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cavillscurls · 11 months ago

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Movement | A Joel Miller Mafia AU (Chapter Three)

Chapter Summary: When Joel discovers you after fleeing the estate, you are both forced to face the truth of what you’ve done.

Warnings/tags: MDNI. Foul language. Alcohol consumption. Age gap (Reader is 25, Joel is 40). Verbal arguments. Depictions of grief and anxiety. Discussions of death and murder. Angst. Fluff. Explicit smut. Unbearable intimacy. Pet names. Oral (f receiving). Dacryphilia. Sub!Joel energy if you squint real hard, quickly followed by soft!dom Joel. Begging. Religious allusions. Unprotected p in v. Cream pie…that doesn’t get cleaned up(?). Reader is shorter than Joel. No other physical descriptions.

Word Count: 6.0k

A/N: the most massive shoutout to @kiwisbell for aiding me through this chapter and beta’ing. seriously so grateful to have met you and create with you. this has been a long time coming. merry christmas. enjoy. 🖤

PREVIOUS CHAPTER. | SERIES MASTERLIST.

❝ When you move,

I can recall somethin’ that’s gone from me.

When you move,

Honey, I’m put in awe of somethin’ so flawed and free. ❞

— Movement, Hozier.

When you first show up at Meg’s door late that fateful evening, she welcomes you with open arms. It is rare to keep such a close acquaintance with a friend from high school, but even in your distance from each other over the years, she’s maintained an adoration and respect for you that almost feels undeserving.

You sit impatiently on her couch in her quaint apartment, the residential street aiding in the quiet of the night. You try to focus on anything other than what you have done while she shuffles about the kitchen, grabbing two wine glasses and a bottle of red before joining you. You thank her softly when she hands you the glass, taking an eager sip. With a deep sigh, you lay your head back against the backrest of the couch.

“Are you okay?” Meg asks rather defeatedly, and when you look over at her, legs tucked underneath herself and wide eyes surveying you, you both know it’s a ridiculous question.

What else is she to say? Meg does not know the details of your father's line of work, but she certainly knows enough. Deducing her speculations didn’t take long, but she never pressed you for answers to the plethora of questions. You’re thankful for that in many ways, the present predicament a perfect example of how valuable her indiscretion is to not only her safety but your friendship.

“I just needed to get away from there, even if it’s for a fucking minute,” you sigh, grateful that you even have another place to go. Another place that accepts you, regardless of your faults and your self-appointed inability to provide for anyone else around you. You wonder if Joel will be as forgiving as Meg, someone you had made no effort to contact since your father's passing, and yet, here she is. Waiting with open arms to take care of you.

You wonder if the day will ever come when you feel like you can take care of yourself again.

“Well,” Meg starts, reaching for the remote on the coffee table. “I don’t have a glorious four-story mansion, but I do have cheap wine, popcorn, and shitty rom-coms for us to watch.” She eyes you cheekily from her peripheral, and you laugh softly, admiring her ability to turn even the darkest of moments into some beacon of light, never pressing, always assuring.

“How did you even get all the way over here?” she inquiries after a moment.

“I… took the Porsche.”

She nearly spits out her wine. “You stole his car?”

“Borrowed,” you clarify, rolling your eyes. “And please, he’s got a garage full. This one won’t be missed.”

Meg shakes her head, laughing in subtle disbelief. “You are one ballsy bitch,” she says, a hint of pride peeking through. “Don’t you think he has those things totally rigged out in trackers and shit, though?” she asks.

“Oh, I know he does,” you answer, taking another healthy swig of wine. “And I’m sure when he’s clever enough to check them, I’ll have sufficiently pissed him off.” You give her a sickly sweet smile, which suggests little remorse while still harboring some regret. You really are your father's daughter.

And as Meg begins to queue up her choice of film, you silently dread sitting with your thoughts. Wondering if it was worth it. Wondering just how ballsy you really are.

You both fall asleep on the couch.

There is a comforting nostalgia in Meg’s presence. The hours you spend with her that evening, talking about anything and everything, lift an unbearable weight off your shoulders. One you did not even realize you had been harboring. Cathartic and almost childlike, your evening had been much needed. The slumber that follows is just as essential. It is possible, perhaps, that in the months of grief, you had lost pieces of yourself. Pieces that not even Joel could put back together.

Meg had helped those pieces return. And for the first time in a long time, you felt a sense of self you thought was forgotten.

Nonetheless, your peace is short-lived.

Pounding on the door is what wakes you both, staccato and rough. Meg shoots up first, legs tangled with yours under the much-too-small blanket you both had been hogging.

She looks around blearily while you gather your bearings, noticing the kitchen clock read 4:26 AM. The second round of hard knocks stands you both up and alert. Your heads shoot towards the front door that vibrates under every pulse, and Meg yawns loudly, seemingly unfazed by the disruption. As if she had been expecting it.

“Gee, I wonder who that could fucking be,” she grumbles sarcastically, clambering off the couch where you realize you have about ten seconds to prepare yourself to face the consequences of your actions.

“Wait!” you call to Meg whose hand freezes on top of the door handle, shooting you a quizzical look. You stand up quickly as if to brace yourself. You run your hands over your hair, smoothing it, and readjusting the clothes you had thrown on before leaving; as if that would do much to sort out the less-than-flattering sweats.

You’re stalling. Heart practically punching out of your chest at the thought of who could be standing beyond the door. You know the longer you keep him waiting, the more trouble you will cause for yourself.

Sighing heavily, you give Meg a brief nod. She waits a beat, then unlocks the door and pulls it open.

Sure enough, Joel’s figure looms in the doorframe.

And dear god, does he look pissed.

You watch his shoulders fall in momentary relief when he sees you. A confirmation that his efforts of searching paid off. That he hasn’t failed in keeping you safe.

At least one promise was kept.

Meg looks between the two of you, her eyes wide, assessing the tension so palpable that your palms are practically sweating, aching to tear through it. Your brain is screaming at you to speak, but your throat is bone dry. Even if you could, you aren’t sure what you would say. A plethora of words come to mind, some considerably expletive in comparison to others, but Joel beats you to it.

“Get in the goddamn car,” he all but growls, and as much as you want to quip back at him, you know it’s useless. Wordlessly, you gather your belongings into the bag you packed, slinging it over your shoulder.

Meg taps her fingers against the doorframe. “So…does this mean I get to keep the Porsche, or–?” she taunts as you approach the door. Joel slants his dagger eyes at her, unamused. She bites at the inside of her lip to keep from smiling but sorts herself out when she catches your eyes, pleading with her to not make the situation worse than it already is with her antics.

Meg sighs, giving Joel one last glance before she reaches her arms to wrap around your shoulders. You accept the embrace, although too frozen to return it.

“Call me if you need anything,” she mutters into your hair, and you nod. You are grateful that the offer stands, though you know you won’t be using it. At least, not tonight. Meg likely knows it, too. Because even amidst the uncomfortable atmosphere, there is one thing you are both certain of, confident enough that she is willing to let you walk out of that door.

No matter how angry he may be, Joel would never hurt you.

You whisper a goodbye to her before stepping out through the doorway where Joel moves to let you go first. He is silent as you both make your descent down the stairwell. Silent as you shuffle into the backseat of the awaiting SUV, he in the passenger seat beside his driver who makes no effort to spark up a conversation. Silent for the entirety of the drive, where you are practically vibrating with anxiety. Ironically, you can almost hear the way he fumes, sizzling with a fury real and raw.

You wonder what he will say to you. What you will say to him. You do not have nearly enough time to process the situation before you pull into the familiar driveway of the dimly lit estate. Everyone else’s lives are seemingly untouched by your reckless abandonment.

You do not wait for him to speak, or even move, before taking it upon yourself to swing the door open and strut towards the front steps. You hear his door open and slam shut behind you, echoing through the early morning sky. It is followed by booted footsteps that linger a few paces away as you head towards the front doors, still close behind through the foyer, up the stairs, to the top floor. You wonder if he anticipates you turning right, towards his bedroom. But you veer left, taking ample steps towards the guest room where you had dwelled for the past two weeks.

Alone. Without any knowledge of his whereabouts.

The memories of your anguish all come hurtling back in, flooding your veins with a similar rage to the man behind you. You burst through the guest room door, letting it hit the wall as it flings open, tossing the poorly packed bag to the corner of the room in a fit. Your breath comes quick, ragged. A culmination of anticipation and anger. And before you even have the chance to turn around, his footsteps come to a halt within the bedroom, the sound of the door slamming shut startling you.

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

There he is.

He finds his voice, low and on edge, much quicker in the privacy of his own home. You only ever hear it like this through closed doors, usually a reprimanding to one of his men due to an overlooked detail, or when he’s just received undesirable news and must plan for the unintended. You take a deep breath, clenching your hands into fists before spinning around to face him. Up close now, you can see the throbbing bruise still lingering around his eye. The gash in his lip, while present, seems to have healed over during the night. He’s glaring at you, positively peeved, and you are certain your countenance shines similarly.

“Not sure why you care so much, seeing as you want nothing to do with me,” you snap. His eyes go wide and his nostrils flare; he’s not used to being tested.

Joel shakes his head, breathing out a humorless laugh. “Now darlin’, I know you’re not so naive to think that our conversation last night implied you could just take off on your own,” he grits, patience running thin. “You are my responsibility, do you understand that?”

You scoff, throwing your hands up reflexively. How foolish and pompous he must be to play the savior card.

“I didn’t ask to be!” you retort, shaking your head in an equal amount of disbelief. “You decided that all on your own, just like everything else!” You don’t mean for the last bit to slip out, but it does. Pure, unadulterated frustration taking the reins of your self-control.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” He takes another step forward, closer. Decreasing the space that acts as a barrier for heightened emotions.

“It means you’re a fucking hypocrite!” you shout, startled by your voice and the way it reverberates off the walls. His eyes grow wider, but you cannot bring yourself to care how erratic you seem.

“You want to protect me?” you continue, taking your own heated step forward. “You want to take care of me? Want me to be your responsibility? But then your feelings get involved, and what? Suddenly all of that is too hard for you?”

You’re pressing salt into fresh wounds, accusations reminding you of his sudden disdain for you. Where it originated, and how it formed in such a short time. You can’t make sense of it, and yet, it appears that he has found all the clarity he needs.

“Would you look around you?!” he suddenly booms, following on the heels of your words and waving his hands in the open space between you. There is a direness to his voice now; strained, nearly inconsolable. “Look at the life I live! I’m a walkin’ target, darlin’, and I ain’t gonna make you one too.”

You scoff incredulously. “You don’t get to decide who I care about, Joel! How much I care about you! How much I want you!”

A silence is cast over the room. The declaration clings to it, begging to be heard, acknowledged. Reciprocated. You wonder if he can see the pleading in your eyes, flitting over his frozen expression in search of any semblance of reassurance.

“Fuck…” you whimper, the rock in the back of your throat lodging taut. The emotion is inescapable now; even as you attempt to run your hands over your eyes to soothe the impending tears, they fill up at your waterline. “You — you are all I’ve ever wanted.”

Grief comes in various forms. You realized that last night when Joel’s feeble attempt at protection registered as rejection. The thought of losing him, even if it is for your own good, even if he is still within arm’s reach, saving little pieces of you along the way by keeping himself distant, you simply cannot bear it. Surely, years of loss would crumble under the weight of it. The one part of yourself you’re too selfish to let go of.

He’s speechless, eyeing you carefully. He looks pained, an unspoken torment storming in his eyes. You want more than anything to reach out for him, coax him into you with the promise that you could keep him safe, too. Mind and body, heart and soul, all protected in the palms of your hands if he would just allow you.

You realize that, at the very least, you have him listening. Something to be taken advantage of.

“And up until yesterday, I thought you—'' You try to form the words coherently, but they hitch in your throat. Lips beginning to tremble, the tears that you fought valiantly to subside betray you and spill down your cheeks. “But I… I guess I thought wrong.”

“No.” He’s moving now, striding towards you hurriedly while he shakes his head. You think maybe you should move when he reaches for you, but your body craves his touch more than your mind cares to deny it, craning your head back to peer watery eyes up at him when he cradles your cheeks between his hands.

There’s a beat of silence while he looks at you as if he is wrestling against his thoughts. “I can’t—I can’t imagine not wantin’ you,” he whispers in admission, brows pulled in focus.

Relief floods your veins like morphine, reducing the agony to a dull nuisance. “Then don’t,” you whisper back, tentatively reaching a hand out to place on his chest. Trust me, you want to tell him. Allow him to fall into you, accept the things he feels, and know you feel them too, regardless of the risk.

You feel the way his body stiffens, fingers trembling against your face. You wish you could reach inside his mind and pluck the thoughts right out of his head, attempt to lessen the pain of making himself vulnerable.

You wonder if he wishes the same for you.

“I’m not… I’m not a good man,” he murmurs, anguished eyes displaying his internal struggle.

You consider what he says for a moment and all its underlying conditions: I’m not a good man, look at what I do. I’m not a good man, there is constant danger everywhere I go. I’m not a good man, there’s death all around me.

I’m not a good man, I’ve killed people with my own hands.

The same hands that hold you now, and yet, they touch you as if you are the most delicate thing in the world.

You decide you don’t care what stipulations come with having him.

“I don’t need you to be a good man,” you tell him softly, the weight of tears still heavy in your eyes. “I just need you to be good to me.” You make sure he knows you mean it, stepping forward into his chest until the warmth of him wraps you in security. Still, you sense the trepidation. An uncertainty in his eyes.

“Your father…” he starts as if the reminder of him would somehow change your mind.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “My father,” you breathe out, almost humorously.

Is that what he’s worried about?

You shake your head, reaching your hands up to wrap around his wrists, keeping his on you steady. “My father trusted you more than any man alive, Joel,” you assert. “And so do I.”

Something seems to register for him then. A realization you had allowed yourself to acknowledge long ago, but only now seems to catch up to him. The words remain unspoken, but you can feel the gravity of them nonetheless. You know he does, too.

“Fuck,” he suddenly mutters, the final thread of restraint snapping as he touches his forehead to yours. Surrendering himself. “Fuck, m’sorry.”

His breath is so close, fanning over awaiting lips. The scent of him reignites something in you, a sense of assuredness returning.

A sense of hope.

“Forgive me,” he all but begs, and you think your knees may crumble if not for the way his hands cradle you.

He asks for your forgiveness. An opportunity to be better for you. To admit his wrongs. And you don’t think that there is another person in the world he would humble himself before the way he does for you now.

“Please,” he adds, voice soft and strained, and you’re ridden with tears all over again. Relief combats grief, adoration eradicates anger, and suddenly, you’re unafraid to give in.

You answer his plea wordlessly, lifting to your toes and seeking out his lips.

It’s frantic and long-awaited. He kisses you with everything he has, tangling his fingers in your hair, and searching for the taste of your tongue. Your hands fist at the collar of his shirt, working diligently to keep him close. Your body doesn’t need air to function. It only craves him to feel complete.

To feel whole again.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again, you hear me?” he grumbles in between breaths, stern but earnest. “Scared the hell outta me.”

You nod at him dutifully, wearing somber, promising eyes. You wouldn’t. Not ever again. How could you? Not when you have him like this.

The way you have always dreamed of having him.

This time when he fucks you, it’s not like the first. He strips you down while you’re still standing. Slowly. Piece by piece until you're bare before him, wide-eyed and waiting in anticipation while he takes a slow gaze over your body. Studying, admiring.

He sinks to his knees before you — a sight that almost buckles your own — searing kisses onto the burning skin of your abdomen while the wide expanses of his palms explore your thighs, gripping the flesh for dear life. As if, in your time apart, he had convinced himself he would never touch you again.

He peers up at you, worshiping you, but still, there is a darkness in his lust-blown eyes that reminds you of the man he is. The power he holds.

And yet, he relinquishes it all for you.

“Joel,” you whisper as he begins to litter kisses over the thin cotton underwear you wear, reaching down to rake your hands through his hair.

He peers up at you through hooded eyes, a heat and a sorrow both circling them. Wordlessly, he drags his thumbs up your thighs, eyes never leaving you while he hooks them into the fabric, and drags them down. You step out of them, equally pliant and suddenly vividly aware of the spot that throbs between your legs.

“Go on,” he murmurs into your skin, the gravelly nature of his voice sending tiny tremors of excitement to your core. “Lay on the bed for me.”

You think you would do just about anything for him at that moment.

You obey, taking a few short steps backward until your calves find the end of the mattress, sinking with trembling knees and seating yourself on the edge. Joel follows suit, crawling after you, taking large handfuls of your thighs, and spreading them open to find a home between them.

You tilt back onto your forearms, watching the way he dampens his battered lower lip before burning sweet kisses on the insides of your thighs. Your breath falters, fingers curling into the sheets below you to keep stable because fuck, did you miss this.

Only one taste of him and you were left addicted, the cloud of his sinful presence intoxicating you all over again.

You lose your balance once his mouth is on your cunt, already swollen, soaked, and waiting, sinking back into the mattress and renouncing your body to him. His tongue laps teasingly at your leaking hole, committing the taste of you to memory, before running it up and down the puffy lips. Much too soft, too tame, your heels dig into his shoulders to push him closer.

You feel his grip on you tighten. “Just let me taste you a little longer,” he pleads hoarsely, peppering kisses over sensitive flesh. “Fuckin’ missed the taste of you, darlin’.”

His words alone make you shiver, a feeble whimper heaving off your lips. “But Joel—”

“I know,” he mumbles, gifting you another kiss, this one placed right atop your neglected clit. Your hips buck up in response, hands abandoning the sheets to reach for his hair. You swear you hear him stifle a chuckle, thumbs drawing tantalizing circles over your thighs. “I know, baby. I’m gonna make it all feel better.”

He tastes you with broad strokes now, still agonizingly slow, but forcing you to writhe below him every time the curve of his nose or the flat of his tongue massages your clit. It’s overwhelming, as if every ounce of blood in your body rushes to the point he lavishes you in pleasure.

Skillfully. Attentively. A master in his instrument.

I’m gonna make it all feel better.

You wonder just how boundless the promise is. Mind, body, and soul alike, he’ll take the pain away. He’ll right the wrongs with tender touch and honest words. He’ll put you back together again, piece by piece, just as he always has. Just as you’ve always let him.

“Oh, fuck,” you keen as his tongue becomes more eager, devouring you as if no other meal could satiate his needs. A growl rumbles deep in his chest when your fingers tug on his curls, his lips suddenly wrapping around the sensitive pearl and sucking generously.

You’re clenching around nothing, the desire to be filled deep and raw, but the peak builds nonetheless. Starting in your gut and cascading through your thighs, warming your chest, and sending your eyes to the back of your skull.

“Don’t stop,” you pant, your thread of sanity and control snapping vigorously. Your hips chase the length of his tongue greedily, but Joel is just as eager to comply. “Please don’t stop, I’m — ahh — Joel!”

His name is the last coherent thought you can muster before white, hot ecstasy consumes you.

He keeps this promise. He makes it all feel better. He builds a cathedral around you and denotes himself as the worthiest worshiper, giving and giving even after the wave of your orgasm crashes through you and your moans become cries of rapture.

You’re lost to him, now. A piece of forbidden fruit willingly plucked. An eternity of damnation awaiting you both for tainting the sacred peace you had worked so diligently to uphold. You welcome the chaos, if it means you get to control it. If it means you get to feel this good.

You don’t even realize how adamantly your legs tremble until Joel is caressing them, planting calming kisses along your thighs and muttering how sweet you taste, how good you are, how much he wants you.

The loss of him between your legs causes you to whimper, finally craning your head up to search for him with hazy eyes. Your body feels like clay, molded to the shape of the mattress, malleable to his will. He shushes you calmly when you whine his name again, a vow that he’ll return, and you hear the shuffle of his shirt and the clank of his belt buckle being undone.

When you feel him again, he’s bare on top of you. Thick thighs cradled between your open legs, skin on skin. The perspective is new. Overwhelming, even. Unlike the last time when you sat atop him, this feels more profound. More intimate.

The weight of him is comforting, keeping you grounded. You’re caged beneath him, and yet you never wish to escape. There is a safety in the way he hovers over you as if he’s shielding you from the pain the rest of the world has to offer.

You can feel the way he breathes. Every rise of his chest brushes yours, and eventually, it seems the pattern of air between you falls into unison.

His eyes are intense. They watch you as you watch him, both suspended in a moment of pure fascination, allowing yourselves the time to just be. To feel.

You lift your shaky hands to his cheeks, his resting on either side of your head where his fingers twirl at strands of hair. You run yours along his jawline, familiarizing yourself with the sharpness of it and the scruffy hair that resides there again. You linger your thumb over the spot that never seems to have any growth, caressing it gingerly.

“I missed you,” he whispers, and you feel the all too familiar rock of emotion get stuck in your throat. He leans down to capture your lips again, to which you return tenderly, threading your fingers through his hair and holding it taut. His lips ghost your jawline until they find your exposed neck, scattering kisses and sucking gentle splotches. You hope he marks you like before, claims you with certainty this time.

“I missed this,” he continues, punctuating the word with a fluid roll of his hips, making you vividly aware of his heavy cock and the way it glides over your folds.

You hiss in response, the impending need of fulfillment suddenly becoming all-encompassing. He must feel it too, the deep rumble in his chest a sign of primal instinct. It’s too much, and yet, not enough. Every ounce of your senses doused in his power.

“Please,” you find yourself begging, voice meek and desperate. “I need you.” And you do. Need him. With every fiber of your being. “Can’t wait any longer.”

It’s what you said to him the first time he took you, and you think he remembers it now, watching as the flash of pure desire darkens his eyes, and he reaches ardently between your entangled bodies to grip himself.

You feel the tip of him kiss your entrance, slick and throbbing from his diligent preparations and weeks of unbridled yearning.

The stretch is wide, but all too familiar, eliciting a sharp whine and grunt alike from the both of you. Your hands keep him close despite the momentary pain, relishing in the heat of his breath on your skin. His nose nuzzles into the crook of your neck when you arch off the mattress, inviting him further in until he’s buried to the hilt inside of you. Your cunt flutters involuntarily, allowing the intrusion. A welcomed guest, far too long departed from the place he belongs.

“Fuck,” he growls, and you can tell he is using every ounce of self-control to not break too soon.

But you’re relentless. He’s willing to give, and you cannot stop yourself from taking. Your ankles latch around his thighs, afraid to lose the warmth of him. Skin so close, buried so deep. It’s reflexive, the way your hips begin to buck up against him, seeking friction. You whimper when the tip of him finds the sensitive spot inside of you, nestled so deep it has you gasping for more.

“Tell me,” he starts, voice gruff and buried in lust. “Tell me what you need, baby, and I’ll give it to you. I’ll give it all to you.” He returns your clambering hips with a rock of his own, causing your nails to dig into his scalp.

“I need you…I need you to fuck me,” you heave, breathless. Sweat already pooling at your temples. “Please. Please, Joel. Fuck me.”

He doesn’t hesitate.

Chest to chest, forehead to forehead, he takes fistfuls of the pillows on either side of your head to stabilize himself before he’s thrusting into you at an unforgiving pace. You hear yourself cry out into the room, your thoughts dampened into nothingness. A blissful state of release; relieving yourself of anything and everything that isn’t Joel.

The sound of slick, slapping skin joins in the beautiful symphony. He doesn’t silence you, nor worry you may be heard. He’s a beast above you, grunting every time his cock pummels up against your cervix, sending the headboard back into the wall with a steady bump.

You’re enamored by the sight of him: tan skin, and bulging biceps that cage you under him. His damp brow is pulled in focus, but his eyes are on you, watching the way your jaw falls slack and how your eyes well with tears.

It’s the intensity of his attention and the magnitude of the situation all at once. His eyes bore into you as if you’re a rare sight, and already, you feel the coil in your belly begin to wind both with pleasure and relief. Relief that, despite the troubles past and those to come, he is here.

And he is yours.

“Joel—” you croak, those unspoken words threatening to be said.

“It’s okay,” he’s quick to console, letting a thumb drag over the apple of your cheek to catch the tears that finally spring free. “It’s okay, darlin’. I’ve got ya.”

Then, he’s using the same hand to caress the expanse of your body, finding the crux of your knee and hiking it further over his hip. He’s able to sink further inside of you, sending your head back into the pillow and his lips darting to one of your breasts to suck gingerly on the hardened nipple. His hand disappears between your bodies then, finding your clit and circling it with his ring finger.

You feel yourself gush around his cock that swells inside of you. The assortment of stimuli is on the verge of driving you mad, every nerve ending in your body seeming to buzz uncontrollably. His name falls off your lips repeated in prayer, and you can’t quite pinpoint where his body begins and yours ends. Your hands clamber from his hair to his shoulders and chest, marking the sheen flesh with tiny crescents.

“Come on, baby. Come on,” he coaxes as your legs begin to tremble around him, releasing your nipple with a wet pop only to torture the other with a few, slow licks. You’re starting to unwind, and you think he must be too by the way his voice drops an octave, and his once rhythmic thrusts become sloppy, deep strokes of dwindling self-control.

“Goddamn,” he growls into your skin, sinking his teeth into the side of your breast causing you to wail. “Fuckin’ squeezing me so tight, baby. Feel so good.”

You try to speak, but it’s a mangled mess of moans and pathetic little whines. He takes it as direction to increase the pressure on your clit, and the wire snaps, starting at your core until it numbs your brain and curls your toes.

“Joel—!” you gasp, gripping onto him for dear life. He doesn’t change a single motion, the floodgates of tears that wet your cheeks now inconsolable with torturous delight. “Coming. I’m—oh fuck, I’m coming. I’m coming.”

It’s primal, the release and all that follows. The way he abandons all other parts of you to wrap you up in his arms, props himself up onto his knees, and uses his last ounce of sanity to pummel you through your orgasm. It hasn’t even subsided, barely down from its peak when his face buries back into the crook of your neck. A string of incoherent grunts seep into your skin before a white, hot liquid spills into you. You convulse eagerly around his cock, milking the sticky release, and he pushes it further and further inside until he feels your cunt settle around him and your lips squeal in approaching overstimulation.

Your body is crushed under the weight of him. It’s not painful or overbearing, but perfectly content. His head falls onto your breasts, arms still engulfing you as your legs go limp around him. He doesn’t pull out, leaving you a conjoined heap of heavy breathing and tangled limbs.

You’re full. You’re satisfied. And as you slowly start to regain your senses, there’s no lingering pain left to be found.

You’re happy.

Eventually, your hands find his hair again, weaving through his now damp curls and soothing circles across his scalp. It’s peaceful, mundane even. He mumbles something incoherent before squeezing your body tenderly and placing a fleeting kiss on the spot just below your ear.

Only then does he adjust himself, carefully reaching between your bodies again to ease his softening cock out of you. You both sigh at the loss, and there’s a momentary ache when he rolls his body off of you. But as soon as his back hits the mattress, he’s reaching for you again, and you don’t hesitate to cuddle up into him, slinging a leg over his waist and resting your head on his chest.

You stay like this for a long while, silent and blissful. You don’t care that you’re covered in sweat. You don’t care that your hair is a mess, and your teeth could probably use a good brush all the same. You don’t care that his cum is leaking out of you, and you think when he finally suggests getting a towel to wipe you up, he’s more worried about your comfort than his.

“No,” you whine, perking up from the post-orgasm stupor to grab at his shoulder and keep him from leaving.

Joel frowns. “But baby, you—”

“I don’t care,” you rush, urging him back against the mattress and curling in tighter, holding him closer. You don’t care. Don’t care how unruly it is. How ridiculously attached you come across or how needy you behave.

You’ve just gotten him back, and you’re not ready to let him go.

Joel seems to accept it, for it only takes seconds before he’s back to holding you close and drawing soothing shapes up and down your spine with his fingertips. You let your eyes flutter shut, pressing your nose into the skin of his pec and breathing in deep. You listen to his heartbeat, strong and steady. It soothes you. A heaviness weighs on your eyelids with each thump, coaxing a much-needed slumber.

“Should get some sleep,” he mutters as if he can sense you fighting it. His lips dance against your hairline with his words and the occasional kiss. “I’ll be here when you wake up,” he adds, and now you really fear he can hear your thoughts. The incessant worry of him disappearing again an unavoidable anxiety.

You tilt your head up, just enough to find his eyes. You’re unable to hide the look of unease, and Joel clocks it, returning one of sympathy.

“I will.” It’s a promise, but he knows better than to make such a bold claim so soon. Instead, he leans down again, pressing a firm and lingering kiss to your forehead and tightening his arm around your waist. “Not goin’ anywhere.”

You look at him a moment longer, analyzing the earnestness that seems to exude through his eyes. Still pleading with you to acknowledge it, accept it.

You take the leap of faith, relaxing back into him, holding him a little tighter. Somehow believing, knowing, that he would rather die than ever break your trust again.

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#divine dynasty series #mafia!joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller au #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us au #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller series #Spotify

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gingersnap-17 · 1 year ago

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Opposites Attract (Ryomen Sukuna x Fem Reader)

Authors note: I am so sorry I took so long to write another story! I hope you enjoy this one. I noticed a lot of you loved my other Sukuna oneshot, so I am here with another one for you guys! Sukuna once again is a loving husband to his wife, but he still teases her and has his snarky comments. Very fluff filled!!!!!!!!!

Authors note pt 2: Sukuna in this looks like his OG human form, but without the extra arms and eyes. HE LOOKS DIFFERENT FROM YUJI! But yeah, that's how I imagine he looks in this. Also, this is in a modern au with no sorcery.

Word Count: 1470

In a quiet, modern society, far removed from the supernatural world of curses and sorcery, Ryomen Sukuna was leading a completely ordinary life. He was married to a wonderful woman named Y/N, who was the complete opposite of him in many ways. She was the antithesis of her husband, radiating warmth and kindness wherever she went. Her sunny disposition was like a beacon of light that thawed his icy exterior. Despite his moody and unpredictable behavior, she knew he loved her deeply. She could see it in the way his eyes softened when he looked at her, in the subtle smiles he reserved for her alone. Even when he called her "brat", she knew he meant well.

Their life together was filled with ordinary, everyday moments that were just perfect for the two of them. Ryomen Sukuna's work was demanding, but as soon as he stepped through the door of their cozy home, he was a different man. He shed the weight off the world outside and transformed into a cuddly, affectionate husband. Although his verbal comments didn't change much, the physical transformation showed the other side to this man. The two practically followed each other around the house, sharing meals, watching TV, Y/N sitting with him in the garage while he worked on a project, or simply enjoying each other's company.

One sunny afternoon, Ryomen Sukuna returned home from work, expecting the usual warm greeting from Y/N. However, the house was eerily silent, and he couldn't hear her familiar laughter or the clatter of pots in the kitchen. Concerned, he called out for her, but there was no response.

Worry gnawed at Ryomen Sukuna as he made his way through their home, his search for Y/N intensifying with every step. He finally found her in the bathroom, lying on the floor beside the bathtub. She had slipped and fallen while trying to step out of the shower, and a pained grimace distorted her usually radiant face.

Rushing to her side, Ryomen Sukuna's heart filled with alarm as he gently rubber her shoulders, moving some wet strands of hair out of her face. "Y/N, what happened?" he asked, his voice laced with worry.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she tried to explain through the pain, "I slipped when I got out of the shower. I think I hurt my tailbone. It hurts so much, Ryomen."

Sukuna's normally stoic demeanor melted away in an instant as he held Y/N close, his worry for her evident in his eyes. "Don't worry, Y/N. I've got you." he whispered softly, his hands cradling her with the utmost care. Gently, he picked her up, walking into their room as he laid her slowly onto their bed.

With a loving tenderness that Y/N had seen countless times in their relationship but never ceased to amaze her, he gently examined her, trying to determine the extent of her injury. He frowned when he realized that her fall had indeed injured her tailbone, the skin around her lower back already starting to bruise and swell. "I will call the doctor and see if he can come over." Before calling the doctor, he got her dried off and dressed in bed, trying to keep her in as little discomfort as he could.

"I love how quickly you go from 'I hate you brat.' too, 'I love you so much and I am going to take great care of you.'" Y/N said with a small smile.

Ryomen chuckled softly, his eyes filled with both relief and affection as he continued to fuss over Y/N. "Well, it's not every day that my wife takes a tumble in the shower, now is it? I can't have you in pain, Y/N." he replied, his voice laced with sincerity. "And you know I don't hate you, brat. You mean the world to me."

"I know you don't hate me. But 'I hate you brat' just translates to 'I love you' in your own way. I'm right Ryo, I know I am."

Ryomen smiled at Y/N's understanding, grateful that she knew him so well. "You're absolutely right." he admitted, his fingers gently brushing her cheek. "I may not always express it the way you do, but my love for you is immeasurable. You're the best thing that ever happened to me."

As he spoke, he gently brushed a strand of Y/N's hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear. The doctor arrived shortly after, and Ryomen stayed by Y/N's side throughout the examination and treatment. Once the doctor left, Y/N was pretty disappointed with the results. "Of course the only way to take care of a broken tailbone is to do nothing! All I can do is take pain medicine and lay in bed!" Y/N said with heavy annoyance in her voice.

Sukuna couldn't help but chuckle at Y/N's frustration. "Well, it looks like you have a perfect excuse to be pampered now. Just next time, ask me to be pampered instead of slipping in the bathroom, clutz." he teased gently, his fingers tracing comforting patterns on her hand. "But, you can catch up on all those books you've been wanting to read, so that's a plus in a way."

Y/N couldn't help but smile through the pain, her heart warmed by her husband's care and light-hearted teasing. "I guess you're right, Ryo. I'll have plenty of time to catch up on my reading, and I won't have to lift a finger for a while."

"............Nerd." He responded back to her. He wasn't the biggest reader, so he had every right to call her that.

Y/N playfully swatted his arm, despite the pain in her tailbone. "Well, at least this 'nerd' won't have to worry about tripping over her own feet anymore." she retorted, her eyes sparkling with humor.

Ryomen chuckled and leaned down to place a gentle kiss on her forehead. "That's true. I'll make sure to keep a close eye on you, my accident-prone girl." he said, his voice full of affection.

Over the next week, Sukuna took time off work to spend time with his injured wife. From cooking meals, helping her into the bathroom, or even reading to her when she begged him to do so, he was there for her.

Their days together turned into a blend of laughter, occasional teasing, and heartfelt conversations. Y/N's injury had brought them even closer, and the constant care and attention from Sukuna made her heart swell with love.

One evening, as they sat on their bed, Y/N couldn't help but reflect on how fortunate she was to have him in her life. "You know, Ryo," she began, her voice filled with gratitude, "I don't know what I'd do without you. You've been my rock through all of this."

Ryomen smiled and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "And I don't know what I'd do without you either, Y/N. Although we are quite literally opposites in demeanor and personality, I guess the saying that opposites attract is true."

Y/N leaned her head on his shoulder, a contented sigh escaping her lips. "I guess I'm lucky to have a grumpy, moody husband who turns into a big softie when I'm hurt." she teased.

Sukuna chuckled, his hand gently stroking her hair. "Well, you're stuck with me, brat. And I wouldn't have it any other way." After a few moments of sitting together in a comfortable silence, Sukuna looked down at his wife. "You stink. Let me help you shower so you don't slip and fall. Clumsy brat."

Y/N only rolled her eyes with a soft smile. "You helped me shower the other day, I know I don't stink that bad."

His lips curved into a smirk as he teasingly replied, "You've been in bed for a whole week practically. Yeah you got of bed, but that was to go pee, take a shit, or shower. You definitely stink." He then added more seriously, "But don't worry, I'll make sure you're safe and sound. I've got you."

Y/N chuckled, grateful for his unwavering support and love. "I suppose I can't argue with that. Thanks for taking such good care of me, Ryo." He smiles, responding to her. "It's my job, brat."

As he helped her to the bathroom, they both knew that even though they were different in so many ways, their love was a bond that nothing could break. Y/N's injury had brought them closer, and they were determined to cherish each other for the rest of their days, no matter how opposite they might be from each other.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months ago

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candy girl 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as cheating, age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: as you're about to take the next step with your boyfriend, doubts begin to arise. (short!plus!reader)

Characters: Thor (boyfriend's dad/silverfox)

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself. <3

You steer onto the cul-de-sac, the savoury smell of teryaki and honey garlic cloying at your stomach. A loud growl erupts from inside you as you come in sight of your destination. The suburban beacon stands two-storeys above ground and its white washed window frames seem to watch your approach with wide eyes. The home, even if it’s not your own, is welcoming.

You pull in beside the white picket fence and park right behind the large slate grey BMW. It’s both gargantuan and sparkling compared to your beat up Fiat. Your steed isn’t a noble one but it gets the job done. Literally.

The summer night hums with the call of the crickets and the drone of pool filters from the sprawling HOA-mandated yards. You get out and open the back seat, pulling out the stacked boxes that radiate with the mouth-watering aromas. You even managed to get Karl to give you a free tray of garlic knots before you clocked out.

As you balance the wide load, teetering slightly at the awkwardness, you use your hip to shut the car door. You eye the vehicle in front of yours. You didn’t think he’d be there, at least that’s what Magni said. You suppose you can’t complain, it isn’t your house.

A figure sits on the porch, as if waiting for you. At first, you think it’s your boyfriend but the build is slightly too broad to be him. The sheen of the light beside the front door also reveals a head of silvering blonde waves and not Magni’s shanky red hair. His father sits with his phone cradled over his lap, a metallic noise sounding from the speakers.

You come up the front walk between the floating orbs cast by the solar lanterns implanted in the earth. Your soles scuff as you near the steps and Mr. Odinson lowers his phone as he looks up. You put on a smile though you don’t think he’ll see it.

“It’s just me,” you announce as you hit the step with your toe and stumble. “Oof!”

He’s quick to stand and rush over but you steady yourself and clammer up the steps in a graceful recovery. You giggle at yourself and even out the boxes to keep the pizza from getting to messed up. He stops nearby, looming over you as he blocks out the porch light.

“Y’okay, little one?” He asks in his way.

You laugh again, “all good! Clumsy old me.”

“Mm,” he hums and gives an emphatic sniff, “I suppose you didn’t bring all that for me.”

“There’s more than enough to go around,” you assure him.

“Ah, well in that case, my son is in the garage,” he points, “I will gladly make sure the food gets to the kitchen unscathed.”

You tilt your head at him and scoff, “don’t worry, I didn’t count the chicken wings or anything.”

He chuckles and takes the boxes from you, “allow me,” he insists, “far too much for you to be carrying all this around.”

“It’s my job, Mr. Odinson,” you shrug, “anyway, I’ll go find, Mag.”

“Tell him to put his things away before he comes in,” he warns and backs up, easily carrying the full load of food in one hand, turning to pull the screen door open with his other.

You hop back down the porch and along the walk, coming back down the driveway to the garage. You knock on the wide door as you hear raging metal music crashing from within. You like some of it, but a few songs just make your head hurt.

The door reacts as the motor above whirs and reels it up. You bend to peek under and wave at Magni. He sits on a low rolling stool, his hands darkened with oil, and his motorbike half torn apart. Again.

“Wow, what’s all this?�� You ask as you dip under the door.

“Eh, stupid thing got a rock in it, then I was thinking about modifying it... got a bit carried away.”

He grabs a rag from his pocket as he stands and wipes his fingers. He’s about as tall as his father, though he’s lanky where the elder Odinson is bullish. You suppose he might fill out with age, not that you’re complaining. You have more than enough cushion for both of you.

“Your dad took the pizza,” you say.

“Ah, yeah, he was supposed to be out of town,” he grumbles. “Been lecturing half the night about this thing.”

He gestures to the bike as he nears and bends to kiss you. You tilt your head up to meet him and get a bit more tongue than you expect. He grabs your ass as he pulls you against him and you gasp, pushing on his stomach.

“You’re getting grease on my pants,” you part and tut at him. It’s only your uniform but you have two pair of work pants and one them is ripped.

“Blends right in,” he gives you another tap.

“Ugh, I was gonna do laundry on the weekend.”

“Whatever,” he shrugs and continues to twist his finger into the dirty rag. “Too bad dad stayed,” he grumbles, “if he wasn’t here...”

Heat razes your neck and you sway in place, digging your toe into the ground as you look away. You know what he was expecting and you tried to tell him you weren’t sure yet but he just doesn’t get it. You’re almost grateful you don’t have to repeat yourself. As much as you like him, it’s just too much too soon.

“Mm, yeah,” you come forward and gather up the loose wrenches and bolts, putting them into the open box, “shouldn’t leave this all a mess.”

“Eh, I’ll just be working on it again tomorrow,” he sniffs.

You ignore his protest and continue to clean up after him. If you mention his dad, you don’t think it will motivate him. They can be volatile at times. Stubborn to say the least. It surprises you to see the discord between them. With a life like this, how could anyone be unhappy?

You close up the tool box and roll it against the wall. Magni hits the button for the door and it rolls back down. You follow him to the interior door and climb the steps up into the main house. You leave your shoes on the mat as he keeps his on.

Mr. Odinson pulls out plates as you enter the kitchen. He huffs as Magni tramps through and goes to the sink, flipping it on with two fingers and leaving grease on the silver.

“Shoes on?” His father grumbles.

“Forgot,” Magni utters.

“Mm, wipe the faucet off when you’re done. You’re getting oil all over.”

“Yeah, dad, I’ll do it,” Magni sneers.

You gulp awkwardly as Mr. Odinson offers you a plate.

“Gotta wash up too,” you wiggle your fingers at him, showing the dirt from the tools.

“Ah, more work after work, I see,” he muses dryly.

You smile and shrug and go to the sink as Magni shuts it off. You turn it back on and take your time lathering up your hands. You rinse off and make sure to wipe the smear on the silver too. As you turn around, Magni is loading up his plate with food.

You wait patiently by Mr. Odinson as he hands you a plate.

“Geez, save some for the rest of us, kid,” he chortles.

“There’s lots,” Magni dismisses flippantly and walks away.

“Eat at the table,” his dad calls after him.

Mr. Odinson lets you go first. He makes you feel tiny as he patiently awaits his turn. You take more knots than you should but only a single slice of triple cheese.

“I see you go the cinnamon bites...” he intones, “did you remember they’re my favourite?”

“Oh, mine too!” You chime, “I didn’t but I’ll try to next time.”

“Next time,” he echoes, “don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

You ignore the cryptic comment and grab a dipping sauce, “enjoy, Mr. Odinson.”

“Mm, looks delicious,” he winks and his eyes linger on you before they drift over to the boxes. “Mmm, I prefer thighs but these wings smell amazing.”

You turn and give the wall a strange look. He’s a funny guy, sometimes you have no idea what he’s talking about. You head off to join Magni in the dining room. He bends over his phone and quickly swipes with his pinky, bringing up his wallpaper.

“I’m starving,” you sit down, “work was so hectic.”

He growls into a chicken wing as he eats ravenously. You feel a similar hunger but you don’t want to be rude. It’s funny, growing up in a place like this, and he can be so... sloppy.

Mr. Odinson walks in and drops a stack of napkins at the center of the table, “don’t stain the tablecloth.”

You take a few and Magni just continues his feast. His dad sits with a cringe and shakes his head. He takes a garlic knot between two fingers, the morsel seeming so small, and bites into it delicately. He hums and you can’t help but share the sentiment, while you restrain yourself from mimicking his son as your stomach roars again.

#thor #dark thor #dark!thor #magni #thor x reader #series #drabble #candy girl #marvel #mcu #avengers #au #silverfox au

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exhuastedpigeon · 11 months ago

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every road and every highway led me right back to your door

Sterek 2.5k Teen

Derek would like it noted that he had been in way worse situations before. He would like that on the official record. His current predicament honestly doesn’t even make the top five worst situations he’s ever been in. It might not even make the top ten.

“A random woman walked out of the preserve, handed you a new born baby, told you to find me and for us raise him like he’s our own, and then turned into mist,” Stiles said, voice incredulous. He’d been back in Beacon Hills for less than three months and in that time they’d had a pixie infestation, a clan of vampires without morals, a clan of vampires with morals, and a feral omega, so Derek wasn’t sure why he was acting like a random woman with a baby was all that unbelievable.

“Yes,” Derek said, the baby still in his arms. He didn’t have anything he needed for a baby yet, so he called Stiles over to hopefully lend a hand in getting the baby out of the woods safely.

“And you didn’t think it was suspicious at all?”

“I thought it was a little suspicious,” Derek shrugged as best he could with the tiny baby in his arms. “But he smells right, like he’s -”

“Like he’s?”

Derek sighed because he had started the sentence so now he had to finish it. “Like he’s mine. Like he’s ours .”

"That is actually not comforting to hear,” Stiles flopped down onto the bumper of Derek’s car. “A random woman handed you a baby that smells like ours? Derek, that's like something out of a fairy tale, and not a cute Disney retelling but a Grimm one.”

“Did you bring the car seat?”

“Did I bring the car seat,” Stiles muttered under his breath, standing up and grabbing something from the backseat of the Jeep. Derek felt a flair of pride at how well it was running, even after five years in the Sheriff’s garage while Stiles was away at school and starting his little consulting agency. Derek had taken to taking the Jeep out for a drive every few weeks to make sure everything was still running so when Stiles came home it would be there waiting for him. He'd chosen to not examine it too closely because if he did he was pretty sure he'd have to look his feelings for Stiles in the face and he hadn't been ready for that. “Of course I brought the fucking car seat.”

Continue on Ao3

#sterek #sterek fic #stiles x derek #derek x stiles #my fic #babies first sterek fic since 2021

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 1 year ago

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Dashboard Confessional

Pairing: Billy Washington (Trigger Point) x f!reader Warnings: Mentions of PTSD, mild angst, smut, semi public sex. Word count: ~1.7k

Summary: Billy is forced to deal with past trauma when his girlfriend's car breaks down on the side of the M1, while driving home to Nottingham for Christmas. She finds the perfect way to ease his mind.

Author's note: Day four of the Smuffmas prompts - "reassurance and car sex". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

Her hands tighten on the steering wheel, eyes flitting nervously towards the check engine light that’s just lit up on the dashboard panel. They’re only an hour outside of Nottingham, and if she was by herself she’d simply ignore it, finish the journey, and take her crappy old Skodia Fabia to a garage in the New Year. But Billy sits in the passenger seat next to her, and she knows that that little red light will look like a fiery beacon to him, a reason to panic. The best thing she can do in this situation is pull over onto the hard shoulder and call AA Breakdown Recovery.

Billy used to joke that she’d spent more on keeping her shitty little car roadworthy than she had when she’d actually bought it. He’d insist on driving them everywhere, his Vauxhall Cavalier the more reliable of the two vehicles.

That feels like a lifetime ago now though, before the Explosive Ordnance Disposal team had pulled him from it and it had exploded into a fiery ruin in the middle of Cranstead Gardens. Billy doesn’t joke at all anymore, and he’s not gotten behind the wheel of a car since.

He has spent the last four months attending weekly therapy sessions. It’s only in the last month that he’s been willing to allow her to drive him anywhere, and that’s not before they’ve done rigorous checks of the entire car to make sure it’s safe; the wheel arches, under the bonnet, the boot, beneath the seats and in the glovebox all need to be examined thoroughly before he’ll even consider getting in.

When it had come time to arrange their annual visit to Billy’s parents’ for Christmas, he had suggested they get the train. However, a return ticket would be close to one hundred pounds each for them. She had argued they would spend less than half that on fuel if she drove, and it would save them the effort of lugging gifts all the way there, only to have to take all of the ones they inevitably receive back with them the same way - everything could just be stuffed into the boot if she drove.

He had relented eventually, and she had regretted it almost as soon as they’d gotten in the car. For the last two hours of the journey his leg has bounced anxiously, and she’s been met with snappy one word answers to each of her attempts to make conversation, despite his insistence that the radio stays off.

If she were a weaker person she’d have decided that this was all too much and ended things long ago, however, Billy is her everything, he always has been. He has never thought much of himself, but she loves him enough for the both of them. Where he sees a failure, someone that lives in the shadow of his successful older sister, she sees a man with a thousand watt smile, someone that lights up the room just by entering it. That light has dulled over the last few months, but she is determined to help it shine once more.

It’s with this in mind that she clicks on the left indicator, pulling over onto the hard shoulder, and switches the hazard lights on.

“What you doing?” Billy asks, frowning slightly as he removes his thumb from his mouth, the nail of which he’s been chewing absentmindedly on for the last few miles.

She turns the engine off, turning to him with a slight smile, an attempt to appease and keep him calm. “Check engine light’s come on, I need to ring the AA.”

“Fuck’s sake!” He seethes, unclipping his seatbelt and forcefully pushing open the passenger side door.

She watches him, illuminated in the darkness by the motorway lights, rounding the car, before stepping over the crash barrier and onto the grassy verge. Sighing, she unbuckles and climbs out.

“Billy–”

“I told you we should’ve got the fucking train!” He shouts, though there is no anger in his tone, she hears it in the wobble of his voice, sees it in the barely concealed tears he’s attempting to hold back. He’s close to breaking down.

“I know, babe, and I’m sorry,” she soothes, “I should have listened to you. But I promise you it’s nothing serious. You know how this old shitheap gets when it’s damp, remember last time it rained and the electric windows stopped working?”

It’s an attempt to lightheartedly downplay his fears, but it’s obviously unsuccessful. She watches as he fishes his cigarette packet from the pocket of his jogging bottoms, pulling one out and lighting it with shaky hands.

She takes out her phone and calls the recovery service, straining to hear over the roar of the traffic that speeds past on the M1. It’s going to be a forty five minute wait for anyone to get to them, though she should consider herself lucky, bearing in mind it’s December 23rd and there are cars nationwide breaking down on their way home for Christmas.

When she ends the call and tosses her phone onto the driver’s seat, she turns back to see that Billy is three quarters of the way through his smoke, his gaze downcast as he stands there shivering. The sight makes her heart ache.

“It’s freezing,” she calls out to him, “at least come and get your hoodie.”

She opens the door to the backseat, grabbing his Adidas zip up from it and holding it out to him. His head remains bowed, though his eyes look up at her, before he crushes his cigarette beneath his trainer and slowly walks towards her.

“Thanks,” he says quietly, slipping the hoodie on and perching on the edge of the backseat, facing out of the car, long legs stretched out in front of him.

They remain in silence for a few moments, Billy simply sitting with his hands clasped in his lap, staring at the ground, as she stands before him, looking out towards the steady stream of cars, eyes narrowed at the oncoming headlights that rush by.

“How long until you get fed up?” He finally asks, looking up at her.

“Well, I’m fed up already,” she jokes, “but we’ve gotta sit tight until someone comes to get us.”

He huffs a humourless laugh through his nose, lips quirking upwards slightly as he shakes his head. “You know that’s not what I mean. How much more of me can you hack before you finally decide I’m not worth the effort?”

“Oi,” she chastises playfully, ruffling a hand through his shaggy blonde hair. “To me, you will always be worth the effort. I’m not going anywhere.”

Billy bends his legs at the knees, planting his feet flat on the floor and pulls her between them as his arms wrap around her waist. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t talk like that,” she says gently. “It’s been a rough few months, but we’ll get through it.

“God, I love you,” he tells her, stroking his palm across her cheek.

“Tell me again,” she smiles, leaning down to bump her nose against his.

“Love you,” he whispers, pressing his lips to hers.

She kisses back, expecting it to be quick and chaste, but gasps in surprise as his hand slides from her face into her hair, gripping and anchoring her to him, as his tongue slips into her mouth. He tastes faintly of tobacco, but she responds eagerly as their mouths move together, the sensation sending heat pooling between her legs.

He leans back against the backseat, keeping his feet planted on the ground outside, dragging her with him. She giggles, pulling away breathlessly.

“Billy, we’re on the side of the motorway, anyone could see us!”

“Best give them something good to look at then,” he grins lazily up at her, fingers tugging at the waistband of her leggings.

It’s been so long since he was this uninhibited and spontaneous, that that’s all the encouragement she needs. She scrambles to pull them from one leg, as Billy lifts his hips, pushing his jogging bottoms and boxers down just enough to free his cock.

As she hovers back over him, his fingers move to push her thong to one side, and she can’t help but smile into the crook of his neck. He’s not even fully hard, though his pushes against her entrance are quickly rectifying that.

There’s no time for either of them to prepare each other properly, not for a quickie on the side of the road, so when the head of him does finally breach her opening the intrusion steals her breath away.

She whines, as each slow withdrawal and thrust upwards from him pushes him deeper, her rapidly gathering slick helping to ease his passage, until he’s fully sheathed inside of her.

He pants along with her when she moans helplessly against his shoulder as he pistons up into her, holding her steady by her hips. The tight confines of the car make it so that every drag of his cockhead brushes against the sweet spot inside of her, making her involuntarily tighten around him.

His pace becomes rushed, sloppy, and the feeling of him pulsating inside of her sends her toppling over the edge, white hot sparks of pleasure shooting through her as she spasms around him. His fingers dig into the meat of her hips as he pushes up one final time, emptying himself into her with a groan.

She shifts to move off of him, but he grips tighter, keeping her where she is. “Don’t,” he whispers breathlessly, eyes closed.

“I need to put my leggings back on, babe,” she chuckles, “I don’t think the AA bloke will appreciate the sight of my bare arse.”

“We’ve got time,” he murmurs, pulling her back to him, stroking her hair. “Just stay like this for a minute.”

She squirms, the chill of the air on her naked skin and his spend leaking out of her around his softening length making her uncomfortable, but she stays where she is. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, slowly blinking open his eyes. “It’s just…this is the first time I’ve been in a car where I haven’t thought about something horrible happening.”

Her gaze softens, and she pecks him on the cheek. “That’s good. So, what were you thinking about?”

“You, just you.”

Read on AO3

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bamboozledbird · 3 months ago

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IGNITE: A Teen Wolf S1 AU (Reader's Version) // Prev. / Chapter 4 / Next

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader, Scott McCall, Lydia Martin, OMC Pairing: Eventual Stiles x Reader, but man are we talking slow burn Word Count: 4.5k Warnings: Canon typical gore/violence, parental death (rip to your fake mom), depictions of depression (apathy, dissociation, 'numb little bug' vibes), alcohol as a coping mechanism, season 1 Lydia behavior (her comments on addiction are wrong and insensitive and she's knows it) Tags: Canon has been lovingly scrapped for parts, author is a chaotic bi and it shows, prolific overuse of the em dash, the slowest of burns i fear

Summary: You can always smell ash long after the fire is gone. Perhaps, that’s why you still can’t breathe without choking on the past. It’s been four years since your mom died. Four years since she burned alive. Four years since you didn’t. You survived, but they must have buried your heart with her because most days you feel like a shadow, some horrifically sad creature caught halfway between a ghost and a lamb for slaughter.

You can’t scrub the bitter smell of hospital from your memories, not even with denial. Maybe, that’s why death and disease follows Stiles wherever he goes now. It’s been eight years since his mom died. Eight years since he didn’t. Eight years since he decided that he wouldn’t let anyone he loved die ever again. He survived, but Beacon Hills’ bloody underbelly is making it pretty damn hard for him to keep his promise.

Time never stops turning. The grief never dissipates. Children soldier on—but in a town where all the monsters under the bed are real, and old family secrets rattle in every closet, how long can two fragile, breakable humans survive?

Maybe, the real question is: How long will they want to?

Chapter Summary: Your life somehow becomes further entangled with Stiles and Scott's strange secret world, and Lydia is concerned in her own aggressive way.

A/N: this is in fact a scott mccall stan account. i love that boy like he's my own. you can also check me out on ao3 (dork_knight) for the full lore version!

The drive home was ultimately uneventful. No need for tasers, silver bullets, or wolfsbane goop. You would need to get gas before you left for school in the morning, but you supposed that was a relatively minor inconvenience when the other end of the scale was being torn apart by a fanged monster.

Your jaw cracked with an aggressive yawn as you slowly stumbled through the garage door, fumbling for the light switch on the wall. You flicked on the light and paused, shivering a little as the cold air from the vent above your head skimmed over your bare arms. After a moment of hesitation, when that little persistent wriggling in your ear wouldn’t go away, you ducked back down the concrete steps to poke around the garbage can. Underneath a few Styrofoam take-out boxes, there were four empty beer bottles. The glass bottles clinked against each other as you nudged them out of the way, unearthing the real object of your paranoia. A drained bottle of 100-proof rye whiskey was cradled between two sacks of trash from the night before. You just stared at the bottles, heart and lungs wound tight, and then you dropped the lid back on top of the can.

When you reentered the house, you were careful to keep the noise to a minimum. It wasn’t that late, only a little past nine, but you didn’t want to disrupt your dad’s slumber. Usually, he was a night owl—which, of course, was really just a pretty way of saying chronic insomniac, another thing you’d inherited from him—but it’d been a hard liquor night. Your dad always went to bed early on hard liquor nights. You didn’t know if he actually slept or if he stared at the ceiling, watching memories play on spackle until dawn streamed through the cracks in the blinds. Probably the first. You hadn’t ever heard him cry through the thin walls, not even once. You, however, couldn’t ever stop crying, not on the nights you trembled for something potent enough to mask the scent of the coconut oil your mom used to remove her makeup. The echoes of your mother had seeped into the walls, saturated the insulation with the faint sounds of the 70s pop rock vinyls she put on when she was in a good mood. They faded sometimes, but they always came back. You desperately hoped, and you hopelessly feared, that they always would.

You rubbed at your eyes with the back of your hands aggressively and slipped under the covers, still in your plaid skirt and black t-shirt. Mascara smeared against your silk pillowcase, blurred your vision as it melted into your waterline. You stared at the wall until the silver swirls in the teal wallpaper started to sway. The teal was so dark it almost looked velvet with the lights off, and you had a heavy-eyed impulse to stroke it, but your hand was too leadened to lift.

Your lids slipped shut, and in the haze between consciousness and slumber you felt the vague sensation of something solid against the back of your head. You murmured something incomprehensible and pulled your arms closer to your chest, taking in a breath of sharp whisky and a familiar woody cologne. You kept your eyes closed, and the warm weight cupped your skull for a moment. There was a brief kiss pressed against the top of your head and then the warmth was gone. Something large caught in your throat, and you squeezed your eyelids until your forehead wrinkled, forcing yourself to fall into a restless sleep filled with dreams of pancakes swimming in bourbon and howling beasts.

Stiles was waiting for you by your locker when you arrived at school the next day. His friend—Scott, you reminded herself—was leaning against the locker next to him. Scott’s eyelids were heavy, and there was a coolness underneath them that stained his tan skin with a swathe of puce. Puce: From the French term ‘couleur puce,’ meaning ‘flea color.’ You dug your incisor into your tongue once you recognized that the intrusive internal narration was in Stiles’s voice. You didn’t even know if he spoke French, but it seemed like the kind of weird detail he’d know. You ran your tongue over your teeth and shoved your fists into your jacket pockets, thumb poking through the hole in the lining from previous twiddling—when the hell did you start thinking about the kinds of things Stiles would and wouldn’t know?

You pivoted sharply, and your traitorous leather boots ruined your attempted exit when they squeaked against the freshly waxed floor. Stiles’s head popped up from his hushed conversation with Scott, and he waved vigorously when he made eye contact with you, “Hey! C’mere!”

You tipped your gaze towards the tiled ceiling and sighed. It was inevitable, really; you had to get your English binder before homeroom—homeroom, yet another reason to hate Wednesdays. It was one of your few classes with Lydia, and there wasn’t ever any actual teaching to distract you from the disgusting goo-goo eyes she gave her boyfriend. Studying was your only respite.

“Patience,” you nudged Stiles out of the way and spun your combination into the padlock, “work on it. It’s an essential skill.”

Stiles scoffed and leaned his shoulder against the locker next to yours, arms folded over his chest, “Essential. There’s nothing essential about wasting time. It’s actually unvirtuous if you think about it.”

You swung her locker door open, blocking out Stiles’s frown, and rested your backpack on your knee so that you could unzip it. “Was there a point in there somewhere, or are you stalking me again?”

Stiles ducked around the locker door and placed his hands on Scott’s shoulders, shoving him a little closer to you, “Scott had a question for you.”

Scott’s eyes didn’t look so tired when he reared his head back to stare at Stiles. They had an intense conversation for a moment. There weren’t any words exchanged, but you got the gist: Scott was pissed, and Stiles was relentless. In the end, Scott lost the battle and swallowed thickly, “So, uh, you know a lot about supernatural stuff. That’s cool.” Stiles rolled his eyes and smacked the back of Scott’s head. Scott glared at him before mumbling, “Do you have any more of that wolfsbane…potion?” towards his muddy Converse.

You directed your annoyance over Scott’s shoulder, more than confident that the real culprit of this request was the idiot avoiding your eye-line. “What? You already burned through your goo sample? Are the streets finally free from the demon beast of Beacon Hills?”

Stiles held up his hands and shook his head, “This is all Scott. See, me, I’m a fan of not being a greedy little bastard, but Scott—” This time Scott smacked Stiles with a resounding thwack. Stiles rubbed his shoulder, mouth agawk with indignation.

“He…dropped it.” Scott glowered at the side of Stiles’s face, “‘Doing something stupid.”

You smirked, “Sounds about right.” You shoved your binder into your backpack and brushed your hairs out of your eyes, “I’d give it all away for free, but it’s not up to me. Sorry.” Zipping your backpack shut, you slung one of the straps over your shoulder and shrugged, “You could always buy some more, but I’d strongly advise against such a dumb financial investment.”

Scott rubbed the back of his neck and gave you a smile. It was small but riddled with warmth—like he just couldn’t help it, like sunshine leaked through every one of his pores, and you were filled with the sudden urge to buy the stupid wolfsbane gunk for him. “That’s what I figured,” Scott looked at Stiles pointedly. His voice dropped a few octaves and a growl slipped into the end of his sentence, “But someone thought we should ask anyway.”

The bell rang, and Scott flinched, smashing one of his ears into his shoulder. He turned around, a little dazed, and Stiles trailed after him after giving her a distracted wave. As you watched them leave, a parasitic impulse wrangled through your throat, prying the hinge of your jaw open as you shouted, “Hey!” The hallway was abuzz with various conversations and clomping feet, but your voice was still a bit too loud for the short distance between you and definitely too urgent for 7:45 in the morning.

Stiles turned around first, almost tripping over his sneakers, and then he yanked on the scarlet hood of Scott’s jacket until he stopped too. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other and licked your bottom lip, suddenly realizing how dry it was. “I, uh,” you sighed and took a few steps forward so that you didn’t have to raise your voice, “I could talk to Maggie. I bet she’d cut you a deal if I asked.” You let out a little laugh and raked your fingers through your hair, accidentally dislodging the satin bow tying your hair out of your face. “I know, actually. I know she’d give you some for free. She’s a terrible business woman.”

Scott’s smile put the moon to shame, and Stiles looked like he’d been waiting for you to change your mind since the moment you told them no—when the hell did he start thinking about what you would and wouldn’t do?

“That would be awesome,” Scott ducked down to grab your black ribbon and held it out to you with an open palm, “thank you. I’d owe you big time.”

Stiles looped his arm around Scott’s shoulders and smirked, “We’d. We’d owe you. I’ll stop by the store and bless you with my scintillating conversation sometime.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you smiled softly at Scott, taking your ribbon from his hand. You attempted to tie your hair back in a neat bow, but it was difficult without a mirror. You assumed it was halfway decent because Stiles didn’t take the opportunity to tease you—you, on the other hand, had no such qualms about mocking him. You smiled at Stiles, far too sweetly to be considered congenial, and sneered, “Seriously. Don’t worry about it.”

Stiles’s eyes narrowed, face curved around a smirk that screamed trouble, and Scott slapped his hand over Stiles’s mouth before he could say something to make you reconsider, “Thanks again. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to pay you back. Name it, and we’re there.” Stiles winked at you with a glint in his eye that was as vexing as it was bright, and Scott rolled his eyes as he hauled him away by the nylon material of his backpack, “C’mon, dude. My mom’s gonna kill me if I’m late again.”

You watched Stiles’s buzzed head bob amidst the congested crowd of students, all shoving each other in their rush to get to class on time, until you couldn’t hear his surly complaints anymore. You rubbed your hand over your chapped lips, swallowing hollowly, like you could erase every impulsive word that’d spilt from your stupid mouth.

You were still thinking about what you’d gotten yourself into when you walked into Mrs. Farias’s classroom—and that must be why you forgot your copy of Metamorphosis in your locker. You groaned internally and dropped your forehead against your desk, bumping it against the cool laminate finish a few times, before ducking out the door with a hall pass.

The halls were empty—silent too. You could hear your own footsteps and the tick of the large clock above the main office as you walked around the corner, and then, just as you approached the hallway your locker was in, you heard something else. Voices. Angry voices. One familiar—your face scrunched as the recognition wriggled through your ears to your brain—and one not. You cautiously glanced around the corner and frowned. Jackson, Lydia’s arrogant prick of a boyfriend, was talking to a hulking, leather-clad stranger—or rather infuriating him based on the murderous look in the man’s dark eyes.

The stranger looked a good five years too old to be in a high school hallway, but the grown-out stubble and over-defined muscles weren’t of immediate concern. You were more focused on the color of his face. His skin was pale, clammy, and quite honestly a little corpse-like thanks to the purply-blue tinge carving out the hollows of his face. You assumed that he was too strung-out to care if anyone noticed their altercation because you could hear him from halfway across the hall.

“Where’s Scott McCall?” His voice was deep and gravelly, as expected, but there was a desperate undertone you hadn’t anticipated.

You could only see the back of Jackson’s head, but you knew exactly what his face was doing when he puffed out his chest and folded his arms—no one else could make a smirk look quite so punchable. It was a gift, truly. “And why should I tell you?” “Because I asked you politely,” the man leaned forward, bared his canines, and you couldn’t believe that Jackson didn’t even flinch, “and I only do that once.”

“Okay, tough guy,” Jackson sneered, meeting the man’s challenge with another step forward and a shrug that reeked of false-superiority, “how ‘bout I help you find him if you tell me what you’re selling him. What is it? Dianabol? HGH?”

“Steroids,” the man’s voice was dry, and if he didn’t look like he was about to double over and puke all over the floor, you’d say the menacing glimmer in his eyes was a little amused.

“No, Girl Scout cookies. What the hell do you think I’m talking about?” Jackson tutted, maddeningly haughty, and shook his head, “By the way, whatever it is you’re selling, I’d stop sampling the merchandise.” He let out a low patronizing whistle, and you kind of hoped that the stranger would suckerpunch him in the throat for it. “You look wrecked.”

The man didn’t punch him. Instead, he pushed himself off of the locker he was slumped against and started staggering stiffly down the hall, “I’ll find him myself.”

Jackson grabbed onto his broad shoulder and yanked. The veins in his bicep bulged with the strength of grasp, “We’re not done here.”

Your limbs suddenly remembered how to function. You ducked back behind the brick wall and closed your eyes, waiting for the inevitable sounds of bone colliding into flesh. Your right eye cracked open a sliver when the noise never came. Instead, there was a loud thud and the echo of clanging metal. You peeked around the corner again and froze, eyes wide and throat dry. Jackson was pinned against a locker by his neck. You’d already noticed that the stranger was tall, but you didn’t truly realize just how large he was until now. Jackson was a lot of things, but he wasn’t small. He was captain of the lacrosse team—everyone within a ten-mile radius knew that thanks to his constant reminders—and if anyone on campus was taking steroids, he would’ve been your first guess. But next to this sickly beast of a man, Jackson looked meek and mousey, and you didn’t even get to savor it. After a brief moment, no more than a second, Jackson’s assailant sniffed the air and slowly turned his head in your direction. It wasn’t an accident; he wasn’t surveying his surroundings. His eyes landed on yours, and he didn’t look the least bit surprised.

The man’s irises were dark, nearly black, and they didn’t stray from your face. You forgot how to breathe, feeling distinctly like a rabbit trapped in a fox den as your heartbeat hammered against your ribs. He spared you after a few seconds of paralyzing eye-contact and turned his petrifying gaze back to Jackson’s neck. You recoiled, slipping back to your spot around the wall, and pressed your back against the bricks until the sound of your heartbeat wasn’t so loud in your ears.

When you found the courage to look down the hall again, the man was gone, and Jackson was bleeding from the back of his neck. There were four distinct punctures along his cervical spine, trickling crimson droplets onto the stark white collar of his polo. The gouges were small, almost like…nail marks. Baffling. This town was fuckin’ baffling.

You poured over the incident all day, barely conscious enough to take down notes and roll your eyes at Stiles’s badgering and bad jokes. You’d never been more ready for the final bell to ring, not even during sex education with the extraordinarily sweaty Mr. Peterson.

You twisted your pendant around its onyx chain as you walked out of your last period, winding and unwinding the charm over and over again as you mulled over your thoughts. Scott didn’t seem like he was on drugs. You didn’t exactly know him, but he was the least aggressive person you’d ever met, and he had to be eternally patient if Stiles was his best friend. You spun the medallion again and shouldered your way through the cramped halls to the parking lot, scolding yourself. What Scott McCall did or did not inject into his bloodstream wasn’t any of your business…even if his alleged dealer looked like he was on death’s door and had a habit of throwing teenage boys around when he got mad.

You’d just convinced yourself that you didn’t care what happened to Stiles’s best friend when a discord of honking stopped you in your tracks. You flitted your gaze around the parking lot, searching for the cause of obnoxiously loud cacophony; your shoulders wilted along with your resolve when you spotted the guilty party. The man from the hallway was sprawled on the asphalt, and Scott and Stiles were scrambling to help him off of the ground.

Your feet reluctantly trudged towards the peculiar trio, arms tightly folded over your cropped sweater. You would’ve laughed at how wide Stiles’s eye stretched when he finally noticed your presence, but you were a little preoccupied with the fact that he was currently trying to stuff a ghoulish grown man into his front seat. You watched him struggle to hold up approximately 200 pounds of solid muscle with his spindly arms, absentmindedly lamenting that you couldn’t truly appreciate the humor of the situation. “Hey,” you slanted your head and searched Stiles’s face for any sign of an SOS signal, “you good?”

“Ayup,” Stiles nodded emphatically, and Scott shot you a weak thumbs-up from his squat next to his tipped-over bike.

You looked between the two of them, waiting for the truth to crack through the awkward pretense, and narrowed your eyes, “You sure?”

“We’re good,” the man barked from inside the jeep, teeth bared. It was a little less intimidating now that he was slumped over and at the mercy of a sixteen-year-old with a dork complex, but you still flinched. You couldn’t help it. It was a small twitch, but Scott still managed to track the minute movement from his low perch. He glared at the man, shockingly firm for such a sweet-faced boy, until the stranger stopped scowling at you. Mr. Sour Face turned his head towards the window and stared intensely at the hazy tree line over the hill. Your fingers relaxed. You hadn’t even realized that you’d dug your nails in your palms until the stinging stopped.

Scott jumped to his feet and pulled his bike up by the handles, rushing through his weak explanation, “Stiles is just…doing me a favor. Derek needs a ride, and all I’ve got is my bike.”

Letting out a flimsy snort, your brow pinched, “So…he walked here?”

“Uh,” Scott squinted, and Stiles nodded behind him, “yeah?”

You pursed your lips, ignoring all the students who’d started shouting over the beeping horns, and watched Derek grit his teeth and clench his fists through the dashboard window. You looked back at Stiles and chewed on your lip. Stiles was taller than you, but he was on the scrawnier side of lean and wouldn’t stand a chance against a man of Derek’s size—even if he was barely clinging to the rapidly fraying threads of consciousness. “I could use a ride to work,” you pulled the backseat door open before you could talk yourself out of it.

Stiles lurched towards you and slammed the door shut, narrowly avoiding your fingers, “Normally, I would seize any opportunity to have you further indebted to me, but—that’s Lydia Martin.” His eyes bulged out of his head, and he leaned against his jeep, slipping down the blue frame as his legs went boneless, “Walking towards me. Cool. Cool, cool, cool.”

The prospect of riding in the same car with Mr. Resting Bitchface was being more appealing by the second. Lydia didn’t even look in Stiles’s direction. Her cutting green eyes were fixed on you and you alone. “Are you an idiot?” Lydia snatched your wrist, mauve manicure digging into the delicate skin on the inside of your wrist, and yanked you back to the sidewalk.

“What?” you went brainless for a moment, taking in all the glory of an enraged Lydia Martin.

Lydia’s cheeks were flushed pink from anger and adrenaline, “Or just suicidal?”

The shock had worn off. Now, you were thoroughly pissed, “What?”

Lydia’s eyebrows, perfectly tapered and freshly threaded, knitted together until she was in danger of developing a unibrow, “Do you have any idea who you were about to get in a car with?”

Your eyes flicked to the side, and it took gargantuan strength not to roll them too. “Stiles?”

“What the hell is a Stiles?” Lydia’s riptide of fury gave way to confusion, but her soft features sharpened abruptly when she returned her attention to your scowl, “I meant Derek Hale. Obviously.”

Your hip cocked to the side as you crossed your arms, “And?”

“And he’s a murder suspect,” Lydia’s lips curled into a vehement sneer. It was so strange to finally see it first-hand. Lydia had such a sweet face, cherub cheeks and doe eyes—a clever smile. She hadn’t quite mastered disdain when you were friends; the ice queen routine wasn’t performance ready until you’d drifted apart. It was an awful face, you decided; it completely erased the last few pieces of the Lydia you knew.

“In an animal attack,” you muttered under your breath.

Evidently, it had been a long time since someone dared to disagree with the Lydia Martin because she was struck speechless. It didn’t last for long, but it was still satisfying. “He’s dangerous,” Lydia hissed. “He went completely off the deep end after his family died. Seriously, his life is like a textbook precursor to violent behavior; he’s a profiler’s wet dream.”

“Because his family died,” you repeated. The numbness eroded some of the snark in your voice.

Lydia either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the glaze creeping over your eyes. She continued, barbarous and unashamed, “Because he watched them turn into charcoal, and his sister was just ripped in half. At best, he’s unstable—but his little hobby of trolling for minors is a bit of a red flag, don’t you think?”

“Charcoal,” you spoke—more of an echo really with its resonating hollowness. Your eyes were on Lydia’s face, but your mind was somewhere far away. A lifetime ago, with the ashes of everything you once knew.

Lydia’s eyes went wide, and her mouth gaped into a perfect little ‘o.’ Her dainty fingers twitched by her sides, and then she smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles in her flouncy mini-skirt. “Most of his family died in a fire,” her voice was much softer this time, a bit of tenderness accidentally rooting through the cracks in her veneer. Lydia looked away and gripped the thin strap of her handbag, “Accidental house fire. It was all over the news like five years ago.”

You stared at Lydia, and for the first time in the last four years, you didn’t miss her. For the first time in such a mind-numbingly long time, your anger strangled your heartache with a wrought-iron grip that felt a whole lot like hate. It was always going to be like this, you realized. You would just have to walk around with all these what-ifs, if-onlys, and what-really-happeneds needling your heart with every thud—always. You had to learn to live with this: knowing that Lydia was never going to apologize and that there would be no closure. Ever.

“Right.” You laughed, shark-like, with your canines on display. You hoped it would make all your constants sharper. “So he’s gotta be a lunatic now.”

“Y/N…” It was surreal to hear your name out of Lydia’s mouth after so long. You didn’t know if you liked it, and, currently, you didn’t even know if you cared. Lydia chewed off what was left of her nude lipstick and then squared her shoulders, “So we’re just going to pretend that he wasn’t completely strung-out and totally embracing the heroin-chic aesthetic?”

You slanted your head a bit and then let out another serrated laugh. There wasn’t any point in having it out, you decided, because Lydia didn’t care. She got to move on and erase your entire existence—live her perfect, popular girl life without all this suffocating quicksand binding her to the past. Must be nice, you thought venomously, souring your tongue, stinging your eyes. Showers were probably just showers for Lydia. She didn’t singe her skin until the water went cold, imagining what she’d do, what she’d say—how she’d hurt her back. Must be so fucking nice.

“Lydia, I really don’t think you really want to get into all the things we’re pretending,” your voice was tight, strangled at the ends. You would not cry. You could not cry. Lydia sensed weakness like blood in the water, and you refused to give her the satisfaction.

“Fine,” Lydia’s curls spilled down her back like strawberry wine as she pivoted in her designer heels, “ride off into the sunset with a 'roid-raging creep. Don’t act surprised when you turn up dead in a crack den.”

Truthfully, Lydia had a point, but at this moment being contrary seemed far more important than being right. “It’s kind of difficult to act like anything when you’re dead,” you called, eyes zeroed-in on the back of her head as she slid into Jackson’s Porsche with a sensual grace you would never possess. Lydia was too far away to hear your retort, but you felt a little less like punching something after you said it.

You didn’t notice that Stiles and Scott were gone until the threat of bitter tears stopped burning your sinuses. The last thing you needed was to cry like this upset you, even if the only nearby witness left on the vacant sidewalk was yourself. You scoured the parking lot for even a flash of powder blue, but the jeep was nowhere to be seen. Probably long gone by now—your spat with Lydia must have taken longer than you thought. It was certainly louder than you meant it to be. Little clusters of ambling students were looking at you a little too long to be casual, and the indiscreet whispering once they turned back to their friends forced your legs forward.

You didn’t know where you were going when you started your car, but far, far away sounded pretty damn good.

#here's the update i promised pls forgive the lateness i am Ashamed and So Sorry #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinksi fanfiction #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinski x you #dylan o'brien imagine #stiles stilinski #teen wolf fanfiction #stiles stilinski x reader

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bicarbonate-blues · 5 months ago

Text

Heatless Flame

Stardew Valley- Sebastian x Female!Farmer

Summary: Sebastian coming to the farm asking if you have any herbs to help with the rock crab wound he got in the caves and you help patch him up. He's silly goofy in love with the you. Fluff

notes: I'll typically try to do a gender neutral farmer but I'll specify when that isn't the case like with this fic. I use Y/N in this fic.

Tag: @victorylr

The ticking of the clock was far too loud as Sebastian lay in bed, eyes wide and locked onto the ceiling. His hands were folded on his chest but his fingers twitched with frustration and impatience. His skin was crawling as he tried his best to lay still and fall into sleep but it wouldn't take him and he knew that he'd have to get up and do something before his unsettled bones could rest.

That day had been nothing short of miserable. Work had been tedious, boring, and a general waste of time if it weren't for the paycheck. He'd gone upstairs to grab some lunch and instead had retreated right back down the stairs when he'd heard Demetrius and his mom start to bicker at one another. That had been a can of worms he hadn't felt like opening over a reheated slice of pizza. Everyone knew he'd pick his mom's side for whatever asinine thing they were at odds with and Demetrius would give him the stink eye like he shouldn't have been born. A regular Tuesday, really.

Since then he had remained in his room. Normally he wouldn't regret the reclusive day he had made for himself but as the clock ticked further into the night he was dying to do something fun. If it weren't for the brakes on his bike needing maintenance, he'd already be halfway to Zuzu City. Finally, his eyes locked onto a frozen tear that the farmer had gifted him last week for his birthday.

The frozen tear sparked an idea in his mind and off he went, tugging a beanie over his head and tugging on his favorite boots before he left his bedroom. He did his best to be quiet while he searched the dark garage for a leftover pick axe and a flashlight, courtesy of his mother. Snow crunching underfoot, he made his way to the haphazard wooden plank that pretended to be a bridge to the right of his home and he crossed it. It wobbled slightly, his stomach doing flips, and he wondered how it hadn't broken beneath the weight of the horse you rode across it every couple days.

Flashlight at the ready he walked to the back of the mine to where the elevator was poorly lit, like a beacon saving him from his boredom.

Pressing the button going down, Sebastian took a steadying breath. Immediately the metal doors slid open for him, with a slight groan and a loud creak. The impatience flooding his veins was gone now, replaced with excitement. Before the doors slid shut he wondered if he could find something pretty to gift you in return for your gift to him.

About five levels down and a backpack full of odd stones he found pleasant to the eye, Sebastian was wondering how in the hell you spent the entire week running back and forth to the mine. Not that he ever could truly complain about you stopping to say hello while he was out for his nightly smoke. You would wrinkle your nose if the wind blew towards you but never in disgust or judgment at his habit, however negative he knew it to be.

It was a secret he kept locked inside his heart but those were his favorite nights. Standing beside you at the lake while you recounted your day's events to him. The glow ring you had lit up the space around your hands as you waved them in the air happily. You were so full of life that it ran over your edges, seeping into him and filling him with a new vigor to do something. Those dreams of escaping to Zuzu City permanently once he had the means seemed so much smaller after meeting you. Without knowing it, you had given him so much, and he'd be damned if he didn't try and repay the effort.

Resettling his bag on his shoulders he climbed down the next ladder he had found. It had been nestled at the end of a long cave, right beside a line of tracks that led to a mine cart full of coal. He had pocketed some, maybe you could use it or Clint could buy it off him.

Nearly immediately after dropping into the cave he saw a curious looking stone that reflected back the beam from his flashlight in oranges and yellows. The cave seemed to glitter, like a heatless flame and he knew immediately that he needed to get this for you. The grin he was imagining you'd have was so brilliant he nearly stopped breathing. I might actually die if she smiles at me for real... He thought in passing as he took to working the stone. What was it?

Sebastian searched his head for thoughts that didn't scream you, you, you. It was hard when you had come to consume him. With a smile he pocketed the stone, the topaz. That's what it is, Topaz. The way the topaz had lit the room up reminded Sebastian of the way your glow ring sparkled off of your eyes when you shared your late night talks.

You were his heatless flame. Never there to hurt him or leave him burned or scarred, but always there to warm him and fill him with a new life he hadn't had since it was just him and his mom, playing pool every Friday even if he hadn't been quite as tall as the table.

In his reverie, Sebastian had lost some of the caution he had practiced the first few levels of the mines. He had cut through slimes and avoided any bug he came across but now he was tripping over a larger than average rock and that rock was beginning to crawl at him.

"Shit!" Sebastian muttered, scrambling back on his hands with his eyes locked onto what he knew now to be a rock crab. They were quicker than he thought and it got it's pincer around his calf before he could mutter another curse. He jerked away from it in panic but all that accomplished was the rock crab strengthening it's grip. The hard edges pulled at his skin and he winced before grabbing the damn thing and ripping it away from his calf.

His heart pounded forcefully in his chest and his head swam momentarily before the rushing in his ears calmed down. The terrible rip of his skin had filled him with adrenaline and he used it to pat his pockets and reassure himself your topaz was tucked safely away before bolting to the ladder and then to the elevator. Sebastian had gotten what he had come for and maybe a little more than he had bargained for.

Once Sebastian was safely out of the mines he sat heavily down onto the snow just outside the entrance. With heaving lungs, he let the chill of the snow seep into his scraped hands and dampen the legs of his pants. The cold was grounding, calming. His calf gave a painful twinge and he snuck a glance at the offending wound. Blood dyed the snow beneath him scarlet but the flow was not fast nor terribly bothersome. There was an ache that wouldn't go away and he knew he should get it tended to but Harvey was long asleep and he wasn't about to face his mother's wrath or invasive questions.

Robin's anger wouldn't be half as frightful if he told the truth but then she'd look at him with searching eyes and say, "The farmer, huh?, like it wasn't obvious that he had fallen for her this last flower dance when she had danced with Alex of all the people in town. She had danced with the man who shared the least in common with him. Did that mean something?

His heart gave a sharp tug almost as painful as the rock crab wound. Sebastian knew damn well Alex had invited you to dance just to catch Haley's eye, but you had said yes. You were more than arm candy and he had spent the next week in the worst mood wondering why. It wasn't until he saw you again that that feeling had eased and then he'd been faced with the knowledge of having fallen in love.

You had just shrugged when he'd asked how the dance had been with Alex. A sly smile played at your lips when you'd then asked, "How was dancing with Abigail?", like you knew something he didn't. Like you knew Abby was a childhood friend he tried to put distance from as often as possible and had since become a placeholder for inconveniences such as the annual dance. Like you knew he was wishing for her to be you.

Shuffling around on the snow when his hands began to sting with the cold, he realized that he needed to get up and care for his wound. He could walk on it well enough so he hobbled even more cautiously this time over the wooden bridge and back into his garage. Eyes peeled and flashlight at the ready he searched for where his mom kept her first aid kit for when she worked. Spotting it on Demetrius' workbench, he opened up only to be filled with disappointment. Sebastian's wonderful, loving, intelligent mother had not restocked the first aid kit in Yoba only knows how long.

Where would he even-?

Sebastian's thought was cut off with your name, as much of his thoughts were. You were always around town with bandaged fingers and poultices to offer to Evelyn for sore hips or to Vincent for scraped knees. You would have something to help.

He supposed it was wishful thinking that you would answer the door, and the walk to the farm wouldn't be delightful this time of night let alone with a bum leg but Sebastian pictured your smile once more and that heatless flame you gave off warmed him just enough to spur him to action.

Sebastian's head swam uncomfortably as he took the route to your farm but he used what adrenaline he had left in him to carry him all the way to your porch. Thankfully, torches lit the way and he didn't stumble or otherwise agitate his calf. Knocking on the door one, two, three times he let his fist fall before settling into the rocking chair you had set up for when George came to see you.

You had confided in him once that George enjoyed watching you work and was comfortable with letting you help him into the rocking chair. It reminded him of his childhood and Sebastian thought it was so sweet he could fall apart. He chuckled for a moment, even if Alex wasn't interested, he was sure that George hoped you would take a liking to his grandson just so he could claim you as family.

"Y/N!" He called, not too loud but none too gently either. He'd be thrilled to get something to fix the damn ache in his leg and close up the wound but if you were sleeping there was a part of him that wanted you to keep on dreaming. Your welfare mattered greatly to him, nearly over his own. He let his eyes close for a moment. Maybe it'd be alright if he just rested here for a second and then he could be on his way. He'd see Harvey tomorrow.

"Sebastian! What happened?" You gasped, jolting Sebastian back to reality. You held three jars of mayonnaise in your hands and at the sight of him you dropped all of them.

His throat was suddenly dry at the sight of you.

"Y/N, I-"

"Inside, right now," Your scolded but your voice was still so warm and even as your eyebrows knit together in confusion he could see the concern in those gorgeous eyes while they traced down his figure to the tattered jeans and blood on his leg.

Sebastian pushed himself up from the rocker and nearly giggled when your hand pressed firmly against his back. If he thought hard enough he could imagine your hard-earned callouses against his spine and he suppressed a shiver. Maybe he had bled a bit more than he'd thought.

You pulled a chair out from a table, your farmhouse being much larger than when he had last visited. Rather than the single room your first year, you now boasted a kitchen, three upper level rooms, a cellar and basement. You put his mom to good work and good work she had achieved.

And here he was, getting blood on the hardwood.

"Sit and speak," You demanded and Sebastian fixed his eyes onto yours. You were already shuffling around in one of your cabinets, retrieving an armful of supplies. He knew you'd have just what he needed.

"Got bored. Went to the mines and didn't see a rock crab."

Sebastian nearly rolled his eyes. He didn't mean to sound so....apathetic. He had spent so long playing it cool that he didn't know how to take himself out of it even when internally he was aching to shower you with gifts, affirmations, and if he was lucky enough, affection.

The pinched look of your face didn't exactly disappear but it eased some as you knelt before him, eyes wide and perfect as they took him in. He always felt exposed around you and at first it had made him uncomfortable. He had tried pushing you away because of it, but now he relished the feeling of being seen.

"My, my, Seb," You scolded against, this time warmly and without the nervous energy you'd had before when you hadn't known what was wrong with him. His heart leapt jerkily at the words you spoke. Yes, yours, all yours actually just ask me-

"It was dark," He mumbled, cheeks bright pink from the cold and something more.

"Typically in an unlit mine, things are dark," You agreed playfully, hands carefully but steadily rolling up the torn leg of his jeans. He really had liked him but he couldn't find it in him right now to mind the loss with your fingers prodding gently at his skin.

"Oh shut it," Sebastian laughed but the last thing he wanted was for you to stop speaking. Regrettably, you grew silent for a moment but he knew it was in concentration as you took a wet rag and wiped the blood and dirt away from the edges of his wound. So careful not to hurt him. Always so careful.

"Does it hurt?" You whispered, tilting your chin up at him. Sebastian drank up your appearance, the light from the fireplace casting gentle shadows against the side of your face. You were kneeling before him, hands carefully prodding at his leg and lips stuck out in a pout. He wanted run his fingers through your hair and pull you to him.

"Nothing hurts right now," He said a bit too honestly, not having time to question the words before they were out. You looked alarmed for a second, hand coming to press against his forehead.

"Don't joke so much, you sound like you're dying and meeting Yoba,"

"Oh yeah, because a scrape from a rock crab would-"

"Stop being sassy Seb, let me clean you up."

Sebastian couldn't help the dumbfounded grin that surfaced. There was something about the way you commanded the room, commanded him, that left him weak in the knees with no defenses.

You hummed softly, even when you applied alcohol to sanitize the wound and he hissed, jerking roughly away from you. You had gripped his thigh to keep him from moving too much and he stilled the second you squeezed. He stopped moving, let alone breathing, after that. Soon you were securing his calf with a bandage and looking at him with a satisfied but curious smile.

"You know, you're lucky I forgot to get the mayo from the coop earlier or I would've been in bed and you would've bled out on my porch,"

"I thought you might be awake," Sebastian answered honestly.

"Your mom could've helped,"

"Her first aid kit was empty,"

"Harvey-"

"Sleeping, and I wanted to give you something anyways,"

That look like you knew something he didn't played at your features again and his stomach did a somersault. To get away from the dizzy feeling you were giving him, he stood up and walked almost normally to his bag that had been left by the door.

"You didn't have to get me anything,"

You said it airily, with no real conviction. He knew you liked presents just like everyone else in town except you didn't receive them nearly half as often as you gave them out. For god's sake Pierre gave you seven potato seeds at the feast of the winter star last year. Sebastian was praying Lewis would let him be your secret gifter this year.

He pulled out the Topaz and extended it, eyes darting to the ceiling but then dropping back down to you. No matter how vulnerable he felt right now, in your home in the middle of the night, he wanted to see you light up at the sight of your present.

It was only when you held the topaz in your hands and looked at it oddly he thought you must have gathered plenty for yourself and he felt momentary regret. What could he give you that you didn't already have?

Taking two steps closer, you raised your chin and he noticed with shock that your eyes had grown glossy with tears.

"How did you know I love topaz?"

Sebastian couldn't help but let out an abrupt chuckle. "I honestly didn't, but it reminded me of your glow ring when you leave the mines and we talk and so I couldn't help but-"

You had put an end to his rambling by throwing your arms around his waist, topaz still held protectively in one of your hands as you tightened your arms around him and snuggled your head against his chest.

The air had definitely left him, never to return, and he was in fact going to die on your floor.

"Y/N..." Sebastian had nothing to say but he felt compelled to speak your name. The way it sounded off of his lips felt like finding a missing puzzle piece.

"Sebastian," You whispered in response, not releasing him from the hug.

"Y/N," Sebastian teasing said back. You huffed in amusement and began to pull away, thinking the moment was over but Sebastian kept you in his arms and you stopped trying to move away when he didn't let go. You stilled even further when he brushed a barely-there kiss to the crown of your head as if possessed by the need to feel your hair against his lips.

"Thank you for helping me, I'm sorry it's late,"

"Thank you for giving me a gift, I'm sorry it's late,"

He rolled his eyes at your parroted words but held you closer. He couldn't feel the cool wetness from his snowy pants or the ache in his calf nor the sting in his palms anymore. His heatless flame with her healing touch had removed all of his ailments.

Sometime later, after you had got him a towel and a warm cup of coffee to sip at while you talked on the couch, you let your head fall onto his shoulder and rest there. Even longer after that, the sun had come up and you had begun your work for the day with the promise to take a nap, Sebastian was on his way home with a skip in his step and warmth in his chest (and two new jars of mayonnaise in his pack).

Maybe you did know something he didn't know but maybe he was starting to see that his feelings for you weren't so different from how you felt about him.

#sdv sebastian x farmer #stardew valley #stardew valley 1.6 #sdv sebastian #sebastian x farmer #poll winner!#fluff #sorry this took me a bit longer! I wasn't satisfied with it at first

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nayziiz · 7 months ago

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Speed | CS55

Summary: In a chance encounter at a gas station, a mysterious woman on a Yamaha YZF R6 catches the attention of Carlos, a charming Ferrari driver. Little did they know the journey they would both go on.

Warning: Smut, fluff

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x OC (Lola)

Masterlist

Chapter 6

As Lola stood in the dimly lit garage, the memories of their journey back home seemed hazy and distant, lost in the whirlwind of emotions that had consumed her from the moment they arrived. She couldn't recall the details of their ride back or how they had ended up in the garage, but one thing was clear: she loved every moment of it.

The rush of adrenaline still coursing through her veins, Lola felt a sense of exhilaration as Carlos pressed her against the shelves, his lips meeting hers with a fervour that set her heart ablaze. In that moment, all thoughts of restraint and caution melted away, replaced by an overwhelming desire to lose herself in the passion of the moment.

Their kisses were hungry and urgent, fueled by a raw intensity that left Lola breathless with anticipation. She tangled her fingers in Carlos's hair, pulling him closer as she surrendered to the heady rush of desire that coursed through her veins.

Time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in each other, their bodies moving in perfect harmony.

With the lingering taste of passion still on their lips, Lola broke the kiss and intertwined her fingers with Carlos's, a silent invitation passing between them. Without a word, she led him through the familiar halls of her house, the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the windows casting a gentle glow over their path.

As they ascended the staircase to the first floor, Lola's heart raced with anticipation, her pulse quickening with each step they took. In the quiet stillness of the night, the air was charged with electricity, every touch and glance between them sparking a fire that burned hot and bright.

Finally, they reached Lola's bedroom, the door standing open like a beacon of possibility. With a small smile, Lola stepped inside, pulling Carlos along behind her. The room was bathed in darkness, the only light coming from the soft glow of the moon peeking through the curtains.

In the quiet intimacy of the space, Lola turned to face Carlos, her eyes shining with desire as she reached out to trace the contours of his face. Without a word, she drew him closer, her lips meeting his in a tender kiss that spoke volumes of the passion that burned between them.

Despite Lola's usual cautious nature, there was something undeniably alluring about Carlos that stirred a fire within her. His charm, his passion, his genuine warmth—it was as if he had cast a spell over her, drawing her in with an irresistible magnetism that she found impossible to resist.

And Carlos, too, was not one to easily succumb to the allure of physical intimacy. He was a man of honour and integrity, a man who valued connection and intimacy above all else. But there was something about Lola that captivated him from the moment they met, something that stirred a longing deep within him that he could not ignore.

As they stood together in the quiet intimacy of Lola's bedroom, their hearts pounding with desire, they both knew that this moment was different. It was not just about physical attraction or fleeting passion—it was about connection, about the deep and profound bond that had formed between them in such a short amount of time.

With a shared glance and a silent understanding, Lola and Carlos surrendered to the irresistible pull of their desire, their bodies moving together in a dance of passion and longing. In that moment, there were no doubts or fears, no hesitations or reservations.

With a tender touch, Carlos guided Lola to the bed, his movements gentle and reverent as he laid her down with care. As she settled onto the soft mattress, he hovered over her, his eyes filled with adoration as he brushed a stray lock of hair from her face.

Leaning down, Carlos pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her lips, his touch gentle yet passionate. There was a tenderness in his actions, a deep sense of affection and respect that spoke volumes of his feelings for her.

As their lips parted, Carlos's gaze lingered on Lola's rose-tinted face. With a soft smile, he reached down to help her remove her boots, his touch light and careful as he untied the laces and slipped them off her feet.

With a determined resolve, Carlos knew he needed to take his time. This moment was not just about physical pleasure; it was about savouring every precious second with Lola, about exploring the depths of their connection and revelling in the beauty of their shared intimacy.

As Lola rested on her elbows, her eyes fixed on him with a mixture of desire and anticipation, Carlos felt a surge of warmth flood his chest. With each step he took towards her, he felt the weight of responsibility and reverence for the moment they were about to share.

Gently, he pulled Lola's shirt over her head, his fingers moving with deliberate care as he revealed the soft curves of her body beneath the fabric. He revelled in the sight of her, his heart swelling with admiration for the woman before him.

As he slid the shirt from her arms, Carlos couldn't help but marvel at the sight of her, her skin glowing in the soft light of the room. With each article of clothing he removed, he felt himself falling deeper and deeper under her spell, his desire for her burning hotter with each passing moment.

With a tender touch, he reached for the button of her jeans, his fingers lingering over the fabric as he savoured the moment. Slowly, he began to slide the article of clothing down her legs, his movements careful and deliberate as he revealed the beauty of her body to him.

In that moment, as he stood before her, Lola laid bare and vulnerable beneath his gaze, Carlos felt a sense of awe wash over him.

With a tender gaze, Carlos hovered over Lola, his weight supported on his forearm as he drank in the sight of her beneath him. The soft glow of the moonlight bathed her in an ethereal radiance, casting a halo around her that made her look like a goddess.

Leaning down, Carlos pressed his lips to hers once more, the kiss tender and sweet as he poured his desire into each caress. His heart swelled with affection as he felt the warmth of her hands trailing up his sides, sending shivers of pleasure down his spine.

As Lola's hands found their way into his hair, Carlos felt a surge of electricity shoot through him, igniting a fire in his veins that burned hotter with each passing moment. With a soft groan of pleasure, he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against hers with a hunger that mirrored her own.

Feeling the delicious anticipation building between them, Lola began to unbutton his shirt with deliberate slowness, her movements tantalising and teasing as she revealed the strong lines of his chest beneath the fabric. With each button undone, Carlos felt a jolt of desire shoot through him, his breath catching in his throat as he surrendered to the intoxicating pleasure of her touch.

As Lola's fingers danced over his skin, Carlos let out a low growl of satisfaction, his hands moving to caress her body with a reverence that bordered on worship. With a sense of urgency tinged with reverence, Carlos perched himself up on his knees, his gaze locked on Lola with a hunger that mirrored her own. As she reached for his belt, her fingers trembled with anticipation.

With trembling hands, Lola helped him unbuckle his belt, her touch sending sparks of electricity shooting through him as she slowly loosened the fabric that held his chinos in place. With a soft groan of pleasure, Carlos leaned into her touch, his heart pounding in his chest as he surrendered himself completely to the intoxicating pleasure of her touch.

As the chinos fell from his hips, pooling at his feet, Carlos felt a rush of heat flood through him, his skin flushed with desire as he stood before her completely exposed. With a hungry gaze, Lola drank in the sight of him, her eyes roaming over his body with a hunger that matched his own.

With a hunger that could not be quenched, Carlos pulled Lola against him, their bodies melding together in a tangle of limbs and desire as they sank to their knees. Skin-to-skin, they pressed against each other, their hearts beating in perfect synchrony as they surrendered themselves completely to the intoxicating pleasure of their love.

With tender care, Carlos gently laid Lola back on the soft sheets, his movements slow and deliberate as he traced delicate kisses across her body. With each caress of his lips, Lola felt a wave of pleasure wash over her, her fingers tangling in his jet black hair as she surrendered herself completely to the sweet ecstasy of his touch.

With feather-light kisses, Carlos trailed his lips along the curve of Lola's neck, his breath warm against her skin as he revelled in the intoxicating scent of her. With each tender press of his lips, he elicited soft sighs of pleasure from her lips, sending shivers of delight coursing through her veins. Moving lower, Carlos pressed his lips to Lola's collarbone, his touch gentle and reverent as he worshipped every inch of her.

Carlos released himself from his briefs and pushed aside Lola's panties. There were no words, no thoughts—only the overwhelming rush of passion and longing that consumed them completely. Their bodies moved together in perfect harmony, each touch and caress sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through them. With each kiss, each stroke, they surrendered themselves to the sweet ecstasy, lost in a haze of lust and desire that left them breathless.

With their fingers intertwined, Carlos and Lola moved together in perfect synchrony, their bodies entwined in a passionate embrace that sent waves of pleasure crashing over them. With each thrust, Carlos felt a surge of ecstasy coursing through him, his breath catching in his throat as he lost himself in the intoxicating rhythm of their lovemaking.

Lola's eyes were shut, a blissful smile playing at the corners of her lips as she surrendered herself completely to the overwhelming pleasure that consumed her. Her hips moved in perfect harmony with Carlos's, matching his every stroke with a hunger and passion that left them both gasping for breath.

And as they finally succumbed to the sweet release of their passion, their cries of ecstasy echoing through the room, they knew that they had found something truly special.

After their bodies were spent from the intensity of their lovemaking, Carlos didn't leave. Instead, he collapsed beside Lola, pulling her into his warm embrace as they lay entwined in each other's arms. With a contented sigh, Lola nestled against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder as they drifted off to sleep together.

In the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the window, they lay wrapped in each other's warmth, the rhythmic rise and fall of their chests synchronised in perfect harmony. With each breath, they seemed to draw closer together, as if their souls were merging into one.

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

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos @notyouraveragemochii @heyheyheyggg

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slytherheign · 1 year ago

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CHAMPAGNE PROBLEMS | daniel ricciardo

PART 4/4 OF BROKEN GLASS AND HONEY SERIES.

CAN ALSO BE READ AS A ONE-SHOT.

PAIRINGS: ex!daniel ricciardo x fem!reader, max verstappen x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 2.1k

SUMMARY: sometimes you just don’t know the answer until someone’s on their knees and asks you.

WARNINGS: rejection, false hope, infatuation, feelings of hurt and overwhelming pain. let me know if i missed any warnings. [⚠︎︎RATING: 16+]

AUTHOR’S NOTE: inspired by taylor swift’s song with the same title. we have reached the end of the series! sorry if i hurt some of you emotionally. btw, there are a lot of references to the previous parts in this.

DESTINATION: Angst Avenue | GO TO SERIES MASTERLIST or GO BACK TO THE STATION.

Rejection.

A word that carried so much weight in matters of the heart. It hit him with a force he never saw coming, leaving him breathless, bewildered, and questioning every decision he had made.

The pain of rejection cut deep, undermining the confidence he once had, and casting shadows over the hopes and dreams he dared to envision.

Rejected.

Rejected from McLaren.

Rejected from a Red Bull seat.

And now, he was rejected once again.

In an instant, his world felt shattered, and he questioned just how worthy he truly was of love and affection.

He poured his heart out, baring his soul in that vulnerable moment when he knelt on one knee. He thought you had shared something meaningful, a connection that was genuine and real.

He thought it would be enough.

Daniel’s car traveled home with one less person inside that night. But even if he was already in his garage, he refused to step out of his car. He stayed so he could sit there in his hurt.

He gripped the steering wheel tightly, a physical manifestation of the emotional turmoil within him.

It was hard, almost impossible, not to take it personally, to wonder what could have gone wrong. Was it something he said? Something he did? Or perhaps it was simply a matter of timing and circumstance, beyond his control.

He ran his hand through his hair, his face reflecting a mixture of frustration and resignation.

He could say that he longed for clarity, a glimpse into your thoughts and reasons, but that would be a lie. Because in all honesty, he kind of saw it coming.

He wasn’t sure what was worse, the fact that you picked Max or the fact that there was a part of him that always knew you would pick Max.

Why did he even try?

Oh, right.

Hope.

Because of hope.

He tried because you showed him hope.

You showed him hope—a glimmer of light that he hadn't seen in ages. Life had become monotonous, blending into an array of muted gray, until you came along. Your entry into his life was like a vibrant burst of color, injecting new life into his weary soul. He dared to hope, to believe that he had found something extraordinary.

It was a peculiar feeling. To be caught between longing and despair, to have his heart both soar and shatter within the same breath. The intoxicating aura of love was both a beacon of hope and a cruel illusion, and he found himself entangled in that painful paradox.

With a final deep breath, he left his car, ready to face his family who were staying in his home just for this special night. He told his family for a reason, he just couldn’t keep it in.

But now he wished he didn’t.

Cheer and applause were what met him when he entered the door. His family had huge smiles plastered on their faces, clearly excited about the news they were expecting.

Until it stopped.

It all stopped when his lips trembled, trying to fake a smile.

It all stopped when they saw the tears on his face.

They didn’t even need to ask what happened. They already knew.

His sister splashed out the bottle of Dom Perignon, but no one was celebrating.

"She would've made such a lovely bride. What a shame she's fucked in the head," his father said. His mom’s ring was still in his pocket, and your picture was still in his wallet. But love…

Love slipped beyond his reaches.

There was nothing to celebrate.

Max was walking you home, still holding the umbrella to protect you from the rain. Neither of you spoke and neither of you really cared. Max knew, from the way your lips shook, eyes cried, and the whimpers that left your mouth, that you did not want to speak at that moment. He respected and understood that.

He was more understanding now than he was before.

You were speechless. Your mouth could not utter a single word, but your mind made up for it by clouding itself with overwhelming thoughts.

You remembered that one night when fate played a part in your first meeting with Daniel.

That night, he asked you to dance and you refused. You refused because you knew he was asking you to dance to a song of love and new beginnings.

But after a single conversation, it was you who asked him if he was still willing to dance.

You always knew that dancing was a dangerous game. But that night, you started it when you offered your hand to Daniel.

The dance continued.

But now, you dropped his dance while dancing. Left him out there, crestfallen on the landing with your champagne problems.

One for the money.

Two for the show.

You never were ready.

So, you let him go.

And you left him alone.

You just didn’t know the answer until he was already on his knees and asked you.

You couldn’t even give him a reason.

His proposal should have brought you joy, excitement, and a feeling of being cherished. But instead, you had found yourself struggling, torn between the present and the ghosts of your past.

The same exact past that was walking beside you right now.

It was not that Daniel wasn't kind or loving, he truly was. He possessed all the qualities one could desire in a partner. But your heart lingered elsewhere.

There was someone before him. Someone who awoken a flame within you, a love so fierce and profound that it felt like it could withstand anything. And then, life happened, you drifted apart, and your paths diverged towards separate horizons.

But even as the seasons changed, and new opportunities came knocking at your door, that love never truly left you. It remained etched in the deepest recesses of your being, an indelible mark upon your soul.

Accepting his proposal would have been a betrayal, not only to him, but to yourself as well. It was a painful decision to make, but you owed it to yourself and to him, to be honest and not settle for anything less than a love that was pure. For one can only truly give their heart to another when they are whole themselves.

His heart was glass and you dropped it.

You didn’t even notice you reached your apartment until Max opened the door for you. He sat you down on your couch, before leaving you for a moment to heat some water and prepare a bath for you.

He went back right after, crouching in front of you so he could see your face. You were looking down, still crying. He placed a finger under your chin, moving it upwards so you could face him. And then he fixed the wet hair that covered your face, wiped your tears, and kissed your forehead.

The heart wants what it wants, and yours was still beating in an unbreakable rhythm alongside the person in front of you—Max.

You suddenly recalled what Daniel told you before, when he told you an advice his father gave him and then he explained it.

“Time matters, yes. But the length is subjective. Love is not supposed to be a competition where time is the sole judge. Sometimes, longer doesn’t mean healthier, and shorter doesn’t make it insincere or artificial.”

He said that love was not supposed to be a competition. And he was not wrong about that.

It wasn’t a competition because it never was a competition in the first place.

You loved Daniel, but you were in love with Max.

It was always Max.

He poured his heart into that proposal, believing that you were the one. He had envisioned a future together with you, filled with love, laughter, and shared dreams. But perhaps fate had different plans in store for him. And though it stung him, he must pick up the pieces and keep moving forward.

His heart ached now. Those promises whispered in the darkest hours, the dreams woven with tender hands, they all shimmered with the possibility of a love that transcended boundaries. He clung to those words, as fragile as glass, praying that they would withstand the test of time.

Yet, here he was, lost in a labyrinth of broken dreams. The reality bit bitterly, gnawing at the frayed edges of his shattered heart. False hope, they called it. A cruel game of chance that you unwittingly roped him into. He knew, deep down, that you didn't do it intentionally. And that knowledge is what steeped his sorrow in a pot of bittersweet brew.

Because despite the pain that seared through his veins, he couldn't summon an ember of anger towards you. Love had a way of blinding people to the faults of those we held dearest. And so, he found himself teetering on the precipice of resentment and forgiveness, unable to fully commit to either.

It was a lonely place to be trapped in, the emotional escape room in his heart that didn't have an escape. The echoes of once-hopeful conversations reverberated through the hollow chambers of his mind, each word etching deeper into his wounded heart.

Though the pain felt overwhelming now, Daniel knew that time would heal his wounds. It may take days, weeks, or even months, but he would pick up the pieces, rebuild his shattered heart, and learn to love again.

NETHERLANDS. AUGUST 25, 2024.

Daniel was running down the paddock, planning to head to the pitlane when a curious photographer stopped him to ask a question.

“Sorry for asking this, but I think I speak for all of us,” the photographer pointed to the fans behind him who were clearly recording this exact moment. They cheered the moment Daniel looked at them and he smiled. “When I say we are all curious about what really is your relationship with Y/N?” the photographer continued.

He chuckled. “Why did you want to know that?”

“Well, she hasn’t been beside you for months and then we just saw her with Max hours ago before you came.”

He could only smile, a genuine one.

“Y/N and I are friends, really close friends like what we’ve always been.”

“Really? Some of us thought you were dating because she was seen a lot with you before,” a fan shouted.

He laughed.

They didn’t need to know.

“What? I can’t have a female friend now?” he joked.

“Now that I’m thinking about it… you never launched anything,” the photographer mentioned.

Right. Even after dating you for months, you didn’t want to be affectionate with him in public. That was another telltale sign he chose to ignore. That was the reason he decided to propose in just under 6 months of being in a relationship with you. It was because he was in a rush, he thought that if you became engaged, you would finally let him tell the world about the two of you.

Now that he thought about it, maybe what he had was just an infatuation. An infatuation so intense that it hurt like the real thing. Maybe for so long, he just wanted to feel something and you came along at the right time. He didn’t even know anymore. And he didn’t want to know. It was all in the past.

“That’s right,” Daniel nodded. “Because we have nothing to launch.”

Just as he said that, you and Max entered his view. You two were holding hands and Max was laughing at something you said.

Daniel smiled.

“Look at them,” he gestured to you and Max, the photographer and the fans looked at who he was pointing to. “Max and her are literally meant for each other.”

“I’ve never seen Max laugh like that before,” the photographer said.

“Well, Y/N is the only one who could make him laugh like that if we’re being honest,” he chuckled again. “They make a great couple, they make each other so happy. And I’m happy for them,” he said.

Love wasn't a dead-end road; it was a winding path, full of twists and turns. Rejection was a part of that journey. For deep within, beyond the realms of rejection, dwelled a longing for love that refused to extinguish. He believed there was someone out there, someone who was meant to be for him, just as you were meant to be with Max.

There was one more thing Daniel always believed in other than taking chances.

It was that everything happens for a reason.

You and Max caught his eyes. Max nodded at him, he nodded back.

If he could turn back time, he wouldn't change a thing.

He may not have found the love of his life, but he did find another best friend.

He smiled at both of you, and you returned his smile.

You both knew Daniel would find the real thing instead.

She would patch up the tapestry that you shred.

And he wouldn’t even remember all your champagne problems.

SLYTHERHEIGN TAGLIST: @writingstoraes @joshiiieeenesx

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beacongaragedoors · 5 months ago

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elphiej · 8 months ago

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Be My Light - Chapter 10: An Act of Trust

*Genre: Mafia, Angst, Slow burn, eventual smut

*Warnings: Mentions of drugs, language, anxiety

Authors Note: How has it been so long? It's been a bit of a tough time but I have returned to my happy place. I hope you enjoy this look into the Magic Shop. I copy and paste the Tag List, so for those who no longer wish to be in it, I completely understand. Please just message me and I'll remove you. For any new interested readers who would like to be apart of the Tag List, same thing. Please just be patient with me. I'm on new any depressants and will be trying my very best to keep up with this. No matter what, I will never stop this fic and I will try my best to make any wait worth it. Feel free to drop a like, comment, or anything. Also posted on AO3 under the same name, Enjoy!

Tag list: Tag list: @lolalalooo, @bangtan-sonyeonddaeng, @barbikatherine, @mrsfortune1306, @lovesick-heart0, @iamnamjoonsbxtch, @deathkat657, @deeepvibes, @sugamonster22, @weiinihao, @hemmofluke, @rainbow-zebra-unicorns, @joyfullyobsessed-blog, @elvencantation, @thefreddieman, @whateveritis616, @crewzie-chan, @wyomingphantom, @killbillv1, @kyrah-williams, @utterlynutters, @ot7jellostan, @zahraaelamira, @shesaysweirdthings, @toriluvsfics, @emu007, @zae007live

Chapter 10: An Act of Trust.

This is incredible, you found yourself repeating as you followed Taehyung through the Magic Shop.

The mansion was the prime example of the phrase ‘never judge a book by its cover’. Though, if you were being completely honest, Bangtan had shown many examples of that phrase the more you were around them. Where the outside of the Magic Shop was foreboding, broken, and cold, the inside was warm, modern, and inviting. And so well maintained. For a group of young men, the place was immaculate. You thought back to when Jin and Jungkook had cleaned your apartment on the first night and decided that you really shouldn’t be surprised. As you looked about the passing rooms, they were beautifully decorated in a modern style that really complimented everyone and the structure.

Taehyung had, first, led you down the spiral staircase under the front foyer into what you assumed were the old service areas. Now, it was an expansive garage lined with a vast variety of vehicles. You recognized the truck that Jin had driven you home in, the silver sports car that Taehyung had picked you up in that first day, and the town car that you had just been in. Heuning Kai waved at the two of you from his place by the town car, polishing it to look as new. You looked down the rows in awe. As you took in the fleet of cars, you started to understand that you had vastly underestimated how much money Bangtan must have had. But were all of these bought or were they spoils of the job? Or were some of them stolen? You were really trying not to think so poorly of your hosts, but could it really be helped?

“Nice, huh?” Taehyung crossed his arms with pride as he leaned against a very nice looking black two-door car. He nodded over towards the familiar pickup truck. “That was the first truck we bought back in the early days. We lived off of cheap ramen and stolen veggies, but it was worth it. Jin put a lot of hardware into it over the years. He stayed up a lot of nights reading mechanic books to make it work for us. Now we’re able to hire mechanics who will follow whatever design and dream he can think up to help us. Like bulletproof glass and exteriors, homing beacons, storage and seats that fold down so we can use the space for anything. They, even, have this feature that sends an alert to all of our phones if the vehicle’s ever in an accident so we can get to each other.”

“I suppose Jin thought of everything, didn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung smiled a huge boxy grin. “Jin-hyung is all about keeping us safe. He’s like the mom of our family. He’s always taken such good care of us.”

As your eyes roamed across the row of vehicles, your eyes caught sight of a sleek, black motorcycle in the farthest corner of the garage. You had always wanted to ride on one ever since one of Amber’s friends came by the hospital to show his new one off. But you had always been too scared to ask to ride along; working in the ER would do that to a person.

“Like that? That’s Jungkookie’s, He always wanted one. And Yoongi-hyung and Jiminie bought it for him as a graduation present to encourage him to finish school. He was so excited when he went to go pick it out. It’s his favorite thing. Seems like you like it too. I’m sure if you ask him, he’d take you on a ride. As long as he doesn’t combust from shyness. I’d suggest you wait until you’ve been around him more before you ask him.”

“Oh no,” you said, turning back towards Tae. “I don’t think that would be very smart. Do you know how many cases in my ER are from motorcycle accidents? I wouldn’t dream of it.” You were sure by the look on Taehyung’s face that he could hear the disappointment in your tone as you tried to fool yourself.

He smiled. “You know that is the same argument that Jin-hyung said when it was brought home. But I know I have a picture of them riding on it together.”

Taehyung, then, led you out of the garage. As you ascended the spiral stairs back into the front foyer, you were taken down the hallway where Namjoon had appeared towards the kitchen. The hallway was lined with what looked like framed family portraits of Bangtan throughout the years. There were some of them all together dressed all nice, and a few of them in random units posed in fun ways. It was interesting to see how they grew and changed over the years. But it was, also, sad to see how young they were. You paused in front of what appeared to be their first family photo. Where the other photos were in suits or business casual attire, their first picture looked as if they had watched too many hip-hop music videos. Dressed in fake basketball jerseys and hats, or in layered phony designer shirts and too much eyeliner, they looks so young and inexperienced. You almost didn’t recognize Namjoon with his crazy hair and dark glasses, or Jimin with his very tanned skin and shaggy black hair. And Jungkook looked like he had barely started puberty with his round doe-eyes. It really made you wonder what could cause such young kids to turn to gang life. Yoongi and Namjoon you understood since Yoongi had explained his side to you. But were all their stories the same? You had to figure out how to ask them.

The kitchen looked like it belonged to a showroom with top-of-the-line appliances set against stunning marble counter tops. You imagined this is what a world class chef would want. It was beyond clean and spacious with a large capacity refrigerator and freezer, a fully stocked wine cabinet that almost reached the ceiling, a huge stove and dual ovens, and a large island that could be used for anything. Off the main part, set against a large set of windows that overlooked a courtyard in the middle of the Magic Shop, was a cozy breakfast nook and a fully stocked coffee bar that could meet the needs of the pickiest of coffee drinkers. There were a few different machines for different types of coffee, syrups, stirrers, and different sugars. The enticing smell of whatever Namjoon had made still permeated the room.

The only thing that was missing was the staff to man such a space. Perhaps they had the morning off?

Taehyung opened up the fully stocked cabinets, pantry, and fridge to show off their contents and told you to that you would help yourself to anything whenever you wanted.

“We always make extra so you can have whatever. Or, if you would rather cook something for yourself, by all means. But since one of us will be with you, we may offer to do it.”

“You all cook?” You remembered the amount of food Jin had ordered the first night for you and figured that’s what they did regularly.

“Some of us do,” he remarked with a shrug. “Namjoon-hyung can only really make coffee. And my skills are a bit limited. But the others are really good at it. We always leave leftovers if we are out late on missions for the other. We try to have family dinner when we are all together. And we talked about letting you come too, since you’ll be here for a while. If you want, that is. But trust me, you’re gonna want to.”

“So, you make your own food? I would expect a place like this would come with a fleet of cooks since you all would be…busy.”

Taehyung laughed. “You would think so. But we are pretty self-sufficient. Other than our hired Army, we don’t really have a staff full time. I mean, there are two mechanics that come to tune up the cars every month, a couple ladies who come in to do a deep clean every three months or so, and Jin brings in a couple helpers once in a while when he’s stuck in whatever he’s working on. But that’s only a very few very trusted people. They’re all older locals though who we’ve helped over the years, so we know they won’t betray us. It’s just safer if we keep it low. When we bring in new people, it’s blind like how we did with you. Not that we don’t trust you. I mean…” Taehyung started trying to figure out how to better explain it.

“It’s alright. I understand. I am a stranger to you guys. Despite how many card games I’ve beat you at or coffee dates you take me on.” You smiled as your little joke seemed to ease the tension. “It makes sense really. It’s better to be cautious. If anything happens to me, I wouldn’t be able to say anything even if I could.”

“Hey,” Tae brought his hand to your shoulder, face very serious, “nothing is going to hurt you here. I trust you. Call it my superpower, but I can read people really well. All the years on the street do that to a person. You are a good person. Otherwise, we would have blindfolded you before you stepped out of the car. Everyone agreed to welcome you in our home not just because of all you’ve done for Hyung. We could have just set you up in a safe house if I thought you were up to something.”

You were sure he was being genuine with you. He did seem like he was going very beyond the bare minimum he needed to do had it been some other person. You knew he was trying to make you feel safe and comfortable in this whole situation. They were doing so much for you, you just needed to allow yourself to relax and not think about all the other things. You tried to ignore the dark cloud that kept coming up the second you started to forget their profession and focus on the person.

From the kitchen, you were lead to the outside courtyard. It must have been intended to be a beautiful event space in its conception. There were moss covered statues, an elegant fountain surrounded by ivy covered iron benches, and beautiful plants that brought so much color to the space. Above, there was a façade that looked like a tapered roof covered in ripped tarps that Tae explained let in a lot of light and rain but kept anyone or thing from seeing inside. Bangtan had really thought of everything to keep the Magic Shop secret. Across the courtyard and through another door, you were shown an impressive gym with an attached studio that Taehyung explained was used for combat training, dance practice, or anything they wanted. Next to that was a shower, steam room, and a large indoor swimming pool. All of which was fair game for you to use if you wanted to.

After that, the excited man showed you what he deemed ‘the living space’. Up the stairs to the second floor, there was a massive formal dining room, a small library that you really wanted to explore, a small infirmary, a game room, and some office used for whatever they wanted to work on privately. He pointed to another staircase and mentioned that some of their bedrooms were up on the third floor and so were Namjoon’s and Yoongi’s personal workspaces. Jin’s workspace was in the basement, while Jungkook’s room and personal gaming room was on the attic floor with Taehyung’s art studio. There was so much space in this house that you began to wonder if there was a map so you wouldn’t get lost. Before you could try to remember how to get back to the last room, you found yourself in an expansive living room. You figured this may be where you’d be spending a majority of your time. The room was open design with a massive L-shaped couch that seemed like it could fit more than seven, sleek coffee tables, two elegant armchairs with oversized ottomans, and a few beanbag chairs stacked in a corner. Mounted to the wall was a huge flat screen television and on either side of it where towering shelves full of movies, tv series, music, and video games to last a lifetime. There were multiple gaming consoles stacked neatly on top. And on the far wall, there was a small mini fridge, a cupboard with snacks, and a small bar. It was homely and comfortable.

“We spend a lot of our down time together in here,” Taehyung said, smiling at your awed expression. “It’s probably one of my favorite rooms, besides my bedroom.”

“I can see why. It has pretty much everything in here. It’s bigger than my apartment. Well, this house is so large it’s a wonder how you can find anyone in here. I still haven’t seen Jimin, Jungkook, or Jin. I feel like I could walk right past them in here and never know it.”

“Well, Jin is on the basement level working on something. We won’t need to go down there. There is nothing there that’d interest you. Honestly, it’s a bit more confusing to get down there anyway so just try to stay on the first two floors. But. he’ll come up for lunch in a while. Since I didn’t see Jungkook in here or the gym, my guess is that he is probably still in his room. He was up late last night playing video games and is most likely still sleeping. But if ever in doubt, always start looking for him in the gym or where his games are. As for Jimin, I’m not sure where he is. He was excited for you to come to the Magic Shop. I thought he would meet us in the front or outside. That was his plan anyway. Something might have come up. I’m sure we’ll see him at lunch. Oh yeah, there’s someone else I want you to meet. Now, where is he?”

Suddenly, while you were distracted by some of the framed, less staged photos on the wall, something small and fuzzy ran across your foot. You shrieked and it took everything in your body to keep from kicking at whatever it was as you fell back into one of the armchairs. Taehyung let out a loud laugh that filled the space and had him holding his sides.

“Tannie! There’s my baby boy.” You turned over the chair to watch him stoop over and pick up a small black and brown Pomeranian puppy. The puppy yipped happily and gave his owner sloppy kisses that Tae returned. “I was wondering where you had gotten off too. Such a silly boy. You shouldn’t scare our guest like that. She’s a nice girl, the one I told you about. Say you’re sorry.”

The puppy let out a big yawn. You weren’t sure if that was the apology Taehyung was expecting.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to react like that. I’ve been a bit jumpier than usual. I wasn’t expecting such a tiny thing to come running at me. You guys never mentioned that you had a dog.”

“I didn’t? That doesn’t sound like me. I could have sworn I had talked about him a few times back in the hospital.” If you were honest, he might have. But there were plenty of times when you were fighting your many battles about trusting them that you tuned out most of the conversations. “This is Yeontan. He’s only eight months old. You don’t mind dogs, do you?”

“No, I like all animals. He’s very cute,” you pushed off from the chair and stepped a bit closer. When Taehyung held the small dog out to you, you reached over and lightly scratched him behind his fuzzy ear. Yeontan let out a happy noise and licked your hand. You laugh a bit. “He’s so sweet. But I’ll be honest. I would never have suspected someone like you to have such a tiny dog.”

“Oh, sure. I get that. Jungkookie keeps saying we should get a Doberman as a guard dog. That would definitely fit our image better. But I could never replace Tannie. He’s all mine.” Taehyung hugged the puppy close, and it warmed your heart. “I’ve always wanted a little dog ever since I was a kid. But a bad home life made it difficult. But all the guys pulled together and helped me get this little guy as a present. And I sold a few pieces in order to save up for classes so I could better take care of him. I wanted to be the best owner for him.”

The way that Taehyung spoke and interacted with the dog was such a juxtaposition to the wicked mafia persona you had figured hid beneath. It was so cute that you could only wonder if someone would ever treat you with the same amount of affection. Had you not known about that side of his life, you’d swear he was just this lovable guy with a large heart. Though, something he had said gave you pause.

“Save up? I feel like you all have more money than I can even imagine. I mean,” you made a grand gesture to the room, “why would you need to save up for anything?”

“I’m sure it seems that way. Sure, we’re pretty well off. But when we first started, we were so poor, we didn’t have enough money to eat. We stole from the gas station just to eat once a day. And when we started out, we were nobodies, so it wasn’t like we were making anything. Whatever we did earn from gang activities went to important things like medicine and renting a room for the night, so we didn’t have to sleep on the street. Then, it went towards necessities, like weapons for protection or clothes so we wouldn’t freeze in the winter. Or bail when we got caught by the police. So, to ensure we would be able to make it and not be picked off by the other gangs, we got day jobs. Namjoon worked the gas station we stole from to make it up to the old man who owned it, Yoongi-hyung was a delivery boy, and Hobi-hyung and Jimin worked at a dance studio. Kookie and I found ways to help. The only one who had any money was Jin-hyung. His family was loaded. When I first met Jin-hyung, before I met the others, he was a student, and I was a street kid just trying not to go home. I saw him at a bus stop I used to tag all the time. He said my work was cool and just like a puppy, I started hanging around him. He fed me and even tried to teach me what he was learning since I dropped out. Then we met the others and Jin-hyung was using his money to help us. But when his father learned who he was hanging around, he cut him off. Until he was able to black mail his father.”

“But,” Taehyung continued, seeing how off topic he was getting, “the point was, we always had other ways to get money that weren’t gang related. Even now, as big as we are, we still have little side jobs we do. It breaks up the monotony and gives us a little bit of an escape. What we earn from gang activities belongs to Bangtan; the upkeep of the house, paying Army, hospital bills, and our equipment. Anything we earn from our side hustle is ours for our own pleasure. That dance studio that Jimin and Hobi-hyung worked at, they now own. Jungkookie competes in videogame competitions and films himself playing games on the internet. Jin continues his family business, without his actual family. And Namjoon-hyung and Yoongi-hyung did music underground back in the day before all the gang stuff, and they still do. They write and produce demos and sell them. You’ve probably heard a few of their stuff. And we all help them sometimes. We joke that if we weren’t in this line of work, we’d probably be a world-renowned band. Funny huh?”

Wow, you thought as you tried to process what he had just told you. There is so much more to these guys than I thought. How can they be this down to earth?

“And what do you do?”

“I told you that I used to be a street artist, right? Nothing too special; just tagging and doing funny graffiti. But the others really inspired me to keep going. Hell, Namjoon got arrested with me when I was attempting to improve some offensive street art someone left outside one of our favorite places just because he wanted to see me improve myself. Now, I’ve moved to a bunch of different mediums; I’ve tried charcoal, photography, drawing, and painting. I took all of those pictures,” he said pointing to the walls. “It’s pretty easy to find a muse when you have a great support system. Here let me show you some of my pieces.” He took your hand and led you out of the living room with a bounce in his step.

He took you up the stairs and to his art room. You were fairly positive that this was not supposed to be part of the tour since this was where their more private spaces were. But the look on Tae’s face when he showed you his art room was enough to show you that he was very excited to show off his work to you. The room had hardwood floors and walls covered with different sizes of framed pictures of different famous artists that he admired. The room was loaded with supplies like stacks of canvases, drawing supplies and paints, different cameras, and drop clothes to protect the floor. There was a small couch and chairs that you recognized from some of the family portraits. He went over to a desk and grabbed a book. It was labeled Vante, which you remember used to be his street artist name before he shortened it to V for his gang related work. He flipped through the book and handed it to you when he found what he was looking for. There were pictures of different art pieces he had made. Each page had photos of the progression and the finished product with handwritten notes next to it as to when it was sold and for how much. The numbers made your eyes widen. There were things that you would expect to see in a museum. You were speech-less.

He grabbed your hand once again and led you out of the studio and into the hallway. There were some more pieces hanging throughout the hallways, those he wouldn’t part with. There was one that was so breathtaking; it was a black and gray background, with a single light source from up center. In the center of the spotlight was a dancer clad in white, whose body was carved through shadows and face shown pale in the light, eyes closed in a serene way as if he was lost in the music you couldn’t hear. His arm was extended up to the light like a ballet dancer, so graceful. His hair, a steely blue, and the gathering shadows accentuate his sharp yet delicate features. And the more you looked at it, the more you began to realize that you had seen this person before.

It was Jimin.

As you were led to more art pieces, you started to realize that Taehyung had used Bangtan in many of them. They were breath taking. Not only were they all so good-looking, but the way Taehyung painted or photographed them made them look otherworldly. Near the end of a staircase that would lead to the top floor back to the floor some of their bedrooms could be found on, you found yourself stopped in front of what you came to realize was your favorite. It was a black and white photo made to look like a painting. There were seven people in front of a white background that looked like hands reaching out for each other. Five of the seven were leaning on each other, hunched over in a dramatic way. In the center were the final two, both with their arm up, one reaching for the sky and the other grasping the first wrist afraid to slip and let go. It was so simple yet complex, so artistic. You weren’t sure how long you were staring at it until Taehyung’s voice cut through your thoughts.

“I was commissioned to make this for someone. But when it was done, I couldn’t part with it. The others loved it too. They hated that I was supposed to sell it to someone who wouldn’t understand it. So, Yoongi-hyung paid the commissioner for it, three times what he was going to pay me for it. Said he didn’t care how much the man wanted for it. It meant so much to us that it was priceless. Yoongi-hyung says it’s his favorite. I think it’s yours too.”

“It’s so beautiful. You are truly an amazing artist.”

“I have some great muses.”

Taehyung and you stood there in silence a bit more before the silence was broken by someone coming out of one of the rooms. It was Hoseok. He looked a bit disheveled and breathless as if he had just run a mile, hair no longer sleek and tidy. He closed the door softly and turned with a grin, licking his lips in some sort of victory. He clapped his hands together and started down the hall with a hop in his step.

He froze when he saw the two of you looking at him. “Umm...” he started nervously, “what are you two doing up here?”

Oh right, I’m probably not meant to be up here. That’s why he’s confused. You turned your eyes back to the floor and your shoulders started to hunch. You didn’t want to intrude on their space. You were just following Taehyung and thought it was okay. But it would seem like not everyone was alright with his idea.

Tae noticed the change in your posture and was having none of that, especially after he worked so hard to get you out of your shell to begin with. “I told you I was going to show her around the house. I was showing Y/N some of my artwork in my studio and figured I would show off the good ones. She really likes this one. I can’t say I blame her.”

Hobi looked over at the painting. “Oh yeah, it is pretty. But don’t you have a copy of it in your phone you could have shown her? I thought we were just gonna keep it to the ground floors until Namjoon-.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, arms wrapping around yourself in a nervous way. “I’m not trying to intrude. I wouldn’t have come up here unless Taehyung had brought me.”

Hoseok noticed the way your hand clenched at your clothes and how you didn’t look at him in the face. And suddenly, he felt bad. “Shit, I didn’t mean it like that. I was just surprised. We normally don’t have people up here. I wasn’t expecting you. I don’t care if you come up here. Just as long as you don’t go into any rooms without permission.”

“Well, of course she won’t, hyung. You see how nervous she is just at the thought of intruding. I just didn’t want her sitting in one room all day. Jeez, she’ll probably be hanging on the first two floors anyways. That’s where all the fun is.”

Hobi threw his hands up in defeat. “Alright, Taehyungie, I get it. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. Y/N, I’m sorry. I was just surprised. It’s been a long morning.” You nodded your head in confirmation.

“Now to a better point. What were you doing?” Taehyung fixed his hyung with an accusing look and a smirk from behind you. As if I can’t guess.

Hobi frowned back at Taehyung before pushing his hand through his hair to tidy himself back up. “I was making sure Hyung went to rest and not back to work. You know how Yoongi-hyung can be when he’s away from his screens. He took some convincing but he’s asleep now in his room. And I,” he fished a key from the pocket of his jeans, “stole the key to the Genius Lab so he won’t be tempted to sneak in and work. He should be out for a few hours. He may skip lunch for now, but I’ll make sure he eats before he needs to have his next dosage for you.” He smiled brightly at you. “So, what do you think of the Magic Shop?”

“It’s incredible. You guys must have really worked hard to make it so beautiful.”

“Yeah, it took a few years to get right. But it’s been such a great sanctuary for us. Tell you what, I need to go into town for a bit. I’m sure Taehyung has told you about the dance studio if he’s showing off all his side work. I need to pick up Jimin. He apparently was called in this morning to help with some minor things but he’s not feeling too well to drive back alone. But when I get home, I’ll show you something we’ve been working on with the kids in our class. It’s really fun. Then we can all have lunch.” Hobi moved past you two, making sure to greet Tannie with a series of silly voices and pets.

Taehyung gave his hyung a confused look. “Is Minnie okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. It’s just about the end of the month. I’m sure he’s gonna try to push it off again.” Realization dawned on Taehyung and he smacked his head for overlooking it with everything going on. You didn’t ask what they meant since it really wasn’t your business. Perhaps it was just some stress related thing that focused on his time of the month. You were sure with everything going on, Bangtan must push themselves too far and that leads to poor health. If Jimin was sick, you would be happy to check him out since you were there to be an in-home care. It would give you something else to focus on. The two said goodbye and Hobi dashed down the stairs.

“Come on, let’s take Tannie out in the courtyard and I’ll show you some more of pieces on the way.

You happily followed him, chasing after the positive feeling you had earlier. Your anxieties had been growing more difficult to contain. It must be because you weren’t taking your medicine. You were hoping Dr. Na would have been helpful in finding out what it was so you could get back on track. But with everything that happened back at the hospital, you hadn’t been so lucky. You didn’t even turn in the script he had given you for a mild antianxiety medication to take in its place because you were still so mad at him and hurt. And yet, here you were with the people who ruined him for you, acting like they were your friend. All these feelings and emotions were confusing.

As you arrived back on the second floor and at the landing of the familiar staircase, you both could hear someone walking around, pacing by the sounds of it. At first, you thought it was Hoseok again, but Namjoon’s voice could be heard just a harsh whisper. Whoever he was talking to, he was not happy about something.

“I can’t believe you are trying to blow me off right now. How is that fair? My family needs security. Didn’t you say it would only take you a few hours? I know I got the dates mixed up but that shouldn’t matter to you. If you haven’t noticed, my family’s been in a bit of chaos recently and you were supposed to help ease some of my tension with information. At least tell me what you do have. What do you mean you aren’t done with your initial check? Why isn’t it done? I’m sure you’re busy, but you owe me!” The closer the two of you got to the stairs, the more you could pick up the frustration in Namjoon’s voice. He walked from a hallway near the bottom of the stairs, phone raised to his ear. He had changed from his morning clothes into a pair of jeans and a blue sweater, something more presentable. He didn’t seem aware of the two of you, so engrossed with his conversation. His eyes were narrow behind his glasses. He was agitated in a way you hadn’t seen since he saved you from Choi the first time. And you were not a fan of seeing him angry. “You said you’d come today and now you’re flaking out on me when I need you? That’s really great, Jackson. No, I am not overreacting. I trusted my gut to a point, but I need hard facts here. I needed them yesterday. Just go with it? Jackson, they’re in my house now, and you’re telling me to go with it?! No, two days is not okay! Don’t make me chase you down, you son of a bitch.” He let out a growl that didn’t fit with his current image. Taehyung didn’t like how mad his leader was getting. The younger knew full well what Namjoon was so angry about and he wished he hadn’t used a flighty character like Jackson to do something Tae could have easily done. But he knew that Namjoon needed an outsider’s opinion. “Fucking fine, how long? You better be here in two days or so help me…,” he let the person on the other end of the phone fill in the blank before he ended the call with a huff.

Taehyung took the opportunity to clear his throat to announce your presence, which startled Joon more than he would have liked. It took him a second before he let his emotions slip back behind the mask of a calm leader you had come to expect. You were aware that Tae was standing closer to you than before, like he was securing your place next to him.

“Everything ok, hyung?”

“Yeah, sorry, didn’t see you there. How much did you hear?”

“Just you getting mad. But don’t worry, it’s all good.” You gather that Taehyung knew exactly what Namjoon was wanting from this Jackson person but didn’t want to explain it to you. He grabbed your hand with his free one and pulled you down the stairs. “Y/N got to meet Tannie. We know how much he doesn’t like new people and, guess what, he likes her. How great is that? He never likes people other than you guys so quickly. He must know she’s a good person.”

You weren’t sure what else that was supposed mean, but it made the wheels in Namjoon’s head start to turn. Was that conversation about you? Did he not trust you in his home? Then why had they discussed bringing you here? He had hesitated back when Taehyung had mentioned showing you around the house. You knew they wanted to be careful, but wasn’t it their idea to bring you in? Why would he be so concerned now? You remember that he was supposed to talk to you about it before bringing you here but had forgotten. Was it more than just easing you into this that he wanted to talk about? Maybe this was a mistake? Or were you just overthinking things again?

“Well, I’m taking Y/N to the courtyard. Don’t let Jackson mess you up. You’re smarter than him anyways. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

You started to follow Taehyung back down the hall. As you passed, you could tell that Namjoon was struggling with something. If it was about you, you wanted to tell him that you would do whatever made them more comfortable, even if that meant staying in one place like you wanted to with Hoseok. But Taehyung took your hand again and gave it a squeeze, like he knew you were overthinking things again. “Wait a second,” Namjoon said, voice sounding like he had come to a firm decision.

The two of you stopped and looked back at Bangtan’s leader. He took a deep breath. “Y/N, I’m glad you’re here. And I mean it when I say welcome to our home. This is a bit new for us but considering the circumstances, this is the best option. Jin and I had been talking before about what happens when you come here, and both agree that we want you to be comfortable and not worried about anything. So, that being said, we came to an agreement about something very important. And I’ll let you decide what happens here. I know you said you want us to keep the darker side of our work away from you, and we have tried to respect that as much as possible. Being in our home may make that a bit more challenging. But we are still willing to do that if you want us to. But if you want, this may make being here a whole lot easier and may clear up some of those hesitations about us you may have,”

You were willing to listen to what he had to say. “What is it?”

“Yeah, hyung,” Taehyung said, tentatively, unsure of where this was going. “What do you mean? I don’t think we’ve talked about whatever this is.”

“We haven’t Tae. But Jin-hyung and I talked about it before and based on some gut feelings, this may be for the best for everyone. But it ultimately falls on Y/N to decide. Jin would like to say ‘hello’ to you. He’s in his lab.”

“Lab?” You had heard them mention a lab many times but you didn’t think that’s what it was. But by the way that Taehyung reacted to and, and how he had mentioned how you wouldn’t want to go down there, made you realize this was more than that.

“Namjoon-hyung, are you sure about that?”

He waved Taehyung off. “Like I said, this may make things for you much easier to understand and take some fear of us away. But if you prefer, we can just ignore it fully. But if you are willing, Jin-hyung would like to show you something in his lab. Jin-hyung does a lot of research and is working on something very important that may change how you see us. But it’s important. But if you don’t want to, I’ll understand, and we’ll keep pretending like nothing has changed. I give you control.”

You hadn’t had much control over the life you could remember. Leaving your ex and choosing to help Bangtan was really the first taste of control you had, and it was still scary. Maybe being in the dark was a good option. But them allowing you to have a say really meant a lot to you. The fear of what you would find out started to be outweighed by the prospect of clarity. But what if they were wrong? Was it better to stay in the dark? You started to wring your hands together. You had already started to change your view of them since Yoongi had talked about his past and Taehyung had showed you things you would have never thought you’d come to see from them. Was that enough to trust that Namjoon was doing what he thought was best? Looking into his eyes, you saw only patience as he allowed you time to process all the thoughts and feelings.

You took a deep breath. “I hope this goes the way you planned.”

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

As you followed in step behind Namjoon and Taehyung, with Yeontan held comfortably in the younger’s hand, in a darkened tunnel, you were really hoping that this would go the way Namjoon had hoped. They had taken you from the front foyer where you had started and down the same hall that led to the kitchen. You had been so had been so distracted by the pictures on the wall that you hadn’t noticed that there was an arched door to the left just before you reached the end of the hall. Namjoon pressed his thumb against a scanner on the doorknob and the sound of multiple heavy locks snapped open echoed against the walls. The door swung open to a granite stairway that was dimly lit. Namjoon had explained that this used to take guests down to the old train platform before they renovated it. When they had first taken residence, it had been so ill-kempt and dilapidated that they worried the tunnels would collapse. Most of the platforms and tunnels had been sealed and closed off. And a few that were in good condition were converted into something useful. But the biggest had been designated as Jin’s personal work area. At the bottom of the staircase, you could see the old remnants of the old train tunnels and platforms. The tunnel was dimly lit but you could still see the curve of the arched ceiling, the old support beams, the drop off from the platform to the old rail ways. Claustrophobia started to tighten its fingers around your throat, and your fingers tightened around the strap of your bag in some way to ground yourself. You were sure that anyone who had stumbled into here would have found it abandoned and unsafe. Which, in hindsight, was probably what Bangtan wanted. But you reminded yourself that they wouldn’t put you in danger. And this was supposed to help you.

Ahead of you, Taehyung and Namjoon were whispering to each other. You were trying not to eavesdrop, but you did catch that Tae seemed worried about this plan. At least he was trying to keep his promise to you and keep you away from things like this. You really did appreciate that and found yourself believing that he really was your friend here. This was a very big deviation from the plan that the two of you had agreed upon a few weeks ago. But something in the way that you caught Namjoon’s plea for the younger to trust him made you want to believe that this was to make everything better. You understood that this was a very big step for them and something that would probably never be taken into consideration. So, this had mean more than you anticipated. You didn’t want to try to imagine what you were being led to. Could it be a scare tactic to make sure you didn’t talk, or something to bribe you? Neither of those fit with the way that Namjoon had presented the option to come down here and you wanted to believe that Taehyung wouldn’t allow it. You took a deep breath to try to refocus your mind on anything else.

After a bit, as you started to wonder if there was ever an end to this dark tunnel, you could just make out the bricked-up wall that blocked the rest of the way. It was a dead-end, complete with road blockers covered in an inch of dust, caution tape that looked ancient, and crumbling stones. Another façade. Namjoon reached out to one of the broken bricks and pulled it down like it was a lever, which it was, as a door clicked. The door of bricks slid open like some secret passageway in a spy movie revealing a thick wall of steel and a flood of bright light illuminated your shocked face.

You felt like Alice after she fell down the rabbit hole as you stepped from the dark granite onto sterile white tile. How could you still be in the same place? Taehyung had called it a basement workshop and Namjoon had called it a lab, but this was beyond what you could have imagined based on those descriptions. It was like you had stepped into some blockbuster superhero’s hideaway. The lab was large, larger than the pharmaceutical one at Mercy. There seemed to be sections where different projects were being handled. Stainless steel tables were covered with different lab equipment that looked familiar, vials filled with many different liquids and powders, microscopes of varying sizes and usages, chemical analyzers, and centrifuges of the highest quality. On a wall, there were many canisters of different drugs based on the labels you could make out, many of them you had used in the hospital. Two people in white lab coats were noting some results of something in a petri dish that you were sure you didn’t want to know what it was. Looking behind the amount of lab equipment, there was a small medical area that looked like a walk-in clinic you had visited once before coming to Central. There was an exam table, stretcher, enough emergency medical supplies that made you feel like you were back in the ER. If they had all of this at their disposal, they surely didn’t really need you around. You remembered Jin had once mentioned he had medical training and took care of the others, but you assumed it was first aid training and not actual medical training.

On the other side of the room, as clean and as well organized as the lab and medical area, was another workshop that was dedicated to all sorts of different tools and weapons of their trade. There were blueprints for a variety of items pinned to a board with notes and arrows all around them. There were multiple wide touch screens with information and numbers, molds and mockups, knives, guns, and other weapons in different ranges of finishes. You could see three or four dummies that looked as if they had been very well used. One had a vest on with bullet holes in it, another had slashes and stab marks that you dared not think about. Further back, there was what appeared to be a small shooting target lined with thick glass that you assumed was bulletproof to protect the workers. There was another person in a white lab coat and goggles who was working intently on piecing together a handgun. And in the very center of the room, sat a huge computer with four different large, active screens, was Jin. He was dressed sharply, as he always was, complete with a stark white lab coat. A pair of round silver glasses slid down his nose as he scribbled something on a notepad while looked at something dissolving in a yellow liquid. He looked like some handsome yet mad scientist at work. The glow of the screens cast a pale pallor on his skin and you could see a tiredness on his drawn features. Whatever he was working on, he must have been at it for a while, or was stressing him out a bit.

“Did I somehow stumble into the Batcave?”

“Feels like that sometimes. Jin-hyung’s like the Korean Bruce Wayne isn’t he,” Taehyung laughed.

“I think he’d prefer Tony Stark,” Namjoon remarked.

“Aren’t they the same thing,” you asked.

“I’ll ignore that since you’re cute, Darling,” Jin called out, never looking from the liquid in the beaker in his hand. “But there is a preferrable difference.”

Yeontan started squirming in Taehyung’s arms until he was placed on the tile and ran to Jin’s side. The tiny puppy jumped, trying to climb up into his lap, crying out for more attention.

“Aish,” Jin exclaimed, dropping the beaker on the table, thankfully not breaking. “Taehyung why is Yeontan in my lab?! We talked about this.”

“But he missed his Uncle Jin so much,” Taehyung smirked.

Jin rolled his eyes as he scooped up the puppy and made his way over to the three of you. He handed the puppy back to Taehyung after scratching the pup’s tiny head. “Just keep an eye on him. I don’t want to think of what he could get into.” He turned his attention to you, flashing you a warm smile. “Welcome to my lab, Y/N. I’m so glad you decided to join us down here. I promise that you won’t regret it. I was hoping to meet you when you first got here but I’ve been quite busy. I trust Taehyung has shown you the house. Though,” he fixed the younger with a sideways glance, “I see he didn’t show you where to put your stuff down and has made you carry it all this way. I know I have taught you better manners than that.”

“No, he’s been such a good host. I just never set it down. Actually, it’s been nice to hang onto,” you explained, saving Taehyung from whatever tongue lashing he was about to receive. “It gives my nervous hands something to do.”

“Ah, well, we do know a bit about anxiety and habits here. Do whatever you need to feel comfortable.” He dusted off his hands and slipped his glasses into the top pocket of his lab coat.

Up close, Jin looked just as amazing as always. Your hands tightened around the strap of your bag again, just to keep from getting overwhelmed. This was going to be a normal occurrence if they were all going to be here with you. His pink hair was combed back from his face as if he had ran his fingers through it many times while working. He was wearing a white button up shirt with a grey sweater vest, dark trousers, and polished shoes. Somehow, he always looked like he was modeling for something. Though, you did notice a bit of bruising peeking out on his collarbone.

“Are you okay? It looks like you had some issues with CrossFit too.”

Jin looked at you with a look of utter confusion. “CrossFit?”

You nodded. “Yes, Namjoon has one too. He said he got it from doing CrossFit with you. I hope it doesn’t hurt too much.”

Jin’s eye were drawn behind you to his members, who were silently trying to communicate without drawing your attention. Joon was pointing to the mark on his own neck before making a pleading motion with his hands. Taehyung was trying to communicate their intention with his eyes as much as possible.

“Oh yeah,” Jin said, slowly, realization striking him before he slid back into his trained persona so not to arise any suspicion from you. “CrossFit. Right. Well, you know how it goes. He crossed me so I did what I saw fit.” From behind you, Namjoon seemed to choke on air and Taehyung tried his best to stifle a laugh. You turned around to see what was going on, completely confused and clearly missing something. But Jin turned your attention back to him. “Don’t worry about me, Darling. My perfect skin may be marred for the moment but I will survive. But thank you for your concern.”

“Well, it is sort of my job. Though based on what I see, you really don’t need me.”

“Nonsense! You are a professional, and we could definitely use someone with your delicate touch. Whatever you may need, you can just ask. And if I don’t have it, I will get it for you faster than any hospital could. I know many higher ups in all the companies in the country and they would leap at the chance to get in my good graces.”

Suddenly, a loud bang ricocheted off the wall and made you scream and drop your bag, spilling its contents all over the floor. Bangtan only moved from your scream. Jin’s hands came up to grasp your shoulders, steadying you and trying to reassure you of your safety. He bend down so he was able to look into your eyes and whispered assurances that you were alright. From behind Jin, the young man who had been dealing with the handgun had finished piecing it together and fired a shot at the target. He looked over at you with a surprised look on his face, not realizing someone new was in the room. Taehyung had already crossed the room and snatched the gun from the younger’s hands and stowing it away. He gave Soobin a pointed look that spoke volumes. Namjoon had stoop down to start retrieving your bag.

“Soobin,” Jin yelled over his shoulder, “you didn’t think to look up before you shot that? Or at least put a silencer on it?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” the youth replied. “I’m really sorry ma’am.” He scrambled away from the work bench and over to you all to assist Namjoon in locating all of your items.

“I’m sorry, Darling, I really didn’t want something to scare you. My intention was to make this less scary for you. Here, come sit over here. Take a deep breath for me. Taehyung, can you go get her some water? Take another deep breath, Darling. Yes, just like that.”

“This was a mistake,” you said between breaths, alternating between wringing and shaking your hands to try get the tremors to stop. Your voice was cracking as you tried to keep from crying out of sheer panic. “I shouldn’t have agreed to come in here. Why did you think this would be a good idea? What was the point? To scare me into keeping your secrets?

“Absolutely not. We would never want to put you through that. We trust that you won’t say anything. This was to shed some light on what we’re actually doing here.”

Taehyung appeared next to you with a bottle of water, which you graciously took and swallowed half the bottle.

“Hyungs,” he pleaded, “maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. We wanted her to be comfortable and she asked us to hide this part of us as much as possible.”

“And we did,” Jin agreed. “Y/N, we tried. And it was easier when it was just going from your place to the hospital and back. But with you being in our house, unless we lock you up in the living room, it’s going to be hard for you not to see some aspect of our work. That’s why Joon and I had this conversation. We thought that after all the time we spent making this relationship with you that you’d trust us enough. And we thought if you saw what we are working on down here, it might clear the air and ease some of these anxieties that still plague you. But we’ve taken an unexpected turn. Just try to relax. You’re still shaking.”

“I wish I had taken Doctor Na’s offer for some new anti-anxiety medication,” you muttered to yourself, remembering his suggestion in the stairwell. You had a feeling your anxieties were just going to get worse.

You looked over as Namjoon came to the desk with your bag, all its contents gathered back inside. All except a familiar clear bottle. Your old medication that you had forgotten was in there since the night Doctor Na had followed you into the stairwell after you saw the exchange of U4-1A. The familiar want you felt then of wanting to down that last pill in the bottle and escape world came back. But you didn’t take it then, you didn’t need it now. You wanted nothing to do with that past life anymore. Hell, you only wanted to know what it was so you could find an alternative that wouldn’t remind you of Daniel. But the temptation was strong as Namjoon held it out for you.

“This is yours, right,” he questioned. “I found it rolled under a table. And it doesn’t look like anything Jin-hyung’s been working on.”

“It’s mine,” you said as you took it from him. “It’s old medication from my ex-…um, I mean, from my accident. I ran out and Doctor Na was trying to figure out what it was since the label’s been lost. But our hospital pharmacy couldn’t identify it. I forgot to clean out my bag with…everything going on.”

“May I?” Jin held out his hand for the bottle. You shrugged, handing it to him. He dumped the pill into his palm and started to examine it with the same focused intensity as he had earlier. He made a face. “A generic white pill with no discernable characteristics. And you don’t remember its name?”

“I don’t remember ever hearing it. I started taking it after I woke up from my accident. The nurse or my ex would just bring it to me. And then, Daniel would get it refilled after that since I couldn’t drive. When I came to Central, I only had what was left in the bottle and had to space it out. I haven’t taken it for a couple weeks now. It’s probably why my anxiety is really bad.”

“I can find out what it is for you. I guarantee I’ll have more success than some basic pharmacist fresh out of school. I’ve some connections I can talk with to help me analyze it. And,” Jin held up a hand to silence the protest you were about to pose, “these connections are not gang related. Before I became estranged from my family, I was the second heir to the largest pharmaceutical company in all the country. Despite my father’s best efforts, I was very friendly and charming with our specialists and made plenty of valuable connections to help me in the future. So, if anyone can figure out what this is, it’s me.”

You were stunned into silence. You remember him mentioning medical training and about his father pushing for a different career, but you never imagined he was a part of the Kim Pharmaceutical dynasty. Of course, you had heard of them; all the hospitals pharmacies in the city were stocked with their products, and every doctor read their research reports and trail information. They beat out every other company when it came to advancements in health services. And they were close to celebrity status amongst the papers. You recalled overhearing some pharmacy interns at lunch talking about them. They mentioned that the company was ran by the Senior Mr. Kim, who had been married twice after his first wife passed, leaving him with two sons to take over the company in the next few decades. The oldest was always showing up in the papers. And the second son was said to be away at some foreign school. Which, now knowing that Jin was the second son, was much better for their publicity than saying ‘a part of the most notorious drug dealing, ruthless Mafia families’. You remembered that night in your apartment when Jin had mentioned blackmailing his father for access to his assets. And, looking around at the lab, it seemed to have paid off well.

As you let the information settle in your mind, you realized that your hands had stopped shaking and your breathing had evened back out. They had successfully distracted you from your panic so your mind could recenter. Well, you recalled, they did say that they had experience with anxiety.

“Come on, Y/N,” Taehyung said, gently, “let’s head back upstairs. We’ll find something normal to distract ourselves until the others are ready for lunch.”

“Alright,” you said with a deep sigh, “but, before I have another panic attack here, what was so important that I had to come down here? Just tell me. Please.”

“Ah, of course,” Jin said, reaching over to a drawer and pulling out a small clear container. Inside, you could see several small, heart -shaped, pink tablets, no bigger than a breath mint. You had seen the news, read the papers, heard the doctors talking about it. That was U4-1A, Euphoria. When the first few cases had started coming into your ER, you were told to check and see if they had those heart-shaped pills on them, though you had never seen them. The distinct pink color was, also, a dead giveaway; it was the same color the user’s irises turned when they were high on the addictively deadly substance. The few times you had been in the room with some of the addicts that Doctor Na was working with, you recalled a rose-colored ring on the edges of their eyes that seemed so unnatural. Your stomach twisted at the thought of Henry taking the drug from Namjoon when he was supposed to be helping people. He couldn’t even deny it. “You know what this is?”

“Why the hell would you show that to me?! I asked for one thing. I could look past some things, try to ignore things. Like I could ignore the amount of money coming and going. I could ignore the weapons, or any other reminders. But I asked specificity for this not be mentioned.”

“Darling,” Jin chided in an amused tone, “I just asked what this was.”

“Are you fucking for real? It’s Euphoria…”

“Wrong,” Jin interrupted as he reached out and tapped you on the nose, completely taking you off guard and disarming you. “This isn’t Euphoria, or U4-1A. This is Euphoric. U4-1C.”

Never heard of that. “Okay. So, what? It’s a knock off?”

Jin looked offended. “A knock off. My dear, like me, it’s an original that others fail to compare to. It is the only one of its kind and so important to the work we do here. And before you insinuate, no, it is not what started this addict epidemic. The ones who have that despicable honor are Ji and the Royals. This” he held it up to you again so you could see it was more closely shaped like a triangle, “is my solution to it. For the past five or six years now, I have been secretly working on a counter agent to make that horrid drug obsolete and save the people who either willing or unwilling were made to take it. This is going to be the antidote. It’s not finished fully. I haven’t been able to fully identify the exact formula the Royals use. And it’s not an instant cure. But introducing this to someone going through withdrawals, instead of to induce a sexual release, the addict would just need to exert themselves another way, like exercise or something else that released the pleasure signal in the brain. It takes a lot of time and constant dosing but I’ve gotten it to where after so long it can be tapered off from every day to once a month, and soon only once every other month. I am making a cure. And we pass it out to those in need. That’s what I wanted you to see. That we aren’t the bad guys. Well… at least not for this.”

You let his words absorb and you felt like you had been doused with cold water. So, when Hwasa cornered Namjoon in the hallway of the hospital and took something from his pocket and mentioned ‘someone will find your kindness absolutely… euphoric’, she was taking an antidote to someone addict to U4-1A? That means…what Namjoon had given Henry, what Henry had used for his patients, what he couldn’t talk about was that he was accepting a possible progressive treatment for the poor souls in the hospital. He was, indeed, a good person. And you had thought the worst of him. Any time he tried to talk to you, you’d run in the other direction. You blocked his number and deleted any trace in your phone. You had thrown away everything because you didn’t want to believe him when he had begged you to trust him.

“Oh my god,” was all you could say as your head fell into your hands. “I have made a total ass of myself.” Was there a chance Henry would listen to your apology after all of that?

“You see,” Taehyung said, “I told you we knew the damage Euphoria does to people. We’ve been trying to fight this.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Like that night in the car?”

“It’s still a work in progress and a secret,” Namjoon said. “Only a few gangs that have proven trustworthy know we supply it. And they distribute it within their own territory. Or, in the case of your doctor friend, those who did us a great service. We did intimidate him into silence. Which was what you must have seen. Can’t say I blame you for what you thought based on what it looked like. He’d get more if he stayed silent. We don’t want our name attached to it just yet. The Royals already want us dead based on our past with them and our part in the Great War. If they knew what Jin-hyung was doing, it would a bigger target on our backs. But once it’s completely finished, then we’ll openly distribute it to the hospitals and clinics. But we hope that you understand the importance of this secret for us. It’s more than just our lives at risk if the wrong people get word of it. And if Choi already thinks that you’re with us, imagine how much worse it will be when he finds out that we are destroying yet another income for them. Do you understand, Y/N?”

“This whole time, you’ve been doing a great feat and I’ve been so focused on the rumors. You really are the good guys trying to help?”

“We’re really good at hiding ourselves. We’ve had years of practice showing the persona we want people to believe.

“Yeah,” Taehyung said with a cheeky grin, “I mean look at Namjoon-hyung. He puts on a persona that he’s smooth when, in reality, he’s a giant dork who breaks everything he touches.”

“I’ll break you, you fucking brat.”

Jin reached out and knocked both of them upside the head. “Language!”

And you laughed. You laughed without the weight of anxiety or fear weighing you down. For the first time, you felt like you were truly safe.

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

The next couple of days went by in a pleasant way, falling into a simple routine that you started to look forward to. One of them would pick you up in the morning, making sure to stop by Holli’s Café for a morning caffeine fix, before taking different ways to the Magic Shop that ensured you were still none-the-wiser as to how to get there. Once there, you would find Yoongi either waiting in the kitchen for you or in the expansive gym where you would start with his rehabilitation exercises after you checked and redressed his wounded shoulder. Now that Yoongi was home, there was a difference from the person at the hospital. He was still quiet but much more open to conversations and approachable. The conversations between the two of you were deep and easy like the ones you had with Amber. And you looked forward to them. There was one time you had made a stupid joke that had made him laugh freely. And that felt like a simple accomplishment that warmed you up. And you couldn’t help but find his laugh adorable. One morning, he brought you to his ‘Genius Lab’. According to the others, it was incredibly rare that he even mentioned his safe haven to outsiders, let alone let them see it. But he had made an exception for you.

The Genius Lab was more like an office where Yoongi spent a good deal of time juggling between work, reflection, and solitude when the world became too much. The space suited his style; grey walls with dark accents and floors, a sleek black desk with three large monitors and computer equipment. Opposite the desk was a long black leather couch that looked quite comfortable. And the room was completely soundproof. When he had brought you into the Genius Lab, he showed off some of his work. You watched as he pulled up different views of various streets all over Central, some storefronts where he pointed out Bangtan’s hired help stationed out front, and the exteriors of the hospital popped up on the screens. You were very thankful that they were still monitoring your workplace. Yoongi tapped on a few keys and different angles of your apartment appeared across the screens, both outside and inside. He played back your morning; Hobi pulling up in a nondescript black car, him swaying to the music in his earpiece as he rode the elevator up, to letting himself into your apartment and waiting for you with Holli’s coffee in his hand. You remembered Taehyung telling you about the cameras they put in your apartment that first morning. While you thought it would be more invasive, you found comfort in his watchfulness.

This morning had started as usual; Jin had come to pick you up this time to bring you to the Magic Shop. The only one you hadn’t seen since arriving at the Magic Shop was Jimin. He hadn’t appeared at lunch the first day as you expected. You shrugged it off, remembering that Hobi had mentioned he hadn’t been feeling well. But you still hadn’t seen or heard from him. The drive over to the Magic Shop was as winding and secretive as always. Though they had started going in a different way. From the street, it looked as if he had pulled up to an abandoned auto mechanic gas station in the lower section of town. At the touch of a button on the dashboard, a spray-painted door rolled open to a dark tunnel that ended at the parking level of the Magic Shop. You wanted to question how the construction worked or how it had remained secret but decided against it.

As you ascended the spiral staircase after Jin, that was where the morning took an unusual turn.

When you stepped into the large front foyer, you were greeted by the sounds of a struggle. Instinctually, you grabbed ahold of Jin’s arm and hid behind his broad shoulders, causing him to chuckle at the cute action. Coming through the front door was a blindfolded man being dragged in by both arms by Yeonjun and another hired staff member. He was yelling all sorts of vulgarities and kicking out in many directions, like he was throwing a tantrum and not trying to escape.

“Motherfucker! I told you to stop manhandling me like this! You know who I am? I will mess you up!”

“Such dramatics,” Jin bemused, “He acts like he hasn’t gone through this before. Yeonjun, did he cause you a lot of trouble?”

“Sir,” Yeonjun snapped to attention, still keeping his captive held tightly. “He tried to give us the slip. We met him at the appointed time but he tried to run. Even tried to jump out of the car.”

Jin tsked. “Jackson, so disappointing. I thought we had a better relationship than that.”

“Jin,” Jackson called out, head snapping in different directions to try and focus on him from behind the blindfold, “buddy, come on. I got the times mixed up and your boy jumped on me. Can we take this stupid blindfold off? I thought we’d be past this.”

“Jackson, you are like a rash; unwanted, hard to deal with, and annoying.”

“Damn, that hurt.” Yeonjun shoved Jackson forward, causing the man to stumble freely. He ripped the blindfold off his face and turned back to the younger, fist clenched. “Fucking punk, I’ll wipe that fucking smile off your prepubescent face!”

“Jackson,” Jin said in a commanding tone that in any other situation would be attractive. Stop it, you mentally screamed. “Refrain from threatening my employee in my home before I let him show you why he’s one of our best. Be a good boy and mind your manners. I’ll go get Namjoon to deal with you. Yeonjun, just make sure he stays here and doesn’t try to slip something into his pocket again. I’ll be right back.” Jackson snorted and rolled his eyes as he straightened himself out. Jin turned around to you, taking your hand and giving it a squeeze. “I’ll be back in a moment, Darling. Don’t worry, Jackson is like a tiny dog; he’s all bark and nothing else, and easy to kick.” Jin’s eye flicked up towards the corner of the room with a sharp look before he turned back to you with a smile. That was weird. “Yoongi-ah should be here soon. Just hang tight and introduce yourself if you want to. And if Jackson does anything ungentlemanly, just tell Yeonjun and he’ll make him regret it.”

Before you could beg to just run upstairs, Jin patted you on the shoulder and disappeared. You had to remember that Bangtan would never leave you in any danger since they were bound to protect you. You remembered hearing Namjoon mention Jackson’s name before and figured they wouldn’t bring someone into their home that was a danger. You looked over to Jackson. The man’s dual toned hair was messy from his struggling. He pulled a pair of sunglasses from his baggy pants pocket and pushed them up onto his head, like a makeshift headband.

Then, he noticed you. And you felt like you were a mouse caught in a snake’s site. A cool smile smoothed across his lips as he made his way over to you.

“Well, look at you. I’ve never seen you around here before. What’s a cute, little thing like you doing here? I’m Jackson. You need anything, I’m the one who will know how and where to find it. Individual contractor. Know-it-all extraordinaire. Master of the Silver Tongues.” He offered his hand out for yours.

“Um, hi, I’m Y/N.” You hesitated to shake his hand.

“So, what are you? You’re too cute to be related to any of them. You look far too meek to be one of us. And I’d hope you have better taste than to be trying to date one of these losers when someone like me exists. I can tell you, you can do better. I’ve known these guys for a long time. Trust me, they’ve got odd taste that would disagree with such a cute mouse like you.”

You retracted your hand. Jackson started to circle you, eyeing you up and down. It wasn’t threatening but you kept your eyes on him. Yeonjun gave you a look but you waved him off for the moment. You could handle yourself.

“I’m a nurse. I’m assisting them after an incident.”

“Ooh a nurse? What luck, I’m in need of some attention after all that rough housing.” He winked. “Oh, shit, wait, you’re the one that ran into the gun fight? And took out one of the Royal’s guys? I heard he’s still recovering from severe concussion. Mad respect, sweetheart.”

“How do you know about that?”

“I make it my business to know things. That’s how I make a living. And why I’m in such demand. Word of what you did has made its rounds through many circuits. Though, I’ll be honest, I’d never be able to put your face to it. And that’s a good thing in this world. Though, if you want to be extra safe from the bad guys, you may want to reconsider who you’re staying with.”

“What do you mean by that?” You turned to follow his eyes as he kept circling you. “Bangtan seems to be taking good care of me. And I don’t mean anything by this, but I haven’t heard anything about you until now.”

“Isn’t that the point? I’m good at staying secret, keeping things secret. And they’re so high profile, it would be easy to find you if they slipped up. There are some things that can’t be bought from me. Like a cute, little mouse. And if I wanted to keep someone safe, I’d make sure no one ever found them. Especially, if they are as interesting as you.”

“I’m interesting?”

“How could you not be? You’re so innocent, so different from all the other people I’ve ever met. You just want to help, didn’t know what you were running into. And now you’re stuck, hiding from the mean world that is trying to punish your good deed. I mean, I’ve been their friend for years and I can’t say I’d run into a fight with Choi to save someone he’s trying to kill. So yeah, you’re the most interesting person in the world. And I’d love to get to know you better. Maybe you’ll let me take you out sometime to prove I’m a better waste of your time.”

“And what makes you think I’d be okay with that?”

“Well, I can give you a hundred reasons to leave these losers behind.” He stopped circling and leaned in so his nose was only a breath away from yours. “But I’m the only one that you need.”

Unbeknownst to Jackson, Yoongi had appeared at the top of the staircase as Jackson started circling you. He watched the interaction with a scowl on his face. He descended the stairs with a ghostly quiet until he was right behind the rogue. You noticed him as Jackson had stopped to lean towards you and your breath caught in your throat. He looked mad, a fierce protectiveness was present in his dark eyes. He appeared at the right moment. Then, you realized. Yoongi had cameras in the Magic shop, he had mentioned it. And the look Jin had given to the wall that you didn’t understand must have been to one of Yoongi’s cameras that he was watching for when you had arrived as he had done before. They were still watching out for you. He stood so close to Jackson that you wondered how the other hadn’t sensed him yet, his face right next to his shoulder and gaze boring a hole in Jackson’s head. Jackson noticed that you were no longer paying him the attention he wanted and turned his eyes towards the directions yours were on. And he jumped as if he had just been electrocuted, putting some distance between him and the death glare he was receiving.

“Fucking hell, you bastard! Put a bell on your fucking neck! Damn, you scared the shit out of me!”

“Good,” Yoongi said as he kept his eyes trained on Jackson. “Leave her alone, Jackson. She’s got enough problems without you trying to weasel your way into her bed.”

“You wound me, Suga. I was just introducing myself to the lucky lady who is now one of the most famous women in our field.”

“I said,” he took a step closer to him, and despite his arm still in a sling, he looked as if he was about to use it on Jackson, “leave her alone.”

“Wow, back down, tiger. Sheesh, didn’t think you’d be so concerned about someone like her. Don’t you have your hands full already? Or are you just greedy? Or are you guys taking turns?”

“Jackson!”

Namjoon’s voice echoed against the walls. You looked up to the second floor where RM was leaning on the banister overlooking the foyer with Jin by his side glaring down at Jackson. RM looked as annoyed as his voice let on. He was all business with no sign of the calm Namjoon you had been seeing around the Magic Shop. With a power that befitted the Leader of Bangtan, he signaled for Suga to stand down and motioned for Jackson to follow him. With a final look and wink from Jackson to you, he flipped Yoongi off and made for the stairs. Suga, silently, watched him go, making mental notes for the future before he reached back and took your hand in his. You jumped, slightly. He hadn’t been physical with you like the others had, holding your hands, giving you a hug or playful shove. There was always a bit of distance, aside from the medical side of things.

“Come on, Y/N. Let’s get out of here.”

He had led you upstairs, asking if you were alright. While Jackson was a lot, it wasn’t something you couldn’t have handled. But you thanked him anyways for stepping in. It felt nice to have someone be so protective of you, something you weren’t so used to. He started leading you up towards the direction of the Genius Lab, where he insisted you stay until Jackson was gone, since it was secure and private, instead of the normal spaces you tended to occupy. Thankfully, the physical therapy you needed to do with Yoongi didn’t require much space and you carried all the equipment you needed in your bag. You figured Yoongi was not a fan of Jackson normally, remembering the disdain in his voice when Joon had mentioned him back at the hospital before. You were sure that Jackson’s display back in the foyer only made that worse and he wanted to keep an eye on when he left.

As you made it to the floor, Yoongi stopped. “I almost forgot. I need to check on something real quick. Can you remember how to get to the Genius Lab?”

“I think so. Do you need help?”

“No. I just need to check on Jimin. I won’t be long.”

“Is he alright? Is he still not feeling well? I can take a look if you need me to. That’s kind of my whole thing.”

He gave your hand a squeeze as a little chuckle sat in his throat. “No, it’s nothing you need to worry about right now. He’s coming down with something but is putting off taking his medicine as long as he can. He’s being stubborn. Gets it from me, probably. I’m just making sure he’s still in his room resting. I’ll only be a moment. I promise. Here, this is my key to the Lab. Let yourself in and lock it. I use my code on the door. Not that I think Jackson will know where my office is but just to be safe.”

Some part of you hated when he let go of your hand to head down the other side of the hall. You had to take a few breaths to let your professional masks fall back into place. You wished your emotions would settle. But being around someone as cute and protective had you feeling a certain way. A way which, you reminded yourself, you shouldn’t be feeling. You were hired to help him heal, not to let a crush develop. You really needed to get a grip. Yet, you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling as you made your way down the hall.

However, after a few steps and turns, you had lied when you thought you could find the Genius Lab on your own. The only places you knew how to get to without much assistance was the kitchen, gym, and the family room. You had only been to the Genuis Lab once and you racked your brain for any distinguishing details that would help you find it again. What picture was near the door? What color was the door? Was the one with frosted glass or was that Taehyung’s art studio? You could just stand still and wait for Yoongi to come back and find you. Or you could text him that you were going to back to the foyer. Or text one of the others for help? Joon was busy with Jackson, and you weren’t sure where Jin went after that. Jimin, of course, was sick and shouldn’t be disturbed. And you wanted Yoongi to focus on Jimin and not you getting lost. You sent a text to Taehyung, hoping he wasn’t too busy to help you with what he was up to in town. You walked further down the hall only to stop and turn around after not recognizing anything.

Wait, was this the same place you had started? Why must this place be so confusing?

Your phone buzzed. You looked down at Taehyung’s text.

TaeTae: I really got to make you a map LOL.

TaeTae: Do you remember how to find the stairs? Get back there and look for your favorite painting of mine. The G.L is two doors down from that.

TaeTae: If you can’t find it, I’m sure he’ll find you with the cameras. Sorry, I’m at a meeting right now.

You could do this. Just find the stairs. Though that was easier said than done now that you had gotten all turned around. You’re sure Taehyung would make a joke out of this if you were ever found. After another turn, you did see a picture that seemed familiar and went down that direction. As you kept walking, you started to hear voices. At least that was a start. Once you found the source, you could orient yourself or ask for help. You followed the voices, and as they got louder, you recognized RM’s tone and regretted your discussion, not wanting to interrupt. That, and you were sure Yoongi didn’t want you near Jackson again so soon. But as you were about to turn back, their conversation caught your attention.

“Haven’t I been super helpful to ya’ll? Who was the one who gave you that info about the Royals showing up?”

“You, also, neglected to tell us that Choi was going to be there. And that is how Suga got hurt.”

“An oversight. That must have changed at the last minute. I can’t be a mind reader.”

“Even though you market yourself as one?”

“Ok, true. But you of all people should know that they don’t do what they say. Regardless, I told you about the Ateez pirates. I said they were up to something interesting. You should trust me by now. I got the information. I may be an independent player in this game, but I like you guys. That’s why I keep my ears open for you. And, I haven’t spilled anything of yours.”

“That’s because I don’t let you get anything worth spilling.”

“Ouch, you wound me, bro. I thought we were closer than that.”

Before you could help yourself, you found yourself stopped outside of Namjoon’s office. The door was barely cracked, but enough for you to see a bit inside. Namjoon’s office was much different from Yoongi’s; it was a large room with warm hardwood against velvety walls that declared power, with bookcases lining the grand walls. Thick hard-covered books filled the shelves like an extensive library. Seated at an opulent and ornate desk in a high wing backed chair was RM, his fingers threaded together and pressed against his lips as he peered sharply at Jackson. Jackson sat relaxed in a smaller, less comfortable chair. They were bathed in the crackling light of a roaring fire from the Victorian style fireplace that sat across from them. This was what you expected of a Mafia leader.

“I don’t appreciate you making my second so upset. He’s supposed to be recovering. Something he wouldn’t have to be doing had you had better information. Maybe I should start going to someone else.”

Jackson scuffed. “As if anyone could do what I do. Besides, I feel like you would have done it by now if there was anyone else. And if that asshole wasn’t so easily riled up he would be fine. I was just saying ‘hello’ to her. And trying to figure her out. She’s quite a surprise Joon.”

“We are trying to keep her safe. That includes from you, Jackson. She’s a civilian who got caught up in the worst way. We just got her to relax around us. I’d thank you to not undo what I’ve been working hard to do.”

“I hear you. Glad you took my advice to just go with it. I told you nothing bad would happen. I mean, what did you just say? ‘She’s a civilian’. I truly doubted she would be any problems.”

“No thanks to you.” Joon leaned further in his chair, his dragon eyes glowing in the fire light. “I’ve been patient, Jackson. More than I should be given what I am dealing with here. Now, you are going to tell me what I asked you to find out for me before I let Suga do what he wanted to do.”

“Damn, for someone who said it’s all business, you’re really pushing it here.”

“Jackson,” you could tell that Namjoon’s patience was wearing thin. What was he so determined to know? Was it something to do with Choi or the Royals?

“Man, look. I can find information about anyone. With just their name, I can tell you if they had late fees from their elementary school library or how many days their mother spent in the hospital recovering from birth.”

“And yet, it has taken you over a week to get back to me. Either you are slipping or you are full of shit.”

“Or you’re dealing with a ghost.” Jackson reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small notepad. “Everything I found fits on two pages of this little flip pad. Even the most basic civilian fills half of the pages. But this Y/N girl is either that most boring person in the entire world or she’s a ghost.”

Wait, he was here about you? Namjoon was looking for information about you? You thought you had been very open with them about anything they had asked you. He had asked you to trust him, but he didn’t trust you. He had hired Jackson to dig up anything on you that he could. He was nervous when you had first come to the Magic Shop but you thought you had worked past that. Hadn’t the time they had spent with you beforehand been enough to prove that you meant no harm to them or else why would he ask you to come here? You knew you shouldn’t listen to any of this, but you couldn’t move. You sunk to the ground and leaned against the wall, listening.

“What are you talking about?”

Jackson tossed the pad over to him to see for himself. “I mean, this girl has nothing before two years ago. All I could find is that she currently works at Central Mercy as an ER Nurse, she lives in a shitty apartment that’s overpriced for that part of town. Before that, there isn’t much. I found her college she attended for her expedited nursing degree where she got high marks. Her father worked for different police forces as a high up desk jockey, meaning she moved a lot so there isn’t much in regard to early years. But nothing else. Everything starts about two years ago. I was able to find a news article about a car accident that listed her as a passenger, so her amnesia story checks out as far as that. Can’t said I ever heard of someone using amnesia as a cover, but fuck if it wouldn’t be good. Father died and there was no mother listed on any paperwork. Father’s file is just as blank. Just he was basic cop who sat at a desk. After the accident, her only known address was some small studio in her name that was set up by the rehab she was assigned to by some Doctor Sung, who died a year after from a heart attack. Found all his files but it’s nothing interesting. She did some reception job for a clinic before she came here that was a nonprofit for student nurses and that had nothing useful other than what I already had. But that’s all. No ties anywhere, no real records until recently. Either she’s got the most boring, nonspecial life I’ve ever seen, or her life’s been invented by some crazy mastermind. And I’m leaning towards the first one, man. This girl is boring and is nothing in the grand scheme of things. And that’s the truth. The most interesting thing was meeting you guys. She’s harmless. She’s no threat to anyone except maybe herself with that stupid heroic shit. So, you worried for nothing. Your family is safe, just like I said it would be.”

“How can that be all?” Namjoon seemed disappointed. “You’re telling me that there was no other information? How can someone’s life just go back two years? You must have missed something.”

“I don’t miss shit. Listen, I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but that’s all there is. Her old man must have been from some off the grid town beforehand and didn’t leave footprints. She’s a nobody. She’s barely worth the time I spent looking for her. So, stop worrying about her like she’s gonna turn into some problem. And if she does, you can kill her easily enough. Hell, there are seven of you, should be easy.”

You couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped your lips. Namjoon’s eyes snapped towards the door, knowing full well that he had been caught. He rose from the desk and crossed the room, opening the door to find you rooted in place against the wall, eyes cast down with tears welling in the corners. It wasn’t just from the threat of being killed by the people you were supposed to trust, or the harsh words that Jackson had said about you. But it was the fact that you weren’t trusted. You were not granted the same thing he had begged you to do for them. And that hurt just as much.

“Oh shit,” Jackson said with a hint of glee. “Little mouse likes to sneak around, huh? I can see why you didn’t want to trust her. Seems like she’ll get herself killed before too long.”

“Jackson,” RM roared causing you to shrink further into yourself and the tears to flow freely. Namjoon looked down at you, instantly regretting his tone. He had messed up and he knew that. Moving carefully, he held his hand out to you in a silent plea to take it. Feeling like there was no other choice, you let him pull you up to your feet and into his office. Daring to look at his face, you didn’t see anger or any dangerous threat that you feared for your eavesdropping. You saw remorse and sympathy. He led you towards the fireplace where there were two large armchairs facing each other with a side table full of half-read books. He motioned you to sit before he turned back to Jackson. He took out his phone and sent a quick message. Within a moment, Yeonjun appeared in the door. “That’s enough, Jackson. Thank you for your help. But I need to talk to Y/N. Yeonjun will take you back where he found you. You know the drill.”

“Wow, fastest visit ever. Am I at least getting paid?” Namjoon shot him a look that made him jump and scurry over to the door. “Don’t look so sad, sweetheart. I’m sure he isn’t going to kill you. Let me know if you want to take me up on my offer.”

Yeonjun grabbed Jackson by the collar and dragged him out, shutting the door behind him, leaving you alone with Namjoon and the crackling fire. You thought back to when he had saved you when Choi had you cornered in the hospital hall, how good natured he had been with you, how he had been so open with you before he even knew anything more about you. He had been the one pushing for you to trust them and be comfortable with them. He had wanted you to come to the Magic Shop, was planning on telling you before he got busy. But was it all a ruse to get you to follow along? A handkerchief was pushed into your hands and Joon took a seat in the opposite armchair.

“Y/N, I’m sorry you heard that.” He was sorry? Was he going to reprimand you for eavesdropping? Or tell you that all this was a farce that he was going to drop and forget this life debt he kept pushing? “I was hoping to have talked to him before you ever got here. Just for some extra assurance before we moved forward. I didn’t want you to ever hear that. Jackson can say things harsher than he means. I asked him to do a more detailed background check than I had already done, just to ensure I had all the facts.” He flinched when your breath hitch as more tears fell. He started to reach out his hand to try and comfort you but thought better of it. “I promise, I didn’t mean anything by it. I just needed to be completely sure that we were all going to be safe.”

“I wouldn’t have hurt any of you. I can barely handle myself, let alone do anything to you all,” you cried. “Why would I put myself in this situation? I tried to get away from all of this but you kept me here. I would have told you all of that stuff. It’s all I know about myself since the accident. I have nothing to hide from anyone. I promise I have only told you the truth.”

“I know you have. I’m sure you would have told me everything freely. I fucked up. I can’t say I’m sorry enough.”

“Was he right? Are you going to kill me? Because I seem like a made-up person? Because I don’t have a past?”

“No!” Namjoon rose from his seat and knelt down in front of you, finding your eyes and begging for your attention. “I would never do that. I promised to protect you. And I would do that whether you owed us a life debt or not. This life I’ve been living for the past twelve years has made me question so much about people. I’ve been lied to so many times that it fucks up your mind. Bangtan is my family and it’s my responsibility to protect them. When I met you, I instantly felt like I could trust you. I could see that you were a good person. But we had been fooled by someone we thought we could instantly trust before and I got nervous. But the more we spent with you, I knew it was different. But there was this little part of me that still worried. So, I looked into you after that first day. That’s why I introduced us as Bangtan to you. The others agreed because they saw what I saw in you. We've all been jaded by this life but something in you broke through all of our hesitations. We all think you are a good person and that you wouldn’t do anything to hurt us. Once we got you to see what we really were, I thought this would be easier on all fronts.”

“You asked me to trust you but you couldn’t do the same for me?”

“I know. It’s been so long since I could really trust someone. Look at Jackson. Okay, bad example. But I’ve known Jackson almost as long as I’ve known the others. But I still need to keep him at arm’s length or watch what I say around him. It’s different with you. I want to trust you, I do. I just needed to be extra sure that I was doing the right thing. I truly mean that.”

You sat in silence for a long while as your breath evened out and your tears ceased. You could understand his hesitation. How could he be sure that you weren’t lying? It made sense, but hearing Jackson’s words, imagining that’s how they saw you, it was hard. But you had been so back and forth with their trust, too.

“I really wish we could just start over.”

“What do you want to know?” You took a deep breath and leaned back into the armchair. “What else do you need to hear? You want to be sure? Ask away. I only know so much. You guys have asked me to trust you and you told me things that would be helpful. I will try to do the same so we can share a common ground. Maybe one day I’ll know more and I can tell you more. But I can tell you what I can.”

“It’s fine, Y/N. You don’t need to do that. I trust you.” He stood up and moved towards his desk. But you grabbed his hand, steeling yourself to open up as much as you could. He could sense your determination and returned to the armchair. “Just tell me whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“I never really talk about this. It’s hard to talk about. But I can confirm that what Jackson said was all true. It’s actually pretty much all I know for myself. My first actual memory is waking up in a small hospital room in so much pain. There was a man sitting next to me that I didn’t remember. He was my friend, he showed me pictures of us at school. His name was Daniel. I don’t know his last name, I never asked or remembered it. He’s the one who told me about the accident. My father’s car was hit from the side and flipped. He didn’t make it. Daniel spent weeks by my side as I recovered. Dr. Sung was this older doctor who watched over me and helped me recover. Once I was moved to his rehab, Dr. Sung prescribed me all these different treatments but my memories never came back. Daniel brought me my old schoolwork, my old journals, anything that could help me find myself. But there wasn’t much. Jackson said something about us moving a lot. After a year, I could recall little things about places I believe I lived. But there was never anything concrete. No friends or family reached out. Daniel told me that it was just me and dad. He had never heard us talk about anyone else. I guess we didn’t stay long in places. After I was released from the rehab, Daniel and I moved into this small apartment that was far away from everything. The rehab set it up to help me adjust to the world. But I was like a zombie, depressed, broken. After six months, I started trying to get better, start over. Daniel and I started dating, I found a job that was walking distance from my place. All my medical training came back over time. Just not anything else. And that was my life for almost two years. But, almost five months ago, Daniel and I split up and I came to Central to get away from all the unpleasantness. I’d prefer not to go into that if that’s alright. We weren’t good together anymore. Since I’ve been away, I’ve started remembering little flashes of things that don’t make a lot of sense. Amber thinks it’s because I’m away from the trauma. I don’t even know if I want to remember anymore. But if I remember anything more, I promise I’ll tell you once I figure it all out.”

Namjoon reached out and took your hand. “It’s okay. Thank you for sharing that with me. I promise to be more upfront about any questions I have. I trust you.”

“I trust you, too.”

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hesbuckcompton-baby · 9 months ago

Text

Better Off - Bernard DeMarco x OFC - Chapter 1

AO3

Summary: When Bernard DeMarco is forced to find ATS Commander Susie Lamb, his expectations are tainted by her less-than-savoury reputation. However, the more time he spends with her, the more he begins to suspect she's been misjudged by the people of Thorpe Abbotts.

Warnings: Language, drinking, smoking

Word Count: 4.5k

Tags: @xxluckystrike @latibvles @footprintsinthesxnd

Bernard DeMarco stared down at the steadily cooling coffee in his hand, the warmth of the mug heating his palms, which had been chilled to the bone even through his gloves on the long-haul flight over from Greenland. Almost ten hours in the sky, staring out at nothing but rolling clouds and the faint grey line of the horizon. Even with Cleven chatting at his side and Meatball nudging the back of his seat, it had been difficult to stay alert for so long, and now he found himself in dear want of a rest.

Instead, he was here, sitting around a long table in the mess hall when he could've been in bed, listening to his friends' chatter, his dog resting its snout against his knee. Benny knew how to pretend he wasn't feeling the wear - to put on a grin and laugh along to everyone's jokes as if he were still awake and raring to go, when the thing he wanted more than anything was a chance to shed the uniform he'd been wearing all day and just sit down somewhere quiet.

The door to the mess hall swung open and the Colonel wandered in, peering with a frown at the piece of paper in his hand, a typed list he couldn't make out stamped upon it. "Colonel," Egan nodded, tilting an imaginary cap in greeting. Hugh stopped at the end of the table, surveying the faces of the group that had assembled.

"Afternoon fellas. I got a supply list I need running up to the ATS - just some stuff we're gonna need brought in for the next run. Uh... DeMarco? D'you mind?"

DeMarco's brow furrowed in confusion, glancing around at the others to check if anyone else had noticed how unorthodox this order was. "Sir? All due respect, but ain't that a job for a runner or somethin'?"

"Usually, but... I'd like someone a little more experienced."

At the opposite end of the table, a playful grin had begun making its way across Curt's face. "Oh-ho, he's gotta talk to Commander Lamb, don't he?"

Bucky had begun to smirk to himself, lifting a hand over his mouth to make it less obvious. Benny figured he must've looked somewhere between dumbstruck and panicked by the way Hugh had begun to speak in a soothing, gentle tone. "Look, the Commander's just a little difficult. We send the runners up there, she gets 'em all turned around, and they don't get the information we need. I'm lookin' for a firm hand, is all. Besides, you can give the dog a walk."

He was thoroughly unsatisfied with this justification for making him walk halfway across the airfield, but it was becoming clearer by the minute that it wasn't something he could get out of. With a disgruntled sigh, he rose to his feet, chair scraping loudly against the floor as he grabbed Meatball's leash, the dog already at his heels, tail wagging and ready to go, far more chipper than his owner. DeMarco grabbed the list from the Colonel without so much as glancing at its contents, heading towards the mess hall doors to the sound of Biddick's chuckling.

The sun hung high in the sky, a beacon in a sea of blue, the weather so blissfully perfect that it actually seemed to worsen his mood more than anything. He was usually a fun guy, everyone thought so, but today he was just too goddamn tired. Meatball was having the time of his life, drinking from every puddle and pissing against every tree they passed, the constant stopping only succeeding in doubling the time their journey took. By the time he reached the ATS garages, DeMarco was confident he never wanted to see Hugh's stupid list - or whoever this Commander Lamb was - ever again.

The garages were a bustle of activity, trucks and motorbikes pulling in and out all over the place, Air Force and ATS alike hauling crates of all kinds of ammunition, food supplies, and whatever else the air base could possibly require. Standing in the doorway of the nearest building was a woman - easy on the eyes, orange-haired, staring down at a clipboard in her hand as she ticked off whatever the men nearby were carrying inside.

"Uh- ma'am?" He called, tugging on Meatball's lead as they approached. The woman seemed to see the dog before she did DeMarco, a pleasant smile creasing her cheeks as she looked up at him.

"Yes... Captain?" She asked, peering at the insignia on his jacket for confirmation.

"I gotta supply list from Colonel Hugh to pass onto a Commander Lamb?"

The woman raised a brow as if to say 'You sure about that?', but she turned nevertheless, yelling over her shoulder into the huge supply hangar behind her. "Susie!"

Peering past the woman, DeMarco watched as a figure approached from inside, initially obscured by the shadow of a huge supply truck, but when she stepped into the light it gave him pause. Her hair fell unpinned halfway down her back, brown waves shining red in the sunlight. She wore olive slacks instead of the standard-issue uniform skirt, and a leather bomber jacket with 'S. Lamb' printed on the breast like the ones he'd seen some of the pilots wear. She hardly looked like she was supposed to be on duty at all, but she marched up to them all the same, taking the clipboard from the other woman and looking it over.

"Charlotte, go help Fisher - she's got some stuff to go to Sergeant Bevan on the hardstand," She ordered, and the woman scurried away inside. Once the two of them were alone, Susie stared back at him for a long moment, brow raised as she waited for him to speak. "...So?"

Suddenly DeMarco was beginning to understand what the others had meant. Her accent was harsh, less refined than the other English workers he'd met since his arrival, and she didn't exactly look pleased to see him. Frankly, she had a face that suggested she was never glad to see anyone.

"Got a list from Colonel Hugh - requests for ammo supplies," He stated, holding it up to her. "We need-"

"Ah-" Lamb raised a hand to stop him. "If you're gonna talk, you've gotta walk with me."

She began to walk before he had a chance to respond. "Well alright then," He muttered under his breath, beginning to trail after her, tugging at Meatball's lead so that he would follow along. "Five hundred AN-M30s, four hundred AN-M64s, six hundred USAAF five hundred pound-ers..." DeMarco rattled off Hugh's list, squinting to read the paper as it shook in his hand against the breeze. Ahead of him, Susie was peering into the backs of the row of trucks that had just arrived, scribbling away on her clipboard. He wasn't entirely sure she was listening.

He stopped talking just before they reached the end of the row, having to tug Meatball along as he got distracted by the crates of food being brought in. Lamb ticked something off in her notes before turning on her heel to look at him. "That everything?"

"Yeah, that's it," Benny confirmed, sliding the list back into his pocket. She raised her brow again in that inquisitive way she did. It was already getting annoying.

"I'm not gonna remember all that, am I? Gimme the list," She huffed, holding out her hand.

"Then why did you have me read it all out?" He grumbled, fishing out the wad of paper and handing it over.

"I didn't ask you to do that. I just said if you were gonna, you'd have to follow me," Thinking it over, he realised she was right. He hated that. "But, yunno. Most of the runners Hugh sends up here would've already shat themselves and run off by now, so good job."

DeMarco bristled, squaring his shoulders. "I'm not a runner, I'm a Captain."

Susie was looking down at the list, but she peered back up at him with a wonky grin. "Jesus, what'd you do to get stuck with the 'Susie Lamb punishment', eh? Did your dog take a shit on the Colonel's desk or summat?"

He frowned, her self-awareness almost alarming. She clearly knew what the others said about her, but she simply didn't care - in all honesty, there was something he admired in that.

"I think the Colonel just wanted someone who wouldn't get scared off," He confessed.

She snorted. "Maybe he should try hiring runners who don't piss themselves whenever a woman frowns at 'em." For a moment the shell almost seemed cracked, a not-so-scary Susie peeking out. But then a loud clatter sounded across the yard, and DeMarco turned to see one of the deliverymen scrounging to pick up the machine gun rounds that had scattered across the tarmac when he accidentally dropped a crate. "Oi!" Susie yelled, beginning to storm off, raising a hand in what could've either been a wave goodbye or a dismissal.

Meatball tried to nip at her heels as she marched towards the deliveryman, tugging on his leash with such force that DeMarco was almost forced to follow, but he managed to stand his ground. He couldn't make out what Susie was saying at such a distance, but by the way the colour drained from the poor man's face, it was nothing good. Letting out a chuckle, he counted himself lucky that he had yet to meet Commander Lamb at her most formidable.

After all, she did have access to all the bombs.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The sun had barely risen by the time the pilots stepped onto the runway, the airfield bursting into a bustle of activity as the last planes were prepped, and the flight crews readied themselves to board. DeMarco had managed a decent half night's sleep, and was at least in a better mood than he had been the previous afternoon. Although, the powdered eggs they'd served up for breakfast hadn't helped.

There were a dozen things to worry about concerning the flight ahead, but in all honesty he was mainly concerned about what he was going to do with Meatball. It seemed not to have occurred to him when he first adopted the stray that he couldn't bring him on missions, and the prospect of leaving him all alone damn near broke his heart.

His train of thought was severed by the roar of engines as a supply truck rolled up to 'Our Baby' just along the runway to deliver the last of the spare machine gun rounds. A familiar flicker of red caught the light as Susie Lamb craned her head out of the driver's seat window, barking to one of the ground crewmen as he scurried to unload the cargo. An idea sparked in DeMarco's mind, and he could already see Curt shooting him a confounded look as he bounded up to the vehicle.

Susie was just reaching for a lighter, an unlit cigarette poised between her lips, as he reached her window, plastering on the best friendly smile that he could muster. She hadn't heard him approach over the hum of the engine, and the shock of the face suddenly at her side made the cigarette tumble from her mouth, falling into the footwell. "Jesus fucking Christ," She hissed, voice thick with irritation. "Can I help you?"

"I don't have anyone to watch Meatball while I'm up," Benny explained, and she peered out of the window at the dog, who was staring slack-jawed up at her, wagging its tail. "I was wondering if I could trouble you for the favour?"

There was that eyebrow again. She had a way of drawing out those painful silences that just made him want to squirm, immediately regretting whatever he'd asked. Perhaps Hugh's runners had had a point.

"You want me to babysit your dog?"

Suddenly the suggestion felt ridiculous. "Well, I just-"

"Eh, fuck it," Sticking her foot out, Susie kicked open the passenger side door. "Chuck him in."

The moment DeMarco moved to unclip Meatball's leash, it was as if he knew exactly where he was going, claws skittering against the tarmac as he bounded around to the other side of the truck, leaping unprompted up into the seat, tail wagging wildly. It was almost offensive, how pleased the mutt was to be rid of him. "Alright, alright," Benny muttered, closing the door behind him. "Thanks for this. Seriously."

"It's nothing - he already seems to prefer me, anyway."

Shaking his head, he cleared his throat- loudly. "Name's DeMarco, by the way. Bernard DeMarco."

Susie was already tugging at the handbrake, the engine roaring to life once more. "Yeah, I know," She nodded, an almost-smile tugging at her lips, pulling away before he could respond as Meatball's head lolled happily out of the window.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The supply depot was almost empty by the time the pilots returned, the rumble of DeMarco's freshly commandeered jeep splitting the silence as he rolled to a stop, looking around for some sign of his dog. "Susie?" He called as he clambered out, peering into each hangar as he passed, unable to locate any signs of life. The ATS women seemed to have all taken the afternoon - that or they were all busy delivering supplies to the mechanics.

"Susie?"

A familiar bark pierced the air, and he followed it around to the back of one of the buildings. A bench ran along the back wall of the hangar, basking in the afternoon sunlight, and there she sat, a book open in her lap, halfway through eating a sandwich. Her hair was pulled back messily into a bun, stray auburn curls sticking out at random angles, and Meatball lay stretched out at her feet, occasionally jumping up to chase after a tiny yellow butterfly.

"Ah. You're alive then," Susie stated plainly, squinting in the sun as she looked up at him.

DeMarco shrugged. "Just about."

"That's good. Didn't know what I was gonna do with him otherwise," She gestured to Meatball using her sandwich, chuckling as the dog snapped his jaws at a passing insect. "... You ok?"

"Do I not look it?" He took at seat at the opposite end of the bench, a deliberate gap left between them. Benny didn't exactly want to hang around; he was just tired, and he appreciated the opportunity to sit on something that wasn't moving.

"There's a cut on your cheek," She pointed out, raising a hand to cover her mouth as she talked around her food. Raising a hand to his face, DeMarco's fingertips came away red. He hadn't even noticed the pain.

"Occupational hazard... did you feed him?"

"Gave him a sandwich."

"You can't feed a dog a sandwich!" DeMarco exclaimed, and Susie shrugged, nonchalant in a way that annoyed him.

"Well, you're the one who made it my problem! Didn't even ask if I knew what to feed the damn thing!"

"Well, I just assumed you were a human being and had some inclination that dogs might eat dog food. Forgive me."

Susie shot him a glare. "Having a dog isn't a prerequisite to being alive, mate. D'you think I've got dog food sitting around? I have an actual job that I have to do, it gets in the way a bit."

He turned sideways on the bench to look at her properly. "Y'know, I thought people didn't like you because you're mean. But it's really because you don't give a shit about anything except yourself, isn't it?"

The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. He wasn't that kind of person - he didn't say those kinds of things to people. He didn't want Susie to think that he did. But she seemed entirely unphased, taking another bite of her sandwich with so little a reaction he almost doubted ever having spoken at all. She chewed and swallowed painfully slowly, and he began to realise she was prolonging the silence on purpose, giving him time to stew on his own words. DeMarco felt his face begin to heat up.

"You can take the dog back now," She said after a while, turning to the next page of her book.

"Susie, I'm sorry," He blurted. She looked at him then, and for a moment he swore he saw surprise in her expression. "I shouldn't've said that."

"Heard worse. Though, most people actually mean it," Susie shrugged. "And I do give a shit about other people. It just... takes a minute."

Nodding slowly, he let out a whistle, and Meatball bounded over, tail wagging as he dutifully allowed him to reattach his leash. DeMarco wasn't quite sure what to say. He didn't know this woman, not yet, but he was getting the distinct impression that the others had been wrong about her. As he stood up, running a hand across his chin, he took a deep breath. "Hey. Me and the fellas are gonna get drinks tonight, to celebrate the mission. You should come."

The corners of her lips turned up in a smirk. "Yeah. I mean, I was going anyway - but I'll be there."

"Alright," Benny nodded, smiling involuntarily. "I'll buy you a beer. Call it payment - for the babysitting."

"Well if I'm getting paid I definitely won't feed him sandwiches next time," Susie joked. He let out a laugh, suddenly realising that, yes. There would be a next time.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

If there was one thing Thorpe Abbotts would have benefitted from, it was an additional pub. The village had not been prepared for the sudden influx of pilots and crew and the hundreds of other workers that came with them, so a night in the pub had become a sure recipe for claustrophobia and havoc. Meatball was curled up at DeMarco's feet, half sitting on him for lack of space beneath the table. A pile of empty pint glasses was growing in the centre of the table, laughter growing louder with each passing drink as they grew steadily more intoxicated - drunk on victory more than they were alcohol.

Susie stood at the bar with a small group of ATS girls, beer in hand, listening and chuckling along to their stories of workplace mishaps and awkward encounters with the men they had to work with. Even if every single other person at Thorpe Abbotts thought poorly of her, the women under Susie's command never would. She was a protector - a personification of a rougher class of women, utterly unafraid to throw a punch where the others shied away. In Norfolk, it was uncommon to find an English girl working in a job like this who hadn't been raised in privilege - middle-class families in country cottages, who had never had reason to find an occupation until war broke out. None of them quite understood why Susie Lamb had come all this way, her Manchester accent sticking out like a sore thumb - but they were glad she had.

"-And then I told him, 'Mate, if you're not gone in five minutes, I'll kick your balls so far up your throat you won't need breakfast'," Susie explained, the women around her erupting into laughter as she wiped a thin line of beer foam away from her top lip.

Charlotte chuckled, the red-haired Subaltern finishing off a half-pint of cider as she reached into her pocket for a cigarette. "The pool table's freed up - we should get in there before the Yanks get a chance."

Susie nodded in firm agreement, and was about to follow the other women towards the far corner of the pub when a sudden mass at her feet almost tripped her, beer sloshing over the rim of her glass and landing on Meatball's head as he let out a bewildered yelp. Letting out a tsk as she sucked her teeth, she crouched down beside the dog, grabbing for a napkin as she dabbed at his fur. "You've gotta watch yourself, lad," She scolded gently, soft voice barely audible in the pub's din. "Can't go wonderin', your dad'll worry."

Tilting his damp head up at her, Meatball let out a whine, his tail beginning to wag as he seemed to recognise her face. "Hey, Meatball, quit runnin' off," A familiar voice called across the crowd. Giving the dog an affectionate scratch below its chin, Susie rose to her feet, lifting a hand to beckon DeMarco over. "Oh, hey. Well, at least he found a familiar face in this damn place," He huffed.

"Well, he did get covered in beer for his trouble, not sure he'll bother again," She shrugged, batting Meatball away as he tried to stick his nose up under the hem of her skirt.

With a sudden, sinking feeling, DeMarco realised he'd forgotten to buy her the drink he'd promised. Rummaging in his pockets, he handed over a few coins to cover the cost. It wasn't the same. "Sorry, I, uh... I forgot you were coming," He admitted, red tinting his cheeks in shame.

"No worries - I noticed you were far too busy losing at darts," Susie teased, shoving the money into her pocket.

"Hey, now, I wouldn't call it losing," Shaking his head, he moved closer to where she stood at the bar, stepping out of the way of the crowds.

"Really? Failing, then?"

DeMarco batted a hand in dismissal, a smile curling his lips. "Oh, well, if you're so good at darts-"

"I am actually," Susie shrugged.

"Of course you are. You're gonna say you Brits are all good at playing darts - just like you're all good at making tea and... I dunno, sheep herding?"

She let out a laugh, teeth peeking through her grin. He liked her smile. There was a rosy pink in her cheeks, and he couldn't tell if it was the warmth of the pub or the alcohol or something else, but it suited her.

Susie nodded as she took another sip of her drink. "Aw, you got me. You've found my secret hobby - I do love to herd sheep. Yes."

Benny smiled warmly, leaning one elbow up against the bar as he watched her. A curl had slipped loose from behind her ear, and in the warm light of the room, it shone a flaming red. From across the room, a few of the ATS women let out a cheer, the orange-haired woman he'd met at the supply depot grinning as she passed her pool cue to the next woman. He cleared his throat. "Oh, by the way, could I talk to, uh - Charlotte? Is it?"

Her smile vanished. A wave of panic filled him. Susie began to nod bitterly, gnawing at the inside of her lip. There was a look in her eye, like she'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop, and it finally had.

"Are you kidding me? ...Yeah. Yunno what? Fuck you, DeMarco."

“What? I don’t-”

“No, no. I get it. You thought being nice to me would get you an in with the pretty ATS girls - you’re not the first one who’s tried it,” Tilting her head, she upturned the rest of her beer, swallowing it in a single gulp. “Charlotte’s engaged, by the way. I’m sure you can try your luck somewhere else.”

"Susie, I didn't-"

"Hey Benny!" Egan's voice rang out from over by the dartboard. "C'mon, it's your turn!"

"Yeah, Benny, it's your turn," Susie repeated, her words laced with venom, practically spitting his own name back at him. "Although, two losses in one night might be a bit rough, eh?"

His mouth gaped open and shut for a moment like a dying fish, and before he could find a word to say she had scoffed, rolling her eyes as she pushed away from the bar, diving into the crowd as she fought to put distance between them. Meatball had almost tried to follow her before the wall of people separated them, and he let out a defeated whimper, returning to his owner, tail between his legs.

Charlotte was about to bend over to take her next shot when she felt a hand pressed against her shoulder. Turning her head, she saw Susie, cheeks flushed, a frown furrowing her brow. "Can I bum a cig? I'm heading off," She whispered.

"Yeah, sure," The subaltern nodded, holding out the crumpled box she carried with her. "You ok?"

"All good. Thanks," She nodded, propping a cigarette between her lips as she made for the door. The night air hit her face with such chilling force that it almost hurt, a cloud forming as she sighed, plucking a lighter from her pocket, the cigarette embers releasing a comforting heat.

The walk back to barracks was a long one, a seemingly endless row of identical Nissen huts stretching out before her by the time Susie reached the airfield, exhaling one puff of smoke after another. There was always too much stewing in her mind - a solid wall of white noise, her thoughts stirring together like ingredients to the most repugnant soup ever concocted. It was difficult to even pluck out a single emotion amongst all that hubbub.

I hate you DeMarco, but I like your dog, but you're just like everyone else, except if you're not, except if I was wrong.

The lights in her hut turned on with a click, the room filling itself with a yellow glow, the faint hum of lightbulbs audible in the silence. Everyone else was out - dress uniforms taken off their hangers, the smell of freshly applied perfume still lingering in the air. Susie had stomped her cigarette out on the damp grass outside, the smell of smoke permeating her clothes. She raised her hands to cover her face, agonised groan muffled by the sweaty skin of her palms as she collapsed backwards onto her bed, the springs creaking noisily.

Staring at the ceiling didn't solve anything - not the anger in her chest, nor the lingering feeling in her gut that she'd gotten something badly wrong. Letting her head loll to the side, Susie stared at the picture frame propped up on her nightstand, the photo's corners battered and bent beneath the layer of glass that encased it. Her mother, rounded and warm, a tiny, swaddled baby in her arms. Her father, sturdy and dependable, holding a spindly, blond-headed toddler against his hip. And a row of six little children, flashing the same gap-toothed smiles, all dressed in their nicest clothes, which never quite seemed to fit properly.

She could see her own face - a tiny, chubby, three-year-old face that wasn't really her own anymore, curls erupting like a lion's mane around her head. They were all squinting in the sun, lined up outside the only house she'd ever called her own. She could feel their eyes on her - her own most of all. Reaching out, Susie caught the top of the frame with her finger, flipping it over, out of sight, as if covering their faces would somehow make her feel less judged.

"Oh, piss off, you lot."

#masters of the air #bernard demarco #masters of the air oc #masters of the air fic #mota oc #bernard demarco x oc #oc: susie #fic | better off

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