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kitten4sannie · 1 year ago

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blinding faith (1)

fall in line now, bow your head

pairings: cult leader! yunho x disciple! reader (fem) x elder! mingi feat. husband! seonghwa

genre: twisted religious romance (if you can even call it that), smut, late 1970s setting

summary: when it’s revealed that you and Seonghwa are having trouble conceiving, the founder graciously offers his own divine solution.

bend your knee, Child of God

w.c: 4k

warnings: aged up dom! yunho, switch! mingi, subby innocent (?) reader, corruption kink, pet names (for mingi too <3), light pain kink, perversion, major sacrilegious vibes and behavior, heavy mxm, mingi sucks cock, breath play (m receiving), light spit/sweat kink, oral (receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, implied marathon sex, breeding kink, cum eating, squirting, an attempt at impregnation

a/n: this is dedicated to my loveliest lily <333 tho this is just part oneee i hope this helps you see the light if ykwim~ happy birthday babi 💕 so yeah this is pure filth,, like idk something must’ve happened to me when i wrote this but it’s prob bc i’m a yunwhore what can i say 🙂‍↕️🫶🏼 oh and thank you all so very much for getting me to 4.6k followers ;; it means the absolute world to me >< anygaysss happy readinggg and please do lemme know if you’re excited for the second part 🖤

song recs: sunshine of your love by cream - starboy by the weeknd - judas by lady gaga (i’m just a Holy Fool, oh baby, it’s so cruel, but i’m still in love with Judas, baby~~)

As a broke, faithless runaway, especially during such a turbulent decade, you didn’t have many options, to say the least. There was no phone that you could use for miles, not a single soul in sight that you could ask for directions or for a dime they could spare, no map to look at to familiarize yourself with your surroundings — not that it mattered. Why would God provide you with what you needed when your existence itself was an accident? Your own flesh and blood didn’t want you, instead dropping you off at some rundown orphanage while you were still coated in your mother’s vernix caseosa, and crying incessantly for her, for someone, to feed you.

When you were old enough to make rash decisions, you decided that anywhere else was better than that hellish place, tired of waiting for a new pair of faceless parents to force you into their life like a misshapen puzzle piece, instead taking your fate into your own trembling hands.

That was what led you to come across the small, seemingly abandoned town that was located within the forest that you had been wandering inside for so long. All of the quaint, hand-built houses and buildings surrounded a tall, white picturesque church — one you had recognized from the various postcards that you and some of the other orphans had been handed by someone in a long white robe outside of the orphanage, listening intently to their promises of the love and acceptance you would feel if you joined their cause.

And that was when you met him, the man that would alter your life forever, taking away what could’ve been, and instead molding it into what He wanted, what God wanted.

He was hammering in the very last nail into the very last board of wood that kept the church together when he heard the sound of your dirty feet shift through the forest foliage behind him. As if he had been waiting for your arrival, he hummed softly and headed into your direction, not giving you the opportunity to escape when his sweaty, calloused hands enveloped yours, inviting you in with his friendly honey brown eyes, his cracked lips twisting upwards into a smile that sent a wave of instinctual fear into your heart, before his soft, warm words lured you in, forever holding you captive.

“You’ve finally arrived, my child. Welcome home.”

Over the years, you were taught by Yunho, your beloved leader, your savior, your everything, that God allowed those he loved the most, those that remained tied to their earthly bonds, to endure deep suffering and endless tribulations — because within that pain, within that humiliation, laid pleasure. Unimaginable pleasure that sat just below the surface. Yunho took great satisfaction in reaching into the darkness, into the depths, and ripping it out with his silver trimmed talons, always willing to graciously bestow it upon his followers.

There was no greater joy than to witness the moment his dear flock began to walk in the truth. He savored the sweet sounds of ecstasy that tore out of their sweat-ridden throats, longed for the moment their rosy faces ceased their contortions, their lips, wet with saliva, their unfocused eyes, wet with tears, knowing that another one of his beloved disciples had seen the light. And they would always look up at him with delicious desperation, begging for another chance to catch a glimpse of heaven once more. And, only because of his unending benevolence and boundless love, he brought them back, expecting nothing in return, except for their undying loyalty.

Yet, none of them were ever as loyal as you, even after you met a lovely man within the congregation to wed. You were still his angel from above. If only he had clipped your wings sooner.

There you were, sitting inside the garden with the other couples, the prettiest flower of them all, just waiting to be plucked, with your husband’s arms wrapped around you from behind, his hands resting gently against your stomach, your hands over his, your head hung downwards, a small, sullen frown gracing your lovely face. Why was his sweetest lily wilting the way she was, instead of holding herself high, closer to the sun, to his everlasting love?

As soon as Yunho made his presence known within the bountiful garden that he had planted with his own two hands so many years ago, his followers grew quiet and offered him their full attention. He basked in it as he made his way in your direction, offering his touch to many of the people nearby, allowing them the privilege of bringing his jewelry-adorned hands up to their cheeks, which he caressed, or their trembling lips, which he brushed gently with his thumbs.

The warmth and light of the sun on your face suddenly disappeared, causing you to look up, your reddened eyes growing wide upon the sight of your savior standing before you. You watched with bated breath as he reached his hand out from behind his back and brought it up to your face, placing a small flower behind your ear. “Savior…”

“Savior, what have we done to be blessed with your presence?” Seonghwa asked, nuzzling his cheek into Yunho’s rough palm once he offered it to him.

“I wanted to check on the progress of your union.” Yunho smiled kindly down at Seonghwa, before returning his attention to you, who continued to gaze up longingly in his direction. “Are you with child, my dearest Y/N?”

You bit down into your bottom lip, your eyes brimming with tears. “I’m so sorry, Savior….We’ve been trying our hardest to contribute to your beautiful congregation, yet I remain barren.” You shook your head out of frustration, a stream of tears spilling down your cheeks. “We don’t understand why God has not graced us.”

“Oh, my sweet child. Do not ever allow yourself to cry for sorrow, or pain, but out of joy, of pleasure,” Yunho taught, angling his head down further to gaze at your deliciously distraught expression, unable to keep himself from running his tongue across his bottom set of teeth, pressing one talon underneath your chin, so that you obediently angled it upwards without him having to tell you.

“Yes, Savior…” you whispered, gasping softly at the feeling of the cult leader’s sharpened fingers carefully wiping your remaining tears away, your admiration and love for him sprouting more and more within your beating heart.

Humming, Yunho lowered himself to his knees in front of the both of you, pressing his hands into your stomach through your thin garments. His benevolent smile deepened, his eyes displaying a darkness neither of you could see, not with the allusive veil he had placed over your own. “I will assist you in bearing offspring, my dear. Please come to my bedchambers after supper, and I will show you the true meaning of faith.”

“We offer you a thousand thanks for your grace, Savior…” Seonghwa bowed his head to Yunho, just before he pressed his lips lovingly against your cheek, which you reciprocated without hesitation. Your dear husband sighed with great relief, resting his temple on yours, his long, curled locks tickling your face, his hands returning to your stomach, placing them over Yunho’s this time around.

Despite the tranquility you felt, the sun still shining, a gentle breeze cooling your warm skin, the comforting smell of earth and flowers keeping you grounded, the sound of birds chirping in the trees above your head — there was still something else that you couldn’t quite shake off, something that sat just below the surface of your distorted mind. If you truly wanted to see what it was, you would have to get your hands dirty and dig it up yourself. But, for now, you would live in bliss, in heaven, feeding off of the love and mercy your savior offered you.

Yunho tilted his head to the side, reaching up to adjust the flower that began to fall from your ear, pushing a few strands of hair behind it. He studied your suddenly unreadable gaze from underneath his wispy lashes, his tongue just barely slipping past his curled lips to lick at them. “Is there something on your mind, my lily?”

You simply smiled back at him, your eyelids lowering, batting your own lashes at him. “I’m just admiring my savior and the safe haven he created for us. Makes me want to cry those tears of joy.” You briefly mirrored the perversion he had let slip out only a moment ago. “Of pleasure.”

It was then that Yunho began to grow stiff from beneath his heavy garments, biting at his lip as an attempt to keep himself grounded. This was why you were his favorite. You were his flower to water, to grow, and to tear away from your roots as he pleased. Everything in the garden was his, after all. God told him so.

“My love, my heart, my dearest angel, why do you look at me this way? With those tears in your eyes? With such devotion?” Yunho sighed out against your flushed cheek, his body flush against yours, the cold metal of his rosary splayed across your hot skin. You simply couldn’t speak, not with the way he was spilling inside you yet again.

The corners of his lips quirked up into a sadistic smile, his warm, uneven puffs of breath hitting the bottom of your jaw, as he clutched your slick, trembling thighs, holding them farther apart to ensure that he could continue accessing the heaven you kept in between them, the hot, wet haven you allowed your savior to access. “Is it because I’m filling you with my own devotion? Does knowing that my seed will soon grant new life inside of you bring you to tears, Y/N?”

You gazed up at your savior past your wet lashes, reaching down to press your hands into your stomach, feeling the outline of his pulsing cock that twitched inside of you and dribbled a few more beads of cum into your womb, a lust-struck expression carved into your flushed features. “It would be an honor to carry your young, Savior. I’d do anything to carry on your legacy of love.”

“Anything, my dear?” Yunho whispered carefully near your ear, as though he were testing you, before running his tongue along your jaw to get a taste of your essence, slowly making his way down your body, unable to keep himself from tasting your salty skin along the way. “Even though Seonghwa is your beloved husband?”

“Anything. I might be his wife, but you’re my savior, Yunho,” you sighed lovingly as a delightful shiver shot down your spine, not a single doubt present within your meticulously molded mind. Your ideas of the world, your life, its purpose — your saving grace had always been Yunho. How could he not be? Considering he built you himself, with great precision and care. You were the intricate tapestry he painstakingly sewed together year by year, each painful jab of his silver needle acting as a reminder of his divine love for you.

“Say my name again,” Yunho exhaled, his lips ghosting along your abdomen to your navel, unable to keep himself from tonguing it for his own pleasure, his talons leaving red streaks along your skin.

“Yunho,” you repeated, watching as the older man settled in between your thighs, his lips and tongue already exploring your slick entrance, gasping at the sensation of him lapping up his own release once it dribbled out of you.

“Again,” he commanded, his sharp eyes boring into yours from below, pinching your clit in between his teeth, his talons digging into your thighs.

“Yunho..!” You looked down at him with such sincerity, it had the potential to touch Yunho’s corrupted heart, your fingers sifting through his sweat-soaked raven locks, tugging on it once he filled you with his long tongue. You were growing feverish, losing sight of why you were there in the first place. “Don’t stop, Savior…Need more...”

Yunho dragged his tongue over the entirety of your cunt, blowing on it just to make you shudder. “Is that what you tell your husband when you want his cock? What else do you tell him?”

You chewed on your bottom lip, feeling your cunt pulse. “Am I selfish for wanting more of your love? Am I a sinner for wanting you to fill me? I’ll go to hell a thousand times if it means I can have my savior’s love inside me once more...”

The seasoned cult leader’s long-lasting poison was far stronger, far more potent than your sincerities, especially when he administered it to his favorite prey in the most pleasurable, most effective way — with his sweet, saccharine lies that poured out like honey past his shiny, pointed teeth and rough, curled tongue that continued its ministrations on your puffy, used cunt. “Oh, please don’t say things like that, angel. You’ll ruin me for everyone else.”

In reality, you were the one he was ruining, corrupting, defiling — and all in the name of God. It made the cult leader so stiff, he could hardly keep his composure.

You whined softly, shuddering underneath his touch, your hand forming a fist, gripping Yunho’s hair tighter and tighter, the longer he licked at your slit and sucked on your clit like a starved man. “Yunho, please…I won’t last much longer….”

“Would that be such a sin, angel? If you released onto my tongue?” Yunho asked in between lingering licks, his tongue hot and heavy against your leaking cunt, using two fingers to keep your fluttering hole on display for his viewing pleasure, his silver talons gently pressing into your soft flesh. He wondered if he should continue admiring the mess of cum he painted your walls with, or use his saliva-streaked tongue and lips to slurp it out of you, his free hand attempting to milk his slick, throbbing cock. Decisions, decisions.

Yunho wouldn’t have the time to make one, because just then, the cult leader’s most trusted confidant, Song Mingi, knocked on the door and entered without being granted permission, very aware of the privileges he had as a respected elder. The white-haired man saw the nude, disheveled state you were in, your white ceremonial garments laying in a pile on the floor, the love-struck look in your teary, doe eyes, your trembling, marked-up legs still obediently spread open wide for your savior, knowing you’d let Yunho fill and abuse your poor cunt until he saw fit.

“Elder Song, are you going to continue standing there drooling like a dog or are you going to come here?” Yunho asked gruffly, rubbing the pad of his thumb relentlessly into your clit, all while he glowered at the younger man over his shoulder.

Mingi quickly strided over to his leader’s side, sinking to his knees, looking up at him with his apologetic, round eyes. “I…have news, sir. It is of great importance.”

Yunho shook his head slightly, letting out a small chuckle. “The news can wait, Mingi,” the cult leader began softly, reaching over to caress the other man’s cheek, making sure the younger man’s gaze was fixed solely on him. “Can I ask you for something?”

Mingi nodded intently, his lips parted, taking short breaths, as if he was waiting with great anticipation. “Anything, Savior. What do you need from me?”

It was then that Yunho brought the tip of his reddened cock to Mingi’s mouth, drops of pre-cum getting onto his plump, parted lips, his once softened gaze contorting into one of pure perversion. “Can you be a good boy and open up? Hm, princess?”

Mingi closed his eyes, as an attempt to hide the way they rolled underneath his eyelids and the influx of arousal that had spread throughout his body like a virus, his sudden heavy breathing and flushed cheeks betraying him. “Yes, savior,” he moaned out, just as Yunho’s stiff cock filled up his drooling mouth, trying his best not to choke as he repeatedly took it down his tight throat.

Yunho tossed his head back, a few drops of sweat sliding along his straining jaw and staining the bed below, gripping the back of Mingi’s head to make sure he didn’t stop worshiping his cock. “That’s it, princess. You’re taking it so well.”

Mingi groaned wantonly, beginning to grind his own leaking cock against the side of the bed, not even caring that his knees began to ache from being pressed into the hardwood floor below. He found himself gazing down at you, his body on fire from being watched by his savior’s favorite angel, beginning to gag around Yunho’s thick length once he began ramming it down his throat with abandon.

When you let out a small whine from witnessing such a visceral display of power and submission taking place right in front of you, Yunho reminded you with shaky words, “Don’t worry, my angel, this is all for you. Mingi here is going to transfer my love to you once I…Oh, God–”

Mingi’s gaze returned to his savior above, a few tears slipping down his flushed cheeks, his jaw aching from the way Yunho bottomed out completely inside his bulging throat, only to find his oxygen supply suddenly being cut off when the older man pinched his nose.

“You trust me, don’t you, princess?” Yunho asked in an eerily calm tone, not bothering to hide his sadistic tendencies in that moment, throbbing inside the young man’s throat upon seeing his small nods and hearing the tiny, breathless squeaks he made. It was then that he held Mingi completely still until his face began to grow red.

Just when he thought he might pass out, his vision sporting a fuzziness around the edges that reminded him of the television set Yunho had put inside the community room, his throat had finally become unblocked. As he gasped for air, he watched Yunho’s eyes roll into his skull, hot, white ropes of cum splattering onto Mingi’s lolled-out tongue. Before he could swallow, Yunho grabbed his chin and guided him in between your legs.

“Impregnate her, princess. For me,” Yunho whispered into Mingi’s ear, his digits forming a V against your pulsing cunt, spreading you open for Elder Song.

Not letting a drop go to waste, Mingi pursed his lips and sent a wad of cum directly into you, before shoving his tongue in as deep as it would go. He fucked the warm milkiness into you, with sloppy desperation, like the demon dog he was. He looked up to you for approval, which you gave, through your cries of pleasure and your fingers suddenly tugging at his snow white hair. He didn’t even realize he had lost his own composure, until he was whining and whimpering against your slick cunt, soiling his once pristine garments with his sticky load.

Once Yunho watched Mingi pull his tongue out, a few strands of milky saliva connecting his plump lips to your cunt, the cult leader tapped your puffy pussy. “Good boy. Can you fill her up with those thick fingers of yours now?”

Mingi huffed and puffed, trying to catch his breath, his pupils blown wide when he looked to Yunho for guidance. “Two? Three? How many, sir?”

“As many as you need to make sure my seed reaches her womb,” Yunho reassured in a gravelly voice, watching as Mingi hovered over you, drops of saliva falling from his open mouth and onto your pleasured face, easily slipping in three fingers up to his knuckles.

Yunho leisurely flicked, squeezed, and rolled your puffy clit, admiring Mingi’s relentless pursuit in finger-fucking you into a state of pure ecstasy, throbbing at the sight of his precious loads dripping down along the other man’s straining wrist and along his veined forearm. “Very good, princess. She’ll be nice and round soon, thanks to your support. Your hard work won’t go unnoticed.”

Mingi bit down into his bottom lip, a few groans slipping out, despite his effort to conceal just how much his leader’s praise affected him. “Thank you, Savior. Now, I’ll make your angel cry out to the Lord,” he began breathily, locking eyes with Yunho for a moment, their digits working in tandem to send you over the edge, their focus returning to you. “Let it be done.”

“Amen,” Yunho sighed, bringing his precious rosary up to his mouth to kiss, the metal cold against his warm lips.

When you began to writhe around, your focus shifting to the various crosses that were nailed to the wall, your forceful release causing your bruised body to seize up, the cult leader suddenly grabbed your chin with his talons, the tips of them stabbing into your skin, drawing blood, making you whimper. His crazed eyes bored into your barely open ones, looking as if he was about to come undone himself, despite not touching himself. “You see it, don’t you, Y/N? Heaven? Isn’t it beautiful?”

It was all too much. The pain. The pleasure. Elder Song watching closely as your squirt soaked his tan skin and the mattress underneath your jolting body, a demonic smile painting his sharp, seraphic face. Your savior clutching you so tight that you bled, his seed blossoming within your womb. It was then that you fell unconscious, your body falling limp against the feather-filled quilt.

Yunho ran his jewelry-adorned fingers along your jaw, letting them graze your neck, down to the cross necklace that laid against your chest. “What did you need to tell me, Mingi?”

Mingi pushed his sweaty bangs back, taking in a deep breath and letting it out, trying to find his composure. “We have two new visitors. They mentioned Y/N by name, and claimed that they grew up in the same orphanage as her. They were hoping to find her here, so that they could…”

Yunho turned his head to glare at Mingi, his gaze alone making Mingi cower. “They want to take her away from me, don’t they? From us? From God?”

Mingi began to scratch at his neck, leaving red streaks behind. “They believe that they can provide her with a better life.”

“And what life could be better than one of enlightenment? Of purity? What could those heathens possibly offer my Y/N that I can��t?” Yunho suddenly erupted, his anger being directed towards Mingi, who lowered his head down, staring at the cross that hung past his chest.

Yunho’s face twitched slightly, his once rage-filled expression dissipating as soon as it had surfaced, as if it had never been there in the first place. It was a simple trick of the light. He placed his hand on Mingi’s shoulder, squeezing it gently, until the unusually timid man found the courage to meet his gaze. “Mingi.”

“Sir?”

Yunho hummed to himself, catching onto the way your breath hitched, as if you had suddenly held it, his honey brown eyes gleaming with pride, and something else, something indistinguishable. “Offer them a room and dinner, oh, and invite our guests to the annual communion on Sunday.”

“Right away, sir,” Mingi replied, getting up from the bed and exiting the room. He pressed his back into the mahogany door and shut his eyes, carefully sliding his fingers into his drooling mouth to savor the taste of his savior’s seed and his angel’s release.

Once he was alone with you, Yunho reached down to brush a few strands of hair out of your eyes, smiling knowingly at the sight of them opening. “How much did you hear, sweet girl?”

“Enough,” you whispered carefully, as if you were testing him. You might have been the flower inside his clutches, but you still had thorns.

Yunho began to chuckle softly, before it grew louder and louder, his pleased laughter ringing out through the halls.

One of your threads was beginning to come undone. Nothing a little stitching couldn’t fix.

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filthyjoelslvr · 18 days ago

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The Other Woman (3)

part 1 | part 2 | part 4

Content: jackson!tommy x reader; jackson!joel x reader (previous chapter)

Synop: Tommy isn't the same after you told him about you and Joel. His heads hung low, his smile falters, his eyes scream of the pain he feels. You keep running into him and each time breaks you a little more than the last.

Then, Joel tells his ex wife of the affair. And the whole town knows. They stare, they whisper, and Tommy can barely stand it.

Warnings: pinv, fingering, tommy spits in your mouth, tells reader i hate you during sex?, sad tommy, guilty joel, physical fighting (mentions blood), very small mention of SA (past), death of mother, prob forgetting some

Word Count: 10K!

(dividers by: @cafekitsune)

a/n: guys i hope you like this one!! i was in such a stump and then got a random burst of inspiration so i hope i did a good job blending it all together. i literally wanna turn this whole series into a chapter book!!! but i made this so long so another part is coming soon im so sorry yall, ik ik i need to chill. but..... should you have tommy's babies ???? AHH DONT COME FOR ME IM INTO THAT

It had been twenty-three days since you last spoke to Tommy.

Not that you were counting, but every night bled into the next without him, and each morning you woke up hoping the ache would be duller than the day before. It wasn’t.

The last time you saw him — really saw him — was the night everything fell apart. The night he looked at you like he didn’t know who you were. Technically, he never asked you to be his girlfriend, not in those exact words, but you didn’t need him to. You knew it. Felt it in every look, every late-night visit, every time he held you like the world might end before morning. You were his. And he was yours.

But now… now you were nothing.

You hadn’t meant for it to happen the way it did. You never meant to hurt him, never wanted to be the cause of that devastation you saw in his eyes that day. The memory of it still clawed at your insides.

You heard the footsteps before the knock — heavy, sure, familiar in a way that made your throat tighten.

When you opened the door, there he was. Tommy. Sunburned cheeks, wind-worn jacket, smile so big it made your chest ache. “Told you I’d be back, didn’t I?”

You had launched into his arms. Laughed. Let him spin you like a girl who hadn’t done the unthinkable. You buried yourself in him because you didn’t know how to be anywhere else. Because you were scared.

You tried to tell him. Tried to say the words. But he kissed you — kissed you like nothing had changed. And you let him. You let him love you, worship you, fall deeper when you knew the truth would tear him apart.

And when he finally said I love you, you broke. You couldn’t hold it anymore.

“Tommy, I slept with Joel.”

You watched him come undone in real time. Disbelief. Rage. Pain. That gut-wrenching, final line: "Stay the fuck away from me. We're done."

And then the door slammed, and you felt yourself unravel.

Now, three weeks later, you saw him again for the first time.

You hadn’t planned to be in town, but someone had asked for help dropping off supplies. Just some cloth and thread. It was supposed to be a quiet errand — quick. Anonymous.

But then you saw him.

Tommy walked through the square, not ten feet from you. And the sight of him made your stomach flip and your eyes sting.

He looked terrible.

Not rugged or tired. Wrecked. Hair messy. Eyes hollow. Posture slumped like the world weighed heavier than usual. Tommy, who used to light up Jackson just by passing through, didn’t look at anyone. Didn’t speak. He just walked — silent and angry and broken.

Then he looked up. Just for a second.

Your eyes locked.

It was like being struck. His face flickered — just barely — before he looked away again, fast. Like you were something painful to behold. Like remembering you hurt worse than forgetting.

You didn’t move. Didn’t follow. You couldn’t.

You’d seen the damage. You saw what you did. How far he’d fallen from the man who used to dance with you in the kitchen just to hear you laugh.

You broke him.

So you let him go. Again.

You turned away, heart hammering, eyes blurry, breath shallow.

You wanted to run after him. To explain. To beg. But that wasn’t love — not anymore. Love, real love, was giving someone what they needed. And right now? Tommy needed space. Distance. Time.

Even if it killed you to give it. Even if he never let you close again.

Because if he needed time to hate you before he could begin to understand you, then that’s what you’d give him.

Even if it meant losing him forever.

The first time you ran into Tommy again after that morning in the square, it was by accident. You turned a corner near the stables, arms full of fabric bundles, and nearly collided with him.

He stopped. Looked at you.

Just for a second.

And then he walked around you like you weren’t even there.

It knocked the breath from your lungs. You stood there, holding that stupid cloth to your chest like it might keep you from falling apart.

After that, it kept happening.

At the gate post. By the greenhouse. Outside the mess hall. Always unplanned. Always painful.

And always the same.

He’d glance at you, just once — eyes heavy with something that looked like grief — and then look away, jaw clenched, chest rising a little faster. Sometimes he’d adjust his jacket, or rub at his mouth like he could scrub the memory of you off his lips.

Each time you saw him, he looked a little worse.

Like he was unraveling slowly. Skin paler. Beard uneven. His usual spark — gone. Tommy had always been a light in Jackson. He made people laugh. Made things feel easier just by being around.

But now? Now he barely spoke. He avoided crowds. Didn’t show up to half the community meetings he used to help run. And when he did, he’d sit in the back with a far-off look in his eyes like his body was present, but nothing else was.

It was like he couldn’t stand to be in a world where you also existed.

And still, you said nothing.

You wanted to run to him. To beg. To explain it all again. But you stayed quiet. You gave him the distance he so clearly needed, even when it felt like it was killing you a little more each day.

Sometimes you’d go to the trade stalls to stay busy. Sort items. Help with repairs. Anything to get out of your own head.

That’s where you’d see Joel.

Not often. Just enough to notice.

He never stayed long — always stopping by for parts or ammo, sometimes to drop off gear from a patrol. When he saw you, he’d nod once. Give you a polite hey or mornin'.

Nothing else.

No private talks. No apologies. No pressure.

He had stopped coming to see you, just like you asked.

And the silence between the two of you felt like a second kind of punishment. A colder one. Because even though Joel had been the cause of it all, he wasn’t the one looking at you like you’d destroyed him.

That was Tommy.

And somehow, seeing the pain still written across his face every time he caught your presence — like your shadow alone was enough to make him sick — it hurt worse than anything you could have imagined.

Because you were the one who did that to him.

And you didn’t know if you’d ever get the chance to make it right.

The silence didn’t get easier.

If anything, the more time passed, the heavier it got. It filled the corners of your house like smoke. Settled into your sheets. Clung to your skin.

Some nights, it felt unbearable. So you started writing.

Not because you expected him to read it. Not because you thought it would fix anything. But because keeping it all inside was rotting you from the inside out.

The first letter was messy — half tears, half ink. You didn’t even bother starting it with his name. Just dove straight in. I think about you all the time. I keep seeing you in crowds. Sometimes I think I hear your laugh and then remember you haven’t laughed in weeks.

You didn’t mean to keep going, but you did. The words kept spilling out. Page after page. You wrote about the little things — how you still caught yourself reaching for his favorite mug when you made tea. How you didn’t listen to music anymore because everything reminded you of that night he danced with you at the town square. How you couldn’t stop replaying the sound of his voice when he said, Stay the fuck away from me.

You folded that one and tucked it into your dresser drawer. Told yourself you’d burn it later.

But you didn’t.

You kept writing.

A second letter. A third. A tenth.

Some were long, aching pages of apology. Others were just fragments. You looked tired today. I saw you touch your ribs — did you get hurt? You smiled at someone. I was both relieved and sick over it.

You never sent them. Never would.

But writing them was the only way to keep yourself from going to him.

Because the truth was, every time you saw Tommy — every time he looked at you and then looked away — it felt like losing him all over again. The glances were killing you more than outright silence ever could. Like he still felt something, but it hurt too much to let it show.

You knew that look. You wore the same one when you were begging for Joel's love.

So you wrote. Because writing didn’t cost him anything.

You gave him his space, his time, his absence. Even though it made you ache. Even though you missed him so much it sometimes felt like you couldn’t breathe.

And still, he didn’t speak to you.

Which meant you were alone. So you wrote. Even if the only one who would ever read the letters was you.

The bell above the trade stalls door jingled, breaking the quiet rhythm of your work.

You didn’t even look up at first. Most people came in for standard barters — thread, blankets, maybe a new pair of gloves. But something in your chest tightened before you even saw Joel because you knew today you'd talk to him.

He hesitated in the doorway, like he was unsure if he should even step inside. Then, with that familiar heavy gait, he walked toward one of the side shelves, not looking at you.

You let a beat pass. Then another.

“…Hey,” you said, voice low but steady.

His head snapped up like you'd thrown a rock at him. “What?”

You stepped out from behind the counter slowly. “I was... wondering how you’ve been.”

He blinked at you, completely thrown. “You told me to stay the hell away from you.”

“I know,” you said softly, glancing down. “I meant it, at the time. But… I also meant what I said back then — that you needed to work on yourself.”

He frowned, jaw tight, arms crossing. “So what’s this? Curiosity check-in?”

You offered a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Maybe. Just figured if we were gonna keep running into each other, we didn’t have to pretend the other didn’t exist.”

Joel snorted under his breath, leaning a little against the shelf. “Didn’t think you’d be the one to start a damn conversation, I’ll tell you that much.”

You watched him carefully. “So… how have you been? Really?”

He scratched his beard, eyes narrowed like the question was somehow offensive. Then he exhaled, slower this time. “Better. Some days. Worse on others. But I’ve been tryin' to get my shit together.”

You tilted your head. “Yeah?”

Joel nodded, grumbling like the words hurt to say. “Ain’t drinkin’ as much. Talked to people about helpin’ out more on the patrol rotation. Saw a counselor a few times, if you can believe that.”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

He gave a dry chuckle. “Yeah. Didn’t talk much at first, but… I’m listenin’ now. Tryin’ to understand why I did the things I did. Why I kept goin’ back to pain like it was comfort.”

You studied his face, and for the first time since all this began, he looked almost… vulnerable. Not proud, not defensive — just tired and trying.

And it hit you, suddenly, how much further behind you were.

“I’m happy for you,” you said. “I really am.”

He tilted his head. “And you? You look like hell, no offense.”

You let out a bitter laugh, wiping at your eyes even though they weren’t crying. “That obvious, huh?”

Joel’s face softened slightly. “How’re you holdin’ up?”

You hesitated, and when you answered, your voice was small. “I’m not. Not really. I miss Tommy so bad it makes me sick.”

His expression darkened slightly, but he didn’t speak, so you kept going.

“I told him. About everything. The night he came home. He told me he loved me and I—” your breath caught. “I told him what happened. With you.”

Joel’s face fell. “And?”

“He walked out. Said we were done. That he doesn't want to see me again.”

Joel looked away. “Yeah… I figured.”

You furrowed your brow. “What do you mean?”

He took a breath through his nose like he was bracing for something. “Tommy came to my house that night.”

You stared at him. “He what?”

“Stormed in like a damn fire. Said he wanted to look me in the eye before he broke my nose.”

Your breath caught.

Joel gave a dry, humorless laugh. “And he did. Couple times.”

“Joel…”

“I didn’t stop him,” he said simply. “Didn’t raise a hand. Just let him. Took everything he gave me.”

“Jesus…”

Joel nodded. “Threw me into a wall. Told me I broke the only good thing in his life. Asked me how long I’d been watchin’ him like a damn vulture, waitin’ for him to turn his back so I could crawl into bed with his girl.”

You felt like you might be sick.

“I tried to tell him it wasn’t like that,” Joel continued. “That it wasn’t planned. But he didn’t want to hear it. And truth is, he had every right not to.”

You pressed a hand to your stomach. “I didn’t know he— God, Joel."

Joel shrugged. “He said what he needed to with his fists. We haven’t talked since. Tommy is scary as hell when he wants to be.”

The silence hung thick between you, full of shame and pain and words neither of you could take back. You remembered that night you told the lie about the guy harassing you — how Tommy's expression turned unrecognizable. You know now Tommy meant it when he said he could find the guy.

Joel looked at you again, more carefully now. “You still care about him?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I do.”

He nodded once, solemn. “He’s stubborn as hell, but he ain’t made of stone. If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have shown up at my door.”

Your eyes welled, and this time, you didn’t stop the tears. “I think I already lost him.”

Joel shook his head. “I really am sorry."

You didn’t know what to say, so you just nodded. The two of you stood there for a while, surrounded by the quiet buzz of the shop, the weight of everything still hovering — but maybe just a little lighter than before.

Joel finally turned to leave, then paused at the door. “Take care of yourself, alright?”

“I’m trying,” you said softly.

He nodded once, then stepped out, the bell jingling behind him like punctuation on something that wasn’t quite closure — but maybe something close.

You didn’t want him.

Not in the aching, dizzy way that once made you forget what was right and wrong. Not in the sleepless, guilt-laced quiet after you let him crawl into your bed like a ghost begging to be remembered. That part of your story was over. Done. You weren’t his. Not anymore.

But watching Joel now — steady-voiced, clearer-eyed, softer somehow — still felt like swallowing glass.

Because he looked like someone learning to live. And you? You were still just surviving.

It wasn’t envy, not quite. Just a strange, heavy sorrow. Like watching a storm break over someone else’s house while you’re still knee-deep in floodwater.

You were proud of him. You were. Even if it felt like a betrayal to admit that out loud. Because Joel was trying. For once, he wasn’t running from the damage — he was naming it. Owning it. Carrying it like it was his to hold. And maybe that’s what made it harder: he was finally becoming the man he should’ve been before he met you.

But the part that hurt most didn’t live between you and him anymore.

It lived in the space between two brothers.

You hadn’t meant to tear them apart. You didn’t want that. God, you never wanted that. But when Joel told you — quietly, without flinching — about the fight, your stomach dropped so fast you thought you’d be sick.

Tommy had come to his door with all the fury a broken heart could hold. No words. No warning. Just fists.

And Joel had let him. Didn’t block, didn’t swing, didn’t shout.

He just took it.

Because he knew what he did. What you both did.

But knowing it doesn’t make it easier to live with. It doesn’t unmake the silence that now stretches between them like a scar across the years they’d built.

You’d already lost Tommy.

But knowing you might’ve helped him lose Joel too — that settled differently. A dull, throbbing grief you couldn’t outrun. You had touched something sacred, and you hadn’t been careful. And now they both carried that weight in their own quiet ways.

Joel with his guilt.

Tommy with his silence.

And you… with both.

You watched the wind roll through the trees above you, aching in your chest like you’d been hollowed out.

You didn’t want Joel. You never would again. But you wanted them to find each other. Somehow. Someday.

Even if it meant you never stood between them again.

Tommy,

I saw you again yesterday.

You didn’t say anything. You never do. Just that same half-second glance before your eyes drop like you’re afraid of catching something from me. Like I’m the infection now. And maybe I am.

I wish I could tell you that I’m sorry in a way that mattered. I wish I could hand you my heart in pieces and let you see how much of it still belongs to you. Even now. Especially now.

You looked tired. Not just the kind of tired that sleep can fix, but the kind that lives in your bones. I used to know how to make you laugh. Now I can’t even make you look at me without flinching.

It guts me, Tommy. Not just what I did. But what it did to you.

And about Joel.

I never meant for you two to stop speaking. I never meant to wedge myself between blood. I didn’t think. I didn’t protect you. I didn’t protect either of you.

And the worst part? You were both trying to love me in your own broken ways.

I still can’t breathe when I think about that night. You holding me like I was something soft. Something yours. And I was. God, I was. Even if I didn’t know how to show it right. Even if I let the wrong person tell me who I was and who I didn’t deserve.

You told me you loved me. I never said it back.

Not because I didn’t mean it.

Because I meant it too much.

And now you won’t even let me get close enough to say your name.

I don’t know if you’ll ever read this. I don’t even know if I’ll ever have the courage to hand it to you.

But I had to write it.

Because pretending I don’t miss you isn’t working anymore.

Love always

Thanksgiving in Jackson wasn’t about turkey or cranberry sauce — not really. Not anymore.

There hadn’t been a turkey in years. Probably never would be again. The food had changed, stripped down to what the community could grow, trade, or salvage. Beans, rabbit, maybe dried cornbread if they were lucky. But it wasn’t about tradition — it was about normalcy. Or the illusion of it. About carving out a moment that felt familiar before the world lost its shape.

The whole town pitched in — tables made from repurposed wood dragged into the square, covered with mismatched cloths and cracked ceramic dishes. A makeshift fire pit burned low in the center, its scent curling into the air, a poor man’s incense for the ghosts of better holidays.

You almost didn’t come.

You’d stood by the door for a long time with your coat half on, debating. But in the end, the thought of free food — and a few hours outside of your own damn thoughts — pushed you out the door. You told yourself you’d stay thirty minutes. Just enough to show your face, eat something, maybe even smile like your bones weren’t aching with guilt.

But the second you stepped into the crowd, you knew something was wrong.

The air was wrong.

Too still. Too sharp. The way it gets before a thunderstorm or a fight.

People were looking at you. Not glancing — staring. Some subtly. Others, not at all. A few whispered to each other, heads bowed close like conspirators at a wake. Their eyes flicked up every few seconds, straight at you, as if you’d grown horns or started bleeding from the mouth.

You tried to convince yourself it was in your head. You hadn’t been around this many people in weeks. Of course it felt overwhelming. Of course everything felt too much.

But then it kept happening.

Someone who normally smiled at you — a woman you’d traded flour with two weeks ago — turned her head sharply when you passed. Wouldn’t even meet your eyes.

A man you used to laugh with at the greenhouse suddenly got real interested in a plate of carrots.

By the time you reached the food table, your chest felt like it had been filled with wet cement. Your hands were shaking. Your skin hot and cold all at once. The walls of the square seemed to close in, every table too close, every whisper sharpened like glass.

“…heard it was Joel…”

“…Tommy’s girl, wasn’t she?”

“…no wonder he looks like hell…”

You weren’t sure if you were going to faint or vomit.

And just as you turned to leave — just as you told yourself forget it, just go home — a hand gripped your arm and tugged you sideways into the alley behind the mess tent.

You barely had time to react before your back was against the cool stone of a wall and Joel Miller was standing in front of you, looking like he’d seen a ghost.

His voice was low, urgent. “You okay?”

You blinked at him, disoriented. “What—? What are you doing?”

“Could ask you the same damn thing,” he muttered, eyes scanning your face. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

You swallowed hard. “People are… looking at me. Talking. Joel, what’s going on?”

He shifted, jaw working. You could see it — that hesitance. That frustration.

“I told her,” he said finally. “My ex-wife. ’Bout us.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I told her. Sat down and told her the truth. ’Bout me and you. About what I did.”

You opened your mouth, but no sound came.

Joel continued, voice rough, like gravel dragged over pavement. “Didn’t expect her to forgive me. Sure as hell didn’t think she’d tell the whole damn town. But… she fuckin’ did.”

The words crashed over you like cold water.

Everyone knows.

The whispers. The stares.

You pressed a hand to your mouth, feeling sick. “God.”

“She said people had a right to know,” Joel muttered. “Don’t know why she thinks it’s their business but it’s not like I could’ve stopped her. Didn’t know she was gonna do that.”

You backed against the wall, head swimming. “She’s not wrong. She— she has every right to be angry.”

Joel nodded slowly. “Yeah. She does.”

You were quiet for a beat.

Then you whispered, “But if they’re looking at me like this… then what about Tommy?”

Joel’s expression tensed.

Your eyes burned. “He didn’t ask for this. He didn’t do anything wrong, and now he’s being looked at like he’s broken, like he’s the idiot who got played—”

“Hey.” Joel took a step closer, softer now. “I know. Believe me. I know.”

And just as you were about to say something else — to ask what Joel had seen, if Tommy had said anything — someone stumbled into the alley behind you.

Fast. Breathing hard. Gasping like he’d run the whole town.

You turned sharply. And there he was.

Tommy.

He didn’t see you at first. His hands were on top of his head, fingers laced as he paced two frantic steps forward, then back, trying to slow the breath rattling out of his lungs.

“Shit,” he muttered to himself, voice low and wrecked. “What the fuck. Fuck." He put his hand across his heart as if to slow its beat. He looked like he was having a panic attack.

You froze. Joel did too.

He looked like panic made flesh — red-faced, eyes wide, shoulders shaking. His clothes were damp with sweat despite the chill, curls stuck to his forehead, his chest rising and falling like he’d outrun his own thoughts.

And then — he turned.

His eyes landed on Joel first. Then you.

His whole body went still. And the silence that followed was sharper than any scream.

At first, he just stared. Then — he laughed.

But it wasn’t the kind of laugh you remembered. Not the soft, throaty one he used when he was teasing you in the garden, or that boyish chuckle when you surprised him with a joke. This laugh was sharp, broken at the edges. It didn’t sound like relief. It sounded like something inside him finally cracked.

He kept laughing — once, then again, a breathless huff that collapsed into a sniffle. Like he was going crazy. He dragged a hand across his face, but his eyes never left the two of you.

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ joking,” he said, voice hoarse.

He took a shaky step closer. His eyes were bloodshot, wide and dark like they were drowning in everything unsaid.

“Back here?” His voice trembled, then rose. “Hidin' back here, together, while the whole goddamn town is whisperin' about us?”

“Tommy��” you stepped forward, but he flinched.

“Don’t.” He pointed at you, then Joel. “Don’t do that thing where you act like it’s nothin'.”

His chest rose and fell in ragged bursts. “You two back here doin' — what? Fuckin' again? Thought you’d sneak off for another round while they’re out there lookin’ at me like I’m a fuckin’ stray dog that got kicked in the ribs?”

Joel stepped forward too, hands half-raised in surrender. “It’s not like that, Tommy. We were just talkin’, I swear—”

“Yeah?” Tommy barked. “Just talkin’? Like last time? Or the time before that?”

“It’s not what you think—” you tried again.

“It’s exactly what I think!” he shouted, voice cracking. “’Cause I know what it looks like. I know what people are sayin’. Do you have any idea how many people came up to me today, eyes all soft and sorry, like I just got left at the fuckin’ altar?”

You felt it then — a deep twist of guilt in your gut. His pain wasn’t subtle. It was all over him, in the way his arms stayed stiff at his sides, in the way his mouth kept twitching like he was trying not to break right there in front of you.

“They’re lookin’ at me like I’m pathetic,” he spat. “Like I’m too stupid to know what’s good for me. And you two—” his voice caught, and he finally blinked away the first tear that slipped free, “—you’re just back here. Hidin'. Doin' whatever the fuck this is.”

“We didn’t do anything,” Joel said, voice low.

Tommy’s eyes flicked to him. “You’re the last person I want to hear from.”

Joel fell silent.

You stepped forward again, slower this time, heart in your throat. “Tommy, please. Just listen. I didn’t know she was gonna tell anyone. I didn’t want this—”

“You did it though,” he said, barely above a whisper. “And now the whole town knows. And I get to be the fuckin’ punchline.”

His face crumpled, a fresh wave of hurt surfacing just beneath the surface — but he swallowed it back down. Didn’t let it rise. He didn’t yell again. Didn’t cry. He just looked at you like you were someone he didn’t recognize anymore.

And then he turned.

You reached for him without thinking. “Tommy—”

But he stepped out of your grasp. “Don’t,” he said, not angry anymore — just tired. “Just… don’t.”

And he walked away.

Not fast. Not storming. Just… left.

And it hurt worse than if he’d screamed.

You stood frozen for a moment after Tommy disappeared into the crowd — like if you stayed still enough, maybe time would reverse itself, maybe he’d come back. But he didn’t.

The silence that followed felt suffocating. Even the wind seemed to hush around you, like the whole world had heard what just happened.

Joel exhaled slowly beside you, his arms hanging limp, eyes downcast. “Well,” he muttered, voice rough and low, “that went to hell real fuckin’ fast.”

You didn’t answer.

Your heart was pounding so hard it echoed in your ears. You could still see the look in Tommy’s eyes — disbelief, betrayal, something splintered and sharp, like it physically hurt him to look at you. You hated it. Hated knowing you put that expression on his face.

“I shouldn’t’ve said anything to her,” Joel added, more to himself than you. “I knew she’d be pissed, but I didn’t think she’d… tell the whole goddamn town.”

“She had a right to be angry,” you murmured. “We hurt her, too.”

“Yeah, well,” Joel scoffed, dragging a hand through his hair, “I was ready to deal with her bein’ angry. Not every fuckin’ person in this settlement looking at us like we pissed in the water supply.”

He looked at you then, his expression unreadable. “You alright?”

You shook your head. “No.”

And for once, he didn’t press. Didn’t try to smooth it over. He just nodded.

“I know you said you were working on yourself,” you said, your voice quiet and thick. “And I believe that. But I’m not… I’m not okay, Joel. I haven’t been okay since that night. Since I lost him.”

He looked away. You could see the guilt set heavy on his shoulders.

“I'm lost,” you admitted, eyes stinging. “And now… now he thinks I’m still sneaking around with you, after everything. After I tried so hard to give him the space to heal.”

Joel exhaled hard through his nose, scowling at the dirt. “He’ll calm down.”

You frowned. “You don’t know that.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice dry. “I don’t.”

You both stood there in the quiet, the sounds of the Thanksgiving celebration still echoing faintly beyond the building — laughter, music, a child yelling for another piece of bread. It all felt miles away.

Joel finally spoke, gravel in his throat. “I didn’t wanna make things worse for you. I know what people are sayin’. I know what it looks like.”

You turned to him, heart aching. “I don’t care what it looks like for me. I care what it looks like for him. He didn’t do anything wrong, and now he’s the one people are whispering about. Staring at.”

Joel didn’t respond.

You crossed your arms over your chest, squeezing them tight. “He looked like he was about to fall apart. He was—he was running, Joel. From them. From all of it.”

Joel’s eyes closed for a beat. “I didn’t think he’d take it this hard.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “You should’ve. We both should’ve.”

Another long silence.

“I deserve it,” Joel said finally. “The looks. The talk. Whatever comes.”

You nodded, a bitter smile tugging at your mouth. “Maybe we both do.”

But even as you said it, your stomach twisted with something else — not guilt, exactly. Not shame. Something softer, sadder. Regret.

Because maybe you did deserve the judgment. But Tommy didn’t. He just loved someone he thought he could trust.

And now?

Now he was alone in it. And you didn’t know how to fix that.

Tommy,

I don’t know if you’ll ever read this.

Maybe I’ll leave it in a drawer with the others until the paper yellows. But I needed to write you — even if it’s only into the quiet.

I keep thinking about your hands. How they never reached for me in a rush. How they held me like I was something worth protecting — not because I was fragile, but because I was yours. You made me feel steady, even when the world was still shaking under my feet.

You loved me like I had never been broken.

And I think… I think that’s part of why I broke everything.

It doesn’t make sense, I know. But love like yours — it asks you to rise. And I didn’t know how to. Not then.

I was still mourning something I couldn’t name. The future I’d lost. The person I used to be. There was a storm in me I didn’t know how to quiet, and sometimes when Joel and I sat in that silence together, it felt like breathing underwater — wrong, but familiar. He knew the dark. I think I mistook that for safety.

But please believe me. I loved you.

Even when I was with him. Even when I chose wrong. Even now.

It wasn’t about choosing someone over you — it was about losing myself. And in the wreckage, I hurt the one person I never meant to. You didn’t deserve it. You never did.

I remember the way your voice softened when you said my name. The way you smiled when you thought I wasn’t looking. The way your fingers brushed the small of my back like you were memorizing me. God, Tommy — I loved you so quietly, I think you never realized how loud it lived in me.

And now I’ve stained it. I’ve stained us.

The worst part is knowing I can’t take it back. That no matter how many times I whisper your name in the dark, you won’t be there to answer it anymore.

I don’t expect anything. Not forgiveness. Not understanding.

But if there’s a part of you — even a splinter — that still remembers what we were when it was good… please hold onto that. Not for me. But for you. Because what we had was real, Tommy.

Even if I broke it.

I need you. Still. And always a little too late.

Love always

It had become a cruel joke at this point — how often you and Tommy ended up in the same room. Same roads. Same shops. Same town that felt smaller and smaller every time he looked through you like you were a stranger.

You hadn’t seen him at the counter when you walked into the diner — your mind too tired to scan for him, your stomach louder than your anxiety. But there he was, three seats down. Hunched over a half-eaten plate of food, nursing a cup of coffee like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

Your throat tightened, but you didn’t leave. You couldn’t. The place was packed, and you were already late.

Tommy didn’t acknowledge you, but you saw it. The way his jaw tensed. The way his fork slowed down just slightly. He knew you were there. Of course he did. And the silence between you throbbed louder than the low hum of conversation around you.

You just wanted a quiet breakfast. Something warm. Something simple.

The man who sat down next to you smelled like sweat and old cigarettes. When he noticed you, he looked at you like you were a meal he’d already half-finished and didn’t particularly respect.

“Well, look who it is,” he muttered, loud enough for the next table to hear. “Didn’t think you’d show your face again.”

You didn’t look at him. “Not interested.”

“Bet that’s what you told Joel the first time, too. And Tommy. And who knows who else.”

The words hit you like ice water.

“Please leave me alone,” you said under your breath.

“Why?” he laughed. “Ain’t like your legs were closed before. You really gonna act shy now? After the whole town knows you were screwin’ around with both Miller brothers like it was your own little soap opera?”

You stiffened. People were starting to look over. The volume of his voice was rising, and so was your shame.

“Heard you like it rough. Heard you like to beg. How’d the Millers allow a little slut like you to ruin their family?”

You looked down, eyes stinging. The whispers were back, growing louder. You could feel them clinging to your skin.

"Ever think your mama died just so she wouldn’t have to watch her daughter turn into a whore?"

You felt it before you heard it — a sudden, unnatural stillness beside you.

The scrape of a stool. Then the sound of wood skittering against tile.

Tommy was on his feet.

Not rising — erupting.

His chair tipped backward, clattering to the ground, but he didn’t flinch. Didn’t look down. His eyes were locked onto the man beside you, and there was nothing soft left in them. Not anger. Not pain. Not grief.

Just something unhinged.

Something raw.

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth,” Tommy said, low and dangerous.

His voice didn’t sound like his own. It was quieter than you expected. Quieter than it should have been. But somehow, it carried through the room like a warning bell — low and deadly, the kind of tone that makes your stomach twist before your mind even catches up.

The man — greasy, smug, half-drunk — let out a laugh. He spread his arms like he was performing for the audience that was already starting to gather.

“Jesus, man, I’m just sayin’ what everyone else is thinkin’. You’re the one who got played. She—”

He didn’t finish.

Tommy’s fist hit his jaw so hard it made a crack like splitting bone.

The man reeled back into the counter with a grunt, clutching his mouth — but Tommy was already on him, fists flying with brutal, bone-breaking precision.

One. Two. Three.

You heard flesh meet flesh. Heard the man groan, then whimper, then go quiet as Tommy drove his fist into his face again and again — not just to hurt, but to erase him.

Curses spilled from Tommy’s mouth like venom. His breath ragged. His whole body shaking as he pressed forward, knuckles smeared red, eyes burning with something wild.

“Tommy!” you cried out, voice cracking.

But he didn’t hear you. He didn’t hear anything.

It was like watching someone drown from the inside out — a man unraveling, coming apart blow by blow.

The man had fallen to the floor now, barely conscious, one eye already swelling shut — but Tommy kept going. He grabbed the collar of his shirt and hauled him partway up just to drive another fist into his ribs. The sickening thud echoed like a gunshot.

Someone screamed. A chair scraped. Then another.

It took three grown men to finally drag Tommy off — his fists still swinging, legs kicking, his voice hoarse and cracked with rage. He struggled like an animal in a trap, teeth bared, his breath coming in ragged bursts that sounded more like gasps than anything human.

You stood frozen, rooted to the spot, hands trembling.

Tommy’s face was smeared with blood — some his, most not. His eyes darted around the room as they held him back, chest heaving, fists still clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white beneath the blood.

And then — it stopped. Like someone had pulled the plug.

No one spoke. No one moved.

The diner had gone completely still. Forks hovered mid-air. Half-eaten food sat forgotten. Every eye in the room was on him — on the blood, the wreckage, the man everyone thought they knew.

Tommy looked down at his hands, and something in him shifted.

Like he’d just realized where he was. What he’d done.

He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing more blood across his cheek. His gaze found you — just for a second.

And in that second, he didn’t look furious anymore.

He looked shattered.

Then, without a word, he shrugged off the hands holding him, turned, and walked out the door. Leaving silence and blood in his wake.

And you sat there, tears brimming, your heart in your throat.

It wasn’t just the shame that burned — it was the truth.

He was still protecting you.

Even now. Even after everything. And it was killing him.

The cold hit you first. Bitter and sharp against your skin, the kind that makes your lungs ache. But you didn’t care. You just ran — out the diner, past the wooden porch, boots scraping against the icy gravel road as you tried to catch up to him.

“Tommy!” you called, breathless. “Tommy, please— just wait!”

He kept walking. Fast. Determined. Like if he didn’t stop, none of this could catch him. Like if he just moved fast enough, he wouldn’t feel it. Wouldn’t feel you.

But you weren’t giving up this time. You couldn’t.

“Tommy—!”

He spun around so fast you almost ran right into him. His eyes were wild, his chest heaving from more than just the fight. His voice, when it came, was fire and fury and grief all wrapped into one.

“What the fuck do you want?” he snapped, sharp enough to cut you in half.

You staggered a step back, breath catching in your throat. He looked like he could explode all over again — jaw clenched, hands curled at his sides like he didn’t know what else to do with them. You’d never seen him like this. Not even the night he left.

“Tommy, I— I needed to talk to you. I just needed to say—”

“I’m losing my fuckin' mind,” he cut you off, voice shaking now. “You think I wanna feel like this? You think I like that I can’t stop giving a shit even when I want to?”

He laughed then — a dark, miserable sound that cracked somewhere in the middle. “I feel so goddamn stupid, you know that? All this shit people are saying about me— whispers, stares, fuckin' sympathy— I should be brushing it off. I shouldn’t care. But I do.”

His chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths.

“And you know what that means?” he continued, stepping forward like the weight of it was too much to carry still. “It means I’m a fuckin' idiot. ‘Cause it proves I never got over you. That I thought I could, and I couldn’t. That maybe I never will.”

The words hit you hard, hollowing you out from the inside. But he wasn’t finished.

“I hate that I care about what they’re saying. But I hate it more when I hear them talkin' about you like that. Like you’re nothin' but some goddamn whore.” His voice cracked, his face twisting. “And after what that guy said in there…”

He looked down at his hands — still bloody, still trembling.

“I don’t even remember throwing the first punch,” he admitted, softer now. “I just saw red. Thought about everything. The whispers. The looks. Thanksgiving. You and Joel. I was already chokin' on all of it. And then that bastard had the nerve to bring up your mom and it just— snapped.”

He ran a hand through his hair, turning away. “And I lost it. I fuckin' lost it.”

You stood still, barely breathing. You could still feel the tension radiating off of him like heat. Still hear the echo of fists on skin, that sick, awful crack that had made your stomach twist.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, so quietly you barely heard it. “When I saw your face after, the way you looked at me…”

You stepped forward before he could finish. “I was scared,” you said honestly. “But not of you. I was scared because I didn’t know how much more either of us could take.”

His eyes met yours, and in them you saw something flicker. Guilt. Sadness. Love that hadn’t gone anywhere — it had just been buried under the rubble.

“And I need you to know,” you continued, “what you saw at Thanksgiving? With Joel? We weren’t doing anything. He was just warning me… that his ex wife told people. That everyone knew. That’s it.”

Tommy looked away, jaw tight. “Didn’t feel like nothin'.”

“I know,” you said. “But it was. I swear it was.”

A long silence stretched between you, brittle and cold. You watched him breathe, eyes fixed on the horizon like it could offer him answers.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he muttered eventually. “You broke my heart. I don’t even know if I can forgive you yet.”

You nodded, your chest aching. “I’m not asking you to. I just… wanted you to know the truth. And I wanted to say I’m sorry. For everything.”

He stared at you for a long time, the anger slowly bleeding from his features. Replaced by exhaustion. By wariness. By that familiar softness that hadn’t quite died, no matter how hard he tried to bury it.

“I don’t know what the hell we’re supposed to do now,” he admitted, voice rough.

“Me either,” you whispered. “But maybe we figure it out. Or maybe… we don’t. I just didn’t want you carrying all of this alone anymore. Let me explain everything with Joel. Please Tommy."

He stared, you could see him debating the offer in his mind. But then he nodded — once — and started walking away, indicating he wanted you to follow.

The morning air was thick with tension as you followed Tommy through the sleet covered streets, your footsteps echoing in the silence. He hadn't said a word since you left the diner, his posture rigid, his pace quickening with each step. You hesitated, unsure if you should speak, but the weight of the moment pressed on you.

Finally, you reached his doorstep. Tommy paused, his hand hovering over the doorknob. Without turning to face you, he spoke, his voice low and strained. "Don't mind the mess. Haven't really had it in me to clean lately."

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. "I know."

He exhaled sharply, pushing the door open and stepping aside.

Inside, the house was eerily quiet. The usual warmth and comfort seemed absent, replaced by an unsettling stillness. You followed him into the living room, your eyes scanning the unfamiliar surroundings. It was as if the walls themselves held secrets, memories of a time before everything had changed.

Tommy led you down a narrow hallway to the bathroom. The fluorescent light flickered overhead as he stood before the mirror, staring at his reflection. His hands trembled slightly as he reached for the sink, turning on the cold water and splashing it onto his face. The blood from the earlier altercation began to mix with the water, swirling down the drain.

Frustration etched deep lines into his forehead as he scrubbed harder, trying to erase the evidence of his actions. You watched him, your heart aching at the sight. This wasn't the man you knew — the gentle, kind-hearted soul who had shown you what love could be. This was someone else, someone broken.

You stepped forward, your hand gently resting on his shoulder. "Tommy," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Let me."

He stiffened under your touch but didn't pull away. Slowly, he sank onto the toilet seat, his head bowed, his hands clasped tightly together. You moved to the sink, wetting a washcloth with warm, soapy water. As you approached him, you hesitated for a moment before gently dabbing at the blood on his face.

The action was tender, soothing, a silent apology for the pain you had caused. As you cleaned him, your thoughts spilled out, raw and unfiltered.

"I've been with Joel for a while now— little over a year," you began, your voice trembling. "I knew he was married, but I thought... I thought I wanted him so badly. He made me feel things I hadn't felt in a long time. I thought he loved me."

Tommy's body tensed under your touch, his jaw clenching. You paused, meeting his gaze in the mirror. "I wasn't delusional. I knew he had a wife. But something about the way he made me feel... it made me think it was okay."

You continued, your hands moving carefully over his skin, wiping away the remnants of the morning's violence. "Over time, his love felt like hate. We were addicted to each other, but it was toxic. He never opened up to me, and I finally ended things."

His eyes softened, but the pain was still there, lurking beneath the surface.

"That's when I met you," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "At first, I was in a dark place. But you... you pulled me out of it. You showed me what love is supposed to feel like."

Tommy's breath hitched, his eyes closing as if to block out the flood of emotions.

"But then Joel came to me," you continued, your voice breaking. "He was jealous. He said he realized he truly loved me. He left his wife for me. And I... I didn't know what to do."

You paused, your heart heavy with the weight of your confession. "I wanted you, Tommy. That's why I spent so much time with you. I wanted to avoid Joel. And when you went on that supply run, I knew he would come. And he did. He made me feel like I wasn't good enough for you. Like I was a bad person."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you spoke. "He opened up about his past, and I was so confused. He said we belonged together. He manipulated me. And I believed him. I thought you deserved better. And that's why I did what I did."

Tommy's hand reached up, brushing away a tear that had escaped down your cheek. His touch was gentle, hesitant.

"I understand if you hate me," you whispered. "But I needed you to know the truth."

Silence enveloped the room, thick and suffocating. Tommy sat there, unmoving, processing your words. Finally, he spoke, his voice hoarse.

"I don't know what to say," he admitted.

You nodded, understanding the complexity of the situation. "I don't expect forgiveness. I just wanted you to know everything."

The cloth had turned a deep rust color, blood clinging to the fibers no matter how many times you rinsed it. The water swirled pink in the sink, warm and steady, but your hands wouldn't stop shaking.

Tommy hadn’t said a word since you finished cleaning his face, finished dabbing at the streaks of blood with a gentle touch.

He looked so different now. Tired. Hollowed. Quiet in a way that didn’t suit him. Like joy had been scraped out of him with something sharp and careless. Like he’d been living on borrowed breath ever since.

You didn’t know why the words started pouring out.

Only that they’d lived too long in your chest. That this silence between you was wide enough to carry them.

“She wanted me to come,” you said, barely a whisper. “My mom. We were down to a single can of beans and a couple stale crackers. She said she’d feel better if we went together. That two pairs of eyes were better than one.”

Tommy looked up, slow and careful.

“But I was… I was scared,” you confessed, fingers tightening around the cloth. “It was getting dark. I didn’t want to be out there when the sun went down. I begged her to go without me. So she did.”

You let out a breath that trembled as it left you.

“She kissed my forehead, told me to bar the door behind her, and promised she’d be back before moonlight.”

You blinked hard.

“She came back with a broken lantern and a ripped jacket… and a bite.”

Your throat swelled shut at the memory, your voice a fragile thing breaking against the edges of your teeth.

“I believed — I still believe — that if I’d gone with her, she wouldn’t’ve been bit. Or I would’ve been. Or we would’ve both made it. I don’t know. I just know I didn’t go, and she died.”

A beat passed. Tommy's eyes filled with sorrow.

“When I saw the bite, I begged her to cut it off. I screamed until my voice broke. But it was already too late. Her hand was gray. The veins were turning. She knew.”

You stared at the cloth in your hands like it could wash the past clean too.

“She held me, told me she loved me, and then she made me promise to lock myself in the back room when it started. I tried. I did. I held the door shut and covered my ears. But I could still hear her.”

Your voice splintered.

“And when it stopped— when it went quiet— I waited for hours. And then I opened the door.”

You didn’t have to say what you saw. The image lived behind your eyes every time they closed.

“I used a fireplace poker,” you said, quieter now. “It took more than one hit.”

Tommy’s mouth parted, but no sound came. His eyes shimmered like they were carrying the weight for you.

“I didn’t cry until it was over. And then I couldn’t stop. I buried her behind that barn with my bare hands. No shovel. Just dirt under my nails and blood on my wrists.”

You sat back against the wall and laughed softly, bitter and aching.

“After that, I wandered. I ended up with this man who said he’d keep me safe. I didn’t know what safe was supposed to look like anymore, so I believed him. He was kind at first. Gave me food, taught me how to shoot. But it turned fast.”

You wiped your eyes, only for fresh tears to take their place.

“He got possessive. Controlling. Said I owed him for everything. And one night… he tried to take what I didn’t owe. I ran. I didn’t stop running. Left everything behind. Everything but the scars.”

You traced a faint mark on your forearm, barely visible now, like a ghost trying to fade.

“I didn’t trust anyone for a long time. I fought for scraps. Slept in trees or crumbled houses. Stayed feral. And then… I found Jackson.”

You looked over at Tommy then. Really looked at him.

“And for the first time, people didn’t look at me like I was a stray. They gave me a home. A job. A name that didn’t feel like it came with blood.”

You drew in a shaky breath, your voice cracking again.

“So when Joel started looking at me like I was worth something, I couldn’t help it. I mistook it for love. I didn’t know better. I was still learning what love’s supposed to feel like.”

Your chest felt too tight to hold the truth. But you said it anyway.

“Until you.”

The room was quiet except for the sound of your tears.

“I was already damaged by the time I met you,” you said. “But you… you made me feel like I wasn’t broken beyond repair. Like I could be something soft. Something whole again.”

You stood slowly, walking to the sink and rinsing the rag one more time. The last of the blood twisted down the drain, disappearing into the dark.

“But I ruined that,” you said, voice low. “And I’ll live with it for the rest of my life.”

You turned back to Tommy.

He hadn’t moved. Not really. But something in his face had shifted — not softened, but cracked. A splintering of something buried deep.

If he spoke, you’d let him. If he didn’t, you’d understand.

You had no right to expect anything anymore.

You just wanted him to know who you really were before you lost the chance to be known at all.

You collapsed before you even realized your knees had given out.

The sobs had clawed their way up your throat so violently, you weren’t sure if you were breathing anymore. They weren’t dainty, quiet cries — they were guttural, trembling things, born from the deepest pit of memory. From the moment her hand slid from yours. From the way you waited for hours by the door until she came back bitten. From the awful silence that followed after you had to do the unthinkable.

The fire poker. Her eyes, no longer hers. The smell of blood and burnt iron.

The first swing. The second. The third.

You curled into yourself on the cold bathroom floor as if that could somehow undo the memory, or at least contain it.

And then there were arms around you.

Tommy didn’t speak. He didn’t try to hush you or ask questions or pretend to understand. He just gathered you into him with a tenderness that broke something else inside you — something quieter. Something long-starved.

You buried your face in his chest and let yourself fall apart completely.

“I’ve never told anyone,” you gasped eventually, your throat raw. “No one knows. They knew my mom died but not— not how. I never wanted to say it out loud. I was so scared. I should’ve gone with her. If I had, maybe— maybe she wouldn’t have been bit.”

Tommy’s grip around you tightened, protective and grounding.

“You were a child,” he murmured, his voice hushed like a prayer. “You were scared. That doesn’t make it your fault.”

You shook your head fiercely. “I had to kill her, Tommy. With a fucking fire poker. It took more than one hit. She didn’t even look like her anymore. But I saw her face. I saw it in the way she flinched before I— I just wanted it to stop.”

You started sobbing again, harder now, and he guided you gently back against his chest, cradling your head, his palm rubbing soft circles into your spine.

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered. “I’m so sorry for all of it. For Joel. For the way I left things. For hurting you.”

Tommy’s voice broke when he finally answered. “I’m sorry too. I should’ve listened. Should’ve let you explain. Maybe we wouldn’t’ve ended up in pieces.”

You lifted your head just enough to look at him — eyes red, cheeks blotchy. He reached up and brushed a tear from your cheek with a knuckle, like the gentlest thing he’d ever done.

“I ended things with Joel before you got back,” you whispered. “He told me he loved me and I couldn’t even say it back. I told him to leave. That it was over. I didn’t want him. Not anymore.”

Tommy swallowed, eyes searching yours. You could see the pain still there, beneath the surface. But you saw something else, too — that warm, quiet flicker that had always made you feel like home.

“I think about you every single day,” you said, voice trembling. “About what I lost. What I gave up. You made me feel like I wasn’t broken.”

His jaw flexed, but he didn’t look away.

“I missed you,” he said finally, like the words had been waiting behind his ribs for too long. “Even when I didn’t want to. Even when it hurt like hell.”

You reached up and took his hand in yours. “I love you, Tommy. I never stopped. Not even when I hated myself.”

He didn’t hesitate. “I love you too.”

And then he kissed you.

It was soft and slow, mouths trembling against each other, tasting of sorrow and healing and all the time you’d lost. You didn’t rush it. You just held on — fingers in his hair, heart splintering open in your chest like a window cracking to let the light in.

When you pulled back, your breath hitched. You didn’t want to let go. But some part of you still felt like you didn’t deserve to stay.

So you stood.

“I should go,” you murmured, voice quiet as you reached for the rag still clutched in your hand.

Tommy stayed on the floor, staring at the tile like it held the answers.

Then — softly, but with no hesitation — his hand reached out.

He caught your fingers in his, callused and warm, holding them like something sacred. Both of your eyes were still swollen. Both of your hearts still trembling. But the air between you had shifted — lighter now. Honest.

“Stay,” he said, voice low and aching. “Please stay.”

Your chest cracked. The ache, the guilt, the love — all of it swelled so fast it felt like it might knock you down again.

But you didn’t fall. “Okay.”

You knelt back down. Took his face in your hands. And kissed him once more.

This time, it wasn’t goodbye.

It was the beginning.

It started slow. Careful. Like the two of you were afraid of what you might find in each other’s mouths after so long. His lips trembled against yours like he didn’t trust the shape they made when they remembered your name. And you — you kissed him like someone starving for something you had no right to taste.

Tommy had every reason to push you away. Every reason to hate you. You cheated. You broke the one thing he gave you freely. His trust.

But he didn’t move. Didn’t recoil. He just held your face between his hands, like you were something fragile he hadn’t decided whether to keep or crush.

“I should hate you,” he said against your mouth, voice gravel-thick and shaking. “I want to. Jesus, I want to. But I don’t.”

The words cracked something inside you.

You’d cried before. At the diner. In the hallway. At night when no one could hear you. But now, in the quiet wreckage of his bathroom, with the moonlight cutting through the window like a witness, you shattered.

Your hands trembled where they rested on his chest, fingers fisting into the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing holding you to earth. His heartbeat was wild beneath your palm—chaotic and human and so, so full of pain.

“I don’t deserve this,” you whispered. “I don’t deserve you.”

Tommy pressed his forehead to yours, exhaling through his nose like it hurt to keep breathing.

“No,” he admitted, eyes shut tight. “You don’t.”

It would’ve hurt more if he’d lied.

“But I still fuckin' love you.”

That’s when the kiss deepened.

It turned desperate. Hungry. A kind of grief-driven hunger that came from needing to remember everything you were terrified you’d forgotten. His hands roamed — slow and reverent — across your ribs, your waist, your jaw. Yours mirrored his, like you were rediscovering a map your heart still knew by memory.

The bathroom floor was cold beneath you. His hands were still stained with blood, your cheeks streaked with salt. The air between you carried the heat of unspoken apologies, of regrets that couldn’t be undone.

Tommy’s breath caught as he kissed down the curve of your jaw, whispering things he probably shouldn’t say.

“I tried to forget you,” he rasped. “I thought if I hated you enough… if I stayed mad long enough… it’d go away. But it didn’t.”

You nodded, pressing your lips to the pulse in his throat.

“I didn’t mean to ruin us,” you choked. “I was so lost, and Joel— he twisted everything in my head. Made me believe I was too broken to be loved the way you loved me.”

Tommy flinched at his brother’s name but didn’t pull back.

“I still trusted you,” he said, voice like crushed glass. “Even when I shouldn’t have. Even when I saw you with him, part of me kept hopin' you’d look at me the way you used to. Like I was enough.”

“You were always enough,” you swore, the words barely breathing between you. “I just didn’t believe I was.”

Tommy’s eyes shimmered — red-rimmed and raw. He looked at you like he didn’t know whether to kiss you again or run. But instead, he touched your cheek with the back of his fingers, like you were a ghost he hadn’t dared reach for.

“I didn’t know how badly you had me wrapped around your fingers,” he whispered. “Not until you were gone.”

You curled into him, your tears soaking into his shoulder.

When he kissed you again, it was slower. More cautious. Like he was sealing a promise he didn’t know if he could keep.

Your thumbs traced the curve of his cheekbones and relearned the softness beneath the man hardened by grief.

He kissed you deeper, tongue slipping passed the curve of your teeth, exploring like the territory was new to him. He wasn’t going to stop this, not with the way your hands began to drift down his chest, his sternum — slipping underneath the fabric of his worn flannel, exploring his body all over again. Not with the way his fingers curled against your waist like he was terrified of letting go again.

And not with how long it had been since he last touched you like this — with worship and ache and hunger all braided together.

You kissed him back slower this time, deeper — like your lungs knew his breath better than your own. You felt the way his lips were cracked from the cold. The way his rough stubble scraped your skin like a memory you welcomed.

The tension, the grief, the time — it all burned through your veins as you rocked your hips against his, feeling the way his length was already bulging through the fabric of his jeans. It’s been too long since you felt the drag of his teeth against your jaw, leaving a trail of saliva along the way. Too long since you curled your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging to keep yourself upright. Too long since your name slipped from his throat like a prayer, sounding like he was waiting for this day too.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice shaking. “You’re gonna be the death of me, I swear.”

You didn’t respond. Just pressed closer until there was nothing between you but the restricting fabric. So close your knees dug painfully into the cold tile.

And when he groaned — low and guttural — you felt it in your spine.

He wrapped his arms around your back, laying you carefully on the hard floor — hips grinding into yours for any sense of relief, fingers brushing the stray hairs from your eyes. He was full of lust, full of hunger. Full of grief and devotion.

“I shouldn’t want this,” he muttered against your skin, mouth moving along you jaw, your neck, the hollow beneath your ear. “I should fuckin’ hate you.”

“I know.” You whispered.

“But I can’t.”

You didn’t realize you were crying again until he kissed your tears away.

“I tried to hate you,” he said, hands slipping beneath your shirt, rough palms mapping your ribs like he had to memorize every inch before sliding higher — grazing against the curve of your nipples already peaking. “God, I tried. But my heart was still reaching for you every time our paths crossed. I couldn’t scrub you outta me.”

You swallowed a sob, your body arching beneath his touch as he pushed your shirt above your chest — revealing your needy body underneath. His hands traveled all around the hills of your breasts, his head trailing kisses slowly down your body — hovering just over your curves. You instinctively arched up, trying to meet his mouth. His eyes flicked to yours, dark and hungry. He looked mad, yet his touch indicated otherwise.

“I still love you,” he confessed. You’re breath hitched, his lips trembled. “Even after everything you’ve done. Even after you ruined me. I still fuckin’ love you.”

Then his mouth was everywhere — desperate and sure — like he was reclaiming something sacred. And you let him. Let him bite at the soft flesh of your breasts, marking the skin no one else had touched in over a month. Your back screamed in pain against the bathroom tile, your fingers clung to him like a lifeline.

He was clumsy. Licking circles, flicking his tongue against your aching nubs. Taking your nipples between his teeth — sending electic shocks through your body — before sucking them into his mouth, tasting every part of you. His curls fell messily into his eyes when he pulled away with a loud pop. He’s never looked more unkept. But the way his eyes found yours underneath his curls had you squirming.

He trailed his fingers down to the clasp of your jeans, undoing the button and pushing them down to your ankles. You kicked them off, spreading your legs — ready and pleading. The soft cotton of your panties darkened in the center, proving how much you needed this — him.

His palm rubbed on the outside of the cotton — a soft whimper escaping your lips at his touch. He never broke his eye contact with you as his finger hooked, pulling your panties to the side and revealing your glistening pussy.

One of his fingers trailed achingly slow through your folds, collecting your juices and rubbing small circles when he came into contact with you swollen clit. He was killing you slowly, that was for sure. You spread your legs wider, begging for him to push his fingers through your entrance. But still, he trailed his fingers between you with that deadly eye contact you couldn’t stand anymore.

“Soaked.” Is all he said after a while. You didn’t know if he was trying to torture you. If maybe he was doing this to you as some sort of sick revenge plot. Have you ruined from his touch, begging and pleading for him, and then walk away without finishing what he started.

But finally, he pushed two fingers inside of you — sucking in a breath when he felt how ready you were for him. He started a slow pace, watching the way his fingers were soaked as he pulled out — just to push back in harder than before.

“Tommy…” You quivered. “Tommy please. I’m hurting— I.”

He leaned in close, lips hovering over yours. He rubbed your temple with his thumb, caressed your face.

“God, no one’s touched you in a while, have they?”

You shook your head harshly, mouth making a small O when his fingers started thrusting into you faster. A disgusting squelch filled the air.

His eyes had a fire behind them as he asked: “Was I the last person to touch you like this? The the last person to fill your pretty pussy with their fingers, huh?”

“Oh— god, yes Tommy. Just you.” You moaned. His fingers now curved inside of you, his thumb rubbing hard circles against your throbbing clit. He smirked, the fire fading out knowing that you’ve been waiting for him. Knowing you’ve been wanting him and only him.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he whispered. “Gonna take good care of my girl.”

My girl.

You know you probably shouldn’t take that as anything, that maybe it was a heat of the moment thing. But you couldn’t help the way you heart swelled. Couldn’t help the smile spreading across your mouth.

You heard him throw his belt on the bathroom floor with a rough clank. Heard the fabric of his jeans being tugged down as he finally frees himself. You physically gulp, prepared and aching for him.

He rubs his tip over you clit, slapping it against it soflty — teasingly. Your nails dig into his arms. Pleading words escaping your lips.

Tommy grabbed you cheeks with his free hand, looking you dead in the eye as he pushed his cock between your walls. You clenched around the feeling — burning sensation shooting through your body as you attempt to stretch to his size.

“I fuckin’ hate you.” He mutters, pushing himself deeper when he knows that you can take it. Your body trembles, you deserve this. But then his hand is trailing through your hair, tugging slightly — forcing you to look him in the eyes.

“But god do I love you.” He says then. I love you. And he actually, genuinely smiles — a deep moan leaving his lips as he bottoms out. Your nails are scratching him now as you try to adjust to his size. But the burn is pleasurable at the same time. “Open your mouth.”

And you do, knowing that from then on you’ll always do whatever Tommy wants. That you’ll always love Tommy. A string of spit falls between his lips, right into your mouth. You don’t swallow — keeping it open so he can see the way his saliva hits your tongue, pools into your mouth.

"That's my girl," he chuckles lightly, quietly. He finally starts moving inside of you, slow at first. Until he’s going rough, skin slapping skin. “Fuck. Fuck, sweetheart, you can swallow now.”

And you watch the way his eyes blacken, the way he bites harshly at his bottom lip as you swallow his spit. Tasting the inside of his mouth. His hand traces your throat, watching it bob when you drink him.

Tommy sits up, ripping his shirt over his head and pulling your hips into him. His thumb circles your clit while he burries himself deep. Your back is arched off the bathroom floor, tears streaking you face from the pace.

A tight heat coils in the pit of your stomach and your legs shake uncontrollably. Walls clench around him and a groan from deep within leaves his mouth at the feeling.

“Tommy,” you moan, hands tightly wrapped around his wrists to keep yourself steady. “Tommy, come with me.”

“Shit. Yeah okay, babygirl.”

He lies back on top of you, one arm wrapping around your back, the other gripping your thigh as his pace quickens. Hitting you deeper and deeper every time. You’re screaming at this point, body convulsing. And when his thrusts finally falter, you come hard around him and he follows. White strands shooting inside of you. His cock twitches with every pulse.

He gives out, putting his entire weight on you — nothing but breath and bruised hearts, limbs tangled like roots desperate to hold — Tommy moved gently. Tender in a way that nearly broke you. He cleaned you up with warm hands, wiping the sweat and remnants of need from your skin like you were something sacred. Like this was something that mattered.

He helped you to your feet, still unsteady, still shaking from all the things that had been said and the things your bodies couldn’t help but confess. And without a word, he led you through the quiet house. Back to the place that once felt like home.

His room looked the same.

Maybe that’s what hurt the most.

The blankets were still slightly uneven, the corner of the rug still curled like always. His gun sat on the bedside table, unloaded but close. Your side of the bed — the left — was untouched. Like he'd never let himself forget.

He laid you down carefully, like you might shatter, and climbed in behind you without hesitation. You shifted instinctively, curling into him, your back pressed to his chest, his arm sliding around your waist like it had never left.

His warmth enveloped you — all muscle and tension and safety. He smelled like salt and sweat and sex. And still, somehow, it smelled like home.

“We probably shouldn’t have done that,” you whispered, voice hoarse and small, swallowed by the hush of the room. You weren’t sure if you meant it, but the weight of everything hung heavy between you.

You felt him breathe in deep behind you, chest rising slow and steady against your spine. Then, softly — so softly — he answered:

“Stay with me.”

Your breath caught.

No hesitation. No conditions. No more pretending.

You blinked hard against the sting in your eyes, your fingers curling gently around the arm he’d wrapped around you like a shield.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe that maybe love could survive this too.

Tag list: @looneyleo @emmaaas-posts @demo-bats @aphroditesblunt @staley83 @immyowndefender @magicxmiller @wow-life-love4 @thaliagracesgf @sugarminsss @keseqna @ijustrepost @cakesandtom @lovelyc @vampiredoggies-blog @hjzghi-blog

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stuckinmymind22 · 4 months ago

Text

On The Run (part one)

🚨🚨🚨MARINEFORD AND FISHMAN ISLAND SPOILERS🚨🚨🚨

shanks x afab! reader (she/her)

tags: lovers (intimate) to lovers (romantic)

tw: swearing (dialogue and narratively), drinking, violence (you shoot people and they shoot back), you nearly kill a person (intentionally), injury, graphic descriptions of pain, ptsd, you’ve killed people, previous kidnapping, celestial dragons and all of that, lmk if i missed anything

wc: 10.5k

a/n: this idea had me in a chokehold this past month, there's gonna be at least a part 2 (prob 3 too) maybe more little things idk, there's also a prequel in the works that is literally just smut so stand by for that

summary:

You were a barmaid on a small island in the new world with a big secret lying dormant in your past. Your island had been under the protection of Whitebeard, and after his recent death it was only a matter of time before pirates showed up, but no one expected it to be another yonko.

The bar you worked at was a popular spot for the locals and became one of the primary hang out spots for the pirates while they were in town (they couldn't turn down free booze).

The captain, Shanks, ever the charmer, had set his sight on you and quickly you found yourself in his bed (not that you minded). You knew what it was, a temporary relationship to pass the time, and that was fine with you. You weren’t stupid enough to try and get involved with a Yonko (that would be a mess and just end badly for you).

Everything was going smoothly, until the marines showed up. But they weren’t after the Emperor, they were there for you.

It was around midday when a handful of Red Hair Pirates wandered into the bar you worked at. They had been following the same routine for roughly the past week, as they had stayed on the island to get their ship repaired after a storm. In a matter of hours, the crew were going to be setting sail, an inevitable conclusion to their stay. You had grown rather fond of the crew over their time there, especially to their captain, Red-Haired Shanks, who you had a special relationship with (one that often had involved a bed).

A part of you was sad to see you go, although you always had known they would leave, but you were grateful that they had stopped by once again so you could say your goodbyes to some of your favorite members of the crew. The night before, you had spent saying ‘goodbye’ to their captain over many hours, but it seemed that hadn’t been enough for the man.

“You’re looking extra beautiful today,” the captain greeted you with a wink. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the heat that rushed to your cheeks. “Let me guess, the usual?” You asked with a smile. "You know it, Doll," he said as he and his crew took their seats nearby.

Although there were fewer members than there historically had been, there were enough that you could not possibly carry all the pints over by yourself. You called over your coworkers from the other side of the bar for their help, while they did come over and help, they were very skittish around you. You thought that it was odd behavior, but you didn't push the matter; they’d been under a lot of stress lately, so you attributed it to that. They’d recently returned from another island where they had gone to get specialized treatment for their child’s illness, which put a lot of stress on their finances.

“Where’s the rest of the crew?” You questioned the group of pirates as you passed out the drinks. “Getting the ship ready,” Yasopp spoke up. “I see,” you hummed, “Tell them goodbye for me then.”

“You’re not gonna come see us off?” Shanks asked, feigning hurt. You rolled your eyes at the theatrics but grinned regardless. “Unless you’re gonna wait for me to get off, then I can’t.” You realized the accidental innuendo after you said it. “I could get you off right now if you want,” Shanks whispered huskily into your ear. The offer was tempting but would make the clean cut you were going for more difficult. In response, you slapped his arm but laughed, which made the man beam with pride.

You conversed with the group of pirates for a while before a large group came in, clearly celebrating. Your coworker was nowhere to be seen, so you knew you had to get back to work. “It was nice talking to you boys, but duty calls,” you said apologetically, “Please come say goodbye before you leave.”

“Wouldn’t dream of doing anything else,” Shanks said with that damn charming smile. “Don’t worry ‘bout us, go do what you gotta do,” Benn Beckman, the first mate of the Red Hairs, spoke up. You nodded and went to the other group to get their orders before returning to the bar to get their drinks.

Suddenly, something felt off with the air, putting you on edge. With practiced precision, you maintained your composure as you discreetly scanned your surroundings, trying to find the cause of your unease. White uniforms caught your eye, and you faltered, nearly overfilling the tankard you were pouring. This wasn’t going to end well.

There looked to only be a dozen or so marines — nowhere near enough to take Shanks and his crew. If there had been many more soldiers, that would’ve been news on the island, and you would’ve heard about it at that point. The navy was still licking its wounds from the war, surely, they wouldn’t be so stupid as to go after another yonko so soon… right? They could’ve gotten cocky after the death of Whitebeard and were trying to ride that wave to take out the rest of the yonkos, but that seemed far-fetched.

No. There was no way in hell the Marines were here for him, you realized. Shit, they probably didn’t even know he was here. You looked at the man out of the corner of your eye, and he was as laid back as ever, head thrown back as he laughed at something you didn’t hear. The relief didn’t last for long, though, as you quickly realized that the only other person on this island that they could possibly be after was… you.

Shanks had chosen that exact moment to walk up to the bar, greeting you with his charming smile. You were only halfway paying attention to him as you stood on guard. Upon realizing that you were not listening to him, Shanks’ words teetered out, replaced by a curious look.

You were hoping that the unit had stumbled upon your little island on accident and were just going to restock and peacefully head out fast. That dream had been promptly crushed when you saw your coworker walk up to them. You pieced it together, and your coworker’s suspicious behavior around you started to make sense. You had, mistakenly, attributed the odd behavior to stress. They had a chronically ill child, which was a cause of significant emotional and financial strain for them. You watched the entire interaction, how they had tried to be discreet about it, but your fears were confirmed when you were pointed out. The person in charge looked your way and nodded. Shit, he’s a vice admiral

“Fuck,” you spoke your thoughts. Shanks raised an eyebrow, but you didn't look his way, so he followed your gaze and saw what the issue was. He saw the Marines and they saw him. If you weren’t busy trying to find a way out of the situation, you would’ve been really amused by the unit’s reaction to coming face to face with a yonko in the wild.

Shanks, ever the lil shit, waved at the group with a wiggle of his fingers. “Don’t draw their attention over here, dumbass,” you scolded him as you whipped him with a nearby towel. “What? I know him,” the red-haired man laughed. When that explanation hadn’t pacified you, he tried again, “You can relax, they aren’t gonna do anything—“ maybe not to you, you thought internally “—and if they do, we’ll get rid of them, it’ll be easy.” To him it was problem solved, so he was confused when you growled out “The fuck you will. You sit still and look pretty. Don’t get involved.”

The man was unsure what had prompted such a severe reaction from you, but he raised his hand in surrender. “Promise me,” you begged with a genuine fear you hadn’t been able to hide. His eyes softened. He felt that he had owed you at least some level of trust, so he agreed. If things were to go wrong, it wouldn’t be difficult to step in, but he’ll let it be for the time being.

The bar was unusually packed for the time of day — that wasn’t good. They all needed to leave.

If they had been there for you, as it seemed, you knew damn well that you wouldn’t be going down without a fight. However, the possibility of people getting caught in the crossfire was an issue for you. Never mind the fact that it had been instilled into you early on to minimize civilian casualties, you didn’t want to see these people getting hurt. When you had arrived at the town, years earlier, with no funds and very little to your name, the community had come together to help you. They had cared about you in a way you had forgotten people could. You would always be indebted to them. You had to ensure their safety at all costs.

With the Marines nearly at your door, time was running out. The building needed to be evacuated immediately. You hated doing it, but you had no other choice. “Leave. Now.” Your voice echoed in through the room, a powerful energy radiating off of you and your words — Conqueror’s Haki. It had been years since you had used it last, and it had been a little shaky as a result. But it worked. Right away, people had started to file out of the bar; you even had a Marine or two spinning on their heels at your command.

Confusion and shock followed in wake of your order. Wide-eyed patrons walked out, most of them clueless as to what was happening. Those who understood what you had done were taken aback. Conqueror’s Haki was rare enough on its own, but it was damn near unheard of for a random civilian to possess the skill.

There was clearly something Shanks had been missing about your story, no way were you just some barmaid on a sleepy island. The question of who you really were was front and center on the captain’s mind as he watched you on the sidelines. He was intrigued to say the least.

The Marines had gotten stuck navigating through the exiting crowd; you took the opportunity to examine them while they were still hung up. The unit was led by a man smoking not one, but two cigars, clad in an open bomber jacket and a Marine coat draped over his shoulders. His coat denoted his position as a vice admiral, which concerned you. While it wasn’t yet confirmed that they were there for you, you weren’t stupid; you knew. To the extent of your knowledge, the World Government had never sent such a high-ranking officer after you — even in the height of their search efforts.

Still hoping for the best, you feigned ignorance to the situation. Pretending to be drying a tankard, you gave the approaching soldiers an award-winning smile, “Fancy a drink, boys?”

The senior official ignored you entirely. Instead, he opted to address the emperor in the room, greeting him with a curt nod, “Red Hair.” That annoyed you, but you had to keep your cool.

“Smoker,” Shanks said with a laid-back smile, like he was greeting an old friend, not a high-ranking military official. The white-haired man pursed his lips in annoyance, bored he continued, “We aren’t here for you. Leave before we have to be.” While it was a clear threat, the man had seemed reluctant to give it, probably fully aware that his men and him were no match for the pirates.

“Nah. I’m good here,” Shanks said as he sat down at the bar stool as if to prove a point. His response roused some laughs from his crew. The vice admiral, Smoker, was obviously irritated by the response but didn’t push the matter any further. For the first time, the man set his sights towards you, addressing you by your birth name. You cringed when he called out your name in full (title and all); it had been years since you had gone by it. You had grown to resent the name. It reminded you of all that you had lost: your family, your friends, your freedom.

It had taken him a moment, but Shanks’ eyes widened when he finally placed the name. That was you? Your sudden disappearance many, many years ago had sparked a multinational search. Being the daughter of a powerful king, your apparent kidnapping had been a massive story at the time. If he could recall, the search for you had lasted for months, and, right when it had seemed like all hope was lost, you were spotted. You had reappeared suddenly to “commit acts of terrorism” then had dropped off the map entirely. Your poster had gone from “missing” to “wanted” overnight, but you were never seen again.

Under normal circumstances, this would be the part where you would cut your losses and run, but this wasn’t a normal circumstance. You had realized that the unit you were dealing with was a part of the G5 — a branch that was notorious even within the Marines for their recklessness and cruelty — there was little chance that they wouldn’t leave some level of collateral damage. If you were to run, they would follow you with reckless abandonment.

Although you had gotten people out of the building, that didn’t mean that they had left the vicinity. A crowd was gathered right outside, some were trying to stealthily watch the encounter with varying degrees of success — not that you could blame them, this was undoubtedly the most exciting thing to happen in this village in years (the Red-Haired Pirates included).

You needed to find a way to settle this then and there. There was also no telling what could happen if the pirates got involved. Just because they had connected with the community during their stay didn’t mean that they would be mindful of their surroundings (especially when they could just up and leave at any time). You prayed that the handsome, one-armed man would stay true to his word.

You weren’t entirely sure what you were going to do, but luckily you had always been quick on your feet. You had to stall for time while you tried to find the best way out of this.

“Are we really going to do this?” You asked. “You could always pretend you didn’t see me. I’m not going to cause trouble for the government ever again. Plus it’s been, what? Thirteen years?” Admittedly it had been a Hail Mary, but you didn’t want to fight and it would be a disservice to yourself not to try. “I’m a whole new person now,” you said, gesturing to your body, which had changed considerably from when you were taken as a teen.

“Time doesn’t absolve you from your crimes,” the marine, Smoker, said level headedly.

“But what crime did I really commit?” You questioned him. In the past you had managed to talk yourself out of being captured; however, most of those times you still had the youth of a child and the pity that came with it. “Outside of destruction of property, it was all done in self-defense. Actually, even the destruction of property thing was too.”

“You know that it is bigger than that,” Smoker countered, not batting an eye. His words made you realize he had more pieces to the story than what had been made public. That stoked a fire within you — his complacency in the matter made what you had to do easier.

“You got me there,” you admitted, face and facade dropping. You were tired. Tired of running. Tired of having to look behind your back at every step. But what choice did you have? Fighting your way out was the only thing you could do at that point. “Hey Yasopp, can I borrow your gun please?” You’d seen the pistol on his hip when he’d walked in

The only snag in your plan was the fickle nature of pirates. You had your part down, but if they didn’t help, you were fucked. Well, not fucked, but you would have to flee, endangering the lives of the nice people who welcomed you onto this island and cared about you, which you wanted to avoid at all costs.

The sniper was surprised by the request, to say the least. Did you even know how to use a gun? Unsure of what he should do, Yasopp looked to his captain with an unspoken question. Shanks had been a little taken aback at the request too; this was a very different side to you than the one he had been familiar with. But he was curious. The emperor signaled the go-ahead to Yasopp, who immediately tossed the weapon your way.

While the pirates communicated, the woman next to Smoker spoke up in an attempt to appeal to your sense of better reason: “You don’t have to do this.” You wished that she was right.

“Yes, I do,” you said firmly. The universe had incredible timing as that was the moment you caught the revolver. “I’m not letting you take me back. And I’m not letting you kill me,” your words came out desperate and definitive.

After you spoke, you raised the pistol, but held it with such unfamiliarity — as if that was the first time in your life you’d held one, which was odd because you had explicitly asked for a gun. Smoker ordered the troops to take aim at your movement. For someone who had the barrel of a dozen rifles pointed at you, you were remarkably calm. Despite the fearful expression that painted your face, your body was relaxed.

You fired the first shot. It missed. By a long shot.

Shanks remained confused by your actions. He’d been watching you closely and had noticed that something was off. The question was what. One would expect you to be embarrassed or something by that performance, but the corners of your mouth were upturned. Oh, you had meant to do that. You had something planned. However, wasting a round when you only had six shots and twelve targets seemed like a shit strategy. What exactly were you playing at?

It worked. Your plan had worked.

The shot had been so bad that the order to retaliate didn't even come like it should have. Multiple soldiers had faltered in their aim at you. After all, you were just a weak barmaid on a sleepy island. What damage could you really do? Underestimating you was their mistake, though. When they’d lowered their guard, you pounced. You moved before they could notice their mistake, targeting the soldiers that held firm while the others would be ever so slightly delayed in their reaction.

You emptied the revolver in quick succession, aiming for the shoulder of the arm on the trigger to disarm and incapacitate. The gun was more powerful than you had expected; one bullet aligned so perfectly that it had been able to take down two marines in one shot, shooting straight through both of them. After hitting five soldiers, the pistol had stopped firing. That wasn’t right.

Dodging a barrage of bullets, you checked the gun to find all of the chambers empty. Well, that was inconvenient, you sighed and tossed the pistol back to its owner. You needed a new weapon. In the process of hopping the counter to ‘borrow’ a rifle, a sharp pain erupted in your side. Fuck. But no injury was going to have you back down — they’d have to kill you for that — so you kept fighting.

The rifle had been helpful. It didn’t take long for there to be only one man left standing. The vice admiral. This time, however, you aimed for the heart. The man knew what had happened to you and still had decided you were the one in the wrong; the world would probably be better off without him. Not considering the consequences of shooting a high-ranking official, you fired the shot.

The man never dropped — it didn't even look like he was hit. You were certain you had aimed right at him. You tried shooting him again and the same thing happened. That time, you saw his body turn into... smoke? It was clear to Shanks that you didn't know about the vice admiral's devil fruit. He had sat back and watched for long enough. You had proven that you could do more than hold your own, but it was time to intervene.

“I think it might be time for you to cut your losses and go, Smoker. Don’t ya think?” Shanks said, making eye contact with the man. It hadn’t been a suggestion; it had been an order. Smoker ticked his jaw, but he knew a losing battle when he saw one. His men were injured, and so was Tashigi — none of the wounds were yet critical, but they required medical attention. He ordered a full retreat.

“You put on quite the show, Doll,” Shanks said, his charming personality making a full return. He couldn’t deny that he’d found the whole thing to be attractive and quite entertaining to watch. He’d never guessed you had it in you — it had made him realize that he didn’t know much about you.

A noncommittal grunt was the only indicator that you had heard the man at all. But his voice had brought you back down from fight mode, which allowed the anger to kick in. You were pissed. You were so fucking angry, unshed tears clogged your waterline as you vigorously wiped them away. You knew that you’d just lost everything.

Somewhere through the haze you heard the voice of Yasopp and, without thinking, you talked over it, "Do you always keep a chamber empty? You play reverse Russian roulette often?" Despite it being a joke, there was a bite to your words that the group had never heard before, regardless of that the quip garnered a hearty laugh. You started to get an explanation that likely boiled down to being drunk, but you weren't listening, you were spiraling.

Everything that you had built there was gone. You couldn't stay (you had a garden dammit). The government knew where you were and you were no longer safe — you could not go back at any cost, you could never let them catch you.

Staring aimlessly out the wide open door you recognized a familiar face, your coworker’s, and you saw red. Your feet carried you outside before you could second guess your actions, some marine's rifle still in your hand. Someone called out your name, but you spared them no mind. Steps followed behind you, who they belonged to didn't matter. You could only focus on the pounding in your ears and the anger in your heart.

As you approached your now ex-coworker, you raised the barrel, leveling it between their eyes. Your aim held steady as they collapsed on the ground in terror. You loaded the gun, ignoring the silent plea in their eyes. A crowd was still gathered in the street, watching your movements in disbelief.

A few steps behind you stood Shanks. He observed your actions, curious as to what you would do. He wasn't there to stop you from pulling the trigger; he would have already done it if it were him. Guns weren't for threats, but were you really going to shoot someone dead in the middle of the street? The only kill shot you had gone for was Smoker, who was a stranger trying to arrest you; this, however, was someone you had known. It was obvious that you had sent people out to minimize casualties, yet now you had a rifle to the head of a civilian.

Finger on the trigger, ready to pull it, but you hesitated. For the first time in a while, your father's voice echoed in your head. While a man of power, he had always stressed the importance of mercy, saying that you needed to really be sure of what you were doing when taking a life while yours was not at stake.

When you thought about it, you were more sad than anything. Just when you had started to really lay down some roots, it had been torn up entirely. You wanted to hate the person who had turned you in, but you knew why they did it. Your head had appeared to be easy money, and they were a desperate parent trying to help their child. The anger didn't subside, but you knew what you had to do.

“I should kill you. I want to kill you,” you seethed, “but I won’t.” Taking your finger off the trigger, you lowered the barrel. You were shaking in fury as you towered above them bestowing mercy. “Because I don’t like traumatizing kids. I’m not gonna make yours watch me blow your brains out. For your sake I hope this is the last time we see each other because next time I probably won’t be as forgiving. Now go comfort your child. They’re crying. Four buildings down across the street in that alley.”

When they made no move to get up, undoubtedly frozen in fear, you gently kicked their leg. “Go before I change my mind.” That had been all that it took; they scurried away in the direction you pointed out.

You were still fuming, but you would have time to be angry later; you needed to disappear. You had no idea where you would go. The island was far too small for you to hide on — you had to leave and soon.

A faint plan was developing in your mind. Being on the run required cash, much more than you had on hand. The bar was empty — bar the pirates — and you knew the code to the safe, which made it your best bet. You spun on your heel and headed back the way you had come.

The crew's attention had snapped to the door when you entered, but you paid them no mind, too focused on your objective. Their captain trailed behind you, sending them back to the ship with just a glance. The Red Haired Pirates had been together for so long that they had practically mastered the art of wordless communication; they all knew what that look had meant. The men were quick to exit, leaving in silence, which was surprising given how rowdy they liked to be.

Shanks, however, lingered. He took back his seat and watched you. He didn't speak while you moved around — no words of comfort, no judgment; he was just... there. You had waited for any sort of reaction to come from the man, constantly eyeing him out of the corner of your eye, but there never was one.

Halfway through clearing the place out, the pain had finally made its reappearance. You didn't have time to deal with the injury, so you powered through it, ignoring its existence. You stuffed your pockets full of money and shoved some down your shirt with urgency, getting more berries than you had originally calculated. But there was no telling when that stroke of luck would end.

------------

Shanks had been following you the entire walk to your home. His presence stood out, so it had been obvious who it was. Initially, you had wanted to tell him to fuck off, but you had thought the better of it. Even if it bothered you, his presence was more beneficial than harmful — he was a deterrent for the marines, and you weren't sure of the extent of your injuries, but you trusted that if you passed out or something, he would help you.

Standing outside the door, you took a moment to grieve — you had been there for five years and would never see it again. It was the first place that had felt safe, that had felt like home, since before you had been taken, and you were losing it all.

When you entered, you hadn't bothered to shut the door behind you, and Shanks took it as an open invitation. He followed you inside and looked around, as if he hadn't been there before.

You pulled out and opened a small trunk that you hadn't used in years — since you had arrived on that island. Even though you had been free for over a decade and settled for nearly half of that time, you didn't have a lot of things to your name. While you packed your belongings away, you brainstormed how you would get the hell off of the island.

There had never been a high-ranking ranking official to come after you. The government seemed to finally be putting resources into tracking you down, which must be because of the change in power, and so any commercial means were off the table. It would be hard to get out, unless…

You looked over at Shanks and held an internal debate. Initially, you had wanted to cut all ties with him, to make things easier, but you weren't sure if you had much of a choice anymore. He'd felt your eyes on him and turned around to look at you — there was nothing left to lose.

"Take me with you," you said, swallowing your pride, "Just to the next island, that is all I need." The longer he responded, the more worried you became. The smile that formed on his face calmed your fears. "That's why I'm here, Darlin," he truly had intended to anyways, and if you declined, he had been ready to find a way to talk you into it.

He had motives outside of altruism of course, he was a pirate after all. Curiosity definitely had been a big one, he had a lot of questions. You were also a competent fighter. It would be mutually beneficial if he could convince you to stay with his crew (he would get your skills, you get guaranteed protection from the government). Another reason he refused to admit was that he just liked you, in ways that were unfamiliar to him. What he could admit, however, was that he would miss the time you had spent alone together, that had always been something he'd enjoyed.

He saw it while he was lost in thought. A large red patch on your side. It looked like you hadn’t dodged every bullet that had come your way. Your shirt was dark and disguised it well, but the stain was still there. You had done a good job at hiding it too; you hadn’t limped or shown any outward signs of pain. What the hell have you gone through? Bullets hurt, that he could attest to.

Shanks had walked over to you and lifted up the hem of your shirt in a way he had many times before to assess the damage. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You questioned, slapping his hand away. Instead of answering, he did it again, checking your back, and you held your breath in fear.

There was no exit wound, but he could not remember if that was good or bad; all he knew was that you were still bleeding. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he said, putting pressure on the wound.

“Didn’t know I had to, and I’ve been through worse,” you answered, continuing your task. He believed you. He thought back to your nights together and had recalled the feeling of scars littering your body (the lighting had always been awful, and details were all fuzzy).

“How long have you been bleeding?” He asked, trying to determine how much blood you had lost. “Since I got shot, I think,” you responded. “Now let me finish packing.” Normally, he would have laughed at your quip, but for some reason this time it wasn’t that funny. His hand had been painted with scarlet, and he scolded himself for not noticing earlier. Over the years, he had seen worse injuries, but he needed to get you to Hongo as soon as possible. “We gotta go, you need a doctor,” he said. When you attempted to pull back from him, he told you to stay still.

“You are not my captain. I am not gonna take orders from you. Let me go,” you looked him dead in the eyes as you spoke and he returned your gaze. “You might wanna start listening to me if you don’t want to bleed out,” Shanks was no longer playing around, he sounded serious in a way you had never heard from him before. Your will had faltered a little bit before it came back strong, “I’m gonna finish, then we can go.”

"Like hell you are," deep down he knew that you weren't going to cooperate if this didn't get done. "I'll do it," in his mind it had been that or picking you up and taking you kicking and screaming, which he would really prefer not doing. “Not with that bloody hand you’re not,” you said, looking at the red spilling between his fingers. “It’s your blood,” he was getting tired. “It’s still blood,” you argued. Shanks wiped your blood off on his shirt, “There, now what do you need?” Thankfully, your hands replaced his, keeping your bleeding under control as you pointed out the few items that had yet to be packed.

------------

After Shanks had uncovered the bullet wound in your side, you had stopped trying to suppress or hide the impact the injury was having on you. On your way to his ship, you had needed to sling an arm around his neck to keep yourself upright (getting more of your blood on him in the process) while you tried to control the bleeding with your other hand. The closer you had gotten to the dock, the more obvious it had become that you had lost a lot of blood. Your movements had started to slow down, and Shanks knew that you needed to hurry and get medical attention.

Yasopp had been the first to spot you and the captain approaching. Then he saw the crimson all over the man's white shirt. "Oi, Hongo, c'mere," the sharpshooter shouted back to the doctor, sounding more amused than concerned, "Captain's gonna need you soon."

Shanks glared up at the man, not amused. Only then had Yasopp noticed that you were using the tall man as a crutch and clutching your abdomen. It was your blood. You had been bleeding profusely. "Oh shit," he said before shouting back to the doctor to hurry. Yasopp jumped down onto the dock to help bring you on board. There was only a rope that provided a way up; there had been no need for anything more than that as the captain had been the only one still on the island, and he had expressed his desire to leave quickly.

The gunman rushed to greet the two of you and lend a hand. You refused to let anyone else see you in such an openly vulnerable state, so you brushed past him, refusing his help, and started to climb the rope by yourself. Some of your blood had transferred to the fibers of the rope as you climbed. Yasopp was taken aback by your sudden increase in strength, and while he was confused, Shanks shoved the trunk of your belongings that he'd been carrying into his arms. The one-armed man followed closely behind you.

It was a slow process for you, scaling the rope with one arm when you were so out of practice. Your struggle was clear, but you wouldn't let a little bit of blood loss stop you, so you powered through it, eventually reaching the top.

Hongo arrived out on deck just in time to witness you climb over the railing on your own. He had recognized you from the bar (and knew your relationship to the captain), but why were you onboard a pirate ship? The doctor, somehow, had yet to hear about the events that transpired less than an hour ago. As far as he was concerned, you were just an ordinary civilian, so why'd the hell had the captain brought you aboard the Red Force hurt and bleeding? Hold on, hurt and bleeding?

Shanks had followed quickly behind you. He scanned the crowd, looking for the doctor before his feet were planted on deck. When he found him, he made eye contact. "Hongo," he said with a faint nod and a glance your way. It was an order: to take care of you.

Immediately, Hongo rushed to your side to aid you, calling out for a stretcher upon seeing your condition. You, however, brushed him off, "I can walk. Where am I going?" You questioned, looking around. He had opened his mouth to insist otherwise when the captain gave him a look that boiled down to 'just do as the lady says'. Warily, Hongo led the way to the infirmary with a few men on standby, not entirely confident that you wouldn't collapse along the way.

You were much more conscious than you should've been, that was the first thing about you that gave the doctor pause. Based on the size of the stain on your shirt and the combined red on both you and Shanks, you had lost a lot of blood — almost too much blood to be conscious, but there you were, walking. He couldn't help but wonder what the hell you had been through to be capable of such a feat. Perhaps you were one of those rare people who didn't feel pain, he contemplated, but the way you had been gritting your teeth proved that was not the case. One thing had become clear to him at that point: you were not an ordinary civilian.

Along the way, you rattled off all of the information that he would need to know, unprompted: a gunshot wound to the abdomen (that much he could tell), you weren't sure if there was an exit wound, it happened around thirty minutes ago, even giving him your blood type.

The doctor knew you would need a transfusion. Blood transfusions weren’t a common occurrence on the Red Force; the crew rarely needed them, so only a small amount was kept on hand as a just-in-case. When the bleeding had been too much, there were enough people to get on-the-spot donations. He knew there wasn’t enough of your blood type on hand, so the doctor sent someone back to collect two or three people for donations.

Upon your arrival at the infirmary, you requested that as few people as possible were in the room. It was an odd request, but he obliged. He instructed an assistant to go draw blood in another room. The other one got you hooked up to a transfusion while Hongo got started on the gunshot wound. Initially, you had been very adamant about keeping your shirt on under the bright lighting, even if it would hinder any aid, only lifting it to the point of injury. You had also refused to let him check for an exit wound, but in a way that could be excused with modesty and would not have raised an eyebrow had he not already been suspicious about you.

Once only the two of you had remained in the room, you stripped yourself of your shirt, telling the doctor that he could do whatever he needed to. Sat there on the exam table, shirt in hand, you kicked your feet like a child, in a vain attempt to redirect your nerves. Hopefully, he doesn't see it, you thought. In such bright light, the scar on your back was harder to hide.

With full access to the area of the gunshot, Hongo checked for an exit wound, finding that there was none. After an assessment, he had decided that the best course of action would be to remove the bullet, and he told you as much. “Get it over with, please," you said, bunching up the fabric of your shirt to stuff into your mouth. "We have pain killers, do you want-“ you cut off the doctor's offer once again, asking him to get it over with. The man hesitated but proceeded anyway. He gathered the necessary tools and waited for your signal. After stuffing your balled-up shirt in your mouth, you gave him a nod.

You were not looking forward to the experience, but the faster you could get it over with, the faster you could cover up. A sharp, searing pain exploded in your abdomen as Hongo started his search for the bullet. No matter how hard you had bit down on your shirt, it hadn't been enough to muffle your screams, which, unfortunately, were heard as they echoed down the halls. The digging around your insides was not pleasant, and you started to wonder if it would be better just leaving the slug in there. Your screams, however, dimmed as he prodded deeper into the cavity of your abdomen. Even when the bullet had been retrieved, the process of disinfecting the wound was just as, if not more, grueling. By then, the only indicator of your pain was the tears welled up on your lash line — tears that never fell.

It had been while Hongo was finally bandaging you that he had noticed what you were trying to hide — the reason you hadn't wanted anyone in the room. He nearly had missed it too; the mark was faint, but it was there — the ghost of the hoof of the soaring dragon. A slave branding. The mark of a celestial dragon.

Oh, shit.

The doctor’s movements had faltered at the discovery. You knew that he had seen it, and that scared you. “Please don't tell him," you said, voice so faint it was practically like a child's. The plea had taken the doctor by surprise. He knew who you were talking about but was confused as to why you were begging him to keep it a secret from him of all people — surely he had seen it...right?

"I won't," he responded, the tension in your shoulders dissipating slightly. "Promise?" you asked in the same small voice. "I promise," he reaffirmed. The reassurance allowed you to finally relax; it was as if you had given your body the permission to show the extent of your injuries, and the world slipped into black quickly.

------------

Shanks had known that returning to the ship with you, an injured civilian, before departing from the island would raise some eyebrows from the crew, which is exactly what happened. The captain, however, ignored the surprised faces and questioning looks, not even sparing them a glance. They could wait, preferably for a time when you were not actively bleeding out.

He watched you leave, walking your damn self to the infirmary out of sheer willpower alone. At least your stubbornness from earlier hadn't been personal. You were limping and stumbling, but you were still upright, and that said a lot about you. Shanks felt someone walk up beside him; he didn't have to look to know who it was. His right-hand man, Benn Beckman, joined him in his observation. The gears in the yonko's mind were turning, trying to figure you out. Only when you had turned a corner did the first mate speak. "She coming with?" he asked. "Yes," the captain answered definitively, the decision already final. Beck took a drag from his lit cigarette and nodded, "She crew?" "No," at least not yet.

Shanks had been stiff since he arrived, which was noticed by people onboard. In attempt to lighten the mood, someone shouted, "We takin' fugitives now?" He cracked a smile and loosened up a little, a series of laughs also ringing out on deck. While the joke had helped to cut some of the tension he had been feeling, he was still worried about you, probably more than he should be. You’ll be fine. You’ve gotta be.

“Let’s get going, yeah?” the captain proclaimed, and the crew, like a well-oiled machine, quickly unmoored the ship and set off. Both Beckman and Yasopp had stayed by Shanks’ side; the first mate’s continued presence made sense, but the sniper’s didn’t. “Yassop, what ya doing? Don’t go deadbeat on your crew now too,” Shanks joked, the mirth in his voice was noticeably forced. “Haha, very funny Captain,” Yasopp deadpanned. The captain clapped his back to send the man off, but he didn’t move. “Now, where do you want this?” Yasopp asked, raising the trunk you had packed. Oh yeah, he had forgotten about that.

“Umm…” Shanks tried to think of a spot for you outside of the infirmary, where you would surely be staying for the foreseeable future, but he was drawing a blank. "Bring it to the guest quarters," Beckman said, the slightest twinkle of mischief in his eyes — which the captain was blind to as his back was towards the man, but Yasopp had caught it. He understood what Benn had been playing at and he smiled knowingly. The guest quarters were right next to the captain's. The sniper verified the option with the captain, who nodded in agreement before he walked away.

"Make sure you get someone to clean it, I don't know the last time we used it," the captain shouted over his shoulder. Yasopp and Beckman shared a knowing grin before dissipating.

One of the newer recruits (newer was a subjective term as he’d been on the ship for a couple of years) came running out on deck. He had been one of the people to follow you and Hongo to the medical bay, so when he had come rushing back with urgency, Shanks’ heart had dropped into his stomach. He felt nauseous, fearing the worst.

Instead of delivering the dreaded news, the man called out for any donors with your specific blood type. Shanks didn’t realize it, but there was something threatening in his eyes that signaled if anyone had your blood type, they better fucking go. The look on the captain’s face had several men following the first to the medical area despite the fact that he had only requested two or three.

After that, Shanks had tried to go back to his captainly duties and help get the ship out to sea, but he was doing a shit job at hiding his worry. He didn’t even understand why he was so worried about you; you’d likely be fine, but he felt sick to his stomach regardless.

------------

Shanks had been on his way to check on you in the infirmary when he heard screams echoing in the hallways — your screams. They were muffled, but they were still audible. He’d been around long enough to know that you were likely getting the bullet taken out. He thought about turning around, but the screams stopped before he could. The abruptness that the screams dropped off concerned him, and he picked up his pace.

He listened at the door just to make sure that you were alive without disrupting your privacy. Hearing your voice was a relief, but then he realized what you’d said: "Please don't tell him." He could put two and two together. He knew it was him you were talking about. What were you keeping from him? Oh no. You couldn’t be…? …right? But what else would you beg a doctor to keep from him? A part of him wanted to just barge into the room and find out for himself, but he had enough self-control not to. Instead, he would wait outside the door until he got word on your condition.

A few moments later, when Hongo opened the door, nearly running into the man he’d just promised to keep something from. Shanks had been stood at the door, staring blankly, eyebrows furrowed in thought, which he had been so lost in that it had taken him a moment to realize someone was in front of him.

Shanks couldn’t help himself, he asked point blank, “What aren’t you supposed to tell me?” The doctor sidestepped him, directing a nearby medic to make sure you rested and let him know if anything changed in your condition. “You know I can’t tell you that.” The captain didn’t like that answer; he was worried about you in general and feared that whatever you were keeping from him involved him somehow. “I can keep a secret,” he tried again, falling into step with the man.

Stopping in the middle of the hallway, Hongo looked his captain in the eyes. “Respectfully, Captain, it isn’t for me to say.” Hongo stood firm on his position, but threw the emperor a bone when he stayed tensed. “It’s got nothing to do with you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” The information brought Shanks a little bit of relief. Although he wanted to know what was being kept from him, he let the matter go and switched topics. “How’s she?”

“She lost a lot of blood. I don’t know how she was still walking — most of our men could not have done that,” Hongo admitted. Shanks had recognized how far your sheer willpower went, it had been impressive. “We are insanely lucky that it just missed her artery or else no amount of will could’ve gotten her here.” That was a fact Shanks wasn’t sure he wanted to know. It scared him more than it should have. “Nothing too major was damaged, but she’ll need to be on bedrest for several days, possibly more, the recovery in total will take a couple of weeks. Right now, infection is what we need to watch out for.”

Shanks nodded in understanding before a bell rang out in the halls. Several years back, Lucky Roux, the ship’s head chef, had gotten annoyed — for probably the first time in his life — at people complaining that food was cold multiple hours after it had been cooked, so he had a bell installed to signal meal time (also used for booze). After that it was your own fault if your food got cold or you missed a meal. The two men changed corse, making their way to the mess hall.

Hongo hadn’t been entirely convinced that the captain was unaware of the brand on your back, even if you had believed he was oblivious. It was a delicate situation to broach. “Do you know her history? There’s gotta be something there for her to be able to take a bullet like that.” He’d chosen his words carefully as to not break his promise, plus, it was an actual question he had. “You didn’t hear?” News had always seemed to spread like wildfire on board so it surprised Shanks that the doctor hadn’t heard what happened back on the island.

Down the hall, Yasopp, ever the story teller, could be heard telling the story animately. “—and that’s when everyone left the bar. She even got a few marines—” A sizable crowd had gathered around him listening to his tale. "Go sit in, you'll see what I'm talking about," Shanks said to Hongo, clapping him twice on the back before leaving him there.

He spotted Beckman, who stood nearby against a wall enjoying the story despite having had lived it. “Just the man I wanted to see,” Shanks said, approaching him. “Can I have you look into—“ “Her bounty? Yes,” the man cut him off, both spoke in hushed tones.

“It always freaks me out when you do that,” Shanks said faking a shiver. Benn smiled, his cigarette still in his mouth, and shrugged, "What can I say? I know you best."

“Just find out what you can and let me know. You’ll probably have to ask around ‘cause there’s no way in hell they shared what actually had happened.” The red-haired pirate went to leave before returning. Speaking once again in a quiet voice he said, “And I think this goes without saying, but don’t let her know you’re doing this.” He had realized that you would not be happy with everyone knowing your past after you had gone to such lengths to hide it. “And the others too,” he added. “Of course, Captain,” his first made responded. Feeling satisfied with the answer, Shanks walked off.

“—and then she, with out thinking, asked me if I had a habit of playing reverse Russian roulette,” Yasopp had found that quip really funny, laughing loudly just recounting it.

“She got you good with that one,” Shanks chimed in as he passed by. “Maybe it’ll teach ya to keep your gun full.” Yasopp’s justification was covered by the captain’s laugh.

------------

It had long been dark by the time you woke up. Pale moonlight streamed through the dark room; you blinked away the sleepiness and reoriented yourself. Memories from earlier streamed back into your mind as you recognized where you were and why. Lying in a hospital bed on a damn pirate ship. Oh god. One thing you knew for sure was that there was no way in hell you were going to let yourself be confined to a bed, injury be damned.

You sat upright, swinging your feet over the edge of the mattress; the motion sent off your pain receptors, and you winced. Your arm got tangled in the IV line in your arm that you hadn’t noticed, so you ripped the needle out before looking around the room for your bloodied shirt. There was no sign of the garment, but there was, however, a nicely folded (hopefully clean) shirt at your bedside. The shirt was much too big for you, but it was something, and you hated your back being exposed.

Exiting the confines of the stuffy infirmary, you set out to find people or just something to do. Truth be told, wandering around only worsened the pain, but it hadn’t stopped you. It didn’t take too long for you to stumble upon a small group of people gathered playing cards. Most of the players were people that you recognized, several of whom you actually knew the names of. Yasopp and Lucky Roux greeted you exaggeratively, an energy that you returned at a mere fraction. Unfortunately for you, Hongo, the doctor, had been one of the players with their back to you, and hearing your name, he turned around.

“You shouldn’t be walking,” he stated, rearranging his cards. “But I’m so good at it,” you joked, approaching the group. “Seriously, you could reopen your wound,” the doctor tried to reason. “Good thing you’re right here to help me then,” you said, patting him on the shoulder and taking an empty seat. “What’re we playing, boys?” You asked, rubbing your hands together, completely brushing off his concerns. Hongo recognized the signs that it would be a losing battle trying to get you to go rest, so he gave up trying to convince you.

“If you want something to drink, we’ve some sake and some rum over there,” Yasopp offered[slurring his words], pointing to some barrels with his glass. “Oh hell yeah,” you exclaimed, standing back up and waltzing over to the alcohol, your enthusiasm bringing about some laughs. You were glad to have something to undercut the pain of your wound and filled a cup practically to the brim before downing it. A large portion of the liquid had missed your mouth in your eagerness to down the drink. Then it was rinse and repeat for a couple of glasses.

The spectacle had one of the senior officials at the nearby table remarking how much your behavior mimicked a certain redhead they all knew, a consensus that was unilaterally agreed upon. You had heard them but just rolled your eyes, filling the cup a final time before returning to your seat. “Sorry ‘bout that, I wanted to catch up with everybody,” you joked, commenting on the varying degrees of intoxication.

“Want in?” The dealer asked, dealing you in before you nodded. “But what are we playing?” You asked, picking up your cards. Multiple people spoke on top of each other trying to answer your question or explain the rules. You laughed — it had felt good to laugh, other than the pain shooting through with the movements. “Ehh, I’ll figure it out,” you waved off the explanations.

You had, in fact, figured it out with no intervention, sweeping the floor with them. Your winning streak stopped after the third round, but playing was still fun. The good vibe had you forgetting the circumstances of why you were with the pirates in the first place — until your cup had run dry and your liver started putting work in. You needed more. Announcing you’d be back, you returned to the liquor only to run into someone along the way.

Shanks hadn’t thought of himself as a possessive man, but he had been momentarily distracted at seeing you in his shirt for the second time in twenty-four hours, and he had to remind himself that he was no longer allowed to think like that. Once his mind cleared, anxiety set in. “Whoah, where’d’ya think you’re going, sweetheart?” He questioned, wearing his signature grin, which was conflicted by the worry in his eyes.

You met his smile and raised the empty tankard, shaking it and said like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “I need a refill.” {You were being cute.} “I like the spirit, but you should probably be lying down,” he countered, the extent of his concern for you was, well, concerning to him. “I’m fine,” you smiled up at him. “No bleeding, practically good as new,” you reassured him, giving him a 360 as if that would prove your point.

“You were shot,” he said, not buying it. “I’ve been shot before, I’ll be alright,” you tell him. Some bounty hunter years ago had taken the “dead” part of “dead or alive” a bit too seriously and had gotten you in the shoulder. It had been a bitch to heal, but you had lived through it once, you could do it again. Your reassurance hadn’t been reassuring for the man at all. You had a move to walk around him, but he blocked in your path, “Hongo said you need to rest, you should go lie down,”

“I tried to tell her, Captain,” the man in question piped up from the table nearby. It was clear that they had all been watching your exchange. “See? He said it’s okay,” you tried to justify. “Well, Captain’s right. You should be resting,” Hongo said, causing Shanks to give you the I-told-you-so look. “Whose side are you on?” You questioned the doctor, then returned your gaze to the man in front of you. “I am fine. You don’t need to worry your pretty little mind.”

Ignoring your words, he put his arm around you. “I’m afraid it’s the doctor’s orders, love,” he said, putting his arm around you. “Come on, Doll, I’ll walk you.” You shook his arm off you, stepping out from under him. “I told you I’m not doing it.” You looked him dead in the eyes with defiance. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “At least sit down,” he negotiated. “I will,” you said, and he smiled. “After I get a drink.” His temper was officially wearing thin. “I’ll do it,” he attempted a compromise. “I don’t need a man to get me a fucking drink, Shanks.” You stepped around the tall man, continuing your mission.

Shanks turned around and spoke with authority, stopping you in your tracks. “I am telling you, you need to rest.” His captain’s voice was much less sexy now that he had actually been trying to tell you what to do. “And I told you no,” you said with just as much authority and fire in your eyes. A silent battle flared between the two of you, neither side willing to back down. Deciding to be the one to end it, you walked off without a word, skipping out on the alcohol.

------------

After walking away, you had found a quiet corner of the deck. The stars were so unbelievably bright out in the deep darkness of the open waters. You had always found nights to be more beautiful on the sea, but it had been years since you had the luxury of such a view. It felt peaceful, but looks could be deceiving.

You leaned against the railing, staring blankly at the horizon. Waves crashed up against the ship, providing an ambient background noise as you lost yourself in thought.

The ordeal from earlier in the day, particularly being called by your birth name, had brought back a lot of memories. Some were good, like the ones of your family and your father teaching you how to fight, but others — the majority of them — were ugly.

The night you had been taken, the last time you had a true taste of freedom. You cursed your younger self for letting her guard down so far. Everything that had gone wrong in your life could all be traced back to that moment. You knew it was unfair to blame yourself for it. You had just been a kid, but you had been old enough to be smarter, and you weren't.

The thing that really haunted your mind as you stared out into the vastness of the sea was the night that earned you a bounty. The night that lived on in your nightmares. You could still hear the screams and smell the smoke. You had taken multiple lives that night. Some of them had deserved it, to be honest, but there were several who had been victims of both you and your captors. They hadn't deserved the death they received, but a sick part of you had always wondered if it would have been better than the alternative for them.

The Celestial Dragons had long been notorious for their sick and twisted ways. You had regretted how it had all played out, but you had never regretted what you did. But the blood still lived on your hands — no matter what you tried, it never washed off.

You were pulled out of your dark thoughts by the creaking of the floorboards. A quick glance to the side showed Beckman walking your way. He stopped a few feet away from you, leaning his back against the railing. You heard the click of a lighter as he lit up a cig. For a while, the two of you existed in silence. You knew that he knew that you should be resting or whatever, but he never said anything about your injury.

"You were impressive today, didn't know you had that in you," Beckman's deep voice piercing the stillness of the night. You chuckled, almost bitterly staring at the water, "I don't want to be impressive. I want to be safe." You heard him take a drag from his cigarette before he responded, "With the World Government after you, that might not be a choice." Admittedly, it was not what you wanted to hear at all, but you knew he spoke the truth. A new wave of silence overtook you both; it was hard to measure how much time went by until he broke the silence once again.

"You're a lot like him, you know," Benn said. That was the second time that night you heard someone say that. "What?" You knew who he was talking about, but you were confused as to why he was saying it. "I think that's why we all like you so much," he continued as if you hadn't spoken. "What do you mean?" you questioned him again, fully turning your body to face him. "Exactly what I said," he replied with a smile before he left, leaving you alone to figure out what the fuck he had meant.

end a/n: AAAAAHHHHHHHH i did it!!!!! very excited about this one, have a rough plan for what's next but idk when that'll happen.

thank you for reading!! i hope you enjoyed it 💕

part two | more from me

#shanks x reader #one piece x reader #x reader #canon post

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djarindroid · 1 month ago

Text

Late Nights

Pairing: Thanos x F! Reader

Summary: Your quiet night shift turns into something else when a regular with purple hair and a habit for cherry vapes starts showing up.

Warnings: Brief harassment

Word Count: 2,974

Comments: SO I actually wrote this a couple of months ago, but forgot about it so it got buried in my docs. Thanos is probs a lil ooc but 🤷‍♀️I like writing him as a cutie

Working the night shift at a convenience store wasn’t your ideal job, but it worked for now. The hours were long and sometimes lonely, but the pay was good. Besides, the store was in a nice part of town. It was quiet most nights, just you and the soft hum of the fridges, and the occasional person getting their midnight fix.

The people you’d see come and go all fit into categories, there were the people rolling home after a late shift, picking up something quick for dinner; there were the people stumbling in after being out drinking; there were the stoners coming in looking for easy food, and at the very end of your shift the early commuters start to show up.

Through your time in the job you’d picked up on a few regulars that come and go like clockwork. Though there was only one that piqued your interest over time.

The first time he came in, the first thing you noticed was his bright purple hair peeking out from his hood, the fluorescent lights made it almost glow. He picked up an energy drink, some gum and a cherry vape. He paid in crumpled up bills, didn’t make eye contact and didn’t want a receipt.

That was fine, you weren’t exactly here to make friends, and most people at this time just wanted to come and go as quickly as possible.

The second time he came in, you couldn’t help but notice how red his eyes were. He picked up the same 3 items. When he reached the till you couldn’t help but grin at the telltale faint smell of weed. He kept his head down, paid and you lumped him into the stoner category.

The third time he came in, he had more energy than you’d seen before. He seemed amped, a thin sheen of sweat covering him. This was the first time you’d seen him with his hood down, his purple hair stuck up and you couldn’t help but take in the tattoo that creeped up his neck.

He picked up the same items, but this time when he approached the till he greeted you with a ‘yo.’ You smiled back at him, but before you could say anything he was putting the exact change down on the counter and walking out.

He kept coming back, not every night but most. Some nights he showed up later smelling of weed, other nights he smelt more like cologne with his hair slightly damp from sweat. He started to greet you most times he came in, but that was as far as your conversation ever went.

Every time he came in it was the same three things - gum, an energy drink and a cherry vape. Always the cherry. After a few weeks you started to hide one under the counter when stock got low. You didn’t know what made you do it, you’d only ever exchanged quick greetings, but he was one of the constants in your life so it felt only right to keep his small routine safe.

One night you noticed there was only one left in the display, you grabbed it and stashed it, just in case he showed up. And he did. It was one of his earlier nights, where he arrived slightly amped up. You watched as he grabbed his drink, the gum and then stopped dead in his tracks at the vape display, his fingers already reaching towards the empty slot.

You smiled to yourself as you reached for the one you’d hidden earlier that night. ‘Hey,’ you called softly, holding the box up in front of you. ‘Looking for this?’

He turned softly to you, a smile spreading on his lips when he saw what you were holding. He walked up to the counter, gaze flicking from the vape to you.

‘You keeping a stash back there now?’ He asked as he placed his other items down.

You shrugged, trying to stay casual. ‘Only for the guy that always buys cherry ones.’

He huffed a quiet laugh as he pulled his money out of his pocket. ‘You must be my guardian angel or something,’ he grinned as he placed the money on the counter. You couldn’t hold back the small giggle that escaped you at that, which only made him grin more.

‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ you said, putting his money in the register as he grabbed his stuff.

‘Until next time…angel,’ he said, backing away from the till.

Heat rushed to your face as he called you that again, your brain scrambled for something to say back but (maybe to your benefit) he left before you could respond. You found yourself smiling for a long time after he left, maybe it was ridiculous, but the short conversation stuck with you.

That’s how it started. The two of you making short conversation whenever he came in. It was never anything serious, just a few sentences but you looked forward to it anyway.

One night as he was reaching for an energy drink the bell chimed, signalling someone else had come in. You watched as the newcomer, a college aged kid, froze when he spotted the mop of purple hair.

‘Oh my god, no way,’ he blurted out, voice too loud for the late hour. He started making his way across the store. ‘Thanos right?’

Thanos? It only really dawned on you in that moment that you’d never asked his name. Thanos added up though, the purple hair and the multi-coloured nails, maybe it was a nickname.

You couldn’t help but watch as the kid approached, though Thanos hadn’t reacted, he’d barely moved a muscle.

‘Just saw you perform man, sick show! Do you mind if I get a selfie?’

Now you really were shocked, was your casual regular someone famous? He had to be at least a little bit if this guy had seen him ‘perform’ and was now asking for a pic with him. Thanos glanced your way, just a flicker but you caught the look in his eyes, like he was trying to figure out your reaction.

He nodded to the kid, murmured a quick thanks and posed for the photo. The kid thanked him multiple times before grabbing a drink and making his way to you. He was still mumbling to himself when he left, about how he couldn’t believe what just happened.

The door shut and silence fell over the store like a blanket. Thanos took his time wandering up to the counter, acting like he was browsing before settling with the same predictable 3 things.

He didn’t greet you this time, he was wary, almost like he was holding his breath waiting for you to say something.

‘So are you famous or something?’ you tried to keep your voice neutral.

A beat went by where you both just looked at each other. Worried you’d overstepped, you began registering his items on the till.

‘Or something,’ he finally answered.

You giggled quietly at his reply. ‘Should I start referring to you as Thanos then?’ you asked, tone teasing.

He let out a low laugh, ‘instead of what angel?’

There it was again, that damn nickname that had stuck, the one that made your face warm every time he said it.

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. ‘Well, I’d just taken to thinking of you as the purple haired cherry vape guy but Thanos seems easier.’

He chuckled, a smile tugging at his mouth. He grabbed his stuff and headed for the door. ‘Night, angel,’ he called back just as it shut behind him.

You couldn’t stop yourself from looking him up when you got home. You were shocked by what you found, multiple hits, music videos, even interviews. You flicked through, never leaving a like or following. You felt silly but you didn’t want him to know you’d looked, not wanting to change the small thing the two of you had going on.

It was another quiet night when things shifted between you again. There was no one in the store except for the two of you, he was browsing the drinks like he always did.

You were idly tapping the side when someone walked in. An older man, wearing a shirt unbuttoned a little too low, and as he approached you got overwhelmed by the smell of cheap cologne.

‘Hi sweetheart,’ he leaned both hands on the counter. ‘Marlboro red please.’

You didn’t even blink at the pet name, you’d had plenty of older men refer to you like that, it never really meant anything. You grabbed the carton, but when you handed it over his fingers lingered a little too long over yours.

You pulled back, stepping back just enough to be out of reach. ‘Anything else?’ you managed to keep your voice even.

‘Yeah,’ he said, leaning in. ‘Your number.’

‘No,’ you said firmly, opting to just tell him his total and hope that he’d pay and leave.

‘Aw, come on,’ he crowded the counter, hunching over towards you. ‘Just a drink sometime.’

‘I said no, please pay up.’

But he didn’t move. His hand began to slide over the counter towards you, and then…

‘Yo,’ Thanos’ voice cut through. ‘You good?’

He stood a couple of feet behind the man, eyes not on the creep but on you. You managed half a nod but that’s all he needed.

‘Yeah we’re good,’ the man turned, annoyed by the interruption. ‘We’re just talking.’

Thanos took a step closer, not moving fast, just enough to make a point. ‘Think you should back away from my girl.’

The guy moved back instantly. ‘Oh shit, sorry man, I didn’t know she was taken.’

Thanos stepped between the guy and the counter. ‘Doesn’t matter, she said no.’ He shoved the guy towards the door, causing him to stumble over his own feet. ‘Get the fuck outta here.’ He didn’t raise his voice, but it was sharp and final.

The creep threw his hands up, ‘alright, alright I’m going. Chill out.’

The chime rang out as he shoved the door open and disappeared into the night. Silence settled in but your pulse was still pounding. You could still feel a slight tremble in your hands, like your body hadn’t quite realised it was over.

And then there was Thanos. My girl. You knew he only said it to shut the guy down, to make it end simply but still, you couldn’t stop it from echoing around your mind. It shouldn’t feel like anything, realistically you barely knew each other, but it did.

You glanced over to him, he was still standing in the same spot. His shoulders rising and falling in an unsteady rhythm, jaw tight, like he was trying to hold himself together. He was clearly agitated, you could almost see it simmering under his skin. The moment dragged on just long enough to feel heavier than it probably should have.

‘Guys like that piss me off,’ he said before turning to you, eyes softening. ‘You okay angel?’

You nodded, still a little shaky. ‘Yeah. Had weirdos in here before, they get bored and leave eventually.’

He watched you, eyes searching like he wasn’t fully convinced. ‘I’m gonna hang around for a bit.’

Your chest tightened a little. Not in a bad way, just in the way when something unexpectedly kind happens and you don’t quite know how to react.

‘You don’t have to do that,’ your voice quieter than you intended.

‘I want to,’ he replied easily.

That landed somewhere deeper. He could’ve paid and left like normal, but instead he was still there, a little tense, waiting to make sure you were really ok. And the way he said I want to like it was the simplest thing in the world, your brain wasn’t quite sure what to do with that, so it stored it away, letting it settle in the back of your mind.

You nodded again, forcing out words past the lump in your throat. ‘Yeah, okay. Cool.’

There was another beat of silence, like neither of you were quite sure what to do next. You looked to the stall that sat off to the side of the counter.

‘You can sit down if you want,’ you offered, jerking your chin towards it.

He didn’t respond, just made his way round and settled onto the stall, elbows resting on the counter. He was close enough that you could hear the quiet jingle of his necklace when he moved, and smell the faint scent of the cherry that clung to his clothes.

The store remained mostly quiet after that, just the rare customer rolling in for a late snack. During the lulls you and Thanos settled into something easy. Conversation flowed smoothly between you, you spoke about anything that came to mind - the weirdest combinations people have bought at 3am, the mystery of the single shoe that had been found in one of the fridges, the fact you think there’s a ghost haunting the freezer on account of its flickering lights.

At one point Thanos bought a pack of sour gummies, tearing into them like a man starved. He threw the first one up into the air, attempted to catch it in his mouth, only to miss completely. It bounced off his cheek and hit the floor.

You snorted, clapping a hand over your mouth as you laughed.

He glared playfully, ‘oh, like you could do any better.’

‘I know I can,’ you said as you reached into the bag, tossing a sweet into the air before catching it cleanly in your mouth.

‘Damn,’ he muttered, grinning. ‘Didn’t have to show me up.’

You shrugged, chewing the sweet smugly. ‘Clearly I have talents,’ you joked.

It went on like that for a while. Not a single gummy being eaten normally. You made a game out of it, seeing how far apart you could be whilst throwing them to each other. Half of them hit the floor, the other half met with cheers when one of you caught them.

You were in the middle of debating what flavour the blue sweets were when the bell above the door pulled you back to reality. In walked Se-Mi, the girl that takes over your shifts, bundled up in a heavy hoodie with headphones on.

She paused when she spotted Thanos perched at the counter, giving him a quick once over, before raising a brow at you. ‘Morning.’

‘Hey,’ you said, looking at the clock on the wall, nearly 4am. ‘I didn’t realise what the time was.’

‘I’m a few minutes early,’ she shrugged, putting her bag away under the register. ‘Need me to do anything?’

You looked around, your eyes landing on the stack of receipts you were meant to sort. Shit, you’d completely lost track of time. ‘Sorry I was supposed to finish those.’

She waved you off with a smile, ‘I got it, go.’

You returned her smile, grabbing your bag and coat, at the same time Thanos stood without saying a word. You rounded the register and called out a final thank you to Se-Mi before turning to the door. Finding Thanos already stood there, holding it open for you.

Outside the night air was still cool, the kind that made your air puff out in front of you.

‘Thanks, for sticking around,’ you said. ‘Ended up being a pretty good time.’

A smile tugged at his lips. ‘Yeah it was fun.’

Neither of you moved, unsure how to say goodbye now. It wasn’t awkward in a bad way, it just felt like things had changed between the two of you.

You gestured vaguely down the street, ‘I’m this way.’

He shifted slightly, looking in the direction you pointed. ‘I’ll walk you.’

‘You really don’t have to,’ you flustered.

‘I know, come on.’ He set off.

You quickly fell into step beside him. You couldn’t help but notice the little things, like how he purposely took the road side of the pavement. It was so quiet out, the city not quite waking up yet.

It only takes about 20 minutes to reach your place, the time was filled with slow conversation, the both of you clearly feeling tired due to the late (or early) hour. You stopped at the bottom of your building's steps and turned to him.

‘This is me,’ you said, shifting your weight. ‘Thanks again, for tonight.’

He nodded, followed by another one of those pauses. Not quite a goodbye, but neither of you knew what else to say. And then he held his hand out to you, palm up.

‘Gimme your phone,’ he said.

You looked down at his palm, brows furrowed. ‘What?’

‘Just gimme,’ he motioned with his fingers for you to hurry up.

You hesitated briefly, but relented anyway. He typed something in quickly and passed it back. ‘Call me if someone like that shows up again and I’m not there.’

You took your phone back a little slower than necessary, eyes focused on the screen. You couldn’t help but smile at the new contact - ‘Thanos 🍒’. You met his gaze once again, ‘thanks,’ your voice sounding softer than it had before.

He nodded again and turned to leave, but just before he turned he, almost offhandedly, added, ‘or you can just text me, whenever. Doesn’t have to be about a creep.’

Your heart jumped a little as you gripped your phone harder in an attempt to stay grounded. You tried not to smile too much as you said ‘Okay, I will.’

He returned your smile, backing away down the path. ‘Night, angel.’

And just like that he was gone again, leaving you stood on your doorstep, phone in hand and brain spinning a little faster than usual. Wondering when exactly he stopped just being a guy that bought cherry vapes.

#squid game AU #thanos x reader #choi su bong x reader #squid game x reader #squid game fanfic #thanos #choi su bong #player 230 #squid game #fluff

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lostinlovingrevery · 3 months ago

Text

Love and Bounties- Chapter 1

Cowboy! Logan Howlett X F! Reader

The Sun Rises in The East

An ominous presence has arrived to your quiet town

A/N: Oml this came out SO long...Hope you all enjoy! <3

Warnings: Alcohol, smoking, violence- barfights lol, blood and injury descriptions, Logan being a flirty menace, reader is described to have curly hair, probs some history inaccuracies lol bear with me

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1911, Harrodsburg, Kentucky

The sun rises in the east, and sets in the west.

A growing town known as Harrodsburg, resting in between the valleys and hills of the mountains in the East side of the States. A town of agricultural farming and horse trade. Developing, but not quite having met the qualities of bustling metropolis that its neighbor cities have become.

It was quiet, and just small enough that everyone almost knew everyone else. The town was a middle ground- a city slipping into the country, a place smack between the old and new century.

In the distance, an ominous, lone figure perched on a horse observed the small town with keen eyes. A cigar set between his teeth, he puffed on it- a strong taste of earthy smoke filling his tongue. He tipped his cattleman forward over his eyes, the glare of the afternoon sun was bugging him, and he brought his hand down to his chin, scratching his beard thoughtfully as he considered the quaint little town.

His horse, a beautiful mustang he tamed not too long ago, bobs her head with a swish of her tail. Impatient with her rider as he continued to observe the town below in silence. She was the color of cinnamon- hence, her name. Cinnamon. With a long mane the color of dark chocolate. He took delicate care of her- as a man should, for a creature that carries him for miles and miles of land deserved respect.

He glanced down at her, reaching a gloved hand down to soothe the heifer, a small pat of her head, before petting her mane. He looked back at the town, removing the half finished cigar from his lips and discarding it to the ground.

He tugged at the reins, clicking his tongue as an order and leading her to walk down the path of dirt that led to a muddy road, hoof prints and tracks of wheels belonging to carriages left behind. Soon the trees that surrounded the road began to thin out, and the town came into view- bustling with folks enjoying the sunny day.

As he reached the outskirts of town, he took notice of the folks around. An old man with graying hair and scars on his face singing an old, sad tune as he shoveled soil into a wheelbarrow. To his right, a tired mother with a young boy and girl, arguing and shoving each other- only to immediately stop as the shadow of the lone cowboy towers over them as he walks by. A group of men smoking on a wooden porch stare him down past the brim of their hats- challenge set in their eyes.

The townsfolk regarded him with caution.

He was used to it. The judgemental stares as people realize that trouble has come to their little town. They were right.

Trouble was one of many things that this man could be called. He was many things, a cowboy, a gunman, an outlaw, a bounty hunter. He was anything a job called of him to be, if the moneys right.

He found the saloon- smack in the center of the town. On one side of the bar, hitching posts for folks and their horses and donkeys, opposite to the few automobiles parked along the building.

How modern.

He hopped off of his horse's back, grabbing her reins and tying them to a hitch, encouraging her to drink some water set before her in an old water trough while he began to search the packs hanging off the saddle, noting supplies he needed to pick up.

Just from the looks of it- he could tell it was one where people look out for one another. One that will put up a fight to protect its own. He knew to tread carefully, not to draw suspicion. Don’t make it obvious what he’s here for.

He happened to look up when he noticed a lone woman walk by. Pretty thing she was. He has an eye for em’; He couldn’t help it.

Bouncy curls that fell past her shoulder, pretty eyes, and pretty lips - soft and delicate. A pretty, flowy dress- a tad scandalous for a woman her age to be wearing, with bare shoulders and an exposed collar that left little to imagination- surely a barmaid, or a woman of the cloth. She carried a crate that he couldn’t see the contents of with both hands, and she was watching him all the same.

Maybe, he could enjoy some recreational time before he does what he came to do. It had been a long journey after all.

“See something you like darling?” He calls out in a heavy tone, a small smirk plastered on his face.

She raised a brow, “Relax cowboy, I was checking out your horse.” She teased, before winking. His smirk faded, turning into something curious. She continued on her path, but Logan didn’t stop watching her until she disappeared from the road. He was fascinated by the bounce of her curls, the swish of her dress as she walked with confidence.

He shook himself out of her spell, deciding that he’ll track her down later. A smile like that doesn’t just go unforgettable in his mind. First- he needed a drink, and information.

Once sure that Cinnamon was secured, he made his way up the steps of the saloon, where he could hear raucous laughter and joyful music playing inside.

It was crowded. Filled with men and women busying themselves with entertainment on a sunny Saturday afternoon. The air was thick with booze and tobacco. Men playing poker, or chatting merrily around tables and bar tops with pretty showgirls sitting on their laps fake laughing at their jokes with their arms hanging around their necks.

A few of the patrons took notice. Watching as Logan slithered through the tables and the crowds. Sizing up the stranger, a few whispers spread through the bar as more people took notice. The chatter didn’t stop, but became quieter in his presence.

He settles down at a lone table in the far corner. He didn’t need more stares, the judgemental looks that he already was met with outside. People were likely already gossiping about this handsome stranger, wondering what had brought him into their quiet town. It wouldn’t be long till the news spread, until someone recognizes him.

He’ll get some dumbass trying to challenge him on the streets, causing all sorts of chaos. Being the man he was, he’ll accept it gladly.

Click. Aim. Bang.

He settled back in his seat, the old chair groaning against his weight. He let out a tired sigh, reaching into his vest- made of worn leather, with an imprint across it from the bandolier that always sits slung over his chest.

He pulled out a paper, folded and tucked inside a pocket of the vest and unfolded it carefully. He tuts quietly as he reads it- the bounty he received. Mailed directly to him. Whoever sent it knew where he was that day because he didn’t have a place to stay- a wanderer through cities and towns.

It was sketchy as hell. It’s not the first time he’s been hired for a job, but normally he gets approached by an actual person looking to talk details about the job- not a courier with a telegram. Some 10 year kid looking terrified to set foot in the bar he was settled in for the day.

A message, addressed to him directly;

It shared details about a woman living in this town, who makes herself a doctor. Her name, and a few discreet details of her looks - not helpful whatsoever, but it isn’t his first rodeo.

JAMES L HOWLETT -(STOP)-

A BOUNTY IS BEING OFFERED TO YOU -(STOP)-

SHOULD YOU ACCEPT AND COMPLETE A PAYMENT WILL BE MADE TO YOU IN AMOUNT OF THREE THOUSAND DOLLARS-(STOP)-

It was sketchy- but the money, lord the money would be enough to settle him for life if he so desired. It would be a long tiring trip, considering he had been in a little town called Jefferson in Texas at the time- over two week trip to the town of Harrodsburg, and will be a similar trip back to the West- which will be a pain in the ass since bounties aren’t typically eager to go with him anywhere.

Once again, the money- assuming it’s true, and worth it. Too good to pass up.

He didn’t ask questions about his work, easier that way- couldn’t help but be curious though. What has this woman possibly done to warrant a bounty of three thousand dollars? Furthermore, why pick him to do this job, he was singled out. He may be greedy, but he wasn’t dumb.

Something has arisen, however it doesn’t matter as long as he gets that cash in hand.

“Would you like something to drink, stranger?”

He looked up from the paper, a waitress stood there with a big smile, blonde curls, and piercing blue eyes, which trailed over his handsome face. Pretty hazel eyes, strong jaw, and sculpted nose. He was used to the looks, he knew he was a handsome man. Never really paid mind to it though, unless he found something pretty and willing.

He took a deep inhale. “Bourbon.” He says leaning forward on the table. She nods a playful tilt of her head as she gives him another pleasant grin- which unnerved him a bit, walking away back to the counter. He turned his attention elsewhere, not noticing her leaning over and whispering something to another man seated at the bar who was nursing a glass of whiskey.

He folded the telegram back up, sticking it back in his vest before dropping an arm on top of his lonely table, tapping his fingers rhythmically along the wood as he turned to observe the windows- shutters pulled shut but streams of light still came through the cracks of the wood- where he could see the hazy dust and smoke floating around the air.

Lost in thought, he didn’t notice the man at the bar counter had stood up, making his way towards him.

“You!”

Logan turned his head, an impassive expression on his face as he queried a brow.

“I know who you are.” The man slurs. “Get out of here!”

Logan tilted his head, a smirk growing on his face as he sensed a fight would happen- just not so soon. Suppose he’s becoming more and more infamous every day.

He’s gained a reputation in his years. Countless jobs, missions, and confrontations. He’s got posters of his face going from the west to the east of the states- even stretching into Canada and Mexico. He’s overheard people telling his stories- A heist of a train traveling through multiple states, a quickdraw duel with a mayor, and the time he pitted two gangs against each other- to be the only one standing after the dust settled.

He’s a busy man.

“No, I don’t think you know who I am bub.” Logan leaned forward. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be talking to me right now.”

“You’re a bad man.” He sneers. “A killer, a thief-!”

“Go sleep it off pal.” Logan warns, his smirking fading into a scowl. “Before you do something you regret.”

“I’lll make you regret ever coming here-” He lunges after Logan, who stood up from his chair - a loud crash as both the chair and table fall to the ground.

“That's the best you got you drunk asshole?” Logan taunts as he dodges a punch- only to be tackled immediately after.

The patrons of the bar begin yelling, a few whooping and cheering.

The struggle ensued, as the drunken accuser pushes Logan into the shutters, breaking them open as Logan’s is nearly pushed out the window- startling an old woman as she was walking by. He's pulled back in, and a punch is landed across his face.

He fights back, punching his attacker back- and knocking him out clean to the floor. By then, chaos has erupted throughout the bar- as most men, drunk on booze have taken this as their sign to fight their buddy next to them. Multiple men gang up on Logan- defending their KO'd brother on the floor.

Logan- no stranger to fight held himself steady. Using various tools at his disposal, he broke a chair over one man's back, and tossed the other over the bar counter. The angelic waitress from earlier screams and jumps onto Logan's back, hitting on his chest and shoulders in a febrile attempt to injure him.

“Get off me lady!” Logan shouts, attempting to shake her off, until another woman comes over and begins a cat fight with the waitress as she tears her off Logan's back.

Bottles are thrown across the bar, crashing against the wall. Logan attempts to make a quick exit alongside one wall, avoiding the two men fistfighting each other. A knife was thrown, slamming into the wall inches away from Logan's face, as he watched with wide eyes, the handle vibrate from the recoil.

He ducked under the knife, pushing past two more drunken men, who fell to the ground wrestling each other. He caught the words of one of them accusing his enemy of sleeping with his mother. Yikes.

Logan nearly made his escape- except the drunk from earlier, who started the whole thing had woken up not long after being knocked out and trailed Logan through the bar, grabbing the knife that was stuck in the wall.

“Asshole!” Logan heard him yell, and turned just as the knife came down, slicing down his arm, where red began to bleed through the cut, quickly soaking through the white sleeve of his shirt. Logan hissed from the pain, jumping back- just when several men barged in- one grabbing Logan and pulling him back out into the bright sun and fresh air.

“Can’t go one goddamn day without a fight breaking out around here.” The stranger mutters under his breath as he helps the slightly disoriented cowboy down the porch of the saloon. “Christ, your arm okay pal?”

“S’It look okay?” Logan sneered, his hand moving up to apply pressure to it, hissing at the stinging sensation through gritted teeth. He’s had worse, but damn it hurts.

“Just trying to help. You should see the doc.”

He was begrudgingly dragged to the so-called doctors house. Forced to walk through streets until reaching an empty road where a lone house stood tall, surrounded by trees and wildflowers. A small garden growing various vegetables sat in front- and he spotted a small pen nearby, where he heard the bleating of goats.

Nice place.

Logan- distracted from the pain in his arm- and grumpy he never got his drink and got a fight and a slash to the arm instead- ruining a perfectly good shirt by the way, didn’t put two and two together right away when he arrived.

“Doc!” The stranger calls out to the house as they approach it- a man who introduced himself as Oliver; not as tall as Logan, with short brown hair and clean shaven face and adorning suspenders. Oliver was rambling as they made their way to the doctors house- which Logan tuned out for the most part. Only picking up that the doctor was sweet, and a bit quirky as some people say. Not traditional in a sense.

He opens the screen door to the house without knocking, holding it open for Logan. “Doc? Got some work for you.” He calls out into the house as he steps inside after Logan.

“I don’t need a doctor pal, I’m fine.” Logan mutters, leaning against a small table by the door and removing his hand to observe the bloody wound. Oliver grits his teeth, sucking air through them as he put his hands on his hips, pointing to the arm and shaking his head

“Ya gonna lose that arm to uh…What they call it…”

“Sepsis.”

A woman's voice made them raise both their heads.

You leaned against the frame of the archway that led into your living room, a wet rag in hand as you just finished cleaning your kitchen- in which you had been thinking about how happy you were to finally have a quiet Saturday;

Of course good things never last long.

You tilted your head and you smiled, observing the two men standing in your foyer.

“Whatchu bring me now Oli?” You straightened yourself, walking over to Oliver and the injured man- the tall, handsome one you saw earlier who had clearly been mentally undressing you when he saw you walk by. He had a dangerous look about him, and looks like you were right.

Logan stared at you in surprise, wide eyed and lips slightly parted. You would have thought he just fell in love by the way he stared at you. Logan's eyes trailed down your body, still in the pretty dress you still had on from earlier. Now that he’s got a closer look at you, you are definitely a beaut, heavenly in the way the light from the windows of your home glows with sunlight around you. He didn’t think when he saw you earlier that you’d be a doctor of all things.

“Another casualty of Morgan's Saloon.” Oliver smiles, a certain shine in his eyes that Logan noticed Oliver has when he looks at you. “I guarantee you, there’s going to be more heading here soon.”

“Figures.” You scoffed, shaking your head, you stepped past Oliver, placing your hand on Logan's shoulder as you observed the cut. “Ouch! How did this happen mister…”

“Call me Logan.” He gives you a charming smile, leaning closer to you, hand coming up to tip his hat respectfully.

“Logan.” You raised an eyebrow, now putting your hands on your hips, tipping your chin back as you look up at him with a playful expression. “What happened at the saloon?”

“What always happens.” He smirked. “The arm’s fine darling, no need to fuss over me- much as I ‘preciate the attention of pretty woman like you.”

“How about you let me decide if your arm is okay.” You say sweetly, waving for him to stand up.

“Need me for anything?” Oliver asks you, you shook your head- the curls of your hair bouncing with your movements, politely waving him off.

“No, just make sure no one killed each other back there.” You muttered, shaking your head, as you began to lead Logan through your home and into your kitchen.

Pulling out a chair from your kitchen table, you pat it and motioned for Logan to sit who obliges, taking off his cattleman hat and setting it on the table.

“You mind taking off your vest and shirt so I could get a better look?” You ask as you walk across the kitchen, opening cabinets and pulling out small containers filled with medicine, bandages, and more and setting them onto the table behind Logan.

“Any excuse to see me shirtless, huh?” He asks in a coy tone, turning his head to the side, a playful grin on his face as his eyes watched you busy yourself around the kitchen.

You froze, rolling your eyes at his flirtation and not responding to it. It’s a common interaction with most men brought to your home. You however, were more concerned to make sure he doesn’t bleed out or die of sepsis inside your kitchen that you just cleaned. You went to another cabinet and pulled out a glass and some liquor, setting it aside, before stopping to put your hair back, going to wash your hands in the sink- while also filling a bowl with water and clean rags.

Logan looked forward again, and began working on shedding his bandolier, vest, and shirt- now ruined with blood. He groaned a bit, the feeling of the discarded cloth wasn’t pleasant against his wound. He discarded them to the floor and sighs as he settled into the chair. You walked to his side, holding out a glass of whiskey. He looked at it, then you.

“Well, thank you sweetheart.” He purrs, happily taking the glass from your hand. He does a small toast to you, before sipping it- savoring the burn of the liquor on his tongue- finally getting that drink he hadn’t stopped thinking about since he’s arrived in this town.

“You’ll need it.” You hummed, as you walked around him, grabbing another chair to sit on as you grabbed the wet rag from the bowl, squeezing out the excess water and you began to gently wash the blood away. He flinched from the cold temperature of the water. “Sorry,” You smiled apologetically to him. “It’ll take too long to warm it up.”

“I can take it.” He mutters, looking down at his drink, before taking another swig. It was silent as you worked to clean him up, observing the long cut down his bicep to his elbow. Meanwhile, he observed your house. Nice, pretty- definitely a sign of a lived-in woman. “So, doc, how a girl like you get into a business like this?”

“Mm. Long story.” You say. “I like helping people, is the short of it.”

“You don’t look like a doctor.”

You tipped your head up at him. “Yeah? and what should I look like?”

He glanced at you, realizing he was digging himself a grave by the challenge in your eye. “Mm, I don’t know.”

“No no, clearly you have some notions of what a doctor should look like…Share it with me.” You encourage, with a playful tone in your voice as you resume cleaning his arm.

“Nah, I don’t think I will.” He grinned, shaking his head. “I suppose I just uh…” He looked at you, his voice turning low. “Never seen a lady so beautiful, be a doctor, of all things before.”

“Mmhm.” You barely respond, not wanting to fuel his attempt to flirt.

“Some lucky guy make an honest woman out of you?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No...” You tittered.

“Shame. Dame like you should have someone taking care of you.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I can take care of myself.” You retort, tipping your chin up at him. He smirked.

“Yeah…” His eyes trailed down, not being very discreet as he checked you out. “Ain’t nothing wrong with being taken care of though, sweetheart. Look at what a nice thing you’re doing for me.”

“This nice thing is my job.” You raised your brows at him. “I took an oath when I became a doctor. Do no harm, help anyone to the best of my ability.”

“Yeah…” His smirk slowly faded. “So you like helping people huh?”

You were silent, as you thought about what he said, playing back old memories. Patting his arm dry with a new clean rag, giving you a clear view of the cut on his arm. You nodded. “Yes. I do.” You were sincere in your tone.

You looked up at him, meeting his eyes. He had a more serious look, something thoughtful. Like he was considering your words.

“Well, you don’t need stitches.. That's the good news!” You set back, looking away to break the building tension. “I’ll just clean it out, wrap your arm up and you’ll be good as new.”

“Thanks doc.” He turned his head away from you, his finger tapping along the glass. You took the chance to observe his face.

No, you couldn’t deny he was quite handsome. He had pretty eyes, and a nice deep voice that sounded like honey and whiskey to your ears. Clearly a brute creature, but at least he was respectful enough to you.

“You get into a lot of fights Logan?” You asked. He looked at you again, and you motioned with your hand the various scars along his body. He looked down at what you were pointing at. You didn’t need him to tell you though, you were able to tell the moment you laid eyes on him outside the saloon. He was a wanderer- a cowboy. Every scar told a story.

It should sway you, it’s clear he’s dangerous. He had a revolver on his holster- inches away from your knee. You couldn’t help but be drawn to him though.

“It happens.” He says with a shrug, finishing off his whiskey. “Misunderstandings.”

“Yeah? What do you do to cause so many misunderstandings?”

He looked at you, expecting to find judgement, something critical, in your eyes. Yet you looked at him with no judgement- no, he saw something more unfamiliar in your expression. Kindness.

“Nothing you should worry about.” He says gently.

You nodded, and returned to his arm- grabbing a bottle of antiseptic and cotton rag and began applying it to the large cut. He let out a hissing noise, wincing from the sting and turning his head away.

“Damn that smarts.” He grunts, gritting his teeth and shaking his head.

“Sorry. That’s why I gave you a drink.” You continued to thoroughly apply the antiseptic to the injury. “You’ll want to keep this clean- don’t be swimming in any rivers or lakes. Have a doctor check up on it in a few days- make sure there’s no infection and I’m serious- you don’t want to lose that arm.”

He hummed. “Got it.”

You gently lifted his arm up, informing him to hold it up while you began to wrap it gently with a bandage roll.

“So do you uh, work out of your house?” He asks. You nodded.

“People are more comfortable that way I feel.” You say. “Lot of the time when you’re sick you don’t want to sit in a room filled with needles and scary looking chairs and all. The only issue is the occasional need for surgery, injuries worse than yours, I need a sterile field, infections run rampant enough already. I have a room down the hall for that if needed, which fortunately isn’t often, but with all the farms around here- stuff happens with the machinery.”

Logan listened intently, his eyes observing the kitchen before he glanced down at the vest he left on the floor- which occurred to him. A woman, and a doctor, sitting right next to him.

Logan wasn’t a good man. This felt completely shitty though.

“So, what’s your name darling? Don’t think I caught it” He asks casually.

You told him your name, not noticing the way his eyes darted over to you, staring you down with intensity- if you had looked at him right then, you would have seen a flash of guilt. His eyes darted away before you could see it.

“Pretty name.”

You shook your head with a smile, “Thank you, Logan.”

Money’s money.

He turned his head fully to look at you. You felt tension return between you. Logan's eyes seemed to pierce through you, and you were hypnotized by them. You cleared your throat, standing up and pulling off your gloves- sticking them into the bowl of dirty water- which you’ll clean and sanitize later.

“You’re all set.” You inform him, smoothing out your dress as you speak. “Do you need anything for the pain?”

“Another glass of whiskey will do just fine.” He grumbles looking away.

You let out a small laugh and nodded, walking around him, the heel of your boots clipping on the hardwood as you grabbed the bottle of whiskey- and topped off his glass as he held it up to you.

“You look tired Logan.” You say as you set the bottle down. “Why don’t you get some rest? You can lie down on the couch, I have a bedroom as well if you’d like some privacy and something more comfortable?”

“I’m alright.” He stands up, and you see his muscular figure. Trailing from his Adams apple, down to his chest and stomach, brawny, hairy, he clearly was strong and you could appreciate that as a woman and a doctor.

You hadn’t paid much attention to it earlier, seeing he was a patient and you were focused on taking care of the wound first. Now that he was okay, you could certainly appreciate the specimen before you. It bloomed a heat in your cheeks and you looked away, suppressing a bashful smile.

“Mind if I use the bathroom?” He asks.

“Oh, yeah, sure.” You nodded, you walked across the kitchen with him following- and you pointed down a small hall. “The door on the far right.”

“Thanks darling.” He says, a charming smile shot your way as he walked past you. Your eyes glanced down to his pants, heavy with a holster resting over on his hip. The revolver you weren’t looking at though.

Nice ass!

You blinked at the thought, shaking your head as you walked back to the kitchen, beginning to clean up, grabbing the items that Logan carelessly discarded to the floor when he came into your kitchen.

A slip of paper fell out between the clothing items, and you reached down to grab it. It had unfolded when it slipped out of the vest, a paper that looked like a telegram.

You aren’t nosy, really, but a quick glance and you noticed something familiar between the printed words. You read it as you stood up- and your stomach sank with your blood running cold. You read the telegram message- addressed directly to him, with details of you, your job, your home.

Three thousand dollars?!

This man was here for you- and acted like a flirt, a friend, to your face. You left the door open for anyone no matter the danger, always able to handle yourself, a handsy drunk, a hysterical child- you’ve seen it all.

A bounty hunter?

He’s in your home, alone, with you. You weren’t sure how you could get out of this one.

You didn't hear him behind you as you stared at the paper dictating your inevitable kidnapping.

“Well, look at what you found, sweetheart.”

You turn around, jumping at the sound of his voice. You clenched the paper in your hand as you stepped back from him, feeling like there was a frog in your throat.

His expression was serious. You didn’t see remorse, guilt, nothing and that pissed you off more than scared you. He sighed, reaching to grab his shirt, observing the cut and blood-stained cloth, and clicking his tongue, before pulling it back on. Then grabbing his vest.

You watched him as he dressed himself, nervously looking back where your backdoor was- calculating how far you could get from him, find a weapon perhaps. Your eyes glanced down at the revolver on his hip.

Realistically, you’re fucked.

You watched him pull the bandolier over his shoulder, and then grabbed his hat, before he looked at you with an unimpressed expression. “Well darling. How is this going to play out?”

You press your lips together, straightening your shoulder and holding your head high. “Surely you don’t think you could just kidnap me, with as many people around here as there are. What, you’re just going to sling me over your shoulder, shoot your way back into town on your horse and carry me off to god knows where?”

#logan howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett fanfiction #wolverine x reader #vans daydreams #logan howlett fic #cowboy! logan #cowboy! logan x reader #im not sure how i feel about this #as many words as ive written #but i realllllly wanted to get this out sooo

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dioslesbianwife · 8 days ago

Note

Been waiting for you to open the requests, I really love the way you write.

My request is for part 3 the crew is in the resturant with the female reader and they are enjoying thier food when suddedly there was a classic music for dancing and Kakyion asks the reader to dance and Jotaro being jealous of it, some teasing from Polnareff and the others would be intresting.

Sorry if I bothered you 🫶🏻

sure, it's no prob, hope u enjoy and thank you for requesting <33

They’d finally made it somewhere peaceful.

After Stand users, hijacked flights, babies, and cursed gambling freaks, a little family-owned restaurant tucked between canals felt like heaven. The place was lit with soft lanterns, smelled like fresh herbs, and had the kind of warm air that made you want to doze off with a glass of wine in hand.

You were all seated at a long table near the window, dishes half-empty, laughter in the air, and Polnareff already trying to convince the waiter to give him another glass of something stronger “on the house, for the most charming man in town.”

Avdol had his head in his hand. Joseph was finishing off his third plate of pasta.

Kakyoin sat beside you, neat and elegant even while eating. “Try this,” he said gently, scooping a bite of something onto your fork. “You’ll like it.”

You smiled, trying not to notice the way he watched you chew with that little approving glint in his eyes.

Meanwhile, Jotaro sat across from you, arms crossed even as he ate. Quiet. Always watching.

You were mid-laugh at one of Joseph’s dramatic stories when you heard it- soft strings starting up in the corner. A live trio of musicians had begun to play. Elegant, sweeping classical music. A few older couples had already stood up to dance in the open space between tables.

Polnareff clapped his hands. “Ohh, now this is my kind of vibe!”

The others chuckled, mostly ignoring it. But not Kakyoin.

You felt his eyes flick toward you. Then he stood, smiling softly.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked, offering his hand to you with all the grace of a proper gentleman.

You blinked, surprised- but your face warmed as you took his hand. “Sure. Just one.”

Kakyoin’s smile deepened.

He led you to the open space and placed his hand lightly on your waist. You both swayed gently to the music, feet moving in easy rhythm. You couldn’t help but smile up at him.

“You’re full of surprises,” you murmured.

“I’ve been meaning to ask for a while,” he said. “I just wanted the right moment.”

Back at the table, the boys were not subtle.

“WOAHHHH KAKYOIN GETTING BOLD!!” Joseph hollered with a grin.

“Attaboy!” Polnareff added. “You see that, Jotaro? He’s stealing your girl!”

Jotaro didn’t respond at first, sipping his drink with a tight jaw.

But then Avdol chuckled. “You alright there?”

Jotaro’s eyes narrowed. “I’m fine.”

Joseph leaned in dramatically. “Because you’re looking kinda… green.”

“Like you swallowed a cherry whole,” Polnareff said, waggling his eyebrows. “Jealous, mon ami?”

“I said I’m fine,” Jotaro growled, but his eyes hadn’t left you once.

You and Kakyoin spun gently, laughing about something, and Jotaro felt his hand clench a little around his glass.

Joseph whispered to Avdol, “I give it two more minutes before he snaps.”

Avdol smirked. “One and a half.”

Meanwhile, you and Kakyoin finished your turn and bowed to each other with soft smiles. As you turned to head back, Kakyoin pressed a small kiss to your knuckles and said, “Thank you for the dance.”

You beamed. “Anytime.”

You slid back into your seat beside Jotaro- and immediately felt the shift in the air. He was tense. Still as a statue. Looking everywhere but at you.

“…You okay?” you asked, nudging his shoulder.

“Tch. You looked like you were enjoying yourself,” he muttered.

You raised an eyebrow. “Was that… sarcasm?”

He didn’t answer, but his face was redder than usual.

Polnareff leaned over. “You know, Jotaro, you could’ve asked them to dance.”

Joseph added, “Would’ve been the romantic thing to do.”

Avdol simply smirked and said, “Still time, you know.”

You looked at Jotaro expectantly, smiling just a little. “Well?”

He scowled, glancing away. “Hmph. Whatever. Get up.”

Your heart skipped. “Wait- are you actually- ?”

He stood, yanked his hat lower to hide his face.

He held out a hand.

You laughed, heart fluttering, and let him pull you up.

Jotaro wasn’t graceful like Kakyoin. His steps were stiff, a little awkward. But his hand in yours? Warm. Steady. Strong.

“You’re jealous,” you teased softly.

He didn’t deny it.

#jojo's bizarre adventure #kakyoin x reader #noriaki kakyoin

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0097linersb · 8 months ago

Text

DESPERADO

Pairings: Jaehyun x Reader

Genre: Idk tbh kind of drama kind of angsty probs smut

Summary: Sitting in an old Monte Carlo.

A/N: GUYS gUESS WHAT!! I wrote this when I was like 17, over 7 years ago lol but I found it on my old computer and I kind of like it for some reason???? BUT THIS IS SUCH A CLICHE OMG A MAFIA AU SHOWSTOPPING NEVER BEEN DONE BEFORE!! Alsoo this will be really short, 3-4 chaps max

Chapter 1

You could feel all eyes on you, burning holes into your skin as you entered the Diner. The whole room suddenly went quiet as soon as you closed the glass door behind you – But that could also be an illusion caused by the loud thumping deep in your ears.

You force yourself to walk to the farthest booth available, praying your wobbly legs would not fail you like you felt they would, trying to ignore the whispers from the workers; It was kind of indecorous, but you could understand it given the situation. A young woman, in her pretty pink uniform, carefully approached your table. She looked kind, even worried maybe.

“Can I get you something?” She nervously asked and you felt thankful she did not ask you any personal questions.

“A chocolate milkshake, please.”

Your voice was trembling and barely there but the waitress excused herself as you went back to ripping a napkin into dozens of small pieces, unable to get your hands to stop fidgeting. You probably wouldn’t be able to hold anything down in your stomach but you just needed to try and get your mind to stop screaming for a few minutes. The sun was setting and the darkness taking over the sky made you even more anxious, letting you know they already had enough time to realize what was going on. Every car that passed outside made you nervously look up and slide even further down your seat like it would help you hide. You should have changed, you would attract less attention then - At the same time, it’s not like you had an option, really.

You jumped when the waitress, Moira said her nametag, placed the brown drink in front of you. You felt like throwing up at the sight but slowly forced yourself to swallow the cold liquid, despite your body’s complaints. It was a small town, not far enough, news of your whereabouts wouldn’t take long to reach their ears. You had to go somewhere, soon.

 You didn’t have enough money for a ticket out of state - You barely had enough money to pay for the milkshake you ordered. The car you had stollen didn’t have enough gas to take you anywhere and even if it did, you didn’t have the ability to drive it any farther than you had already struggled to do. You hands shaked as you cursed yourself for not thinking things through.

You wondered about your mother; she was most likely crying.

No, she was definitely crying. You would be too in her place. If the adrenaline wasn’t rushing through your body to keep you alert, you would probably be in tears right now. It was not like you to cry, but you could find an excuse for yourself considering you were facing a life or death (mainly death) situation. You just hoped they had enough consideration for you to give you a simple death, enough for your mom to be able to look at your lifeless body without screaming in panic - Something about knowing you were minutes away from a gun barrel pointed at your head brought out the cliché poet in you.

“You should follow the road up north; it doesn’t have a pretty scenery but it’s by far the fastest way to get to the Interstate,” Moira’s conversation with a man three booths down from yours suddenly caught your attention, ears perking up.

“Is there a hotel close by?” The owner of the deep voice asked.

“There’s only one downtown, we don’t get many tourists around here. There are also some motels around two cities up.”

“Perfect, thank you.”

Your eyes widened when the stranger stood up, you didn’t have much time to think. You hurriedly went through your bag, trying to find some coins to leave in the table beside your half-finished drink before running out of the door as fast as you could, tripping more than once over your long dress as you crossed the parking lot after what seemed to be your last hope.

“Wait!” You screamed at the man opening the door of his car.

He stared at you in surprise and you tried to catch your breath, managing to let out a tangled “Take me with you.”

“Excuse me?” His eyebrows furrowed. He didn’t look very pleased to be interrupted.

“Please. I need to get out of state,” You pleaded.

“I’m sorry. I can’t get caught in a runaway bride’s drama at the moment,” The stranger apologized with a dismissive nod of his head before resuming the motion to enter his car.

“Wait. I have a car, an expensive one. You can have it!”

“I already have a car, as you can see. Good luck, though.”

“Please,” Your voice breaks as you beg, volume barely above a whisper. That man was all you had. “They are going to kill me.”

The tall male in front of you examined you from bottom to top in silence and you felt yourself cowering under his tense jaw, which was ironic considering the people you were used to being around. It was when you felt tears starting to sting your eyes that the man took a deep annoyed breath and ended with a cold, “Get in.”

“Thank you so much,” You finally let out all the air you were holding, hurrying to the passenger seat before he could change his mind.

You were silent as the man started the car and drove out of the Diner’s parking lot, his harsh gaze showing you he didn’t want to be bothered. You closed your eyes and tried to regulate your breathing, repeating to yourself it was all going to be fine; they wouldn’t be able to catch you if you kept moving. When you felt your heart rate slowing down, you finally let your eyelids fly open, watching the white skirt of your dress (which was now black from dirt) in disgust. It was a beautiful dress, big and flamboyant, you were sure it cost a lot of money – You just wished you were someone who wanted to wear it.

You realized you still had the veil positioned carefully on your hair, although it was probably crooked and ripped by now. You harshly untangled the pins from your strands and rolled the window down, throwing the white fabric out on the road before closing the glass again. The man next to you watched in amusement but still didn’t say a word. You wished you could sleep, something you haven’t done in weeks – But you didn’t think you would be able to for a while. Your quick naps out of exhaustion were getting you through the days. Barely.

At least the sky was pretty, a dark purple with little shiny dots all over. The moon was nowhere to be found, maybe it was ashamed of you too.

“Ugly fiancé?” The man’s voice surprised you. It was clear he was trying to humor you, but his expression didn’t match his tone.

“I wish,” You sighed, leaning your head back in the seat and forcing your voice to work. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Jaehyun.”

“Nice to meet you, Jaehyun. Please don’t be a serial killer.”

“It seems like that would be the least of your problems.”

“I guess you’re right,” You smiled, but it did not reach your eyes. You took another deep breath before asking, “What are you running away from?”

“Who says I’m running from something?”

“Why would you ask what’s the fastest way out of town if you weren’t?”

“Maybe I don’t like traffic.”

“Traffic in this area? I’m desperate but I’m not stupid. Did you actually kill someone? I was only joking -”

“My personal business concerns you as much as yours concerns me.”

“I’m not frugal with my secrets.”

“Entertain me then.”

“It’s barely as fascinating as it seems: My family’s business had me entangled with some dangerous people who forced me into a commitment I was not interested in partaking in, none of the parties will be very happy with my little rebellious act.”

“Are you really putting your life at risk just to not be part of society’s patriarchal plot?”

“This is hardly about that, although I wouldn’t expect you to understand, as a man. Plus, my life would be at stake anyways; At least like this, I can worry from a distant beautiful beach, with a sweet cold drink in hand, instead of being fucked by a man who wouldn’t mind killing me one bit. I was thinking about Mexico.”

“If they are anywhere as powerful as you describe, it would not be hard to find you there.”

“Right. Maybe Brazil then, who knows?” You shrugged, knowing these were all insane dreams you were probably never going to be able to experience. It was fun to amuse yourself. “What about you, where are you going?”

“Far.”

“So mysterious,” You roll your eyes. “It’s not like I can afford going out babbling about your plans.”

“I’d rather not give you the chance.”

“Suit yourself. Thank you once again for the ride.”

Jaehyun only nodded.

As you watched the cities pass in silence, you noticed your throat was very dry, but you imagined you must be arriving at your destination if the man next to you was following Moira’s tips. It was already late and your whole body ached, the adrenaline’s effect fading bit by bit as you tried to fool yourself that you were safe.

“Why are you helping me, knowing I’m involved with dangerous people?” You wondered. Truthfully, you knew it was a stupid question since you were the one begging for his help, you just wanted to hear him talk more, his deep voice made your vision stop spinning for a few seconds.

“I can fight,” He shrugged. Again with the toneless jokes.

“I don’t think fists would be very useful against the Kim family,” You chuckle at the absurdity, you probably had all local thugs looking for you as you spoke.

Who would have thought this is how your life would turn out?

“Who said I don’t have guns?” He smirked at you for the first time, and you just stared at him, an unreadable look on your face that made him slightly nervous. “Don’t act surprised, you’re the one who entered a stranger’s car.”

“I’m not. I was about to marry Kim Doyoung, weapons don’t shock me,” You sigh, hiding the fact you had a handgun (which you had stolen from your fiancé's collection) in your purse - Maybe you would need it, Jaehyun could turn out to be, in fact, a serial killer after all.

“Kim Doyoung, huh? You really got yourself in a big mess. His father isn’t someone to play with.”

“Do you know him?”

“I met him briefly for a business transaction a few years back.”

“Your line of work just keeps sounding shadier and shadier, should I be worried?”

“You tell me, you’re the mafia’s doll.”

“You’re really thinking about handing me over and asking for a reward, aren’t you?” You squeezed your eyes at the man.

“Maybe,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone but you knew he wasn’t being serious, as you were indeed, heading North. Regardless, growing up with your family taught you to never trust anyone.

You caught yourself pitying your mother once again when Jaehyun slowed his car into a Motel’s parking lot with a simple “We’re here.”

You languidly nodded and got out of the vehicle, stretching your sore limbs before staring at the man in front of you in expectation.

“Don’t look at me like that,” He shook his head and opened the trunk of the car to get his luggage. “I’m booking myself a room and you can go on your merry way; it was nice meeting you.”

“I have nowhere to go.”

“Luckily for you, we are in the perfect place for you to spend the night.”

“Do I look like I have any money?” You rolled your eyes.

“Well, not my problem,” He shrugged, closing the trunk and making his way towards the building’s reception. “I’m sure you can find a gentleman that would be very happy to pay to spend the night with you.”

“Can’t I just sleep with you?” You ignored his suggestion of prostitution, not judging it worthy of your attention.

“And have the Kims knowing that not only did I help their pretty bride in her escape, but also shared a bed with her?” He quickly turned around so you could see how his chest rumbled with laughter before going back on his way. “Funny.”

Why was he being so complicated?

You quickly looked around to see if anyone could possibly be watching, but decided it was dark enough for your foolish just-thought-out plan. You were not really proud of what you did next but, in your excuse, you truly were desperate and the way your mind was all over the place didn’t help you make much sense of the situation.

“Jaehyun,” You called, purse briefly discarded on the floor next to you.

The man sighed and turned back once again, but he stopped laughing when he saw you – Jaehyun’s face flashed in shock for a single second before it morphed into an amused expression instead. Head cocked to the side; he surprised you as he leisurely started approaching your figure once again.

“Oh, princess,” He lowly chuckled at your shaking grip on the gun’s handle. “If you’re going to point that at me, you better know how to use it.”

“Take me wherever you’re going with you,” You demanded, ignoring his remark. You weren’t actually going to shoot him, you just wanted to, to… - this really wasn’t a well-thought-out plan.

“I truly can’t, but I appreciate the passion,” He smiled, raising his hand to calmly aim the gun at the floor instead of at his chest.

 You simply used the side of the weapon to slap his hand away before pointing it back where you wanted it, “Why not?”

“I’m heading across the ocean.”

“That sounds perfect, I’m sure you can manage to get me some fake documentation like you probably did for yourself.”

“And what do I get out of it?”

“My company. Also, I do know how to shoot.”

“Do you really?” He raised an eyebrow at you, staring at you like you were the most entertaining thing he had ever seen in his whole life.

It was unnerving.

“Yes. I can help you with whatever dubious business you have, I’m a fast learner,” You inform, not really knowing what you were offering yourself for, but figuring anything would be better than being the mafia’s bitch.

“C’mon,” He rolled his eyes, but let out a delighted chuckle anyways when he turned around. You knew he was making fun of you, but it didn’t matter, it got you what you wanted. “And put that thing away.”

You hastily picked up your purse and shoved your gun back inside, running after Jaehyun to catch up to him.

                              _______________________

You learned after a few days that Jaehyun wasn’t a man of many words. He also refused to share a bed with you, always asking whatever motel you passed by for a room with double beds, and if they didn’t have one, he would just sleep on the floor despite your complaints. It was frustrating that you still didn’t know what it was that he did to make money, and every time you asked, he simply said it was no job for women, which you knew was something he said just to annoy you.

You could tell he didn’t put much faith in your offer to help him, but he still entertained you, letting you know he would give you a chance to participate when the day came. Honestly, if he wanted to drag you around the country for free, you weren’t going to complain.

Jaehyun was incredibly annoying with all of his superiority sense. When he spoke, only back-handed remarks or teasing comments left his mouth, it was clear he didn’t take you seriously and it was slowly driving you insane – If he called you doll one more time, you wouldn’t think going back begging on your knees to Doyoung would be such a bad idea.

But, despite his whole attitude problem, Jaehyun was nice to you in silence: He lent you his clothes when you didn’t have any and took you to a store downtown to buy new ones when you passed through a city he has been to before, not complaining about having to pay for all of it. You remembered how he silently watched as you set your wedding dress on fire in the parking lot of the random motel you chose for the night, or how he took you to the movies after you tried to call your mother from a payphone and ended up sobbing for the first time in years.

The man left you alone during most of the days, running whatever business he had in the different cities you visited. He sometimes came back with cuts and bruises and you cleaned him up with a harsh look on your face, but at the end of the day, you had no right judging him when he was the one bringing food and putting shelter over your head. He eventually taught you how to do the guns’ maintenance and at least now you had a role, getting the weapons tidy and ready for the next day. You wondered for how long he would accept carrying you around without asking for anything in return, he didn’t seem all that interested in bedding you and he knew you were as poor as one comes; Maybe he would just kill you.

“Have you ever killed a man?” You had asked one day as you cleaned the inside of your gun’s barrel, on the little table at the corner of your rented room.

The man had simply looked up from the newspaper he was reading on his bed and raised an eyebrow, “Have you?”

“Can you ever answer anything I ask?”

“Can you ever pay for your own stuff?”

You dropped the subject after that.

As cold as Jaehyun was, it was clear he was beginning to grow fond of you. At first, he had treated you like some sort of charity project to acquire his pass to heaven, but as time passed, he started unfolding layer by layer. One day he brought a wine bottle to celebrate something, he didn’t tell you what exactly, but he did tell you all about how his mother used to study French and he learned it just by hearing her practice. He also told you how they used to plan on moving to France when he was little, how he and his mother spent hours talking before going to bed about how their little house would be, him promising her he would help take care of the garden so they could have many beautiful flowers. Both of you sat on cheap wooden chairs in the motel’s parking lot, drinking the wine under the stars as if you lived inside poetry – Jaehyun started smiling after the fourth glass and you did believe life was art in that moment.

“My family has some property in France, I’ll take you and your mother there one day to show you my gratitude,” You offered with an easy smile.

The man turned his head to look at you, you could see his dimples but his eyes looked sad, “Your family´s really rich, huh?”

“Old money.”

“How are you adjusting to this new side of life, princess?” He joked, meaning all the cheap rooms and dirty bathrooms your life had become.

“It has been… An experience,” You laughed lowly, like being loud would disrupt the universe above you. “I’d trade my old life for showering in a gas station’s sink any day.”

Your quickly developing bond was made clear when one-night, Jaehyun got back to your shared room to find you trembling on the floor, hugging your legs as blood stained you all over. Jaehyun didn’t even look at the body next to you on the floor, he just silently picked you up and took you to the bathroom.

“Are you hurt?” He asked after placing you on the toilet and turning the hot water on to fill the tub.

You shook your head in denial, eyes lost on the floor.

He didn’t ask you any questions that night, he simply undressed you and placed you on the warm water, softly rubbing all the blood from your skin and hair for hours. After emptying and refilling the tub for the third time so the water wouldn’t be red anymore, Jaehyun left you soaking and when you finally had the strength to get up and go back to your room, the sun was up and Jaehyun had already taken care of everything. You didn’t have it in you to ask what he had done with the body, but that day he drove for hours to get you out of there. You could see he was exhausted but with a tense jaw, he ignored as you cried for him to stop, only parking the next night when he felt you would be safe for the time being.

 That night he did sleep with you, held your hair up while you threw up and forced you to eat whatever he managed to find in the reception.

Eventually, the shock of playing God became bearable and Jaehyun started pestering you about your gun. You had tried leaving it behind on 4 different occasions but he had always picked it up and brought it with him, hiding it in your purse just in case you needed it. You just didn’t feel comfortable carrying it around anymore, the feeling of warm blood on the palm of your hands was not something to be taken lightly.

“Now that we know for sure they’re after you and catching onto us, you should always have your gun,” He had lectured and you simply closed your eyes, not needing to be reminded.

Some nights later, he got to the motel of choice to an empty room and completely panicked, heart almost jumping out of his throat as he saw the silent space until he eventually found the note you had left on the bedside table.

Went into the woods, will be back late.

He didn’t wait, immediately locking the door and rushing into the trees behind the motel. He felt like he walked for hours but it was probably what his nerves made it feel like, cold sweat running down his neck. When he did find you, all the screaming about irresponsibility he had prepared and the desire to tie you up somewhere so you would just behave, were forgotten at the sight in front of him.

“You have a bad left eye; you should always aim a little bit more to the right.”

You jumped in surprise at the sudden voice but followed the instructions. You had always been a good shooter, even before Doyoung - but Jaehyun was right, you did have a bad left eye.

“The carnival is in town,” You had excitedly informed a busy Jaehyun on a Friday afternoon. “Saw it on the newspaper.”

“Hm.”

“Can we go?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“Do you perhaps enjoy having a target on your face?” He looked up at you from the bag he was organizing.

“We’ve been running for weeks, there’s no way they know where we are. Please?”

“Stop whining, you’re not a child and it’s not cute.”

Later that day, he took you to the carnival.

He was tense the whole night and only agreed to stay for an hour, but you managed to convince him to ride the Ferris Wheel and buy you some game tickets. You knew you would have to leave behind all the prizes once you had to skip town and hit the road again - You sure complained about that, earning an eye roll and silence in response, but a few days later you found the plushie elephant you had liked the most hidden in the trunk of Jaehyun’s car.

You had lost track of the time a long time ago, days started losing their meaning to all the different rooms and cheap restaurants. Your location was a mystery that didn’t really intrigue you, but you figured you had probably already crossed around half of the country by the change of scenery. Jaehyun didn’t leave you every day, he once in a while stayed “home” and you were surprised to find yourself hoping for those moments when he would read his French books out loud from his bed and you would enjoy the sound of his voice as you stared at him – But pretended to be sleeping every time he looked up.

On days he did have to leave though, he didn’t always wake up paranoid. Occasionally, he gave you some money to go explore whatever town you were staying in for the next day or two. You always returned with a little trinket you thought he would like, and he always scolded you for spending money on useless things, but you were way past the point of feeling like a child under his gaze anymore – You just had to learn how to hide the smile on your face when you caught him wearing one of the things you had “gifted” him.

You imagined he was happy at not being bothered by your constant whining over being left alone and bored every day.

“You know what I miss the most?” You lightly kicked some water at the man sunbathing next to you, ignoring his annoyed groan. “From being rich, I mean.”

“Having servants who were obliged to put up with you?”

“The Balls. They were quite boring at first, but at the end of the night when most guests had already left, the band always started playing better music for me and I had so much fun dancing,” You smiled fondly at the memory, eyes lost deep into the pool. “Doyoung was an excellent lead.”

“Did you love him?”

“Sometimes,” You shrugged. “He was a gentleman, but at the end of the day we had many fundamental differences.”

“Like torturing people.”

“Like torturing people,” You nodded. “He tried teaching me how to drive, you know how a woman driving is viewed by society.”

“What a good man,” Jaehyun rolled his eyes sarcastically.

“Never said he was. But he treated me well, besides the whole trying to make me his property thing.”

“Do you think there is such a thing as being morally grey?”

“You, caring for my opinion?” You raised an eyebrow at him, even though he couldn’t see it behind the funky sunglasses you had bought the day before.

“You’re the only person I have to talk to,” He shrugs. “Entertain me.”

“Your luck. But I guess I do, yeah.”

“Why?”

“Well, I’m not sure. I used to think people were either good or bad, but now I see that as with most situations in life, there is no such thing that is completely black or white. Look at yourself, for instance.”

“And what do you mean by that?”

“Exactly what I said, I still have no idea what you do with your life, but I’ve gathered enough to know it’s not accounting. But you’re nice to me. Also – At the end of the day, I did abandon my fiancé at the altar and killed a man, but I don’t feel like I’m a bad person. I think.”

“You’re wearing heart-shaped pink glasses, you don’t have much to worry about,” He smiled at you, his eyes squinting - You hadn’t noticed they did that (It’s not like Jaehyun smiled much).

“Is this the face of a killer?” You joked, pressing your palm to your cheek.

“You kill one man and start acting like you’re going to dethrone the Kims,” He rolls his eyes amusedly and you laugh. “Want some lessons on torture next, princess?”

“As if you could teach me,” You provoke, trying to get him to finally tell you about his line of work.

“You’ll need to be smarter than that,” He winks at you and you huff in disappointment.

You stared at him quietly for a while, he looked relaxed for once, even happy if that wouldn’t be pushing it too hard.

Jaehyun was lying down next to the pool, one arm behind his head and his eyes closed. The golden light of the soon-to-set sun hit his skin and made it look like honey and his ashy bangs messily hit his eyelids. For once in your life, you felt your heart warm, like if you could spend the rest of your years staring at Jaehyun looking this peaceful, you would. He just felt familiar, like home – It was you and him alone against the world.

“We need to cut your hair,” You smile fondly, reaching your arm out to move his strands away from his face.

…………………………………………………………….

Even though on most days you felt your heart burst in joy at the jiggling sound of the door handle when Jaehyun got home, you often found your heart feeling the same at the angry bang of the door behind his leaving form after a fight. You sometimes felt guilty over screaming at the man who was most literally keeping you alive and giving you everything in exchange of nothing, but he was just so simply infuriating and his patronizing little “princess” and “doll” remarks didn’t always sit well with you, especially after a restless night filled with anxiety and worrying that one of the Kims' men could just burst into your room and stab you to death.  

Jaehyun was not a soft man, he had no problem with throwing things in your face or making comments that could almost literally pierce you when he was angry, but thankfully, after everything that you had to go through and almost being sold to strangers, neither were you. If the Kims didn’t get to you first, you were sure the two of you would kill each other one day, there was only so much of hearing about how you were a spoiled brat with absolutely nothing in life that you could take.

One of these days, Jaehyun came back way after midnight, thankful you were already asleep because he could still feel the fire in his veins ready to burn you if you gave him the chance. He was already stressed enough with work businesses; he didn’t need you to throw him over the edge with your sarcastic comments.

Jaehyun quietly took a shower and got on his bed, throwing the covers around in annoyance until he heard you sniffing. His whole body tensed, alert.

“Y/N?”

Silence.

You tried to be quiet, not wanting to deal with Jaehyun in that moment but wanting him to hold you at the same time. It was the fourth time that week that you had woken up desperate after horrible dreams, ranging from your maid being tortured to Jaehyun never coming back home. That night, you had dreamed about your mom begging you to come back or else the Kims would kill her, she looked bloody and puffy from crying, bruises and scratches all over her body as she sobbed and screamed in pure panic at the sight of her torturer.

“I need to go back,” You whispered after a while, eyes glued to the ceiling.

Next chap soon

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