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[sophiasmith81]

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[edwardslowell]

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[sumitverma3297]

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[duskier]

cw objectum (Ghost is dating his rifle and fucks it like he means it!)

Idk about yall I kind of just love pathetic freak Ghost who doesn't care. I feel like he loves his service rifle, carved a name into the lower receiver and called her that name genuinely, like she were a person. (Also called her she, confusing everyone on base for a minute, thinking he somehow finally got a girlfriend.)

He cuddles it in his sleep. He gets used to having the cold, hard metal to wrap his arms around, pulling it against his body. Fingers listless as they dip into the magwell lazily, absently as he drifts off to sleep with his cheekbone against the business end of his dear rifle. It smells like dirt and lead and like home for Ghost, and he needs it to sleep.

When he wakes up in the morning, aching hard and groggy, who else could he trust? The steady, immortal predictability of the rifle's buttstock pressing almost insistently against his own length is too good to resist. So what if he holds the gun steady by the handguard and rocks himself up against it. Hard biting edges giving Ghost the barest amount of pain, sending sparks flying through his core.

It's only a problem when it becomes a habit. Ghost comes home from a long mission, pent up as all hell. Feels like he'll either die or his balls will just fall off from lack of use. It's got him irritable as it's all he can think about. Every little thing that keeps him from beelining to his room needs to be destroyed. He left his gear- including his precious rifle- in the storage room. Not even put away, just leaned against the wall, shoved out of the walkway.

Getting back to his private quarters and not even making it to his bed, just slamming his door locked and gripping his cock over his pants. The gear he could ignore, Ghost doesn't even stop to remove his gloves. Just tugs out his cock and starts frantically chasing that release he's been aching for, the one that has been eluding and tormenting him the entire time.

...But he couldn't reach that goal post. It had become too much of a habit, he couldn't feel the comfort of his bed beneath him nor smell the oil he used to clean his rifle. It's all a blur, then, a miracle he had enough sense to tuck his cock back away as he storms back across base.

If Ghost had been scary before, he was beyond even comprehension now. Angry dark aura infecting the corners of every room he stalked past. Stalking back through the halls with his rifle slung around his shoulders, the familiar weight grounding him just a little.

He beds her like he would any lover. pulling her against him after he's stripped all his clothes off. He wants to feel her against him entirely. Groaning open mouthed at the relief that floods him pressing up against her. He flexes his hips, pushing even just a bit harder. It hurts but she needs to know.

"Can you feel how much I missed ya?" Had Ghost had his wits about him, he might have felt embarrassed for how tender and domesticated he sounded- especially towards his damned gun. "Well I know you was there love, but couldn't hold ya in front o'the lads, not like this a'least. They wouldn't get you like I do."

Rocking up against her insistently. Some fingers gripping the handguard like it's a lifeline, others dancing down her lower and fiddling with her mag release button. The way Ghost is feeling entirely raptured against her form, falling into the heavy daze of lust.

Groaning like a wild animal in a rut, chasing the now swiftly approaching light at the end of the tunnel, Ghost’s tongue flicks out. Licks the sweet bitter rim of the muzzle break. The cold metal still has slag on it, a rough texture that delights his sensitive tongue. He laps at it like it's a hole he's opening for himself, savors the taste as his mind slips slowly further out of his skull. All that's left in him is a need, a hunger.

He scratches his cheekbone on the muzzle when he hugs the rifle tight as he cums- metal and soot and spit and blood mingling together as it feels his body and soul are torn apart. He grunts and moans while his cock shoots rope after rope onto his girl, hips still thrusting weakly as he chases the last of his orgasm down.

[pandorascripts]

I Bet You Think About Me

pairing: wednesday x reader

cw: angst, cheating, tyler galpin.

note: you should know that I made morticia and gomez the mean rich type of people to fit this.

summary: catering your ex-girlfriend’s wedding was certainly not what you wanted to do, but it proves to be fruitful as you get to say goodbye— and taunt her.

song: I Bet You Think About Me (feat. Chris Stapleton) (Taylor’s Version) (From The Vault) by Taylor Swift ;).

proof read like once. I’m finding a lot of mistakes because I’m tired LMAO.

SEND IN REQUESTS BASED ON TS SONGS!

:—-:—- —-:—- —-:—- —-:—- —-:—- —-:—- —-:

It had been exactly three months since Wednesday had called off your relationship. She claimed you were too childish and that you were just too different from her— that you couldn’t fit into her world. Looking back on it now you can only laugh, the true reason why Wednesday broke up with you was because she was too scared of the consequences.

Despite what she claims and what others believe, Wednesday does care about what her family thinks. And her family, the richest and most powerful people in all of New York, had high expectations in who she would date. They certainly didn’t think (or even know) that Wednesday wanted to date someone below her status, below her age for that mater. Nine years wasn’t too bad, but her parents wanted Wednesday to be nine years younger than her rich, male lover. Unfortunately you didn’t fit any boxes where it mattered. 

But as you’re catering her wedding, watching Wednesday dance with her new husband, you really can’t help but chuckle. Wednesday’s been staring at you for the entire event, and you know damn well she’s been thinking about you. You see it in the way she eyes your work attire, — a tight, clad semi-formal suit— and in the way she frowns the moment her husband draws her attention away from you. It’s obvious. 

Buts it’s only until the service is almost over that she approaches you. 

“Hi.”

You look down to the glasses you’d been cleaning previously, trying to help out your friend with his own job. “Mrs. Galpin, is it?”

Wednesday scoffs, arms crossing over her chest. “Yeah, it is now.”

You nod, wiping a white cloth against the crystal glass of the cup. It’s almost as thick as the tension between you two. 

“Look, I want to tell you that I’ve moved on, and that I think it’s really immature of you to show up here.”

Your eyes widen drastically as you stare at Wednesday and her audacity. Grabbing her by the wrist, you drag her into the nearest storage closet so you can scream at her. She doesn’t stop you because she wont dare to make a scene with her filthy-rich family here. Her wrist in your hand brings up dead memories, memories long buried under sadness and anger. 

When the door clicks shut, you finally turn around to yell at her. “I’m doing my job, Wednesday. I didn’t have a choice because unlike you I can’t just wait until my trust fund opens. As you’ve made very, very, very, clear, I don’t have one!”

Wednesday rolls her eyes, her fingers adjusting the hem of her dress. “Just don’t cause anything. You and I both know that you were always dramatic.”

“Oh, I’m dramatic? You got engaged a week after we broke up to please your parents.”

“We were never going to work out! I like him! It wasn’t for my parents.”

“I don’t have to be one of your many shrinks to know you’ll never be happy with him. In fact,” you step closer to Wednesday, rage clouding the thoughts telling you to leave it be, “I bet you think about me.

“You’re out here marrying rich, handsome guys and trying to chase a status your parents want you to have, but I bet you’ve never felt so locked up in your life.”

Wednesday shudders, her cold gaze darting around your face.

“Why’s that?” she asks, still trying to act like she’s in power.

“Because you never felt more free than when you were with me.”

Wednesday gulps, her head whipping to the storage closet as she tries to not look at you. She fails, and proves your point beautifully. You shake your head, disbelief and disappointment the only thing you feel.

“Goodbye, Wednesday. Enjoy the wedding and let me do my job peacefully.”

Your hand retreats from the wall behind her, when they got there you can’t remember, and you turn around. Wednesdays hands reach out to grab your face before you have enough time to register what’s happening. 

Her lips are still just as soft as they were that night she left you. Her kisses are still sweet and passionate, always expressing what she can’t say through words. You sigh, forgetting about the wedding, about her parents, and about her husband waiting for another dance just beyond that door. 

It doesn’t take long until your fingers thread themselves in her dress and then you remember all of those things and more. You remember why she dumped you— why you have to let her go. You pull away harshly, taking a few quick steps back and sprint out the door. Wednesday doesn’t bother chasing after you. 

You run to your friend James, alerting him of your well-earned break that you decide to take. He nods, waving you off as you dart out of the venue. The early spring snow sets against the slush and you sigh. The cold grounds you, remembering the night three months prior. 

You shift on Wednesdays lap, laying your head on her shoulder. She’s reading in peace, a book her friend recommended, you recall. Her friend had claimed it had changed his view on life, and had told Wednesday it would do wonders for her. She was only reading it to poke fun at it. 

The movie in the background was long forgotten by you, your eyes instead lining her jawline and the soft curve of her nose. 

“Wednesday.”

“Yes?” she asks, flipping the page over. She doesn’t look at you, or even stop reading her book. 

You’ve been noticing this for the past two weeks now, her attention has been dwindling. Wednesday’s become more stressed and angry. Fights have been more frequent, at least two every other day. It’s always over minuscule stuff too, like how you dress, where you work, how Wednesday doesn’t like the way you hold your fork, or the way you laugh like a kid. You told her maybe it’s because you are one. After all, you’re twenty two and she’s thirty-one. Wednesday ignored you for hours that day. 

“Will you put the book down?”

“Why?” Again, no eye contact. 

“Because I want to have a real conversation.”

“We are.”

You scoff, swinging your feet off of her thighs and stand up, the book getting knocked to the floor. You don’t apologize despite her shouts, instead you grab your keys and shrug on your coat. 

“Where are you going?” she demands, hands trying to grab the keys out of your pocket. 

You swat her away and tie your shoelaces. “For a walk.”

“The hell you are! It’s eleven at night and December, it’s too late and too cold.”

You ignore her again, swinging the door open and skipping outside. Wednesday doesn’t follow you, but you don’t need to look back to know that. The door slamming tells you enough. 

That night when you got home, a clear head and a fresh apology with you, Wednesday called you childish. She told you that dating you was a mistake, that meeting you was one. And then her bag of belongings— you remember frowning over the fact that she only had an unpacked bag of stuff— was thrown into her corvette. 

It didn’t matter how much you clung to her, begging that she didn’t do this, she shrugged you off and left without so much as a glance back.

When your five minute break was over, you walked back into the wedding and continued working. Wednesday wasn’t anywhere to be seen for the rest of the night.

Maybe it wasn’t the goodbye you wanted, but it sure was a loud one. All you can hope is that Wednesday is tormented by what you once had, because at least you can certainly bet she thinks about you. 

[elphiej]

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.”

[ggumjjun]

# soobin + church sex !! xmas special

tw. f!reader, church girl!reader, religion (im not religious anymore… so this might be inaccurate), pet names, corruption kink, unprotected sex (please dont irl), first-time. minors dni + nsfw

a/n. for all the soobin corruption kink lovers a special merry xmas <3

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“to the holy father we thank for our many blessings and gifts on this special day.” soft bells ring throughout the church pews, worshippers closing their eyes as they unanimously “amen” to end the pastor’s sermon. decked out for christmas, the church halls were filled with bright green wreaths dotted with holly berries before the stained glass windows depicting christ and the virgin mary, shepherds and sheep. snow slowly falls from the cloudy sky outside, softly landing on the windowsills. countless candles lined the pews, emitting a soft yellow glow, wax dripping down the candlesticks.

hands clasped together, you whispered a quiet, “amen,” before dropping your tithe into the basket offered by a sister with a smile. “thank you, dear, and bless you.” if the church nuns had a favorite, you were certainly close. always dressed in your most modest, blouses and dresses buttoned all the way up with long skirts. never hesitating to volunteer before services, and attending every sunday. “thank you, sister. merry christmas to you.” you nodded politely, a genuine sweet smile adorning your features. the masses in the pews began to stir as they collected their belongings, turning for the door as they headed for fellowship and coffee. weaving through the crowd, you approached the front of the hall. “pastor, may I stay behind to clean? it would be a shame if the hall was left untidy after todays service for the coming days.” “of course, my dear. if only the other young gentlemen and ladies had the same dedication to church as you did. especially that choi soobin.” the pastor sighed, collecting his coat for the cold. your eyes blinked innocently, considering the boy in name.

choi soobin. the name of the one member of your devout church congregation who rarely showed up to service (primarily at the end if he did… for free refreshments at fellowship) and wore untidy clothes to all events. his friends were non believers, and to many of the church elders, it was unacceptable that he mingle with so many with poor habits. while the name struck a sigh of disappointment amongst the congregation, he struck a chord of curiosity within you. his soft, brown eyes and heart-shaped lips were the envy of many of the church boys, and the desire of many church girls. perhaps you included. he’d shown up today, dragged in by his grandmother who had compromised by sitting in the back of the hall.

“remember, if you need anything, my office is always open during hours.” the pastor’s voice broke your train of thoughts, and you quickly nodded before whirling around, pressing your cold hands to your bright red cheeks, flushed with warmth. it was a sin to think about boys in the church hall—especially those who were unfaithful to the lord. you blinked and glanced around, realizing the church hall was devoid of people. as you walked towards the storage closet, an arm wrapped around your waist and spun you around in a gentle pull. your eyes met a broad chest dressed in an oversized black sweater, matching the pair of fitted dark wash distressed jeans. your gaze slowly tilted upwards, to be met with the round, chocolate brown eyes of choi soobin.

“s-soobin!” you squeaked, equally startled by his appearance and distracted by the arm around your waist. “hey, sweetheart,” soobin smiled, his free hand toying with the small rosary dangling from your neck. “h-huh? sweet…sweetheart?” you mumbled, flustered by his proximity. you’d last spoken to soobin at sunday school several years ago, and had kept your distance after hearing the church elders discuss their concerns over his poor attendance and behavior raucously at fellowship. a small laugh escaped his heart-shaped lips, gazing down at your smaller figure with amusement. “always the good girl, not even going to fellowship until the church has been cleaned?” warmth flooded your cheeks, both embarrassed and defensive at his words. “what do you mean?” you asked hesitantly, still unsure of whether to escape his grasp or to sinfully remain in it.

“don’t you ever have any fun, sweetheart?” soobin hinted, “church life is boring, after all.” your eyes widened at his insinuation, heart racing at the thought of breaking your modest lifestyle. “of… of course not!” you stammered, “i could never betray the trust of the lord.” “that’a a shame.” with a sigh of disappointment, the hand around your waist dropped as he turned around. a “w-wait!” you cried without thinking, reaching for his absent hand. “oh?” leaning his head over his shoulder, soobin glanced behind to see your small, blushing figure tentatively holding to his hand, “what’s this? a devout church girl holding the hand of someone like me?” he teased, amused at your evident display of emotion.

your eyes darted nervously around, unsure of your actions. your mind insisted you let go, and send him on his way for his bold actions. your heart begged you to listen to him, to have the time with the handsome man you’d always been curious about. to challenge his mindset about you.

“w-what did y-you have in mind?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. a grin spread across soobin’s face, before he swiftly pulled you into his chest, leaning over to whisper in your ear. “don’t you ever wonder what it’s like to sin? to feel the lust and greed that the bible condemns?” you blinked in shock at his words; the temptation to know beckoning at your heart to follow soobin murmurs over the pastor’s constant preaching of abstinence. “can you imagine it? the sensation of physical touch… just like this.” finger tips danced down your back, gently smoothing over your curves through your skirt before warm palms cupped your waist and ass. humiliation burned through skin as shivers raced up your spine, breathy gasps escaping your throat at the unfamiliar touch. “it feels good, doesn’t it, doll?” he whispers, licking your earlobe in a long stripe. you gasped at the warm, wet sensation, an unfamiliar burn in your lower abdomen sparking alight. “sit on my lap,” soobin quietly instructs, taking a seat at a church pew and pulling you with him. a squeak leaves your throat as you straddle him, unfamiliar with your proximity to him.

“undo your dress buttons for me, sweetheart?” he asks, glancing down and taking your hesitant hands in his own and guiding them to the high neckline of your blouse. shakily, the buttons of your blouse come undone, exposing your cleavage to the frigid air conditioned room. “so pretty, all untouched for me.” soobin murmurs, before biting down on your skin. “a-ah!” you cry out, the sharp pain quickly soothed by a gentle lap of his tongue. breathy pants echo throughout the church hall, your head tipping backwards to expose more of yourself to soobin. murals of god and christ covered the ceiling, condemning and shaming you for your lack of modesty. humiliation trickled down your senses, although the thought of violating the lord’s words in his sanctuary sent heat rushing down over your body. “ah! wait—n-not there!” you whine, his ministrations trailing down your throat to the soft skin of your breast uncovered by your bra. “look at yourself, doll. all marked up by me.” your face burns with embarrassment and shame at his words, a moan escaping your lips as you glance down at the purple-red splotches dotting your chest. pressure builds in your core, an unfamiliar feeling of need taking over all other senses. “s-soobin, need more! feels… feels hot everywhere!” you whimper, desperate to quench the burning sensation crawling over your skin.

“i’ve got you, doll. just trust me?” soft lips meet your own in a gentle kiss. your eyes flutter shut, leaving behind all resistance as you melt in in soobin’s warm touch. the hard wood of the church pew meets your clothed back as he guides you into lying down. climbing over your vulnerable figure, soobin claims your lips in a string of kisses, only broken by shared breathy pants of arousal. tickling trails of fingertips gently pop open the buttons of your skirt, cold air rushing to meet the smooth skin of your thighs, doing little to quench the searing heat of your core. “soobin, it still burns!” fear laces your desperate plea as his hand comes to palm your clothed cunt. “shhh, don’t be scared. you’re doing so well, sweetheart.” you whimper at his praise, watching in nervous anticipation as he pulls away and settles between your thighs. “so cute and plush,” soobin remarks, licking your inner thigh in a single stroke, “don’t be nervous.”

pulling down your panties to your ankles, soobin licks his lips in anticipation. your soft, untouched pussy glistening with innocent, unknowing slick. two fingers gently prod at your entrance, the sudden contact causing you to clench your legs shut. “can’t do that, sweetheart,” soobin coos, coaxing your legs apart once more before taking your hand in his, “i’ve got you. just breathe.” his fingers slide past your entrance into your tight walls, clamping down on the foreign feeling. whimpers mixed with the soft sound of your juices squelching in and out with his fingers echo throughout the church hall. the sight of such a salacious act in front of you brings tears of shame to your eyes, to be feeling arousal before the lord. desperate cries break free from your throat as you squirm, despite your attempts to stay still. prodding your sensitive spot, fire races through your stomach as pressure builds, eliciting lewd, high pitched moans from your chest. “does it feel good, doll?” before you can respond, his lips latch on to your sensitive clit, sucking at the bud. broken cries fill the empty air of the hall, “s-soobin! c-can’t take anymore!” you sob, the knot in your stomach releasing as you cum over his lips and fingers, a wail leaving your throat as you tremble with aftershocks. soobin’s fingers swirl over your juices, making eye contact with your dizzy, unfocused eyes as he licks your slick off each finger slowly, relishing your taste.

climbing over you again, his sticky fingers press to your lips. “taste yourself, sweetheart. you’ve been so good for me.” you sloppily lick his fingers, dazed from your first orgasm. “are you ready for the real thing, doll?” he whispers, pressing soft kisses to your neck. “mmmhmm” you mumble, having lost most of your thoughts to the overwhelming experience. “i need words, darling,” lacing his fingers with yours once again, soobin presses a soft kiss to the back of your hand, “you’ve already done so well, sweetheart.”

“yes, soobin.” you whimper, “i want you.” you find yourself reaching for the zip on his jeans, feeling the hard member concealed within. “good girl, so greedy for me.” he praises, wrapping his hand around your trembling fingers and pulling the zip of his jeans down along with his boxers. your eyes widen at his heavy, long cock, stiff and red with impatience. “a-are you sure it will fit?” you squeak, intimidated by his size. “i know you can do it, doll,” soobin coos, aligning himself with your entrance, “i’ll go slowly.” pressing his lips against yours, tongues entwining as he pushes in, stretching your walls slowly. “doll, relax,” soobin groans against your lips, your cries at the stretch lost in kisses.

tears slip down your cheeks, uncomfortable yet aroused by his overwhelming size. centimeter by centimeter, soobin sheathes himself inside your clenching warmth. “look, sweetheart,” soobin coaxes, encouraging your eyes to open, “can you see how well you‘ve taken me?” a lewd whimper elicits from your throat as you see his large hand over yours on your stomach, gently pressing down to feel his cock deep inside you. “i’m going to move now, sweetheart.” you nod, unable to form sentences at the unfamiliar, full feeling. slowly thrusting in and out, incoherent moans echoing throughout the church hall as the sound of skin on skin fills your ears. “soobin! a-ah! f-feels good!” you squeak, whines flowing freely from your lips as you give in to pleasure, the knot reforming in your core. “s-so tight!” he gasps, grabbing at your waist to angle deeper in your small pussy, “so good and pretty for me!” control gives way to sloppy, uneven thrusts as he reaches down to rub your abused clit, encouraging you to your high. “s-soobin! can’t take anymore! ha-have to—“ you sob desperately, the obscene sounds deafening to your senseless body. “c’mon doll, c-cum for me?” soobin gasps, as pleasure and heat burn beneath your skin. your orgasm crashes on your overwhelmed core, walls clamping down on soobin’s cock. “f-fuck! t-take it all, doll!” soobin moans, flooding your cunt with thick, white cum. your arms pull soobin tighter to you, whining at the overly-full feeling in your abdomen.

“so good, doll, you did so well,” soobin mumbles into your neck, before pulling out his softening length. “f-feel full.” you whimper, as soobin zips his jeans back up. “don’t worry about it, sweetheart. have to clean you up, okay?” pressing his sweaty forehead to yours, his fingers deftly button your rumpled clothing and slide your panties back up your legs, containing the your mixed cum. “you did so well,” soobin repeats, before scooping up your limp figure up from the church pew and carrying you towards the bathroom. “soobin?” you whisper, “i r-really, really liked it.” “i’m glad you did, doll. merry christmas, sweetheart.” he whispers back, the thought of what else he could do the corrupt this innocent, untouched church girl sending blood to his core.

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merry christmas ~ love, mille

[moriartyluver]

can we have some mtp boys (separate) on how they’d treat a fem! Reader who is on her period. You don’t need to make it historically accurate & if you’d prefer, you can make it modern au. Thank you!!!

A/N: I did this in a modern AU as suggested because I have no idea how people would have dealt with periods in the 19th century

Characters: William James Moriarty x fem! Reader , Albert James Moriarty x fem! Reader ,Louis James Moriarty x fem! Reader (separate)

Format: headcannons

Genre: hurt/ comfort, fluff

Prompt: the Moriarty brothers with a reader who is on their period.

Warnings: reader is afab, reader is female, established relationships, periods/menstruation etc.

LOUIS would be such a good partner in general so when you’re on your period? He is doing everything!

He’s already very much a househusband male wife kind of guy but it just gets so much more malewifey when you’re on your period

Oh you’re hot water bottle got slightly less warm? Louis is filling it up for your instantly

He will literally shower you in heating pads

I don’t think he’d be very physically affectionate in general, his love language is definitely acts of service and it’s very evident all the time, but if you ask to be held, hold you he will.

He’ll make you anything you want to eat no matter how strange (I always get really weird cravings on my period so if you do aswell, be prepared because Louis will stop at nothing to make you happy)

He has a whole storage cupboard packed with pads and tampons and whatever else you may use, all with your preferred sizes and brands because he’s just that caring. You never run out of pads or tampons with him around.

If any ones annoying you, he’ll be super pissed off and will actually get into a fight for your sake.

If you’re feeling emotional, he’ll be by your side reassuring you that everything’s okay. He’s a bit emotionally constipated but he tries his best for you.

If you ever need sheets to be washed or clothes to be cleaned, he won’t mind at all and he will definitely not get upset.

He himself doesn’t go out unless necessary so he’ll try stay at home with you all the time, just in case you need something (even if you insist that you’re fine)

Overall rating? 10/10 wifey material

WILLIAM probably knows more about your period than you do. Not in a gross mansplaining way but in a well educated husband kind of way

Like he definitely knows when you’re going to start you’re period based on symptoms and stuff before you get that little red surprise in your underwear. Worst feeling tbh.

He helps you learn how to track your cycle and if you’re an inconsistent period girlie like myself, he’s a great help. Imagine just getting ready to go out and then William tells you to make sure to take a pad/tampon/cup with you before you leave 💀

He pampers you too, especially if you live together, but not in the same way louis does.

He’s a bit more strict when it comes to what you should and shouldn’t eat (it’s the protective teacher in him). Liam makes you take magnesium supplements and makes sure you eat healthy even if you’re craving junk food so your cramps don’t get worse.

He’s probably calculated the perfect temperature for your heat pad/hot water bottle 😭

Probably a little more affectionate than his younger brother would be. If you’re complaining about being cold or uncomfortable, he’d put whatever book he’s reading down and hold his arms wide open for you. William absentmindedly rubs your back while listening to you complain about having a uterus

Definitely pressed kisses to your forehead while you ramble like the old fashioned lover he is 🤭

He makes sure to buy you really good quality pads/tampons and is sure to memorise which brands or types you prefer. Might slip a chocolate bar in there too. He also buys you painkillers and gives you the correct doses and everything at the right times

If you don’t feel like speaking much (he loves talking to you for some reason. its adorable) he gets a little upset but he’s a surprisingly good communicator. He doesn’t want to make you feel uneasy and bless his heart, he does all the chores and everything so you don’t have to suffer further while your uterus tries to fucking kill you

Overall rating? ∞/10 (I am totally not biased) I want to marry him idc if he’s a drawing

ALBERT is stupid. I’m sorry that’s a mean way to start off

I think we can all agree he has OCD or OCPD but he’s so sweet to you despite some seeing periods as a ‘Filthy’ thing.

You bled through the sheets? He’ll calmly help you fix that dw sweetie. If you bleed through your pants in public and anyone gives you any dirty looks or some weird shit because people hate uterus havers, he’s not called one of the most unhinged mtp characters for nothing 😊

Ok but this man knows nothing about periods though. I’m so sorry. Like you had to explain to him that no you can’t hold in the blood nor do you use your pad as a bandaid of some sort

Would probably send you one of these :(yes I made that)

He needs Louis to go shopping with him to help get you stuff because this man is smart enough for eton but not enough to know that different colours on pad packages are not flavours 🙄

Also he’s a shit cook so you still have to do that if u don’t wanna starve

Probably the most affectionate out of the brothers. He’s very cuddly with you when you need him to be (mainly because he feels bad for being so damn useless)

Overall rating? 2/10 💀

[uselessmicrowave]

kinktober day nine

tfa sentinel

tws/content- public (closet), object insertion, finger biting, masochism (?), masturbation, choking, self degradation (?)

a/n- slut (affectionate)

If Sentinel doesn’t get something inside of him, he thinks he’ll explode. He’s way too warm, he’s shaking, his array is throbbing underneath his panels. Sentinel ducks into a storage closet from the hallway he was walking in.

His interface panels pop open without a needed command, he slides down from the wall onto the floor. Completely ignoring his spike, he pushes shaking digits into his valve, sliding in and out with a scissor motion.

Sentinel bites his derma to prevent a wanton moan, looking beside him for something safe he could stretch himself with. The cans and energon bottles were too flat on the top, the spray bottles were too oddly shaped. The mop was too thin and too long and he’s growing increasingly impatient.

His lubricant leaks onto the cold floor, smearing on his aft as he reaches for a replacement handle for a broom. It almost looks like a faux spike in the dark, hopefully feels like one too. It’s flared a bit at the base and has a blunt circular tip. He runs the object across his glossa before sliding it into him.

His optics widen as he gasps, he didn’t expect for it to reach his ceiling node. He gives a long, loud whimper, silently hoping that no one was in the hallway.

How disgusted would the bot be if they saw Sentinel like this, using a replacement handle to self service? He rocks his hips side to side, massaging the node placed deep in him, scrunching his faceplates in pleasure and choking out his groans.

He grabs hold to the end of the handle, thrusting his hips up to chase that too-much feeling. He shoves digits into his intake, effectively quieting his moans.

Sentinel’s array throbs, an overload building in his circuits makes him grow tight on the handle, biting his digits to silence himself. It makes his servo hurt, but it’s better than being caught like this.

He tilts the handle vertically as much as his anatomy lets him, making the grip texture on it slides against his exterior node, through his folds. The tip rams into the lower part of his ceiling node, he pushes the digits in his intake towards his fuel seal. The almost-touch of his digits in his neck cables forces him to choke, effectively dampening the strong urge to moan until his vocalizer gave out.

The prime bites down again as a wave of white hot sharpness rages to his core. Sentinel overloads with a half silenced and desperate moan, rubbing the handle back and forth pressed against his array to ride the overload out.

He slumps against the back of the small closet, optics closed and limbs now limp. He gives himself a couple kliks to catch his vents before dealing with the mess he’s left, probably everywhere. He pulls the handle out of himself, setting it in front of him.

Messy. Messy fragging mech. He got transfluid all over the stupid fragging door, dammit. He blushes, embarrassed. He pulls a soft cloth from his subspace, cleaning up any transfluid or lubricant that was left on his spike, valve or aft.

Kneeling now, he rummages through a clean up cart, pulling out a handful of disposable towels and wiping away his fluids from the ground first. He sighs cleaning up the door, then wiping his lubricant off the handle.

Sentinel huffs as he sits back down, rubbing the inside of his thighs. They’ll be sore the next solar cycle, but it was definitely worth it.

[eskeptical]

re-ignition (III)

miguel o'hara x reader word count: 1.7k summary: you make an attempt to prove Miguel wrong.

To prove you were ready to be assigned back on missions. That was what Miguel O’Hara wanted of you.

How he wanted you to prove it, however, remained unclear and hazy, like the thick fog that tends to creep in the early mornings (in your dimension, that is - Earth 928 never seemed to have any other setting than the typical clear-skied default as far as you could tell).

It had been a week since the storage closet incident, and a week since you set on doing everything in your power to get back on mission duty. 

You knew very well that your former self would be repulsed at the sight of you beating Miguel to the cafeteria with a coffee ready in hand to give, maybe an empanada if you were feeling a tad more desperate than usual. 

(You felt yourself sickening quicker at the fact you could subconsciously remember something so useless as his preference - one packet of brown sugar - from a time where you had observed it from the sleek kitchen counter at his place.)

How else were you supposed to prove yourself? Your only chance had been shot straight to hell - with you responsible for the terrible aim - and training until exhaustion had only won you sore limbs and the smell of sweat and ashy concrete stuck onto the image of the training center. 

Your gaze turned towards the metal material surrounding your wrist, and a scoff escaped at the sight of it. The annoyingly orangey modern interface and the cold, technological font with the two words that had been practically engraved onto it given the frequency with which they appeared any time you attempted to navigate through its features made it as useful as a flimsy day pass. 

Access denied. 

Wandering around the vast area bustling with activity, it seemed like everyone seemed to be busy with something - whether it was insignificant chatter or heading off to trap anomalies. The idea of the latter bit at your sides - to see so many others doing what you wanted so desperately would definitely begin your undoing, you were sure of it. 

That is, until you saw a small orange-tinged figure with heart shaped sunglasses, a blue and white captain hat, and a notepad glitching around the lobby.

And with her, an idea popped into your head.

“Lyla!” you called out, to which she quickly turned her head and in a blink popped up a foot away from you. From a closer distance, you noticed her notepad was filled with doodles and curves to appear as though she had written something. She raised a brow, and lifted her glasses. 

“I need your help with something. Are you up for it?”

In response, she smiled widely before answering with a chirp and raising her hand as if to salute, “At your service.”

Miguel's office hadn’t changed from when you'd last seen it months ago. Though, in a similar fashion, your fascination for it remained constant.

In a way, to you it had always served as a peek into the thoughts hidden behind his stoic stance and firm personality. Unlike every other aspect of the Spider Society headquarters - geometric, clean, orderly, and annoyingly perfect - his office contained roughness in it, gravel, uncut edges, scribbles and sketches personified. Always filled with projects gathering dust, too irrelevant when put at the side of greater issues like saving the multiverse and whatever it is that kept him far more occupied.

Unfinished, unpolished, a jumble of thoughts and ideas mixed together in metal and nanotechnology and bolts - and yet it brought a sense of relief to see it, knowing that even Miguel, despite how much he might try to pretend otherwise, isn’t perfect, or as clean-cut as the rest of Nueva York seemed in his dimension. 

Finally glancing over to the orange figurine who had been trailing beside you as you walked, you asked, “So…have there been any new updates while I was gone..?”

The question had been worming its way to existence for a while now. As far as you had observed, it didn’t seem like it - then again, it’s not like you had been physically present on any of Miguel’s squad’s missions to confirm it fully.

Lyla looked at you with a smug grin on her face and a raised eyebrow, “You mean you want to know whether or not he’s replaced you on the team?”

Your eyes widened as the seemingly damp air paired with her getting straight to the point suddenly seemed to warm up your cheeks in an instant. 

“No…no, I was just wondering in terms of, like, the Spider Society as a whole, or–”

Lyla rolled her eyes and gave out a single laugh, “He hasn’t.”

A breath you didn’t know you had been holding captive bubbled its way out of your lips. An exhale, one that Lyla quickly registered and chuckled over. You weren’t sure how much she knew about your past with Miguel, and you weren’t about to beat around the subject to draw any suspicions. 

You finally reached him, well, almost - it didn’t help that his platform was way up high. 

(He had told you once the reasoning for it: he liked the lighting better up there, though the hidden vulnerability in his glance and the closing of his fists had you convinced that there was more to it.

Still, you never inquired further.)

As with most things, Miguel was a step ahead, and before you could say anything, he spoke, his voice loud and firm.

“Why are you here? You don’t have access here.”

“I don’t have access anywhere. Lyla let me in.”

You smiled, if you could call it that - it was more a mix of cowardice and wary eyes as the corners of your lips attempted to lift. 

The platform lowered enough where you could see his face. His eyebags had gotten heavier, you noticed. His expression held indifference, and his hands were planted firmly on his hips.

(Still, you had to admit that even in the worst of shapes, you couldn’t pull away from looking at the sharp cheekbones and set jaw. Magnetic, almost.)

He stepped down, every step firm as he approached you. His lips were pursed, and he raised an eyebrow as he looked over to Lyla, who simply shrugged with a mischievous grin.

Miguel sighed, and turned his gaze back to you with an air of bitterness, saying nothing more.

However-

However, he wasn’t kicking you out. You know he would have done so already if he really wanted to. 

So, naturally, you took it as a chance to continue. Scraping at the very bottom of what little perseverance and self-confidence you had left, you pulled a firm voice as you looked at him and said, “I’m ready to get back on the team.” 

Miguel’s expression hardly changed. He had been expecting it, you suppose. Of course he had. He probably had prepared for it from his platform, observing your every move. He looked you up and down, and for a second, it almost looked like how he used to look at you months ago.

Before you could confirm it, his expression hardened again, and he simply nodded towards your empty hands.

“I assume you’re not here to bring me another coffee. You’re not a people pleaser, so it isn’t surprising you gave up so easily.”

He took a step closer.

“And you at training. Was that supposed to impress me?”

You scoffed, and rolled your eyes, “I wasn’t trying to-”

“No?” he interrupted, and you knew him well enough to tell that under the serious question, a hint of teasing was buried somewhere. “You’re not ready-”

With this, you lunged at him. You hoped the surprise attack would demonstrate the fruits of your efforts, but he caught your intent quickly, turning you around in one move and wrapping one of his arms around your stomach, the other grabbing both of your arms and keeping them in place. 

His cologne, you noticed, was the same. Deliciously intoxicating, addictive enough to the point where you had to do everything in your power to not think about it, about him. If only things were like they had been months ago…

He seemed to sense it too.

His chest rose and fell quicker as it pressed into your back, and his face was close enough to whisper in your ear, hot air warming up your neck, making it inconceivably hard to concentrate. His lips were easily close enough to brush against your ear, and you account for the part of you that wished he did to be a surfacing remnant of the past.

He clicked his tongue, and hesitated before whispering, his hushed voice sent goosebumps like fire to your nape.

“You had a bad start. Not enough force.”

Still, you knew you hadn’t been the only one. You swallowed, before speaking the words that you hoped weren't implying wrong like they had before.

“But…you still didn’t expect it, did you? I saw your eyes. Your arm faltered for a second there.”

This caused him to release you, taking a step back, as his voice lowered, “...You’re wrong.”

There was no need to correct him or respond otherwise. The small doubt in his voice was enough to prove you right. 

(And perhaps a tinge of red on his cheeks would have too, though a silly blush would be more of a wish from you than a reality.)

He noticed the slip up, he must have - shortly after he turned around, his back facing you, you could see his arm raise to rub the bridge of his nose. 

You weren’t sure what that meant, what all of it meant. Your plan to surprise him hadn’t exactly gone the way you wanted, and you should have expected it. Any plans involving Miguel O’hara never did.

His guards were now raised, so there was no point in attempting to take him by surprise again. Sighing, you turned around to walk out. 

“...Be here tomorrow morning.”

You turned around, shocked, “Did-”

“And don’t think it’s because of your plan, which was really stupid, by the way.”

“Then why?” Your confidence had grown enough to ask, and though it was a tad invasive for your liking, hopefully it would draw out more out of him.

Then again, hope would have been too much to ask for. He still had his back turned towards you, so his expression was something more you didn’t have access to.

“Nine sharp or I’m leaving without you.”

“Alright, alright…Thank you, Miguel.” you replied, and before he could regret it, you swung your way out of his office.

[no-less-than-a-god]

of Harvest, of Celebration, and of Rest (part 1)

Like clockwork, the area around the cult grounds cools around the same time every year. Leaves turn from green to shades of red, orange, and brown with slow death, and drift away from their mother branches as the wind begins to chill. Grass begins to lose its vibrancy. Followers’ fur starts growing in thicker. A warning from nature: prepare now, for the cold will be cruel.

It’s almost officially autumn in the cult. And with autumn, there’s harvest.

The harvest ritual has been done on the same morning as it has been done for many, many years. A day both the Lamb and Narinder feel in their immortal bones as the season officially changes, where preparations need to be planned and started to make sure the cult remains fed and warm throughout winter.

Out of all the rituals the Lamb has ever performed under the Red Crown, the harvest ritual is one created of simpler ingredients. Bones and organic substances for the crops to feed on, seeds and flowers for offerings, and the caster’s own blood are all that it needs.

But that doesn’t mean the ritual itself is easy. That doesn’t mean the ritual isn’t one known to fail, as the Lamb fights against not only nature, but their own domain. Preventing the deaths of important crops, urging their growth…it takes a lot of power.

Which is why, for the years the ritual succeeds, the cult celebrates.

Dawn breaks around the cult grounds, and two figures are already on the prowl, routine engraved in their actions. The Lamb ducks in and out of storage units made of sturdy wood and stone flanking the wide farm of the cult, where new seeds below the freshly tilled soil wait for eldritch power to wash over them; Narinder follows them like a shadow, a second pair of eyes to make sure the Lamb is not forgetting a single ingredient in their frenzied state of mind.

The seeds for this year’s ritual had been scavenged from their best pumpkin from the year before, and the flowers are fresh from Darkwood, gathered by Narinder before the sun winked awake. The bones are from fallen enemies over the past year, scraped and washed clean.

Last year’s ritual had failed, leaving the cult to scramble for food; the favored pumpkin, the one the Lamb had harvested for seeds, was one of the few things that grew. They’re determined to have it succeed this year, for both their followers’ and their own sakes. One winter of hunger in a row is bad enough.

With arms full of prized ingredients, the Lamb swiftly crosses the cult grounds towards the Temple that stands proud and tall near the center of the grounds. Although being one of the first structures built during the Lamb’s vesselhood, the Temple remains unaffected by the passage of time. The only time it has been touched upon in all its years of service was not too long after it was built, where a simple, unassuming room was added among the rafters to serve as a place of rest for the Lamb.

Narinder slinks away as the Lamb enters the Temple’s open doors, and he walks to the statue in the heart of the settlement. He places a hand upon it, feeling the warmth of devotion captured among the lamb-shaped block of stone.

The right half of the Red Crown above the god’s head quivers, and he walks away.

Rousing the cult for the harvest ritual has gotten easier over time, as the date slowly sinks into the follower’s tissues and bones and becomes an instinctive memory that shapes their bodies. Whether they realize it or not, all of them have been sleeping lightly the entire night, waiting for morning.

There was a large bell built many decades ago to help corral followers for days such as the following. Strong and made of the finest gold, the sound of it struck is loud enough to be heard from outside the cult.

Narinder finds his place at the bell, situated between the statue and summoning grounds for new cultists, and waits for the Lamb. It’s not long before his counterpart exits the Temple, and approaches the statue.

He idly watches as the Lamb places a hand upon the statue, shuts their eyes, and inhales deeply. 

Followers cannot see it, and for a long time the Lamb couldn’t either, but Narinder watches as the devotion spills from the statue as wispy trails of white, orbiting the Lamb as they sink into their being; their half of the Red Crown shakes with regained power as the last of the devotion is consumed for a few moments before it settles again, and stills.

The Lamb opens their eyes and looks at Narinder, gives them a silent nod, and retreats back to the Temple. When the last of their robes have disappeared behind the doors, Narinder turns back to the summoning bell; he grabs the mallet settled on its rack above the golden shape just starting to gleam in the rising sun, winds his arm back, and strikes.

The bell tolls, loud enough that Narinder’s ears instinctively pin to the back of his skull in an attempt to dampen the sound. He strikes it again with the mallet, and by the third toll, the compound is alive with sleep-muddled followers.

“What is it?” a possum asks as she approaches the bell, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Is it an emergency?” another, an axolotl, asks.

“You grass-brained dolts!” That comes from an elder, a blind rabbit, who approaches her fellow follows with her cane raised in self-righteous annoyance. She does not trip as she shuffles over. “Do you two not remember the days?”

“It’s the harvest ritual!” a young pup calls from the back of the quickly-growing crowd. His parents are too busy wrangling his younger sister and brother to stop him from screaming out, “Ma, do you think it’ll work this time?”

“Silence.” Narinder’s command is forgiving but firm; he does not need his and the Lamb’s followers sewing any drops of doubt right now, even from the kids. A hush immediately falls upon the crowd, and Narinder places the mallet back onto its rack as he addresses them, “The harvest ritual is nigh. Your leaders command those who are able to partake to don their ritual robes and make way to the Temple. Be hasty, preparations are almost done.” He bows his head slightly to dismiss the followers, and as quickly as they had gathered they are scattered once more.

Once upon a time, every ritual required the devotion and support of the entire cult to be cast. Now, it takes less than half. The followers involved in the harvest ritual, a select group, one that includes all farmers in the cult, rush to change to their robes as the rest of the cult makes way to the farm to surround it. If the ritual works, it will be a sight for all to behold.

Narinder stations himself at the Temple doors as the followers prepare. His eyes are focused around the settlement grounds, watching, as his ears listen intently to keep track of the Lamb’s movements from within, listening. Waiting.

He hears the sound of a blade being picked off the stone ground, soft footsteps approaching. Wordlessly, Narinder reaches his left hand behind him, and the Lamb clasps it between strong, hoofed fingers.

A thumb strokes his wrist, parting fur, and the blade in the Lamb’s hand swiftly cuts across his skin.

Blood from the caster is needed for the ritual, so both of them need to bleed. Narinder hears his own blood—a mixture of red and black ichor—drip viciously into the bowl the Lamb had already prepared of ground seeds and flowers. They let him bleed as Narinder continues keeping watch, and it’s not long before the Lamb has let go of Narinder’s hand. It drops gently to his side, where his sleeve will cover his blood-matted fur and quickly healing wound.

The first follower partaking in the ritual, a tortoiseshell cat with a golden skull necklace, approaches the Temple as Narinder hears the sound of the Lamb’s blade cut into their own wrist. He stands taller in the doorway, blocking the view and way inside.

They both would rather not let their followers see them bleed.

The cat follower settles her walk a short distance from Narinder, and looks at him with knowing eyes. She says nothing, but respectfully waits.

He doesn’t move to allow her inside until he hears the Lamb beginning to paint symbols upon the Temple floor with intertwined blood. The follower bows her head as she passes Narinder, and makes her way to her place. She doesn’t need to be told to not step on the bloody sigil.

More followers arrive after her. In total, there are twelve of them partaking in the ritual, each dressed in red, formal robes not too different from the Lamb’s own attire. They stand on the stone floor, each follower in their place at each of the sigil’s points, feet surrounded in their own circle of blood. The Lamb and Narinder stand above them, at the altar. The doors have long been closed.

The ritual begins with a chant that only the gods understand the words of. The followers kneel where they stood, hands clasping as they offer more devotion to the Lamb, to the ritual. The Temple begins to glow from the inside, the sigil alighting as if in flames, and the followers have to shut their eyes to save their vision. The bones piled into the middle of the room begin to dissolve as an eldritch force consumes them, and that’s when the Lamb strikes with their power.

It’s not a fight that’s visible, but it’s one fought valiantly. Their eyes begin to bleed with exertion, with their power, and Narinder allows his own devotion and power to mix in for support. He might not be the main caster of the ritual, but that doesn’t mean he’s not allowed to help. The chanting does not stop as the fight for rights and control continues. Both halves of the Red Crown shake. Narinder keeps his eyes glued to the Lamb.

A deep thrum suddenly sparks in both of their veins. The ritual had taken, and succeeded.

A tangible snap was felt inside the Temple as the ritual fell to its end, leaving nothing in its wake except for twelve slightly disoriented followers, who were beginning to open their eyes and look around, and their gods.

The Lamb’s eyes still drip slightly with blood, and they quickly duck their head to wipe it away with the hem of their robes; Narinder stands close by, keeping two eyes on the Lamb, and the third on the followers.

They’re standing up from the stone floor as he watches them, brushing their robes off and discovering the lack of what was there before with slight confusion, before realization dawns. They make eye contact with each other, and the excitement is palpable in the air as they turn towards the Temple doors and rush out to the farm to see the year’s spoils. The door slams shut behind the last follower, the tortoiseshell, but not before she gives one last look back to her leaders, and nods her head respectfully before following her comrades.

The Lamb sighs once the two of them are alone, a fraction of their weight shifting to the leftt; Narinder shifts to the right, and presses his side against theirs, holding the weight. He knows this ritual specifically takes much energy out of the Lamb, and they will not have many moments to rest until the cult’s celebration has ceased.

“Tired?” Narinder asks. He allows them to remain standing at the altar, where the two can catch a moment of tranquility before the cult truly shifts into a lively and chaotic energy.

“Yes,” the Lamb replies, and rubs away the rest of the blood from around their eyes as they continue, “but also relieved.”

“Shall we take a moment of repose before helping the farmers with their harvest?” All of Narinder’s eyes are watching the Lamb, carefully observing them. He watches as they remain at his side for a few moments, before they straighten back to their full height.

“Rest shall come after reward. It will be beneficial to help our flock, so that they may begin their own preparations.”

Narinder doesn’t reply, but he falls in step with the Lamb as they walk away from the altar and to the doors. Together, the gods leave the Temple, and approach the farm.

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

Hello! I meant for this to be a short and sweet drabble to post as my first official piece of actual story for this au yesterday, but it... got out of hand. What you just read was 2.1k words, and roughly only half of what I plan to write, hence the "part 1" in the title. I plan to have the second part out this upcoming Tuesday, though; hopefully, I can post it much earlier than that

If you enjoyed this, please reblog! Or, maybe send an ask about this au if you're curious!

[20dollarlolita]

Pink!! Thank you for all you do. I’m not in Lolita yet (lack of funds so severe even your guides cannot penetrate it), but I can’t wait to make use of your tutorials.

In the meantime, I have a question! I was given a sewing machine for Christmas in 2021, an Ever Sewn Sparrow 20. Unfortunately for my birthday in 2020, I was given Horrific Depression, and I still haven’t managed to find the receipt for it. My sewing machine has been in its box, never used, for a year and a half.

Recently I got some clothing from goodwill that I need to alter so that I can wear it, and I’d like to use my sewing machine. I know how to thread it and wind a bobbin and do all the normal setup things, but I wanted to ask: is there anything else I should check in addition to the normal setup things? Am I going to need to get it serviced before I can use it?

Thanks!

The most common problems that people have when they take a machine out of storage are problems based around the fact that the machine was in storage. Baby, they are born to run. You won't start a car up for the first time after leaving it alone for years, and expect it to be perfect. Your machine is the same.

So there's two main concerns: dust, and locking up. If the machine was somewhere that dust could get on it, make sure dust didn't get in it. Generally, most machines have holes near the bobbin winder where things could get messy. If there's a lot of dust in the machine, you might want to take the plastic cover off and see if you can clean it. Otherwise, vacuum is your friend. Take your vacuum's hose and vacuum the dust out as best you can. It won't get everything, but better is better than nothing.

Locking up can be a bigger problem. Even if your machine was greased and oiled before it sat, sitting doesn't things to the oil. If it's gotten hot and then cold and back again, the oil and grease could have melted into weird locations. Sometimes, you will try to turn the hand wheel, and it just won't go. First, stick a flashlight up to the thread uptake lever, and see if there's any thread in there. If it looks clean, then it's probably an oil bind. (if there is thread, you're going to have to take that out first. Info on that in a minute). Patience is your secret here. Even if it won't turn much, if you can get a little bit of movement, you can usually get a locked up machine un-stuck. Rock your hand wheel back and forth for a few minutes. Remember that your eventual goal is to turn it forward, but get whatever movement you can however you can. Once it's free, turn it by hand for several full cycles. I like to go with about 20, but it's really until it feels pretty free. Then, plug in your machine and run it for a few minutes. I put a piece of paper under the foot and "sew" along the paper until I've filled the whole paper up with holes.

If you've tried and you really just can't get it free, try putting it in a hot car for about five minutes and then coming back to it. Melty oil turns better than cold oil. Try to run it while it cools so that you don't have pooling oil in strange places.

If the machine is locked up, there's a good chance that the presser foot had gotten sluggish or locked as well. Movement is key here, as well. You might need to put the foot down and then physically pull the foot down, but just like breaking the machine free, you can break the presser foot free with repeat motion.

So that's the first things I check: dust, wheel turning, presser foot going up and down. If it looks clean from out of the box, good news!

I then generally do a fast oil. Most modern machines don't need the user to oil it, and you can get into trouble if you oil it where you shouldn't. We usually tell customers at my work to never oil their machines, and let the service tech do it. However, if you're not going to, here's some info on it. Most importantly, you only want to oil metal-on-metal joints. Oil plus plastic isn't long term good.

I'm using a Janome Derby here because it was the easiest machine for me to get that wasn't a Viking or a Pfaff. Those both use security screws and make getting into it a pain (and my Viking is still under warranty and don't want to void it). The parts are the same in most machines.

Take off your metal plate so that you have access to your feed teeth and your bobbin case.

Make sure there's nothing stuck in the bobbin case, like thread. Especially check your tension spring.

Under the bobbin case is a joint you want to oil. Many machines have a felt pad here to hold and dispense oil. If you have a felt pad, you want to put however many drops on it as you need to get it full of oil. If you do not have a felt pad, you will want to do one drop of oil, right in the center.

On this machine, because all of this is plastic, you don't want to use any oil. However, any competent machine will have metal down here.

Check the top of your bobbin case for needle strikes. If there's a really bad strike, you might need a new bobbin case. If you have any plastic burrs sticking out from a needle strike, you can usually carefully shave the sharp parts off with a sharp razor blade.

Check the plate for needle strikes around the needle hole. If there's any burrs, you can use a nail file or some high grit sandpaper to remove them.

BTW, your bobbin case has Batman ears on it. Batman's ears point up. If the bobbin case is in the machine properly, Batman's ears will be point upward and the case won't be able to rotate when you try to turn it counter-clockwise. There's a little finger on the 5 o'clock position of the bobbin case, and that usually rests against a stop or sensor to stop the case from turning.

If you have a Brother or a Baby Lock, your machine may have a metal throat plate, and then a little L-shaped plastic collar. If it does, put the metal plate on first, then the bobbin case, then the plastic part. This will help make sure the bobbin case is straight.

Most machines will let you take off the front cover here. This gives you access to two important places.

If your presser foot is sluggish, cleaning and oiling the presser foot bar will free it. I like acetone on a q-tip for this, just cleaning all the parts of the bar that I can reach. There will be two metal sleeves that the bar passes through. Put one drop of oil on the top of each with the foot up, and then put the foot up and down to get the oil in the sleeve. You'll want to oil this even if your foot isn't sluggish.

Your thread uptake is the part that goes up and down when you thread the machine. It's the thingy that's the reason why you need to put your needle up before you thread your machine.

Thread loves to get wrapped around this. Take some time to see if there is thread, and if there is to unwind it. You usually have to turn the wheel backwards to get the thread off.

You'll also want to oil the piece that connects to the uptake. It's a big part. If your machine has a little hole on the front of the crank that turns the uptake, you will want to fill that up with oil. If there's no hole, put a drop on the seam between the two pieces and hope that some of it gets down there.

And that's about all I do. Stick the front plate back on (if it's a Brother, make sure you're getting the needle threader lined up with the little lever on the face plate that moves the threader). You should be good to go.

Remember: only sewing machine oil should go in your sewing machine. No other oils, just good old sewing machine oil. NOT three in one oil, no matter what the can says. You also only want to put a single drop on any space, unless there's a felt pad or a hole to hold more than a drop.

And plenty of people will pull their machine from storage and use it with no problem. I'm just sharing this info in case you or someone else wants to do this. A lot of machines are considered disposable or not worth professionally servicing, and knowing how to do this can add some life to your machine. Just remember the number one rule, no oil on plastic parts.

[sumitverma3297]

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[bumpkinspice0]

Recovery Time: Chapter 2

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

No use of y/n

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2362

Summary: Mystery Man is up and it's time to establish some boundaries if you're going to continue to help him. Whether he follows them or not, that's up to him.

Warnings: ANGST, Very negative self talk from Joel, stubborn Joel be stubborn, thinking about past trama

Series Masterlist

Previous - Next

AO3

_______________

Chapter 2: Recovery Time

He hasn’t said anything, not that he struck you as a talkative man. Every time you check on him he’s still out cold. It’s been just over a day. 

He must be moving, though. You left a plate of dried venison and green beans on the nightstand before bed that night and it was licked clean in the morning. Gus paces the hallway outside the door, keeping a watchful eye. You were right, he didn’t like a stranger being in the house.

“Easy boy,” You scratch between his ears as you pass by, “It’s only for a bit. Then you can sleep in the bed again.”

You wonder where he came from. If he was traveling into the QZ or running from it. That’s where everyone who passed near here was heading. Boston was over 25 miles away from here. The closest road leading into Boston was over 10 miles away, too far to just get lost in your neck of the woods. Was he looking for something? Someone? Or maybe he really was just that lost. For some reason, you doubt that looking at him. His gear and scars suggest a well-traveled man. A man who's seen it all. A survivor. You desperately wanted to know more about him.

As much as you loved lingering around the house all day like a clingy child, you still had responsibilities. 

Without a deer to skin and process— Like you planned to today— you tend to the remaining vegetables in the garden. One more row of carrots and tomatoes to harvest then the squash will be ready in a few weeks. The rain was generous to you this summer. Your pantry shed and dry storage are full for the first time in a long time.

You weren’t good at gardening before everything. You had a few houseplants you didn’t kill, but that was about it. You got good at it because you had to. The Massachusetts woods didn’t have much to offer other than game hunting. 

You learned through trade. Medical services for seeds and growing tips. It was all easier to come by back then. Your single year as a nurse before the outbreak was better than nothing to most people. They came to you for help with payments of supplies or services. You never turned anyone away, even if they were empty-handed.

Now only you were left.

Funny how you got more experience in your field after the world ended. That and you learned whatever you could squeeze out of Art when he was willing to teach you. He was a top surgeon for 20 years turned small town doctor, he knew things you’d never find in a book. You’d traded with him for what he had to offer as well, you suppose. A friendship was formed out of necessity there. 

You hoped he’d like what you’d made of his cabin. His home was now almost unrecognizable from what it had been— but in a good way. You just hear his gruff voice say “Well, that’s different.” In the most endearing way he could manage. 

Growing things had a rough learning curve but eventually, you had a full, well-maintained garden. You like to think you had a good rhythm going for your whole property. When the people around you dried up, you had little else to focus on. You’d made yourself a home out of your friend's old hunting cabin— a good one.

You’re checking the rain barrels when you hear a shift inside. Gus, who’d been perfectly content napping on the porch, snaps to attention.

Mystery Man is up and moving. 

You walk inside to see him seated struggling to get his boots back on. He’d found the spare clothes you’d left him. 

“What do you think you're doing?” you ask, dumbfounded. He couldn’t even walk a day ago- not that whatever he was doing now could really be considered walking either.

“I’m heading out,” He grunts, re-lacing his right boot. He’s removed the bandages and splints from his ankle. There’s no way that boot’s going to fit on that swollen-ass foot. “Thank you… for the hospitality.”

His movements are weak and clumsy. You’re amazed he’s even fully continuous right now. 

“I don’t think you’re in much shape to go anywhere,” you stand in front of him crossing your arms, “You have a serious sprain, trauma all over your body, and have lost a stupid amount of blood.”

“I’ve had worse.”

You believe him. That still didn’t help things. 

“You’re not gonna make it 10 feet out there.”

“Watch me,” He says, forcing his boot over his injured foot. You grimace in sympathy at the look on his face. A look of pure pain. Surely he can’t be serious? No-- No this was just more fight or flight acting up.

He stands, putting all his weight on his good leg. He’s big. Somehow broader when he’s standing.

You see the sweat plastering his brow from the effort. His eyes are glazed over. He’s delusional— very likely in shock. The gravity of the situation has settled in and he’s panicking still.

“Just hold— I’m offering you food and shelter.” You try to reason.

“I g-gotta get back.”

“To where?”

“The QZ.”

“In Boston? That’s over 20 miles away.”

So he was from the QZ after all.

He doesn’t seem phased by this information at all. You don’t want to fight him to get back into bed and he can’t be properly reasoned with in this state… so you take a gamble. The only way to show him how stupid he’s being is to just let him try. 

“If you want to go out there and die then be my guest.” You step aside, “Your ammo is in the first kitchen drawer to the right. I'll point you in the right direction outside.”

He looks at you for a moment, slightly shocked you’re suddenly being so passive. Still, he takes the opportunity. He takes a single clumsy step, grasping onto a nearby table for support. You step out of the room and he goes through the doorway. He makes it 3 steps down the hallway before collapsing— again. Still, about a step further than his first attempt the other day. Progress is progress you suppose.

“Stupid man,” You grumble before helping him up. 

“I gotta get back.” He mumbles but doesn’t fight you as you limp him back to the bed. He’s grasping at the edges of his consciousness by the time you get his head back on the pillow.

“Rest a little more then we’ll talk.”

“No, I—” He groans before his head falls limp on the pillow.

You wonder if you’ll have to do this all over again in a few hours.

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

There was only pain. Blinding white hot pain. The kind someone could never get used to, yet Joel thinks he should be by now. It was practically a daily occurrence at this point. It wasn’t just pain this time though, he felt weak. Constantly tired, just grasping to stay awake for more than a handful of minutes. Blood loss, dehydration— getting his ass handed to him. All factors that landed him in this new prison inside his own body. 

Everything hurts. Every goddamn inch of him. 

It was stupid of him to go out alone, he knew that and went anyway. He went looking for trouble— for blood. His only outlet these days.

Tommy was leaving. His own brother cursed his name, spat in his face, and said he was leaving to go try save the world again. Idiot.

“I never want to see you again.” Tommy’s exact last words to him. Not that they saw much of each other anyway, Tommy could hardly look at him. Still, it stung. Joel didn’t blame him and did his best to respect his brother's wishes. But even in doing so, the feelings of betrayal festered inside him like a disease.

So instead of just simply trying to talk to his brother— he went out to look for a fight. Didn’t tell anyone he was going, he just left.

Raiders willing to trade bullets for almost anything. A two-day walk from Boston. He got a day into his journey when the regret seeped in. Tommy left in two days. If he turned around there he could make it back and maybe see his brother off. Say he’s sorry for everything. Sorry for what he’d put him through.

Convince him to stay.

The raiders found him first. He was surrounded by at least a dozen. The next thing he remembers he was covered in blood that wasn't just his and dead bodies with pain stabbing into every nerve ending. Barely able to walk, still he pressed on. Tess or Tommy couldn’t save him this time. He was on his own.

And now he was here. Trapped in a stranger's bed, barely able to move. In a way he’s grateful, in another way he wished he’d been left to die. Then at least he wouldn’t have to live with the knowledge that his only family left in the world hated him. He even tried for something with Tess and decided to just keep it business. Another person who couldn’t love him. 

He tried to run from it all again, and he failed. 

Instead, he’s stuck here. Stuck here with his thoughts.

-----------

It’s almost nightfall when you enter the room again. 

“Mister?” You crack the door open, a candle in one hand and a plate of food in the other. He shifts in the bed, clearly awake, “I brought you something to eat. And a change of bandages when you’re done.”

He turns to face you at that, his face more lucid than his afternoon. Good. 

You take a seat next to the bed and he slowly sits up, face wincing in pain at the movement. Well, at least he’s being more careful. You hand him the plate—rabbit with potatoes and green beans. 

You introduced yourself again and he barely acknowledges your name, graciously accepting the plate without eye contact.

 “Why are you doing all this?” He asks weakly. 

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” You simply answer. This man wasn’t used to being shown kindness. That’s fine, you’ll still give it anyway. Still, it brings up a question. Something you want to clarify, “You’re… not going to hurt me, are you?”

His stern expression doesn’t move, but something in his eyes almost looks… offended maybe? Contemplating?

“No.”

He picks up the fork and starts eating. You let him get a few bites in before you ask. 

“Why did you want to get back to the QZ so badly today?”

He pauses, eyes focusing as if trying to recall the memory from just a few hours ago. 

“What day is it, do you know?” He asks. 

“September 16th.”

“Damn it,” he mumbles to himself, dropping his head. 

“What?” You’re suddenly very curious about his life.

“Nothin’,” he mumbles, stabbing another potato onto his fork, “I just… had to see someone.”

“Who?”

“Brother,” He answers dryly, “Shipped out today.”

“Is that who Tommy is?”

He pauses mid-chew, head still down. You fear you’ve offended him somehow.

“Yes.” He says it so softly you almost miss it.

“I’m sorry you missed him.” When you say it he gives you an almost annoyed look. A look that says you don’t fucking know me, lady . Fair enough. You choose to push this conversation in a more productive direction, “Can you tell me what happened to you?”

He pauses again, taking a particularly long time to chew on a piece of meat. Again, he’s debating on whether to tell you anything. 

“If I know more, maybe I can help more,” you encourage him, even though there’s probably not much else you could do. 

He sighs, “Trade deal went sour. They ambushed me. Barely got out.”

A man of few words and unhelpful explanations. Fantastic. 

“How many were there?” You ask.

“None, now.” The unspoken words ring loud in his statement. I killed them all. It makes you a little tense but there wasn’t any threatening tone in his voice. He’s just stating a fact. Killed or be killed, that’s how so much of the world out there is. 

And honestly, you’re a little relieved that there’s no one tracking him. It was a small anxiety in the back of your mind the last few days. You’ll light the stove tonight and sleep in an actually warm house. 

He’s finished his plate, gaze looking down at the bed sheet, refusing to face you. The dark shadows of the candle caressed over the plains of his face, deepening his stern features. He looked… sad. So sad. He’d missed something important because of this injury. Seeing his brother off. If his brother was FEDRA or a Firefly there was a possibility of never seeing him again— stationed somewhere across the country. Somewhere you couldn’t just walk to. 

When anyone leaves now there’s always a possibility of never seeing them again though, even if they’re in a gun-toting convoy.

You don’t want to push the topic. Instead, you just take his plate from him and stand. 

“If you’re gonna be here then there’s some rules, okay?” 

He actually bothers to look up to you before you continue.

 “No weight on the foot for at least a week. If you wanna walk anywhere you use crutches, I have a pair. The bathroom’s across the hall, use it freely except for the shower. That’s cut down to once a week. Let me know when you want to use it and I’ll dress your wounds accordingly. No leaving the immediate area without me, not that you’ll go far.” You say the last sentence in a joking way. He doesn’t laugh, “You want anything, you ask me. You fight me on anything regarding your recovery, and you’re out.”

“This is sounding more like a hostage situation,” He grunts.

“For a captor I think I've been doing a good job keeping you alive and safe, but by all means leave if you like,” You inform in the nicest way you can manage while still sounding threatening, “Feel free to test your chances out there.”

He looks down again, scoffing. 

“What’s the recovery time on this?” he mumbles.

“Up to 6 weeks.” you bluntly answer, “Probably less if you do what I say.”

“Then I’ll be out of here in 2.”

You completely doubt that.

[tornadoyoungiron]

Traintober | Day 5 - It’s Only Me

Blue Peter breaks down when he realises that he’s the only one of the A2 Peppercorns left and that his best friend and cousin Saint Mungo, never made it to preservation.

TW for suggestions of self-harm, suicide and depression

~~~

The sound of metal grinding against metal rattled in his smokebox as the daylight from outside pierced through the dark musty interior of the shed making him wince in pain and squint against the blinding light. He could hear the voices of men talking as his eyes adjusted to the light.

“Is this the one?” A man’s voice asked nearby and Blue Peter looked down to find a man staring up at him.

“Yes sir, a LNER A2 Peppercorn, the last one,” another man came up behind him with a British Railway pin on his lapel. “He’ll make a fine companion to Bittern.”

The man snorted and shook his head. 

“I would have preferred an A1 Peppercorn but they’ve all been cut up,” the man dismissively waved at Blue Peter.

A chill ran through Blue Peter’s boiler. His cousins… the A1s, no they couldn’t have. 

“My cousins are gone?” Blue Peter suddenly croaked out weakly. “But I thought… Saint Mungo.”

The men looked towards him and a look of sympathy passed on their faces. 

“There was an incident regarding Saint Mungo,” the British Railways man frowned. “He was cut up despite being slated for preservation.”

“A true shame, I would have very much liked to own such a magnificent engine!” The other man declared but then looked at Blue Peter with a critical gaze. “I suppose an A2 will have to do.”

Blue Peter said nothing, still reeling from the news that Saint Mungo was gone. 

Blue Peter didn't know quite how long he had been kept in storage. He wasn't even sure if they remembered him. After all, his last crew had simply parked him in storage and left without even cleaning out his firebox or doing proper procedures to maintain him. 

The thought of maybe seeing Saint Mungo once, even if it was a final goodbye as he was sent for scrap had kept him hopeful, been the one thing that had helped him hang on to hope. 

He was startled from his thoughts as the BR mam snapped his fingers at him to get his attention.

"Pay attention!" The man barked but Blue Peter barely heard him. "Mr. Drury has agreed to purchase you, you should show him thanks and not be rude! Do you want to be sent for scrap, engine?"

"I-" Blue Peter quickly returned his attention to the threat and quickly masked his despair. "Yes sir! I apologise for my rudeness, sir. If you purchase me I shall serve you well!"

The man, Mr Drury, nodded at him. 

"Still seems to have its wits about it, no sign of Cold Iron," he examined before eyeing the nameplate on his smoke deflector. "Blue Peter eh?"

"Yes sir, I am Blue Peter, at your service!" The Peppercorn chirped. 

Mr Drury looked thoughtful for a moment before a wide grin appeared across his face.

"Yes, yes actually that would be perfect!" The man was delighted now. "I have the best idea for how to restore this one!"

"You're going to use the Blue Peter show?" The BR man pointed out and Drury nodded excitedly. 

"It's the perfect way to teach younger generations about an obsolete technology!"

Blue Peter almost guffawed at that. 

Obsolete?  Obsolete! 

He was most certainly not obsolete, no matter how much these humans clung to their disgusting, smelly diesel. Steam engines were one of a kind! They were charming and full of personality!

He kept quiet though and did not voice his displeasure.  He kept his face straight, his tender aligned and his attitude proper. He would rather not be left to rust in this storage shed any longer.

"How about that? You could be a part of the children's television show, Blue Peter, isn't that exciting?" Mr. Drury enthusiastically implored.

It sounded appalling and Blue Peter wanted no part in it. If anyone would have loved it, it would have been Saint Mungo. 

But Blue Peter didn’t want to be scrapped and so he put on his best and most amicable face.

“Yes sir, that sounds incredibly exciting sir, I cannot wait to do my part!” 

Mr. Drury clapped his hands together. 

“Excellent! What a fortunate turn of events, instead of getting A1 I’ve been blessed with an engine that could pay for its own restoration with its name alone,” he exclaimed.

“So you’ll take him?” The BR asked excitedly and Mr Drury nodded enthusiastically.

“I most certainly will my good man!”

“Right! This way sir! I’ll have you fill out the paperwork and then we can organise to get him out of our storage sheds!”

“Excellent, excellent!” Mr. Drury turned back to Blue Peter as he and the man began to leave.

“I trust that you’ll be a good addition, Blue Peter, so rejoice in the fact that you won’t be scrapped!” He told him and Blue Peter managed to muster a pained smile.

“Yes sir, thank you sir!” He gratefully retorted.

Without another word, the two men left and shut him in darkness once again. 

The painful smile Blue Peter had kept up vanished the second that the shed doors closed and he felt tears flow down his face, unable to stop them.

All his siblings, his cousins, they were all gone. They had all left him.

For however many years he had spent wasting away in this shed had only ever been tolerable due to the fact that he may once again see Saint Mungo. Only now, he was to find that something had happened, that Saint Mungo had found himself at the cutter’s torch. 

Blue Peter felt empty, his boiler felt like there was rust creeping into his tubes, his frames felt heavy with grief and aching that he couldn’t quite describe. 

Maybe it would have been more of a relief to be finally hauled out to the scrapyard knowing that his entire family was gone. 

That it was only him left in this cruel dark world.

~~~

[snzysimper]

HI idk if you still write snz content for FNAF but my hype has come back after the movie so i come with a little request!! i’d melt for either a fic or just some snz HCs about mister william afton… 👉👈

>:0000

I’m happy to oblige:

I literally have a Google doc dedicated to Snz HC’s/ Scenarios for this man. Take it with a grain of salt that I have yet to see the movie (yeah IK ME of all people) so these are more based off of the games. Hopefully the movie will spark a bit of inspiration for a fic in the near future. Although I did a relatively recent re-write of my very first fic here:

When sneezing from nothing in particular, he’s one and done. He also just doesn’t like sneezing in front of people, although there is no particular reason for this.

He is VERY sensitive to dust. This especially sucks for when he had to work in parts and service or other maintenance related places.

If sneezes are allergy related, it can go on for a while. They can be relatively quick too. Several back to back. It’ll last for however long until he gets away from it and sometimes for a bit after.

In the early stages of making the suits, he was trying to fix part of the springlock mechanism in the mask but it was a little bit dusty from the fur on the outside of the mascot. Let’s just say that didn’t end too well.

Being sick won’t stop him from working. Not when there’s money to be made, animatronics to be worked on and kids to ki-…kids to bring happiness to…

If he’s sick, he’ll sneeze maybe two or three times. He gets pretty congested so they can be a bit messy at times.

Ain’t nobody takin care of him. No one. He will refuse to sit down even for a moment, so much to the point that Henry would end up practically having to kick him out of the pizzeria.

((Scenarios undercut; TW: mentions of death and blood))

When he went outside to go and kill Charlie it was raining really hard. He got the job done within a matter of seconds, the clean up job didn't take too long either. He was in the rain for no more than half an hour. The rain washed away a good bit of the blood, but he still had to put the body in a bag, wash away the rest of the blood. Once he got back to the pizzeria, the cold AC was blowing on him and he didn't have any other clothes to change into. He ends up catching a pretty nasty cold.

William has to remove the bodies of the missing children from the animatronics and has to smell the rotting bodies. He can't stop sneezing, the strong scent irritating his nose. Not that he minds the smell itself, it just makes him sneeze a lot. Same thing happens for when he had to remove Elizabeth's corpse from Circus Baby's storage tank.