, making sure that he moved fast enough to get you both over the edge.

“aaahh~!.. J-jamie.. mmhh~..”

“mmgh..~”

The feeling of that blissful knot below your stomach releasing itself was holy on its own, the sensations from all over your body coming together to relieve you with such a well earned orgasm.

He followed right after, pumping himself deep inside of you with a relieved sigh. Both of his hands were now pinning yours against the floor, your legs curled up on their own.

He made sure to really take in this moment, slowly pulling himself out with one hand and watching as you were dripping in his liquid.

The way he pulled out of you felt so warm and icy at the same time, the air of the room hitting your bare, sensitive areas once again. With the now-cold running water, the heat masking both of your bodies drifted down the drains.

He marveled at your body, admiring in awe at how you were truly such a masterpiece. No bomb or heist could’ve made him as satisfied or joyful as he was with what you two had just accomplished.

It felt like all of the hairs on your body raised from all of the build up, only to calm back down with ease. Your muscles were definitely sore, but you were too starstruck at the handsome man above you for it to even be painful.

The only thing you were consciously doing right now was looking into his eyes, panting, and feeling yourself flow out onto the tiles just to be washed away by the water.

The temperature switch stung your weak bud, making you twitch ever so slightly, but it wasn’t unpleasant. You felt so relieved, and any tension or frustration in your body was now gone.

He took in the way that your chest rose and fell after what you two had just done, falling to your side and kissing graciously at your face.

You let yourself melt into his lips again, kissing him back here and there.

Suddenly, you felt a sneaky hand holding a loofa make its way to your back.

“..are you trying to clean me up right now?”

“I.. was the one who.. made the mess all over ya’..”

“It’s fine.. We should just dry ourselves off and head to bed-”

“B-but I need to wash you off, mate!”

“You’re one to talk about someone else needing to be washed..”

“W-well! You’re one to talk considerin’ how I had ya’ laid out 2 minutes ago!”

“..Your point? If you wanna do me again, just say that, ‘mate’ <3 ”

“(；⌣̀_⌣́)”

☆ once again, if anyone actually makes it this far, tysm for reading! feedback is always 100% welcomed and appreciated

☆ i may continue this fic more if people end up liking it, but i also have other fanfics in the making along with a soon-to-be request page!!! >:D

☆ i dunno how i got this finished honestly.. i mean i finished multiple times but still.

☆ literally feeling like that "passed out 8 times but your cinnamon rolls are done sir!" except the rolls are just this fanfic.. fighting DEMONS i tell you, DEMONS!!!

☆ this is my first time writing an australian accent, so if there's any mistakes anywhere pls lmk!! hit my line yall, i dont bite >:D

☆ thank you, eat + stay hydrated, and enjoy your night/day!

#jamison fawkes #junkrat #junkrat x reader #ow2 #overwatch #ow2 junkrat #fanfic #overwatch x reader #smut #lemon #fanfiction

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sil-te-plait-tue-moi · 8 days ago

Text

My heart is a bloodhound!

PART 1 ★ PART 2

Quick summary: It happens again, when the year festers into August again and leaves the two of you raw and vulnerable like open wounds.

Word count: 15K… 🤓

Warnings: canon-typical mentions of death, violence and injury (there is mention of like eating people but idk); grief; misogyny; Rust's personality; semi-public SMUTT T-T (MINORS DNI); same level of pretentiousness, maybe a little more, as the first part.

A/N: Holy fuck this sucked the soul out of me (wish Rust Cohle would suck the soul out of I MEAN WHAT), i am super proud of this though!! Went through many iterations and this was the least shit! 🎀🎀🎀 This is technically part two to The idler wheel but can be read by itself too. May or may not write other things for this guy but for the time being, I need a cleanse 😭 BUT please please enjoy and please please interact, i love reading comments and so many lovely people commented on the first part, im gonna do my best to respond to any/all this time 🤘MWAH MWAH

***

It’s difficult to differentiate between the thrill of being left alone here with him and the slow-sinking dread of the implications of that.

With the return of the musk of the summer, those three ruthless, windless, unrelenting months that would seem to drag on for several lifetimes when I was a kid, the memory of where I was last year—and the year before that, and the one before that—hangs brightly in my mind. Stale, not quite dead – so bright. Crawling with mildew.

Stepping into the bar had felt like entering another dimension. Maybe it was the suits that gave it away – every single God-haunted patron—the truckers, the farmers, even the old dog lying at a man’s feet—had turned, sensing foreigners as acutely as the immune system registers a bodily threat. I knew Johansson felt it: that dark pull over the back of the neck. But under Marty’s overconfident, swaggering lead, that winning smile, we soon assimilated. Skin swallowing a bullet.

God forbid you ever leave the town you grew up in. Shame on you if you don’t, though. How sanctimonious of me to change my mind and return after earning a spot amongst the lucky few escapees.

Something in this place still irks me.

At least, in Brooklyn, there was always noise: cries of a baby in the apartment over, the discord of traffic bursting through the streets below, the rush of a crowd, the overlap and slur of private conversations. At least the badness would stare you right in the face; at least people were evil to be evil. At least there were corners where things could hide, where it made sense for shadows to exist: all to explain the paranoia that stalked me.

But here?—it seems so open. Like, if a rare, hot wind would blow through a Louisiana town, it could do so in one straight path, through walls, through people, without ever getting disrupted. Everything is so light in the blazing sun, you can practically hear it: the hum of rays passing over every surface. Nothing should be able to hide. And, at night, with no sun, no rays, there is no noise. Maybe a dog. And ghosts. But perhaps it’s just the area in which I live.

When Marty started drinking, flirting with the twenty-one-year-old barkeep, Johansson’s face had stiffened. He himself had never even touched a bottle of beer – devil stuff. We shared a look once the blond detective started gabbin’ like an idiot.

“Know what Maggie thinks?” he had laughed, slumping over the sticky table of the booth, big, sweaty palm choking out his drink. “She thinks you might be pissed at me.”

Johansson blinked hard to keep his nose from wrinkling, but, even then, he couldn’t keep from physically cringing away. “Who?” he asked, confused by those hazy, unfocused eyes.

Marty cracked a toothy grin – there was that slight gap between those front two, which had been charming at first and only managed to thoroughly disgust me now in moments like these – and pointed his finger right at me, accusing. “You.”

My stomach churned dangerously at the sight of him.

“Marty,” his partner had drawled, a low warning.

Waved away like a fly.

“Naw, it’s like—you’re on your high fuckin’ horse or somethin’.”

The words were spoken through a laugh, but I knew there was meat behind that so-called good mood. He was one of those people that tended to overcompensate. A mistake, an ill feeling. He liked to point out how I was alone, and often, too, poorly disguised as a passing joke, complete with one of those shit-eating grins that seemed to come so easy to him.

Shouldn’t he have been happy? Not only had he gotten our case, by then, but we’d handed it over with smiles on our damn faces. Nice enough to walk them through the original crime scene, introduce them to the key witnesses. Complicated. We didn’t have to do shit for ‘em, but we did. Hell, even that beer he was clutching to his chest was paid for out of the goodness of my own fuckin’ heart. Who was he to moan about the situation? He was the one who insisted on staying in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere, brushing off any and all pointed questions on whether his family would be missing him at dinner.

“You know, I’d rather you were pissed,” he continued, where, really, I should have just smothered him into silence.

Rust was staring into the side of his flushed face, iron-grey eyes like a drill, like he was thinking the same thing.

“Look, you’re smilin’ at me now, but I sure as hell don’t trust it, buck. You wanna bite my head off, don’t ye?”

Like I ever could have done that.

Though the familiar weight of rage curdled in my chest, I would never admit it to the likes of Martin Hart. When he got like this—jealous, insecure, whiny—I wondered whether it was just a temporary lapse, or if this him, this true him, just lay under the surface all the time.

It wasn’t that fucking hard to plaster on a smile and take what you fucking got – I did it all the time. He could dream of a different life, but this was the one we were dealt. Fact that his grown ass hadn’t accepted that by now twisted violently in my gut. Between the two of us, I was the one that knew this – so why did he get myfucking case?

In my head, I’d let Salter have it, too. How could I ever admit I had an ego? How could I ever admit I had a mind to wrench the teeth out of the sheriff’s fucking gums?

But I have plenty of practice acting like things don’t bother me, which is why it was so easy to plaster on my amiable smile and laugh, “C’mon, man, you know it’s only ‘cause o’ the workload.” Not that you could comprehend that, lazy fuck. To Marty, my kind’s natural state was amiable—anything otherwise would be a defect—so I’d expected to convince him. “You’ll do right by it, ‘m sure.”

If he were sober, I know he would’ve bought it – he could convince himself that the way of the world was right and I was only being sweet to be sweet, because he deserved it.

But Marty was drunk. Piss-drunk, loud drunk. His mind was clumsier than usual, unable to muster the energy to jump points, ignore the evidence, like he did daily. I hoped I had the power—if I had to let the case go, I wanted to at least retain an into its goings-on—but there was only one way to really have power over men like Marty when they were drunk, and I had had no interest in being one of his girls.

My partner twitched beside me, picking at some spongy, yellow fluff protruding from a thin split in the chocolate-brown fake leather of the booth. He was just as furious as I was beneath his fort of calm.

Marty took a swig of his beer. “She wants you over soon. Maggie. Barbecue or some shit.”

“Maybe you should go home,” Johansson interjected, sharper than intended. If I were him, with his body, with his life, I’d have hit the fucker—long time ago, too. I couldn’t, but Johansson wouldn’t. He didn’t lack the temperament for brutality—I’m not sure anybody does—but, rather, couldn’t justify it to a necessary degree in his head. “I’m going home,” he’d reasoned kindly – he made it sound so easy. “Just let me take you. It’s on my way.”

Itching to leave, to return to the comfort of his wife and his little daughter. Marty had always found Johansson’s fondness of them disingenuous, had disliked my partner as long as they’d worked in the same office. He complained to me once that none of his stories seemed complete. When I asked him what he meant by that, he couldn’t answer—but I knew.

Breath short in my chest, I had half-expected Marty to lunge over the table, scratch Johansson’s eyes out. Only, Rust leaned over, dipping his head down to mutter something quietly into his partner’s ear, which was all flushed red.

And then he went willingly into Johansson’s car, stumbling through the still, open night into the backseat.

My partner had squeezed my shoulder goodbye – I’m not sure why I didn’t leave with him. Now, I was doomed to leave with Rust.

There, he sits across from me, smearing the ashy tar of his half-smoked, flaking cigarette over the mottled glass ashtray dragged over to his side of the table, little circles, waves, absent-minded art. Has me transfixed, some hypnotist.

If I look down like this, if I sacrifice the opportunity to look at him, I earn his careful attention: this sits in the back of my idle mind. I’ve been taking advantage of it more and more since summer broke through the sweetness of spring, which has since curdled like milk, sour. His stare drags over my face like fingers – I can almost feel his touch pressing into the softness of my cheek, dragging over the ridge of the orbital bone.

“You’re okay?” he asks after a couple slowed heartbeats, pulling me out of the honey-pit of my thoughts.

I dart my eyes up, breaking the spell – his observation retreats, clouds, and drifts away to fix on the broken clock on the wall, the one that reads one forty-five at eleven o’ clock.

Primarily, his question irritates me. Nobody asks “are you alright?” imploringly, not unless it concerns themselves and their own wants. Salter had asked me that, right after telling me he was pulling me from my case, and, then, I had thought about crying, just to unsettle him. But what good would that have done? He’d only asked “are you alright?” to test the waters, to see if there was a future possibility of letting him pull the rug out from under me with zero consequences. Again. I couldn’t win.

But Rust doesn’t want much from me. He doesn’t even want the case, really, which just twists the knife even further.

“You—you know I’m good in there, right? In the box.” I carve a jagged thumbnail into this message in the table, twisting the characters wider, or taller, risking splinters.

Why should I have to give it up? And to a fucking idiot? Marty wasn’t the one who stayed all those late nights alone at the office, wasn’t the one scoured over heaps of files under low light, wasn’t the one who took the fucking beating when the suspect fought against arrest. Marty was not the one who conducted an interview like that.

My mouth thins into a hard line, but I know the words will come out whether I let them voluntarily or not. Around Rust, it’s that way. I should’ve left when I could.

“It’s just that—it was so weird,” I continue, my head pulsing with the unwanted memory of that cabin. Marty didn’t have to experience it, Rust didn’t have to experience it—but I did. “Not jus’ wrong, or sad. Makes me feel strange, thinking about it.”

Often, the suspects underestimate me. Johansson’s broad shoulders and tough-set jaw come off as offensive—nothing like my voice, low and gentle, and my eyes, sympathetic and warm. I’m the mother who will never judge, who is spilling over with unconditional love.

Beneath this, though, I am good at the maths of the job, the connections. Though all detectives technically develop the same constituent skills—close attention to body language tells and other biological betrayals—I ain’t sure most understand the sensitivity and strength required to confront shit like this head-on. To not avert your eyes at the mutilated woman on the bed. To inspect her eunuched boyfriend’s severed appendage, to have steady hands when photographing the scene—with flash, of course, to highlight every detail with sufficient clarity—for evidence, which must be returned to and examined again and again, each time with greater fervour still.

I could name a few who’d joke about a thing like that, to ease the burn of that image in their heads, to sleep better at night, to leave behind the uninvited, vicarious sensation of a knife teasing over the meat of their dick.

But the boyfriend’s corpse, we eventually located separately in a cabin in the woods, laid into the basement freezer, so peaceful, such a brutal image. Pretty parts of him preserved for mauling.

And Salter has the fucking audacity to take it away. He wasn’t the one to see something like that, to feel sick to his very stomach, to gag and have to turn away, to cringe and writhe like his skin suddenly wasn’t his, like he ought to pick himself out. I’ve been reeling with that image for weeks, living with motion sickness, and have been denied the relief of vomiting.

“So, you need me to get that confession.”

Rust comes back into focus, perfectly still.

I nod, the back of my neck prickling with mean goosebumps. “Campbell, his DNA was all over the bodies. He was proud of it, even.” My ribs still glow with the phantom-sensation of his brutal kick there when we located him. Stomach clenching, I struggle to remain level. “But there ain’t no way in hell she wasn’t involved. He denies it, but the house is registered under her name. Maiden name, Phelps.”

“I read,” he confirms.

I tremble in frustration – I almost wish he hadn’t.

“It’s just—this lady’s tough.”

Eyes darting over to the dim-lit bar, scouring the scuffed hardwood floor, I can feel my face growing hot with indignation. Christ, it sounds pathetic, like a whiny kid insisting on continuing a task all wrong in order to protect their damaged pride.

“You know Johansson: once she starts with the tears, he can’t see past ‘em. Southern manners ‘n’ all: a crying woman is a delicate thing not for a man to understand but to comfort. But, with me, it ain’t the same. She doesn’t respect me.”

“What d’you mean ‘respect ’? Don’t need respect in this game.”

I scoff, which would’ve been a dire mistake with anyone else. “Y’wouldn’t know what I’m on about,” I tease through an easy smile, though I’m not feeling so funny at the moment.

He inclines his head down to me, an invitation to elaborate.

My boot feverishly taps against the floor, thrumming light like a jackrabbit on the run.

I sigh, mouth twisting. “She keeps asking me if I’ve slept,” I confess. “Says I look like her daughter.”

For all my mothering, here comes a perp who’s desperate to play me at my own game.

I can see how intelligent she is: some hollow glint in her eyes with nothing behind; past that gleaming screen of kindness, something black, like a cherry pit.

Sitting across from her, it felt like looking into a mirror. Not just physically—though her skin is a similar shade to mine, her nails bitten and splitting like mine, and she looks close to what I imagine my own mother could’ve grown into. It was in the way that, when I smiled, she smiled. When I took a sip of my coffee, she would drink some tea. At times, it would even seem like she would speak in my voice: the pitch, the intonations, the phrasing all far too similar. I was reluctant to tell her my name. It reminded me of this folk tale, of these tall, dark creatures who only required your name to speak like you, to look like you, to replace you in your own life. Its victim would die—in some way or another. Wander the woods, eaten alive.

A harrowing feeling had crept over me, winter pressing against the two-way mirror – I was sure Johansson, on the other side, would pick up on it. Only, when I confessed my worries to him, he’d given me this doubtful look, and I really wasalone then.

“She’s playin’ you,” Rust states simply, tracing his fingers over his mouth like some pseudo-cigarette.

“Yeah.” I grind my teeth together. Under the table, where he cannot see, my fingers curl into a tight fist, trembling with my secret violence. “And now Salter wants Marty to have it? Bull.”

I should’ve socked him right in his dumb, slack fuckin’ jaw. One day, I will.

“He don’t want Marty to have it,” Rust retorts smartly, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. His eyes are warm in the dark – I should’ve taken my chances, raced to meet ‘em, but I’m too late. “He wants me to have it.”

Yeah, well, I wish what was mine would stay mine.

Even if I’m inclined to be pissed off at Rust by proxy, I just can’t be. The difference between him and Marty is that he actually pays attention, real attention, not the selfish kind. Just by watching, I can tell he knows exactly what he could say, how he could act, in order to appeal to somebody—which is why I find it so odd that he chooses not to. I sacrifice my damn dignity to keep myself palatable. He does not. As a result, he is not well-liked at the office – people tend to feel caught out by him; they don’t like to feel observed, known.

When did being seen become a threat? I thought it was intimate. Though, I suppose, a piece of shit never wants to believe they’re a piece of shit.

Everyone’s the hero of their own story.

Rust slides Marty’s half-empty beer across the table to me, which I receive with a crooked smile and a quick hand.

“Sure I won’t catch whatever he had?”

He shrugs. “Y’ain’t as deadbeat as the rest of ’em. Oughta drag you down to their level.”

I snort. “What, you don’t think you’re deadbeat?”

He huffs. “I’m worse.”

Bitter, the beer washes over my tongue, leaves that funny aftertaste I never really liked, not the first time, not the last. I don’t suppose I’ll ever turn one down though, not if it was offered to me: I’d accept it if only to win points with whoever it was, points I could spend at a later date.

“Maybe,” I start, “if you were a little more deadbeat, you’d be popular. Go out with the boys.”

When he meets my eyes momentarily, smirking, I have to grip my hand over my knee, fingertips digging into bone, and consciously remind myself via mantra not to let my face freeze. He hums, voice smooth and low like liquor, “What, like youdo?”

I should be pissed off, really. Maybe I will be. Instead, though, I choke on the smart retort I had meticulously configured in my head, some quip that would’ve maybe interested him based on what caught him before.

I don’t know whether it would have been worse pretending like it never happened. That’s my strong point: pretending. It’s his, too, when he wants it to be. Maybe we could’ve outlasted it – all we needed was stamina.

But, instead, it’s this. Looking across at each other and knowing exactly what’s going on in the other’s head. I can see exactly how he thinks of me, what he wants to do. When he tilts his head ever so slightly, my neck glows with a promise, like the movement was mine in the first place. When I would bite at the pendant of my necklace, he used to narrow his eyes, like he ought to yank the chain off my neck. But now, he looks on softly, so unlike him, his own fingers at his own lips. I know what it feels like – I’ve kissed him there, too.

“Don’t give me that. At least Geraci would stop shit-talkin’ ye,” I manage, tearing myself away. “Swear he’s stuck at sixteen or somethin’. But—you don’t mind it, do you?”

He shakes his head. “‘f he was smarter, maybe I would. Jus’ likes the sound of his own voice.”

The clock has replaced me as his focal point – I can’t help but feel jealous.

“S’why I like you,” I mumble from behind my beer. “First time I met you, I thought you’d make me feel stupid.

That seems to get him.

He blinks, a barely noticeable twitch. “Do I? I don’t mean to.”

Can I spin this? I’m sure, if I were a little more awake, I’d be able to spin this.

Some evil part of me hopes to make him feel guilty, to trick him into feeling tenderness for me, though I know the pursuit of that would be in vain. The type of men I know how to work—creatures of habit that take the exact path you want them to, to believe that they’re the real seducers—Rust seems entirely separate from that. He can sniff out rehearsal and practice, that robotism, like a dog – he sees it enough in criminals, doesn’t he? That’s why he’s called in for favours across state police departments.

When I met him the first time, I shook his hand, smiled, friendly-like, only to be met with rigidity and stoicism. No trouble, of course: some people just are that way. Wild horses on the highway. But his quietness?—now, that had set alarm bells off in my head. Boys at the precinct were loud – you couldn’t pay ‘em to shut up about their weekends, their football, their college years, their fuckin’ yards. When I was first exposed to it, I thought I’d gain a lot of friends. But then I realised they weren’t so much talking with me as they were talking at me. It’s why they’re so easy to read: they just tell you everything you want to know right off the bat. Even their secrets are bursting at the seams of their fat mouths, begging to be released.

But Rust?—doesn’t talk until he finds it necessary. It’s impressive. Before that, though, the trait was enviable. I had—have—no comparable method. Even though, at first, it can seem blunt, even cold, his eloquence is refreshing. Never running in circles – only determinedly forward. So intimidating, almost like a freight train – I have to consciously keep myself from jerking back and out of the way.

How low he must really think of me then, to see me like this. And I know he does: he sees. Everything I might have done to prevent it perhaps even had the opposite effect. I hate, I burn, I curse: it’s ugly. I cry over cases I would’ve left behind in two months tops, anyways, onto the next. I obsess over just another woman in the box. I think about him almost constantly.

“You don’t,” I mumble, wondering if I ought to be wishing myself far away. “Make me feel dumb, that is. Not me. Others, I can’t speak for.”

We’ll have to leave soon – no doubt, this local bar is used to slow days and early nights, a blissful routine rudely disrupted by two outsiders who haven’t even really shown them good business. I glance over at the barkeep, slumped over the scuffed wooden counter and flatly watching the football up on the boxy TV set, and I recall my first job. Then, too, I’d let men twice my age buy me drinks, flirted with them. Was worth the tip money.

Rust hums, though I really wish he wouldn’t speak at all. “Don’t pay mind to what Marty said.”

My neck prickles.

He’s not trying to console me, is he? No, that’s not like him. Besides, it’s not like any amount of coddling could reverse the merciless truths I’m constantly reminded of in this line of work – if I’ve learned anything about sympathy, it’s that it doesn’t fix shit. If anything, it’s just another complication. It can seem beautiful, but, really, it isn’t. I can miss it, miss its warmth, miss the kind, sweet nothings my husband would whisper into my hair on the hardest nights, but it never changed the fact that I would have to get up in the morning and do it again. Rust knows this, has maybe lived this, so he’s not trying to console me.

Maybe he’s trying to defend Marty.

Sharp and sure, that anger comes lurching up in my throat, slashing and snarling.

The sensible part of me—what I hope is the larger part of me—knows this is not possible. Rust understands Marty’s faults better than anyone, even himself, even his wife.

“Thing is,” I mumble bitterly, “he really means it, don’t he? He just don’t show it.” I trace the warm, smooth rim of the bottle with a light finger, though my mind is currently toying with the idea of jamming it violently down the opening. “Maybe it means more that he does keep it hidden – at least some part of him knows it’s wrong.”

Placid in the periphery of my vision, Rust shrugs. “‘s what separates us from our killers. Feelin’ it ain’t the problem. Resistance is where strength is tested.”

“Ego,” I chuckle darkly.

He hums. “Fragile ego.”

Underneath my smile lies an uneasiness stirred by his criticism.

Rust is not gentle with his opinions – I don’t suppose that’ll ever change. Resistance is a losing game – not even he is immune to the impermanence of these things. I’m sure he said that to me once, on a night like this.

I’ve never been very good at refraining from things. Even from an early age, I just couldn’t say no. Teenage years: alcohol, drugs, sex. If it was tossed my way, I’d take it, anything I could get, hungry to experience something.

Ha!—maybe I actually am more like Marty Hart than I’d like to admit. He’s trying to be an adult, albeit really, really poorly. As long as he believes he’s a good, family man, then his reality is protected. But I know I’m rotten, really. One of the boys at the precinct will call me pretty—in that sick way somewhere between the unchecked lust of a man and his paternal right to claim—but, below, I know I’ve got sickness swimming through my veins. Not blood. Something accumulated over the years, maybe from pretending all the time.

I feel like I want to cut things, break them. Told myself to hang on until I retire, but I don’t see that happening any time soon. I’ll break. What will Rust think of me then?

Maybe I was his low point: that fault in resistance.

Some awful, gnawing feeling collects at the pit of my stomach, like black tar. Must be all those cigarettes.

“Wha’s in that head?” he probes suddenly, stealing razor-sharp, fleeting glances.

I shrug, swallowing down a bout of nausea. “I dunno.” And I really don’t. Behind the surface tension, I don’t know what I feel, only that I do, and it’s so, so much. “It kinda—makes me happy to see him like that: jealous. ‘Cause he knows I’m good, and he’s wondering why he’s finishing what I started. He knows he don’t deserve it. Not like I do.”

My confession lingers in the air like smoke – I have mind to reach a hand up and wave it all away, or suck it down, deep, erasing reality. Fuck. I’ve always been a little off when reading into Rust’s quiet – with that tightrope he seems to have mastered, I know I should avoid any step at all—it could just as easily miss its mark—but I can never seem to help myself.

I stare at him—and I think it makes him uncomfortable, though there’s nothing there, not any normal human reaction, in his face for me to draw from. That’s fine. In my gut, I’m pretty sure I’ve got it down.

“You want to be seen as competent,” he finally says, a simple-enough statement.

I scrunch my nose up distastefully. “No, I want to be competent.”

“Well, what good is bein’ somethin’ if there’s no-one there to witness it?”

Unable to press down an exasperated sigh, I close my eyes, roll them with all the subtlety I can manage.

Foul words push under my tongue, like vomit.

I don’t know if I’m in the mood for this tonight: smart conversation. What feels like debate. Maybe if he hadn’t been given my case, I’d take him up on the challenge, but I’ve already lost.

I eye him, try to figure out his game.

“I dunno, Rust,” I tell him flatly. “I think that’s called having an identity issue.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Most people do.”

My chest burns. “This isn’t a go at me, is it?”

Slow, he draws the ashtray towards him from across the table, as if the grind of the glass against the wood is a noise that ought to be savoured.

I could be deaf, but reading his lips would be easy: “And how’d this be about you exactly?”

I’m able to fight off the initial instinct to wince, the way in which he delivers the words, calm and deliberate, stinging like a slap to the face. What’s worse is the growing impression that he’s as bored of me as I am.

With a furrowed brow, I watch him, heartbeat thrumming in my ears.

“I ain’t out to get you, s’you can quit lookin’ at me like I kicked you or somethin’.”

Frowning shallowly and trying to pretend like I’m not, I glance away and commit to rearranging my face—but at the glimpse of that twitch at the corner of his mouth in my periphery, I know I’m only digging a deeper grave for myself. The noticeable heat of my embarrassment must please him.

Playing with the food.

And I’ve got nothing to say to him—not a single word or phrase up to par, nothing to measure up to Rust’s clinical detachment, let alone destabilise him. He might’ve been reciting the coroner’s report. There’s nothing I can say to scathe him—and fuck, I want to leave a mark, prove to him that I can. I scan him for weakness, but either I’m still too stunned to see it or there is none. I have no plan of attack and no line of defence.

Rust seems to soften in the knowledge of this.

“I mean,” he begins, knowing now that I’m really listening, “identity ain’t fixed – it’s not permanent. I don’t scrutinise my appearance. I don’t mind my body, and my body don’t mind me. My personality hardly feels under my control – ‘s just somethin’ that is and will be—‘n’, I guess, will change, but only against my will, never because of it. Feels pointless to feel insecure about that.”

Is this supposed to be some fucked-up attempt at advice?

My priorities changed, but this place never has, never does, never will. So, it’s all dumb and the people are dumb and this bar is dumb and the boys at the precinct are dumb and, fuck, I wish Rust were dumb, too. I feel pathetic, and he does not alleviate that feeling at all. If he were dumb, I could laugh at him and make myself feel better. I could laugh at myself for sleeping with a dumb man. Instead, I think of him religiously and crave his approval. Afflicted with the knowledge that he needs to be corrupted to want me, that I’m awful enough to want it enough to corrupt him again. Tainted waters. It would be so much more comfortable if I could look down on him.

My skin writhes and ripples, and I know the only thing that would soothe it is if he touched me. Jesus and the sick man—or some polluted version of that.

My world swings under a bout of nausea as it begins to spiral – the beer does not help.

Maybe he’s waiting it out, like I’m trying to. Forgetting is the wisest decision anyone could make, the most fortunate outcome. Though, my efforts are paradoxical: I think so, so much about not thinking about it all.

“Sure seems like y’think about yourself a good deal, too, s’don’t you criticise me,” I mumble, clumsy. It’s a mistake to even open my mouth again – he’ll use it all against me eventually.

Rust hums again, low, some muscle twitching in his jaw, like his body has no clue what to do when not blindly occupied with a cigarette. “Never said I don’t think about myself,” he rectifies, staring at the sweaty palms I’m wringing together tightly against the lip of the table.

I allow my mouth to pool with saliva, trying to combat the increasing dryness of my mouth.

“Guess the thinkin’ part is where insecurity comes from in the first place,” I add after swallowing.

When my eyes dart up to look at him, his are on my throat.

Immediately, I look away.

Maybe this is the bad kind of intimacy.

The intensity of his attention is looming, sifting through my thoughts like sand.

Sometimes, I think he has me figured out but just couldn’t care less about what he’s found. He’s feeling the power of my burning desire for him – maybe it amuses him. Maybe he’s waiting to mechanise it, letting me sit idle while a use for me finds him (if ever). Maybe I know things. Maybe I can break things open. Maybe he can take my cases from me. Maybe I can tire him out, put him to sleep.

It’s almost worse that he hasn’t put me to work yet.

Maybe it really was just something in the water. Maybe all I need is to visit somebody close to me.

“Ever heard o’ that theory? ‘bout internal monologue?” Rust asks softly, leaning in and tipping his head down like only I’m worthy of hearing this here.

My leg jerks and I can’t place why. I nod, face hot.

“I think ‘s bullshit—‘bout some not having one. Think everybody’s got that voice in their heads.” He pauses, squints. “Mm, maybe that’s a little generous.”

I laugh – I hope it makes him feel good. In truth, I know he couldn’t care less.

“What d’you think it’d be like? No voice.”

The world seems so close right now, wrapping its fuzzy arms tight around us, buzzing in my ears, shadows fur-soft over my face. What does he want me to say? I wish he’d tell me, offer me respite.

I shrug, and it’s honest, my resignation. “No voice don’t mean no thought.”

“Alrigh’. Then, what about no thought?”

I shrug again. “I like thinking.”

He huffs, angling himself back away from me. Have I disappointed him? Somewhere deep in the pit of my tummy, there’s that fleck of worry, something that tastes an awful lot like vomit.

I expect him to finally stop talking.

But “I get tired of it,” is what he says instead. “In between cases, or these—moments where I feel like I could burn a hole through myself ‘f I spent ’nough thought on it. ‘s heavy, like they weigh me down.” He pushes the ashtray away, his fingers the only part of him moving.

Swept up in the rising tide of your own life, hurting around you in some never-ending circle or spiral of which you happen to be the centre. Swimming with black-eyed angels. I know how he feels – I used to feel that way. Maybe I still do, sometimes. Clinging on to the tenderness my husband used to have for me like it could save me from the guilt I would feel when I moved on. No-one would pull me out: that much was true enough. That memory of stability, of the good times, only depressed me, moving from Brooklyn back to Louisiana. Feeling small in my own life, like a piece on a chessboard, with no semblance of control, only duty, chasing this idea of who I used to be. Hunting down the bad men, wondering what upper hand is driving them across the squares, contemplating the carpenter that fashioned the pieces. Too big of a big picture can be detrimental. The fact that I know this to be true doesn’t make me an exception.

“I think you’re tired of the things you think about,” I muse, a headache beginning to expand between my temples – perhaps the heat has finally gotten to my head. “Space better occupied by other shit.”

I’m careful not to pay attention to Rust’s reaction, if there even is one, since the weight of his interest is pressing over my face where I really wish his lips would.

“Like what?” he challenges.

His eyes glint with curiosity, a blade’s sharp edge.

I bite my tongue.

“You think you know me?” It’s more a statement than a question.

I shrug. “You think you know me, don’t ye?”

Though, he kinda does. I think he’s proud that he can read me, but maybe that’s me overcomplicating things. Maybe I’m just another person to him. I wonder if he thinks I’m predictable. Boring, negligible, painfully average. Good for one thing, and that one thing was a mistake, anyway.

Look at him, now: his eyes have dropped to elsewhere, but there’s a soft smirk that curls up on his face, the hint of a pink tongue that traces lightly over his teeth.

Geraci always talks shit about that look whenever Rust closes yet another case, securing a tough confession. “So fuckin’ up ‘imself, ain’t he? Jesus.” Sure, he pisses me off—for different reasons. I’ve long since come to the conclusion that he’s worthy of admiration.

He smiles to himself – I don’t trust it. “You’re calling me arrogant.”

“Are you?” I press, gnawing at the inside of my cheek. I’m surprised at the tepidity of my voice, considering how I’m covered in boils and burns in my head.

He doesn’t have anything to say to that, only hums in response, seemingly amused.

“Doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” I murmur. “People are scared of bein’ known, so nobody really tries no more.”

“I don’t observe people for intimacy purposes.”

Then why does he fucking look at me like that?

A year ago, I’d have put it down to my own desires warping my perception of reality. Really, he wasn’t interested; he was only paying me my due amount of scrutiny in order to keep his mental file of me up to date. Really, he didn’t want to touch me; really, he was just someone who fiddled with his own hands, maybe to remind himself that he could be his own from time to time. Lust is such a dangerous thing – any deeper than surface level, and it has the very strong potential to kill you. If you want something against your better judgement, do you really even want it? The haze of having Rust come so close to me is dampened by such doubts.

But at this point, he either wants me, or I’m crazy. Shit, maybe I’d rather be just that. I’ve seen his eyes like this—dark and bottomless—when hands were unzipping my skirt, or dragging over my skin. To deny intimacy? Now that’s arrogance. Anddelusion. Shit, and I thought he was so above all that stuff. Does he think I can’t figure him out?

Surely his opinion of me can’t be that poor.

My hand cramps up as I punch down the instinct to pinch the bridge of my nose.

“Sure you do,” I press. And I’m right. I hope I’m right.

His stare thickens into something different, what I think might be a black, molten form of gratification. Then, it hardens, cools in a split second into these tough, jaw-breaker pellets. I’d say it was confrontational, but then his eyes flutter just as he happens to swallow thickly. Is that his pulse in his throat?

I rub at my puffy eyes with a stiff set of fingers.

Rust drops his eyes, brushes his hand over the side of his blazer where his cigarettes are sitting warm and ready beneath.

“What, you—lonely again or some shit?” he asks.

I almost recoil at the sudden bitterness of his tone.

I snort good-heartedly, but, really, the comment stings just right—he knows where to press—all the breath knocked out of my chest. “O-kay, Rust. That an accusation?”

“No. ’S an observation. Thought you jus’ loved those,” he combats flatly.

Chest burning, I have to save myself, jump ship, and look away. My mouth tastes like grainy bile.

“You were lonely last summer. That’s why you came to me.”

The dim light above us flickers, his face phasing in and out of shadow before me like a candle in the wind.

I roll my jaw.

Does he look back on it with disdain?

“No,” I snap instinctively, instantly burned by the satisfaction that crosses his eyes.

My breath hitches plaintively. Every fibre of my body trembles and burns to defend myself. There’s not a single word that could repair his opinion of me.

“Or—yeah.” Shut up.

I rub at my temple, desperate for relief – do they have pills for this shit? – which does not come. If he feels any pity for me, it certainly doesn’t show.

The harsh line of my mouth trembles. “I just thought you understood me. Or made an attempt to, at least, but maybe that part was self-projection. ‘Cause nobody ‘round here’s like you. I know you think that’s stupid and I was being naïve or—” I swallow though my throat is dry as ever, “—or dumb, or somethin’, but that’s what I felt. At the time.”

His gaze is fixed on my neck.

“At the time,” he echoes. It’s a question, I realise after a couple moments.

“Yeah. Fuck y'want me to say, asshole? 'm not—I’m not gonna embarrass myself with you, Rust. That what you want me to do? Show you just how dumb I can get—?”

“Sure like to speak for me, hm?” he bites back quietly, making it so damn easy to run right over him, to feverishly stamp out that insufferable fucking softness to his voice. Shit, I wish he’d just raise it and yell at me already.

“—Yeah, whatever. You like this shit, don’t you? Y’think you deserve a fight?—well, I’ll give you one. That what you want? ‘Cause what?—what, you get to ignore me, pretend I don’t exist, act like you’re above fuckin’ me—” his eyes flit away, bringing my roiling frustration to a crest, “—No, don’t you fuckin’ look away,” I scold, a bite, jutting a crooked finger into his space.

He obeys, but that look in his pale eyes is so hollow, it almost makes me feel bad for saying anything at all. Almost.

I try to press down my anger, but it’s spilling over, now, far beyond things so trivial as control. I clasp my hands together in a prayer that they will finally listen to me and not move again.

“Fact that you feel anything at all makes you feel like shit, huh?”

His expression has glazed over, cool and smooth.

Half-expecting him to walk out and rightfully abandon me here, I stare hard at him, like I might chip into that exterior. If I managed it, I’d slip it in my pockets as proof. Silently, I beg him to prove me right.

“Sorry,” I snap. No, I’m not. I hope it cuts at him. “You do what you want, I don’t fuckin’ care. But, please, do not patronise me like that again, Rust.”

God offers no help with the silent plea I send Him. He does not care, so I shouldn’t care, and that’s the end of things. I’ve survived worse natural disasters than him. He’s just a man, and this is just what happens with them. Still, the disappointment floods like poison under my skin. I’m a stupid girl, really.

“I understand if you regret things, but you don’t have to say it out loud. It’s mean. But, fuck, I dunno, maybe you mean to be.”

I take a moment to untangle the knot in my throat. He watches it all, quiet again, his eyeline sitting heavy over where the skin shifts and stretches over my neck.

I adjust the collar of my shirt, fiddle with the gold necklace that sits hot over the contour of bone. Rust stares as I wedge the small pendant tightly in the vice of my thumb and forefinger.

“Feels like you don’t even fuckin’ like me half the time. All the time.”

Christ, I should’ve left with Johansson.

My heart is racing like a wild mustang – it’s a surprise, really, that that old hunting dog lying over by the bar hasn’t noticed, singled me out as something to chase, to kill. My belly’s exposed, soft and ripe and asking for it. I forget, sometimes, that there are things out there that kill things that kill, too.

He doesn’t plan on giving me a break; I wouldn’t deserve it, anyway. “Wha's it matter to you if I like you or not?”

My cheeks burn furiously.

I stare at that bone-bird tattoo that fledges from the nest of his sleeve. With the way my head’s spinning, it almost looks like its skeleton wings are actually moving, unfurling and ready for pilgrimage.

“It don’t.” It’s a disgrace to myself to answer that god-awful question, but what’s more pathetic is the way I shrink into myself when Rust’s attention crowds in over my face. “I jus’ thought you knew me almost as well as I did.”

“And currently?” he asks.

The moment hangs.

“Just answer. I already know – just wanna see if you’ll lie again.”

I close my eyes a second—mistake—and breathe, breathe in and then breathe out, shaky but slow. It’s no use.

“Same.”

He nods. “Not better?”

I shake my head. “No, never better.”

Furrowing his brow, Rust tilts his head down slightly, a soft curl falling gentle over his tense forehead. “But you wanted intimacy.”

So it is intimacy to him?

Maybe this should count as a win for me, but it certainly don’t feel like it. This isn’t the slow slip and slide of last summer’s end – though the heat had swallowed whole everything from here to the other side of the Mississippi, there was something so clipped about the words that left me, left him. I’m sure I was more drunk then than now, but, even so, my mind had been so level, like I’d done it all in my sleep. Now, here, I have done it in my sleep. I’ve revisited him a hundred times in my daydreams, but all that practice has left me for dead. I would’ve killed for an opportunity like this a month ago – it’s like he’s taunting me. It should be easy.

Rust is smart enough to make me wonder if he wants me to feel this way.

Intimacy is planned and eventual, whether that’s due to his power or some cosmic fate. Everyone knows the decision they’re going to make, somewhere in their brains, deep inside. People only ask for advice to condone their decisions, to spread out the responsibility, which, at the end of the day, still remains solely with them. Shit, he’s rubbing off on me: I sound like a fuckin’ asshole.

No, all this thinking won’t save him from the sensation of human feeling, emotions. No amount of planning prepares you for skin-to-skin touch. No time spent evaluating can undo it either, and I’ve tried so hard. His way doesn’t work.

“Everyone wants intimacy,” I end up rambling, voice thin and dry and brittle. “Even folks that don’t want intimacy want intimacy. ’s not love or sex, really, I don’t think, though those are good, too. It’s not a way to find yourself. It’s jus’ trust. Or companionship—”

“And that’s what you want?”

Carefully, I rake my eyes over his face. Does he ever flush from the heat?

Hopeless and too muddled to bother with concealing it, I try to assess whether he’s displeased with me. I try to memorise this moment, so I’ll be able to turn it over in my head later, just another one of my crime scene photographs.

“Dunno yet,” I confess quietly. “I’ve had partners. And partners. When I was younger, I thought I’d have this life packed chock full of amazing relationships, and these—connections.”

The soft, disappointed eyes of my husband come to mind, which haunt all my relationships. I’m so hungry for another body, for connection. Why does it seem so easy for other people?

“Truth is, it don’t happen all that much. To me, at least. You?”

Surly and bone-tired, Rust shakes his head. “Didn’t have much hope for it growin’ up,” he admits.

“But you wanted it,” I press, clumsy and clinging to the sag of his voice. Of course, he’ll pick up on the trace of hopeful, aimless, false victory that undercuts my words; he’s the only one who ever could.

For a moment, though, I second-guess myself.

It’s pathetic, really: I’d give almost anything to walk as him for a day, though, even then, I’m not sure I’d understand him any better.

Sometimes, my imagination runs away from me: in my dreams, I do. I wake under the impression that we’re one and the same, that, just maybe, he, similarly, is dreaming as me. It’s a pulsing obsession, difficult to conceal. Whenever a moment becomes still, I think about it: at night, he is transported; in his dreams, he touches with my hands, sighs with my voice, tastes with my mouth. Then, at least, that would explain these funny sensations I get in the morning: so weathered and worn, a strange ache in my muscles, like I’ve been sleepwalking.

How else could he know me so well?

Or maybe I’ve really fucking lost it. Somewhere along the way – maybe after seeing that half-eaten body swaddled in thin cotton in its freezer cradle – I think something else took the wheel. Why that thing is racing towards him, I have no idea. It’s laughable, really.

Rust blinks calmly down at his hands. “Reckon the deniers are dumb?” he murmurs.

Squeezing the bridge of my nose, I do my best to press back against the foul memory of dismembered limbs. Whoever had eaten the man—who was now beyond recognition—did they feel satisfied? Comforted with how forever close he was to them now? When I was small, I used to think sex was crawling into another person's body, like a cave, and letting all of their insides warm you, love you, wrap you tight.

I swallow thickly.

“Your words, not mine,” I reply through a tight smile. “Reckon it’s easy to find a distraction.”

"Have you given up?" he asks. “Finding a distraction?”

I don’t entertain him with a proper answer to that – I merely shrug and scratch at my scalp, tucking loose strands of sweaty hair back into the loops of my braid. Rust must be frustrated with me. To want a companion, to want the good life. Rivalling Marty in my delusion.

He slides his hands into his lap, continuing: “Distraction is the way to peace?”

I shrug again – I think it’s starting to piss him off. “For a time, I guess.”

“So, ‘s that how you’re takin’ quittin’? Think about other stuff whenever you want a smoke? Occupy yourself?”

Once I realise my leg is going dead, fuzzy from sitting still so long in this dark booth, I flex my thigh, flex my hands under the table, wide-open and then tight-shut, processing the blank slate of his gaunt face. I press my fingers into the sticky vinyl, delight in the interrupted drag of them up, up, up as they curl to fists, my shoulders up to my ears.

When he says things like that, it makes it so hard to dislike him. I almost wish he’d ignore me, like he did the first couple weeks before it became clear to the both of us that it couldn’t be undone: his back constantly to me, sending messages only through Marty, refusing to look in my direction, like I might tempt him again into being a version of him he hated. At least, before, his coldness hadn’t been directed at me specifically. Then, it was a retaliation, a wall meant to keep me out. Where were his books on philosophy then?—to tell him that attachment leads to desire leads to suffering? That kind of suffering would be better than this kind.

This is worse. This is so much worse. I’d rather not have something at all than have it toy with me like this.

It takes a considerable amount of co-ordination to fabricate the apathy in my posture, my eyes, my expression, to compensate for the unease that pulses like a new artery in my throat – though, at the silvery glint that flickers in his eyes, I know it’s all for nothing. He’s already seen the hurt that, really, I can’t pin on anyone but myself. He’s raking his eyes slowly over my face. It’s fucking mean. Do me the favour of a mercy-killing, God.

I never even told him I was trying to quit.

“What,” I begin, concentrating very hard on keeping myself from stammering and from slurring, from crying and from grasping at his hand, “like that association thing?”

I’ve heard of it, obviously. I know every trick at this point: old wives’ tales to the latest research papers at the state university library. It’s psychological: whenever you want something, instead, think of awful, gross, repulsive things, and make yourself hate it. I’ve tried it before, but it doesn’t always work. How can you convince yourself that one thing is disgusting when it’s undeniable how good it really was?

Rust nods.

“I mean, I tried it,” I tell him lowly.

Overstatement: I tried it for approximately three days and two nights before I caved, unlocking the drawer in my study with shaky, desperate hands, hungry.

“But I’m always thinkin’ about it.”

Shit. He seems to have regained a nerve: Rust stares calmly ahead at me—not through me or just past me; at me. This is what I wanted, isn’t it?

He leans his weight over his forearms upon the table, on offence. Is this how he works his suspects? Well, shit, I’ve studied his methods from the privacy of the other side of the false mirror enough times to be able to answer that, actually: this is how he works his suspects. Initially, at least, to gauge their personality, their wants, their fears, what they need him to be.

Thing is, I can’t pin down his intention with me. Is it just the satisfaction of the kill? Or maybe revenge for what I did to him last August. I broke down his walls: an unforgivable sin. I condemned him to the effort of building them back up, of shoving me out—if I ever managed to intrude in the first place. Maybe I deserve this.

With his sleeves folded back, the dark lines of Rust’s tattoo jut out, growing along his tawny, leather-tan skin like lichen. I try not to stare.

His eyes complete a pre-emptive scan of my face, and, really, I know I should not let him see any change there in my expression, though my mouth twitches to frown. I try to gather my forces. I try to prepare myself for it, for that inevitable intrusion.

“‘f you’re so desperate for it, why’re you fightin’ back?” he asks, unblinking and cruel.

My mouth twists, and I let it fall into the frown it wants. “‘Cause I wanted to feel better.”

It sounds dumb because it is dumb, even though it’s true.

Low, he hums. He straightens, softens, and finally leans away. It’s like the vacuum around me leaves with him, and, there, now, it’s easier to breathe.

He must note the way my chest rises and falls so stiffly, like there’s a weight resting over my heart.

“Withdrawal’s a breeze, ain’t it?”

“You’re not fuckin’ funny,” I scoff, digging my nails punishingly into my palm. He smokes and drinks like he welcomes cancer, or hopes for it, so I don’t think we’re on a level playing field.

He quirks his head. “Well, do you?”

“Do I what, Rusty?”

Amused, he rolls his jaw. Good – I hope I’ve provoked him.

“Do you feel better?”

I run my tongue over my teeth. “Sometimes,” I reply truthfully. “Not right now.”

He searches my face.

“I can give you a ride home,” he offers.

Fuck, and what will that be like? Ten times worse than this. I’ll come away the husk of a woman, worn down by his disapproval. My own fault for wanting anything from him in the first place, really.

Teeth gritted together, I shake my head, ready to pull a muscle in my damn neck. “Didn’t mean anythin’ by it. Sorry.”

No, I’m not. I ought to slap him, and then run away, back home, or back to my house, or to a brand new city. Or he could finally cuss me out, save me the wondering. Then, I could lick my wounds and they would finally stop reopening.

I scratch at my scalp.

Rust eyes my hand like he’d like to rip the bad habit away from my body. For a moment, I think he will—the tendons in his hand flex and writhe under the skin—but, no, he only brushes a thumb against the valley between his nose and cheek, and he holds his tongue for once.

“Wasn’t offended,” he corrects firmly. “I’ll take you home.”

Flashing with annoyance, my eyes dart up viciously to penalise him. “And what?” I hiss.

He sits back, doesn’t answer the question.

Jaw clenched, I wait to see if he’ll look away, but he doesn’t.

My irritation soon fizzles through, condenses to a low, simmering understanding, steadily tended to by the intensity of his steadfast gaze.

Oh.

My eyes soften.

Oh – I have him, don’t I?

He shows no signs of the tentativeness he had displayed last time—if Rust could ever be tentative. His eyes do not shift and scuttle around me; they meet mine, challenging my comfort. He does not tuck himself into a corner; he remains leaned over the table, just like that. How could I have known?

I stare back, brow pinched in confusion.

In the heat of last August, I’d peeled away from him knowing exactly how I’d convinced him he wanted me. Maybe I was evil for it – a good person wouldn’t use somebody’s faults against them, would they? And maybe that’s what it was: selfish. If he hates me, he’d be right to.

Which is why I’m so puzzled that he doesn’t. Or rather, indifference was the baseline. Hell. And this? I don’t know.

Swelling dangerously with the well-loved memory of his delirious mouthings over my skin, I grow rigid.

My temples throb and ache, the threat of tears still very real.

“Mind?” he asks – I watch, wide-eyed, as he pulls a pack of Camels from his pocket.

Trembling slightly, I shake my head, though saliva is already pooling over the pit of my tongue, warm and soft, just like my desire. Luckily, he’s too preoccupied with his lighter to see it: how my body ripples at the scrape of his voice.

The promise of nicotine dances like a phantom in the mouth, just from watching him place a cigarette between his lips. When he flicks open his Zippo, the sharp, shuddering candle of it taunts me, and I finally understand what they say about moths and flames.

I watch him take a long drag.

That all-consuming hunger lurches up in me again, and I swallow the warm spit that’s steadily been filling my mouth.

Oh, Christ. This can’t be real. Desire shouldn’t be this bloody. Desire shouldn’t be the thing with teeth and claws, the ugly thing that tips into violence. Or obsession. With how often my thoughts return to us in the summer, I’ve wondered obsession as a possibility. The difference between myself and those who commit crimes of passion is control. Rust is dangerous for me. What is he thinking? What’s in his head? I ache to pry it open and explore, to swim close to him, for my skin to melt into his, to consume and be consumed. Not a moment’s peace, and that’s what I’m chasing, isn’t it? Peace and quiet?

I don’t have to say anything – he can read it all, mulling over the fine changes in my expression, the softening of my body, some pre-emptive instinct. Will he touch me tonight?

With a cautious hand, ready to jolt back if met with teeth, I reach out to him and remove the cigarette from his pinched fingers—which he allows—then bringing it to my mouth, taking a drag myself, nice and slow, good and deep, a sigh, like home.

He watches me.

“Don’t say anything.”

And he doesn’t. He just watches, watches, watches as I take another drag. He shivers, and I feel it reverberate through my bones.

“What are you thinkin’ about?” I ask him softly, pressing down a quivering breath, smoking his cigarette. I’ve never mustered the courage to ask before.

For once, though, I really don’t have to: I know exactly where his head is. Where else? He’s back in that room, infected by the drowse and drunken fever of August, with me, living it again. Where I’d coaxed him into the temptation, wicked as the snake in the garden. He should’ve pushed me to leave with Johansson and Marty – of course, I would’ve stayed. I’m a rotten thing, and my heart is a bloodhound. He’s the better of the two of us. I’ll take whatever of him I can get – anything.

He meets my eyes directly, so hopeless, so raw. Is he asking? He shouldn’t be.

But what will he have me do? I’m at his disposal, really.

“And?” I ask, throat dry.

When he moves to speak, the words that leave him are low and slow: “You did something to me,” he manages.

I scoff.

“S’that a good or bad thing?” I ask.

Rust huffs like what I said was funny. More likely, though, it’s the way my eyes are so wide, the way my hand is pressed between my thighs, that amuses him. “Can’t decide.”

My mouth trembles as my eyes scrape over his neck, which I know, I remember, to be hot and alive, thick with it over the pulse. I was so high off of it: his warmth, his weight, his press.

I indulge in one last drag, using the last scraps of my energy to conjure the pungent stench of rotting flesh in the cruel sunshine, the pick of eager flies and their cacophonous buzzing, the churn of vomit in the stomach. I look at Rust and try to do the same: the months of silence, his back decidedly turned to me, him accepting my case, and his arrogance and his apathy and his severity. He is a harrowing connection that I should rather not have made.

The technique doesn’t work. I don’t know why I thought, even for a minute, that this time would be different from the last.

With him staring calmly at me, like I deserve it—the trap, the squirming sensation over my spine, the hopeless, unavoidable heat that claims my face—it’s just another arrow pointing to the same conclusion. Maybe we should just let August have its way with us again. Twin plagues.

Trembling ever so slightly, blood so warm, so thick, I flick ashes out into the tray between us.

“I should put this out,” I mumble, though my hand yearns to return it to my mouth.

“’s my cigarette,” Rust mutters.

“Sorry.” I offer my hand to him. “Want it back?”

I know what I must look like to him, pupils dark, the size of the moon, like a plate. Here, in the darkest part of the dark bar, I open myself to him, warm, molten, inviting. And God, this must be a dream—because I know what he wants, and I know that he’ll accept me. How we got here doesn’t matter anymore. Maybe he’s thought about it for some time, and only now, in a moment of stillness with him, have I even noticed. Too caught up in the fine details of a painting to think of the artist’s intention, which is always more important.

Silent, stare inexorable, he accepts the cigarette, only touching my fingers quick, like I’d burn him. Maybe I will. Serves him right: he was always going to haunt me either way. I ought to get mine while I still can.

The hunger laps at me.

I want to coax him open-wide. I want to peel away his demeanour and wrap myself close to him. Body heat is the best way to keep warm, isn’t it? I’m sure I read about that somewhere. It’s still fresh in my mind, like a cut. I can’t manage a day without playing it over at least once. I want it again: I want to breathe him in and let him sit in my chest and seep into every cell and let him be part of me that way, at least until the next breath.

He can see it in my eyes: the freneticism of my thoughts, racing like a storm, desires like bullets like rain.

“You ever think about what you want?” I try asking him, voice strained tight over my heart in my throat.

“People only ever think about what they want,” he parries, batting away any trace of diffidence. He secures his cigarette between his lips, shifting. “Let’s leave.”

At his first movement, I slide out of the booth.

Sometime during our conversation, the place emptied out. It must have been around when I finished Marty’s leftover beer that the weight of the locals’ beady stares—which had already faded to the back of my mind, in the same way that a dark alleyway can still make you uneasy though you know nothing would ever happen to you there—finally left me. There are no witnesses left to see me following after Rust like a dog, my body thrumming like the lone bug zapper out on the porch, which cracks! just as we exit.

The broken clock reads three o’clock when we leave, but I know that, really, it’s only midnight.

Fortunately, the heat has cracked for once, like old, beat-up, splitting leather. Stepping out onto that night path, the breeze is warm and fragrant, dancing over my cheeks, playing gently with the loose threads of my hair. It’s a clear, blue, never-ending night – the dirt road which accompanies us is a long, winding, indigo river that spills unseen over the far, far horizon. The neighbouring fields—one a rolling stretch of grass; the other of wheat—are alive in the wind, flung one way on exhale, drawn the other upon inhale.

Thank God for the noise of it: their rustling whispers, in a language we can’t understand; the soft whistle of a passing gust of air; the firm, crisp crunch of dry mud and dust under my boots. Thank God for the sway of things: the cradle of humidity; the press of my arm to Rust’s, which he permits only for a second, with his face angled away. Then, he slows, coming to walk just behind me, still parallel.

Flickering strands of long-grass brush my knuckles – I grab onto one, pull the seeds off it in an easy swipe, and scatter them as we go, one by one.

Briefly, I glance over my shoulder. Sure enough, his eyes are fixed on me, on my every movement, like he’s making sure I’m actually real. The corner of my mouth twitches up into a smile.

Rust’s cigarette flares between his lips.

I scratch gently at my wrist, reminded of the flowing of my blood just beneath the skin, hot and thick.

You get nowhere in life just hoping things will fall into your lap like this—and, anyway, what good is getting something that you didn’t work for? Where’s the gratification? It’s artificial, feeble as plastic. Christ, it was even a struggle to get my head around Johansson and his propensity to dole out favours. I understood a write-up – won’t pretend I’m above ass-kissing – but tidying up the office kitchen and keeping quiet about it? I thought it was stupid: letting people reap the rewards of your own effort, and for what?

So, the buzz of earning Rust’s touch that first time?—shit, nothing compared. No drug, no high; nothing. I really thought I did something. Satisfied some secret ambition I didn’t know I held. To have him like that. To be able to replay that night, swallow it like a pill. To look at him and know what was underneath his clothes and his skin, and perhaps further inside, too. Shit, I took so much from him, but the mental gymnastics of the effort justified it, right? And, now, he’s going to give it all up again. Wants it, even.

Haven’t I played this out a thousand times in my head? I’ve seen the future—a number of futures—where I’m able to argue for his affection. Fight for your love – that’s what my daddy used to tell me whenever he was feeling sentimental after yelling.

I’ve had endless conversations with him in my head, edited accordingly as time passed, as he changed, as I changed, as the air between us changed. Possible flirtation seemed silly, futile, after a week. Sex appeal would go unnoticed by him – wasn’t like he looked, anyway. Not the type to chase tail. I found myself longing for him to please linger uncomfortably in doorways to rooms I was in, to leave things near me and come and collect them just after I was gone so that, maybe, he’d still feel the warmth of my presence and understand it was only ever warm that way for him. The idea of genuine confession always sprung up during the quiet nights alone together in the bullpen, but I was always able to talk myself out of it when he wouldn’t so much as glance at me after two, three hours.

It must be a million threads of conversation up in my head, which is why I guess it’s so hard to untangle the great knot and retrieve just one, because, now, there are no words that come to mind when it matters. Or maybe it doesn’t matter: I don’t think he needs convincing at all.

“What you so quiet for?” he asks faintly.

When I look back, he’s stark against the brooding sky like some shadow-man. His outline hums like he’s pulling away into his own silhouette.

I can’t seem to smile. “Nothin’.”

He won’t push—at least, not on this—and I’m glad for it.

Rust’s beat-up semi is all lonely sat in a dip up in the road, waiting for us. Same semi he’d driven me home in from work this one week I was getting my car fixed up, in which a series of slow, mutual interrogations would take place along the light-streaked highway. In the office, you were lucky to drag a full sentence out of Rust, but, alone, it wasn’t so hard to get him to talk at all.

Maybe I had just wanted to be better than him, to learn how he worked, how he was such a good interrogator, and bleed him dry. That was why I couldn’t look away: every choice in his demeanour could help me surpass him.

Even then, I learned to be careful with my looks. I had the feeling he’d morph into something else if I stared long enough, the way the shadow in the corner of your bedroom changes shape when you’re bone-tired. Sometimes, he would. And on the Thursday night of that week, when he had pulled over and thrown up, shaking, into the dark thrush, I hadn’t uttered a word as he climbed back into the driver’s seat. But, as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, I’d stared at him with the filmy eyes of a hungry nocturnal animal.

Then, at least, the curiosity wasn’t a burden. Not like it became when I drove myself home come that morning after.

I could tell it was different the moment I shifted awake, feigning a sleep for just a couple more minutes.

Dressed again and putting on a pot of coffee, his back was to me. I had shuffled up, pulled on my clothes, and I knew the stupor of the night had faded. So, really, when I stepped past him and he closed the door behind me without a word, I shouldn’t have been upset.

When I reach the pick-up first, I twist to look at him.

Rust has slowed to finish his cigarette at a safe distance, eyeing me warily.

He crushes the stub into the dirt, then glancing out into the long night.

“Straight home?” he asks.

I shake my head, and the rigid line of him gives just a little. It’s so dangerous to be seduced by your own influence, but the realisation that I’ve had any at all is fuel enough to the plea in my wide eyes.

Rust advances haltingly. If I move, I’m sure he’ll flinch and bolt. So, I test the theory: better to weed out what’s already decayed.

I angle myself towards him, open like a door. He tosses his jacket into the bed of his pickup, stepping through.

The heat seeps back between us, slow and thick like a flood of molasses, and it becomes very clear, suddenly, that we never should’ve tried to barricade ourselves. Pretty sure Rust’s known this a while, anyways: he’s the one who leans in for me, kisses me slow.

This time, his hands are quick to curl around my body, where the tension in that tight cord all down his spine has snapped. Or just eased up on him—but that’s unlikely. And unimportant. With his firm touch petting up my spine, climbing each rung, it’s all unimportant.

A pulse of arousal strikes me like an electric current as Rust pulls the blouse out of my skirt, his face close to me.

His tongue pushes into my mouth again, and I hum over the husk of nicotine. It’s a haze in the brain, one I’ve missed. My skin tingles and my thoughts warp in this leer, like a nic rush, only I haven’t had one of those in years and years.

I can’t exactly call what I’m feeling satisfaction. There’s no win to this. My teeth sunk into him so sweet last time, and the thrill of getting him, of tripping him up with his own desire, was almost as good as the actual feeling of him inside me. But it’s different now: so obvious, it’s funny. Though my first instinct is to doubt and pry apart, maybe want is the most trustworthy thing a person can feel. It’s animal and instinctive, and it’s inevitable, so it’s always true. Ugly, sometimes, but always there. There’s no room to question his want, because I can taste it on his tongue, I can feel it pressing over my stomach, I can hear it in the way he hums at the sear of my skin.

It must be a favour to me: the blatancy of it all. For however direct he may be, I’ve always felt that Rust has these plans within plans. Nothing is as it is on the surface: you have to dig to get to the good stuff. It’s disorienting, having it all laid out for me. And I’ll take anything he gives me.

I don’t want to leave any room for doubt in his mind either.

So, I clutch at him hungrily, so drunk on his warmth, and thump my back against the door he opens for me to close it again.

I don’t ask, and I’m glad that he doesn’t make me, only presses my body flush against the cool surface of his side-door, until the only part of me free to move are the fingers that curl over his arms, as if they could sink through the fabric and then the flesh underneath. There’s only dogs and ghosts out at this hour, anyway; eyes in the long-grass. No-one but them and him to see my hips jerk against the precise hand under my skirt.

He hadn’t looked at me this much before. Even when my eyes go glassy and I have to blink hard to try and regain my smarts, to not finish too quickly, I know he’s staring at me like a scientist.

When the next needy noise is drawn from me, I bury my face into his neck to save myself the embarrassment of being seen like this, even though it’s pointless. His fingers are dragging aside the damp fabric of my underwear anyway, sliding through my silky desire. When his knee shoves between my legs to keep apart, he changes the pressure of his hand, circles tightly over where shame does not apply. Restraint is a man-made practice that never prevails over biology. I should know this. Still, though, my face is hot as I whine into his shoulder.

Rust doesn’t ask me to look at him, not yet, and I’m so grateful for it. I bite into the meat of him at the push of one finger, then keen all the way to my toes at the hook of two, rocking against his palm thoughtlessly as he fucks the both of them in deep.

The clink of his belt buckle barely processes through the smoke of sticky eyes and open mouths and the press of his body. But the absence of his hand from my hip, of it working between us?—that’s what ushers normal sensation back into me. I recover from the limp slump against him, but not quickly enough to understand or resist him guiding my hand to wrap around his swollen cock, coated with spit.

He grunts as he tightens my grip around him, coaxes my hand how he wants it. In the back of my mind, though, of course I remember. Only, his fingers are so far inside that my head is spinning, teetering on the precipice of another thought I know I’ll lose, one that dissolves at the slight scrape of nail, one that would never matter as much as the soft then firm press of him against my cervix. My eyes water, and there licking at me is only a faint, abstract impression of embarrassment when Rust grips over my jaw, calloused heel of his palm heavy on my neck, and hauls me away from the hiding spaces of his body’s crevices.

“What, you fuckin’ shy now? You wanted it, so look,” he mumbles, digging his fingers into the soft parts of my face a little more, like there’s some hidden button beneath the surface that can make my droopy eyes fly back open. There must be because, somehow, it works. He angles my face by the scruff of my neck.

I can only stand to look between us for a few jumpy heartbeats before my eyes settle on the comfort of his even face, which he seems to accept readily, breath hitching. He does not blink. The intensity of his observations hounds me, lights me up like points on a star, even when my vision smears and melts at the dizzying curl of his fingers. Lucky for my weak knees he’s got his hand over the nape of my neck, his thighs pinning my own. I shake against him, some pathetic thing, and tremble when he keeps massaging there deep inside.

“Don’t go dumb on me, girl,” Rust scolds quietly when my hand loosens around him, his own having to leave the heat of my neck and come down to correct the pressure, the pull. My head lolls without the support of his hand. “Ain’t gon’ say nothin’?”

Words spill uselessly into a pool before me, slipping through my fingers. My pulse slams in my throat, lower, too, against his touch, each beat meeting him as he works me over again.

What I manage is a choked noise, all clogged up inside. I have little to do with it: just a body, a heartbeat and a compulsion to be near, nearer, nearest to him. Half a mind that’s lagging worse than the computers at work, that realises far too late that the body is curling into itself again, so tight, so wet, and fuck, fuck.

He removes his fingers, that slow drag, and tells me to turn. When I don’t—completely without, dull and aching—Rust twists and shoves me against the window, which goes cloudy at the breathy moan pushed up from my slack stomach.

Slow-like, a cold hand snakes under my shirt, smooths up my burning spine, all the way up, all the way down, hooking in the waistband of my skirt, knuckles burrowing into the soft dimples in my back. My whole body shivers as he slides his palm over the back of my neck—a comfort for which I’m desperate to become familiar—and squeezes gently. If I keep my eyes open, all I can see of him is that black silhouette in the window, a reflection. A homogenous mass, humming at the edges, devoid of the detail of things: can’t see the way he drags his thumb up along the line of my spine, traces where it meets the skull; nor the way he steps forward, teases the air out of my lungs, enjoys it, tugs my hips closer to him by the gusset of the underwear webbed between my thighs; nor the way the cool metal buckle presses red lines into flesh.

The sight of Rust doesn’t matter so much as the understanding that it’s him behind me, that it’s his truck my cheek is being pressed into, that it’s his—fuck—that it’s him sliding through the heat of me, so close. The tip notches and makes it all the easier for my eyes to flutter shut. It helps with the vertigo that follows the rough push of him inside.

My fingers grasp for the little ridges in the door. Best place for them ends up to be under my mouth, though, to keep my head on my shoulders, to muffle the noises I was sure only animals made. My knee jerks sharply against the truck at the first white-hot pulse of pleasure – I hiss, smearing the drool at the edge of my mouth with the back of my hand, so glad he isn’t in clear enough line of sight to chastise me with his tendency to notice and never forget.

But he knows—he must fucking know by now—because the heavy hand clasped over my scruff curls around my face, and Rust forces two fingers into my parted mouth, presses over my soft tongue.

He pulls himself out just to feel the total length of me taking him again, so painfully slow. Feel the initial resistance, the spongy give, the sweet slip, the drag, all of it. So full, I feel sick with it. Overindulgence. Knocks me weak, doesn’t mind it when I bite down on his fingers to take most of the weight out of my sob. What I take from him, he takes from me—we’re even that way—so Rust, already with his nose flirting with the crook of my sweaty neck, nips over my erratic pulse, pushes his tongue over where I’m sure he can see the skin throbbing with the violence of it. Vampire. He could draw blood and I wouldn’t mind: he knows I need bloodletting.

So fucking dumb to think for a second it could be sated by just one time. I needed it again before it even ended – I knew it in the split second he touched me. The grief of closure was as adamant as a shadow. Stupid. He must think it, too, because, shit, the snap of his hips is mean. Punishment: you should’ve known.

“We ought’a be in your bed. I should be fuckin’ you through your bed,” he complains gruffly, his mouth dragging over hinge of my jaw.

I moan around the fingers in my mouth, which hook together with his thumb to pinch the fleshy inside of my cheek, challenging my lost focus. No matter. There’s nothing we can do now.

The seize of my body doesn’t take him by surprise at all, not that I expected it to, and the words that follow are easy, like he’s been thinkin’ of them as loud and clear as day as it would be to speak ‘em: “Shit, that feels good, sweet girl, huh? Tha’s it, just take it. That’s good.” And he lets the warmth gush out before stuffing it back in. “You’ll take one more.”

I stare at the endless field to the side of us, melted over the curve of his door, shivering despite the humidity that always finds you around here. I choke more on my own tongue than his fingers as Rust fucks me slow, like I deserve it.

“Need it s’bad, huh?” he drawls into the shell of my ear. “Why you gone all quiet on me, baby?—thought y’wanted it.”

He drags his fingers out of my mouth, daring me to speak. He slides his hand between my stomach and the side-door, gliding down between the thighs, smearing my dripping arousal over the skin.

My toes curl tight again as he pushes deeper than before, sits there like he knows my mind will do the rest of the work. The grate of his zipper as he shifts draws a mangled sound from the pit of me, not hidden by the brace of my trembling arm.

He zeros in on my clit, all sticky, and circles tight. I shudder.

“Give in,” he says to me in a voice so low and soft that it barely reaches me above the high frequency splitting through my skull. He rolls that bright pearl between his finger and thumb. “You feel it?”

Mindless and eyes all milky, I still manage a nod, grateful for the mean pin of his knees against my shaking thighs.

He hums. “So give in.”

Fuck, this is absurd. The mind can just about string two and two together when Rust lends a forearm beside my head for me to rest on, to grip over: so he’s pictured this, wanted this, for how long? I knew the stagnancy was a front, swallowed something else, but—my mouth goes wet and slack over his forearm at the languid roll of his hips—but it wasn’t realistic to imagine it was this. Rust struck me as someone incapable of reconciling himself with his wants. Shame over acceptance because he thinks it’s atonement. Should’ve known better than to think Rust believed in redemption.

The silhouette in the window is looking over the empty road, scanning for cars that won’t ever come—but his hand is warm under the tent of my shirt, easing over my waist, slow, as everything clamps up, trembling, again. Body and a heartbeat, he tugs my hips back to him, again and again, until he’s a hot, shuddering line all through me, face in my neck, crushing the fight out of my lungs.

His nose presses over my cheek, and his breath is coarse there, too, panting, when he lifts his heavy head. My throat goes so loose and open, greedily drinking in the sweet-sticky scent of him.

“C’mon, now,” he says to me once he’s pulled my underwear back up, dragging the cool, damp gusset against the mess of me for good measure. He pinches my hip, then over my thigh, like that might get me to quit shuddering. “Time to go.”

When I don’t move, he smooths a hand gently over my hair. Tucks a loose chunk of it back into the mess of my braid before deciding it’s best if he lets it loose completely.

Rust winds down the window as he holds open the door for me to clamber onto the bench.

“Y’can sleep ‘f you want,” he mumbles once he’s got me curled up on the seat, leaning through the frame. He tilts his head – the shadows have always hidden his eyes, but I like how the pinch in his brow has melted away at least.

If I had half a mind, I’d use it to shove his face out my goddamn way. Instead, I settle for the narrowing of my eyes and a decided huff. “Won’t.”

Lie. I fall asleep like anything, mellowed by the sweet rush of wind over marshland, the spirit of it weaving inside, and the weight of Rust’s hand tucked in the tight bend of my knee.

#rust cohle #rust cohle x reader #true detective season 1 #rust cohle x reader smut #the idler wheel td #marty hart #true detective #i want to [redacted] his [redacted] until he [redacted] all over-#who said that #female manipulator doesn’t need to manipulate in this one??? crayzay #fic is basically them talking but im hoping ive been accidentally super introspective and deep #her vibe is like mannnn i have to make this guy love me #and his is like girl you don’t have to try I literally already do #i know it’s 15K but i swear it feels shorter if you get into it #got #whatever #only took me a year 😃#fucking finally

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dckweed · 7 months ago

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THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND, bob floyd

summary: In which bob floyd gets himself into a bit of a pickle and calls on his hot, recently single neighbor to help him out, the situation is mutually beneficial..in more ways than one.

warnings: fake dating, violence, domestic violence mentioned, nicknames, slowburn, eventual smut, reader has anxiety!

this is an x reader fic where reader is referred to as sunshine or sunny as a nickname, also i know the moodboard is a lil wonky no one say anything im gonna fix it! i made it on my phone half asleep lmao.

this took quite a bit to get out huh? lol anyway send in requests for bob and sunny if you have any my loves!

series masterlist here, series playlist here, comment on part one for the taglist!

PART THREE: bagman.

Purple and pink lights covered the dark stage, following your movements as you strode across it dressed in nothing but some white strappy heels with cute little cherries on them and a lacey red lingerie set. You had opted for a short wig that night, a blunt bob and in all honesty it made you feel like a whole new person as you stared out at the slightly crowded seating area next to the stage. Rowdy men were hollering already, slapping bills down onto the black top of the stage before you had even touched the pole yet, they were loving it.

Music starts and you block out the crowd, moving your body to the beat as you do a routine you’ve been practicing in the couple of weeks you’ve been off, wanting to change up your dances for your regulars a little bit. You dance for nearly five songs, your new routine a big hit amongst the crowd and as you stride off of it, stopping to shake your ass here and there in front of who you deemed as deserving gentlemen, picking up handfuls of bills every time you did. The stage was absolutely covered in them, and you couldn’t have been more thrilled. You were fairly certain that there was enough her for you to be able to call it a night if you wanted to, you knew your boss wouldn’t mind if you went home early, he was still iffy about you coming in with a bruise still showing anyway (even though you perfectly covered it with makeup). A stage hand passes you with a big bag as you make your way off stage, the lights off as they go to clear up the money that you couldn’t grab.

You were headed to the dressing room, needing a break after 5 songs but you’re stopped by your boss, Edwin. “You looked good out there Sunny,” He says an arm popping around your shoulder as the older gentlemen lead you away from the direction you were trying to go. You lean into him head on his shoulder. “Always a crowd pleaser, you are, you were missed during you time off.”

You smile at his words, despite his hard appearance Edwin was actually a really kind man and he had taken you under his wing when you first came to town, had given you your job illegally even though you had just barely turned 21 and because of it you had grown close. If Bob hadn’t come to your aid the night that your pice of shit ex boyfriend had gone to town on you, you know that Edwin would have (even though he was in the middle of running the club) and he almost did when you called him the next day to tell him what happened.

“I know it’s your first night back, and you wanted to take it easy,” He says, stopping you in the doorway just before the main floor of the club, where patrons were milling about as the stage hands finished clearing your set. “But you seemed to have caught the attention of one of those ship boys over there by the bar,” He points towards a group of them and you purse your lips, thanking god that none of them looked like Bobby from this angle. “Requested Ivy Wild for a private dance, told him you’re the boss when it comes to that..”

You sigh at the mention of being requested by name, looking back towards the dressing room. You weren’t sure how much you made from your stage appearance yet, not until you counted it, but you knew that if you did a half hour private dance that you’d walk away with three hundred at the least..you couldn’t say no to that kind of money.

“I’ll take him, put him in room four.” You say, before turning on your heel to head towards the dressing room. “I’m gonna go freshen up real quick before I head in there.”

The room is dark when you enter, nothing but a dim blue light around the ceiling to light up the room, casting shadows across the firm leather couches and the man lounging across them. You slink your way into the room, coy smile splaying across your lips.

“Aren’t you a pretty little thing..” The man says, leaning back against the couch. He spreads his legs slightly as he does. He’s clad in dark jeans and a crisp white button up that is so tight you can practically see the outline of his abs through the fabric. You can’t see his face in the shadows but you can tell from his voice and the way he manspreads that he’s handsome, and you would be lying if you said it didn’t make you a little excited. “You gonna dance f’me?”

If you listened close enough he even sounded a little bit like Bobby and for some reason, that made your face flush. “You gonna follow the rules pretty boy?” You flirt, moving your hips to the music that was playing softly in the room, standing just barely in front of him. “You can look but you can’t touch, got it?”

“Whatever you say, hot stuff..” He seems to sigh almost dreamily as you start putting on a show for him.

You touch your body, letting your hands travel down it as you swing your hips to the beat, putting on a routine for him. Just as you’re about to give him a lap dance, ready to straddle your lean legs one either side of his thick thighs he reaches out for you, fingertips brushing the bare skin of your midriff. “Aht, Aht-” You say, pushing him back with your foot on his chest, your heel digging into the muscular expanse. “No touching, pretty boy..”

“You’re fuckin’ killin’ me here..”

When you leave the room fifteen minutes later, it’s with a self righteous smirk across your lips. You had made the man cum in his pants with your lap dance and you hadn’t even let him touch you, it was a rarity but you loved when it happened, it was quite the ego boost if you were being honest with yourself. You could have done without the three hundred and fifty that he had left for you and just rode the high of a stroked ego for the rest of the night, but you took it anyway and shoved it in the bag that the stage hands had left by your locker. You would count it out when you got home, you were ready to leave and you were positive you already made over a grand tonight, there was no need to stay other than to see to the other girls but they all seemed okay with themselves tonight.

You poke your head into Edwin’s office and bid him goodbye on your way out, making your way to the employee parking lot afterwards where you parked your car, It’s a surprisingly short drive home given the time, and when you park your car on the side of the street outside of the building, you’re surprised to see Bob out, Cosie’s leash in hand.

“Hey, Bobby!” You say cheerfully, hopping out of the car with your duffle bag and bag of cash in hand. He turns at hearing your voice, as though he was startled.

“Sunny, you getting home early or late?” Yeah, the man earlier sounded almost exactly like him, you think and can’t help but smile. He holds the door open for you and lets you walk in ahead of him after you stop and stoop down to pet Cosie.

“Early, told Edwin I wanted to take it easy..” You say, walking through the lobby of the building to the elevator with him. He hits the button for you too. You notice the way he looks at you when you mention Edwin and you remember that you never told him much about the club. “Edwin is the owner of the club, my boss..and he’s kind of like my dad in a way though thats a little weird to say because he sees me in lingerie all night..” You weren’t sure where the sudden rambling came from, perhaps it was a reaction to him putting his hand against your lower back to usher you into the elevator before him, or maybe it was the smell of his cologne that lingered in your nostrils but damn it made you feel nervous and giddy all at the same time.

He hums as he punches the button for your guys’ floor, adjusting the leash to his other hand as Cosie rubs against your legs. You were still clad in your strappy heels, feeling too impatient to stop and take them off. He does the thing with his hand again to user you off of the elevator before him and you just about die on the spot, what is it with you? Was gentlemanly behavior really that big of a thing for you?

Within a few moments you’re at your door, his just a few steps farther than yours and he stops, holding your bag without a word as you shove your key into the lock and bully the door open. You open your mouth to say goodnight but find yourself saying something else entirely. “Do you wanna come in? Help me count all this maybe?” You hold up the bag of cash, and he glances down at it, soft smile on his handsome face.

“Sure.” He finds himself saying, even though he has work in a few hours. You’re just so sweet with your damn eyes and flushed little cheeks that he can’t say no.

The next few hours are filled with him sitting with you on your living room floor, sprawled out in front of the couch, piles of money in front of the both of you. You had gone and changed into a small pair of pajama shorts with little red hearts on them and a white tank top, but not before having him take photos of your heeled feet for you so you could post it on your instagram.

“It’s almost four..” You whisper, your head leaned against his shoulder. You guys had stayed on the floor and you found yourself leaning against him as our eyes drooped, tired from you first day back at work but not wanting to fall asleep just yet. You listened to him tell you stories about his job, and you fell in love with how much he loved his job, how happy it made him.

“You sleepy, Sunny?” He murmurs, that Montana accent thick. He turns his head to look down at you, almost wishing that he hadn’t because from this angle and in this lighting he could pretty much see through your shirt and it was all he could do not to pop a boner right here next to you at the sight of your pert nipples and supple tits.

You hum in response, already on the cusp of unconsciousness. The last thing you remember is him shifting, his warm arm coming to wrap against your shoulder as if pulling him farther against him.

By the time you wake the next morning, he’s long gone, though he’s left you in his hoodie that you don’t remember putting on and with Cosie. You can’t help but pout at his absence, having found yourself more comfortable with someone you were fake dating than anyone you had ever actually dated. You were surprised that you had fallen asleep, that you hadn’t woken when he left and when you check your phone, you’re even more surprised to find a text message with a photo of a sleeping you attached, your head against his chest, eyes closed and peaceful..

Navy Dude: thought i would take something for my own instagram..see you tonight..

You couldn’t help but giggle, breathing in his scent as you read the message and immediately going to check his instagram account before making yourself busy for the rest of the day by taking Cosie on a long walk and doing your pilates work out in the living room, practically counting down the hours until he would arrive to take you to meet his friends. Your first official date as a fake couple.

You’re just struggling into a cute little yellow dress sun dress when you hear your door open and Cosie give a happy yip, with your arms cocked behind you, you glance towards your bedroom door, hearing his footsteps fall down the hallway. “Bobby?” You call out, almost a whine. “I can’t get my dress zipped..”

He’s in your room in a matter of seconds, his long and lithe body taking up your doorway. He’s in his service uniform, the tan khaki’s littered with different colors of pins that you would have to ask him about later. You thought he looked handsome in his uniform, but he looked downright drool worthy when he wore his flight suit home, though you assumed they hadn’t done any flying today.

“Let me help,” He murmurs as you stand in front of him. He bats your hands away before gently moving your loose hair over one shoulder, out of the way of the zip. “Dress looks real pretty..” His fingertips trail down the exposed skin of your back and you suck in a breath, chills going down your spine as they go up, up, up, stopping just between your shoulder blades.

“Do I look okay?” You ask softly, smoothing out the flowy skirt that just barely went past your mid-thigh as you turned to face him, looking up at the taller man. You had put on enough makeup to cover up what was left of your bruises, but not nearly as much as you had worn at work last night. You were meeting friends, there was no need to paint your face like you would at work. You weren’t sure if you should put on more though, you wanted to look okay for him, you wanted him to have his friends’ approval.

“You look gorgeous,” He murmurs, corners of his lips turning up as he looks down at you. You were practically chest to chest by that point, you would call it an almost intimate moment. His hand comes up from his side, fingertips grazing against the skin of your cheek before brushing your hair behind your ear, you blush as you notice yourself leaning into his touch slightly. “Think you look real pretty in yellow, Sunnygirl..”

“Thank you..” You breathe, not realizing that you had somehow moved close enough to him that your noses were practically touching, him stopped down towards you. It wouldn’t take much for your lips to brush together now, just lean into him a little farther, and you would have too if Cosie hadn’t barked from your feet, scaring you so badly that you jump about a foot in the air, cheeks flushing as you realize that you had been about to kiss him and he hadn’t even tried to stop you.

“Right, so,” You clear your throat, turning to go back to your closet for a pair of matching sandals. “Why don’t I go walk Cosie while you change and then I’ll meet you by your truck?”

“Oh, um, yeah, yeah,” He says, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck as he turns, his own cheeks flushing red. “You do that, i’ll be right down..”

Nearly forty-five minutes later, he’s pulling his silverado into a parking spot near an old Bronco, throwing the shifter into park. You take in a deep breath, looking over at him. “This is it.” You say, the whole scheme that you two had cooked up finally feeling real to you. The man next to you nods, taking his keys from the ignition and shoving them down into his pocket. “Alright Bobby, let’s do this.”

The parking lot isn’t overly crowded, but the patrons inside the bar are loud as you walk up to it. Your nerves get the better of you the closer you get to the front doors, your hands shaking with anxiety and you try to channel it into smoothing down your dress skirt but it does no good. Bob notices though, and suddenly he’s sliding his much larger hand over yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It’s gonna be okay, Sunny.” He says, and you smile up at him feeling like a fool. You hadn’t realized that your anxiety was so noticeable, you thought you had been better at hiding it.

Before you cn respond to him, he’s pushed open the doors of the bar, stepping in first to hold it open for you, his hand not leaving yours once. Almost immediately there’s a call of his name traveling throught he air and the sounds of chairs scraping and before you know it you’re surrounded by a few big, buff dudes and a bubbly girl who looks the most excited to meet you.

You do your rounds of introductions, Phoenix gives you a big hug, ripping your hand from Bob’s in the process and practically lifting you off of the ground, and though you’re meeting her under the guise of being his girlfriend, you know that you’re going to be good friends.

Rooster gives you a firm handshake, his ginormous hand enveloping yours as he smiles down at you. You take in his features, he’s quite handsome despite the scarring on his face (that you desperately want to ask questions about, though you keep it to yourself) and you notice the lack of a ring on his hand or on the dog tags looped around his neck, peaking out of the top of the white undershirt he had put on under his loose hawaiian shirt. You think he’d be a good match for one of your friends and you make a mental note to ask Bob about it later.

Coyote is gentle, and quite sweet but he’s a bit of a flirt and you feel yourself leaning more into Bob while you’re talking with him briefly, wanting it to look like you weren’t available (because technically to them, you weren’t). He introduces you to who you realize is one of his best friends next, Hangman, or as you had heard Bob call him, Bagman. He’s still wearing his uniform, and when he shakes your hand he gives you a charmingly sweet smile that you just know makes the girls weak in the knees, but when he talks to you? Your stomach drops to your knees.”Hey there, pretty thing..” He must know it too, because he smirks at you, that accent heavy.

You swallow thickly, turning to Bob. “I’m gonna go get myself a drink, I’ll be right back, baby..” You say, giving him a kiss on the cheek for show before heading over to the bar. “Shot of tequila, please..” You say to the woman tending bar, leaning against it as you let out a breath.

Bob’s friend was the man you had given a private dance to last night..the man who you had made cum in his own pants. How fucking bad could this get, you wondered? You hadn’t exactly lied when you told Bob’s friends that you were a dancer, you just hadn’t exactly specified what kind of dancing you did for a living, not expecting that one of his friends would be one of your customers.

She sets the shot glass down in front of you just as you feel a presence behind you, directly behind you. His body was solid and warm as he put his arms on either side of yours, boxing you in.

“Does he know?” His voice his quiet in your ear, making your body go stiff. You were uncomfortable, but you knew that he wasn’t going to hurt you or touch you in anyway.

“That I made you cum in your pants?” You ask, quirking an eyebrow as you turn to face him. His head was right next to yours, eyes narrowed as he looked at you. “No, Bagman, I don’t think he does, and I don’t think he needs to either.” You knock back your shot, the liquid sliding down your throat with ease. “Just like I don’t think your group of friends needs to know that you spent your sunday night getting a lap dance from a stripper, now do they?”

You must win whatever stand off this is because after a moment his moves his arms, letting you brush past him. You hear him ask for a round of beers from the woman, and to put your shot on his tab as you make your way back to Bob who gives you a questioning look, you realize he must have seen the whole encounter. You lean up to kiss his cheek as you come back, his arm going around your waist firmly as you whisper to him that you needed to tell him something when you guys got home. You honestly thought it was funny, but you were sure that he was going to be freaked out.

taglist:

@mamachasesmayhem @hangmandruigandmav @shotgunhallelujah @shiara04 @3tabbiesandalab @tgmreader @flrboyd @goosterroose @mrspedropascal5683 @sugajar

@dory-98 @justherebecausesafarisucks @eloquentdreamer @sweetwhispersofchaos @pet1t3 @teacupsandtopgun @milkbummm @purplevortexx @silenterosion

#kara writes #top gun maverick #jake seresin #top gun #bob floyd #robert bob floyd #bob floyd fic #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd smut #robert floyd #lewis pullman

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mournings-stars · 9 months ago

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Could I request an Alastor x reader? mostly smut, however i love fluff with aftercare and such

I was thinking the premise being of a reader who was and old friend from cannibal town coming to the hotel maybe? (cis fem reader)

hellohello! i personally don’t write smut for alastor but here’s a little fluff for you/how im comfortable writing for alastor!! its a bit of an ambiguous relationship but i hope thats fine :)

alastor x cannibal town fem reader (i may make this into a multi-part fic)

There was more than one reason Alastor brought Charlie to Cannibal Town — yes, it’s important she met Rosie, but he also had business to attend to while she did. He excused himself, heading down the street, several shops down, and into a narrow alleyway where he opened a hidden door to a small shop.

It was two small rooms and a back kitchenette. The walls of the first room were lined with bookshelves that made a narrow aisle to the back of the store. There, was an open seating area with sofas, armchairs, and a roaring fireplace across from the small register in the corner. It certainly wasn’t supposed to feel like a store where you had to buy something, but one where you could if you really wanted to.

“Welcome in!” A very sweet voice came from the back of the shop, a hint of an old, long-lost accent that made Alastor’s smile widen. “I’ll be right with you!”

“Take your time,” he hummed, and immediately heard shuffling from the other room before you stumbled into the front. “Hello, my dear!”

“Alastor!?” You gasped, lifting the hem of your skirt to rush over to him and hug him. He stiffened, a high pitched radio frequency sounding from his microphone and making you step back. “Sorry—“ You straightened out his suit jacket with a smile tugging at your lips as he watched you. When your fussing became too much, he placed a very calm hand over yours and gave you a gentle smile. You laughed under your breath and stepped back. “Sorry—“

“You said that already, my dear — and there’s no need to!” You nodded as he squeezed your hand before letting it go. “No need at all!”

“Right, right… How are you? Where have you been? I’ve… missed you.” Your excited tone dampened as you finished, clearing your throat and offering a smaller smile when it faltered. “But I’m glad to see you’re alright.”

“You were always too kind to me!” He said cheerily, walking to the second room to have a seat on the couch.

“Can I get you anything, Al?”

“Just a bit of precious time,” he said a little too sweetly, waiting for you to sit across from him. But you made yourself busy, pouring hot water over tea and preparing a plate of sweets for the two of you to share. “Tell me how you’ve been!” He said impatiently as he watched you go anywhere but toward him.

“Ah… where to start?” You hummed, leaning against the countertop. “I thought you might’ve…” You waved your hand dismissively, but as he’d gone missing just after an extermination, he understood and hummed along. “And since you never told me anything—“

“It was all so sudden, I would’ve left you a note—“

“A note?” You scoffed, but moved on when he nodded, going to get teacups for the two of you. “Anyway, I met someone.”

“Did you?” He sounded unimpressed, watching you get sugar and spoons; anything to avoid sitting down. “So quickly?”

“It took a few years.” He hummed along. “And it didn’t last—“ He laughed snidely. “—It felt very… wrong—”

“I'm sure,” he was almost too quick to say.

“And… They were exterminated, anyway.”

He looked very happy to hear that fact, but said nothing until he got his expression under control. “Shame,” he said, tone crass. “I would have loved to have met them.”

“I’m sure,” you repeated, throwing him a pointed look that he beamed at. “The years have become a bit blurry,” you continued.

“Have they?”

“I spend most of my time here, talking with Rosie. Missing you.“

“Ah, yes… You said that.” His smile dampened. “Surely you moved on?” But he was hopeful you didn’t, and he knew his hopes were answered when you stayed quiet and poured your tea. You remembered how much sugar he liked, and how much cream, not even bothering to ask before you put the cups on the plate and walked to the couches. “I always thought of you,” he admitted, taking the cup you offered, “but I could never go to you… I watched from afar.” He cleared his throat, sipping his tea and forcing his smile to stay put. “And I felt…” His eyes drifted to nothing as he thought back on those seven years. “Excruciatingly bored.”

You laughed. “Does that mean you missed me too?”

He narrowed his eyes, taking the plate from you before you could get anything else. “Why don’t you have a seat next to me?” He set the plate on the end table. “I didn’t come here to be served; I came to, finally, get the chance to see you again.” And then he offered his hand, and the small gesture of vulnerability made you understand that yes;

He missed you very much.

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billgetsmewet · 7 months ago

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doktorspiele..

short smut :3

-tom kaulitz x fem!reader

-warnings : nicknames,blowjob , sub!reader / dom!tom, agegap

A/N : 2015 tom is so hot stfu he could bend me over and *******

You and your parents recently moved towns because of financial problems, your new house was fine.. except the air conditioning. It was always super cold in your room, especially in winter, because of this, youve had a sore throat for a bit now.

You eventually told your mum and she suggested you get it checked out by a doctor, so you did as she said.

You were looking up doctors in your area, trying to find one that didnt look sketchy…

Eventually, after a but of scrolling, you found a doctor. He was quite young, it said in his description that he was 26 years old. This made you more comfortable, considering old doctors are kinda creepy.

Keep in mind, you were only 18, about to finish highschool.

You called the doctor and made an appointment for about 3 days after. You didnt mind waiting, since you knew you would still have this damn curse of a sore throat…

The day finally came. You hopped into the uber, getting to the doctors 20 minutes before your appointment, just in case. Surprisingly, he was free.. He welcomed you in, in a slightly seductive voice - Hello, y/n? Ah yes, Im Tom, i got done with the client before you pretty quickly..

You couldnt help but notice his thick german accent, it was really hot, being honest.

He took you into the office, sat you down, asked you whats wrong… the usual. - Ive had a sore throat for a while.. my room is pretty cold, so i just cant get rid of this.. Hm.. im sorry to hear, i suggest you getting a warmer blanket and clothes with longer sleeves.. and without cutouts around the neck.

Shit, you just noticed, you wore the most revealing shirt you could ever wear. I mean.. it could be helpful if he was trying to examine your lungs, but it was also making you look stupid in this situation, but.. for some reason Tom didnt seem to mind, its almost as if he kept looking at your tits from time to time..

He put the stethoscope on your chest, the cold metal making you slightly flinch, he was listening to your heart, noticing the beats are getting faster and faster once he looks at you. He smiles in realization before moving on and putting it on your back to check your lungs.Deep breath in, darling.

You struggled not to moan out as he called you “darling”.

Good girl, now deep breath out.

God, he was making this so hard.

He took the stethoscope to your heart again. This will.. uh..let me examine your lungs better, i feel. - he said, yet it sounded like an excuse.

Deep breath in, sweetheart…

He was definitely teasing you. He could hear your heart beat as fast as possible as he said “sweetheart”. You looked up at him, blushing, realizing whats happening.

Listen darling, all i can prescribe you for this sore throat is…

Next thing you know his cock is in your mouth and hes bobbing your head up and down on it. Atleast this will cure your sore throat, right..?

Ps i want 2015 tom to make me choke on his cock..;(

#bill kaulitz #tokio hotel #georg listing #gustav schäfer #tom kaulitz #tom kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz x you #tom kaulitz x y/n #tom kaulitz smut #smut #tokio hotel smut #tom kaulitz fanfic #kaulitz #kaulitz twins

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fandomfluffandfuck · 4 months ago

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as someone obsessed with pussy steve, it drives me insane because i was doing my final exam today and all i was thinking about is "am i going to read the same pussy steve blog of S? yeah tf i am" and im here requesting from u some more pussy steve bc goddamn thats my obsessionnnnn. plus it's my first time asking u to write anything (i dont do shit but read things here and trying not fail school at the same time)

related to this pussy Steve ask

also... we're channeling this vibe shamelessly as we continue on from that last post, still set during WWII

Good job with your finals!! Let's dive in 👀

Steve can't fucking take it anymore, groaning as he flops back onto the squeaky, lumpy mattress that's supposed to be his bed. They've been holed up in this goddamn remote rubble city for what feels like years after clearing the town of HYDRA and Nazi agents with no action to burn off his excessive energy. The once standing city has long since been evacuated because of the air raids. The bombs have flattened almost half of it, shaking the other half immensely, but without orders to go elsewhere, the Howling Commandos are lying low, trying to plan their next move on their own. It feels like a waste just to march all the way back to camp but they don't have any other leads. Not yet.

And the Howlies have scavenged the area already, gathering any remaining, surviving food that isn't their shit MREs, plus having made sure no civilians were left behind before sitting down to talk and plan.

And talk and plan and talk and plan.

Steve can only strategize for so long, he can only play card games for so long, he can only draw on scraps of paper for so long; the serum has left him even more hot blooded than he was with all this vivacity he couldn't've dreamed of before, as thin and sickly as he was. So it's a fucking problem. Sitting still.

Waiting.

They should be doing something. Seeing action. Doing good. This is war. It feels so bizarre to sit between what they have just seen and what they're going to see. Bad things.

So, yeah, Steve is having a hard time unhelped by the fact that they're stuck in the one reliable structure that happens to be a small inn with thin walls. It's a blessing to have their own rooms and real beds, just enough rooms that they only have to pair up rather than sleeping in a dog pile together, but they might as well be together with these paper walls. Thus, Steve is being extra careful as he attempts to burn off some steam, alone while the others do... whatever... out in the main room (maybe a game of poker?) by stuffing the undershirt he's been wearing beneath his red white and blue uniform into his mouth.

The shirt tastes of salt and musk, balled up and packed between his teeth, filling his mouth, keeping his jaw open. Keeping the sounds he wants to make down. Most of the sounds. He can't help the sounds his body makes that don't come out of his mouth... wet, slick squelching sounds from between his legs, his fingers plunging deep into himself as if he's trying to get to his heart. In the scenario where he wanted to get off and be done with it, he'd be making tight, hard circles around his clit, pressing down against it hard, impatient and rough with himself, making himself a little raw with it but a lot sensitive--but that's not what he wants right now. He wants to burn through energy now. So, he has two fingers crooked inside his pussy, plunging them in and drawing them out slow enough that it makes him crazy. It's enough to feel good, so, so good, but not enough to get him off.

Steve's not wearing his uniform without the undershirt while he fingers himself. Well, he's not wearing it in full. He's kept his pants and boots on in case they need to get up and go, but... his pants are gaping open.

He's undone the long zip and aaall the latching buttons, ripping the taps as wide apart as he can get them without just taking his pants off. His hand shoved beneath both layers--pants and underwear.

His boxers are ruined. Wet. Soaked.

Registering just how sticky and wet he is, pulling his fingers out of his cunt to trace his puffy, swollen slit, he plays with his own wetness. He's dripping. He doesn't touch his aching clit directly, but he does put pressure on the legs of it, tracing the v down his vulva, spreading his legs wider, just a tiny bit, so his lips are out of the way as much as they can be, exposing himself, touching himself, and--

Choking on a whimper as electric pleasure shoots through him.

That's the closest he's let himself get to touching his clit in, in... however long it's been? An hour? Two? Ten minutes?

Steve doesn't let it last. Instead, blearily, he presses his middle and ring fingers back into himself. Back into the scorching, melted heat of his body. His foot kicks out, restless, needing something to do with the thick lust building inside him. Groaning softly through his shirt, Steve arches his neck, lifting his head off the bed just enough to let it come crashing back down heavily, giving his sweat-soaked blonde hair an impressively ruffled style.

As thoughts as he feels--his coherency consumed by pleasure--Steve suddenly flushes, wondering if Bucky will be able to smell it on him when he's done (if he doesn't already know what he's locked himself into their room to do). Once he's worn himself out, cumming on his own fingers after too much build up to be comfortable, leaving himself hurting with too much tension and desire, will Bucky know? Steve will button and zip up his pants and put his shirt back on and waltz back out there, but will it all be only for Bucky to corner him away from the other guys and maybe tip his chin up, fingers on his jaw, eye-to-eye, give him those dark eyes that say, I know what you did, maybe Bucky will kiss his neck and murmur to him hotly, or maybe he'll bend him over, their clothes still on, his cock a hot, thick line in his trousers, pressed against his slit, sweet talking him with his players voice, saying filthy things about how he can smell it on him like he's a bitch in heat with the most syrupy tone, crooning so Steve will get stickier, wetter, and gooey-er. Melted in the center like some kind of oozing, chocolate dessert. Hot and ready to be devoured.

Bitten.

Licked.

Swallowed.

Steve is thinking about his best guy's cock and he's thinking about his mouth, too, now. He's thinking about those sweet talking, wicked lips. He's thinking about his immaculately styled head of hair between his thighs, going to town. Not an ounce of reservation in the way he dives into him, in how he licks, how he slurps, how he fucks.

Jesus Christ.

Steve's jaw works around his balled up shirt, clenching. His throat contracts as he swallows thickly, praying that he doesn't wail like he wants to. The sound is in his chest, rattling around, building into this aching pressure. He can't fit anymore arousal inside himself. He's gonna burst.

Then, when he's weak and he just can't fucking stop himself, Bucky on his mind like always, Steve curls his fingers just enough to catch the raised spot inside him, spongy and sensitive. So fucking sensitive. His sweet spot that causes his hips to involuntarily buck up, searching for more, needing more. If he weren't gagged, he'd be moaning for it.

Moaning Bucky's name.

Bucky's on his mind already, so, of course, he wants Bucky on his tongue, too. Worse, he wants Bucky inside him. He wants him so bad that he's fucking aching, clenching around his fingers, hips squirming, toes curling, panting. He wants Bucky's cock in him so bad, slamming home so he's leaking around it, wetting his balls and smearing all over both of their thighs. He's a slippery mess.

He wants Bucky so bad that he has to stop thrusting his fingers in and out of his tight cunt to work a third finger into himself, chasing the girth of his dick. He can't get as deep as Bucky does, and it's just not the same to the point that, that--

Steve garbles out something of a sob. His eyes sting with tears. His head is so hot with frustration. Hazy and smoking. He can't think. He can't keep his rhythm. He's shaking.

Fuck.

When he pulls out to add another fingertip--stretching before he eases the entire length of his own finger in--he realizes he can smell himself. Already, he could smell himself wafting up from his unwashed shirt, sweaty, but now he can smell the hot, briny musk of his own arousal, carried on the sex-thick air of the quaint inn room. Humid and heavy.

He can smell himself. Sweat, musk, and leaking slick. It's an unmistable scent that turns Steve on more than it should, considering it's his own smell, twisting up in his gut and making him feel tighter, tenser, hotter. He can taste himself. Sweat, musk, and dirty, unwashed cotton coating his tongue, dripping down his throat, joining the lust already pooled low in his belly. He can hear himself. Slick, squelching, and lewd with his fingers curling inside himself. Muffled and drowning with sounds dying in the back of his throat before they have the chance to come out of his mouth. The soft snuffling, shuffling sounds of his pants folding and brushing against the bed sheets, fabric rustling and creaking as his thighs spread instinctively until the the seams groan. Every sound is another piece of wood added to the fire, burning hotter until it crackles and pops with the explosions of hot sap. Steve is feasting on these sensations as much as he's feasting on the slick, velvet feeling of the inside of his own pussy. He can touch himself. Smooth, wet inner walls that cling so tightly to his own fingers. If he could lift his head, the weight of his empty skull, so weakened, he could see himself, too--his hand moving in his pants, the veins running over his muscled forearms bulging with the effort of working his fingers so much.

God, he wants more in him.

His fingers work faster, curling a little harder, plunging deeper until he's erupting with another garbled cry.

He wants Bucky's cock in his pussy, throbbing with the pound of his best guy's heart, at the same time that he wants Bucky's thumb to sneak down between where their sweaty bodies collide with every frantic thrust, slicking the digit up with Steve's overpouring wetness until he reaches back, traces the sensitive, pink flesh between his legs to get to his asshole and pops it inside him, too, giving him something extra. Extra stuffing, his thumb in his ass, pressing back against his pussy. The thin wall between his holes. Giving him something more to clench down on while he wails, crashing over the edge as Bucky grinds so deep he can taste it, choke on it, so deep that his pelvis rubs on Steve's swollen clit and makes it impossible not to cum.

Guh.

Steve is drooling, soaking into his own shirt, thinking about Bucky.

Drowning in pleasure from his own hand.

Steve is rocking up into his hand, his hips with a mind of their own, or, rather, mindless in the pursuit of pleasure, instinctively rutting, humping, rolling, and just going. He's trying to swallow moans and gasps to varying degrees of success. He knows not all of them stay down in his tight, heaving chest, but he doesn't know how loud his noises are, his heartbeat is too loud in his ears.

Regardless of his noises, he keeps chasing his pleasure, his clit swollen and peaking out as much as it can from it's hood--leaving it vulnerable and draaagging just lightly against the heel of his hand. It's agonizing. With every feathered drag of his sensitive clit against his hand, it's making his sounds grow worse. He will be wailing soon no matter what he does. No matter how much he tries to keep it down.

It aches.

It hurts.

It feels sofuckinggood.

His jaw is working so hard that it feels like his teeth will rip into his shirt soon. Gah. Oh, ah, yeahh--

The temperature keeps going up and up in and all around Steve, fever hot, when the door swings open.

Steve is so tightly wound that he can't freeze. There is no way to stop the forest fire within him. It's going to have to come to its own conclusion when it has burned through everything he has, only ash left. Nothing can put him out.

So it's a damn good thing that it's Bucky that walks through the open door, hurriedly slamming it behind him when his eyes land on Steve's debauched, twitching form on the bed they've been sharing. A cold rush of air comes in with him, leaving all the hair on Steve's body to stand on end in salute. He quivers harder.

Bucky wastes no time. He is deadly, vicious in his pursuit--the sound of the door slamming hits Steve's ears, delayed with his mushy brain, and then Bucky is immediately on him like a predator pouncing.

His body is heavy on top of him, pinning him with the drag of his uniform against Steve's sensitive, sweat-glistening skin.

Real.

He's so real that it's visceral. It's not just Steve's heated, out-of-control fantasies as he approaches his orgasm without breaks.

Bucky cages him in with his body, one of his hands planted by Steve's head, steadying himself, while his other hand grabs ahold of Steve's forearm to rip his hand out of his pants.

Steve does wail then, through his makeshift gag.

The look on Bucky's face is evil, mocking him playfully, asking, oh, really, is that how it is?

After all these years, they read each other like open books. Steve knows he knows how turned on he is, and it's devastating. Bucky probably knows just based on how much he's blushing and how he can't keep his eyes open, how long he's been going at it for. He knows how much it aches to be untouched when he gets like this. Especially now. Post-serum. It's all he can think about. He can feel his heartbeat pounding in his pussy. He's hot and swollen and so wet that it brings stinging tears to his eyes. God.

He's so fucking needy.

He needs Bucky. He needs--

Bucky sticks both of Steve's hands above his head, crossed at the wrist, and uses one of his own to pin them there. Steve could easily break away any time, but now. He's so worn down. He's weak. His brain has gone out of his head, and all of his super-strength has drained from his body out of his weeping cunt. He's depleted. He can do nothing by lay there, helpless and vulnerable, as Bucky shoves and pushes and shimmies his pants and underwear down. He barely gets them halfway down his thighs before he stops, and because of it, Steve sucks in a sharp breath through his balled up shirt. The air of the room is shocking against his soaked, sticky center.

Guh.

GUH!

Steve makes a fucking stupid sound when Bucky quits messing with his tangled up pants to instead mess with his pussy. He slips one, then two, then three inside him. Fast. A predator tearing through prey, no time to think, just do. His shit eating grin tells Steve that he's impressed with how sloppy he's gotten himself, and he wants to cry in embarrassment but also pride.

With three fingers inside him, Bucky curls them and grinds them deeper, deeper, curls, deep, curl, deep--

Steve's head is spinning. He doesn't even know what Bucky is doing to him. It just, it, it, ohgod, his eyes roll back so far, so hard it hurts, it feels so good. It's wrecking him. Whatever he's doing to him. Maybe it's Bucky's reckless thirst for him. Maybe it's the serum burning like venom in his veins. Maybe it's both of them mixing together into one harsh cocktail, so intoxicating it immediately makes him drunk.

The things Bucky is doing to his body make Steve want to shriek in pleasure. He's letting go of his wrists but it's not like Steve can move anyway and it's for good reason that he's not pinning him anymore because instead he's pressing down on his belly with that hand as he curls his fingers more, more, more, curling them towards himself hard, pressing so hard on that spot inside him that Steve doesn't even, he's not even sure he can comprehend the pleasure cutting through him, it's so much pressure building up inside him, taking more space than he realized he had even inside this bigger, stronger body, he can't, he's not strong enough, he--

Steve gasps and squirms, not understanding, wanting to babble, oh, oh, Bucky, what-I, I'm-! Wait! What is that feeling? Why does it feel like that? Wh--he can't, though, he can't say anything, his mouth stuffed.

He screams behind his teeth and--

Steve fucking whites out.

He's there one minute and then he's gone in a flash. Too much pleasure. Too much pressure. Too good. He's half convinced, totally out of his mind, that he's exploded or, or...

Oh.

As Steve returns to himself in bits and pieces, still shattered in the aftermath, he's almost sure he's lost so much control of himself that he's pissed himself. He's so fucking wet. Soaked down his thighs and down Bucky's wrist. If he has pissed himself, then he's given everything up to Bucky, his body entirely his lover's, every part of it, but then.

JesusfuckingChrist.

Then, Bucky's voice breaks through the ringing in his ears, and he's softly, quietly purring to him, mindful of their thin walls in a way Steve has not been while being stripped down to the bone in exhausting, overwhelming pleasure. Bucky's voice is all low and hot, too turned on as he works Steve through it, touching him much softer, nicer, lighter while he tells him how fucking hot that was, watching him, feeling him squirt around his fingers. And, holy shit, he's gonna make him do that on his dick. He will.

It's a promise.

Now that he knows he can make Steve squirt, he's gonna do it all. the. fucking. time.

Steve whines through his gag, his body trembling hard with his fading fever. Oh. It hits like a sledgehammer to the back of his head. He's going to die. Bucky is gonna kill him, making him squirt, making him writhe, making him want to crawl out of his own body, giving him too much gutteral, visceral pleasure.

Bonus:

I've had a draft sitting here on Tumblr for a while that simply says:

Lil pussy Steve domming big, beefy Bucky. Steve's wearing a pair of panties to a party, getting them messy in a closet or bathroom or... both... where Bucky fingers him until he cums, then, once they've finished and Steve is desperately wet, he makes Bucky put swap underwear with him. Bucky obeys because of course he's done--he's big and he falls hard. Steve's wet, dirty panties, though, they're much too tight and remind him for the next few hours (hours that Steve, the introvert, suspiciously makes them stick around the party for) exactly of what they did. How he made his dom squirt and make these panties wet and smell musky and hot like his pussy does. Ruin them. Ruining the panties, ruining Bucky.

Plus, the whole rest of the party, Bucky has to live with the fact that Steve doesn't have any underwear on because rather than put Bucky's boxers on, he shoved them into his pocket where he could take them out at any time. Fuck, they could fall out at any moment! Bucky can't focus on a single fucking conversation.

And it's not until they get home that Bucky gets to cum.

When they're finally, finally home, Steve pushes Bucky down onto the floor, mounts his lap, and grinds into his hard, hard cock bursting out of his teeny-tiny, too-tight panties. The underwear is so little and delicate, all wet lace, that Bucky nearly ripped them putting on his bigger body. Demanding him to cum and ruin them further, one of Steve's thin, bony hands constricts around his throat.

Oh, yeah, he owns this big, subby mess of a man.

So... do with that what you will 😏

#asks #fandomfluffandfuck #steve rogers #bucky barnes #stucky #pussy steve

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wolfstarlibrarian · 6 months ago

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Hello light of my life (seriously you improve it daily with recs)

Im after basically any fic with a vampire Sirius (I actually saw some vampire Sirius and cowboy Remus art so if that exists I’d like to know). I also have a vague memory of a fic with vamp Sirius as Remus’ roommate?

Oh you're making me blush! 😳 But thank you so much for the love. It really means a lot. ❤️ And yes! The Librarian has a older list of Vampire fics as well as a bunch of new ones (including the one you mentioned). Hope you have a bloody good time reading them.

Vampire Sirius 1

Vampire RS 2

My Roommate is a Vampire by @moonyverse “Remus! Why didn’t you tell me?” Lily asks. He continues wiping, focussing on a particularly stubborn stain. “Tell you what?” “About your secret boyfriend.” Remus spins around. “My what?” “Don’t act so surprised. Your neck is covered in hickeys and you thought I wouldn’t notice?” "Er, yeah… sorry." Remus wracks his brain to think of an excuse. Anything but the truth. He sputters out a lie, "It was a one-time thing, is all." It was better than telling her his roommate is a vampire whom he lets take his blood on a biweekly basis.

I Don't Bite by @mooncat457writing Halloween was Sirius Black’s favorite holiday. He loved every part, from planning the perfect costume to throwing the kick-ass party that everyone would talk about for weeks to come. Okay, and sure, maybe the irresistible curly-haired, green-eyed cutie dressed as a werewolf that just walked through his front door didn’t hurt either.

A Taste of Your Love by starsnsoul the one where Sirius is a vampire and Remus a cowboy and they fall in love: “It’s dangerous out here at night,” Remus wet his lips, suddenly aware of how dry they were, “and we’re quite far from the nearest town.” The man in front of him continued to gaze up at him, eyes twinkling with a dangerous look, seeming to dare him to ask risky questions, to probe and let curiosity kill the cat. “What’s your name?” he asked, feigning ignorance to Remus’ concern. “Remus.” He answered without a second thought to who he was telling this to, something about the other man made him want to lay himself out bare, secret’s spilling out into the night air, all the good and the ugly. Something about the other man was dangerous but Remus felt the blood in his veins ignite at the thought. “Remus,” the man with eyes like the moon whispered, “I’m Sirius.”

A House by the Sea by @lurikko The wizarding world is on the brink of a war, Sirius is the heir of the House Black, and Remus is a vampire.

I'm starving, darling. by @marigoldwrites-blog

Remus is accosted by a vampire on his way home. Strange in itself. But when the vampire realises he has anaemia, he starts bringing him food. And medication. And nice little treats to make him feel better. And - well. Remus never claimed to be a man of strong convictions.

all the hot singles in your area are dead by atropos_aeneas The first vampire who comes to campus is annoying. The second one is an unwelcome, if begrudgingly pleasant, surprise. The third, fourth, and fifth vampires, on the other hand…No matter. Remus has been alive far, far too long to have his resolve broken on behalf of someone like Sirius Black.

To see more recs, join the WolfstarLibrarian on TikTok

#wolfstar #remus x sirius #sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar fic recs #marauders #mwpp #hp fanfic

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thesamoanqueen · 7 months ago

Text

Blackwater XIX

Raiting: 18+

Warnings: well I said a couple of months ago that something was toxic… there’s a lil bit of non-con this time, so if someone of you is not ready, im sorry, is that chap.

A/N: this chapter wasn't very easy to write, but the next ones won't be either, let's wish each other good luck.

She had hoped to go somewhere else, but with problems piling up day after day doing so wasn't even an option. It was safer to stay south, where their reservation still acted as a natural stop to any external influence coming from across the border, plus Roman was in the area, though again not there with her, having yet another meeting with yet another person for yet another deal.

She hadn't been very happy about it at first, but had to admit at least to herself that maybe it was for the best. In town she had finally found something she could bring to Lisa to thank her and plus they were relatively close home, which meant they would be there before night and she could go to bed to recover a bit.

The stress caused by the situation did not help either her mood or body already affected by hormonal swings of a heat that Y/N prayed to postpone as long as possible. She wasn't sleeping well due to too many thoughts, she was losing her appetite, as well as the desire to go running and that afternoon she had another one of her waves of shivers which was trying to fight with some hot chocolate in an attempt to also replenish a sugars. She had bought Solo a coffee too, but he kept holding it in his hand without drinking, too busy glaring at anyone who dared come closer than necessary, that was not even so close.

- You didn't grow up here, did you? – she asked, interrupting silence between them once again, because they spent a lot of time together, but even if he seemed willing to talk with her, their conversations were never long.

He looked at her a bit confused, putting aside his perpetual serious face for a moment, coffee still in his hand.

- Jimmy said you came here after, like me – she explained, letting out an encouraging smile and he shook his head no.

- I grew up in the area, with my family.

Y/N let out a surprised oh, going back to twirling the straw in silence as they walked towards the suv.

From the stories she had thought he had come from out of state to help Roman, but she probably misunderstood. She hadn't spent much time with Solo's family, she had only seen them once actually and he didn't open up more than necessary, most of the time talking about what there was to do during the day, well she talked, he was more comfortable listening.

- Not with them. They were always together somewhere. – he added unexpectedly, perhaps not to make her uncomfortable with another silence or perhaps not to make her feel so out of place and Y/N smiled gratefully.

Y/N saw him nod slightly, as if satisfying her had satisfied him too.

She had never really thought about it, but there was an age gap between him and those three. Now he was a big boy with muscles and a menacing look, in those years he had probably just been a kid that them didn't want around. She couldn't imagine what it was like, Y/N hadn't had any brother or sister, she had grown up alone, but the half year spent with all of them before the chaos was enough for her to understand. Maybe he couldn't have tolerated them as a kid, always together already as pack leaving him at home and doing their own business, but now he was a man, it was different.

His family is broken.

- I'm sorry, Solo...

Standing next to the black suv, he looked at her, again confused by her reaction.

- We have to do what needs to be done.

- They're your brothers no matter what.

- I swore to the Tribal Chief. They did it too. – he said serious, his tone almost angry.

In packs like theirs, still tied to old laws and traditions, it was normal to have a relationship of deep respect with those at the top. Those were legacies that were now intertwined with a changed society but still subject to natural balances, such as the amendment on property rights between mates and social hierarchies for those who belonged to or were born from groups not commonly seen well. Y/N, with her omega smell, knew a lot about it and had had to deal with it there too in the first few months, but the prospect of an acknowledgment, oath, was new and something she hadn't heard.

She saw Solo open the door to let her in, his face less angry, but still solemn.

- You don't have to – he reassured her, mistaking her silence for concern, dark round eyes stopping too long lower, at the base between her neck and shoulder, where Y/N had tightened her jacket trying to send away the cold shivers – you already have his… smell.

Smell wasn't the word he wanted to say, but what Solo was referring to, she didn't have yet.

Our mark. His mark.

That too was an old legacy, dangerous in her case, but Y/N didn't have time to think too much about it by looking for her phone which in the meantime had notified of a message.

***

Paul was a smart man. Roman had chosen him as a wise man for that very reason. There was no one in the entire country more capable than him, no one who had his level of experience. He was a lawyer, an advisor, a connoisseur, he had political support, important acquaintances within the packs and outside, plus his family had practically adopted him when he was a boy, so he was not a stranger. The wise man was many things, but honest only when necessary and Roman had never had a problem with that kind of approach in their time together. He tolerated all sorts of expedient for his purpose, he had learned the hard way how much it cost to have feelings, but everything changed if those tricks helped something of which he was not made aware.

Because Roman knew from years and life lessons. Loyalty and trust were something he no longer expected, from anyone and certainly not from someone who had stayed afloat when everyone else drowned. Everyone could be a friend, everyone could be an enemy, his wolf now did no exception and all the whispers, phone calls and messages that kept Paul busy even when they were together were nothing but further proof of a picture that he knew. The wiseman acted driven by the feeling of ground crumbling beneath their feet, frightened by changes that his cousin and those dogs on the border threatened, by the possibility of a future that Roman would not allow as long as he was able to breathe. He loved the wise man, he could forgive him being a coward, pretending not to see, at least until he took a step too far.

- So? – he asked annoyed, almost making the phone fly out of his hand.

- Two weeks. Tomorrow both of you will exchange the sogi – he reported in a heavy voice, his shoulders low, his face frowning as if someone had just stepped on him after the news.

He didn't like the prospect of that fight, first of all because he was risking his head. Roman knew even without having to ask that he would play his cards to make things better and save everything, but for him the two weeks he had dealt were too much time and those plans useless. Fourteen days were the ritual time to provide what was necessary for families, so that both parties were ready for any outcome, but for him were just a useless wait. He wouldn't be the one to lose, he had no alternatives to plan unlike Jey, he just needed to have free way and get his hands on his cousin.

- About the stipulations, I was thinking- he advanced, trying to recover as much as possible.

- There are none.

- My Tribal Chief, if I may, considering what we are facing now, it would be better to leave a few more resources and perhaps-

- There will be no stipulations.

He had complied with stipulations, conditions for weeks, suffered weakness for months, the time for mercy was over. He had left many doors open for his cousins, he had tried everything and Jey however had gone where he shouldn't, disrespecting him to the point of contesting him with the Elders, they had gone too far and now there was only one way to put an end to it. The only acceptable stipulation was unconditional surrender, total humiliation, there was nothing else to talk about. Guts were needed to keep their family in line, his dad had reminded him of this and Roman was not willing to receive other reminders in the future, he was no longer a boy. Whatever happened next, he would handle it the way he handled everything, with a firm grip and without regard, he didn't need those two to do it. He was the alpha, he had control and winning cards to play against everyone.

- How much longer do we have to stay here? – he asked, tired of waiting, staring with annoyance at the watch on his wrist.

They had been in that office longer than he was willing to tolerate and he couldn't stand listening to the wise man calls or him typing messages anymore, he didn't have all day to waste signing a deal with the governor. He had to train, dedicate the next fourteen days focusing on the goal, not sitting bored in a chair waiting for a paper that should have already been ready the second he set foot in that building.

- I'm going to immediately check where Pearce has ended up, my… – the wise man snapped to attention, but he barely managed to turn to go towards the door – tribal… chief.

Roman smelled him before even moving his gaze to the man accompanying Pearce. He had no idea who he was, he didn't remember his face if they had ever met before, but he had a smell that he didn't like. He didn't like the smell of him, he didn't like the way was staring at him, he didn't like the attitude and he sure as hell didn't like that he came around when he had business to do.

We don't like him.

- Reigns.

Pearce greeted, already adjusting glasses on his nose, his expression stressed as always. Roman didn't even look at him, focused on observing the new arrival who was already taking place at the table without having been invited. Pearce had that same attitude in the past, a couple of years ago, until Roman had taken it away from him in his own way and since then had never reappeared. He almost wanted to do the same with that new guy.

- What’s this idea Mr. Pearce?! It was supposed to be a private meeting for private business! Very important business! It's unacceptable! – complained the wise man, standing up against that lack of respect.

- Our new neighbors have informed the governor of activities across the border. It seemed right to him to invite Mr. Aldis as a delegate to clarify before signing anything. He’s in charge of that area now.

That's what he was. Another puppet, another well-dressed small dude convinced to have power or a chance against him, thought he was worth something, that he could stand face to face with Roman, thanks to the talks of those idiots to whom his cousins had left the field free. They were becoming arrogant, stupidly brave, throwing in his face that he had lost his hold in the north and that now there were others there. They hadn't gone too far yet, keeping everything legal, moving with what they could to make their voices heard, their new influence known, but Roman was fine with those games as long as they didn't go beyond the limit. And the limit was his patience running out.

- Since you no longer have jurisdiction there and the upcoming Bloodline activities threaten the entire area, restrictions must be established for the future. Real restrictions Mr. Reigns that I will take care of enforcing and making clear to you. Without it, nothing new will be authorized. – the new dude, Aldis, announced, openly defying his influence, head held high and the wise man behind him jumped.

They wanted to authorize him.

- How dare you- he screamed, but Roman simply raised a finger to silence him, the other hand gripping the chair.

That tanned, smug face of him would have looked perfect smashed onto his table or on the floor, better under his foot.

They wanted to play the big game, gamble when he already had more important business to take care of. It was almost hilarious, almost because that little game would be short-lived. He would let them do it, for a while, until Jey got what he deserved since everything that was happening was his fault. That was what happened if they left their side exposed, if they allowed a pack of strays to smell weakness, it was the price to pay for a crack and the reason Roman would have no more second thoughts.

Elders were right, he had to focus, do what he had to do and what he had been chosen for. He couldn't afford any more weaknesses or they would become ready and able to bite his throat.

- Go ahead – he conceded, collecting himself.

He would get rid of them one by one, blood of his blood or not. Without mercy.

***

She had sought comfort between now cold sheets smelling of him, curling up her legs for extra warmth, keeping her eyes tighter to ward off thoughts ready to fill her mind, but hadn't made it and her she-wolf had found Roman through the link. She had sensed him immediately, probably because he wasn't shielding anything believing that she was still asleep and Y/N had snuck out to join him in the dim light of his home office.

Mate is not here with us.

He was sitting on the couch with a solitary lamp, his face serious, fingers running through the seeds of his necklace. He was physically there, but his head was somewhere else as happened too often now. In the house he always kept the ulafala in the case, but Y/N didn't need to ask to know why he was there staring at it when he was supposed to be resting by her side, in their bed. Paul had told her as soon as he received the news, keeping to their agreement or perhaps already seeking help and Y/N had finally given a deadline to the anxiety that was weighing on her.

Fourteen days of peace before chaos, before completely crumbling what was left of the family, but in a few hours it would truly become inevitable. Or it was probably already late judging by Roman's face.

- Will you have to wear it? – she asked in a whisper, entering the room almost on tiptoe.

He hadn't told her anything about how the meeting would take place nor had he added anything about the fight, but she couldn't blame him. She had promised to stand by him, to defend him, yet she hadn't reacted well to his drastic change of plans and he didn't seem to really understand why she hadn't accepted it. What had happened was serious, but what could happened next would be even worse. Standing, she watched him keep his gaze fixed on the symbol of sacrifices, of his role and pains without turning to look at her and she too observed it, perhaps expecting a revelation.

Red for power, seeds for the rebirth of the dynasty.

She knew the value and pride behind that object, Roman had told Y/N all the stories about the ulafala, but no matter how hard she tried in her eyes it was only a necklace left weighing him down. It should have given him strength, conveyed his strength, represented the family future and instead he found himself fighting to keep it around his neck, to keep what he had gained after an argument born from unpleasant circumstances and degenerated due to old grudges.

- I earned it, represents me – she heard him reply, because in his mind it was the only thought.

She felt it, she knew it. He felt his efforts, sacrifices threatened and they were, but Y/N still felt like it wasn't Jey or Jimmy who was the real danger. At least not initially, now everything was a danger, even the elders who were supposed to accompany and advise him. Them all had fallen into a trap were building with their own hands and she couldn't resign herself to the sight of that disaster.

He's not just that for us.

- You don't need it – she reminded him, stopping looking at the ulafala to focus on him.

She saw him inspire with frustration, felt annoyance pass through him at the mere idea of continuing that conversation, his eyes far from hers.

- Go back to bed Y/N.

- Come with me then, is not mornin yet – she insisted, refusing to give up.

They had different opinions, different approaches, it had always been like that and perhaps it would never change, but they were on the same side. She didn't want to go back to their room if he wasn't there, didn't want to sleep if he wasn't there, she had been alone for too long to throw away moments, to wait two weeks to pass and then hope to go back to what they had before. She trusted Roman, she had never trusted anyone like him, but it wasn't going to end up with Jey and Y/N was honestly afraid of the aftermath he talked about. The threats were different, without blood ties and were just waiting the right moment to attack him, they wanted to get him out of the way and take everything, not just his role. No one can get rid of a weed without pulling out its roots. It had already happened with her family and now can happen again because he was focused just on what was in front of him. But she couldn't wait for the inevitable, it wasn't in her nature to do what she had to do or what he wanted, she existed to do what he couldn't.

She saw him stay silent, sign he had no intention of moving. So she stood in front of him, slipping the ulafala from his fingers without asking. That move finally forced him to raise his head, trying to understand what was happening, while she carefully placed it back in the case where he kept it and then went back to the couch. She listened him breathe heavily, scratch his dark beard with a grimace, and she sat down on his lap to take up the entire view.

- Ain't doing this talk once more – he stopped her soon, shaking his head.

- Not even if im the one asking? – she tried, seeing him immediately clench his jaw.

- Im doing it for you, for us, all! I told you and you said we were on the same side, now what?!

- I'm not taking anything back. I'm just worried it’s already too much – she confessed, not really knowing how else to explain the feeling in her.

Maybe she was giving in to the hormones, anxiety, or maybe was the fact she hadn't cared about others in years like she did now for him, but it was all happening so fast and whether Roman was ready to admit it or not, he was losing control and not facing things with a right mindset. Those outbursts of anger, the way he turned against everyone, judgments, drastic solutions, he was getting carried away by the desire for revenge and his justice. He kept saying he was doing it for them, for their future and instead seemed like a pretext to rush towards other problems. They didn't need acknowlegment, a border to build anything, they were fine, everything worked when it was just them, together. They had never been happier than in the time spent getting to know each other, digging their bond out of the dust and strengthening it. Life certainly couldn't be made up only of moments like those, dates and runs in the woods, but things could certainly have been different.

- Whatever it takes, doesn't matter, at all – he announced, almost exasperated by having to explain, by having to hear, his gaze so confident and Y/N stared at him for a moment without being able to say anything else.

Whatever it takes, he said.

The prospect of those sacrifices and ease which he said he wanted to face them would torment was heavy, but as she had sadly learned to do growing up, she hid all the worry in the back of her mind.

He didn't listen or maybe he didn't want to.

So Y/N simply moved closer, challenging his growing temper, to seek some warmth and his lips in an uncertain kiss. Saw him look at her almost suspiciously for her reaction, studying before reciprocate the kiss and sliding his hands down her thighs. Close, felt their breaths slowly mix in the silence of the dark house and that warmth she had found too late, growing from the most vulnerable part to her chest begging for comfort.

- You matter to me – she reminded him in a heated murmur, forehead resting on him, swollen lips touching, eyes burning for something that went beyond words.

She didn't really care about anything else. They could have been anywhere, surrounded by anyone or in utter desolation and Y/N would still have searched for those eyes. They were her firm point, he was her person. The thought of it terrified her, but she was done fighting and pretending. Roman was everything for her, she had nothing else anymore and she wanted, hoped... he would understand that for that exact reason they couldn't give in. They had to stay together, as a pack, mates.

She saw his gaze lingering on her lips, rising then to meet her eyes, two brown pools now dark in the dim light of the room. Felt his fingers gripping her hips, digging into soft flesh with possession, domineering and lust, marking her skin to claim and force her where she already was.

- Then you gonna be there with me, as you should – he demanded, resolute and despite fighting with everything her head suggested, Y/N nodded to please him again, letting Roman finally crash his mouth against her, satisfied.

They would find a way, they would find a solution even if it seemed difficult, they could do it together, but in that moment Y/N just needed to feel him close, just for her, far from all the noise and problems that awaited them out. They could give themselves that moment of rest, cherish it and Y/N rocked on him, moaning into his hot mouth as their bodies inexorably warmed up. His tongue was insatiable, ready to devour and intoxicate her with his good taste, thrown into a fight that she didn't even dare win. She preferred to let him have control in those moments, while her fingers made their way through dark soft locks, scratching the back of his strong neck to once again elicit that raw growl that vibrated through his broad chest into her bones. Felt his hands slide deeper, grasping her ass, encouraging Y/N to move her hips, pushing on his boner which was quickly answering to juices already wetting his pants.

She had stopped wearing panties when they went to bed a while ago and now was even grateful. She would bear nothing but the feeling of his hard body against her, pressure building like a blessed torture as he guided her growling for her to ride him shamelessly. Y/N had been trying to slow down and control herself for months now, so as not to give in to the heat of their bond, stay with feet on the ground and mind clear now that everything was falling apart, but it was an inexorable descent faster every time Roman touched her. She clung to him, feeling one of his hands travel up under her shirt to roughly grab one of her breasts, his calloused palm rubbing her sensitive nipple making her squirm. Her body had always been hyper-reactive to his attentions, but now she had fallen into a spiral with no exit. Y/N yearned him like a castaway for salvation and in moments like that the need mixed with something more, something that Y/N had never felt for anyone else and her she-wolf fought to make her whisper.

Tell him. We need him. Our mate. Tell him.

- My pussy wet as fuck hm? You need me, don't you? – he said voice like velvet, breaking their kiss and motioning for her to raise herself just enough to sink easily into her cunt – Ima fill you up good, babygirl… don't worry. Aint going nowhere and you'll be stuck with me.

The heat caused by his intrusion had already forced Y/N to open her mouth without being able to speak back, but the sudden thrust of his hips quickly accelerating to pound her almost made her cry. Hands tightened on his shoulders, eyes narrowing with each thrust and then opening as the wave of heat rose from her belly, sending her entire body into flames. Bouncing on his lap, she felt Roman moving his hand from her breast to give her a sharp slap on her ass, he did it one more time drawing a moan and then move up to her throat, to squeeze it just enough to bring tears to her eyes. Quickening the pace, in the frenzy of their moment, Y/N began to confuse the her own pounding heart with the slick sound of bodies slamming together. Her mind becomes more clouded by the second, ears filled with Roman's growls and threatening promises like dark spells ready to tear her soul and climax away. Confused between pleasure and desperation, she held him to her as he held her by the throat, twitches of her wet center uncontrolled amidst the panting of both of them that grew angrier. Room around flashed, throbbing like folds around his cock, impregnated with smell of their bodies, air charged and heavy, saturated with sweat and lust, with a mix of their smells.

They were racing with no intention of slowing down, as if the only goal was to consume, melt and crumble thanks to the other one. Y/N end came sudden and violent between a sloppy kiss and a particularly insistent push on that soft point on which Roman loved to rage without any mercy, fast, powerful, in a strangled moan that made her bare feet tingle, rising in an electric discharge up her legs to a sweaty body, chest begging and hot face. She closed her eyes, grabbing Roman's arm for her life, throwing her head back and then immediately hiding her face on his shoulder because he wasn't slowing down, he wasn't even giving her a moment to breath and she had already went over her limit. Heat kept growing and shake her, causing Y/N to lose all contact with her surroundings, ears ringing as if she had been underwater, body still crying out for more while Roman pounded furiously. Stunned, she stood abandoned in his arms, letting him have his way as he wanted, until something made her eyes widen, pushing her to gasp.

- R-Ro- she tried, because his hand had somehow left her throat, to grab Y/N by the back of her neck and tilt her head to the side.

He was holding her by her curls, beard scratching her hot neck, tongue ready to lick away sweat from her sweet pulsing weak spot to prepare it.

- Easy, stay still – his breath against her skin, so close, pushed Y/N to stiffen as much as his words – I'll be gentle, ssh…

Roman had never pushed, he had never held her like he was doing at that moment and feeling his teeth on her flesh sharper than usual, Y/N wriggled away.

- Don't - she tried again, feeling him tighten his grip, slowing down his thrusts, another hand moving to her wrist.

Why he was acting like that?

- Don't panic, its me – he reassured her, words heavy, attitude raising for her reaction and she planted her feet, her only free hand tapping on his bare chest.

It was him, Roman? Was it really him that one? Suddenly Y/N wasn't so sure and ignoring her wolf pleas, confused between the sense of discomfort and desire to give in, she pushed again to put some space between them.

- Y/N

- No, not like this! – she wailed and when finally managed to slide away from his legs, Y/N saw him jump up with a growl.

The crash of the coffee table froze her on the couch, eyes wide as she watched him pant in anger with clenched fists, body stiff. Still dirty for their moment, but with her mind completely clear now, she watched him stand there trying to regain control in a heavy silence she hadn't felt between them in a while. Roman rubbed his face, rolling his large shoulders, rocking his head and even though she was shaken, something in Y/N's chest tightened following the imperceptible direction of his gaze across the room, where she had put the ulafala away.

Did he want to mark her to prove a point? To have full control in order to not go through what had happened with his family? It was that?

Mate…

She moved her eyes to his hand, the one would have grabbed to calm him, to bring him back to there with her, the one she always found on herself for any reason even the stupidest, the one Y/N had learned to want, but a second too long passed and her hesitation was enough for Roman to quickly settle down, deciding to walk out of the room without a word to leave her again.

***

Uncle Afa was a man bent by age and illness now. When him and his dad stopped traveling around the country, he opened a gym in a recreation center on the eastern outskirts of the city where family had settled. He only trained their people at that time, city folks didn't want to set foot among savages, but his uncle ignored comments like his dad, dedicating himself heart and soul to the pack. Roman remembered going into that place the last time when he was sixteen, probably with the twins, to put on muscles that had grown bigger on their own later and fill his stomach always asking for more. The gym was different now from then, it was larger, it had incorporated buildings next door and it wasn't dusty at all. There was a sign, clean walls full of photos and articles, in the central one there was also him, right at the top.

They had organized the meeting there to have a neutral place, a place that represented everyone, a symbol of the pack values as the Elders demanded. Yet sitting at the head of the table in the gym hall, with the attention of many of his blood just beyond the threshold, Roman kept undaunted watching that perfectly framed photo at the top of the wall. He was there to talk, ready to prove his worth even if it was thanks to him that that picture had a wall to still be on, if that gym existed after his uncle's family had spent almost everything to pay the national healthcare system, if the next generations would have a place to go or eat like he did. He acknowledged his family efforts, but all of them would have been still in that dusty past of mediocrity if Roman had not taken everything into his own hands knowing he was more than what the world saw.

- Don't try, don’t think about it, I wouldn't do it if I was in your place - he heard Jimmy warn, blocking the wise man from trying to come forward to break the silence of their meeting that had already started a few minutes ago without a word.

Roman heard him clear his throat anyway, but payed no attention until Jey, the only one sitting besides him and Y/N, decided to cut it short.

- I don't have any piece of paper with me – he announced, rubbing his hands on his legs.

Roman eyed him silently, slowly tilting his head and Jey shifted in his seat, face so serious as he settled himself better to speak.

He could broaden his shoulders and give himself as much tone as he wanted, but he would never be on his level, he would never be like him and it was evident. That meeting was ridiculous, disrespectful even.

- It's just between us for me. Families have nothing to do with it – he explained, quickly nodding to whoever was outside the door – Same for Solo, he's my brother... and Y/N, she's family too. He disappears with you though and won't set foot in the packland again as long as I'm here. – he concluded, pointing to the wise man who didn't even manage to mutter his disappointment before Roman burst out laughing.

He’s crazy and dumb.

His hoarse laugh echoed throughout the entire empty hall and he didn't bother to hide it or hold back, simply running a hand over his beard to regain control only after a while. With the entire family's eyes on him, he knocked the table with his hand, eyeing his cousin once more.

Jey. The little soldier Jey. Roman had tried to keep him close, to teach him how things worked, because he loved him and still he didn’t get it. Not a single thing. Anything at all.

He persisted with his speeches even a few days before the moment which Roman would have removed him from the family, putting everything on the table to play the good pup. He wanted the title, he wanted to chase him away, but he was willing to vouch for his family anyway, for Solo who had kicked him and even Y/N… as if there was only one scenario out of all the ones imaginable in which Roman would have left her if not as a deadman or it would have allowed him to realize the ideas he had in his dumb head. He still thought the problem was him or the advice the wise man had given him to stay on top, he thought he could keep his hands clean, not involve anyone and he didn't understand that the situation they were in already, was the exact reason for which he would never have survived in Roman’s place.

- You're wasting my time – he said, giving him an annoyed smile.

Jey didn't reply, cashing in without even a nod. He was good at cashing in, Roman acknowledged it, it was his talent, perhaps his only one, but it still wouldn't have been enough against him. He might be determined and willing to fight him one more time, but it would be no use. Roman had no limits and had learned over the years and blows what was needed to kept the role he had.

- Whoever will standing at the end decides, tha’s the deal, the stipulation. There's nothing else to say – he established, tone suddenly deadly heavy.

There was nothing he wasn't willing to do or lose to keep what was his.

He saw Jey nod, imitate him and stand up and in the silence of the room leave the table to join him. Face to face to each other, he stared at his reflection in his cousin's dark eyes, the ulafala still around his neck as it was in the photo of him on the wall and as it always would be. He squeezed Jey forearm and allowed that even if the bond between them no longer existed, their wolves shared a final breath.

Blood of my blood. Brother. Traitor.

When the air left his lungs again to fill them with the stale smell of the center, Roman let go without hesitation, Jey imitating him in a perfect mirror. However, was he who turned his back on his cousin this time to go away first, ignoring the wise man's sad look and those of the rest of the family outside waiting. Y/N who had been on the sidelines the entire time, unexpectedly joined him, her back straight and face betraying nothing as she took her place next to him. Roman didn't comment, there was nothing to say.

Two weeks and he would have control again. Only two weeks before moving on.

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curvykittyyssmutfics · 1 year ago

Note

Oh what about a cheating smut fic where tony is married to pepper and he starts to have a sexual affair towards his daughter morgan's hot babysitter, reader

Babygirl

Friday, 4pm

I check the time on my dainty Cartier watch, walkin in circles around my squad as I zero in on every move, every flip, and every damn high kick. They're phenomal as ever, still I need to make sure we're on point for the next game. Squatting low, I assess how one of my girls back up and shows that flexibility by bending backwards with palms outstretched to the ground. She ends the number with a smooth sensual backflip into the splits, ofcourse poppin each ass cheek individually. I cheer and ofcourse give my girl, along with the crew, a standin ovation.

"Excellent muthafukin job per usual, owwwww!" I mimick my bitch Cardi and I clap for my amazing team.

My cell rings from the bleachers a few feet away. Im tired, plus that might be Mr. Stark and I know better than to ignore; it's definitely time to call it a day.

"Listen up my beautiful people, we done for the day. But, side note, please don't forget to team up with your cheer buddy as many times as needed before the game to make sure each of you got the routine down pact. If you have any questions, hit my line. Aight y'all."

A few hugs goodbye and smacks to my rear, I'm able to grab my phone and check my missed calls. Fuck.. The butterflies in my tummy are instantaneous as I read 'Tony Stark' across my screen. No matter how many times he calls it never fails to make me wanna squeal and do a few back flips of my own.

I hit the send button and redial him as I chew on my bottom lip nervously. It only does half a ring before his sexy voice speaks through the phone.

"Hey, there's my other favorite girl. Where are you? You busy?"

It's just like Tony to be all in my business, even though he was my employer, not father. There wasn't a thing he didn't know about me after being Morgan's babysitter for over 3 years now.

"Why no, Daddy, I'm not busy." I tease him with a giggle. "I'm at uni right now. Just finished practice. Why, wassup?"

The silence lastin just a second too long before he clears his throat and answers.

"You uh.. Just finished cheer practice?" He repeats slowly.

"Yeah, literally just a second ago. Gonna change and head home. Why, you need me?" I ask concerned.

"I do honey, need you to come watch Morgan for the weekend. Peppers outta town for business and I'll be here but not here. You available for me pretty girl?"

The way he speaks to makes my heart wanna dive out my damn chest, especially when his wife's not around. His already pampering nature amplifies he and doesn't seem to able to resist calling me those sweet lil nicknames that make me weak in the knees.

"Yes Mr. Stark. Always, anything for you." I breathe back, thighs clenching at the way the tone of his voice is starting to get me aroused.

"Perfect. And call me Tony, you know better honey." He gently scolds. "Anyway, I'm sending a car to come get you immediately."

I hear him snap his fingers over the phone and assume that's his way of sending me a ride.

"But I'll need to go home and grab a some things to stay for a few days." I remind him.

"No. I want you here as soon as possible. I already have someone on their way to you." His response leaves no room for argument, so I don't even bother.

"Ok then, catch you inna minute. And tell Morgan I can wait to see her."

"You got it babygirl. See you soon."

I hang up, grabbing my Nike backpack and head to the pick up area in front of the school. Fuck, another weekend with Tony Stark. Let's see how long it takes before I drench my panties when I get in his presence this time.

45 mins later

I arrive to Tony's mansion relieved to finally get to see my 2 favorite people in the world. They're waiting for me at the front door with big smiles, Tony holding Morgan on his back. She lightly kicks outwards to get free from her father. He happily sets her down and she runs up to me excitedly wearing the cutest ladybug bathing suit. Wrapping her tiny arms around my waist, she hugs me affectionately. I bend and hug her back just as tight and tell her how happy I am to see her.

"Daddy says your staying all weekend, is that true?" She inquires, nose scrunched making her the spitting image of her father.

"Yes, I am. Us girls are gonna have a blast. I was thinking tomorrow I could paint your nails and then maybe you could paint mine? I'd love your help picking out a cute color, what do ya think?"

"Let's just go get a manicure." She rebuttals smartly, taking my hand and dragging me to the front door. I barely have a second to grab my backpack!

"Or there's that." I laugh and wave goodbye to Tony's driver as Morgan pulls me past her father to the pool.

"Guess Daddy will catch you guys later." Tony chuckles, watching us amused.

"Guess so Daddy." I don't get a chance to catch the way his nostrils flare a bit or how he licks his lips at my statement as he watches his daughter steer me away.

Her and I have a blast in the pool for a couple hours, Morgan even more so as I sit on the edge with just my feet in. She shows me how well she's gotten a swimming since the last time we saw each other. It's beyond obvious her practice is paying off; my best lil buds gonna be ready for competitions in no time.

After, Tony brings us hot cheesy pizza for dinner as she grabs his laptop and shows me how to do the newest tik tok dance challenges that she and her friends like the most. We lay by the pool eat and laugh together as all the goofy and cool new trends come up. It just surprises me that a young girl can navigate the platform so efficiently. The smartie pants even makes me an account so I can keep up with what she's up to.

"Alright, little girl. Its 7:30, time to go to sleep. We'll do a bath in the morning. Go brush your teeth and get into your pjs. Daddy and I'll be by to say goodnight when your done."

The good girl that Morgan is, she kisses my cheek and skips off into the house. I quickly clean up our mess and head off to search for Tony.

When I find him it's 7:45 and he's laid out on the couch in one of his dens, arm thrown tiredly over his face. I think he's asleep from his even breaths, the calm rise and fall of his athletic bare chest. Fuck he makes my mouth water the way he lays with his legs spread wide, wearing only a pair of soft cotton light grey sweats low on his hips. His toned tummy and the thin line of his happy trail entice me to come closer for a better look and I'm right behind him in an instant. Goddam the bulge of his cock looks girthy as fuck.

I reach out and lightly massage at his shoulders, bending for just a moment to whisper at his ear.

"Its time for Daddy to go say goodnight."

Tony removes his arm and gazes up at me tiredly. The short low groan helps activate the already swirling storm in my gut. There's no way my panties aren't wet.

"Ok, honey. Let's go." Sitting up a few inches before pausing as Jarvis begins to speak.

"Actually Mr. Stark, Morgan has been asleep for 3 minutes 26 seconds. I predict she will not be awake for another 10 and a half hours sir."

"Thanks." Daddy relaxes into my touch again before speaking again.

"Hey Jarvis?"

"Yes, Mr. Stark?"

"Take a walk."

"Yes sir."

There's a quiet beep signaling the AI's exit as I continue to massage Tony's strong shoulders.

"Come here, beautiful. Come sit on Daddy's lap, let's talk." He requests gently.

I know we've been crossing some kinda boundary the way we speak to one another, but if I do as he asks this'll be a clear violation in his marriage. I don't wanna cause harm to Tony in any way, in fact I ache to make him happy however I can. That desire in itself is probably what has me toeing of my shoes and plopping my round ass cheeks right on his dick before I have another thought.

He's half hard and I'm baffled how I didn't notice because he's already so thick. The first press of my pussy against it has me biting my lip and pushin again and again to mimic the pressure on my clit. My breath puffs out as I hold back a moan at the feeling. Christ, I'm throbbing in need and I've sittin in his lap for a total of 5 seconds.

"Did my 2 favorite girls have fun?" Tony asks seemingly unaffected..

Except when i squint it seems his breath accelerates just a bit through his slightly open mouth, warm strong chest rising and falling just a fraction faster. His palms slide underneath my skirt to the top of my thighs, tenderly rubbing in a circular motion as I lightly hump at his cock.

"So much fun, Daddy. I'm kinda tired though, long day. Obviously not long as yours. You look exhausted. You ok?"

He only tilts his head and offers a small shrug.

"I kinda feel better now that I get to see my little cheer captain in her sexy uniform." Tony leers up at me with a smirk before winkin, making me bust out in laughter.

"So how's classes sweetheart? You doin okay?"

"I am, first semester was a bit difficult but I got the ropes now. I'm a fuckin superstar." I brag with a smile.

"That's great honey, glad to hear it." He replies warmly, rotating his hips in circles against me.

"Still don't ever forget that I gotta blank check with your name on it. Matter fact, you're not leavin here this weekend without it. Got it?" He asks sternly, lookin directly into my soul.

"Yes Daddy." I answer without a second thought.

"Good girl." He praises, moaning low in his throat at my swift movements.

"Well.." I lean forward till our lips are almost touching and look deep into his pretty eyes. "What can I do to make Daddy feel better?"

Tony breaks first. He roughly presses his lips to mine, sucking and kissing as he holds me in place with one hand on the back of head. The other hand grips my thigh firmly as he dominates our kiss passionately. His fine ass licks into my mouth while groaning, sucking on the tip of my tongue as I moan loud and frantically crush our pelvis' together. He gives me one nip to my lips before speaking against them.

"Make Daddy cum, sweetheart."

"How?" I ask nervously, pulling back to look into his hazy eyes.

"Any way you want gorgeous."

My hips come to a halt as I think for a moment before sliding off his lap to my knees and greedily soakin in the growl he emits when he notices the wet spot I left on his crotch.

Pulling my medium sized perky tits through the designed slit at the bottom of my cheer top, showing him stiff pierced nipples. A small slim chain hangs between my breasts, connecting the 2 piercings. I shake my titties at him, smiling at his hypnotized glazed stare at my supple chest.

"Fuck my tits." I demand, slightly dipping my head forward to let a generous glob of spit splat between them.

There's no need to ask twice as Tony hastily snatches his dick from his sweats and slides it between my round brown orbs. He relaxes back into the deep navy blue sectional while I press my breasts together to surround his thick shaft and begin with slow strokes. Biting those delicious lips, his head dips further into the couch as he watches me through slits. Daddy looks so fucking good as he fights the pleasure enveloping his dick.

"Hoooooh, fu- AH! Jesus y/n, feels so good. Thank you, pretty girl. Ohfuck! Just what I needed. Mmmm.. Yeah, yeah just like thaaat.."

His arms hang limp at his sides as he lets me unravel him. Poor baby, his eyes don't know where to look, darting from my dark nipples to his big fat dick stabbing up through the swell of my breasts. I take a mental picture of the way he loses his mind in my body, hips coming up erratically to meet my downward thrusts.

"You like slipping your fat cock between my titties, Daddy?" I ask innocently, squeezing his dick a bit more firmly.

"Ah, ah, yes babygirl! N-never felt this gooood!" He sputters back to me.

"Glad you're enjoying yourself. Though the other option was to lay on my back, spread open my legs and wet little pussy to you. Let you be the judge of which hole of mine you wanted.. first.."

I speed up my slippery tits, fucking his twitching cock from base to tip at a quick steady pace. The spit turned out to be the perfect lubricate as he easily plunges his dick between my tits.

"Oh fuck little girl, so goddamn perfect for me- haaaashit! Ahhaaaa, fuck! Ohmyfuckinggod y/n want that so bad. N-need to fuck every inch of you honey.."

His hands ball into fists as he widens his stance, giving me ample room to work. Those gorgeous eyes roll back into his head as he gasps at the sensation building in his groin.

"Yes, yes, yes! Please! Letmefuckyouhoney! P-please, need to cum y/n. Aaaaaaahfuuuuuck! Haven't cum in months. Pleasepleaseplease, will do anything sweetheart!"

Now completely understanding Tony's absolute desperation, my cunt flutters as his pleas to feel my pussy double and rise in volume. I slam my tits onto his dick repeatedly, loud wet smacking intermixed with his sobs.

"How long Daddy? Exactly how long since you sprayed your thick milky cream outta this big fat ass cock?" I ask, leaning to give kitten licks to the wide flushed tip.

I moan animatedly at the taste of the salty precum dripping from his leaky dick. It's so fucking addicting that I hungrily slurp on the head of his dick. His abs ripple as his body trembles through the onslaught.

"Almost a-Haaa! FUCK! Almostayeeeear! Ohshitohshit, gonna c-cum babygirl!"

Fuck that's way too damn long, so I resolve to not make him wait a second longer to fill up a wet and willing pussy.

"Yeeees ah, ah, ahhhh- wait! What the fuck?Come back here little girl!"

I giggle as I duck away from his hands swiping to pull my back towards his equally enraged dick. I scoot back on the plush white carpet, pulling off my squort and parting my shapely cocoa thighs. He's so immediately entranced at me spreading my pussy lips with one hand as I crook my finger and invite him over with the other.

"Oh fuck me, thank you sweetheart. Love you so much babygirl, you don't even know. Your my perfect girl, wish you were my wife instead honey."

I don't know if Tony knows he's speaking as he clumsily takes his place between my legs but the admission warms my heart.. And my pussy. I kiss his neck and hold him tight as he thanks me profusely for letting him inside.

He aims his dick at my pulsing little hole, tapping my clit twice before slipping about an inch of his dick inside. I keen at the stretch, whining and pulling at him for more but apparently that's all Daddy needs. Slamming his eyes shut, he hunches over me going completely feral and unloads months and months worth of frustration into me.

"Yea-eeeees, little girl! Lemme breed my favorite girl. Haaaaa fuck! Feels like heaven, cantstophoney! Ah, ah, ah, so gooood y/n. Love you much! So so so much!"

I relish how fucking whiny he becomes as he releases heavy splats of cum against my walls. The pressure of his load makes me moan like a whore underneath him as he holds me to his carpet by my shoulders and gives us both what we need.

"That's it Daddy, fill me up. Make me take your cum. I want all of it, yeeeees! Don't waste a drop, gimme my cream pleeeeease. My wet little kitty wants to drink up a thick dose of your milk Daddy, gimme!"

The force of Tony's nut stuns him but his fluttering lid reopens as he gazes at my face. Even through his flismy focus he stares at the sloppy saliva spattered on my tits and tummy down to where his dick splits me open wide.

It's my turn to become distressed as I hump at the rock hard cock dripping the last few drops of his load into my greedy cunt. Neither of us hear the front door open in our opposite state of minds; or the footsteps clicking towards our location.

"What the fuck?!" Peppers deranged voice echoes throughout the dim den making us jumps, the cock piercin me unintentionally stabbing a few inches deeper.

I wail in fucking pure delight, nails scratching down Tony's back as he immediately seethes at her entrance. It's clear he's not happy she interrupted our private moment. Still, his dick remains stiff as fuck inside me.

Lookin up at his wife with disdain, brows still pinched from the feeling of my pussy clutching at him hungrily, he demands that she leave.

Maybe it's time for Daddy to get a divorce..

#tony stark x reader #tony stark x black!reader #black reader #daddy k!nk #smut #black fanfiction #all readers #affair #dirty talk #daddy’s babygirl #daddy's good girl #breeding k1nk

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g-xix · 1 year ago

Note

okay but a coming and supporting ginge at his Sunday league fic?? like super close friends who have this first kiss after a match where he makes a really good save??? Would be so cute if you’re still looking for ginge!fic ideas 🫶🏻

Sunday League | AngryGinge13

THINGS TO KNOW -AngryGinge plays as a Goalkeeper in football -He's hot -I've never watched Sunday league in my life, idfk what im writing abt here.

-October, Autumn weather was steadily rolling in when your best mate Morgan had his football game over the weekend -"You coming to watch?" He asked, cheeks tinted pink as he dropped into the driver's seat besides you, fastening his seatbelt before looking at you for your answer -"You know I don't know much or really care about football that much?" You shivered, the car's seats feeling almost frozen despite the fact it was just Autumn. -Ginge noticed your coldness and plopped his jacket in your lap and put the car heaters on, before pulling out -You always had a little bit of a crush on your mate Morgan, and as he looked back- putting his arm around the back of your seat to check he road before pulling out, you felt yourself blushing at the way his biceps peeked from beneath his jersey, his fingers just close enough to brush your shoulder and send electricity racing down your skin -You'd only known one another for a couple years, but had definitely become close friends. -So close that you often wondered whether your hopes of it developing into something more were ridiculous. -"Well, I don't care if you don't know much about football," He shrugged, "I like having you there with me." His words brought a certain warm to your heart from their sweetness, and you could only feel yourself melting inside as he leaned over with a cheeky grin. "...Plus you're my lucky little lady- always save more goals when you're watching"

-That last line was what sold you- and before you knew it, you were wrapped up in a woolly scarf, beanie and even your gloves- the Autumnal chill too harsh for you to go out unprepared -It wasn't a massive game- just a Sunday league one, and you could walk down to the pitch and find a place to watch in there -You got there and wasn't expecting many people to actually be there watching, but there was a little queue outside the pitch which surprised you, considering you thought it was just a little Sunday League game -Turns out Strathon (neighbouring, and most competed) town's team was going to be playing against Morgan's team. -Little breakfast bar in the pavilion area was packed with lads getting their early pints going and people just basking in the warmth -You joined in the pavilion, blowing on your fingers and warming yourself up... -Your nose was bright red and stinging, along with your ears. Felt like bloody Winter. -As you ordered yourself a hot chocolate, you felt a weight drop onto your shoulders. -You wheeled around and spotted a grinning Morgan behind you, his arm draped around your shoulder, hands kitted in the keeper gloves -"See you arrived alright, pet." He gave your head a little pat with one of the gloves, flicking the fluffy bobble of your beanie -"Yeah, wouldn't miss it for... much." You answered slowly as intrusive thoughts slowed your thinking. Morgan just laughed, already knowing your reason -He looked damn good in his kit- flicking his head so his fringe fell back, chest large and puffed confidently as he punched his gloves together, clearly excited for himself

-You let him get down to the pitch and warm up, watching from the pavilion and walking down into the stands after a ten or so minutes when everyone started running to get to their seats -Despite not being a massive football fan, you were a bit nervous for Morgan. -For some reason, you really wanted to see him do well. And you hadn't seen him play before, especially not actually trying hard before, so you were praying for him to pull out a masterclass.

-And by god by half time were you on edge. -Surprisingly, for someone who was generally uninterested in football, the tense atmosphere had you stood up the majority of the match -Morgan had been working hard in goal, some of his saves having you screaming as every time your heartrate shot up, fearful of Morgan missing. -Clearly though Morgan could hear your excited yells from pitchside, as he clearly let out a laugh each time he caught the ball or punched it away- his eyes drifting just slightly left to try catch a glimpse of your ecstatic face before kicking the ball out again -So far, Morgan hadn't let any goals in either- the score a solid 0-0. -That did however mean you were bricking it for the second half. -Second half, your heartrate was above 80 for much of the game. -And you couldn't help but admire how good Morgan looked (which only had your heartrate going higher) -His fringe was messy and spiked about his head, and the developed muscle definition on his legs did have you feeling a bit feral in the stands -Somehow you managed to calm your nasty thoughts down and focus on the game, though, instead settling for bricking the second half. -You watched as Morgan booted the ball down pitch, one of the forwards controlling it and making a break through the defence line- getting you up and out of your seat, face pressed in your mittened hands in suspense as you watched the forwards do his thing and swing his leg back before... -Yells and cheers were heard as you and the rest of your row all got onto you feet, celebrating the forwards that'd been scored, as well as Morgan, who'd set it up in the first place. (Though it might've just been you who was cheering for Morgan, there) -Your head flicked back to Morgan in goal and you watched as his he let out a victorious yell of his own, patting his mate on the back before looking out into the crowd- his eyes scanning the crowd before they found your own, as indicated by the grin that lit up on his face, his eyes sparkling even brighter as he pointed with the gloved finger straight at you- a little shoutout to his unofficial-but-both-of-you-wanted- WAG. -And it was clear you were passionate for Morgan when one of the defenders got in Morgan's way and ended up letting Salford let a goal in- Morgan could hear you yell WANKER from the stands despite the uproar from both sides of the crowd and the rest of the pitch's yells. He couldn't help but let out a chuckle at being able to hear you despite the slight annoyance of conceding a goal.

-The full 90 minutes had elapsed and still your heart rate was through the roof, as the ref blew the whistle and it was decided- penalties were going to be taken. -The opposition took the first penalty... And Morgan's fingers brushed it, only just letting it in. -But luckily, your town scored one as well. -The next one also went in, and Morgan yelled a curse out, your heart thumping in your chest in fear. -And you were thanking God as the next ball went in, as your town scored once more -You coudn't help but admire Morgan in goal, sizing up the opposition as he waited for them to shoot. Morgan just looked so good, hitting his gloved hands together and bouncing from side to side, all too good looking in his kit -All admiring was cut short as you watched the shooter take his run up though, striking the ball and sending it mid-left... -Morgan caught the ball, pulling it tight to his chest and skidding to the side as he saved the pen, a scream leaving your throat along with the rest of your stand as you all cheered the save, watching Morgan let out a yell of his own, completely high on the adrenaline as he rolled the ball out and jumped, looking back to your stand -His head moved bit by bit slowly until he found you in the stands, the grin lighting up on his face once more as he found you- lifting his hands and signing the love symbol as best he could with his gloved hand, making your heart swell a bit as you felt your cheeks blush a bright pink, making heart hands at him before crouching down behind the people in front of you so that he didn't see how bright your cheeks were glowing (and only glowing brighter by the second) -You had your fingers crossed behind your back as you watched your team take the third penalty, the same forwards that had scored earlier took the run up, striking the ball hard and sending it up right... and crashing past the goalie's fingers and into the net behind.

-Screams filled your stands as the front few rows began jumping over the wall to go and join the winning team on the pitch- the bustle around you sending you forwards also, leaving you no choice but to get up and onto the pitch as well. -"Y/NNNN!" You heard your name yelled happily, before feeling a great force run into you -Morgan's arms wrapped around your waist, picking you right up as you squealed happily, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and leaning into his body whilst he gave you a joyous spin, his heat radiating through the thin kit and warming you up greatly also, the hug slightly sweaty from Morgan's playing, though neither of you cared -"You were bloody brilliant!" You exclaimed as Morgan placed you back on the floor, getting up onto the tips of the toes to place a little kiss against his cheek whilst your arms were still wrapped around one another -You took your arms off Morgan's shoulders, one of Morgan's hands leaving your waist and coming up to his face to touch the place where your lips had left a kiss against his cheek. You could feel a blush rising to your cheek as Morgan paused completely to acknowledge the kiss, whilst his other arm still remained around your waist- his eyes looking off into the distance as if completely zoned out. -"I played great?" He repeated, and you could see a little grin start forming on his face as his eyes came back into focus before meeting yours, the cheeky grin now fully formed on his face as he tapped his lips with a gloved finger. "Surely I deserve a bit more for that then..." -"What, you want a proper snog?" You joked, though you could feel your heart lurch into your throat, almost making you choke up as you felt a nervousness wash over you. It wasn't quite clear whether Morgan was just giving friendly banter at this point or genuinely trying for something... -"Only if it's from you," He shrugged with the grin still plastered on his face, though he broke eye contact to look to the ground almost as though he were nervous, himself. -Fuck it. -You got back onto the tips of your toes, one hand resting on his cheek to pull his face down to yours so that you could press your lips onto his own firmly... before pulling away approximately after a millisecond of contact. -Morgan's eyes fluttered open. -"What, that's all?" -"You want more? You fucking initiate it then, it's nerve-wracking, you know?" -"Fine!" -THERE. Morgan got that great big snog he was looking for. -His arm snaked around your shoulders, holding you possessively as his lips met yours, fireworks fizzing and exploding in your stomach and making your heart thump even harder than it was at the start of the second half. You were sure he could taste the coffee and cocoa butter on your lips as well, as it felt almost as though he were chasing something- the way his lips moved on top of yours so passionately. -"GOWARN MORGAN!" The cheers from his teammates were what broke the kiss up, your lips detaching from his as you let out a laugh, burying your head into the crook of his neck, nose warming against his body- hot from the adrenaline of kissing and football. You could feel Morgan's body shake slightly as he was slapped on the back by his teammates, shouting a variety of other praises and cheering for him for "Finally getting some..." -You personally? -Couldn't be more grateful for the fact you'd come to watch the match and were now in the arms of your first kiss.

BONUS SCENE!

You waited by the car, taking a sip of your gingerbread latte and checking the time on your watch. It'd been almost a whole forty minutes since Morgan had said he'd be out the changing room in a sec, and had given you enough time to get through three peanut butter cookies from the pavilion and two hot drinks.

It had been courteous of him to offer to drive you back, especially after your little moment on the pitch (which still had you smiling giddily and blushing when you thought about it), but you were half considering just walking home, when-

"SORRY, I didn't mean to take that long!" The back door of the changing rooms leading into the car park swung open, as a dishevelled looking Morgan flipped his head, flicking his fringe out of his head as he jogged over to you and the car.

"Yeah, you took your time," You responded, opening the passenger seat door as Morgan opened the car, chucking his duffel bag in the boot and plopping his ass in the driver's seat.

The car wobbled a bit as the two of you sat down, and as you reached over to put the radio on- Morgan leaned back to grab his seatbelt when something shiny fell out of his pocket.

"Oh shoot, you dropped-"

You held up the four or so shiny packets that'd fallen out of his pocket.

TROJAN CONDOMS XL STIMULATION WHERE IT COUNTS-

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" You exclaimed, dropping them back down and rushing to unbuckle your seatbelt, jaw dropped whilst Morgan scrambled to pick the other three up and shouted "NONONONO-"

"THEY'RE NOT MINE, I PROMISE, PLEASE JUST REALISE-"

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY'RE NOT YOURS, ARE THEY FUCKING USED?!"

"YES- I MEAN- NO, NO OF COURSE THEY HAVEN'T BEEN USED-"

"wHY DO YOU EVEN HAVE THSOE RIGHT NOW?!"

"I CAN EXPLAIN-"

"ARE THEY MEANT TO BE FOR US?!"

You looked past Morgan as saw the rest of the team exiting the locker rooms, patting one another on the back as they said goodbye- one of the players spotting Morgan and yourself in the car- his face stretching in a cheeky grin as he pointed at the two of youse, drawing attention from the other boys as he yelled:

"USE 'EM WELL, EH MORGAN?" He passed a wink on to you as well, making you groan and slide down your car seat in embarrassment, hands pressed over your face as Morgan tried not to cringe too hard himself.

"Yeah, they were the ones that gave it," Morgan explained wearily, rubbing his face with a hand of his own as he tried not to make eye contact with the others outside the car.

"It was only a kiss, anyways..."

"Yeah well, that's what The Killers said as well and look how that ended up."

You couldn't help but deadpan up at Morgan whilst he tried not to burst out laughing at what he thought was god-tier comedy.

And as if it couldn't get any worse, his phone was connected to the car's sound system-

"OI BIXBY, play Mr Brightside on Spotify!"

Hearing those starting chords from the car's tinny radio system drew a second groan from you as you sunk even further into your seat, much to Morgan's amusement as he cackled and pat your head.

"Get used to the shitty jokes, love, I'm taking you out for dinner tonight for a first date so you better start liking me sooner or later..."

--------

WELLLL IT'S BEEN A WHILE SINCE WE'VE SEEN SOME ANGRY GINGE CONTENT HA'NT IT??!! Much love n hoping everyone enjoyed bc i LOVE LOVE LOVE a little bit of autumn fanfiction it's such a cute lil vibe teehee

Hope you enjoyed reading!! Feel free to interact- whether that be a comment, vote or follow! Requests open, feel free to submit what u wanna see... Much love!!

To see more, here's my MASTERLIST

And here's my WATTPAD, with 50+ more oneshots to read

#angryginge13 #angryginge #angry ginge #morgan burtwistle #fluff #oneshot #youtube #youtuber #twitch #twitch streamer #sidemen #danny aarons #aanny daarons #wroetoshaw #ksi #tobjizzle #zerkaa #miniminter

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plxnetn1ne · 5 months ago

Text

since everyone in this fandom and their mum seem to be giving their piece about the ‘update’ coming to Hogwarts Legacy on the 6th, i figured id give my piece even if no one has asked

ive been seeing a lot of posts and replies about how “we should just take what we get and be grateful” and “the devs are working hard, do you know how hard game development is?”

im very aware of how difficult game development can be and how mentally taxing it is. i dont doubt that they’ve been through the mill.

the update is trash. its that simple. we’re allowed to feel upset about it, and for people saying that its not fair to be upset — it is fair. we shouldnt have to expect the bare minimum from a game that sold 22 million copies and reached nearly 2 billion dollars in revenue, a game that had 14 nominations for awards and 3 wins.

we were told we were getting a summer update alongside the Haunted Hogsmeade quest — the quest they promised to release to PC and Xbox in march when the game celebrated one year of release. they said, and i quote;

“As we near the one-year anniversary of Hogwarts Legacy, we wanted to let our community know that the Hogwarts Legacy PlayStation-exclusive content will be available on other platforms later this summer, along with additional updates and features for the game. Stay tuned in the coming months for more details on what’s coming to Hogwarts Legacy this year.” copy and pasted straight from Hogwarts Legacy’s official twitter page. along with additional updates and features to the game.

yes — i know, thats a very vague statement. it could have been taken in any way, but typically when additional updates and features — plural — is put into a sentence, you assume that there will be more than one new feature. it wasnt wrong for the community to assume that there was more than a few new additions coming to the game.

okay, we got photo mode — thats great for console players, but it isnt new for us PC players. im happy for my console buddies that finally get to bring their mc to life in the way ive been able to. im looking forward to seeing the uptick in photos upon the updates release. PC and Xbox got the new haunted hogsmeade quest, and thats great, considering the release of it was delayed by 3 months, but atleast we’re getting it. but basically. PS5 was fucked in the process, because everything minus photo mode is stuff they already had, and honestly, thats not fair. and double honest — thats not an update. thats the release of exclusive content plus a new addition.

for several months a summer update was hyped up, and the result was…. ps5 getting fucked, a photo mode that im going to bet my ass on will be buggy as all hell, and some cosmetics. so no — i wont be grateful. especially when we keep getting promised things and then getting fucked by a hot iron in the process. because i havent forgotten the documentary that was supposed to come out, and i still remember during September when they hyped up a digital surprise for Back to Hogwarts day and it ended up being 30 percent off on a game most of us already had, only for the game to go on sale for half off the following Nov/Dec for the holiday sales.

since the release of the game, modders have been basically picking up the slack by working their asses off to create bug fixes, better cosmetic options, enhanced schedules, companions, and so much more to keep the community somewhat entertained. this as well as the file miners that are constantly digging things up that we were robbed of, like the relationship list for companions, gaunt manor, other house specific quests, more quests concerning Isadora, on and on. on top of this, ive seen first hand how much of the outer parts of the map was developed only to be cut out. i spent a solid hour and a half today using free cam to fly around the outskirts of the map — buildings, caves, entire areas laid out for towns or poacher camps, all thrown out on top of all of the discarded quests and content.

and while im at it — ill be one of the few to say it, but Hogwarts Legacies storyline was not well thought out, or at the very least it wasnt very well portrayed. there were hundreds of questions we were left with upon beating the game. where did Anne go? what happened to the keepers after the final battle? why wasnt Isadora in her portrait? what were the keepers hiding? did inhaling the magic actually make a difference or was it just for shock value? how much of Isadora’s story did we miss? how was the undercroft tied in with Isadora when it was apparently a Gaunt secret? what even really was the undercroft?

yes, i know — “well arent they making a second one?” and yeah, im pretty sure they are, and maybe thats why we’ve gotten nothing more than a pile of bricks in the last year and a half. but, they should probably finish the first game before starting on a second.

this doesnt mean i dont love Hogwarts Legacy. i love the people ive met, the stories ive read, and i love capturing the screenshots i take from that game. the entire situation is just frustrating to no end.

#hogwarts legacy #not trying to be mean #actually i dont really care but #thought id give my share #harry potter hogwarts game #hogwarts legacy fandom #hogwartslegacy #hl

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chasedbyatlantic · 8 months ago

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comfort crowd, joel miller

masterlist summary: IN WHICH — joel miller shows you and ellie how to properly play golf, he's in it to win it - without a doubt.

warnings: post outbreak!joel, pre-jackson era!joel, female reader, no use of y/n, implied relationship, ellie being the comedic relief, these three being a happy and loving family, mentions of weapons, swearing. lmk if i missed anything!

wordcount: 2.7k

a/n ha..haha... (im in denial). guys i thought this was really funny and this was my brilliant idea. plz i hope u love it LOL. remember to like, comment, reblog and follow for more! xoxo.

—

You hated lawn chairs for as long as you could remember. The pain of your skin getting lodged between cracked pieces of plastic, your skin slipping and sliding off from the seat when there was just a slight temperature change, you could name five thousand different things. Yet, right now, those were the least of your worries. A nice lawn chair propped up at the top of a house, overlooking the entire street. You were far from complaining, Joel as well.

The two of you not only walked for the entire day without taking any breaks, but had to keep up with Ellie, your 'special mission'. The little girl, immune to everything, was the fastest and most talkative kid you had ever came across, apocalypse or not. You were hesitant at first, as anyone would be, but grew to trust the girl with your life. She did protect you a handful of times, your reflexes not as keen as they used to be.

The three of you were in South Dakota right now, your car breaking down in Iowa and having to walk the rest of the way to Utah. You knew the whole thing was sketchy after Boston, but Joel was set in his ways. You never questioned that man, you feared that he knew too well to put the three of you in a bad situation.

The three of you were in the outskirts of some suburban town, already done clearing the street. By the amount of runners, and the walls built around, you could tell people used to live here. Not many people, five or six people at most. This place had reminded you a lot of Bill's place, though, you weren't sure if that was a good thing.

You were ripped out of your thoughts when you heard Ellie's voice ringing through your ears. "Do you wanna hear a construction joke?" Your hand fell onto your forehead, blocking out the sun that highlighted your face too much for your liking. A small 'Leave her alone, Ellie.' was heard from behind you, Joel wanting you to go back and rest. "Awh, fuck you Joel- you ruined it!" Ellie had complained, which only made you laugh, "But, I'm still working on it, the joke."

You had actually laughed, despite not wanting to. Her jokes were so bad, if there was an award given to the worst jokes ever said, Ellie would win it by a landslide. "That fits him, ya'know." You nodded your head over to Joel, who had made his way in front of the two of you, and knelt down to search through his bag. Ellie rose her brow, giving you a questionable look. "He was a very good fixer-upper."

Joel cut you off, "A contractor." You had nodded your head at that, "The best one'n Austin that is." You had added to his comment, and he could only let out a laugh. Ellie had asked him what a contractor was, and he explained it as you shut your eyes and just- enjoyed the sun for a moment. It was hot as fuck outside, you didn't deny that, but not having to drag your feet across the hot pavement for the next while was so damn nic-

Splash. You yelped as your eyes shot open, scanning the surrounding area. You weren't sure if it were your survivor instincts, or this just really fucking pissing you off, but you were ready to pounce on whoever did this to you. In fact, you had taken out your knife that was tucked away in your waistband, the sunlight reflecting heavily off of the blade.

You turned your head, to see not only Ellie, but Joel laughing. Ellie was one thing, but Joel too? This had to be some inside joke or something, you thought to yourself. "I'm going to fucking kill you guys." You did everything in your power to suppress your smile as you stood up, put your knife back in your waistband, and launched forward. You grabbed onto Joel as he did nothing in his power to stop you, just standing there with his arms crossed and a smile to his face, but Ellie? Oh no, she ran back, and to the other side of the roof.

"Alright," You admitted defeat, "One's good enough for me, run away while you can, Ellie." This brought an even bigger smile to her face, she was having fun with this. Sometimes, you forgot Ellie was just a kid. Ellie didn't have a childhood, not whatsoever- the poor girl lives in the fucking apocalypse, for Christ sake. If she wants to have fun like this, let her. You had planned to talk to Joel soon about not dropping her off with the doctors in Salt Lake City, but who knew if he would even consider that.

The three of you played around for a while longer, careful not to get too close to the edge of the roof and have the possibility of falling off. You three were acting like a family, maybe not the sanest one, but a family. After these months out by yourselves, you may as well be family. You would take a bullet for Joel or Ellie, within a heartbeat.

"Alright, Joel." You had replied, "Whatever you say." He could only chuckle as he folded his arms now, leaning against the space beside the window. You had abandoned the lawn chair, and were now laying down right in front of him. It was uncomfortable for you, but he was definitely not complaining about you being there. You two weren't officially a couple, but you acted like it. Kisses being exchanged here and there, the occasional hand holding, sleeping in the same bed every night. You had claimed it was because it made you sleep easier, which wasn't totally wrong, but you knew Joel loved it.

"I'm tellin' ya'," He held his hands up un defense, "A degree in doodlin' was stupid, ya' could've saved a shit load'o money." You two were conversing about your lives before the apocalypse, school and what not. Ever since Ellie brought up the whole contractor thing, it had been on your mind. You met Joel when he and his brother Tommy (you think it was) had started to fix up your house, but the project never got finished due to- well, everything.

"'Kay, Mister 'I fix houses'. Not like I would’ve gotten a job, anyway." You could only laugh at this, "Plus," You added, "I only minored in arts. My major was environmental biology." Joel went back to crossing his arms, his brow cocked back. "My girl's a biologist, eh? Best get you to Utah too, ya' can help'n restoring the planet." He let it slide off his tongue so easily, his girl. It felt too innocent coming from him, knowing what he would use that little pet name for all too well. Though, you liked when he did that, he wasn't much of a PDA man so it was nice when the two of you were alone like this.

Speaking too soon about being alone, Ellie had popped back out of the window and basically gave Joel a heart attack. You brought your hand over your mouth to cover your laughs as Joel shot you a look, and Ellie yelling a quick 'sorry!'. Though, she was excited about something. "You will absolutely not believe what I fucking found while snooping around!" Joel turned his glare from you over to Ellie, "Ellie," He began, "You know what I told ya' 'bout lookin' in these homes." He set a rule with her at the start of this mission, that she would never explore more than they needed to. For example, in this house, he didn't want her to look around and find photographs of the previous homeowners and grow- attached, in some sort. You weren't really sure, you found the rule stupid.

"Doesn't matter, I was bored as fuck." She then tossed this case over, it landed in between of you and Joel. By looking at it, you would've assumed it was a guitar case, though, it was too skinny to be a guitar. Following suit, another smaller and more round case may it's way over, hitting the first and landing beside it. "Guess." Your eyes moved from the cases to Joel, having no clue what this could be. He shared the lost look, both of you turning your attention back to Ellie.

"Ugh, you guys are such grandparents." That had to be an insult, you thought to yourself. Joel, yeah sure, but you? No way. Before you had time to bicker with the girl, she reached forward and started to unzip the cases. You were pelted with small balls in a matter of seconds, not processing what they were yet. It was only after actually picking one up from the tens of them that were on your lap, that you realized what they were.

Golf balls. Ellie had found a golf set. Thank god for these rich South Dakota folk, for a nice and big roof, and now this. You hadn’t golfed in twenty years, so this was going to be so much fun. You looked up to see how Joel was reacting to this, he looked to be somewhat interested as well. "Alright, before we do anythin'," Joel started as he got up, "Clean these up and we'll do everythin' in an orderly fashion." Even if he was acting like an old man right now, he was your old man.

Ellie did so while Joel helped you up, a reassuring hand placed on the small of your back and the other intertwined between your fingers. You were surprised, this was the most affection he had showed you around Ellie. Though, you weren't complaining. After what felt like forever (once again, no complaints), he let go and Ellie turned in unison. "I have to admit this, nobody laugh. I have no fucking clue how to golf."

Before the man beside you had time to reply, you did for him. "Joel'll show you, he's the best golfer outta the three of us." You brought your arm up and rested it on his shoulder for a moment, before giving him a few reassuring pats on his chest. "Go get 'em, tiger." He was annoyingly staring at you, knowing this would only amuse you.

"Get two clubs, kid." He ordered Ellie, (gently) shoving you off of him. He shook his head at you, eyes lingering for a moment too long, before moving over to the edge of the roof. He would find a way to get you back, you could feel it. As Ellie searched through the bag to find the tallest club, you went over to find a few tees. Once the tees were in hand, and the case of golf balls in the other, you made your way over to where Joel was.

As you set up the tees and golf balls in an appropriate place, just on the edge of the roof, Joel started to explain this whole thing to Ellie. She looked mesmerized, the few times you turned your head to see this. Joel acting like a teacher and all to her was sweet, when he usually treated her like an adult. Not that Joel was Ellie's father by any stretch of the way, but it was nice she got to experience a father-daughter moment right now. It warmed your heart too much.

After Ellie was taught the correct form, Joel moved her in front of the tee and ball, helping her get the correct stance before swinging. It missed, by a foot. This sent you through the roof (figuratively, not literally), you couldn't help yourself. Ellie was a bright red from embarrassment as she cursed you out, and Joel couldn't help himself either.

Ellie swung twice more with added force each time, before successfully hitting the golf ball. it went flying, not far, but high. "Good job, kid." Joel congratulated her, despite just laughing about her misfortunes prior. You rose your hand up beside her head, she replied with a high five and you two giggled. Since Joel's job was done, he now picked up his club and went to the tee set up to the right of Ellie. You followed suit with the left.

It took you a moment to get back into the swing of things, the last time you had moved your body like this was- well, dealing with runners. After a swing or two, it came back to you like you had been playing golf for the last twenty years. Joel too, from the looks of it. He let out a complaint or two about how this would strain his joints, but you guys were planning on spending a day or two here anyway.

Eventually, the three of you had came up with a game. Whoever could punt their balls the farthest wins. It was simple, really, but there were little roadblocks in the way- cars, mailboxes, you name it. Ellie's golf balls were blue, yours were red, and Joel's were yellow. You had counted down from three, indicating when all of you could start.

Three. You placed your feet in the appropriate position, cracking your neck just a little. Ellie twisted the club in her hand, as if it were a pencil or something. Joel stayed calm, his club resting on the floor.

Two. You rose your club into the swinging position, focusing on the middle of the red golf ball right in front of you. Ellie took notice of what you were doing and copied the motion, she was eager to hit it on the first go this time. Joel slightly raised his now, still sluggishly moving.

One. You started to move your club to hit the ball, Ellie too. After both of yours were hit in sync, you could hear Joel's being hit after. Your eyes made their way over to him, to examine his strategy, he was still remaining calm. This annoyed you, to say the least.

The three of you went through thirty golf balls each, eventually punting at your own pace. You were the first to finish, feeling pretty proud of yourself of where the balls had landed. Ellie was next, she was proud too. After not golfing for her entire life, this looked pretty promising. Joel was last, no surprise to that. He took his sweet time and finished around five minutes after you and Ellie were done, only earning snickers from Ellie.

"Alright," You told the girl, "Go down'n check who made it the farthest." She obliged, a small 'yes ma'am' before taking off for the window. Your eyes followed her with a smile to your face, "Havin' fun, aren't ya'?" Joel asked. You turned back around to face him, "Not as much as you are, clearly."

He knew he was acting cocky, and was for the past little while. Though, since you definitely didn't seem to mind, he kept up the act. "Ya'know what would make this even better?" He asked you, shifting his weight from his right leg to his left. You tilted your head, indicating that you were waiting for a response. "A golf cart." Before you had time to slap him for his ridiculous request, Ellie was yelling something from down the street.

You averted your attention from Joel, and now at the girl. She was mouthing something, that only you were able to understand after she repeated herself four times. Joel. Joel had won, for fuck sakes. "Well, shit." Was all you could say. He, on the other hand, was ecstatic, the most ecstatic you had ever seen him. For a moment, while he acted like that, you enjoyed it. Joel was having fun, that's what had mattered- he had to let loose every once in a while too.

After a moment, he collected himself once again. The same grin plastered on his face, though, as he folded his arms across his chest and watched as Ellie ran back over to the house. Before she came up, he nudged your shoulder. "Today was fun, eh?" He asked you, which had earned your head nodding almost too quick as a response. "Y'ur a pretty good golfer too, I guess." He admitted. You could only laugh, nudging his arm back. "Not as good as you, Mister Winner. Ya' should've skipped contractor school and went pro golf."

—

comfort crowd, conan gray

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weretheones · 2 years ago

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All You Got | Part 8

Part 8: Observant

Plot: Daryl Dixon hadn’t known much beyond anger and loneliness his whole life, until he found family at the end of the world. Everything he grew to care about was ripped away the day the prison fell; so when he recognized you, an enforcer of his loss, hiding in that cabin, he almost pulled the trigger. But after you end up saving his life, he couldn’t find the indifference to leave you for dead, even if you’d been on the Governor’s side. (Mid-Late Season 4)

Series Masterlist | AO3 Version

Paring: Eventual Daryl Dixon x Reader Word Count: 7.6k (oops) Warnings: typical twd content. mentions of death. a bit suggestive wink wink. A/N: hi hi. apologies for the late posting (again). exam season is in full swing and im drowning a bit. butttt, I managed to get this little (its the longest chapter yet lol) part out for you guys <3 just cause I love u so much. ps. the gif is a hint ;)

Every step west of that cottage distanced you further from the cold front following yesterday’s rain. The day hadn’t started exceptionally hot, but the week’s gradual dip in temperature made the sun’s increasing beat feel more eager than you’d known it as of late. The further you got, the more frequent sips you took from the lukewarm water bottle in your bag, even tying that sweater you’d been cuddling for warmth in, just yesterday, around your waist.

Daryl seemed alright, all things considered. His arm hadn’t proved too troublesome, but the area had proved relatively deserted anyway. The two walkers you came across were tired and slow. Not much of a threat. The heat didn’t seem to bother him, either; he hadn’t shed the flannel underneath his vest yet.

The sun was at its highest point in the sky when you met the border of the next town, a few hours later.

“You’ve been through here before?” You asked Daryl, pointing to your spot on the map while walking side by side down the first commercial strip of the town. The stores looked like something out of a movie, quant but full of country charm. If it hadn’t been for the boarded windows and rusted cars sitting in the road, it would’ve been a lively sight.

“When we first cleared the prison. Made our way through all the places nearby, too.”

“Couldn’t have left a little for us?” You teased, glancing up at him.

“There’s still some left. Shit we didn’t need.”

“Shit we might need?”

“Mhm. Lemme see tha’.” He grabbed the map from your hand, raising one of his own to block the sun from his eyes. He glanced over the paper, squinting at the tiny roads, then at the street sign above.

“We can take this to Red Oak.” He tapped the street lines on the map, then continued forward.

“What's on Red Oak?”

He looked over his shoulder with a slight smirk.

“Somethin’ we need.”

It wasn’t until halfway down Red Oak Drive that you realized what that was.

When it clicked, you smiled.

It was an auto repair shop. Daryl had been here before, briefly as he told it, but long enough to make note of a few vehicles still in good condition. One of which was an old, dark blue hatchback that only needed a new battery and some gas to get started again. It was still sitting in the backlot, bathed in the sun’s last harsh rays of the season after the two of you made your way around the building.

Daryl popped the hood. It was in the same condition as it was when he first found it, with a dead battery and dusty windows.

“Do we… recharge it?”

You didn’t know much about cars other than how to drive them.

“Unless ya got a generator I don’t know ‘bout,” Daryl quipped, to which you softly rolled your eyes. “We need a new one.”

“Well, there’s gotta be something here.” You looked back to the building.

“Mhm.” He nodded, closing the hood again. “Come on.”

He kicked the back door three times. You were surprised that hadn’t been enough to bring it down; it was a flimsy thing. They must’ve not worried much about burglars in a small town like this. The brick wall was sturdy, though. Ridged edges pressed into your shoulder as you leaned against it, one leg crossed over the other while the wait began. A breeze of crisp, much more seasonally appropriate air rushed by, fluttering your few loose pieces of hair; you’d have to redo that mess of a ponytail soon.

Daryl readjusted his hold of the crossbow, rolling his shoulders back— as well as he could, the left one was still noticeably stiff.

You weren’t subtle about keeping an eye on him.

“How’s the shoulder?”

His eyes squinted under the bright sun. “Fine.”

You raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

“’S a bit sore,” he admitted.

“I tried to tell you.” The loose smile on your lips was sympathetic, rather than teasing.

“I know.” Daryl chewed at his lip. “But, I know ya get why I couldn’t stay there, neither.”

You stood a bit straighter, and the smile slipped away.

“I do.”

Daryl nodded. The air was heavy, not only with the newfound heat but a lingering tension— knowing— between you. If there was anyone who could understand his urge to find what was left of his family, it was you. The night you told him about your brother was still fresh in memory. There had been a vagueness you kept about the whole thing, a tone that could have sounded like a casual acceptance of fate, but Daryl remembered that look in your eye. The tear that slipped past. He didn’t have any doubt that you’d searched as far as you could for him.

But some people were too far gone.

The shared silence between you two had grown comfortable these last few weeks. This one was different. Stretching seconds, then a minute, it made his muscles heavy. His weight felt unbalanced, even with two feet on the ground.

Daryl had never been good with words— unless you counted those snarky quips he made. He either didn’t think at all or thought too long. It made him snappy and surly, the type of man people would’ve avoided before this thing. Somewhere there was a list of names to prove it. And yet, he had something to say. He wanted to.

“Thank you,” he finally mumbled.

Your expression lifted at that. “For what?”

“For keepin’ an eye on me. Takin’ care’a me the way ya did.”

Still, you seemed confused. A knit of your brows and a sweet look in your eye as you tried to pick apart some deeper meaning. Of course, you helped him. That’s what you promised, back at the start.

“Of course,” you replied. “What else was I gonna do?”

“I didn’t think you were gonna leave or nothin’,” he said, recalling your conversation while patching him up. Loyal ran deep in you, like it did him, and he trusted that you wouldn’t just leave him to rot. “But a lot’a people would’a.”

Maybe that’s what he meant. Thank you for not being that person.

You blinked, readjusting your focus on his serious demeanour. He was reserved, his lips drawn in and eyes barely holding your stare.

“Well, that’s not us,” you said plainly.

A reminder that he’d given you that loyalty, too. You weren’t sure if there were words to express how it didn’t feel so difficult to give your attention and care to the health of the man who fought tooth and nail for you to live, even after all the harm you’d caused him. It wasn’t even that you felt you owed him, but you knew he deserved it.

Daryl gave you a small glimpse of a smile. Soft and sweet, like he was proving to be— deep down, at least. It drew a lopsided grin from you too. Your temple rested against the cool brick wall, and under the sun’s golden glow, you looked quite pretty like that. It was a talent, how quickly you could turn the charm back on; nothing else seemed to grab his attention the same way.

“After all, what are friends for?”

Daryl scoffed. He hoped he didn’t sound ungrateful when he blurted, “Tha’s wha' we are now?”

“I would say so. We keep saving each other’s lives and the conversation is half decent.” You shrugged, as if indifferent. But your smile had turned playful not long ago, about the same time he noticed a warmth at his cheeks.

He’d blame it on the heat, if you asked.

A second or two later, a walker slammed against the door.

Daryl’s shoulder wasn’t too restraining; he lured the lone monster out and freed his knife from its skull without breaking a sweat. You gave him a quick smile of acknowledgment before the two of you stepped inside.

The garage was in rough condition. A sign that was probably falling apart even before the world did, cheap tile floors, and a thick smell of mildew mixed with something decomposing— you were, unfortunately, quite knowledgeable about that smell, by now. The nicest thing about the building was that big roll-down window in the front that let the storefront become soaked in sunlight. The summer must’ve been a lot more tolerable with that wide open.

When the sunlight sneaking into the abandoned building didn’t reach far enough, Daryl held a flashlight in his mouth and scanned the store with his bow. His left shoulder was still stiff, so he had to depend on his other arm to bear most of the weight. Of course, you’d already tried to get him to keep it on his back, if anything, and take the gun instead— but he refused. All but demanded you keep the gun for yourself.

The two of you searched the aisles with quiet steps, waiting for another unfriendly face to jump out of the shadows.

It didn’t come.

Instead, you gathered the few supplies Daryl needed, even pocketed a pair of sunglasses that you were sure would be useless after today, and went back out to that warm autumn day. Sitting on that small bench by the side of the building, eyes protected from the sun, you watched Daryl pop the hood of the car. He was quick at work, dexterous fingers tinkering with different parts of the vehicle that you could barely label.

Between sips of water, your sight caught on those fingers— now smeared with grease— perhaps a second too long. When he turned to wipe his hands along that red rag in his back pocket, he noticed your lingering eye and paused.

Hesitated.

With the pair of you caught off guard, you tried to break the quickly growing tension and asked, “Were you an auto mechanic before?”

Daryl shook his head, bangs falling in his eyes as he did. He stretched underneath the hood again but spared you a glance back. Eyes squinted under the sun, the shine of sunlight hitting the grease along his exposed skin; the scene before you was beginning to look like something out of those ridiculous male model calendars.

“I jus’ know cars,” he rumbled, a slight smirk to match that thick accent.

It was getting absurd, really; the hot sun wasn’t the only thing making you blush.

You swallowed another gulp of water.

It turned out the battery issue wasn’t too complicated. Daryl recounted some of his steps to you, telling you about which wire connected to which point, and so on. It was valuable information, undoubtedly worth paying attention to. The only problem was that by that point, the sun’s beat had stripped him of his vest and hitched the sleeves of his flannel around his elbows. The fact that the top three buttons were undone, opening across that broad and bare chest of his, wasn’t lost on you, either.

It felt like a tease. He did.

All you could do was nod along with his rough drawl and lean against the cool brick wall while you tried to deny checking him out. But really, everything else came second place to the swell of that shirt around his biceps, and his tense, thick forearms. Muscles overworked after dealing with tight gears and heavy equipment.

The shade of those sunglasses was dangerous, giving you the excuse to let your eyes roam free all while Daryl was none the wiser— or so you hoped.

Thoughts you hadn’t entertained in a long time began to roam free, too. It hadn't bothered you when they left; survival was the top priority, not romance or desire. Of course, the lack of time and potential suitors was a factor, too— why would you think about that when there wasn't even a chance for it? But here you were now, staring at Daryl, and recalling that fluttering feeling of attraction in your gut all too well.

He was kind and strong. Whatever brute strength and resilience he had was matched with that three-sizes-too-big heart of his. After all, who else would take in an injured stranger, nevertheless one that attacked you just hours beforehand? Daryl might’ve blamed it on getting even, after you helped him from the window, but you knew there was something more behind that harsh stare of his.

Something delicate.

For whatever reason, you’d been lucky enough to see that gold-hearted nature firsthand. It sliced through his rough exterior, sparkling like a piece of glass caught in the sun. It was fragile, but you’d seemed to weave your way inside, anyway.

You inhaled— stop.

It might've felt otherwise, but there was still parts of Daryl you didn't know. Sometimes you forgot he was a man you’d known less than a month, been friends (barely) with less than two weeks. Even if he proved to be a good person, and was clearly easy on the eyes, from the obvious display ahead, these thoughts were intrusive. Perhaps an outcome of an idle mind. A natural attraction after a string of moments free of tension; all those life-or-death events bonded you, for better or worse, and as the urgency and blood washed off, you were falling victim to the full extent of that tie.

“Got tha’?”

“Mhm,” you faintly hummed.

He said your name— no, repeated it. Embarrassment snapped you back into focus. Here you were daydreaming and practically ogling the man, while he was trying to teach you something. Help you.

“Asked ya to grab another jug.” He gestured to the empty distilled water in his hand. Thank God, you were able to ignore that flex of his arm— mostly— when he did.

“Right, yeah, of course,” you stammered. He tossed you the small flashlight before you scurried back into the building. The dark, cool air was a welcome relief against your hot cheeks, and you hoped it’d bring down whatever flush had inevitably crept up your chest.

At least you had those sunglasses.

Maybe Daryl could feel your eyes roam his bare arms, chest, neck— stop— but you still had an inch of dignity left; he couldn’t prove it past the dark tint of those glasses, now sitting at the top of your head.

Strolling through those same aisles, you grabbed another jug and tried to shake the last of those thoughts from your mind. Like how his eyes were as blue as the pretty Georgian sky, and were quickly becoming a solace for you.

You were starting to like the looks he gave you— like he had while waiting at the door. It wasn’t that he was easy to read, no, you’d probably be fighting for a glimpse into those thoughts of his for the rest of your life. But every time you met those eyes that were once so harsh, you remembered the forgiveness he’d shared with you. The kindness. Perhaps it was a bit selfish because when you thought about that, it made something bloom deep in your chest. Something warm and sweet and good.

You wanted to share it with him too.

Somehow.

Helping him find his people was your first try. You hoped you wouldn’t need a second.

You grabbed the second jug of distilled water and turned to head back.

A thump came from behind.

It was odd. Two years spent in this world and yet, in a week, you’d reverted right back to that jumpy girl at the start. The air became thin, and you had to suck in a deeper breath just to keep your head straight. Heart pounding against your ribcage.

The last time you were in a dark store alone, it ended up with three people dead and Daryl shot.

You spun around, flashlight high. The light danced across the aisles, no walkers or living under the fluorescent glow. That wasn’t enough to soothe your anxieties, so you placed the jug on the ground next to you and grabbed your gun, instead.

It was then that your light landed on an exit sign. You could see the frame of a door below, in the far corner of the store. You approached it carefully, previously neglected as the pair of you assumed it was just a fire exit leading to that back alley, but now, with your heart still beating fast, you suspected something more lying behind that door.

You twisted the handle carefully, gun ready in the other hand, but it was locked.

You checked the front desk, found a ring of keys, and tried two before you found the right one. By then, your heart had slowed a bit. An engaged lock between you and that warning was slightly comforting, but you were still on edge. Finger ready by the trigger, if needed.

The door creaked open and you stepped inside.

Immediately, you found the source of the thump. A lone walker. Long, thin hair that was missing chunks and skin like leather stretched across its loosely hung open jaw. Its eyes were wide, staring out to the door you’d just walked through, but other than that low moan that rasped past its throat, it barely moved.

The walker was old and frail, decomposing in this backroom alone since, if you could guess, the start. It didn’t even try to crawl. It couldn’t, there was a heavy cast on its leg reaching up to its upper thigh. A mop lying on the floor— maybe the thump. A bottle of antifreeze sat next to it, a dried splash of something bumpy and red.

Puke.

She killed herself. Locked alone in a backroom, with a broken leg and no other choice.

The various ways you found the dead often reflected their last moments. Guts hanging out and bits of muscle torn from their flesh meant the obvious. Bullet and knife wounds, too. At the start, the mourning had almost been unbearable. Suffocating. Sympathy never stopped, there were simply too many roaming the world. It became dormant after one too many tried— and almost succeeded— to kill you. Then, something you only ever thought about in silent moments like this one.

You unsheathed your knife and stepped over the fallen mop. It was the least you could do.

The room was untouched. It didn’t have many valuables. Not for this world, anyway. There was a stack of cash and a nice bracelet in the bottom drawer of the desk, but nothing other than a couple of mints and a screwdriver that was worth keeping. In the top drawer, you found a single key on a thick, metal ring.

You pocketed it, just in case.

Other than the desk and those wobbly shelves filled with client records and taxes— a whole lot of paper— there was only that lumpy grey blanket, draped over something leaning against the wall, left to check out. You peeled it off carefully, but a cloud of dust surrounded anyway. Between coughs, you recognized what was underneath. The somber tone of the room lifted quickly, then.

From the front of the store, Daryl called your name. Apparently, you’d been taking too long and his suspicions had arisen.

“I’m okay!” you called back, clearing your throat one last time. “Be there in a second.”

Even though you knew even less about motorcycles than you did about cars, you smiled as you gripped the handles. You were betting Daryl knew about bikes, too. You kicked up the stand and moved the bike through the store. Twisting it around the aisles and picking up that leftover jug of distilled water as you did.

“I found something.” You grinned as you stepped back into the sunlight.

Daryl’s eyes widened when he saw what you were leading.

“No way.” He said, wiping his hands across the red rag, before stuffing it back into his pocket. “Where’d ya find this?”

“Backroom. We missed it earlier.” You pulled out the keys you found as Daryl quickly grabbed the bike.

His hands ran over the handles, then the seat.

“And I think I found the key.”

He had a ridiculous grin plastered across his face. You hadn’t even realized he could smile like that.

“Pass ‘em ‘ere.”

You dropped the ring in his open palm as he straddled the bike, thighs on either side. He looked down at the beast of a vehicle between his legs like it was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.

And then he looked back at you with that same look, and it almost made those intrusive thoughts from earlier seem a bit less insane.

You were sure you had a goofy grin of your own. “You know how to ride one of these?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry. Stupid question,” you chuckled, eyes roaming over his leather vest— back on— and patchwork jeans. You never liked stereotypes, but Daryl sure was one sometimes.

“Jus’ a bit,” he quipped.

“You know,” you mumbled, smile growing, “I’ve never been on one.”

“Never?”

“Nope.”

“Well, come on, girl.”

You certainly didn’t need convincing. He shuffled forward, giving you the space to swing your leg over the seat behind him. At first, your hands grabbed at the spot, maneuvering your balance into a comfortable sit— but the overwhelming sight of Daryl's exceptionally broad back, draped in that black leather vest, soon had you squirming again.

“Ya gotta hold on to me, alright?”

“Okay,” you mumbled. You placed your shaky hands on his sturdy shoulders, like handlebars of your own. It was lucky that he was wearing that vest now—an extra layer between your skin and his— because you were pretty sure your palms were slick with sweat by that point.

“Not there.” Daryl’s hand wrapped around the bend of your elbow, gently pulling your hands down. “Don’t need ya diggin’ a finger in my scab.”

Then he repositioned them around his waist.

Like it had been nothing.

It had— you reminded yourself. Whatever bothered thoughts that kept slipping into mind today were an exception. Maybe your period was coming back. Or maybe that hot sun had melted away every bit of self-control you had left.

“Ya might wanna hold on a bit tighter. It goes fast.”

Your lungs constricted. Suddenly this felt wrong. Dangerous.

“Wait— what about your shoulder? Should you be moving it—”

“‘M movin’ it less sittin’ on this thing than off’a it.”

“Well, shouldn’t we be wearing helmets or something?”

The vibration of his laugh echoed through his back, which you were practically pressed up against. You might've cared more about his flippant attitude if he hadn’t reverberated a particularly soothing warmth back into you.

“You chickenin’ out?”

“No. I’m just remembering every motorcycle crash horror story my brother told me.”

“He ride?”

“God, no. He was an ER nurse.”

“Well, we ain’t gonna crash.” Daryl rolled his shoulders back, and your grip tightened already. Nerves overcoming you. “Promise.”

His confidence was reassuring. His firm body, even more so.

“Alright then.” You nodded and the engine roared to life.

Daryl’s feet lifted off the ground, landing on the rests just in front of yours. He found his balance quickly, even with you wrapped around his back. The pace was slow at first, a steady crawl that seemed overpowered by the loud rumble of that engine below.

Then, when he finally passed the lot, he shot down the street.

You couldn’t even guess how fast he was going. The world around you started to slip away, a lost frame of reference. The trees lining the road blurred into splatters of green and red, like a watercolour painting, and the wind rustled through those strands of hair that hadn't made it into your ponytail this morning. Racing through the breeze, that chill came back. Cold, little shards of air splintering across your face and hands.

The sudden bolt of movement made your stomach drop, that fluttering feeling of emptiness finding its spot. It reminded you of riding a rollercoaster as a kid, holding your brother’s hand tight and putting on a brave face as the big sister. It might’ve worked all those years ago, but you were pretty sure he’d be laughing at you now. You squeaked like a mouse, digging your face into the warm leather at Daryl’s back. The threading of his angel wings tickled your face alongside your wild hair, and you felt that familiar rumble in his chest again.

“Ya alright?” He yelled back.

You sucked in a fresh breath of air and peeked an eye open. It felt like the bravest peek in the world— the blurry, fast world. Though still huddled behind Daryl, with a vice grip around his steady waist, you were sure it didn’t appear very courageous to anyone else.

“Fine!” You managed to reply, “I just didn’t expect that.”

His gruff voice was harsher when he had to speak over that deafening engine. You barely made out his next sentence: “Want me to slow down?”

You thought about it. But by the time you understood his offer, your eyes had opened completely, almost adjusted to the speed of the world around you. You even sat up properly, looking to your left as he raced past a strip of abandoned cars. That floating feeling inside your chest began to feel less dizzying, like Daryl’s waist was a tether to gravity as the bike ripped down the streets. He was always positioned firm and steady, like that beat of his heart you could feel against your cheek. You trusted him to keep you solid, even as the wind picked up.

“No,” you practically squealed with a newfound excitement. “Keep going!”

Much to your increasing delight, he kept that speed until you noticed a group of walkers at the end of the long-stretching road. He slowed down to turn, the joy and carefree adventure stained with reality, once again. The engine was loud. You glanced behind as Daryl bolted back through the street you’d just gone down, the blurry heads of the dead turning toward you in the distance. It’d been as good a sign as any to head back, with the gas slowly dwindling too.

When you reached the car garage again, the bike crawled back through the lot, allowing you to finally take a deep breath and catch that fluttering feeling in your stomach. The bike paused and the engine turned off. The stark difference in noise was shocking— some time down that road you forgot just how loud the engine was, and just how quiet the rest of the Earth was nowadays.

Daryl sat back, hands limply grasping the handlebars, head bowed to the beast of a motor below him. He seemed content from behind. Relaxed.

You leaned around his shoulder. “End of the line?”

He seemed to snap back into focus then, glancing at you.

“Gas is runnin’ low anyway.”

You nodded, but added hopefully, “Maybe we can find more?”

“We should use it for the car.”

You sighed, “I know.”

The engine was still warm underneath your legs. Your disappointment was just as fresh. That could’ve been your first and only chance on the back of a bike, for all you knew.

“Good first ride then?”

“Are you kidding?” You laughed. “I get it now. Horror stories be damned.”

He chuckled, even throwing you another glance back. But the second after your eyes met, his grin fell an inch. He turned his face away, too, and it hadn’t only taken a second longer for you to notice how close he was like this. You still wrapped around his back.

“Ya gotta move so—”

“Oh, sorry,” you mumbled, climbing off the bike. Trying to steady yourself on the ground was harder than you anticipated; your legs felt like jelly, already missing the smooth leather beneath you.

Your eyes caught on Daryl's vest as he also got off.

In front of you.

The bike balanced on its stand, Daryl on one side and you on the other. Something caught his attention, just above your eyes.

“Ya got…” He gestured with a lazy hand around the top of his head.

Your eyes went wide, hand flying up to the wild mess of your hair.

You patted down a patch. “There?”

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat, giving you the ghost of a smile.

You felt it again. Butterflies.

Fuck.

---

By the time you finished siphoning gas from the other cars, Daryl was done fixing the blue one. Throwing your few bags in the backseat, you climbed inside. You in the passenger seat, him behind the wheel. He liked to drive. It seemed to calm him, from that loose expression he wore.

“We’ll keep drivin’ west, see wha’ we can find.” Daryl gripped the steering wheel with one hand. The other lingered by his mouth, thumb occasionally gnawed at. “Can siphon gas from the cars on the road. Hunt for food, sleep in the back.”

“A home on wheels.” You rolled down the window as the car began to drift down the same streets you’d just sped through. The wind was softer than it had been on the bike. You already missed that terrifying, joyful freedom.

There was another way you could chase it, you realized. You started to dig through the glove compartment.

“Whatcha lookin’ for?”

“CDs, hopefully.”

His eyes flickered over you. Hair now brushed, let loose from that ponytail and tucked behind your ear as you leaned forward. The sun was still strong late into the afternoon, direct rays landing across the dashboard and reflecting onto you. It explained that glow you had.

“God, I’d listen to anything at this point.”

Daryl glanced over to the road, but his attention didn’t slip off you completely.

It never seemed to, anymore.

“Here.” You popped the cd from its case and rubbed it against the soft fabric of your sweater. “Can’t believe this is the only one. Who the hell owned this car?”

Daryl’s lip twitched up at your soft snark. “You a music snob or somethin’?”

“No.” You rolled your eyes. “I was just hoping for something better.”

With one hand off the wheel, he clicked on the radio. Static rumbled from the speakers until he slid the dusty cd inside. The dark melody was slow, something that reminded him of those nights in the same run-down bar in the early nineties. A favourite of his uncle, then his brother, and while the pair of them served a stint in jail, Daryl’s.

It was strange, feeling better off without your family by your side. But Daryl had all his life to get used to that thought. It wasn’t until he made his own family, then lost them, that he felt the opposite. He missed that group more than he could say, missed that feeling of purpose they gave him.

Though, as the days rolled on, you were beginning to fill that ache in his chest, too.

“Sure there’s nothin’ else in there?”

You checked again, but it was mostly a polite gesture. There hadn’t been much in there, anyway. A pair of old gloves that you’d already stuffed in your bag, some tissue, the lone cd, and a brochure.

“Only this.” You flickered through the pages of the sale brochure. It was for the development of a small community, units starting in the low three hundreds. The prospective opening date was off by a few years, though. You doubted they’d even broken ground before everything fell apart.

“You really don’t like it?”

“Ain’t exactly a fan,” he grumbled. There was a flash of disappointment across your face, caught in the corner of his eye. His frown lifted a bit. “’S fine, though. Ain’t a big deal, neither.”

“What are you a fan of then?” You tossed the brochure back inside the box. “Now that we have a radio, next time I’m scavenging I’ll keep an eye out.”

Daryl thought for a moment. “I dunno. Only really listened to what Merle liked.”

You blinked, brows knitting a centimetre closer.

“You spent a lot of time with him?”

“When he was around.”

Something stung in your chest. No, your heart. From the sparse details Daryl spared about his brother, Merle didn’t seem the reliable type. Every story he told was followed with stiffness. Those memories were distant and cold— the type of coolness that grew from hurt, not time.

You knew to tread lightly.

“What’d you guys do?”

“Whatever.” Daryl shrugged. “Drank. Went huntin’. Nothin’ special.”

“So you hunted even before this?”

“Mhm.”

“Merle taught you?”

“My dad.”

“Oh.”

Daryl had never mentioned a parent before. Given the age gap, you’d assumed Merle had probably raised him a good chunk of his childhood. When he was around, anyway.

That cold tone Daryl had for his brother extended to his father, also. A part of you wondered if that hurt had been deep, too. Maybe as deep as those scars on his back.

It was an insensitive thought. Unfair. Daryl didn’t owe you anything, and he certainly didn’t deserve you stuffing your nose in his family’s business.

“Do you like hunting?”

“I liked the forest. Liked eatin’.” It was better than being home. “But I didn’t do it ‘cause I liked it. Was jus’ somethin’ I had to learn.”

With a nod, you went quiet. A softly contemplative look on your face. It piqued his interest, a flutter of nerves catching in his gut.

“Why ya askin’?”

“Just curious,” you answered. “You’re the only person I’ve had out here that didn’t jump at every snap of a branch.”

“Well I got practice,” he said. “Stuck with a lotta city folk, then?”

You turned back to him then, a sly smile hanging off your lips. “I’m city folk.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

You laughed, “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“Cause you’re jumpy, too,” Daryl scoffed. “Scared’a your own damn shadow.”

“I like the forest,” you defended with a slight pitch to your words. It made Daryl smirk, too. “I just don’t like how dark it can get. It’s freaky. I’ll never get used to it. Maybe all those bright city lights mess with your brain after all.”

Daryl nodded, and he knew the moment had presented itself. The tone shifted a bit serious when he finally asked the question that’d be pressing him.

“Atlanta, then?”

“Briefly.” You nodded. “My brother and I were visiting before everything happened.”

“Heard it was bad there.”

It was. It’d taken a long time to stop waking up in a sweat with memories of that night.

Still, you shrugged. “It was bad everywhere.”

“Yeah, but they weren’t droppin’ bombs everywhere.”

“I got out before that.”

Good timing.

“We were only there for two weeks. If the trip had been a month later, or earlier, we wouldn’t have been anywhere close to Georgia when this thing hit.”

Daryl felt something fester in his gut. Anxiety? That distant, non-existent what-if made him shift in his seat. He could feel it looking over your side profile— the curve of your nose and lips, the soft flutter of eyelashes— and it hit him like that bullet had. Fast.

It was true. You’d grown on him. He cared.

“You’re not from Georgia?”

You shook your head. “Nope.”

“Explains the accent.”

“Or lack thereof,” you countered. “I like yours though. It's charming.”

Daryl scoffed, and you gave him a look.

“What? I’m being serious. You have a nice voice.”

A pretty shade of light pink scattered across his cheeks. You couldn’t help that loose smile you wore. It was nice to make him nervous, for once. Of course, you weren’t about to rub it in his face. You glanced away, eyes caught in the fast shades of green, orange, and red passing by the window.

“What about you? Where were you at the start?”

Daryl cleared his throat. “Same place I’d always been. Hometown.”

“You never left?”

“Nah.”

“Not even for college or…”

His grip on the steering wheel tightened, and he tried not to side-eye your reaction when he finally muttered, “Didn’t go.”

Though that part of him that held all those pessimistic, self-doubts was a strong force to be reckoned with. He didn’t need to prove himself— never cared to before— but now here he was, sitting with that gnawing feeling in his gut, wanting to.

And yet, you barely even shrugged.

“I almost didn’t go, either,” you said nonchalantly, eyes running over the back of the CD case. “You ever wish you had, though?”

“Nah.”

“Fair enough. I think you could’ve been good at it, though. You’re very…”

Daryl waited, brow hitched as you hummed.

“Intuitive.” You’d decided. “You know, you have good instincts. Sometimes it feels like you know what’s gonna happen before it does.”

He sat with those words a moment, then offered one of his own: “Observant.”

“Yeah, exactly. Maybe you could’ve been a lawyer… Or a cop.”

“Nah,” Daryl huffed. “Cops ’n I never got along well.”

“No?” You teased. “You used to get into trouble, Dixon?”

“Merle did. Guess I tagged along for the ride.” He shrugged. “Like I said, I was a dumbass.”

“You being a dumbass— that’s hard to imagine.”

“I didn’t have to,” he quipped.

You smiled at the easy wit that always just seemed to flow from him.

“So you didn’t leave town before this?”

“Not really. Never even left Georgia.”

“Seriously?”

He shook his head.

“Well, maybe after we pick up your friends we can go on a road trip.”

Daryl gave you a look. It was questioning, sure, but gentle. ��Plannin’ on stickin’ around then?”

“Well, I uh…” you paused. Curiously, you hadn’t thought about it much. Since those initially tense first days together, the possibility of parting ways with Daryl, not because of a feverish worry or a herd, but because your shared journey had reached an end, hadn’t come to mind often. The two of you hadn’t been together long, but you’d already been through a lot. Patching the other up, too many close calls to count, sharing what little supplies you had… just to say ‘see ya!’ after everything felt wrong. Incomplete.

“If you’d let me. I don’t really have anywhere else to go— anyone else.”

“Alright.” Daryl nodded.

It was a short acknowledgement. A single word. It still made you smile.

Daryl wasn’t like most people. He was forgiving and insightful. He let you live when you probably deserved to die because he wasn’t like most people. All you knew about the others was that they’d earned Daryl’s loyalty at some point, and made their own way into his sentiment, too. If he trusted them, you hoped that meant you could too.

Hoped.

Worry crept back in. Maybe the others wouldn’t want you there. The stain of the prison could’ve been enough to taint your reputation, completely, even if Daryl vouched for you. And, if it came down to it, choosing between you and them, there was no doubt in your mind. He wouldn’t pick the girl he knew for a couple of weeks over his real family.

It poured out faster than you meant. Words slipped, mumbled and stuttered, “You think they might— might wanna kill me? Or, I don’t know, cut me loose?”

“Tha’ ain’t gonna happen.” Daryl watched the road. “They’re good people. Like you.”

The weight of worry lifted off your chest again. He had a talent for that.

You smiled.

Good people.

You tried to hide the flush at your cheeks and chest, glancing out the window. “How’d you find them anyway?”

“At the start, Merle ’n I were in the middle’a huntin’. Didn’t even know ‘bout the walkers until I found one out there, ’n it tried to take a bite outta me.”

“Shit,” you hissed.

“Douchebag was all over me. Smelt somethin’ awful. I started yellin’, screamin’ at the thing. Punchin’ him. He jus’ kept coming, then Merle shot it.” He scoffed, “Thought I was ‘bout to serve hard time for murder, till Merle said he’d heard something on the truck’s radio ‘bout dead bastards comin’ back to life. We left for Atlanta after tha’.”

“Refugee camps?”

“Never made it. That was when we found the others on the road. We stayed up by a quarry for a while. It wasn’t safe, so we kept movin’, till we found the prison. ‘Bout a year ago.”

“You stayed there a year?”

Daryl nodded. “We lost a lot gettin’ there. Made somethin’ of it, though.”

“I didn’t think anything like that could be real.” You shook your head.

He met your look. It’d gone from smiling to serious in a few sentences. That slight bite at your lip, a quiver in your brow.

“It was," he said.

“Do you think you could ever have that again?”

Of course, he’d thought about it. Even if he tried not to, those memories of the prison and the community they built from a grey, desolate building— a prison— were overwhelming. It was the first time in maybe his whole life that he felt a purpose. People didn’t just depend on him. They accepted him. They liked him.

He stole another look at you. That bloom of familiarity was deep in his chest, again.

“Maybe.”

---

Another hour passed. The sun was softer, a cold breeze shifting through that open window until you finally rolled it back up. You still stared outside, watching the trees slip by.

Daryl had traced the backroads back to the main road leaving the prison, and you’d been travelling west since. The same way he’d seen the bus go. It seemed strange that they hadn’t come up with an official rendezvous spot, just a last chance at loading on that bus together. But maybe a more detailed plan would’ve been useless anyway; places didn’t last long, nowadays.

The car rolled to a stop. Your head lulled to face forward, finding a slight ache in your neck when you finally tore your eyes away from the window. A question sat at the tip of your tongue, about to slip when your eyes landed on the answer.

Instead, you gasped, “Oh my God.”

There, sitting in the road, was the bus.

Splatters of blood painted the siding. A dozen or so bodies sprawled by the back door. Some were piled on top of each other, limbs mixed. Others lay alone. All of them had turned before they were put down for good.

You could just tell.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed his white-knuckle grip around the steering wheel. The veins in his hands popped out, muscle turned into stone, and there was no use in glancing up at him; you already knew that look of pain— despair— he had. Could practically feel him begin to bottle up every word, emotion, or care.

You were the first one to exit the car.

Goosebumps broke out on your skin as a cold breeze took hold. That chill sunk into your skin with the sound of the second door opening, and something stiff and heavy clouded behind you.

It was coming from him. You knew that already. It made that pit of dread in your gut even heavier.

Was it fury he was feeling? Grief?

Even when you finally did glance back at him, lingering by the car's side, you still couldn’t say for sure. That glossy look in his eye was certainly bitter. Tense with emotion that you knew he was fighting to reign in. It left him with a dark glare as he stared at the dead faces of his people— the only ones he’d known for sure got out. He had practice keeping that type of anger silent. Not the one that made you punch some asshole at the bar, but the type that was born out of misery and regret.

He’d been abrasive at the cabin. Then softer after the pharmacy. Even strained in the cottage, with you tending to his back. But he’d never forced himself numb before, not like this. You could tell he was holding back. A guttural scream, you thought, from the tension in his neck and that vein threatening to pop out where a swollen bump had been a few days prior.

But his lips drew shut in a taut line, and he was quieter than the rustle of the trees.

It made your stomach knot. Though, you were sure it was no worse than what he might have been feeling— if he'd let himself. His only lead: bloody, dead, and rotting in the middle of the road. If you’d kept driving, the tires would’ve ripped through decaying muscle and crushed bone.

It wasn’t fair.

The gas station. His wounds. The bus. These people, lying like trash on the road. No more significant than the withering leaves beside them.

There wasn’t the time, nor the energy, to spend digging graves. But you dragged each limp body, one by one, to the side of the road. Right where the grass bled into the concrete, they laid.

Sometime around the third body, Daryl began to help. He picked up the opposite limb with his good arm, then eventually his bad one too.

Nothing but that gloss across his eye to tell you these people meant anything to him. He was retreating by the second. Crawling back into that ugly pit of animosity and cynicism that always seemed to have a spot waiting for him. Each body you moved reaffirmed it. Pushed him deeper as hollow eyes fell on the cold faces of the people he cared about. He fed. He protected.

Or, tried to.

It was never enough.

-> part 9

A/N: so much happened in this part I mean... reader finally realizing she might have a lil crush on him... the bike ride... the car conversation... THE BUS

anyway. back to our regular scheduled bad shit happening to our fav fictional characters. if u have any predictions or thoughts, lmk :p

FYI: I'm expecting to miss next weeks posting. I have too much to do with exams, sorry! after that ill be graduated so lots of free time coming up lol.

if you’re reading this, thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. please feel free to leave feedback, it helps so much and I love to read it. have a lovely day <3

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfic #Daryl Dixon / you #Daryl Dixon / reader #daryl / you #daryl / reader #daryl dixon series #the walking dead #twd #twd fanfiction #twd daryl #norman reedus #the walking dead fanfic

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