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manicmanuscription · 1 day ago

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P.3. Hopefully Charming?

Part Three

Pairings: Mafia!Bat Boys / Clueless!Reader

Summary: Reader finally goes on her first date with the batboys!

Word Count: 1.7K+

Tags: first dates, flirting, skirting around heavy topics of convo, author lowkey hates this chapter and might rewrite it.

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── °ꨄ︎｡ /̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ｡ꨄ︎° ──

I looked at myself in the mirror with a small smile. I had the dress stuffed in the back of my closet for a while, it had been a good night for tips when I bought it and I'd had my eye on the gorgeous black piece in the window for awhile. I justified it pretty well but truth be told this was the first time I'd worn it since that night a few months ago.

The sparkly black fabric hugged all my curves in all the perfect places, accentating just right in the areas of my body I sometimes felt insecure in. I had my hair curled and in a bun framing my face and I felt beautiful. I had kept the jewelry light but worn some of my favorites.

They hadn't told me where we would be going just yet, only to be ready by 7 and to look nice. My stomach flipped at the memory of who I was going out with- my bosses. plural.

I shuddered in excitment, leaving my bedroom with my matching black heels in hand. A quick glance at my phone told me it was 6:54 and after slipping my shoes on and grabbing my purse I headed to lobby.

My mind whirled the whole elevator ride down. I'd been working there for a almost a year and hadn't noticed any signs they found me interesting. I shouldn't be going out with my bosses, what would my coworkers say? what if this went horrible wrong and I was out of a job?

The elevator doors dinged open and there I saw Rhysand entering the lobby all my worries draining as my heart fluttered at the smile he gave me. Even though it was stupid as all hell. I couldn't help the shiver that ran down my spine whenever any three of them looked at me like that.

I started walking towards him and once he was in earshot he spoke first. "I would've come up and retrieved you."

"Well what kinda girl would I be to let you see my place before the first date even started?"

"I don't think it says anything about you, but certainly about what kind of man I am for not even walking all the way to your front door." I just rolled my eyes and as soon as I reached him he pressed a kiss to my hand, those almost violet eyes roving over me appreciatively. "You look absolutely stunning darling."

"You clean up pretty well yourself."

He smiled, offering me his arm and I took it. "Thank you, I don't have to try all that hard."

I couldn't help but chuckle, the cool wind brushing against my neck as we stepped outside and making goosebumps run up my arm, certainly not because of his close proximity. "I revoke my earlier compliment then, seeing as your ego is certainly big enough without my help."

He placed his free hand where his heart was, feigning hurt. "Ouch. And here I thought I was making progress."

I didn't get a chance to respond as he opened the car door for me, making sure I was seated before closing it and heading to the driver's side. I couldn't appreciate the leather seats and nice interior when I noticed Cassian and Azriel weren't in the car.

"Don't worry darling they were elected to set up the resturant while I get to be your personal chauffeur."

I blushed slightly, embarassed he could read my disappointment so easily but quickly changed the topic. "So it's a resturant then?"

He didn't say anything just as I exepected, they'd been infuriating quiet the entire week. He just roared the engine to life and headed down the streets of Velaris. "I hope it's not Sevanda's I've heard that place sucks."

Even though I was slightly joking I truly hoped he didn't take me to his own resturant I'd already spent enough time there as is, taking me on a date there seemed a bit egotistical.

He chuckled and I couldn't help but notice how good he looks behind the wheel of a fast car, his strong hands gripping the leather confidently as if he'd done this a thousand times or more. Leaning back in the seat to get comfortable. "I've heard the owner's are especially wicked."

"I've met them, they're not that bad."

"No?"

"Nah, except they totally hijacked my date, very rude to be butting in their employees personal lives."

"You should go to the National Resturant Association. That's very unprofessional."

I couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of me. "Well it's a good thing I think they're cute."

"Don't let Cassian hear you say that. I don't think any of us will ever live it down."

I turned to smile at him, only to realize his eyes were on mine before returning to the road. His hand quietly fell off the steering wheel and settled on my thigh just slightly above my thigh, his body tensed as if waiting for a rejection.

The touch sent electricty through my skin and I my heart started beating faster. In reality we didn't know each other all that well even if there had been..moments.

I however didn't make a move to remove it, content to let this feeling last however long it would. Wishing he would move those hands further up.

── °ꨄ︎｡ /̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ｡ꨄ︎° ──

I couldn't help but gasp in awe when we arrived, Rhysand had his eyes covering mine during the elevator ride and after a few steps he finally removed them. It was a rooftop resturant, with dim lights and expensive seating. I could see the whole city for miles. "Where are we?"

"Le cœur"

I whirled around to face him. "You're joking."

He cocked his head to the side. "No."

"It's friday night and this place is completely empty. Le cœur is always busy, my friend works here."

He just shrugged his shoulders. "I have friends here too."

"Are you trying to intimidate me with your money?" I joked.

"We were trying to show off." A familiar voice said from behind me and I turned to face Cassian and Azriel. Grateful to see them. "Is it working?" Rhys asked, leading me to a the closest table with the best view. Velaris spread out below us the Sidra glinting in the setting sun.

"Write me a check then we'll see."

Cassian laughed, claiming the spot right next to me while Azriel and Rhysand took the seats across. "I'm kidding obviously, this is so beautiful thank you so much." I added sincerely. Hoping they werent thinking I was trying to take advantage of them.

Azriel brushed it off but Rhysand locked eyes with me for a few moments "You're welcome." A waiter appeared with a bottle of wine and a few glasses keeping his eyes glued to the floor. He silently slipped away after that and I didn't even get a chance to thank him.

"Did you already order?" I asked when I realized there was no menus. "Trust me, Alice cooks what you will enjoy." Cassian said appreciatively patting his stomach.

I laughed and Azriel silently poured me a glass of wine. "Do you usually go all out with the women you date?"

"Only the extremely beauitful ones." Cassian spoke, his eyes on me and I flushed under his attention.

"We also don't date together…wanted to make it special."

"Wait what?" I turned to face Azriel, Rhys leaned back in his seat his fingers drumming against his wine glass. "Your a unique case."

"I…don't know what to say to that." I admitted, of course I preened under their attention, who wouldn't? and the fact that they all wanted me enough to share me was a sobering reality, even if it had my heart flipping inside out.

"You don't have to say anything. It's just important that you know it." Rhys was obviously the smooth talker of the three and I was grateful for his charm easing the tension. I didn't realize how they felt and it made me.…giddy.

"I don't know how to be on a date with three people." It's my first time being shared too. I silently said and Azriel nodded in quiet understanding yet the man to my side spoke first. "That's alright princess just let us take the lead."

Cassian's smile was infectious and I found myself relaxing with his light charm. "Well what do you like to do for fun?"

"Oh none of those icebreaker questions that's so awkward." I hid a mishevious smile behind my glass. "What do you suggest we talk about then love?" Azriel murmured, leaning forward in his chair to further capture my attention.

"What's the dumbest thing you've all ever done?"

"Oof went straight for it huh?” Cassian chuckled.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

"Alright alright. The dumbest thing I've ever done was sneak into Rhys's dad's whiskey cabinent. I was 16 and when he found out about it he was not happy. I ran laps at five am for a whole year rain or shine."

"Wait wait, I thought you were all brothers?" I asked, Cassian had said rhys dad, not ours.

"Not biologically but we grew up just as close." Rhys said sharing a heavy look with the two other males, spinning a ring on his finger as if in thought. I decided not to push it ay further as it seemed there was a big story there for another time. "And you Azriel, what's the dumbest thing you've ever done?"

"Drive without a sealtbelt." He shrugged and I raised my eyebrows at him. "Driving without a seatbealt? Come on, that's such a lie."

The edges of his lips barely lifted but I noticed and it felt like a small victory from the stoic male. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours." He repeated my words from earlier and I crossed my arms over my chest. "That's how it's going to be?"

He didn't say anything just waited for me to contiune and I huffed, taking a pause to think. "The dumbest thing I've ever done was…take seven shots of tequila the night before a big test at med school. They kinda kicked me out.”

"I didn't know you were in school." "Yep." I popped the p before taking a sip of my wine. "I was going to drop out sooner or later so it doesn't matter." I waved the conversation off, hoping to avoid talking about it further.

Azriel nodded again. "The dumbest thing I've ever done is steal a car."

"You did what?!" I asked and just like that the night kicked off.

── °ꨄ︎｡ /̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ｡ꨄ︎° ──

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Let me know if your thoughts on my writing & this series / where you want this to go! i always love hearing from you guys! Also let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! <3

taglist: @sstrohma @kissesfromnovalie @throwing-up-butterflies @hjgdhghoe @giovax @acourtofbatboydreams

#mafia!batboys x reader #azriel x reader #rhys x reader #rhysand x reader #cassian x reader #poly!bat boys x reader #poly!acotar x reader #acotar x reader #polyamory #fluff #first dates

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000000-000000-000000 · 3 days ago

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Bite the Hand Part 2 (Brian Thomas/Hoodie x F!Reader)

PART 1

CW: toxic relationship, mentions of abuse, home invasion?, dubcon, degradation, oral (f receiving), creampie

word count 3.8k

You used to wait by the door.

Phone clutched in your hand, heart pounding with every tick of the clock past midnight. He’d come back eventually—blood-soaked, silent, maybe drunk on adrenaline, maybe just quiet. You never really knew which version of Brian you were getting anymore.

There had been warmth once. Jokes in the kitchen. His hand on your thigh while you watched movies, thumb absently stroking soft circles into your skin. But soon enough, that same hand only ever grabbed you when he wanted to fuck, or shove you out of the way on his way out again.

“Stay the fuck put. Stop fuckin' asking questions.”

It became a mantra. Orders barked more than spoken.

The ski mask might’ve stayed in the closet most days, but the man behind it was gone anyway. The glint in his eyes wasn’t the same. The charm he wielded like a sword had dulled, used only to keep you docile between missions, between arguments, between the cruel grip of his hands on your ass when he needed something to feel real.

So you fought.

You fought like hell.

Hands, mouths, nails. Screaming. Spitting. Biting words that bled out worse than any knife wound he’d ever stitched. It always ended the same: bruises in the shape of apologies, cum on your thighs, his hand around your throat like a leash he didn’t even bother hiding anymore.

That last night was a war.

Screaming. Shattered glass. His voice like fire, yours like broken glass.

“You’re a fucking psychopath!”

“And you’re a useless, whining fuckin' whore!”

It ended in sex, as always. Violent, degrading, nothing new. You cried after. He didn’t even glance at you.

You left in the morning. Packed your shit in the middle of the night, shaking like a leaf, and ran.

You got out. Somehow. Slipped under the radar, out of Slender’s reach, far from the forest, far from the last hideout you were forced to follow Brian into, far from him. You found a shitty little apartment with leaky pipes and windows that didn’t close all the way, and for the first time in too long, you breathed. Started piecing yourself back together with shaky fingers and cheap coffee.

But nights were the worst.

Some nights, you missed him so bad it felt like a wound that won’t clot. Not what he became—the cold, vicious thing with blood under his nails and emptiness in his eyes. No. You missed the man who used to rub circles into your back when you cried. The one who used to smile at you with a brightness in his eyes like he was looking at the sun. The one who used to say your name like it meant something. Even if he was dead and gone, buried under Hoodie’s boots.

Present day felt like trying.

Clocking in, clocking out. Laughing at coworkers’ jokes even when your chest felt hollow. You went out for drinks sometimes, flirted with people you didn’t care about just to feel seen. Most nights, though, it was you and the walls of your shitty apartment, the hum of the fridge, the muted buzz of some late-night TV show you weren’t really watching.

The bar reeked of spilled beer and half-assed regrets tonight. You were three drinks in and still hadn’t laughed at anything your coworker said. He wasn’t funny, not really. But he was nice. Nice in that bland, unassuming way. The kind of man who asked how your day was, who didn’t look at your mouth when you spoke.

You wondered, in a slow, grim sort of way, what Brian—or Hoodie—would’ve done if he saw you there. Probably would’ve broken the guy’s nose on the curb and made you clean the blood from his knuckles with your sleeve.

The thought made you sick.

By the time you stumbled home, sobering up with every step, the streets were mostly empty—just the wet hiss of cars passing on the avenue, neon signs flickering like dying stars. Your boots echoed up the stairwell to your floor. Fifth. No elevator. You were sweating by the time you reached the landing.

Then you saw it.

Your doorknob, on the floor. Jagged metal, splinters around the frame. Like it had been ripped off.

Your stomach plummeted, a hot wave of nausea curling at the base of your throat.

A crowbar. That’s all you could see in your mind. Black steel. Splattered red. The way Brian used to drop it in the doorway when he got back and the clatter would resonate like a bad omen.

You pulled your pocket knife from your bag with a shaky hand. It was laughable, really. As if a blade that size could stop him. But still—you held it close. White-knuckled.

The apartment was silent.

Too silent.

You stepped over the doorknob, cautious. Careful. Like maybe if you were quiet enough, time would rewind. Undo the lock. Send you back to that bar with that forgettable man and his easy smile.

Your kitchen was untouched. So was the living room. No drawers open, no mess. But the bedroom door—the light was on. A single band of gold stretched out beneath it. Still. Warm. Wrong.

You padded toward it slowly, breath caught between your teeth. Every step like walking deeper into a grave you’d dug yourself. “Who the fuck would break into this shitbox?” you thought, almost laughing to yourself. What was there to steal, the inflatable mattress you slept on? The secondhand TV with a line through the screen?

But the lie died in your throat.

You knew.

That smell hit you first. Cigarettes. Metal. The cold scent of rain on asphalt and that fucking cologne that was burnt into every synapse and olfactory nerve in your body.

You didn’t even get the chance to open the door.

An arm snapped around your neck from behind, tight like a vise, forearm digging into your windpipe before you could scream. Your knife hit the ground with a soft clatter. Another hand was on your wrist, twisting it back—pain bloomed hot, immediate. Your body jerked in his grip, but it was useless. He had you.

You gasped, legs kicking, vision tunneling. You knew that grip. Knew how he held you when he wanted to hurt you just enough to make a point.

Your back slammed into his chest. Solid. Broad. So familiar it made your ribs ache.

His breath was on your neck, slow and quiet. A whisper.

And this exact moment was the part where you remembered that missing him was a disease, and he was the plague.

“You think you can fucking leave me?”

His voice was a razor at your ear, dragging slow. Gritted, low. The kind of voice people hear in nightmares and still wake up wet.

“Leave me? ” His arm flexed, pulling your back flush to him, tighter, until you couldn’t breathe right—until your body remembered him without your permission.

The curve of your ass pressed against the shape of his cock, already hard, thick through his jeans, and your spine arched like it always had, like instinct. Like obedience.

You hated yourself for it.

“Still want me,” he muttered, voice frayed. “Say you fucking don’t, but look at you—fuck, look at you.”

You tried to wrench free, heart jackhammering, but his free hand slid down your front, fingers splaying over your stomach, holding you there. Trapping you in that tension, in the horrible, undeniable reality of your pulse pounding in your pussy.

“You thought I wouldn’t find you?” he spat, the words venomous, but shaking underneath. “That I’d just fuckin’ forget you?”

He ground his hips forward slow, deliberate, and you felt every inch of him—hot, insistent. Your breath hitched, traitorous, and the noise you made was somewhere between a whimper and a sob.

“Stupid fuckin' skank,” he snarled. “Ran away like a coward, just to come back to this. To me. Like you always do.”

“I hate you,” you choked out, voice raw, spit pooling on your tongue like blood. “I fucking hate you—”

“Yeah?” He laughed, bitter, sharp. His lips ghosted just behind your jaw, not a kiss, just breath, heat.

“Then why’s your pussy beggin’ for me right now?”

Your legs nearly gave out.

And still—still, he held you like something sacred. Something ruined, but his.

“I fuckin’ missed you,” he murmured like a sin, and something ugly shattered in your chest.

Because you’d wanted to hear that more than anything, once. Before the blood, before the bruises. Before he’d torn your love out by the roots and left you bleeding for it.

And still, your body leaned into him like it hadn’t gotten the message. Like it didn’t know better.

His hand slid down your front like it had every right. Like he owned the air in your lungs and the ache in your spine. You struggled, but it wasn’t real, not yet—not with the way your hips tilted back to meet his touch.

But the silence that followed was loaded, poisonous.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

The growl in his throat rattled through your back as his fingers hit bare skin under your skirt. He yanked the fabric up to your hips and let out a humorless laugh. Low and sharp. Almost like he was surprised. Almost like it hurt.

“No panties? What—were you planning to get fucked tonight?”

You choked on a curse, head lolling back against his shoulder, teeth bared.

“Fuck you.”

“Slut,” he said flatly, fingers dragging through your folds. Your thighs jumped.

He hissed. “Jesus Christ, you’re fuckin’ soaked.”

A wet, obscene sound filled the air as he spread your lips apart, rough fingers sliding through the sheer mess between them.

“What were you gonna do, huh?” he muttered, voice brittle with fury. “Let some loser from work take you home? Let him stick his tongue in my pussy?”

He pinched your clit between two fingers, hard, and you gasped so sharp it burned your lungs.

He shoved you forward, finally releasing your neck. You stumbled, dizzy, and landed on the big lumpy bean bag chair you bought on clearance months ago. It barely held your weight, but it was yours. It was supposed to make this place feel safe.

He made it feel like his.

Brian was already on his knees, hands dragging you toward the edge. You barely had time to brace your hands before two rough palms were spreading your thighs open in front of his face, legs tossed over his shoulders like luggage.

“You look so fuckin’ stupid in this place,” he sneered, jerking your skirt up further until the waistband was biting into your ribs. “Tryna play house without me. What, you think shitty furniture and cheap drinks could make you forget me?”

His mouth was on you before you had time to bite back. Slurping right off the bat like a man half-starved, like it had been years since he’d had a taste and he was desperate to memorize it again. His tongue was hot and thick and messy, slathering you in spit, curling and flicking against your clit with rhythmic cruelty.

You tried to stay still. You tried to stay angry. But your hips jerked up with every suck and swirl like you were being strung up by nerve endings alone.

He smacked the underside of your thigh, hard, loud, the sound cracking off the apartment walls. Then again. And again.

“Don’t fucking run from it,” he growled against your pussy, lips slick, stubble soaked. “You want this so bad you didn’t even bother to put panties on.”

“Fuck you,” you spat, but it cracked halfway through, pathetic.

He moaned—moaned, the sick bastard—and dragged your clit between his lips like a cigarette he couldn’t quit.

One hand gripped your thigh so tight it’d bruise. The other, shoved under your shirt, groped your tit like he owned it—like he missed it. Rough fingers tugged at your nipple, just shy of cruel.

“This pussy’s been lonely,” he muttered, licking up the mess he made, nosing deep like he wanted to smother himself in it. “But not as fuckin’ lonely as me.”

You hated the way that landed. Hated the ache between your ribs worse than the one between your legs.

You were barely breathing—panting, shaking, trying to keep some shred of dignity while he tongued you like salvation and slapped your ass and thighs like punishment. Your hands clawed at the bean bag, nails tearing into cheap fabric, and just when your hips started to tremble, he pulled back just enough to look down at you—at the trembling mess he’d made of you already, scoffing.

He spat, a thick, stringy glob right onto your cunt, the spit mixing with your slick in a hot, filthy sheen.

“Fuckin’ nerve,” he muttered, rubbing it in with the pads of two fingers, slow circles on your clit before dragging them lower. “Tryna give my pussy away like it’s up for grabs.”

He smacked it, just enough that you yelped, hips jolting. “Oh?” he said, voice all mock-innocent, cocking his head. “She got somethin’ to say?” Another slap, harder. Then those same fingers slipped inside, knuckle deep.

Your eyes flew open as your back arched against the bean bag. Brian just laughed, like the way you bit back a gasp, a reaction, was comedy to him. Stumbled forward a bit like he couldn’t help himself, crowding over you, chest to chest now, breath hot against your cheek.

“Tight as a fuckin’ fist,” he whispered, grinning. “Don’t tell me you’ve been sluttin’ it out for nothin’. You leave me, and then what—dry spell?”

His fingers piston into you hard enough to make the bean bag shift under your spine.

“No one want this pussy?”

He curled his fingers just right and your mouth fell open with a moan.

You finally got air in your lungs, finally started to say, “Go fuck yourse—”

But he kissed you.

Hot, messy, all tongue—he shoved it into your mouth like he wanted to fuck your throat with it, your own taste still thick on his lips. And as your hips twitched and writhed, his fingers just kept going, relentless, pounding into that spot that made your stomach seize and your eyes roll.

You whimpered against his mouth. Moaned into it. Tried to bite him, but it was weak, pathetic—and he felt the way your walls started throbbing and clenching around his fingers.

“Mhm,” he hummed into your mouth, a deep, low vibration that sent you spiraling. “There it is, baby. There she fuckin’ goes.”

He broke the kiss, pulled back just far enough to watch your face fall apart. “Let it fuckin’ happen,” he muttered, teeth grazing your lips, hand slapping your thigh. “Come on, baby—fuckin’ show me how well I know you."

And you did. Convulsing around his fingers, slick spitting out like a fountain, your body betraying you in the worst fucking way possible. Proving him right, as if you had to autonomy.

You felt him shifting, leaning back. A low grunt. The slick sound of skin meeting skin. You opened your eyes—squinted—and saw him on his knees, pants shoved down just enough, one hand working his cock in slow, filthy pulls while the other kept those two fingers inside you, curling again, fucking up into that oversensitive spot.

“Look at you,” he muttered, eyes lidded, teeth gritted like he was pissed. “Fuckin’ creamin’ on my fingers and I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

Your back arched. You gasped out, “B—Brian,” like it hurt, like you hated yourself for saying it.

His jaw flexed, forearm tensing under your nails. You didn’t even realize you were clinging to him that hard, nails digging in, trying to anchor yourself against the second wave tearing through your gut.

“Say that shit again,” he growled, voice all gravel and heat, hand speeding up on his cock. “Go on. Let me hear you.”

You bit your lip, tried to turn your head—but he caught your chin, thumb still wet with your slick, and forced you to look.

“Don't piss me off, sugar. Say it.”

You sobbed out a moan and broke right the fuck down.

“Brian,” you whispered again, breath catching, heat curling low in your belly. “Brian—I can’t—”

“Couldn’t even last two fingers,” he muttered, breathless, his voice dark with disbelief. “Fucked you dumb with my fuckin’ hand—and now you’re sayin’ my name like you never stopped wantin’ me.”

You tried to push him off, weakly, voice hoarse. “You’re such a fucking—"

“Shut up,” he hissed. “Shut the fuck up—look at yourself, whore.”

He pulled his fingers out with a cruel little twist, and before your brain could catch up, he grabbed you by the back of your neck, shoved your legs open wider with his knees, and sank into you in one deep, brutal thrust that split you open and knocked the breath from your lungs.

You cried out, hands scrabbling at the bean bag, thighs twitching as he bottomed out.

He fucked you like he was trying to kill you, like his dick could carve a place for himself in your guts where no one else could reach. Deep, hard strokes that punched the air out of your lungs, your legs cracked wide open over his hips. Skin slapping, obscene squelches from your soaked cunt, his low grunts in your ear twisting your stomach into knots.

“Shit,” he hissed, grinding his hips in a tight, mean little roll that hit something wicked inside. “God, I missed this sloppy fuckin' pussy."

Your hand fisted into his hoodie, teeth grit like you could fight off another orgasm. But then he leaned in. Pressed his chest to yours, nose to your cheek, and murmured, “Touch your clit.”

You froze, choking on half a moan. “What—?”

“Run that clit for me, baby,” he snarled, giving a particularly mean thrust that had your thighs twitching. “C'mon, show me how fuckin’ bad you missed this.”

You hesitated. He reached down and smacked your ass, lip curling.

“Do it.”

And you gave in, because how could you not? No matter how much you hated it and denied it, no matter how your chest stung every time you met his eyes, your body spoke for you.

Your fingers trembled as you found your clit, slick and swollen and sensitive. You rubbed it fast, desperate, on the verge of tears, your cunt pulsing around his cock with every thrust.

“Fuck, fuck, Brian—”

He moaned low, watching your face scrunch up, watching your eyes go glassy, lips twitching in a sharp smile. “Atta fuckin' girl. Too good? You gonna cry for me, sweetheart?”

You did. Tears welled up and spilled without permission. It was too much, the stretch, the heat, the shame, the fucking relief.

“You still mine?” he growled into your ear.

And your body gave him the answer.

You came with a broken gasp, cunt clamping so tight around him he groaned and bit your shoulder, still pounding into you, not letting up even as you trembled beneath him, twitching and overwhelmed.

The kind of rhythm that left you sobbing, drooling, grinding back because your body needed more even when you swore you were finished. Deep, dragging thrusts that filled you up and pushed the air from your lungs, again and again, his hips flush with yours, one hand tangled in the sweat damp hair at your nape while the other braced on your thigh, pushing it back to fold you open for him.

He buried his face in the curve of your leg, stubble scraping your skin, lips parted, panting. You felt the heat of him everywhere—his groans vibrating into your calf, his hand shaking as it held you still, his cock stretching you wide enough to split your soul.

You were babbling. Couldn’t form a single sentence. Just broken gasps, high-pitched moans, and his name, like it was the only thing you had ever known.

“F-fuck, please—Brian—please, I—”

“Please what?” His voice was strained, all grit and poison and possession. “You want my fuckin’ cum? Huh? Say it. Say you want me to fill this pussy like nobody ever did.”

You gasped like you’d been burned. “Yes—yes, please—fuck, I need it, I need it—”

He grunted, fucking into you harder, biting down on your calf deep enough to make you jerk, arm snaking around to press flat against your lower belly like he was feeling himself through you. His breath hitched, voice tightening.

“Tell me whose pussy this is.”

Your brain short-circuited. You tried to speak, choked on it.

“Say it, baby. Say it or I’ll pull out, leave you full’a nothin’.”

“No—please! It’s yours, yours, Brian—!”

He snarled, and buried himself all the way inside, hips flush to your ass, cock twitching. You felt the warmth of it, thick spurts of cum filling you, and he groaned into your leg like it physically hurt to let go. His whole body trembled, breath ragged and shaking as he held himself there, deep, biting into your calf to muffle it, to anchor himself while he came, grinding in with a low, broken, “Fffffuck…”

You collapsed. Just collapsed. Face pressed to the side, mouth open, tears in your lashes, body throbbing with every twitch of his cock inside you. Your thighs were soaked, cunt aching, spent—but he was still holding you down like he couldn’t let you go just yet.

And he didn’t say anything at first. Didn’t move. Just breathed, his body molded to yours, his cum leaking out around the base of his dick—warm, messy, filthy. His lips brushed the inside of your thigh, too soft for what he’d just done to you. Like he hated how much he meant it.

“…No one will fuck you like me,” he muttered finally, voice raw and thick with something that wasn’t quite smug. “Nobody knows you like this.”

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leaawrites · 1 day ago

Text

My Girlfriend

Part 2 to Your Girlfriend

Eli Hewson x fem!reader

Summary: when Eli meets up with an old friend, he's far more interested in his girlfriend

Warnings: making out, toxic relationship (not Eli), swearing, breaking up with your boyfriend for Eli

Wordcount: 2.9k

Masterlist, Inhaler Masterlist

The hours ticked by in slow motion, her eyes drained on the still unopened door of her flat. Phone, still turned on, laying on the little table beside her, reading the text Tom had sent 30 minutes ago.

'I'm heading out now, be there in five.'

Nothing else.

It was the first text he'd sent that day, not texting again after leaving her with Eli, a person she barely knew, in a cafe because of his work. No extra apology, no 'hope you got on well enough and he wasn't too annoying', no question as to whether she got home safe that day or not. It was complete radio silence until he made sure that she was still free for him.

Engaged but not living together. It was laughable. Comical in a sense that made her want to cry. When bringing up the topic of moving in together, it was always the same on his side. An eye roll, gushing about how she was acting so clingy before answering with an, 'My apartment is like my second office. If we move in together you'd feel like a part of it. I don't need more distractions than I already have.'

So after a bit, she stopped asking altogether.

Keeping their private lives separated by five streets. His work place in the middle of it all. A five minute walk away from her flat. A five minute walk that took him thirty minutes and soon a full hour until the lock finally clicked and Tom came walking in. Throwing his keys on the dresser and his coat over her own when a free hanger was available for him. One she emptied for him.

"What took you so long?" she asked, watching him as he walked into her kitchen, brewing himself a cup of coffee. Acting like nothing was wrong.

If she was being honest, she couldn't stop thinking about Eli's words. He wasn't paying attention to her, wasn't asking questions. He stood in her kitchen like it was theirs, treating her home like it was his when he made it clear that he didn't want that to be a truth. Making her wait like she was depended on him.

In the span of 5 minutes, Elijah Hewson had asked her more questions than Tom did in 3 years. A guy she only met was more interested in her than her own fiance, the man she was gonna spent her life with. She deserved better, right? She deserved to have someone that loved her and showed it too. But for how long would that hold?

Eli was sweet, he was nice as they talked. But how long would it take for him to get bored of her? It wasn't like she was the Rockstar's girlfriend dream. There was nothing that made her stand out to anyone that knew her after college. Over the course of college, every girl seemed interesting to guys. Afterwards, they had the whole world.

"Do you remember the guy I told you about?" Tom asked, pulling her out of her daydreams. "The one who wanted to invest in the company with quite a big sum?" Humming quietly she tried figuring out where this was going. "I'm having dinner with him in an hour. Would it be a problem if we rearrange ours?"

At his question, her face fell. "You mean, our engagement dinner date?"

"Yeah, that one. We can do it another day, can't we? This is just really important to me. I'm also gonna take a shower and change here, because the restaurant is nearer to your apartment. That way I can relax a bit beforehand. It would be nice if you could leave me on my own for that time though. If it isn't making any complications. But you've got nowhere else to go anywhere, so I bet it won't be a problem for you. Now would it?"

He couldn't be fucking serious, now could he?

Putting on a sickly sweet smile with pressed together lips, she tilted her head as he wasn't even looking at her anymore. Already making his way into her bedroom to take out the clothes he had put away in her closet.

"Be my guest," she said, standing up to follow him.

Taking out clothes herself to go out in, she couldn't even look at him while he stood next to her. Changing out of her comfort clothes and into the ones she planned to wear for their date, throwing her leather jacket over it, she made her way towards the door. Stopping as she watched his keys laying on her dresser from the corner of her eye. Her own keys in her jacket pocket. The all too familiar shape gracing her fingers as she loosened her own from his key chain. Stuffing them into her pocket so he wouldn't find them, even though he would hardly look for them.

Walking out onto the street, she could see the light in her apartment still burning. His frame walking through in shadows.

She had nowhere to go, right? If only he knew.

Looking up his name, she quickly found his band too. Inhaler. Putting a mental note up for herself to ask him about the name later, she kept on looking. Searching for the venue they were playing at, purchasing a ticket and making her way down the street soon enough.

Arriving ten minutes after doors, she found a place close to the bar. Waiting with her eyes glued to her phone as her finger hovered about the 'follow' button on his profile. He wouldn't see it now anyway. Why was she still so afraid of the possibility of him recognizing her?

Trying to remind herself, that no matter where this might lead, whether it would be only a night or a lifetime, she was grateful that he made her realize that she didn't need to be treated the way Tom treated her.

While checking for the time, her eyes recognized something else on the top of his profile. 'Accept following request'.

Pressing down on the blue button, she quickly followed him back before stuffing her phone away. Waiting for the show with a drink in her hand.

The show was incredible. It didn't matter that there were only a few hundred people gathered in the small space, the buzz and energy was the same as in a stadium filled with thousands. The people knew the songs, they new the guys. She only knew him. Watching Eli move and sing wasn't as hard as she thought at first. He was magnifying. Knowingly looking extra slutty with his lips stuck to the mic.

Besides singing a few of the choruses she picked up throughout the night, she kept mostly to herself. Cheering when a song ended and eventually pulling out her phone to get a video of him. Already planning on becoming obnoxious about attending this small gig once they've gotten bigger. If this night was going nowhere, at least she got the memories of attending the gig with her forever.

"Thank you so much for coming," Eli spoke into the mic, both hands holding on to it. Sweat running through his hair as he ran his hand through it. The shirt he wore over the white tank was now somewhere backstage. Laying helplessly after being tossed away in the heat of the moment. "We love you all. Good night."

And then the stage lights went out, their bodies disappearing into the shadows, rushing away to get ready to go home. Bodies tumbled against each other. Faces streaked with tears and smiles. The big lights turning on, blinding the people that were used to the colorful tainted bodies of the band. They were back to normal.

It was over.

Finishing her drink, she kept on looking down at her phone. The screen showing only the picture of the sea she took last year in Italy while on holiday. The holiday Tom had spent writing e-mails and losing track of time hunched over his laptop until she went out without him.

Just like now. An endless circle of misery. One she was gonna break the moment she walked outside and her phone lit up again. A text notification popping up.

'So you've been thinking about our conversation from yesterday'

Another one following shortly after.

'Or am I gonna make a fool out of myself when I say that I think I saw you at the show tonight?'

Laughing at his message, she started typing before she could think clearly. Butterflies swarming her chest. The feeling had grown so foreign in the last couple years. It was always just a sense of familiarity in every situation. Good or bad, it felt all the same. Every touch felt like an accidental brush. Every word felt like it was spoken in a foreign language. One she wasn't willing to learn just to understand it. She wanted it to feel natural.

'I may or may not have just filled half of my memory card with your face'

In the room inside the building, Rob was raising his eyebrow at the smiling boy opposite him who hadn't reacted the first three times his name was called. Eli's eyes never wavering from the screen in front of his face after they settled down in the backstage area to calm down from their high.

"Dude, what's going on with ya?" He asked, the other three lads already looking his way too. Exchanging looks of suspect and high interest.

They haven't heard the end about how his old friend had become this complete douche who had no idea what kind of woman he was able to call his fiancee. At least that's what he hoped she wasn't anymore.

'So you were the girl who couldn't stop filming?'

"It's nothing," Eli replied casually, still not looking up. A wide grin tucking on his lips.

"Sure," Ryan trailed off, stretching the letters a bit more than convincing. "You lot ready to go out?"

'I'm pretty sure I wasn't the only girl with a phone in her hands'

'You got any good shots then?'

'A few solid ones, yeah'

'Maybe you could show me? You know, for promotion and stuff. It's always good to have fan recordings. Makes it seem more organic'

'If you want to see them, you're gonna have to rescue me from the cold streets'

"I might skip tonight." Finally lifting his head. Already grabbing his jacket and starting to put it on.

'Where exactly are you?'

"You got somewhere else to be already?" Josh asked smugly from the side, trying to hide his laughter behind his hand as him and Ryan exchanged a knowing look.

"Is it by any chance a girl you've met yesterday that's most likely leaving her fiance for you?" Ryan asked, almost busting into laughter in between his words.

"Shut up," Eli muttered before leaving the room with quick feet and a huge grin covering his face.

The cold air outside made his breath visible as his eyes frantically searched for her silhouette. About two other people were also waiting, realizing rather quickly who he was as they'd just seen him live for approximately 90 minutes. Asking for a picture he didn't decline and when he looked into the camera, she was standing just a few feet behind it.

His eyes looking past the lens, watching as her focus shifted from her phone screen and towards where he was stood. A small smile grazing her lips at the sight of him. His own widening only a bit more as the camera flashed and the girl, that he had his arm thrown over her shoulder, was squealing in excitement. Thanking him sincerely before moving on, getting into the uber that arrived for them in time.

With slow steps, Eli walked closer to her, trying his best to look like it wasn't a big deal to him that she showed up. To his show. For him. Alone.

"Hey," she said, as he stepped in front of her. Hands anxiously tapping against her leg as she shivered from the cold.

"You're actually here," he said, chuckling at how dumb it sounded once he said it.

Laughing with him, she started to turn around, walking somewhere he wasn't aware of.

"You were really good," she complimented him, a slight blush appearing on his cheeks, but he quickly put it onto the cold air and not on how fast his heart was beating in his chest at her presence and her words. "I'm glad you made me come see you."

"I'm glad you came to see me- us."

"Where's Tom now?" He asked, not quite sure what would be an appropriate question and what was too much to ask. Though it seemed rational in his mind to ask. After all, the ring on her finger was now missing.

"At some dinner with someone I don't know," she explained, stuffing her hands into her jacket pockets where it laid. The cold metal gracing the skin it once laid on. "We were supposed to go out as an engagement celebration, kind of. Work was just too important once again for him." Nodding her head as if she had to think about her next words, she continued, "I also couldn't stop thinking about your words. That I deserve someone better, someone who's actually interested in what I have to say about something for once. I guess, I was just too scared to realize that too before now."

"Why? I mean, you're great. Why do you think you have to end up with someone like him?"

"Tom always went on and on about how women, the moment they are out of uni, have minimal chances of getting a good man anymore because most are already in a happy relationship at that point. If you hear something enough times you start to believe it. I never thought anyone else would ever be interested in me again, so I kept the one who tolerated me."

It sounded pathetic when she said it, words she knew weren't true but seemed to feel realer than anything else she'd ever heard about real life as an adult. Most of her friends were happily committed when they left uni, it just made sense to stay that way. It was suffocating but it wasn't killing her immediately like loneliness would've.

"What made you change your mind then so quickly?"

With him it felt like she could breath for the first time.

"If you meet the right person, I think you just know. It doesn't have to be the right person forever but sometimes a moment in pure ecstasy is enough to go the right way." Looking up at him, the two of them stopped in front of her apartment building. The light of the hall illuminating their wide eyes and heartbeats pulsating through their veins. "Little consistent heaps of adrenaline are what bring you to the end of life, not convenient breathing."

Her words were stuck on his mind as Eli tried making sense of what she was saying and his own thoughts trying to intertwine them. Was he one little heap of adrenaline to her? Was he a moment of pure ecstasy to her when she was the only thing on his mind ever since he saw her?

"Are you gonna go back to him again tomorrow morning? Is he gonna return to your bed when his dinner is done and the ring he bought you is back on your finger?" Eli asked, leaning back against the wall to bring a convenient distance between them that wouldn't scare her off.

Truth been told, he would take this little moment on her mind if it was all that she was willing to give him. Even though he knew he shouldn't let her, he didn't take her fingers away when they grazed his jaw. Fingertips trailing over his cheek and lips. Falling down against his neck and fixing the collar of his leather jacket.

"My keys are gone from his key chain, I took them off when I left. I don't want to go back to him, not when you are still by my side in the morning."

Without another thought, Eli leaned down to press his lips against hers. Chasing after her mouth every time she pulled away to catch her breath or let out a laugh at how messily his hands were tangled in her clothes and hair.

"You wanna go inside?" she asked, the sounds muffled against his lips as he wouldn't let her go.

Nodding his head and humming against her lips, he didn't wait for her to open the door before picking her up, unlocking the door and carrying her towards the elevator.

"Eli," she said, trying to push him away with a laugh as they waited for the lift to come down. Trying again and again until she held his jaw tightly in her hands, not letting him move. "This is fun and all, but I actually like my neighbors and don't want them to have a heart attack because most of them are too old for that to happen to them and them getting out alive."

"Just wait till we're behind closed doors, alright?" she tried again as he whined, reluctantly letting her thighs go from his grip and helping her balance herself on weak legs once the elevator pinged and opened it's doors for them.

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gazstations · 3 days ago

Text

Fatum signatum, Canis esuriens

CHAPTER TWO - anima mea turbata

ᯓᡣ𐭩 CHAPTER SUMMARY

You try to outrun Johnny, but he latches on. He also finds out that being home doesn't particularly mean peace as the past is surrounding him.

♡ Chapter Warnings: Implied abusive childhood, family issues, Johnny still doesn't know how to take no for an answer

◇ Notes: I love writing dark!Johnny, so much. I love that he just has one slightly off-putting vibe that everyone hates.

○●○ SERIES MASTERLIST ♡ PREV ♡ NEXT

NAVIGATION MASTERLIST

♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡

YOU FLEW THE ROOST THE VERY NEXT DAY.

It perturbed Johnny, really. Brought out a shimmering heat in the thick of his bloodstream when you pretended he didn’t exist in your world anymore. He always existed in your body, down to the deep rotten core of you. He was a foundation. A structural column that molded you into who you were today.

That date you promised him seemed to have floated away from your brain. It made Johnny pinch his eyebrows together and subtly curl his lip into one of disdain. Had you only agreed to get him off your back? Oh, doe, that wasn't going to work with him.

He was a leech.

He'd just keep siphoning until you were nothing more than a husk. And he really didn't want to scare you. He wanted his sweet little doe docile and sweet. If he could have you on your terms, then he would prefer that. Even if he had to woo you first. Anything for you.

Church was as montonous and mudane as he remembered. He lingered in the very back row closer to the corner and pretended to be surprised when he saw familiar faces blink into existence.

Old Miss Hannigan was still frail and somehow zippy as she paraded down the center aisle with eager footsteps. She wore a dress straight out of the 1800s. Johnny could almost guarantee it still smelled of dust and cedar wood from sitting in the closet a long time.

Then there was Ziggy. Johnny used to volunteer during the Thursday street markets with him. They'd whip out a mean burger or corndog. By the end of the day, Johnny always smelled like barbecue. It was his least favorite day.

He was the first person Johnny lost contact with after he deployed for the first time. Replaced. By the scrawny, anxious youngest son of the Maguire family. What a fucking load of bullshit.

Johnny sunk further into the pew when he saw his parents. The little boy in him cowered in shame still, while the fully grown adult cursed those two people that brought him into this world. It was a plethora of reactions that Johnny didn’t do well with. Instinctively, he wanted to seek absolution from them. Now, he wasn't so sure he'd be able to hold his tongue.

He frowned. His slouched, guarded posture thankfully deterred lollygaggers from sitting anywhere near him. Though, lucky for him, the 4 back rows always remained unattended. it was easy to slip away into the shadows and observe.

Yet, the moment he saw your glowy form enter the church, his mind started working. He watched as you offered a hug to Ziggy's sister, who still lingered by the entrance. His eyes half-lidded as you dipped your fingers into the bowl of holy water and made your sign of the cross. You were a sweet little thing as you started to gravitate towards the front of the church.

You were at the other end of the pew, waiting to navigate around a clustered family. Your hands were folded politely in front of you as you let them finish their conversation. Always the patient doe. Aren't you, bon?

Johnny was sliding down the legnthy bench seat before he could stop himself. You hadn’t noticed him yet, probably not see the danger while you were under the eyes of God. Even though he had already found you again in this very location. He needed you to sharpen your environmental awareness.

“Doe…” he spoke, and he watched you go rigid. Your fright didn't please him as much today. Instead, it made him grimace.

“Johnny?” You hissed quietly when his large hand enclosed on your bicep. You continued smiling, though, so that people didn't start looking too much. “What are you doing here?”

“Told ye, doe. Ah'm a changed lad,” Johnny said cooly. “Dinnae look so surprised. Ye ken ah was comin' again.”

Your eyes analyzed him closely. He at least had the audacity to dress nice for church, and he noticed your eyes unconsciously check him out. It made him preen like a bloody peacock, and he sat up a bit straighter in your gaze.

“Sit with me,” Johnny offered, but it really wasn't up for debate. He was already pulling you into the pew while you were pulling back.

“I sit in the front, Johnny,” you said and he made a “tsk” sound.

“Ah ken. One day in the back isnae going tae kill ye,” Johnny insisted. “Ye can have the folks think yer doin' charity if it helps.”

He watched you blow air out in exasperation. You knew you couldn’t fight him. He would just cling on and leech from your warm blood more. He loved your sweetness. It was easy to get underneath and choke the life out.

“Joh-”

You slid into the pew with a sigh, and he immediately had his arm around your shoulders. He was not shy like you. He wanted to show you off as his girl all the time. He found it best when you were secured against his side.

You started to complain, and Johnny shushed you quickly. “Easy, doe. Dinnae fash. Ah ken ye get cold in here.”

You slouched, by default that meant into him. He chuckled lowly and maneuvered you back towards the end of the pew closest to the corner. He knew people naturally skipped over the back pews, so it would be safer if both of you were further away. He had to make his pretty little doe comfortable, after all.

“Reckon we can ‘ave our date tonight, aye?” Johnny spoke.

“I have plans tonight,” you dismissed, and Johnny frowned.

No, that wasn't good.

“Plans?” He hummed. He looked down at you, and you shielded your gaze. “Doin' what?”

Johnny's plan wasn't to isolate you. That created resentment, and he didn't want you to resent him. That wasn’t fun. He wanted you to crave his touch just as you used to when he had you pinned in the back of his shitty Ford. Your babbles were music to his ears.

Last time you turned sour, the whole tree wilted. He lost contact with you for 7 years. He wasn't going to do that again. Yet, he was an impatient man, and you were resisting his advances. What was he supposed to do? Grin and bear it? He was not a good man. He didn't wait. He took selfishly from the ripest bunch.

“Girl’s night.” You muttered after a moment.

“Aye. Cannae miss a night with the lasses,” Johnny replied. “Ye gonna drink?”

“Maybe,” you shrugged.

“Can ah give ye a ride then?” Johnny asked.

You turned your head, blinking. You must've believed you had at least one day to yourself. Surely, Johnny wouldn't impede on girl's night. Not technically. He wasn't going to tarnish your fun. But what kind of man would he be if he didn't help you get home safely?

He was just showing you how chivalrous he was. You wouldn't get hurt if he helped you.

“I was just going to Uber,” you said in dismissal.

Johnny shook his head. He turned sideways in the pew and made you look at him. His finger touched the bottom of your chin as he observed you for a moment.

“Jus' wannae make sure my doe is safe,” he replied softly. “Ye dinnae need tae waste money on some ride.”

In another lifetime, those words would be intended to flatter. To charm innocently and prompt a further relationship. For Johnny, they were dripping possession and revealing the not so innocent mindset he had towards you. He simply believed he had the right to you because he deemed it so.

“We may be out pretty late.” You tried to deter, and he just shrugged.

“Tha's fine. Ah stay up,” Johnny said. He wasn't going to let you extend those sweet legs of yours and scramble away. Not anymore.

Your eyebrows pinched together. “Okay, fine. You can give me a ride.”

He could practically taste the anxiety on you. He noticed the way your head turned slightly as if trying to spy a good Samaritan to help you. It was adorable, really. You were trying so hard to fool him, to throw him off your scent. But he had a lock jaw. Once the canines sunk in, not even a kick to the head could shake him off.

Johnny was pleased, to say the least. He leaned back into the pew and spread out his legs, his lip curling into a small smirk. “Good girl,” he murmured, and he watched your body tense up with sick satisfaction.

You really had made a mistake humoring the man who had seen you at your most exposed. Who knew just the right way to get that honeyed pleasure to flip in pitch and waver. He remembered the hitch in your breath, the way you babbled so sweetly.

Fuck. He had missed you.

He adjusted his hips with a soft sigh, and you finally looked over at him with an incredulous look. You knew why he was adjusting, and you were obviously revolted.

He leaned down to your ear, “Dinnae fash, doe. Ah willnae try anythin’ under God’s nose.”

You side-eyed him. You were doubtful, he could tell. You knew better than to fall tor his rancid lies, but that didn't mean he wouldn't try to trap you by his side. He was a liar, sure. He would bend you over this pew if he had to.

The only reason he didn't was because he wanted you to be compliant. While his core burned, aching for a satiation, he played the long game. He lost you already by being a mutt that was lost in the throes of its rutting. This time, he knew better.

There was nothing sweeter than a doe that slowly succumbed to the gnashing teeth on their own.

The opening song began, and Johnny suddenly felt like a little boy again. But he was a soldier. If he had to sit still for an hour next to you to prove something, he would.

He noted the way you didn’t move his hand when it naturally fell upon the fat of your thigh.

♡◇♡

Getting in discretely was the easy part. Getting out while the God truthers mingled in the front entrance and out in the front lawn proved to be a challenge. It had been years since Johnny had found himself in this orbit, yet he doubted anyone forgot his face.

He was the troublemaker. The teenager who turned his nose up at social etiquette and instead danced to his own tune. He was the one who found the chemical benefits of marijuana at fifteen and got the McLeary boys addicted. The one that acted out in class and spent more time in trouble than he ever did learning.

He was one that disappointed his family when he put pen to paper and recruited himself into the military.

He was the bane of most people’s existence because he was also deeply charming. Got along with most people, could sweet talk and pamper, and was always willing to help out. It was a contradiction most of the time. He knew and acknowledged that one small synapse in his head was misfiring, and he relished in it.

He was brought out of his humbled thoughts when a voice broke over the crowd.

“John MacTavish, wha’ are ye doin, ‘ere?”

Johnny stiffened, hand curling around the meat of your bicep as he turned only his upper body. The sense of accomplishment he had felt while being by your side faded into the chasm while a more dominating presence took hold. A helpless little boy and a retired SAS soldier fought against each other as his ice blue eyes narrowed and there was the smallest bob of his Adam's apple.

“Da…” He said tersely. He had not wished for this interaction today. Naively, he had hoped seeing his parents walking down that center aisle would be the only time.

“Ye got some nerve showing yer face after seven years,” his dad, William, seethed with barely subdued distaste.

“Aye. Ken ah'm like the devil rising in yer eyes,” Johnny quipped back. “Just accompanying my doe. Dinnae fash.”

William's eyes flickered over to you, judgment seeping from every clogged pore on his body. You shifted on your feet uncomfortably as you were affected by the growing tension. Everyone with ears knew of the fallout in the MacTavish family.

“Yer datin’?” William asked you.

You averted your gaze for a moment, and Johnny sensed the protest building on your sweet lips. He immediately frowned, pressing himself into you more. Just like a doting boyfriend would do.

“Tha’s none o’ yer business,” Johnny snapped. “Doe's business with me is ‘er secret.”

William grimaced. Johnny stood up straighter. He had taken down dozens of terrorists and the biggest pieces of shit one could imagine. He had long grown past the days of being the bug beneath his dad's shoes. He knew better now.

He was stronger. Not that scared little boy that begged God for a way out.

“Kick ‘im tae the curb,” William pleaded you. “Ye willnae be happy with ‘im, lass.”

“Thank you for the advice, William,” you said politely. Not one for starting conflict. Are you, Doe?

William seemed appeased by that remark, or he just simply didn't have the energy to ramble more about why John MacTavish was hell on earth to be around. His own father thought he was the scum of the earth. A rotten, no good fruit on a tree.

He would be right. Johnny had a habit of spreading that sickness.

“Guid talk. See ya never. Hopefully.” Johnny said, pinching your arm and guiding you down the steps of the church.

By now, people would know he was back in town. It was obnoxious. Though, he also relished in the fact he caused enough upheaval with his mere presence. People spouted a lot of shit about not caring about him, but they sure did talk about him a lot.

“Bloody bampot.” He muttered once the both of you were far enough.

“Johnny…” you started, but he was already dragging you towards his car.

“C'mon, doe. Ah'm famished.”

You were a subdued creature as he herded you into the passenger's seat. He batted your hands away when they tried to secure your seatbelt on their own. He wasn't in the mood for you acting all independent right now. He was hungry and deflated, even if he would rather die than admit the latter feeling.

His dad always had a way of sucking the life out of him. It's why he left as soon as the military gave him the green light. He didn't particularly enjoy the idea that he'd have to confront some aspect of his upbringing.

He wasn't that dopey eyed twenty year old that finally left for good when he got sent on his first tour, after two years of grinding in training. He wasn't some small little ant in a giant's world anymore. He survived a fucking bullet to the head, for christ's sake.

Johnny climbed into the driver's seat, letting out a soft sigh. The one thing that never changed was his need to eat. It was even better having you join him.

“Bet yer famished, too,” he spoke as he peeled out of the church parking lot. Bloody hell, he hated that place.

“Oh. I suppose. I don't need to go out, I'll just eat something at home,” you deflected. You were tense. It made an annoyance bubble in his core.

“Dinnae fash,” Johnny brushed it off. “Ah love treatin’ ye. Gotta get yer belly full ‘fore ye drink.”

You just slumped on your seat, likely knowing you couldn’t argue. You knew that about everything. You wouldn't be here if you had some form of self-preservation or even respect.

Perfect for him, yet bad for you.

He dropped his hand onto your upper thigh, squeezing it gently.

°•○●○•°

TAGLIST

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If you would like to be added for future chapters, let me know!

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stewpidcheescatarinabluu · 23 hours ago

Text

I wish I was…..Bulletproof.

Synopsis: you wish you were bulletproof.

Word Count: 790

Karina X Male Reader

It was a gloomy Thursday.

The kind of day where the sky feels heavier than usual — a thick gray curtain hanging low, suffocating, leaking endless rain like the world itself is crying. The drops beat against your apartment roof, a relentless rhythm that matches the chaos inside your chest. You sat in the quiet corner by the window, the cold seeping through the glass and into your bones, wrapping around you like a second skin. The room was dim, save for the flicker of streetlights outside, and the faint, scratchy hum of a record player.

The needle spun on the vinyl, circling the same track over and over again

It was a sad song, slow and aching — the kind you listen to when your heart feels too full, too shattered to put back together.

You didn’t even try to change it.

Because this song was for her. For Karina.

You’d spent so many nights like this, lost in music and memories, trying to stitch yourself whole again. Trying to fill the space she left behind.

You could still see her clearly in your mind’s eye — not the distant memory, but that moment. The moment she told you it was over.

You were kneeling beside the old record player, hands fumbling to fix something broken. You thought it was just the machine, but it was really you.

She came in without knocking. Her eyes were tired, her lips trembling like she was about to cry, but she swallowed it all back, fighting so hard not to break.

“Y/N…” Her voice was barely a whisper, fragile yet weighted with everything she’d held inside for so long. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m so, so tired.”

You didn’t say a word.

You wanted to, so badly. Wanted to say something to stop her, to make her stay. But the truth was you didn’t know how. You had spent so long hiding behind silence and walls, afraid that showing her your true self would only push her further away.

She took a shaky breath, searching your face for something — love, hope, an answer — but found none.

“I’m tired, Y/N.” Her voice cracked now, breaking the fragile calm like glass shattering. “I’m tired of loving someone who doesn’t know how to love me back.”

Your heart cracked open then, raw and bleeding.

“I’m tired of your walls. Of the way you push me away with every joke, every cold glance, every time you pretend I don’t matter.” She swallowed again, biting her lip hard to keep the tears from falling. “I’m tired of pretending that I’m enough when I feel like I’m not.”

Her voice grew louder, filled with pain and frustration — the kind of pain that had been buried so deep, it finally exploded.

“I’m tired of begging for your attention. For your time. For your love. I’m tired of being the only one fighting.”

She looked at you then — really looked at you — with tears glistening in her eyes.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

And with that, she left.

The door slammed behind her, the echo louder than any scream.

You stood frozen.

Too stunned to move. Too broken to call her back.

And then silence.

Since that day, everything changed.

You tried to drown the pain. Nights blurred into mornings spent in bars, smoke swirling around you like a shield, hoping it would burn away the ache inside. You wandered streets you used to walk together, tracing footsteps that no longer led anywhere.

But the weight of what you lost clung to you like a shadow

The scent of her shampoo still lingered on your pillow. Her favorite hoodie — still folded, untouched in your closet. The sound of her laughter echoed in your mind when everything else was quiet.

You wanted to fix it. To turn back time and hold her when she said she was tired. To tell her that you loved her — not just in words, but with everything you had.

But now, all you had were the memories and regrets.

You stared out the window at the relentless rain, watching it blur the city into a watercolor of gray and sadness. Your throat tightened. Your hands trembled.

And in that moment, with the storm raging outside and your world falling apart inside, you whispered:

“I wish I was stronger.

I wish I was braver.

I wish I could have been the man she needed.”

A pause. A breath.

“I wish I was invulnerable.