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jenctrl · 3 months ago

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birds of a feather*ೃ༄

"that one time when she realised that some people love unconditionally"

warning; from the blackcat!Y/n series, the parts don't need to be read in order! this part contains some hurt/comfort! but it's all sweet :D

“Y/n?” Yunjin mumbled, her cheek pressed against the door as she tried to listen to what was going on behind the door to the feline’s room.

The morning had been quiet, it wasn’t that Y/n was ever loud, but it had been empty for Yunjin. After not seeing her for almost a whole day, she wanted to see Y/n and be with her, especially today.

The girl had locked herself in her room yesterday evening and hadn’t come out since then; it was almost lunchtime now. The canine had waited the whole morning, patiently(not really), she had nothing to do today except fitting in the early morning that she had been done a while ago with.

It wasn’t the first time, Y/n tended to be hot and cold, it wasn’t something Yunjin minded as she knew about the black-and-white world Y/n lived in. There was good and bad, no in-between. The current situation was bad beyond words, it was just as bad for Yunjin, but she dealt with it differently.

She raised her fist and knocked, there was no answer and nothing more but silence on the other side. Yunjin gently opened the door after knocking, peeking her head inside before opening it wider and fully looking inside.

Her lower lip jutted out as she stared at Y/n whose back was turned to her, the girl was sitting on the floor. The luggage bags around her were open, but no clothes were inside; the clothes were rather sprawled out around the room, creating a mess that was unusual for Y/n who was organised.

Y/n preferred to act like certain things didn’t bother her as if she didn’t care because she didn’t. She at least wished she didn’t. Who would have thought that after being proven the same thing over and over again throughout her whole life; one person could come in and alter all of it? Y/n liked when change happened but hated when someone else changed stuff in her life.

She stared down at the empty bags, glaring at them. She had been sitting in the same spot for what felt like hours but was probably just around an hour as she had woken up not long ago. How could she tell someone about her reasoning when they felt stupid to begin with?

Yunjin (and her members) would probably understand or try to, but it wasn’t easy. It was scary to be vulnerable and talk about her biggest fears.

“Can I help?” Yunjin asked, leaning against the frame as she picked on her nails.

“No.” The answer was cold and simple, that’s usually how the girl’s answers were, but this was different because there was actual distance that Y/n had put between them.

“But I always help you pack.” The girl reasoned, her hands dropping to her sides in disbelief.

“No, just leave.”

All her life she had been taught not to get attached because people would come and go, no one stayed, no one cared, no one truly loved and if they did they would leave without a word. She learned the hard way that it was always better to be alone, to do everything on her own, to not seek comfort or help and only rely on herself.

She realised a little too late that she had grown attached to the new people around her. She forgot her lessons the second Yunjin stepped in and after a while the same happened with the rest of the members too.

However, it was different with the girl who sat down beside her on the floor. She hadn’t said it, but she gave in, unable to shut Yunjin out no matter how hard she tried.

Yunjin stayed silent for a few seconds, her eyes scanning the girl beside her whose chin was resting atop her knees. She never liked it when Y/n fell into a gloom, it made her feel down too.

“It’s only a month, it will go by quickly.” She tried to look on the bright side. Y/n was being sent overseas for a solo schedule and it would all line up with promotions and garner more attention.

Only a month away from the highlight of her day, a month away from her comfort, from her safe space, from her home. Yunjin was realising how bad it was.

They may have been dramatic in the eyes of everyone else, but this was shaking up their world.

Yunjin watched Y/n who huffed and turned her face to the side, being met by the back of her head now. Those weren’t the right words to say.

Y/n ignored it when Yunjin stood up and walked out of the room. It made her pout as she got what she wanted, to push her away yet it gave her the opposite feeling as she released a long breath to try and get rid of the heaviness.

Was it that easy for someone to leave? Y/n would know, she liked to leave people behind before they could leave her after getting to know how it felt. Once was enough.

Another sigh fell from between her lips and she looked back at the empty bags she was supposed to start packing days ago. She had thought that stalling would help her forget and maybe make the problem disappear and she wouldn’t have to go if she hadn’t packed.

“Okay, we will finish packing later–” Y/n was startled when Yunjin came back inside, it made her look up at the girl who stopped beside her, dropping a bundle of clothes, hoodies and sweaters, right into the luggage in front of her. Yunjin’s scent wafted through the air after they were dropped. “Right now, we need to go to the bookstore to get that book you wanted, I’m even paying.”

“I’m not dressed.”

“Just get a hoodie and cap,”

Y/n wanted to say no and protest, tell Yunjin to go away, but instead, she pretended to be bothered without putting up a fight when her hands were grabbed.

The canine took hold of the grumpy feline’s hands and pulled her to her feet to drag her out of her room at last before they left the apartment altogether. It was with a few grumbles and snarky comments, but she knew Y/n better than to think the girl didn’t want this.

She was just too stubborn to show that she wanted it.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

“You know…” Yunjin started, trying to figure out the right words to say as she walked behind Y/n through the aisles of the small bookstore. It held an antique vibe to it, located in quite an isolated alley, they had found it a while ago while walking around.

She got a short hum from Y/n, her eyes on the girl who was in a pair of loose black shorts with a hoodie, cap and slippers to match. Yunjin’s fingers grazed over the spines of the books while admiring everything around her, admiring the way Y/n admired her surroundings as her cat-like eyes curiously gazed around. It made Yunjin smile.

“You’re my Scrump and I don’t want to make you think about whatever is unpleasant, but I don’t want you carrying it all alone…Problems don’t usually disappear without being faced.”

Yunjin’s heart raced slightly, it was a dangerous game almost. She knew that her Scrump was a tough cookie, but she was soft on the inside despite the outside being hard to crumble. However, it was these words of care that would make Y/n close off instead of open up.

Y/n pursed her lips and swallowed before biting her lower lip. She hummed, that was all she could do as she pulled the cap down further and stopped. Her eyes looked over the books, already holding three as she reached for a fourth one.

“Mm,” Y/n gave a nod, unsure if she was acknowledging Yunjin’s words or the book she picked up. The strain in her arm disappeared when the books were grabbed from her hold and she turned to look at Yunjin.

Yunjin tilted her head when Y/n frowned and looked at her with a small scowl, it was unusual to find clear signs of what Y/n was feeling on the outside. It was always masked so well.

However, Yunjin could always tell how Y/n felt just by looking her in the eye.

She reached her hand out and the feline clicked her tongue in annoyance when Yunjin pinched her cheek. “You’re too cute at times.” Her hand was pushed away, but she didn’t give up just yet. Y/n tried to squirm away when Yunjin wrapped her arm around her into a struggling half hug with books. “Aww, you need a hug, don’t you?”

“Let go.” Y/n tried to argue, unable to struggle free from the arm around her shoulders.

“No, hug me back and I will,” Yunjin argued back as she stumbled forward, managing to hold her balance and Y/n whose face was buried in her shoulder.

“You’re so annoying.” The feline exclaimed as quietly as possible because they were still in public, but she was getting worked up now. She tried to jump, but Yunjin’s hold around her was too strong. It made her groan when all she got in return was a laugh.

“Hug me or I’m kissing your whole face.” Yunjin threatened and patiently waited as the girl calmed down and huffed in her hold.

Y/n got out of the canine’s hold who yelped in pain, stepping away.

“You bit me.” She accused as she looked at her shoulder, massaging it through her sweatshirt. Her gaze averted to Y/n who was frustratedly fixing her clothes and cap.

She ignored what the latter said and looked at the book in her hold before showing it to Yunjin who pouted at the indifference on Y/n’s face after causing her pain.

“Do you–” Y/n started, she usually wasn’t one to suggest these things or admit to wanting to spend time together. She loved being alone, but not lonely. “Wanna read this with me at the park?”

Yunjin smiled while Y/n looked away, feeling weird and awkward for asking for someone’s time as she wasn’t used to it. Neither was she used to people having time for her.

“If I wanna read a book with you at the park?” Yunjin questioned, but Y/n’s gaze was still glued to the shelf of books beside them. “I would read a million books with you, let’s go pay and get food too.” She ushered, feeling giddy because even if Y/n didn’t say it or showed it differently, Yunjin knew.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Whether with words or silence, they knew how to soothe each other and Y/n felt everything she had put up slowly go away. Yunjin’s presence simply made her realise where she found comfort and who she trusted. That was it at the moment though, she still couldn’t let it out with words, but she could forget about it all for a moment as the canine made the bad go away.

Yunjin knew that she was getting closer and she refrained from speeding up the process as the physical distance was gone at least. She sighed in contentment through her nose while adjusting her head that rested against Y/n’s who had her head on her shoulder.

The wind blew gently, it wasn’t a breeze that was cold yet it made Y/n sit closer, the older girl’s sweatshirt on her lap to get rid of any goosebumps. The food they ate had been discarded after they finished, sharing a meal and now sharing a novel Y/n had picked out.

They both sat at a picnic bench that was close to Han River with people being too busy to pay them any mind. It wasn’t often that happened and so they refused to take it for granted just like they refused to take any moment spent together for granted.

The time they spent together, the memories (good or bad) they created together, the times they thought about the other, talked or texted, in person or across the world, it was all moments to treasure.

Love came in so many forms and was so hard to truly express, but they just knew what love was in these moments.

Yunjin held the paperback book for both of them, Y/n’s one hand looped under her arm to flip the pages. The younger’s other hand rested against Yunjin’s leg, drawing patterns on the material of her jeans. There was no need for words to be exchanged in these moments where they dwelled in silence and their bond.

Y/n fought long and hard to find her peace, she refused to give it up and the longer she sat with Yunjin, in her warm presence that she was overly fond of; Y/n realised how much she didn’t want to be away from her comfort. It took so long to find.

This was exactly why she relied on herself, why she avoided attachment, it was too scary and now she had to go through it all again.

The canine gasped and lifted her head after Y/n flipped the page and the rest was blank: they finished the novel. The feline grabbed hold of Yunjin’s forearm as she sat up straight and the two turned to look at each other at the same time.

“Bro.” “That was nuts.”

“Since when do you say bro?” “And you nuts?”

Yunjin put the book down and leaned against the backrest of the bench. Another silence occupied them (taking in the book they finished) and Y/n used it to lean back, however, she leaned into Yunjin who wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“Just got shocked enough to say: bro,” Y/n mumbled and looked down at her lap as Yunjin let out a breathless chuckle. She stared at her hands, playing with her fingers and she tried to think about the book a bit more before trying to empty her mind fully because it wasn’t working.

The canine could sense it, she could tell how Y/n felt even if the girl didn’t say it. The feline’s face was impossible to read, but Yunjin could simply just tell.

Sometimes the simplest gestures or the simplest words worked. She trailed her fingers along Y/n’s arm which was covered by the black hoodie while she stared down at the girl’s hands.

They had been sitting around for long enough.

“Y/n.”

“Yeah?”

“Your problems will always be my problems too. I will never let you go through it alone.”

Y/n’s silence grew and Yunjin moved her head to try and look at the girl’s face, only catching the little pout on her lips before she faced away from her. The feline’s eyes found their way to the sky and she watched the white fluffy clouds float by and change shapes.

Why couldn’t she be more like a cloud? To also change the way she was the further down the road she got?

The canine didn’t avert her gaze though, a small smile tugged on her lips as she watched Y/n who admired the clouds in the sky. With the clouds clouding Y/n right now, she would wither like a flower due to the lack of sunlight, however, Yunjin would blow them away just for her. She’d have time to grow back.

She never wanted the girl to change, there was no one she could love more, no other version of Y/n than the real her. If she could just find the right words to say it, to let Y/n know that there was perfection in the flaws and the flawless because that’s what made the girl her feline.

Yunjin was about to say the words, but Y/n got out of her hold and turned to her. It startled Yunjin as the girl stared at her. The feline stared at her for a second or two, blinking and the silence was making the canine nervous. Had she messed up? She only wanted to remind her of it, but not push her to it. She was about to sink into the ground any second.

“Did you bring a camera?”

Yunjin nodded her head, taking a breath of relief as she quickly reached for her purse. She handed the digital camera to Y/n who used it to capture the clouds in the sky. The latter would get a couple of pictures of the feline later on.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

“You have to take this.” Yunjin persisted as she tried to get past Y/n to shove the plushie into the only luggage that was left open.

“There’s no room for it in there,” Y/n argued, grabbing hold of Yunjin’s arm so she wouldn’t walk past her while she sat on the bed. They had spent the past few hours packing which should have been started days ago to make it easier. They made it work though.

“I will make room for Scrump.” She insisted and Y/n grabbed hold of her arm with both hands before pulling Yunjin down with all her might and a huff. Yunjin yelped as she stumbled and fell onto a pile of clothes on the bed, the plushie being taken from her hold.

“Are you seriously not going to take the Scrump I got you?” The canine asked with sorrow and seriousness laced in her tone.

Y/n rolled her eyes and looked down at the Scrump plushie in her hands. How could an inanimate object hold so much importance to the younger girl? They never did, but with time things changed, with her members, with Yunjin, somehow every little thing started being important. A plushie felt so important to Y/n that she would feel bad if she put it in the luggage.

“I am taking her–” Y/n mumbled and turned back to reach for the bag she’d have at hand when leaving for the airport in the morning. “Just not in there…idiot.” Yunjin chuckled as she watched Y/n place Scrump in the bag with the other important things she needed at hand.

It warmed Yunjin’s heart, this was what reassured her that each day they took steps forwards and not backwards.

“Can we stay up till late?” Y/n questioned as she somewhat regretted choosing to lock herself in her room all morning as she could have spent all that time with Yunjin. Now it felt like they were short on time and she desperately wanted to be able to make the day longer or be able to rewind and make different choices.

“I will do anything you want.” She replied without any doubt, her tone back to that cheery one.

“Why?” Yunjin hummed in confusion, tilting her head as she leaned back against her palms, gazing at Y/n. She didn’t expect a question back, not one like this. The other’s gaze was on Yunjin, but not on her face, avoiding her eyes as she puffed out her cheeks with a shrug.

“Why do you?” Why did Yunjin and everyone around her do so much and care so much for her? It was all so foreign, it was nice but also scary.

“I will do anything you want, follow you anywhere, and give everything to see you smile.” It wasn’t because she had to, but because she wanted to and knowing Y/n did the same for her whether consciously or not made it all worth it.

The feline was worth it.

“But why?” Y/n emphasised, not understanding why anyone would go out of their way for her.

How was following her through thick and thin so worth it for Yunjin? For her members? Y/n was there for them, she tried to be at least, but she wasn’t sure if she was enough for them. For anyone.

The feline felt great and warm when she managed to make the people who were close to her smile, laugh, even cry (for good reasons) and just be there for them. However, she felt like she was nothing but a burden when they did the same for her. Y/n didn’t fit in and therefore didn’t deserve it.

She had managed to get all these loving and supporting people around her, but she felt like a phony, someone who hadn’t done well or enough to have this much. It wasn’t deserved for an imposter in the home they created.

Yunjin huffed as she pushed herself up, it made Y/n groan when arms wrapped around her shoulders, squeezing her tightly and holding her close. It washed over her, that warm feeling that made her heartbeat much quicker and she shut her eyes tightly, her back hitting the mattress.

“Because I love you.” Why did hearing those words make her feel so sentimental?

Yunjin’s legs tangled with hers as the canine lay atop her, arms wrapped around Y/n as she hummed in contentment. The feline bunched up the sheets under her, trying hard to put up walls, to come off as indifferent, but the weight of sincerity and love was crushing it all as she lay limp.

“Why?”

Yunjin hummed as she acknowledged the whisper of a question and she smiled into Y/n’s hair.

“I don’t need a reason to love you, I just do.” She finally found the right words to say to Y/n, these few words that said so much. That let Y/n know everything Yunjin always wanted to say to her, but never knew how. “Don’t act like you don’t know it, Y/n. We all love you, I love you. You’re nothing but loveable.”

Yunjin lifted her head at the silence she received, her hands planted on the mattress and the second she did Y/n used a forearm to cover her face from the canine. It made her hand gently reach to her and try to remove it to see the girl, but she whined and grumbled, refusing to show herself.

The canine cooed, seeing how vulnerable it made Y/n. “You’re crying, my little Scrump.”

“I’m not.” She tried to reply, her voice cracking at the fight she was putting up.

Y/n couldn’t help it, those simple words meant so much. They made everything wash away and she hadn’t felt this light in her body for a long time. She snivelled, only peeking at Yunjin when the bed dipped beside her as the girl had moved to lay beside her.

“It’s okay, although it is making me tear up,” Yunjin reassured her, knowing Y/n rarely showed herself at her weakest points, at times when she was vulnerable. It was making her teary-eyed too.

She grumbled, removing her forearm and turning to finally hug Yunjin who hugged her back. The feline buried her face in her shoulder, bunching up the material of Yunjin’s shirt in her fist as her back was rubbed. It did feel good to hug and hear those words even if she tried to deny it.

There was a court knock on the door–Yunjin humming out a reply–before it opened and Sakura was the first to peek inside followed by Eunchae, Kazuha and Chaewon.

“We’re heading to bed, but thought we’d say goodnight and goodbye first,” Sakura explained as Y/n was departing early and wouldn’t be able to say goodbye.

“Aww, look, she’s crying.” Y/n groaned at Chaewon’s voice and she was about to argue until her body was crushed by the weight of all her members.

“We will miss you too.” Kazuha teased, making the feline flail her arm to get the girl away, “Shut up, Zuha,” only to get hugged tighter by everyone.

Y/n did know it in the end, didn’t she? She knew that she was loved and cared for. She just needed a little reminder to remember that she did belong even if at times she was sure that she didn’t. A reminder that they were different.

Yunjin, all her members weren’t leaving, so she didn’t have to worry.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Yunjin woke up the next day in Y/n’s empty bed, it made her heave a sigh first thing in the morning. She stared at the ceiling for a while and thought about yesterday before deciding to think about the coming days up till Y/n’s return.

The girl turned in the bed to face the room that was tidied up after the mess they had made. A book was on the bed and she reached for it as it hadn’t been there before. To try and distract herself she opened it and flipped past the first few blank pages and whatnot until she got to the official first page.

Yunjin smiled as she read the words that were circled in across the page.

I guess

I love

you

It made her flip to the next page as there were no more words circled in on the first one.

a lot

Another page was flipped.

thank you

There’s

nothing more

She knew that Y/n did, she knew the girl better than the feline thought she did. Yunjin was aware that Y/n would struggle to say them–always saying them with different gestures instead–because she simply struggled to outwardly express them. Yunjin didn’t need to hear it to know it.

The canine still kept flipping and she chuckled at the polaroid that fell out, making her pick it up–it was the two of them from last night–and look on the backside.

‘I knew you would keep looking cause you’re annoying’

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

#yunjin imagines #yunjin fluff #yunjin x reader #yunjin x female reader #le sserafim x fem reader #le sserafim x reader #le sserafim imagines #le sserafim fluff #girl group imagines #blackcat!y/n🐈‍⬛

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artyandink · 5 months ago

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amoralism | two

Summary: You and Dean Winchester are the top agents from Major Crimes. You’re also assigned as partners on the same case- a crime syndicate is running loose and buying out most of downtown New York. He hates you cause you hate him. You hate him cause you think he got in his position with his daddy’s influence. But this case is personal to one of you more than the other- and you may be getting too personal for comfort.

TW: Blood, firearms, organised crime, talk of drugs, Agent Dean Winchester, sexual tension, wet dream, awkwardness, unsupportive mom, dramatic sister, consensual crime

SERIES MASTERLIST

Song Inspo: People I Don’t Like - UPSAHL

materialism

Family dinners took the hell out of you.

They were so awkward, and for what? It was a few hours of pushing food around plates, unwanted conversations and criticisms about your home life and job. Of course your mom wasn’t proud that you were FBI. Were they slightly averse because she carries a truckload of deep seated traditionalism? Definitely.

Your mom, Elena, took a pointed bite of salad as she flitted her eyes disapprovingly between you, your slouching and your less than socially satisfactory manner of eating. Practically assaulting your food with a well timed fork stab and shovelling it in your mouth.

You were a federal agent, not a damn princess.

At least your younger sister had gone to deb balls and beauty pageants and gotten married fresh out of college and landed a job as a secretary for a wealthy CEO in Delaware while you apparently ‘slum it’ and put serial killers behind bars.

Putting your life on the line to make your country a better place. Totally something undesirable, a horrible job, only bozos and hobos would do it.

Your dad, Richard (but he had everyone call him Rick, your mom never listened), was proud of you. More proud than he could put into words. He’d once come to visit you after work to congratulate you on a case that you’d solved (confidential, of course), and his heart burst with pride upon seeing his little girl dressed in a formal suit and storing her government approved handgun.

“Darling?” Your mom trilled in her fancy accent and high pitched voice, which caught your attention. You looked up, halfway through a sip of wine, same as your dad. Holding it wrong. Again, not a princess. “When will you be getting married?”

You almost did a spit take, but swallowed so it wouldn’t happen and coughed as it almost went down the wrong way, Rick doing the same at the exact same time. Your sister, Cassie (short for Cassandra), glanced between the two of you with a look of judgement identical to your mom’s.

They were carbon copies of each other. Same with you and your dad.

“M-Marriage?” You spluttered, still recovering from the notes of chamomile that stung at the back of your throat. Chamomile’s meant to be soothing. “I-I’m a federal - ahem - agent, I don’t have t-time to-” You cleared your throat loudly, “- marry.”

Your mom scoffed, waving you off with a manicured hand. “You blab on about this federal agent business, but we have no clue what kind of cases you deal with.”

“Honey, we can’t push her.” Your dad vouched, and you internally cheered him on, swallowing down a sharp retort with a shovelling down of spaghetti that earned you an eye roll from Cassie and an exasperated sigh from Elena. “Her work is classified.”

“Classified from her family?”

“That’s generally what it means.” You added with a clearing of your throat. “A brief overview of my work in Major Crimes is literally the major crimes. Serial killers, mob bosses, organised crime.”

Your mom gave a loud, false laugh. “Hush, hush. Mafias only occur in dramatised television shows and movies.”

“Elena, you should be proud of our daughter.” Rick sighed, pointedly staring at his wife. “She works to keep everyone safe. Debutante balls and beauty pageants aren’t all the glory.”

And now Cassie was throwing a fit, her blonde hair almost torn out by her pink-painted claws. Jesus, if you went into the office with those monsters? You didn’t even wanna know.

While your mom ticked off your dad for saying such an insensitive thing, you nudged his foot with yours as a silent thank you for defending him. And his foot tapped yours back as if to say don’t apologise.

God, you cherished your dad.

“Don’t pay attention to your mother.” He’d told you in a calm, soft voice as you two steadily worked on the dishes, the quiet noise of the sponge spreading soap suds on the plate not the best ambience but alright all the same. “She’s a little dramatic.”

You raised an eyebrow, getting the itch out from just above your eyebrow using the back of your hand. “A little?”

Rick shrugged, then chuckled. “Alright, you got me there. She’s extremely dramatic. But she’s my wife, and I love her, regardless of whether I think she should take up a role in Broadway.”

“Or a soap opera.” You both shared a laugh, but then you subsided into a rather wistful state of mind. “I just want her to understand that even though I can’t talk about it, I still do something worthy of recognising, right? I mean, not everyone can say they’re one of the best agents Major Crimes has to offer.”

“She’ll come around.” Rick planted a kiss on your temple that felt a little scratchy from his stubble. “I’m so proud of you, y’know that? My little girl’s grown up to be an incredible woman.”

Your phone rang, and you shook your hands off, towelling them before taking out your phone and picking up the call.

‘Took you long enough, princess.’ Agent Winchester’s voice came from the other line, and seems like your dad heard a man’s voice, because his eyebrow raised past what was the beginning of his receding hairline. Princess. It took you back to the night you had your first wet daydream of your case partner, Dean goddamn Winchester, three years ago, working the very case you both were heading now.

Except with much higher stakes.

“You’re far from on my priority list, Agent.” You huffed out a breath, mouthing to your dad to behave as you knew he had the strong urge to find out who exactly you were talking to. And if there was a possibility that he’d need to grab his baseball bat and go warn this guy off breaking your heart.

Federal agent or not, he’d do it. He’d do anything to keep his daughter safe.

‘You’re gonna break this young man’s heart.’

“We’re 35.”

‘Exactly. Young.’ His tone sounded like he was holding off laughter, adopting a voice which resembled Mrs Doubtfire. ‘We’re youthful, innocent little whippersnappers-’

“Agent, if you’re just going to waste my time, you better hang up.” You sighed, rubbing your forehead. Your dad gave you a look which said damn, don’t do him like that. In truth, neither of you were exactly innocent. You had unholy, R-rated thoughts of each other every time you did so much as think of each other.

You definitely wanted to do him.

You heard Dean clear his throat, getting back on track. ‘Right. Yeah. So, there’s some of our double agents in crime circles that reported back to me after I dropped ‘em a little message. They’re sayin’ that there’s an auction happening at a charity gala in a week, and they’re pawning off this necklace-’

“Yeah, you’re wasting my time.” You scoffed, wondering why he was into getting jewellery. Unless it was to pacify a girl he two timed. Then again, he could probably do it with his panty-soaking, money-winning grin, smooth winks and some cheap pickup line he stole off the Internet.

‘Hey, let me finish. The necklace has a USB chip inside. It contains videos of our syndicate’s work, so if we get a hand on that, we know what we’re dealing with.’ He chuckled at his own brilliance, making you roll your eyes at his ego. ‘And, uh, you’re about to pick apart and criticise my plan by saying that there’s no way in hell that we have the money to buy that thing, so… I talked to Director Singer, and he had a chat with the board and they gave us a pass for as many consensual crimes as needed.’

“So, where do we factor in all this?” You asked, making a mental note of everything he was telling you.

‘That’s the fun part. We got invites to that event, so we’re gonna go together as a doting, wealthy married couple and steal it.’

“It’s not my first undercover gig, so as long as we don’t run into any complications, it could work.”

‘So, I’ll see you at my place tomorrow to discuss logistics. I’ll make sure Sammy- Detective S. Winchester - is out of the house.’

“Alright. Bye.” You cut the call, and spotted your dad smiling proudly at you. His eyes twinkling, and his steady scrubbing hand paused. “What?”

Dean’s back hit the bed, your lips moving up to claim his exposed throat and freckled, exposed chest, making a steady trail to his shoulder and nipping until there was a forming hickey. His breath laboured, mind spinning and body on autopilot. He could feel your nails over his abs, tracing and mapping out every contour, his eyes locking on you, looking like a vision in black lace, a garter and pretty, matching, sheer, thigh-high nylons.

He was always a sucker for a woman in lingerie.

“God, baby, c’mere.” He groaned, hands finding purchase on the backs of your thighs and yanking you forward, settling you closer as his hand teased at the hem of your panties, one sharp flick of his wrist tearing the flimsy material and leaving it beyond repair, drawing a gasp and barely restrained whine from you. He chucked the remains off the bed, that hand, already glistening from having touched your soaked panties, found your cunt, sliding his fingers back and forth before roughly thrusting two up and into your soaked pussy, crooking them just right in order to have you clamping down and already rocking up and down desperately. “So tight. Gonna ride my fingers already, sweetheart?”

“Mmh- mhmm.” Was all you could get out, barely noticing how his free hand reached behind you to unclip your bra, propping himself up so he could latch his mouth onto your nipple and suck, causing you to mewl and let out an even more sinful moan right as his thumb found your clit right as the pad of his index found your g-spot, his third finger joining the party and pressing on it.

Layering and layering and layering until your mind was blank, thighs shaking, mouth open and eyes rolling back until they saw stars and the brief outline of God.

Looks like he does have a beard.

“Dean, g-god-” You were cut off by a moan, biting your lip, and Dean nodded encouragingly, free hand reaching up to cup your cheek, thumbing at your bottom lip to ease it free.

“Waited so long for this.” He murmured. “Gotta hear you. Look so pretty, baby-”

“Dean, wake up!” Dean shot up and spluttered when a glass of ice cold water hit him like a bullet train, finding you to be the perpetrator. No lingerie, just a simple sweater and jeans, your hair pulled into a loose rope braid over your left shoulder.

Still hot. Still infuriating.

“Woah, hey!” He raised his hands in disbelief before running one down his face to rid him of the water dripping down it, then onto his grey-blue flannel shirt. “The hell was that?! And- how did you get in here?”

You put the glass down in frustration, the sound thudding against Dean’s oak dining table, partially wet from the thrown water. “Sam let me in.”

“Doesn’t answer my first question.”

“You’d been passed out at that table when I got here. Tried to wake you up fifty ways. You sleep like a rhino.” You scoffed, but your eyes couldn’t help but trail down to the way the water traced his jaw, down to the curve of his neck and beneath the neckline of his shirt, which exposed a hint of defined collarbone. You felt like an eleven year old seeing a man shirtless for the first time. Except you were going feral for a fleeting glimpse of your colleague’s collarbone, watching the way his flannel clung to his frame.

You were beginning to get the tantalising thought of seeing Dean, washing that gorgeous ‘67 Chevy Impala of his. Shirt off, water dripping down his bare torso and giving you an illegal hit of his v-line. And his abs, tracing every contour that you knew was there. It had your body warming up and your thighs clenching and rubbing.

You hoped to God that Dean didn’t see you doing that.

So instead, you took a random kitchen towel and threw it so it hit him right in the face, and he flinched, grabbing the towel off his face and rubbing the water off in a disgruntled fashion as you moved to grab a beer from the fridge. He was irritated beyond belief. He knew you two had unresolved sexual tension that went back in the history books about five years but that was uncalled for. He was your partner on this mole case, and was heading an organised crime case with you, he deserved some respect-

Your ass framed by those jeans. The denim clinging to your legs that went on for days. Goddamn days, ending in sensible lace-up boots. That sweater with a scoop neckline. Your ass in those jeans, the curve of your pretty neck, the pout of those plump lips. Did he mention your ass in those jeans?

Suddenly he didn’t feel so vexed. And… respect? Who needs respect? Who needs… goddamn. Who… needs…

No thoughts. Head empty.

Sweet Jesus.

“What did you say?” Your head turned to face him, eyebrow raised in the middle of sipping your beer, and he realised that he’d muttered that out loud (while also realising he was staring at your lips touching that bottle rim. He’d never wanted to be a glass bottle more in his life.). He snapped out of it, blotting his flannel gingerly with the towel. Missing the way your eyes locked on how it pressed flush against his chest (you’d never wanted to be a plaid shirt in your life, but times seem to change).

“Nothin’, Agent.” Dean cleared his throat, shaking his head to rid him of the bad, bad, unprofessional thoughts clouding his head. But god, did he need you bad.

He might get through a whole box of tissues tonight.

“Kyle, what do you mean, you don’t know how to use a washing machine?” You asked with a scoff, phone wedged between your shoulder and ear as you spoke to your cousin Kyle, who was in college. Of course, it was the first time he’d ever worked a washing machine on his own and of course, you were the first one he called.

‘It’s not something I’m used to, ok?’ He was scared of your mom, his mom (your aunt Olivia) and Cassie, and you taught your dad and his dad - uncle Tom - how to use the washing machine so Elena wouldn’t go on a rant about men’s uselessness when it comes to household chores.

You took out a paper and pen, writing down a list of instructions as quickly as you could in your nearest handwriting possible, and then you put your phone on speaker, snapped a photo and sent it. “There. All set. I’ll write up a small guide on how to work the rest of your appliances, I’m just knees deep in an investigation.”

‘You’re a lifesaver, I’m indebted to you for the rest of my life.’

“This is a washing machine, not selling your soul. You don’t owe me. Now, see you on Thanksgiving. Bye, Kyle.” You cut the call in time for the doorbell to ring, and you rolled your eyes.

You get no breaks nowadays.

But when you opened the door, you were met with pearly way-too-whites, bouncing ginger hair and shiny blue eyes, complete with what looked like five neon-coloured dress carriers. “Why hello there, babes!” She trilled, sashaying in with her faux fur-trim coat. You rolled your eyes again, but playfully and partially in relief. “I got your message and came as quick as I could.”

“Hey, Dré.” You smiled wearily, closing the door behind her. Andréa May-Reynolds was your best friend since the early days of high school and probably the only person you could tolerate who cared that inexplicably much about their looks. You’d texted her for help with the dress picking for your undercover gig (but you told her it was merely one of your mom’s gatherings as she was a socialite). “Thanks for coming, exorcism I texted you ten minutes ago.”

She waved you off, tutting rapidly. “It’s my job. Whenever a friend has a fashion emergency, I need to be there.” Andréa started rifling through the clothes options she brought. “Ok, so, you mentioned a plus one. Who is he, cause we need to decide whether we want the option Lukewarm, Getting Warmer, Pretty Warm or Smoking Hot.”

You knew that she knew the name you were about to say, so you said it. “Dean Winchester.”

You almost pulled out your firearm with the scream she let out.

“God, Andréa!” You hissed, rubbing your ear while Andréa searched through her selection and pulled out one bright red case.

She just squealed again, giggling. “Dean Winchester? Never thought I’d hear that name again. Smoking Hot ain’t gonna cut it for him, you need the Nuclear option.”

“There’s a nuclear option now?”

“Duh.” She ceremoniously yanked out a dress and held it out for you. “Try it on.”

You took the dress from her with a raised eyebrow and disappeared off into your bedroom upstairs to change. When you looked yourself in the mirror with the dress on, you didn’t recognise yourself. In all honesty, you probably looked ridiculous.

But when you made your way downstairs, trying not to trip on the fabric, you almost did fall when you heard Andréa’s shrill shriek of delight.

Jesus, you thought as you grabbed the railing, she’ll be the death of me.

“Sammy.” Dean had hurried over to Sam’s place, knocking rapidly on the door while holding a lot of tux choices. “Sammy, open up, it’s me! Dean.”

Sam opened the door with a bleary eye, rubbing it. “Dean, it’s ten in the night- Jess, hon, it’s just Dean!” He called back to Jess, who appeared in the doorway with a nightgown on. “I’ll come back in a minute.” Once Jess had returned to bed, Sam turned to his older brother. “What?”

“Which one?” Dean held up the options, looking between them. “I don’t see the difference, but I thought you would. You’re fancy, I just pick what I see first in the closet.”

“You’re hopeless.” The younger Winchester groaned, rubbing his cheek before gesturing to the options. “It’s an undercover gala, you don’t need to properly think about what to wear.”

“I don’t give a damn about the gala, I hate those fancy schmancy, pretentious excuses of a party. They don’t even have beer.” Dean smirked, then chuckled deep. “It’s about who’s going. Agent Hot Chick.”

“We’re still using that code name?” Sam frowned, hands now on his hips. “She’s our coworker.”

“She’s our smokin’ hot coworker.” Dean waggled his eyebrows and dumped the options on the sofa. “Pick one. C’mon.”

Sam browsed quickly through the options, then picked one out with a low groan. “I need to get paid. Here. Two piece tux, can’t go wrong.”

Dean took the tux, examined it, then hummed. “I can hide my gun in here, right?”

“Yeah. Just take it and go, I want to go to bed. With my wife.”

“Sammy, you sly dog.” He clapped his younger brother’s shoulder. “Well, don’t keep the missus waiting, and I’ll be out of your glorious hair.” Before Sam could react, Dean was out of the door and had left the substandard suits on the couch.

“Glorious hair?” Sam muttered, running a hand through said hair.

He didn’t know what had gotten into his older brother, but he didn’t know whether to be amused or irritated.

Probably both.

The gala itself was nothing short of fancy as hell. Almost like out of a spy movie. Marbled floor, cream walls that looked gold in the lighting, tables of hors d’oeuvres that Dean’s stomach instantly felt a magnetic attraction to.

Fancy snacks are still snacks. Back to the story.

A red carpet that made Dean feel like he was walking in the Met or some movie premiere, with everyone dressed to the nines. Eating snacks.

He popped one into his mouth, chowing down on it and finding that the cheese-based delicacy wasn’t so bad, and he swiped a glass of champagne from a server’s tray in order to blend in.

One sip and he was spluttering, putting it back on a tray again, and that’s when he saw you.

He’d call you a snack, but you were the whole damn buffet.

Dean was pretty sure he was looking at a weapon of mass devastation. To his self control at least - there was a smoking crater in the middle of that. And there were some thoughts in his head that definitely wouldn’t be praised by polite society. He’d be damned for it.

You were clad in dark red silk that melded to your figure, almost like waves on your body, like water. Water had never seemed sexier. Your lips were a shade of scarlet, your clever eyes highlighted by the makeup surrounding it. Your knee just poking out from the slit at the thigh, hands clasped delicately at your midsection.

You looked expensive.

And delicious.

It had Dean’s jaw dropping before he picked it back up, straightening the lapels of his tux and trying to think of non-sexy thoughts so he wouldn’t sport a very visible attraction to his fake wife in polite society. He’d gone the full way, even getting a gold-plated ring so he’d look married and expensive but it also wasn’t too costly. He wasn’t made of money.

He didn’t belong in this party. You definitely did, looking like that.

You were in the very place that you’d been trying to run from again. Fancy parties, posh vocabulary and exaggerated accents. Your mother or Cassie would be a social butterfly in this situation. Not you, you were quaking in your borderline painful heels. Feeling all too out of place in the sweeping curtains, silk, satin and chiffon couture dresses and the gales of fake, exaggerated laughter.

Then there he came, Dean frickin’ Winchester, in a two piece tux. Sure, his bow tie was a little wonky (understatement) but the rest of him had your thighs rubbing together. As usual, he donned a suit that stretched over his well built muscles and gave you a good outline of the contours on his chest, powerful thighs looking good to ride in those trousers. Lips pouting every time he chewed on the delicacy he plucked from a side table and forcing thoughts of those very lips devouring you the same way.

He looked expensive.

He looked irresistible.

The image of the normally cocksure and obnoxiously confident Dean Winchester in high society had you swallowing on a dry throat and thinking un-sexy thoughts to rid you of the incredibly unprofessional ones in your head (one of which included him ripping the dress off your body), all of them sending a quiver down your spine. A very, very good quiver. Oh, god, this wasn’t helping.

You felt out of place here. You didn’t belong here, but Dean certainly did in that getup. You were so absorbed in checking out the stretch of the fabric over his biceps that you missed the way he sipped some champagne and gagged on it.

Then you quickly clacked over in your heels, linking your arm with his to sell the act. “Husband.” You said stiffly, and he nodded back.

“Wife.” He replied, swallowing at the adrenaline rush at having Aphrodite incarnate on his arm. Hell, you might just be Aphrodite in disguise. He could never tell.

“Alright, by inside intel, the necklace is kept upstairs in a six inch safe carbon and iron steel alloy safe with a biometric lock. We have no welders on us, and the case is fingerprint security.” You muttered while crunching a breath mint between your teeth. You never know, the locals may demand a kiss and you’d be damned if you got teased for bad breath.

“And how do you propose we breach that, honey?” Dean got out through a forced smile.

You smirked, the plan in your head. “I’ve got a blush compact in my holster. And a tape roll. We can get the print through that easily enough.”

“That holster deserves a medal.” He murmured to himself, then steered her towards a group. “We need to mingle. We’re not single, but blending in and finding a way to go upstairs is best, if you know what I mean.”

Mhmm. You very much got it, and it thrilled you slightly.

You had no time to dwell on the thought as an elderly group of women caught your attention and trilled for you two to come over. “What a lovely young couple.” One crowed, gesturing to the both of you. “Married, I’m assuming?”

Dean drew you closer into his chest, and your hand landed there by impact- a solid goddamn wall. Oh, holy mama. He let out a low chuckle, pumping his eyebrows. “Ma’am, you can’t find a woman this gorgeous and not, to quote Miss Knowles, ‘put a ring on it’.”

“Oh, honey, such a flirt!” You laughed in a posh accent, mimicking your mother’s laugh to the best of your ability while you swatted Dean’s chest. He smirked at the look in your eyes, because goddamn was it obvious that you hated this.

“Darlin’, I can’t help myself around you.” He turned to the other charity goers with a proud smirk, gesturing to all of you. “Can’t keep my hands off my gorgeous wife. Might have to have something off the menu for dessert, if you catch my drift.” He winked at some elderly ladies, who giggled and waved him off.

“Such a charming boy.” One cooed, obviously eyeing Dean up with poorly restrained envy. While you looked around for your target, you missed the way Dean’s eyes travelled down your body in that form-fitting red dress, v-neck, v-back, thigh slit where he knew you had a thigh holster strapped in, all the good stuff. And his eyes were on those scarlet heels.

He was imagining ramming into you with those sexy things on. And that dress, well, it’d be off in second if he had the chance. And that lipstick? Well, it’d be smeared and leaving prints on his neck, chest, abs and- that’s going a bit too unprofessional.

“I’d go as far as to say I had gotten myself a catch.” You affirmed, but inside you were rolling your eyes. You didn’t expect to spend the evening complimenting Agent Winchester of all people. “He’s so firm, ladies.”

Dean laughed deeply, one which you knew didn’t have only your thighs rubbing and pressing together on instinct. “I take immense care of my physical appearance. I’d do anything for my darlin’.”

“And you look handsome.” You straightened his bow tie and made a show of biting your lip and looking him over, which got a sly smirk on his face. All forced, and you knew he couldn’t tell that you actually meant the comment. He looked sexy, not just damn handsome. In fact, words failed you when it came to describing Dean in high society.

Scrubbing your hand with an antiseptic wipe wasn’t an option when he took your hand, lifted to his mouth and kissed your knuckle. Those warm, plump weapons of destruction corrupting your newly purified and professional brain.

Expertly sowing thoughts of them travelling down your neck and sucking on the skin in your dirty mind.

Brain malfunctioning.

Brain.exe has shut down.

Hail whichever deity’s the Almighty because you got the pleasure of feeling this man’s lips on your skin.

You’d felt them on your temple and cheek when you’d last worked a case with him, but after being deprived of his contact for five years now made you like a nun breaking her chastity vow, if they have one.

You had no idea how nunhood worked.

You couldn’t be bothered to find out when this man next to you was robbing you of coherent words or thoughts.

“While you look stunning, my love.” Dean murmured, shooting you a quick wink that would’ve had an average Jane swooning over.

Damn Dean Winchester and his ability to flirt.

Damn Dean Winchester for being a lady killer. Damn him to hell.

“Such lovebirds. My husband Terrance and I were like that once, all over each other. The magic of youth, I dare say.” One lady fawned, but her husband - Terrance - tugged on her arm.

“Edna, we’re in polite and present company, let’s not regurgitate details of our marriage.” He muttered, leading Edna away, which dispersed the other partygoers. You smirked at Dean, fixing the neckline of your dress (which he didn’t waste a moment ogling, which would arguably be in character).

“Shame.” You clicked your tongue, outwardly and inwardly amused. “I liked Edna.”

“I feel for Terrence, if I’m being honest.” Dean snickered, then nudged you. “You ready to go upstairs for a lil’ somethin’-somethin’?” That statement earned a swat to the back of his head, and he shrank away from you in shock. “Woah, hey, not actually going up there to get some, alright? We’re on a federal investigation, I’m not about to bang my partner. Jesus, woman.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Just pretend to be all over me, ok?”

You rolled your eyes, but obliged as Dean steered you both to a guard waiting by the stairs. “Mmh, honey,” You purred, your lips faux-chasing his neck, as Dean veered away from them reluctantly.

“Hey, man, do you have a place where my wife and I can get some privacy?” Dean’s strong hand took a hold of your waist and pulled you flush against his side. “Can’t keep my hands off ‘er. Women, am I right?”

“Upstairs, sir.” The guard let you two through, both of you falsely laughing until you reached the top of the stairs. Then you switched the moment you were out of earshot, dropping character.

“Nice job, honey.” Dean drawled, smirking. “Got a firearm under that dress?”

“Of course I do.” You snorted, shaking your head. Dean smirked at you when your head was turned, with a look that said that’s my girl. “What am I, an idiot? C’mon, we’ve got work to do.” You managed to try each door until you found one conveniently locked, so you took a hairpin, bent it and then your leg, kneeling so you could jimmy the thing in the lock, rotating the chassis (at least it might be that, you never paid attention to lock anatomy) and getting the door open.

“Good girl.” Dean muttered under his breath so you wouldn’t hear, stepping inside and shutting the door quietly. There were no secret triggers (you had to mentally steel yourself so you wouldn’t throttle Dean and his constant use of ‘booby traps’), so you just immediately took out your compact powder case and a blush applicator, evenly coating it in powder and dabbing it on the sensor before unhooking the tape roll, using a canine to rip off a piece of tape before placing it on, which successfully opened the lock with an electrical series of beeps. “Nice one. A’ight, now grab that necklace and let’s book it.”

“Not that easy.” You pouted in thought. That sent Dean to unholy places. All while your eyes were focused on the opal-studded jewellery in front of you. “It’s a weight sensor. We need something roughly the same weight.”

“Your heels?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I borrowed these from a friend, no way in hell am I leaving it here.”

“You have friends, sweetheart?” He snickered, but winced slightly when you sharply kicked him in the shin with the heel of your left stiletto. He had to fight the urge to grab the afflicted area and howl because holy hell, physics wasn’t lying about the pressure equation thing.

Pressure equals force over area multiplied by a whole lot of pain.

You looked around, then saw a small crystalline trophy thing. So you grabbed it, then prepared to make the switch. You took a deep breath in and then out, then switched it. And waited. To your disappointment and shock, the weight sensor must’ve been to a T because the pedestal sank and the room flashed red, an alarm going off.

Dean’s hand enveloped yours, tugging you out of the room at breakneck speed (you figured out in this time that you weren’t a dab hand at running in heels and had to awkwardly hop and take them off along the way), pulling you both into a side room when you heard approaching voices. Doors were being opened and rooms checked, so you had to think quick.

Oh, you were sure to regret this later.

Your hands flew to unbutton Dean’s suit jacket, get it on the floor before getting his bow tie undone and shirt along with it, untucking it and letting it hang open. You tried not to get distracted by the kissable canvas of taut, toned muscle that was his chest, while you reached up to your own lips, smearing the lipstick and then transferring some to his without lip-to-lip contact.

He was flabbergasted.

“Sweetheart,” Dean let out a nervous yet rough chuckle, “I love frisky women, don’t get me wrong, but don’t you think this isn’t the right time-”

“Shut up.” You hissed, then grabbed his hand and put it under the silk of your dress, through the slit and onto your thigh. “Now, act like you’re about to kiss my neck.”

Dean short circuited, and so did you. Hands. On legs. Bare legs. Need a bed. Even a table will do- keep it professional.

His eyes locked on the curve of your neck as you let your head tip back, and his hand went on autopilot, cupping the back of your neck. He leaned forward, and your skin was right there, begging to be kissed, but he hovered right there. Dean’s lips were inches away from your heated skin and it was killing the both of you.

His fingers itched to take the zip of your dress, yank it down and see what was underneath.

But even as he was about to give in, shake hands with the loss of his professionalism and ravish you till the sun came up, the door burst open and in came a guard, who instantly muttered an apology at seeing yours and Dean’s more than dishevelled state.

Ay, dios mío.

Wilkins Street Bank was shut down. SWAT teams surrounding it, along with multiple NYPD vans. An officer made his way onto the scene, flashing his badge. He was tall, with black hair and had clever green eyes, wearing a bomber jacket with NYPD blaring on the back in yellow letters.

Flashing his badge like he was in a movie, but made it ten times better. Ten times sexier, really.

“Detective Sergeant Nick Santiago, 67th precinct.” He introduced, looking up at the bank. “We got ourselves a hostage situation, I’m heading the case.”

“No can do, compadre.” One of the 71st huffed out a breath. “We just got off the call with the suits. They’re sending two of their agents over to head the charge. Something about the boys leadin’ the hostage sitch being their jurisdiction.”

“You kiddin’ me?”

“No, sir.”

“Who are we getting?”

“The best Major Crimes has to offer.”

NEXT UP:

“I’m doing my job!” You scoffed, holding the compress over your shoulder. It hurt to move it, honestly, but you’d rather take a banged up shoulder rather than Dean Winchester scolding you.

“And I’m not?” He retorted, hands on his hips. “We’re working this case together.”

“The only reason you’re even in Major Crimes is because daddy dearest pulled some strings.” You seethed, which had Dean bristling.

“That’s not how it went.”

“Then how?”

I’d appreciate a like, or reblog with feedback! Thanks for reading, lovelies!

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sserpente · 5 months ago

Text

For Old Times' Sake

Synopsis: When your landlord drags you before Lord Gortash to settle your debts, your life gets turned upside down. It is not the fear of imprisonment that paralyses you at Wyrm’s Rock—it is him. Enver Flymm, as you’d once known him, a shy and clever boy and your only childhood friend. Will he recognise you and show mercy, help you out?

A/N: My obsession with Gortash is getting out of hand. I don’t think I care.

Words: 2853 Warnings: angst, homelessness, mentions of death and abuse

The number on your tax letter was bright red—quite possibly scribbled on there with the previous tenant’s blood. Three thousand and five hundred gold pieces. That was more money than you had ever seen in your life.

“I’m a little short.”

The half-orc—your landlord—rolled his eyes. “By how much?”

“Um…about three thousand and four hundred ninety-nine gold pieces.”

“Are you mocking me?”

“I’m not, I…I am trying to find work right now. I was preoccupied with organising a funeral and scraped together the last of my savings to buy my parents a coffin. I will start paying off the debts and all the money I owe if you give me just a little bit more time…”

The half-orc scoffed. “Funny, that’s what your parents always said too. Just a little bit more time. I’m done playing games, kid. In times like this, the Fist can’t let this keep happening. You pay your rent, you pay your taxes, you contribute to the city’s safety—and you face the consequences if you cannot do so.”

It was this new Steel Watch mainly that ate up most of the tax money. An entire Foundry had sprouted from the ground down by the docks seemingly overnight. They were rather scary automatons and they were not known for their mercy.

“It’s Friday,” the half-orc continued. “We are settling this once and for all. Your missing payments are biting a hole into my coin purse.”

Your eyes widened. Each Friday, Lord Gortash—the city’s new hero, protector, and saviour—held public hearings where citizens could voice requests, concerns, or other pleas. You’d never seen the man in person. He looked handsome enough on the posters, you’d read about his good deeds and heard about his generosity. But apart from that, he was a stranger to you. You’d known a young boy once called Enver though—Gortash sharing the same first name could only bring you luck, no?

Perhaps…perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad. You could make your case—explain to him that when your parents died from sickness, the remaining debts from all the medication that didn’t help in the end had been passed on to you.

You inherited a small house with broken windows, corroding wood and a serious rat problem in the cellar rendering food rations useless. Not that you had many to spare. You’d always wondered what a full stomach felt like.

“Will you come with me willingly or do I need to get a Fist?”

“This really isn’t necessary, saer. As soon as I’ve found work—”

“I am done making exceptions. We are leaving for Wyrm’s Rock. Now.”

You didn’t want to make a scene, not here. Not with the Steel Watchers within reach. With a sigh, you folded the letter from your landlord and handed it back to him, then followed him through the Lower City to Wyrm’s Rock as if you were walking to the gallows.

The place was packed. You’d expected little else. Lord Gortash was very much in demand. There was a long queue when you arrived, several Fists positioned at every possible entrance along with some patrolling Steel Watchers to ensure no one cut the line.

Five minutes turned into ten minutes, ten minutes into twenty. With every passing second, you felt the nervousness tightening its iron grip around you more. The punishment for evading rent was eviction, for one, and imprisonment for another. But perhaps Lord Gortash would hear you out.

It took another ten minutes before you were called up to the audience chamber. As if he was worried you’d try and make a run for it now, the half-orc grabbed your upper arm, dragging you with him. At the far end of the hall, two Steel Watchers were positioned on either side of a pretty throne in front of which stood a handsome man with short black hair and elegant black armour.

“Lord Gortash…thank you for your time,” your landlord began. He bowed—and so did you. Gortash’s eyes skimmed over the half-orc with mild interest before moving on to you. Dark orbs boring into yours, stirring…recognition within you. His face…you could have sworn you’d met him before.

“How can I be of service, hmm?” he asked with a sly smirk. Your heart almost leaped out of your chest. That scar on his chin…that little boy you knew from your childhood…a boy named Enver…

“E-Enver? Enver Flymm? Is…is that you?”

Your landlord’s head whipped in your direction, the disrespect apparent, even more so when Gortash began to frown. Who were you to call the archduke by his first name? But this…this was different. You knew him. He was…or used to be…your friend.

“It’s me!” You told him your name, excitement washing over you like a wave. “R-remember me? We used to play together as kids. You…you just disappeared one day. I never found out what happened to you and your parents wouldn’t talk to me…”

Your landlord cleared his throat before Gortash could answer—the archduke’s face, however, was painted with recognition. He did remember you.

“Whatever, Lord Gortash, this…tenant of mine has been behind with paying rent for months. I am currently missing nearly four thousand gold pieces which she claims she’ll be able to ‘pay back soon as soon as she finds work’.”

Enver knew your family was poor, they always had been. He himself didn’t have a lot growing up. While other kids would brag about the new toys that they got for their birthday, Enver got a beating out of asking for some simple tools for his special day. He’d always been a tinkerer.

“I see. I am going to deal with this. Would you excuse us for a moment?” Gortash finally spoke.

Taken aback, your landlord nodded. Dismissed. You breathed out audibly. Good, this was good. You’d get to tell him your side of the story and he’d help you, he had authority now, he had the power to…

“You have chosen a criminal career then?”

Your heart dropped. “C-criminal? I’m not a criminal.”

“You refuse to pay rent. And tax evasion too?”

“I don’t refuse. I simply…I can’t, I have no money left. You…you remember my parents, right? They passed two ten days ago. We spent all we had on medication and healers and that was after they started struggling with their health. They couldn’t work as much anymore and so we fell behind.”

“Hmm.”

He tilted his head and for just a brief second, you saw the young boy flash before your eyes again. You couldn’t help but smile despite your sad circumstances. Gods, you were a childhood friend of the archduke… Now that your parents were gone…perhaps you wouldn’t be all alone after all.

“I…I thought about you a lot. You were my only friend back then. I always assumed your parents sent you off to some private school outside the city to give you better opportunities or…or that an incurable sickness claimed you. Just earlier today I thought I once knew a little boy who would have loved these Steel Watchers. And now it turns out it was you all along. I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“I put my talent to good use.”

“You did. I remember when we were little kids we would roam the streets and search the city for old metal parts. You’d tinker away and build your own toys with them. This one time you made me a dancing ballerina, do you remember? You…you found this old music box a merchant had abandoned. The music was all distorted at first but…you made it work again. That was the best toy I ever had.” You paused. All of a sudden…you were mourning him. Mourning your childhood friend you thought you had lost for good.

“What happened to you? Where did you go?”

Gortash’s brown eyes locked with yours. But then, his expression hardened. “That matters not. Your landlord expects a solution for his dilemma.”

Your face fell. “You…you could help.”

“I could,” he mused. “But I am the archduke of Baldur’s Gate now, my dear. If I start waiving laws in favour of an old acquaintanceship, people are going to start questioning my reliability.”

“But—“

“Your landlord is in the right. If you cannot afford rent, he has the right to evict you. I am going to spare you the dungeons—for old times’ sake.”

“Enver…”

“That is Lord Gortash to you. We are not children anymore.”

Your lips parted. “Is…is that it?”

“Yes. You are dismissed.”

You didn’t even notice your tears until they wet your cheeks. You turned around without a word of goodbye, without a formal bow. Your landlord was seemingly pleased as you rushed out. You didn’t wait for Enver to tell him the good news.

As of right now, you were homeless. And even though you hadn’t seen your only friend in years, against all reason, your heart shattered into a million pieces.

You just didn’t understand. Enver used to be such a sweet boy. Innocent, full of visions and dreams, shy, quiet. Everyone who knew him including his own parents labelled him as ‘odd’ but you knew better.

Now, he was the reason you’re homeless. Wait, no. That wasn’t right. Your landlord was the reason you were homeless. Enver had simply honoured the very rules set in place before he became the archduke. Perhaps he was right and he couldn’t make an exception—it would be unfair on others. He could have sent you to prison but he didn’t. That had to be enough.

As you made your way through the Lower City past merchants, civilians, and Steel Watchers a few weeks later, wondering if you’d be able to have a meal today, the sudden tumult right in front of Basilisk Gate had you pause. You frowned, hurrying toward the crowd of people that had formed before the gallows. Three men with nooses around their necks stood on the wooden platform, in front of them, facing the citizens, stood Enver.

What in the hells was happening?

“…so let this be a fair warning. These are the consequences of disobedience. I am not going to tolerate disrespect. I have led this city to glory—and I ask for recognition and your trust in return.”

Your frown deepened when Enver gave a court nod to the hangman. The very moment the trap doors gave way under the prisoner’s feet was the moment you looked away—but not before the archduke’s eyes met yours.

“I am telling you,” you heard a citizen whisper to another, “there’s something foul about this man. He acts like a bloody Banite.”

A Banite. You swallowed. That was a serious accusation. Surely, a sweet boy like Enver wouldn’t turn to Bane worship.

“My words exactly,” the other citizen responded, “I heard he is friends with the chief editor of the Baldur’s Mouth Gazette and only what he approves of gets printed.”

A scoff. “Talk about propaganda.”

You’d heard enough. With your heart in your mouth, you stepped away, attempting to disappear in the crowd and perhaps ask for a gold piece or two. You flinched when a Fist touched your shoulder and flipped you around to face her.

“Lord Gortash has requested your presence. You will follow me.”

“W-why? What does he want?”

She didn’t respond. And if you refused to follow her? You didn’t want to find out.

You hadn’t expected to return to Wyrm’s Rock any time soon, nor that you’d be led up the stairs to Lord Gortash’s private quarters. The place was imposing. And of course, when you spotted him behind his desk, he was accompanied by two Steel Watchers.

“Ah, hello, my dear. Have you been faring well?” he mused. You could have been mistaken—but it was almost like you sensed scornfulness swinging in his voice.

“I am homeless. How do you think I’m faring?” you snapped before you could stop yourself.

“Oh, don’t give me that reproachful tone. We are all bound by laws and order, my dear.”

You blinked. “What do you want from me?”

“I have a proposition for you.”

“You do?” Hesitation mixed with suspicion. After seeing him hang people in public today…you weren’t sure a proposition would do you any good.

“It’s quite simple, really. Serve me and I shall give you a roof over your head.”

“Serve you?”

“I’ve had my Watchers keep an eye on you. It is quite noble of you not to resort to stealing. Surely, you understand why the citizens of Baldur’s Gate are becoming more and more hesitant to spare a few coins, though.”

You’d read in the Gazette only yesterday that the tax rates were going to be increased yet again starting next month. Both the Fist and the newspaper itself had become very vocal about their dismay when it came to the poor and those in need. It was concerning—terrifying, even.

“Being archduke comes with a lot of responsibilities. My hands are full with political duties, I need people around me to run errands for me and assist me. What do you say? For old times’ sake?” he continued.

“You want me to work for you?” Only weeks ago, you would have jumped at the opportunity. You and your childhood friend reunited at last. Him being the archduke, you being his assistant, his right hand. Now, however, the request left a bitter aftertaste in your mouth. You did not agree with his cold-hearted choices to hang usurpers. There was always a more peaceful solution. Imprisonment, for one.

“Do you know what people are whispering, Env-…Lord Gortash? They have suspicions you could be a Banite. You hung people for disobedience! How is that a fair judgement? How can I work for you if this is how you—”

“One of them plotted an assassination against me. You have no right to question my rule, my dear. Lest you’ll end up like them.”

Your lips parted. He didn’t even deny it. He…he didn’t deny he was worshipping Bane… Damn all appropriation. “Enver, please, what happened to you? You used to be such a sweet boy, you comforted me when the other kids picked on me, you—”

“My parents, my dear, sold me to a Warlock. I disappeared because I was shipped off the hells to serve a devil called Raphael in his House of Hope. I faced years of degradation and abuse until I finally managed to escape. I had nothing, I was nothing. The Black Lord picked up the pieces that were left of me and made me what I am today. And I am giving you a chance now. You have potential. Serve me and we can rise together.”

You blinked, processing his words. Sold? To a devil? No wonder his parents had refused to speak about him after his sudden disappearance. The torment he must have experienced…you could almost understand why a tyrannical god like Bane would infiltrate his dreams and promise him power and glory.

“I…I don’t know about this, Enver. This…this is tyranny.”

“In times like this, tyranny is what people need. They don’t listen—and they need a strong leader to help them make the choices that are best for the city. As of right now, free will is their greatest enemy.”

“Is that truly what you think?”

Enver’s expression darkened. He took a menacing step forward. All of a sudden, you felt so much smaller than before.

“I will not have you belittle my faith.” He paused. “I expect an answer. Now.”

You were torn—way too much so. This answer should be a decided No. Working for a Banite, for a worshipper of one of the Dead Three…it was wrong. It should be wrong. And yet…you were hesitant. Not only did Enver promise to end your homelessness but also an alliance. You were clueless as to how he assumed you would be of any use to him but you’d be damned if you didn’t admit that ever since he’d stepped into your life again…it felt like a part of yourself had returned to you. Against all reason, that made you happy. Relieved, even. You weren’t entirely alone—and you certainly wouldn’t be if you accepted his proposal.

You took a deep breath. “F-fine. I…I accept. I…I don’t want to lose you again.”

If he’d expected you to agree, he didn’t expect this. For just a split second, his composure faltered, surprise and something ever so soft washing over his face. It was gone again as fast as it had appeared.

“Splendid. A wise decision, my dear. I shall have one of the empty servants’ rooms prepared for you. Unless of course, you’d rather stay with me?” he mocked.

“You know, I would actually like that,” you said with a weak smile. Because you’d missed him. Banite or not, you were grateful he’d found his way into your life again. Not all was lost—perhaps you’d be able to talk to him. Help him be a better person just like he’d helped you be one when you were young. You’d find a way. For old times’ sake.

A/N: I already have an idea for a Part II.

#gortash #gortash imagine #gortash x you #gortash x reader #gortash x tav #bg3 gortash #enver gortash #enver gortash imagine #enver gortash x you #enver gortash x reader #enver gortash x tav #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 imagine #jason isaacs

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padfootagain · 18 days ago

Text

Love in Verses (XX)

Chapter 20 : My heart has made its mind up and I’m afraid it’s you

Hi! Here is a new chapter! Valentine’s day is here… wondering how Andrew is going to cope with it, huh?

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 2477

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Valentine

My heart has made its mind up And I’m afraid it’s you. Whatever you’ve got lined up, My heart has made its mind up And if you can’t be signed up This year, next year will do. My heart has made its mind up And I’m afraid it’s you.

Wendy Cope

Andrew had a date tonight.

He hadn’t been on a first date since Sam, obviously, he felt rusty and nervous. He didn’t even know the woman, Alex had set up the date. Christina, that was her name. A year younger than him, working as a nurse at St James’s Hospital. Alex had showed him a picture, she was pretty. Apparently, she was nice and a lot of fun. Why not give her a chance?

Andrew was desperate at that point. Desperate to see if he could ever move on from Sam, desperate to prove himself that he didn’t have a crush on you. That this was nothing serious, just his heart longing for companionship when he felt so lonely these days. Besides, it was Valentine’s Day, he was so painfully lonely, he needed to focus on something else than his love life in shambles. He needed to try to move on. And if he did, he needed to do so with a woman who wasn’t you.

So, he had accepted Alex’s offer, had booked a table at a nice restaurant, had tried to look his best for tonight. Elwood was staying with Jon for the evening, he didn’t have to worry about going home late.

And now, there he was, running five minutes late as he walked inside the restaurant, but for his standard, he called that a win. Five minutes… who would care for five minutes?

Apparently, Christina would.

He had a shy but polite smile on his face when he spotted her across the room. He was polite as he took a seat. Meanwhile, she gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“Was there any traffic tonight?” she asked, and Andrew knew at once what she was talking about.

“Erm… it just… took me longer than I thought it would to drop my dog off at my brother’s. Sorry about that. I hope you didn’t wait for too long.”

“No, it’s okay,” she admitted, and she seemed to relax knowing the reason for his short delay. “It’s a nice place you’ve chosen, by the way.”

“Yeah? Glad you like it. Should we take a look at the menu, then?”

They quickly ordered their food, and then began the usual dance of questions that came with trying to learn the most basic things about a person while they waited for their meal.

“So… Alex told me you’re a professor? At Trinity?”

“I am,” Andrew nodded, before drinking a gulp of water. “Assistant professor, actually.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Erm… the paycheck, definitely,” Andrew joked, making Christina smile. “It’s a different rank at University… extremely hierarchical organisation. I don’t have a chair. I give classes, I do research, but I don’t have the same prestige and don’t own a chair for my work.”

“Right…”

“Which is normal, I’m not complaining. Chairs are rare, I’ll probably have to wait another decade to get the rank of professor.”

She didn’t seem reassured by that, Andrew wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“For how long have you been working at Saint James?” Andrew asked back.

“A couple of years.”

“Do you like it there?”

“Yeah… I guess,” she shrugged, and Andrew waited for her to say more about the matter, but she didn’t.

“And so… what do you teach at Trinity?” she asked after a short silence.

“Erm… English. Contemporary poetry, mainly, but I cover a lot of modernism as well through novels.”

She blinked a couple of times.

“Right… so… you like books.”

He gave her an amused smile.

“You can say that.”

“The last book I’ve read was a mandatory reading in high school,” she admitted.

“The last time I cleaned up a wound without feeling sick was… never. So, I guess we’re even,” Andrew offered with a smile, and Christina nodded.

And it was alright, of course. People had many interests. And his partner didn’t have to be interested in the same things as he did. Sam was the perfect example of that. Still… he didn’t really know what to talk about next.

They spent the next few minutes making chit chat, but it was laborious at best. Andrew used a moment of silence in the conversation to take a look around. The restaurant was obviously busy on Valentine’s Day. The decoration was simple but aesthetically pleasing; candles and white or red roses added to each table to enhance the theme of the evening. There were only couples around.

Only couples…

“Andy?”

He turned around, recognising the voice in an instant.

He couldn’t help it, his face fell for a second, before he could summon the strength to hide his reaction.

The universe itself was set against him at this point…

He got up, forced a smile to greet Sam and Frank.

“It’s so funny finding you here!”

“Yeah… wasn’t expecting to see you!” he forced a smile.

Frank noticed Christina then.

“Oh, honey, we’re disturbing Andrew, I think. Sorry, about that,” he was genuine in his apology as he warmly smiled at Christina.

Sam flinched, but quickly smiled as well.

“Oh, sorry! Have a nice evening you two!”

They moved away quickly, reaching their own table. Just a couple of tables away. Right where Andrew could see them whenever he looked up from his plate.

Nice… grand…

“Erm… what are your hobbies?” he asked out of the blue, trying to get the conversation going again, if only to distract himself from Frank and Sam holding hands across their table.

“Oh… not much. I don’t really have the time for those… I like running.”

“Nice!”

“Do you like jogging?”

“Erm… not that much. But I love swimming.”

“I can’t swim.”

“Right… do you like the sea anyway? Like… the beach? Running on the beach, maybe?”

“Not really, no. I’m not very interested in the sea. It’s a little scary.”

“Oh, okay.”

Andrew focused on his meal, but with every painful question asked and answered, it was more and more obvious that they had nothing in common.

A couple of tables away, Frank and Sam were sharing food, a habit Andrew knew Sam hated. They were holding hands, and giggling, and looking so disgustingly in love, while he was on his own, while he wanted that intimacy back, while he thought of you…

Andrew wasn’t sure at which point of the evening you had popped into his mind, but you were all he could think of, right now. He had mentioned that he was going on a date, but you had not given him any details concerning your plans for the evening. You would call your friend Siobhán, you had mentioned some ice cream… were you reading? Watching crappy tv or a good movie? Had you changed your plans? Were you on a date as well?

Andrew couldn’t refrain the bitter taste of jealousy as he thought of you with someone else… as he imagined you in his shoes, at a nice restaurant, meeting with a stranger, and perhaps you would let him hold your hand across the table and would kiss him at the end of the evening, and even spend the night with him…

A wave of nausea made it impossible for him to finish his plate as he thought of you in another man’s bed.

The couple dining at the table right next to Andrew’s started raising their voices. Not enough to draw attention from the entire restaurant, but enough for Andrew and Christina to overhear everything. An argument was brewing. Jealousy and an unhealthy relationship at its peak.

In a matter of five minutes, the two were almost shouting at each other. Andrew and Christina exchanged an embarrassed look while the guy complained about how often they had sex.

And Sam was still there, every time he looked up. And you were all he could think of. And Christina was nice, sure, but they were absolutely incompatible on every level.

And then the last straw came.

“Are you religious?” she asked, and Andrew shook his head.

“No, not really, no.”

“Oh…”

“What about you?”

“Yes, very.”

“Oh…”

“Is that… like… are you just not going to church, or…”

“I… I don’t know. I’m an agnostic, I would say.”

“A what?”

“Agnostic. I don’t know if there’s a God up there or not. I’m… neutral, I guess you could say it like that. But I wouldn’t go to church even if I did believe in God.”

“Really? Why not?”

“I’m wary of any institution run by men that uses its power to dictate how people should behave, including in the most private parts of their lives.”

She blinked, struggling with this new information.

“So… you would never practice religion…”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Right… Cause it’s a very important part of my life.”

“And I respect that.”

“But you would not start believing.”

“Why would I?”

“For me?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Would you think it was okay if I asked you to give up on your faith to be in a relationship with me?”

“Of course not!”

“Then… how can you ask? We can have different beliefs…”

“But you’re wrong.”

“I can’t be wrong, Christina. It’s faith. And it’s the definition of faith to believe without proof. You can’t say I’m wrong, and I can’t say you are. We just have different faiths.”

She nodded, but had stopped eating.

Next to them the angry couple raised their voices again.

“Can I be brutally honest?” she asked, her voice softer now.

Andrew merely nodded.

“You’re clearly a really nice lad, Andy. And I’m not going to deny that Alex was right when he said that you’re definitely my type. But… it looks like we… don’t match.”

Andrew gave her a kind smile.

“I agree,” he nodded. “I don’t think our lives are very compatible.”

“Not really no.”

“You’re good craic though. And you’re… gorgeous, to be honest.”

“Thanks.”

“I don’t think we’d be able to find common things to build a relationship on, though.”

“Me neither. Would you mind if we called it a night?”

“No… no, I don’t mind, I understand.”

“Thanks.”

They paid for their food, left the restaurant while the couple bickered and Frank and Sam were still in love. Andrew waited for Christina to get safely in an uber, before he would walk to his own car.

He heaved a sigh, tried not to cry.

Everywhere he went, Sam’s ghost followed.

Whatever he did, you were always on his mind.

Were you home safe and sound? What were you doing? Was there a man with you?

He reached for his phone, his car still silent in the carpark. He touched your name on his screen, and you answered after three rings.

“Andy?”

“Hi, Y/N! You’re alright ?”

“Sure! Just… about to watch some adorable romcom to remind myself of unattainable standards concerning men and relationships, will most certainly have a good cry over the fact that the man I wanted to marry is probably getting amazing sex with his new fiancée, and I will definitely eat my weight in ice cream. You? How was your date? It’s early still… did everything go well?”

“Argh… don’t mention it. Everything about it was awful.”

He described his evening, and you listened, commented, interjected every now and then.

“You deserve to eat your weight in ice cream too,” you stated.

“I think I do, yeah… although… I think I’ll just go to bed once I’m home.”

“Are you driving?”

“No, no… don’t worry. I just… I felt bad. So, I called you before leaving the parking lot in front of the restaurant. I can see all those disgustingly happy couples walk out of there hand in hand…”

“Outrageous. Don’t they know we’re mourning?!”

“No decency. And God, I hate Valentine’s Day…”

“Me too… I feel… so empty today. Frank and I used to always go to the cinema on Valentine’s Day. He always stole all my popcorn. I found that adorable.”

He heard you sniffing, his heart broke at the sound. He wished he could have been there, hold you tight until the tears would subside, until he could make you smile again.

“What would you have done with Sam?” you asked, your voice hoarse with sorrow.

Andrew shrugged, stared at the night sky, made utterly black by the clouds.

“A restaurant, probably. Flowers. Nothing too fancy, but it would have been nice.”

He struggled to swallow, his throat tightening.

“Frank and Sam were sharing their food.”

“Hmm? Yeah, Frank does that sometimes.”

“Sam hates it. She hates it. She never wanted me to touch her food. Why does she let him do that, then?”

A short silence, your answer in a whisper.

“To make him happy.”

Andrew pondered on your words. You were right, obviously. When he spoke again, his voice was low and soft, barely above a whisper.

“I really wish I didn’t have to do that again to be loved.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend. Change. Stop�� being myself sometimes.”

You were quiet, but you were still there. He knew it. He could hear you breathing in the phone. And beyond that reassuring sound, he just knew you were listening. He was never sure with Sam.

“I’d really like that too,” you whispered, and he hummed in response.

A happy couple came out of the restaurant then. Andrew watched them reach their car, laughing, holding hands. He felt so fucking lonely… So utterly alone in this world. No one knew him like that anymore…

“Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“Can you promise me something?”

“What is it?”

“Promise me you… promise me you’ll never change for me. Promise me you won’t pretend. I want you to…”

He cleared his throat, brushing the tears that had gathered at the corners of his eyes.

“I want you to be yourself when I’m around. Can you do that?”

He heard you sniffing again. You were quiet for a moment, but Andrew knew you were nodding, he could hear the quiet hum that went with it.

“Andy?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you. Thank you, Andy.”

You sniffed, struggled through a few words, but Andrew was patient, he was drying his cheeks on his sleeves anyway.

“I don’t want you to pretend either when you’re with me, you know?”

“I know.”

He was lying. He didn’t know. He didn’t know at all. He didn’t know how to be loved, except by not quite being himself.

You both remained silent for a while, but it was still reassuring to know that you were there, on the other end of the line. Andrew should have hung up then. He should have let you watch your cheesy movie, and eat your ice cream. Instead, he spoke again.

“I’ve finished Dante, by the way.”

He spent the next forty-five minutes talking about Inferno with you. And after the call had ended, and he was finally driving home, it was harder than ever to deny that he wanted you.

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #the hoziest #hozier x reader #hozier x you #hozier x y/n #hozier series #hozier fanfiction #hozier fanfic #hozier au #hozier professor au #professor au #au #series #writing #fanfiction #fanfic

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thebiscuitlabryinth · 8 months ago

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[prev]

For some reason, Pure Vanilla's dreams always take place in memories. The situations may be different, and the details may be blurred and absurd, built from a collection of fragmented moments spanning his life, but the locations themselves are always familiar.

That's why it is significant, glaringly so, when he finds himself somewhere he doesn't recognise.

It isn't a small room, but it feels smaller because it is hedged in by the dark shapes of bookshelves and chests. A large desk is nestled to the left, and a window sits ahead, clearly large but covered by a thick curtain. It leaves the room swarmed with shadows that seem to watch and breathe, hardly fended off by the feeble efforts of the desk's waning candelabra.

It makes viewing the room difficult. If he had his staff with him, Pure Vanilla would have cast some light, but he hasn't had it in his dreams for a while now, so he makes do with the meagre light he has. It is enough to realise that the room is a mess, the desk chair tipped over with books, scrolls, papers and quills, many of them looking like they were snapped, strewn about haphazardly. There's an inkwell on its side on the floor, spilling the abyss everywhere and soaking into the floorboards and loose paper.

The new location makes hope spark within Pure Vanilla, but it is dampened slightly by the uneasiness born from the visible disarry. "Where..?"

"This is my old study." As expected, Shadow Milk's voice swirls around the room to greet him, and a moment later, he emerges from the nothingness of the pitch-black corner, the edges of his silhouette blending into the darkness.

He doesn't look surprised or irritated at the sight of this time capsule of a room. No, his face is blank, verging on bored, as it often is when relics of his distant past crop up. It is a welcome sight, if only because Shadow Milk has a tendency of being more seriously receptive to questions when he wears that expression.

"What happened to it?" Pure Vanilla asks quietly, his voice bouncing back loud in his ears anyway. He doesn't move from where he is standing, a little wary of disrupting the mess on the floor before him.

Shadow Milk doesn't have the same hesitation, walking all over the littered documents with his arms folded leisurely behind his back. He peers down at them with a lazy gaze, but his voice and smile is light when he responds. "Oh, nothing interesting! I was just terrible at organisation, I'm sure you've noticed."

Well, being more receptive to questions doesn't mean he answers them honestly or in any kind of straightforward manner. The fact that Pure Vanilla is here already feels like enormous progress, because whether Shadow Milk made a conscious decision to meet here or not, his relative calm now must mean that he is willing for Pure Vanilla to see this, even if he isn't willing to explain its history.

Besides, Pure Vanilla isn't entirely oblivious. He has seen scenes like this before, and he can connect the dots himself.

Shadow Milk steps into the ink puddle and drags the abyssal liquid across the crumpled papers – a clearly intentional move, because he isn't bound by gravity unless he chooses to be – as he continues to scan the mess without a care in the world. He pauses at the edge of the candlelight's reach, squinting as he bends at the waist to get a closer look at a stack of bound papers.

Then, he lights up, dropping down to sit on the floor as he picks the papers up with both hands. He sits on the line between the fading candlelight and the hungry shadows, sinking back into the darkness like it is natural, but his eyes are all bright and his smile feels more genuine.

"One of my playscripts!" Shadow Milk announces, almost sounding giddy as he flicks through the pages with an air of fondness he doesn't quite manage to hide. Then, as if he can't help himself, he puffs his chest out a little and starts proudly explaining, some of his extra eyes flicking over to glance at Pure Vanilla. "I had dozens of these lying around. I never had the time to stage any of them myself, but they were extremely popular back then. That's to be expected, since I was the best wordsmith to grace Earthbread. Still am, to this day!"

In the dim, still moment that follows, stretching long and precious, Pure Vanilla doesn't see the Beast of Deceit before him. He doesn't even see the brilliant scholar, the Virtue of Knowledge, not quite.

What he sees is a Cookie, whole and complex and alive and beautiful, and his heart pangs, softly.

Pure Vanilla feels drawn to him, to the glimpse of something real and present, the current evolution of the past that lays abandoned around them, the past he has grown fond of in stolen glances, and suddenly he is moving. He carefully picks his way across the room, which isn't easy with the mess and the dark, but he manages, tiptoeing around ink and paper.

"It's their loss, to not have my genius plays anymore." Shadow Milk sighs dramatically as he begins to leaf through the script more carefully, silently reading it line by line. An edge of bitterness peeks through his tone. "Nobody knows how to appreciate good artistry these days. What more can you expect from little mindless fools?"

When Pure Vanilla sinks into a kneel beside him, Shadow Milk's extra eyes all gravitate towards him inquisitively, even as his main pair continue to soak in the script. The pressure of them drapes over Pure Vanilla like a cloak as he clasps his hands together in his lap, taking a moment to mull over his own words.

"...Perhaps you should try having a more open mind." He says finally, not unkindly. Shadow Milk stops, still as a statue, before turning to face him with a concerning crack of his neck that, despite knowing his habits by now, still makes Pure Vanilla wince.

"Huh?" The sound is flat and loud, too loud for the shrinking boundary of the study, and it is obvious he is offended.

"I've been thinking about you a lot recently, and your situation." Pure Vanilla admits, something placating lacing into his voice as his attention lingers on that beloved playscript to avoid meeting Shadow Milk's sharp eyes. "Have you ever considered the possibility of your imprisonment ending amicably?"

"Huh?" Shadow Milk repeats, his voice more abrasive as his patience dwindles. He heard him perfectly fine, Pure Vanilla is sure, but he must want an elaboration.

"You seem to think the only chance for your freedom is to escape by force." Pure Vanilla explains, glancing up to take in Shadow Milk's face, his brows furrowed and mouth an unreadable line. "But I'm sure a compromise can be made to some degree. The things you have done are too severe to be settled by an apology alone, but- but if we can agree upon a system of redemption and rehabilitation, then–"

Shadow Milk cuts him off with a wild bout of laughter that rips through the study like a clap of thunder, hunching into himself as he unceremoniously drops the script. He tries to cover his too large grin with a hand, his many eyes pinning Pure Vanilla in place with the frantic look crystallised within them.

"You're joking!" Shadow Milk forces out through his stubbornly smiling teeth, voice gravelly and rattling with traces of laughter just short of hysteria. "Do you even hear yourself? No, no, you must be joking!"

"Not at all. I wouldn't joke about something like this." Pure Vanilla insists, seriousness plain on his face as he shifts to face him fully, a little concerned by the reaction. "Good punishments are meant to teach a lesson. As long as you are willing to learn from it, I don't see why your imprisonment couldn't be renegotiated."

The laughter gives way to a cold silence, and Shadow Milk's eyes narrow as he grits his teeth in a half-scowl, hand still obscuring half his face. "You're serious." He says slowly, words dripping with disdain. Then he huffs, shaking his head as his voice takes on a more playful tone. "Don't be silly, I've told you not to overthink things so much. Besides, the Witches," and here, his attempt at playfulness falters under a charged growl, "would never entertain something like that. Cowards, all of them!"

Maybe Pure Vanilla is reading into things, overthinking just like Shadow Milk accuses him of doing, but he can't help hearing a note of hurt in his voice. The fact he brought up the Witches so quickly speaks volumes by itself, and sorrow and pity bubble together in Pure Vanilla at the thought of what Shadow Milk must view as the greatest betrayal.

"...I don't think they'll mind." Pure Vanilla says after a moment of consideration, folding his hands in his lap. "The Witches rarely interfere with the lives of Cookiekind – at least, not since I was baked. Even when you broke the Seal and escaped briefly, they showed no signs of interference."

"Cowards." Shadow Milk mutters again with a tight, sardonic smile. "Afraid of reaping what they've sowed. Of course they don't dare to show their faces anymore!"

Pure Vanilla frowns slightly, but chooses not to comment, glossing past that to deliver his point. "That means the terms of your continued imprisonment solely relies on the Faeries and White Lily, now."

"Yes, yes, yes, do you think I don't know that?" Shadow Milk huffs again, waving an impatient hand as he leans back against thin air. "And? Are you going to, what, appeal our case to our great and wise Guardian?"

"Well, yes, that is the idea." Shadow Milk blinks owlishly at him as if that was a surprise, and Pure Vanilla adds sheepishly. "Not immediately, of course. There are more pressing matters at the moment, and I don't want to add more stress to her shoulders." Then, quietly, more to himself. "...She's going through enough as it is."

The look Shadow Milk gives him is complicated, far too complicated to parse in the sparse lighting. When he speaks, it is weighted with disdain and disbelief. "That's actually your plan?"

"If you're willing to consider it seriously." Pure Vanilla's reply is sterner to express his own determination, a little frustrated by the lack of cooperation, but when Shadow Milk remains visibly suspicious, he softens again and sighs.

Of course he's supicious. Nobody has tried to lend him a helping hand since his fall from grace. To be forsaken like that would make anyone somewhat jaded.

"...Remember what you told me? We are the same." Pure Vanilla begins patiently, keeping his voice calm and soothing as he shifts a little closer to him. "We just fall on opposite ends of the same spectrum. I could fall to darkness, but it is just as likely that you could return to the light."

"Yes, and didn't I tell you that was a stupid thing to say?" Shadow Milk muses mockingly, head lolling too far to one side for his neck to still be intact. And yet, he was playing along, the whole of his attention resting on Pure Vanilla with a sense of intruige. That was enough to encourage him.

"You did, but you also told me that people change, didn't you?" Pure Vanilla continues steadily, not hindered by Shadow Milk's lazy rebuttal. "I understand you meant that Cookies can change for the worse, but quantifiers always exist in pairs, so the opposite is also true. Cookies – you can change for the better."

The flickering candlelight makes the colour of Shadow Milk's face murky, accentuating his flat expression as he straightens his head back on his shoulders with a dull crunch. His eyes burn like shooting stars as he says slowly, overpronouncing each syllable, "Possibilties are never guaranteed."

"Guarantees leave no room for possibilities. Similarly, an endless imprisonment leaves no room for change and growth." Pure Vanilla argues back mildly, and in an attempt to connect with him, he finds himself reaching out for Shadow Milk's hand. He clasps it gently between both of his, pulling it closer to his own chest as Shadow Milk's expression momentarily shutters in surprise.

"You've been abandoned for a long time, and I'm sorry about that." Pure Vanilla murmurs, head leaning closer to make sure Shadow Milk can hear him as he warms his cold, dissolving hand between his palms. "You have done awful things, and you needed to be stopped, but it is cruel of them to bury you alive without any chance to redeem yourself, to condemn you to stagnation."

Shadow Milk doesn't interrupt. His eyes rest squarely on their joint hands, and he makes no attempt to pull away, despite his intial surprise. His expression betrays nothing.

"I know you reject the idea on grounds of impossibility, but I truly believe you can change for the better." Pure Vanilla smiles down at their hands, voice warm and earnest, and it is the truth. He looks up, making sure to meet Shadow Milk's bright, bright eyes to convey his sincerity. "I believe in you. More than that, I care about you."

The word comes out a little shy, but not hesitant. He is making a point – trying to show that even if Shadow Milk may feel like he has been abandoned to rot, that doesn't have to be the truth.

Shadow Milk breaks his stony silence with a click of his tongue.

"You care too much about too many things." He retorts, a taunting lilt filtering into his voice as the corners of his mouth curl upwards. "That doesn't mean much. It just makes you a fool with a bleeding heart."

"And that doesn't make any of what I say less true." Pure Vanilla replies easily, projecting confidence. He refuses to let Shadow Milk scare him off now. "I really do care about you."

He hesitates for a tense second before moving one hand to cup Shadow Milk's cheek, to show him in actions. Shadow Milk stiffens under the touch, but relaxes in the next blink, baring too many teeth in a lopsided grin that dances along Pure Vanilla's palm, still vaguely mocking.

"Really?" Shadow Milk drags the syllables out, pressing his face into Pure Vanilla's hand as his narrowed eyes never waver from him. The darkness creeps over his shoulders, the protection of the old candelabra gradually shrinking. "Why, I didn't think you could be such a flirt!"

"I mean it, wholeheartedly. You can always tell when I lie, you must know this is the truth." Pure Vanilla insists and insists, because it is all he can do, a strange desperation starting to form, now that he can imagine a peaceful solution so clearly. He grips Shadow Milk's hand tighter, but the hand on his face remains carefully gentle. "All I want to do is help you, if you'll let me."

It is important that it is a choice Shadow Milk makes, and not something forced upon him. It won't work if it is forced. Still, as Shadow Milk's eyes grow lidded, Pure Vanilla suddenly can't bear to watch anymore.

"So please," he whispers as he closes his eyes, body leaning forward with the weight of his urgency, "can I...?"

There is a beat where there is stillness, and then Shadow Milk lets out a soft laugh, barely more than a breath. Pure Vanilla feels him move forward, fingers brushing his dough as his hand falls away from his face, and then– then–

Then their lips meet, and his mind goes blank.

The kiss isn't gentle. It isn't harsh or aggressive either. It just is, and just as quickly, it isn't again.

Pure Vanilla's dough is burning when Shadow Milk pulls back, his chest warm like the bowels of the oven, his stomach swooping in pleasant and sickening loops. Overwhelmed as he is, it is horribly difficult to open his eyes, but he is compelled with a need to see his face.

Unfortunately, even when he manages to force his eyes open slightly, there isn't much to see. The candelabra is quickly going out, its retreat inviting in a darkness that Pure Vanilla cannot see anything in, let alone the details of a face. The only proof that Shadow Milk is still there at all is the feeling of his hand in his, and the familiar presence of his gaze.

"You can try," Shadow Milk answers from the darkness, a teasing smirk audible in his words, "if you really think you can convince the Guardian of something as elusive as mercy."

Pure Vanilla nods quietly, certain that Shadow Milk can still see him even if the opposite isn't true, his tongue unable to find words quick enough to answer verbally.

When he wakes up, far later than he usually does and well behind schedule, his face is still glowing with leftover heat. He presses his cheeks into the cool surface of his pillow, and feels something in him settle, satisfied.

I can save him.

[next]

#i wrote a majority of this in a mad burst of inspiration. bone apple teeth!#also there is one part left in this series after this. take that as you will :)#shadowvanilla #vanilla milkshake #pureshadow #echo paradox au #the biscuit library

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f1daydreamers · 1 year ago

Text

𝐌𝐲 𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐞 [𝐎𝐏𝟖𝟏]

gif credits: @u-u-piastri81

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Fem!Reader

Summary: Oscar is a visitor at your first art exhibition – not exactly his scene – but it's one that he contributed to financially to help you out, an upcoming artist he's taken a bit of a liking to.

Warnings: criticism but not always constructive, fluff, Reader and Oscar being cute, this man in a suit (audience may faint from the gifs), angst, maybe Oscar is a little out of character but I just upped his rizz by a solid 20% because I love him but he's way too shy to do any of this methinks :)

A/N: I know nothing about this profession icl but I got major black tie and exclusive event vibes from the gifs so this is what came out of it. I did a ton of research to make sure it wasn't too unrealistic but experience beats knowledge so if you guys read any things that need some correction, lmk!

Yeah, I never expected this to be so long but once I got to writing, I couldn't stop so hey, enjoy!

Word Count: 4.6k words (17 mins reading time avg)

…

Safe to say, this wasn’t Oscar’s scene.

Standing among collectors, art enthusiasts, curators, and industry professionals meant feeling a little out of place was a tad understated.

But he wanted to be here tonight. Of course, being invited is one thing but accepting the invitation comes with a whole new world of formalities he hadn’t prepared for.

You hadn’t noticed him yet, busy greeting and socialising with what looked like a few critics and journalists.

The notebooks in their hands were a dead giveaway but your hand drumming on your leg was another. You were anxious.

Oscar took a sip of his drink, the one he was offered when he received an entry pass coming through the venues' doors. He knew how much this evening meant to you, both in the months of planning and the dreams that preceded it.

Initially, the idea seemed farfetched, but as you dove straight into creating the collection, photographing it, staying up late to create statements that wholly captured the essence of your creative process, the once exciting prospect of submitting it to a gallery felt somewhat dissatisfying.

In a few conversations with Oscar, you’d shared your aspirations of seeing your portfolio bask in the limelight. However, the reality of organising a self-funded exhibition in a rented space would blow your budget out of the water.

You don’t know at what point but he’d made the decision to donate a significant sum of money to your artist fund, covering a major portion of the exhibition's expenses.

It helped you realise all those curious questions about possible venues, dates, and basic costs weren’t just to fuel his enthusiasm, but to sincerely offer his support.

You were grateful beyond what words could describe, and the least you could do was ask him to be here today.

You were nervous partially because you had critics and community leaders alike wandering around the space, conversing about your work you’d spent years dedicating blood, sweat and tears to.

But you were also nervous because he was here tonight.

Even if you’d drawn a squiggly line on a blank canvas, Oscar would marvel at it like it was the most beautiful thing on this planet, but tonight was when he was finally seeing your work in all its completion.

He brought your vision to life and the last thing you wanted to do was make him think his investment was a waste.

Last you’d checked, you hadn’t seen his brown wavy hair anywhere around the venue, his innocent smile playing on your mind even when you were entranced in conversation with fellow artists.

You stepped in front of a painting no one else currently seemed to be trained on, focusing on inhaling and exhaling your breaths, fidgeting with your fingers by your sides.

Tonight, was the most important day of your career by a mile.

“Excuse me.” Someone spoke up behind you and you inhaled a deep breath before whisking around to greet them. But your eyes grew soft, and your smile grew amicably at the man glancing downwards back at you.

“Do you know where I could find the host of the evening?” He asked, his smile mirroring yours, fiddling with the stem of his wine glass.

"Oscar," you breathed out, and the F1 driver had to force himself to disregard the palpable sense of relief that accompanied the utterance of his name.

The way it effortlessly rolled off your tongue, it left him wanting to hear you say it repeatedly.

“You made it.” He nodded his head, “I did.” Initially, he had doubts about attending, but considering the venue was conveniently located close to his hotel near Silverstone and his flight to Budapest wasn't until Monday evening, he managed to find the time to come.

You drew in a breath, "you look good." Your compliment was genuine, whenever you'd met up with Oscar or came across photos on Instagram, he was either in racing gear or in casual outfits. To see him in a suit was different. A good different.

"Thanks. Pretty sure I should be counting my breaths though." You chuckle as he looks down at himself, the shirt was a little smaller than he would've liked.

A testament to how life in Formula 1 was like and that his neck size had grown exponentially.

"Each one could be your last," you joked, adding on and he nodded.

"Exactly." His laugh culminated into a final chuckle, melting into a warm smile.

When you looked away, seeing the waiters you'd hired tonight refilling cups as people wandered around, Oscar took the opportunity to let his eyes drag over your figure.

"You look beautiful," his compliment drew a smile from you.

You briefly cast your gaze downward before lifting it to his chest then finally up to his eyes. "Thank you, Oscar."

He responded only with a curt nod; his eyes trained on your face before he tore them away to have a look around him.

"How's it going?"

You hummed, thinking about your answer. "It's okay. There's a few paintings that are getting lots of attention, others a little less."

"Did you expect that?" He asked and you reasoned, you knew when you began this collection that people would naturally gravitate more towards some pieces anyway, that's the advice you were given everywhere you went.

"Yeah, I'd be lying if I said I didn't." Oscar took a sip of some liquid courage before pointing at the painting you'd just been standing in front of with the rim of his glass.

"I like this one." You turned as he took steps towards it, his shoulder grazing yours. "This is the last one." You mentioned as he skimmed over the statements planted on the wall next to the artwork.

"I think it's an elderly couple, and the mirrors all around them are portals into a specific memory of their relationship." He said undisputedly. You look up at him, your mouth parting slightly in surprise.

"Yeah, how did you figure that out so quickly?"

"It's almost like you were brainstorming ideas to me on call a few months ago." You scoff, rolling your eyes but ultimately impressed by his memory.

He hadn't spoken much during that phone call, so you'd assumed he wasn't paying much attention to your endless rambles.

"I never realised you were actually listening." You softly said and Oscar turned his head to look at you.

"Every word." He reassured, and a warm feeling encompassed your chest at his affirmation.

His gaze traced over the painting once more. While he had never hesitated to express his belief in your talent, seeing your artwork displayed in such a way stirred a whirlwind of emotions inside of him.

He was proud of you and excited for you, knowing that you had undertaken this journey for your own sake, garnering an array of artistic admirers. It's no mean feat to organise an event like this, take a risk so early on in your career.

"I don't know how I'll ever be able to repay you." You snap him out of his thoughts, turning your body towards him, standing a few feet away.

Oscar mimicked your movements, turning so he was facing you, and placed his now empty glass on a bar tray that a waiter had extended to him, refusing a refill.

"Why do you think you need to repay me? Remember, it was a donation." He said matter-of-factly. You let out a sigh.

Despite his repeated assurances that he expected nothing in return, you couldn't shake off the feeling of indebtedness that lingered in your thoughts.

You found yourself dwelling on the late-night conversations, wondering if your eagerness to discuss your plans had inadvertently conveyed desperation.

Your gaze drops and without hesitation, he reaches his hand out and gently slots it into yours, his thumb caressing over your skin in a soothing gesture. Your heart skips a beat or two, the warmth of his hand was relieving.

"This is the best way you can repay me. Living the dream." He smiles and you nod, finally lifting your eyes to meet his. His voice was a calming anchor amid your thoughts.

"I'll never forget how you made it possible though," a small smile graced your lips, and he let out a chuckle.

"Yeah, you never miss a chance to mention it," he quipped, his eyes dancing with amusement. You playfully rolled your eyes, a good-natured sigh escaping you as you did.

Oscar's hand retreated to his side, and a subtle longing for his touch flickered within you. Nevertheless, you mask it with a smile that grew as you exchanged a couple more jokes.

...

He courteously held the door ajar, giving a nod to a man entering the bathroom who appeared to appreciate the gesture. Letting the door close behind him, Oscar took out his phone to check the time.

Absentmindedly, he began scrolling through his notifications: a mix of sports updates, a message from his mum, one from Mark. Yet, none seemed particularly urgent.

Just as he was about to tap on one of the notifications, his attention was drawn upward to the sound of your voice.

You were engaged in conversation with a man, his journal held in his hands, and sunglasses perched atop his head. Oscar's gaze briefly went back to his phone screen; he made no overt effort to eavesdrop.

Despite this, fragments of your conversation found their way to his ears anyway.

"I must say, your work is quite disappointing. The lack of technical skill is evident in every piece." Oscar's eyebrows furrow as he observes openly, a marked departure from his earlier disinterested demeanour.

You clear your throat as you try to collect yourself, bringing your fingers up to your mouth to hide your quivering lip.

You had previously cautioned yourself that not everyone will like your work, but experiencing such candid criticism directly was far more destructive than you could have expected.

"Um, okay. What sort of things did you not like about it?" You asked, trying to find some sort of valuable insight from such a respected critic in your community.

"The colours are garish and clash horribly. It's clear that you have no understanding of colour theory or composition." You nod, gathering some form of strength to just take his words on the chin but you were failing rather miserably. Your stomach was sinking, and your eyes were watering slowly.

"It's a shame that your efforts have resulted in such subpar creations." Your jaw tightens and as you scramble for the right words to respond with in your mind, a hand presses into your lower back from behind.

"Excuse me. I want to purchase a piece, but I can't seem to find your sales assistant." The accent is unmistakable, and you muster a smile as you turn to face him.

"I'll help you." Your voice is unsteady, your emotions deflated.

"Thank you," Oscar responds, though his gaze carries a hint of concern. He moves to follow you but before he can do so, the critic extends his hand to grasp his arm, waiting until he's certain you're out of earshot.

"Coming from a collector, don't bother." He smirks, his conviction clear. Yet, the F1 driver's face remains impassive.

"Sorry, I don't remember asking you. Now, if you don't mind." He looks down at the grip on his arm, his fist clenching by his side. The critic seems taken aback at the blank expression looking back at him, devoid of any gratefulness.

He swallows before loosening his grip.

Oscar rounds the pillar just as you press down on the handle to the fire door exit at the distant end.

He contemplates whether he should grant you some space, but he wonders if doing so will only make matters worse.

Pausing briefly, he contemplates his choices before deciding to make his way toward the fire exit anyway. His hand firmly grasps the handle, and he proceeds to push open the door.

With your back turned towards him, you're unaware of his presence. Your palms are pressed against your face as a means of stifling your sniffles hence the closing of the door registers faintly, the sound hardly penetrating your thoughts.

It's only when the crunching of gravel beneath someone's shoes reaches your ears that you realise you're no longer alone. But oddly, you know there's only one person who it could be.

The combination of embarrassment, distress, and sheer exhaustion was what left you feeling so overwhelmingly emotional.

Aware that you don't want Oscar to witness you in this state, you quickly swipe at your cheeks, hastily erasing any traces of tears from your face.

You whisk around, smiling up at him and nodding your head. "I'm good Os. It's not always going to be a perfect score, right?" His heart swells at the nickname you called him, very few people did so, but hearing it from you felt special in a way.

"He's a dick," the F1 driver bluntly responds, his tone carrying a hint of anger.

You chuckle softly, but the sigh that follows is slightly shaky. A wave of heaviness crashes over you again as the critic's hurtful words echo in your mind, your stomach sinking in response.

Oscar picks up on the shift of emotion and his eyes soften at your teary and lowering expression.

Without a word, he opens his arms and pulls you into an embrace. You don't resist; instead, you bury your face in his shoulder, your shoulders trembling as silent tears escape your eyes.

His arms encircle you tightly, offering a comforting refuge as your emotions spill over again.

His chest rises and falls with each steady breath, the rhythm providing you with some comfort despite how irritated you're getting at yourself for letting one conversation bother you this much.

As he holds you, his chest aches both for your vulnerability and the anger he feels towards the critic who provoked it. You reluctantly pull away after a minute or so, a mixture of gratitude and sadness in your eyes.

But in the moment, you can't help but feel that the money he donated for the exhibition might have gone to waste, that your efforts fell short.

Disappointing your clients is business but disappointing him felt personal, he was the reason you even had a chance to do this, and it'd turned out horribly.

"I let you down," you say quietly, and Oscar's eyebrows knit together as he studies your expression.

"How? Every piece I love, Y/N." He responds, placing his hand on your forearm, his touch warm. It sends a flurry of goosebumps over your skin which you're sure he would've picked up on considering his attention to detail.

He positions his index finger under your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes which you do. Your legs suddenly feel like they're incapable of keeping you upright, your face warming under his gaze.

"You didn't let me down." He whispers.

Oscar's concern remains palpable as his hand doesn't fall back to his side. His eyes hold a depth of emotion, the colours in his eyes becoming more distinct.

The connection that you can sense increases, and it's as if the unspoken understanding between you becomes more profound in that moment.

His cologne surrounds you but it's his gaze that flickers to your lips, a fleeting but unmistakable gesture. You realise that he's leaning in closer and there's a fraction of a second when it feels like the world around you fades.

The possibility of his lips meeting yours feels tantalisingly close.

But just as the moment deepens, you're both interrupted by one of the assistants, their voice breaking through the charged atmosphere.

"Sorry," the assistant interjects, sounding somewhat hurried. "There're a few clients waiting to speak with you Y/N."

Oscar slowly pulls back; he tucks in his bottom lip between his teeth and his expression shifts from one of intimacy to one of polite neutrality.

He offers you a subtle smile, the connection lingering between you even as the assistant's words redirect your attention.

"Of course," you reply, your voice steady despite quite the hurricane of emotions storming inside of you. You look to the assistant, ready to face the responsibilities of the exhibition once again. As you move away, you steal a glance at him, his gaze locked onto you for a moment longer before he nods.

That damned connection between you and Oscar remains, but now only punctuated by unspoken possibilities.

...

"Thank you, ma'am." you say with a warm smile as the elderly woman clasps your hand, offering kind words about your artwork while draping her shawl over her shoulders.

Once she'd left, you looked around to see if there was anyone else remaining in the space. Oscar had left a while ago considering he was on a flight tomorrow to Budapest.

Though a tinge of disappointment lingered within you, you understood and bid him goodnight.

You wrapped up a little later than you would've liked, a couple of your pieces had sold so you had to coordinate transport for them.

For the remaining few, you'd wrapped them up, gathered the papers for each one before loading them into the van to have them delivered back to your studio.

Oscar eventually made it back to the space he'd rented on Airbnb, staying in a hotel for a week definitely wasn't something he was fond of doing, a neatly packaged box of takeout planted on the small table.

He threw the crumpled paper bag into the bin and settled onto the couch, his phone in hand. He opened Instagram, scrolling through his feed to pass the time it'd take for him to get sleepy.

As he tapped through the stories, your profile picture caught his eye. He felt a smile tug at his lips as he watched it whole. The familiar scenes of the exhibition unfolded before him – videos capturing the venue, the artwork.

His gaze lingered on the art as if he hadn't been there tonight, his mind wandering into the world you had created. It wasn't just the work itself that interested him; it was the glimpse they offered into your mind, your perspective, and the emotions you poured into your work.

The admiration he felt for your creativity was intertwined with the growing fondness he was developing for you as a person.

Once you'd reached home, you dropped on to the couch with a sigh of relief that the day was done.

So, when your phone started vibrating besides you, you groaned and brought it up to your ear, not bothering to take a look at the caller ID.

"Y/N," you closed your eyes and waited for the other person to respond. They stuttered first before speaking up, "should I - should I reply with my name, or do we just get into the conversation?"

You lightly gasped, chuckling and straightening up on the couch. "Oscar, sorry. I'm still in work mode I think." You rubbed your forehead and the F1 driver poked through his food with a fork on the other end.

"No harm done. You back from the venue?" He asked and you stretched your legs out in front of you, fiddling with the hem of your dress.

"Yeah, only just. Perfect timing, Piastri." He smiled at your response, "I pride myself in that."

"I'm sure you do." You joked teasingly and fell back on the couch again. The similar onset of warmth and goosebumps from earlier bubbled up again inside of you.

"I thought you would've knocked out by now." Oscar hums, swallowing his food as he traps his phone between his ear and shoulder, throwing the now empty box on to the coffee table in front of him.

"Yeah well, I needed to eat. Luckily for me, there was a long queue at every takeaway place tonight." He retorted sarcastically and you scoffed, "typical London."

He agreed wordlessly before shifting his body horizontally, propping his head up on the armrest, his legs splaying over the leather sofa.

"What did you end up getting?" He made a humming sound as he reached for the receipt he'd tossed carelessly aside, bringing it up to eye level.

"Caribbean chicken curry." He said slowly, squinting to read the half-printed letters. Your stomach rumbling beneath you helped you remember that you too hadn't eaten for majority of the day. Your last meal was breakfast with a few snacks you always have on hand.

"Sounds good. I'd kill for some chicken curry right now." You mumble and Oscar's head turns to look up at the clock hung on the wall above the television.

"How 'bout I bring some?" He asks nonchalantly and your heart skips, you stutter in your response, glancing at the digital clock blinking at you from the corner table.

"You'd do that?" You say, a little more high-pitched than you would've preferred.

He smiles, refraining to say something corny. "Yeah, well I mean it's not my bedtime for another hour so..." He trails off thus leaving you to make the decision.

You don't even care about the food anymore, your stomach is doing somersaults from the mere thought of seeing him twice in one day.

"Only if it's alright with you. If you need to sleep, please sleep." You insist and there's a pause, you could swear you hear keys jangling on the other end of the phone before Oscar confirms.

"I'll be there in a bit."

...

You're changed into some slightly more flattering pyjamas than your regular animated giraffe ones when you hear a knock on your door. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you walk the length of the hallway and reach for the doorknob.

Giving it a couple of moments, you open the door to find Oscar standing there, a warm smile on his face that mirrors your own feelings.

He's holding a paper bag up and you smile, "my saviour. Come in."

He slides past you, toeing his trainers off and pushing them up to the wall so they weren't in the direct pathway, allowing you to lead him into the living room.

He places the bag on to your wooden dining table and you sigh in delight, the smell of the food faintly wafting out of it.

"How much do I owe you?" He shakes his head, letting you take the box out of the bag.

"Only your eternal gratitude," he replies, his lips curving into a smile as he takes in the sight of your light expression, your eyes lit with appreciation.

"You already have that." You chuckle.

Eventually, you begin eating, all the while holding a conversation. With each passing minute, a subtle worry creeps in - that he might decide to leave soon. Not that you're against him getting his rest, but your own enjoyment of his company is growing stronger by the second.

The idea of the evening ending prematurely becomes less and less appealing. The warmth of his presence, the humour in his words, the hesitance you initially felt about him leaving transformed into a silent plea for him to stay, at least a little longer.

"I'm going to go up and use the bathroom, head over to the couch, make yourself comfortable." You insist and Oscar nods. His feelings he was aware of when he reached back to his place had tripled since he'd got here.

His leg had been bouncing the entire duration he'd been talking, he was nervous but albeit not understandably. He'd visited your place a few times now, he'd known you for nearly a year.

Nothing about the fluttery sensation in his belly, the excitement prior to seeing you, the attraction, the thoughtfulness, made any sense to him.

But at the same time, they made perfect sense. He likes you. A whole lot.

Realising he was getting a bit warm, he pulled the hoodie over his neck to reveal just a plain white tee underneath.

Tossing it on to the dining room chair he was previously sat on, he plops on to the couch, bringing the calf of his right leg up to rest on the knee of his left, his arm outstretching on the back of the couch.

You eventually return, having brushed your teeth since the aftertaste of the curry wasn’t a very pleasant one in your mouth.

“Do you piss for that long?" Oscar asks curiously, locking his phone and sliding it on to the table.

You scoff and feign offence as you sit next to him just a few inches away. "I don't actually, even if I did, what's it to you?" You tease and he shrugs, his lower arm draping off the couch casually, his fingertips brushing close to your shoulder.

"I was bored," he admits, his explanation falling a bit flat.

You raise an eyebrow, a mockingly sympathetic expression on your face. "Poor Oscar, suffering from boredom in my humble abode. My heart aches for you." He smirks, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he shakes his head at your antics.

His eyes sparkle with amusement, "Well, I must say your empathy is truly heartwarming."

"That's just me, a paragon of compassion," you quip, a mischievous glint in your eyes. His proximity has your heart racing, and you're acutely aware of the playful tension that's building between you.

He tilts his head, his gaze holding yours as he leans in slightly. "You know, I was half expecting you to beg for my forgiveness."

You roll your eyes, your gaze locked on to his, you didn't mean for them to glance down to his lips, but it didn't skip past his notice either.

Your heart was hammering in your chest and the silence that followed afterwards definitely gave Oscar enough time to be able to pick up on it.

"Please forgive me Oscar, please?" You reduce your words to a whisper and he smiles, refusing to waste another second and he instantly ducks his head to catch your lips in a fervent kiss.

His actions catch you off guard, the sensation electrifying and sending a jolt of surprise through your system.

Your thoughts scatter as the world seems to narrow down to the point of contact between your lips. The kiss is eager and filled with a mixture of longing and curiosity, as if both of you have been dancing around this moment for far too long.

Your heart continues racing, and time feels suspended as his touch sends shivers up and down your spine.

The sudden intimacy of it all is exhilarating, and you find yourself responding without hesitation, your fingers instinctively finding their way to his arm, your body moving a fraction closer to his.

A soft moan escapes you, and Oscar slides his hand beneath your top, pressing his palm against your waist. A squeeze of your skin hints at you to move back slightly, creating the room needed for him to push you down on to your back.

Your lips detach for a moment as he positions himself over you, lowering his head seconds later to press them together again.

His face was level with yours when he eventually pulled away to catch his breath, and let you catch yours, his arm propping him up besides your head.

"Isn't it your bedtime?" He chuckles softly, his fingers toying with a few strands of your hair.

"I'll just have to use the plane's naptime feature." You laugh, bringing your hand up to push his hair out of his eyes.

His gaze flickers across your face, capturing the traces of your faint smile lines and the tiny beauty mark adorning your skin.

He leans in, planting a tender kiss on the mole. Meanwhile, your fingertips journey to the nape of his neck, exploring the contours of his hair.

He grins boyishly when he picks his head up again. "I think I could stay here forever," he admits, his voice a soft confession.

You playfully raise an eyebrow. "Oh really? What if the plane's naptime feature gets jealous?"

He chuckles, a low, melodious sound. "Well, I guess it'll just have to deal with a bit of competition," he remarks before his lips find yours once again.

...

Masterlist

#oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri oneshot #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 fanfic #f1 fluff #f1 imagine #formula one #formula one x reader #f1 #f1 fic #f1 x reader #mclaren #formula 1 #f1 2023 #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri imagine #formula one imagine

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cherryblossompink303 · 11 days ago

Text

Patience: ~Attack of the Lady Manager!~

➼ pairing: Kyoya Ootori x Reader ➼ summary: A girl weaves her way into the host club looking to steal your life, starting with your job and moving to your fiance ➼ what to expect: "believe it or not I'm not the heartless person you think I am" ➼ warnings: renge? angst ➼ Part Three | Part Five

“Oh, Tamaki, my dearest Tamaki, why are you so beautiful?”

Tamaki smirks softly, “I’m hoping to catch your eye, even for just one second.” Tamaki apprises elegantly.

“And why is your voice so very sweet and mellow?” a different guest, this time.

“To set your nerves at ease, so that my true feelings might reach your heart.” the response is almost immediate, practiced.

“Why are your eyes filled with tears every time you look at me?”

Teary eyed, even now, “Because the sight of your beautiful smile causes the fountain inside me to start overflowing.”

“Oh, Tamaki~!”

You shake your head through a laugh as you watched Tamaki carries out his usual spiel "Do you ever wonder how on earth Tamaki comes up with this stuff?" You think allowed.

Kyoya hums in agreement, not looking up from his notebook. "he always has had a natural affinity for this kind of stuff, although I must admit some particular lines he comes up with I will never understand where he pulls them from"

"Hello Kyoya, I can't get over how great you look in that Kimono" two guests appear next to where the two of you were sat "Are you planning on releasing anymore picture books of the host club?"

"Unfortunately we don't have anything planned at present ladies" The guests move on with a pout "Oh, Kyoya!" You joke, faking to fawn over him, raising your hand to your forehead "If I didn't know better I would think you a guest"

"You wish, I'm afraid you're obligated to give me your time for free" I taunt, returning to going over the clubs events calendar for that month. "What do you think?" handing over the calendar for him to confirm whether or not it's in line with the club's budget.

Kyoya's face lights up at the sight of the calendar, scanning over its contents "This is...really good...you do a much better job than Tamaki at organising this stuff"

"Really?" kyoya seems lost in thought for a moment, smiling a little at the page "Yeah..."

"Looks like the host club has a brand-new guest." the two of you look up to find a girl hiding in the doorway catching the attention of the hosts.

the twins appear suddenly in front of her, Kaoru offering her a rose.

“Come on in, what are you waiting for?”

“Watching from afar is no fun.” Hikaru presents her with another rose.

Where they got the roses? No one could ever tell.

“Please, Miss.” they insist, leaning forward ever so slightly. The girl makes a small sound of surprise.

“Stop that, how many times do I have to tell you to be more courteous to our first-time guests?” Tamaki presents her with yet another identical rose.

“Please, you don’t have to be afraid, my princess.” Tamaki caresses her chin with his finger, she seems afraid despite his affirmations, “I welcome you to the Ouran Host Club.”

The girl’s hand flies across Tamaki’s cheek as she shoves him away, “No! Don’t touch me! You’re phony!” She screams.

The entire host club observes with a collective gasp, wide eyes watching the scene unfold.

Tamaki staggers from the impact and covers his reddening face with his palm, “What do you mean I’m phony?!” He panics, his voice muffled.

“Just what I said! You’re phony! I find it hard to believe that someone like you is the prince character of this host club!”

Tamaki back-peddles from her accusing finger and loud volume with panicked breathing, to which you flinch at gently.

“You shouldn’t go spreading your love around so easily like that, you stupid! You must be a dimwitted narcissist! You’re incompetent! You’re a commoner! You’re disgusting!”

One strike after another to Tamaki’s ego, and he finally keels over.

He’s created a new technique!”

“One man slow-motion!”

You stand over Tamaki, just slightly in front of Kyoya, who seems deep in thought.

“I don’t suppose… you are…?”

Kyoya doesn’t get to finish his thought before the strange girl is gasping with a high pitch, her eyes welling up with tears and her face morphing into amazement.

“It’s you, Kyoya!” She shrieks, shoving you roughly out of her way, to which you grunt as Haruhi catches you by both arms.

“What on earth-?”

The girl forces herself into Kyoya’s arms in a strangling embrace, her face buried into his kimono.

“Oh, how I’ve longed to meet you! My one and only prince charming!” she squeals obnoxiously.

You stood stunned slightly off the side, having no idea what was going on, your breath hitching in your throat as you make eye contact with Kyoya in a mutual glance of helplessness.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

“Your fiancé?" Hikaru questioned

"Kyoya-Senpai?” Kaoru following soon behind.

You sat in the corner of the room watching everything unfold, you did not know what to think. Was there something that you hadn't been told? Did your father break off your engagement? Had Kyoya been arranged to marry another? Surely you wouldn't still be in Japan if that was the case.

You look off to your left as you realise that Tamaki is sulking in a similar fashion to you. "Why is he sulking?" Hikaru questioned

"Because mommy kept a secret from daddy" Kaoru answered teasingly. "Whatever. Why does everyone refer to us like we're husband and wife?" Kyoya asked, gaze slowly being adverted as his attention was slowly being pulled to you, sat at a table in the corner having a cup of coffee by yourself.

"Ours is a story of love at first sight!” Renge announces, fawning over the 'memory' which was when you caught on that something even weirder was happening, Kyoya could have another arranged fiance but if you knew one thing it was that Kyoya was not in love.

“I couldn’t resist the way you were adoring those flowers in the backyard when you thought no one else was looking! And how sweet it was when you reached out to that poor little injured kitten!”

“Are you serious? Could you have the wrong person?” You gesture violently to Kyoya standing adjacent to you, clearly not the man she was describing.

“No way! I could recognize my love anywhere!” Renge near screams in your face. Kyoya staring blankly next to you

“He’s a gentleman who’s kind to everyone but doesn’t ask for anything in return! He likes solitude but, in fact, sometimes he gets lonely!”

"Okay now I know we aren't talking about the same person" You chimed in, not expecting Kyoya to shoot you what may have been the first look of hurt that you had seen off of him.

"He looks like the star of the dating sim Uki-Doki Memorial! You’re my real life Ichijo Miyabi!” Renge finally squeals out, allowing the hosts to realize she was delusional, erasing their confusion.

“Oh, alright. She’s delusional.” Your expression relaxes when you realize that Kyoya isn’t hiding a secret fiancé behind everyone’s back.

“Uki-”

“Doki-”

“OTAKU!” Tamaki screeches in panic.

“OTAKU?!” Hikaru gasps in astonishment.

“I’VE NEVER SEEN ONE!” Kaoru wails.

Kyoya’s now seated on the same sofa, once again, deep in thought.

“I get it now, you’re in love with that character. You’re projecting that love onto me and somehow deluded yourself into thinking that we’re engaged.” Kyoya explains as Renge skips around behind him with obnoxious squealing.

“I assume this Miyabi character probably wears glasses as well.” On cue, Kyoya adjusts his glasses.

“So she… made it up? You’re not really her fiancé, right?” Tamaki holds his breath in hope.

“Well no, I don’t ever remember asking for her hand in marriage.” Kyoya shrugs “Besides, this is the first time I’ve ever met the woman.” Kyoya crosses his arms casually.

You stood with you arms crossed behind the sofa he was sat on "...Not to mention you're already engaged?" you pointed out the obvious.

Renges frolicking came to a grinding halt "Already...engaged?" you did not know whether or not you should shatter this illusion of hers. "Yes! y/n and kyoya-senpai are engaged!" Honey chimed in with no regard for the consequences.

"You!" Renge screamed in your face "What do you know about MY Kyoya? He doesn't deserve you! He's going to marry me!" she rambled at a hundred miles a minute. You exchange a concerned glance with Kyoya.

"Uh...I..." She seemed to quickly forget about you, jumping in front of Kyoya . According to my research, I understand that you’re in charge of managing the club, is that true, Kyoya?”

“That’s right! Kyo-Chan is our director!” Honey confirms.

“You’re the club’s director? That’s perfect! Oh wow, I’ve always wanted to wear a sandwich board to advertise a business!” Renge squeals.

“We… don’t advertise, we’re just a host club.” you point out, becoming increasingly bothered at her presence. Ignoring you, Renge spins with determination, “I’ve made up my mind! From now on, I’m gonna be the manager of this host club!”

You paused, getting increasingly frustrated at her presence, but before you go to tell her that you're already the manager Kyoya grabs your upper arm, leaning in to whisper "The Houshakuji family are incredibly good friends with both of our fathers, we just have to play into this for a while until I can figure something out"

"You're okay with this?" You question, raising an eyebrow "I'd rather not but believe it or not I'm not the heartless person you think I am, I can play it off for a while" You didn't expect Kyoya to throw your words back in your face, leaving you stunned.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

“I thought about it a lot last night, and maybe having another lady manager isn’t such a bad idea.”

“Here we go.” you roll your eyes at Tamaki’s assessment.

“Why do you say that?” The twins urge.

“Well, it’s fairly obvious, isn’t it? Renge just transferred into the same class as Haruhi. So, if Haruhi has a girlfriend around, it could bring out the female within her. Renge’s girlish air of tenderness might be able to stimulate Haruhi’s own sense of femininity!”

"I swear it's like I don't exist sometimes" You mutter looking around to see if anyone else was going to call it out, Haruhi laughs a little "You'd think that given that I need to not let people know I'm a girl he wouldn't want me to gain more femininity."

“Now is our chance to help Haruhi get in touch with her feminine side! This is an important project, men. She doesn’t have any friends in class right now except for these two shady twins. That’s no good for her.” Tamaki urges. “Like you have room to talk.” The twins tilt their heads.

“Hey everyone!” Renge soon enters the room much to your dismay. “You’ll be happy to know that your new manager, Renge, has baked all of you some cookies!”

Tamaki fawns over the act “Isn’t she ladylike? I’m so moved by your generosity!” she swoons.

“I didn’t bake these cookies for you, you phony prince.” she denied him, Tamaki returns to sulking in a corner.

Renge plants herself in front of Kyoya, “I’m sorry I burnt them a little bit. I did the best I could.” she stares up at him with wide heart eyes.

“And I already know what you’re going to say. Oh, you’re always so sweet to me, Kyoya!”

Honey tries a cookie near you, “She wasn’t kidding, these cookies really are burnt.” He grimaces.

Mori appears behind him, “Don’t eat that Mitsukuni, it’s bad for you.” he informs. Renge, enraged, chases them around the room noisily. “She’s scaring me!” Honey cries, carried by Mori as they flee from Renge’s raging rampage.

On the other side of the room the twins sit scheming, Hikaru whispering to Kaoru "Have you noticed that y/n and Kyoya haven't said a word to each other all day?"

Kaoru looks over to the two of you, a noticable distance in between "I can't imagine that she is too happy with Renge coming in and trying to steal her life"Hikaru adds on"And Kyoya seems way too complicit with it all"

As if they shared a mutual light bulb moments the two of them exchange smug smirks as they get an idea "We should push them in the right direction"

Hikaru approaches you to take the cookie that you had just picked up from your hand and puts back into your mouth, lifting your chin with his fingers.

“May I try?” he bites into the cookie while still in your mouth. Your cheeks flush as half the cookie is still perched between your lips, unsure of where this came from.

This managed to grab Kyoya's attention, looking up from his notebook for the first time of the day.

Kaoru slides a hand behind your neck, “Uh oh, y/n, you’ve got crumbs on your face.” His tongue slides out and streaks across your cheek to lick up the crumbs. You whimper and squint your eyes shut at the proximity, hoping that whatever the twins were doing would end soon.

Kyoya’s grip on his pen tightens as Tamaki emerges from his corner in a fury.

“Did you see what they just did?!” Tamaki screaches and points at the twins. “He took a bite of the cookie while it was in her mouth! And then the other one licked her face! What are they doing?! I told you those shady twins can’t be trusted! They’re trying to seduce her!”

You rub your cheek gently “You know you could have just told me and I would’ve wiped it off.” your face contorting in disgust. You look to Hikaru, “And if you wanted to try one, there’s plenty here.” You gesture with the bag of cookies.

Tamaki takes a sharp intake of breath, sounding similar to a snort, grabbing your face urgently, “That’s not the way you’re supposed to react, y/n! You have to stay strong and reject them, then casually brush them to the side! Do you understand?!”

“This is sexual harassment, Tamaki.” You snort, crossing your arms.

“SEXUAL HARASSMENT?! If that counts as sexual harassment then they’re twice as guilty! Someone call the police!”

“Cut it out, Boss, we’re sorry!” The twins plead,the fear of god being sent into them.

Renge watches the scene with a scowl. Honey approaches her cautiously.

“Renge-Chan, Renge-Chan! Want some? It’s milk.” He presents her with a pink cup with a bunny imprinted on the side.

Renge ponders a moment, “Lukewarm…”

“Huh?”

“Every single one of you! Except for Kyoya, all of your characters are lukewarm! Each of you needs to have some sort of dark side, you understand? Girls are vulnerable to handsome young men who are troubled! If you keep carrying on like this, it’s only a matter of time before the girls get tired of you and stop coming altogether! Are you trying to ruin my precious Kyoya’s business?! As your manager, it’s my duty to change your character backgrounds! Let’s start with you!”

"Change their character backgrounds? They're people not video game characters" you spoke up. Renge paused, slowly turning to face you with a look of horror "GET OUT!" she screams.

Your eyes widen, taken aback a little, you go to reply but in doing so you make eye contact with kyoya, silently reminding you of why you can't offend Renge "Fine. I'm just going to go" You can hear Honey calling after you as you leave the host club.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

How you ended up on the movie set you have no idea, the last thing you wanted was to be was around Renge or even Kyoya, but somehow since you are part of the host club officially you have to be on set for insurance reasons.

You ended up standing behind Kyoya as the two of you watch Haruhi play out a scene "You know she won't stop right?" The words come out before you get the chance to stop them. Kyoya hummed in question, turning around to face you. "The longer that you play into this fantasy shes created the more that shes going to believe its real, she wont stop by herself"

Kyoya paused, thinking it over "We've spoken about this, if we offend her-"

"Her taking offence and her father taking offence are two different things, our families are close enough for him to know that you already have an engagement he will understand" you wanted to point out that it was likely her father already knew about her delusions but that was by the by.

Kyoya looked at you pointedly "You really don't like her, do you?" you roll your eyes "I- Not really, but it's beyond that really, i... of course I know that she can't just break the deal between our parents but if that ever happens I have to leave Japan...and I just don't want that to happen"

Kyoya can tell that there is a little more to that story but he figures that it's for another time. The two of you look over as the movie set goes haywire "I know you don't care either way...but I need this deal as much as my father does"

"She doesn't have that much sway" he dismissed, waving you away "You really do not care do you?" the question caught him off guard, his eyes widening in shock before quickly pulling himself together "What do you mean?"

"If Renge carries on as she is, the host club is gonna be torn apart, she's already taken over, I've been pushed out so there's no need for me to be around anymore. Honey's on verge of a breakdown because this new persona she's given goes completely against who he is. i know you only do something if it benefits you but I am asking you just this once to at least pretend like you care"

Kyoya fell silent, looking out at how miserable the club members are , he wants to tell you that he does care, that he doesn't want the club to get torn apart or the engagement to breakdown, but he can't bring himself to.

As an argument breaks out on set Kyoya walks away without another word, grabbing a rock off the ground before smashing the camera lens. "no! what did you do to my camera?"

"What? Is something wrong?" Renge asks innocently.

"I'm terribly sorry but i cannot allow this to go on any longer, this movie paints the host club in a bad light and frankly the position you are trying to take was already filled long ago."

You didn't expect Kyoya to take such a drastic action but it made sense right up till he mentioned you. Why?

"I think you've caused enough trouble around here Renge. Please stop being such a pest"

Renge breaks out into tears "A pest? But you're supposed to pat me on the head and tell me not to worry! You're supposed to be kind and affectionate Kyoya! Why are you acting any differently now! Tell me why!"

"Because that's not the real Kyoya" Tamai chimes in, Renge gasps, breaking down before him. "Does it really matter?" Haruhi asks, appearing in front of her. "Who cares if Kyoya is a little different than you expected him to be. Take a good look at the person inside, and get to know him little by little. It’s a lot more fun that way.”

You lock eyes with Kyoya, realising that why he hadn't noticed how much you cared, you didn't either. Kyoya doesn't show feelings, you know that, but he is kind, just in his own way. If he wasn't he wouldn't have sat with you at the ball, or help you in the clinic, or step in.

Maybe you needed to start following Haruhi's advice.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Hello, ladies, come on in.” Tamaki encourages from his position with the other hosts on the sofa.

“I bought the video of that film you made!”

“I bought it too!”

“And so did I!”

“Huh?” The host club choruses in confusion as the girls fawn over the professionally produced film.

“That scene in the rain was just phenomenal!”

“I love the lonely prince!”

“And the loving relationship between Hikaru and Kaoru is so sweet!”

“I couldn’t get enough of Haruhi’s poignant expression!”

Tamaki’s hair covers his eyes with a prominent frown. “Kyoya?” He grumbles, not needing to say much more to elicit a response from said host, throwing his head back to where the two of you were sat on opposite ends of a sofa.

“I may have broken the camera’s lens but the footage that we had already shot wasn’t damaged. Naturally, I did cut out that last scene. Sales have been pretty good so far, that Hollywood film crew did a fantastic job. But then I guess, that’s to be expected.”

You laughed under your breath, shaking your head, glad that the host club was back to normal now. "Something amusing?" He asked, looking over to you. "Nothing"

the two of you fell into a comfortable silence before you speak up once more "I should thank you, for shutting down Renge" you eventually concede. "It was no problem, besides, you are a much better manager than she was"

You hummed back, watching Tamaki have another breakdown "I don't know why I thought she could actually replace me, I don't know what you guys would do without me sometimes" he laughed.

"Indeed"

Next time on patience 'The Twins fight!'

Tag list (reply to be added): @skottch @cgmajor @rebirthbunbun

#kyoya ootori #kyoya ootori x reader #kyoya x reader #ohshc #ohshc kyoya #ohshc x reader #ouran high school host club #ouran highschool host club #ouran host club #ouran hshc #kaoru hitachiin #ouran #ouran kyoya #hikaru hitachiin #haruhi fujioka #tamaki suoh

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secretlyhuntokar · 3 months ago

Text

Penumbra podcast Junoverse headcanons

(under cut because there are a Lot) ((Also spoiler warning up to Thief's Honour pt 2))

- Juno leaves notes in his and Nureyev's room on the Carte Blanche if he gets up before him so Nureyev doesn't worry he left again

- One of the main reasons Nureyev is scared of aging is because he's already lived a full hallucinated life and doesn't want to waste any second of his real one

- Juno wears a trenchcoat because Rita was really into old Earth noir detective streams when they first met and she bought a trenchcoat for him. And it was the first gift someone had bought for him in years.

- Juno still wears that trenchcoat to this day

- Nureyev once bought/stole Juno a new trenchcoat and while Juno thought it was a really nice trenchcoat and a sweet gesture, he never wore it because its not the one Rita got him

- Nureyev likes to see how many of Vespa's knives he can steal before she notices and yells/threatens him for them back

- Vespa taught Buddy how to play Rangian Street Poker

- The Ruby Seven is green because wherever it's from, Ruby is their word for green

- Rangian Street Poker varies very slightly across Outer Rim planets, and even more so on the Solar planets

- New Kinshasa's version of Rangian Street Poker is the most similar to the Solar version out of all the Outer Rim Variations

- Nureyev and Rita make each other jewelry. Rita hands the jewelry she makes to Nureyev directly, while Nureyev sneaks what he makes under Rita's door at night, or leaves it on her seat for her to find in the morning

- Rita is from the Cerberus Province or someplace similar to it. Or she spent a lot of time sneaking out to the Martian sewers while growing up and befriended the Martian sewer rabbits

- Jet didn't know how to wash his hair properly and one time it got especially greasy after changing the Ruby's oil or something, so Rita showed him how to clean it properly. Since then they try to have a 'spa day' sort of thing once a week

- The Mechanisms are somewhere Out There in Junoverse

- Buddy Aurinko has met the Mechanisms, and Vespa has not. She is definitely not jealous about that. Nuh uh.

- Buddy is naturally taller than Nureyev but she does not know this because Nureyev is always wearing heels that make him appear an inch taller than her. No matter what shoes she herself chooses to wear that day.

- Nureyev kept the handcuffs from the Murderous Mask ep

- The entire Carte Blanche has matching friendship bracelets that they made together (suggested by Rita and organised by Buddy). The Ruby Seven's bracelet was made by Jet and is tied around its steering wheel. Nureyev also made it one later on, which he hid under one of the seats.

- Juno has 10 eyepatches he frequently wears and they are all identical.

- Juno and Slip would've loved each other if they had the chance to meet properly. Platonically or romantically it doesn't matter. Either way, they would pretend to be jealous of each other around Nureyev for a while, until one day Nureyev catches them watching a shitty stream together, making fun of the bad writing.

- Slip didn't want to be revived

- Slip was sometimes conscious enough to hear everything that happened around him

- Slip calls Nureyev "Petya" either because that's the Brahman pronunciation of it or because he misheard the first time they met and it stuck as a nickname

- If Petya is the Brahman pronunciation of Peter, then Mag was the one who changed his name to "Peter" so it "sounded more Solar"

- Buddy and Vespa dye their hair together

- One time they were real tired while dying their hair, and accidentally switched the colours around. For a few months Buddy had green hair and Vespa had red hair. Vespa has a photo of her and Buddy with swapped hair colours as her comms homescreen

- Juno used to think diamonds were beautiful, and now can't stand the sight of them

- Ben would teach Juno to dance (I think this one is canon? Juno's "I had a good teacher" line in Man in Glass makes me think so? And it might've been brought up in other episodes too)

- Juno couldn't bear to do any sort of dance for years after Ben died

- Juno tried to keep the dahlias and roses Nureyev got him for his birthday alive for as long as possible, but they probably wilted either during the THEIA stuff or soon after he left Hyperion city. They still sit in his office though, and he has a photo of them from before they wilted that he looks at sometimes

- Buddy sometimes does her makeup in a green that matches Vespa's hair. Vespa does the same, but in red

- Nureyev used to not have a favourite colour, but it became gold after Man in Glass

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sunraies · 24 days ago

Text

This will contain spoilers for OBX4 Part 1. Ep4 used the most. Other plot lines missed out.

She's so gone

Pogue Reader. Hints of Rafe Cameron.

Warnings- Violence, animal cruelty, blood, mentions of drugs.

JJ Maybank's sister isn't the quite, sweet girl she was 18 months ago.

Just a little background as hard to explain/cover in a one-shot :

Y/N Maybank nicknamed May, MayB or MB

JJ Maybank's sister. (Obx 4 spoiler, you can chose if biological, Luke's or someone else's)

Naturally shy, kind and caring. Loves to read and enjoys nature and the beach. Quietest out of the Pogues.

Changed during the 18 months JJ and the Pogues were away, treasure hunting and fighting for their lives.

I may chose to do more with this nicknamed Y/N character if people enjoy her. Sorry if I'm rusty and seems rushed had this idea after finishing part 1.

*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*

The last 18 months had been hell on earth to put it lightly. While your brother and his friends were off finding treasure and as you found out from all the details later, fighting to survive, you were left behind. Left with no father, brother and friends to try and keep the only home you knew. You literally worked until your fingers and feet bled. Taking cleaning jobs around the Cut and Figure Eight, working as many hours as possible at the Country Club taking any shift they had going from lifeguarding and golf carting to bartending and waiting. Anything to keep your roof over your head, hoping the people you loved would be home soon.

Things turned darker when you got so desperate you used some of Luke's contacts to make money. It started small selling a few stolen pills to dealing using many cleaning jobs as a cover. You were almost caught by Shoupe a few times but he seemed to go easy on you, thinking you were still the grade A student, polar opposite sister of JJ Maybank. Before things got too serious the person to help pull you out was the last person anyone would expect, Rafe Cameron. Why he helped you was unclear but after many months of denying his help, you finally accepted having received a busted lip on a deal gone wrong. The money he loaned you save your home for a little while.

An odd friendship formed between the pair of you but never went any further as before it could the Pogues returned home, with life changing treasure and the news of Ward Cameron and Big John Routledge's death.

Rafe closed himself off to you and you had to go on like nothing happened.

Life got easier and so good with your family's return. They brought your home and land. Poguelandia was re-created and you got a taste of the paradise they had created on the island they told you all about.

After building the paradise. You helped run the shop, organised JJ's charters, helped Kie in the garden and kept the bills and books in check with Pope. You got to be your old self again, spending days relaxing, reading in the sun and enjoying the company of your loved ones.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

It had happened a few times over that summer, a storm over the Atlantic hundreds of miles away sent ripples right over the pond. Having grown up on the Outerbanks you told tell, you could hear it the moment you woke up. The flags on the roof and in the yard sung a perfect sympathy with the gulls flying over head.

"We're going to the beach!" You heard JJ yelled through your open window, the tell tell sounds of John B slapping him out of happiness confirmed the feeling in your bones. "Wakey-wakey everybody!"

It didn't matter what you had planned that day, it changed to hitting the brake. No matter what, everyone would stop. It was one time the whole island came together. That perfect summer swell.

"Yeah, baby, now that's the perfect swell. It's probably the best of the year" JJ howled as he checked his phone, tracking the swell making sure the broads were ready and prepared in time to hit the best waves.

Everyone woke with the tingle in their bodies and happy buzz of that beach day. You happily lounged in the hammock while the others prepped their boards. Planning to read on the beach as the others surfed.

Pope had decided not to join causing outrage. Sarah sat up quickly in the swinging chair and you almost toppled out of the hammock. "There'll be other swells. Someone's gotta keep the shop open"

"Pope. That's like saying there's other pizza to eat all right?" JJ exclaimed "like come on, now. You serious?"

"Wow" Kie sighed "Listen to your earth mother, Pope. She's like begging you to surf."

"I think my earth mother is telling me to maximise our intel" Pope wasn't having any of it. "The shop needs running as someone bet our tax fund" He glared at JJ who ignored him.

"Mines tell me to maximise the swell" Kie argued, looking for support.

"Wanna maximise this beach day?" John B looked at Sarah who agreed.

"I wanna maximise this tan" Sarah smiled before turning to you "May? Maximise beach day?"

"I'm gonna maximise this book" you waved your book bag having stood closer to Kie who hummed. They knew you wouldn't get in the surf but never missed beach day.

"Okay, everyone have fun maximising" Pope shrugged. "Cleo texted to say she's collecting bait, someone's gotta sale it"

"Lame. Tell her we're closed" Kie frowned

"Pope, hey, hey, rule number one, Pope, is no working on a swell day." JJ said, desperately trying to stop him as John B wrapped an arm over his shoulder.

"Rule number one" You echoed as Pope looked your way. Having worked the books with him, you knew the shop was sinking but didn't have the heart to tell the others yet. Pope still deserved a day off through but you understood why he was so adamant.

"Someone's gotta do this. If we want to keep business going" Pope shrugged "catch a nasty one for me" He smiled at a broken hearted looking JJ.

"I can stay, I can read while on the till" You offered but Pope shock his head.

"Go enjoy the sand, MayB" He smiled wrapping an arm over your shoulders before kissing your temple.

They all knew how much you worked while they were away but not the dealing side of things. You deserve a beach day, they'd seen a slight change in you but didn't talk to you about it. Taking whatever details of your time alone you'd give them.

Being in the Twinkie, cruising along the coastal road with the music blaring felt like home. Kie smiling happily while an excitable JJ disturbed John B and Sarah in the front.

"Look, John B" JJ grinned pointing over him "Look out there"

You laughed with Kie and Sarah as John B covered his eyes and pushed him backwards, causing JJ to flop over you and Kie.

"May, did you see!? The waves were huge" He grinned boyishly up at you as he held his arms wide, the size of the waves.

"Yeah J, I saw" you smiled softly down at him.

As soon as the Twinkle hit the sand, JJ slide the door open and happily ran his hands in sand while John B let her roll to a stop. Everyone laughed as they soaked up the sun. You laughed as John B almost hit JJ over the head with the umbrella.

"Half-baked Poguelandia" John B sighed as Sarah chuckled "its gonna be great"

Once everything was set, you happily flopped into a chair identical to JJ's, a matching set you had since he was 3.

Kie adjusted the umbrella for you before wrapping you in a back hug "all set, MayB. We'll miss you out there"

"Hey, beach bag guard has always been my duty" You leaned back into her, laughing as the chair wobbled you both "you guys catch the waves while I stay on dry land"

"Let's get those boards off!" JJ hurried over to the van while the roars of jeeps took over the peaceful sounds of the beach.

"Oh boy" John B sighed

"What?" JJ asked distracted by the boards.

The mood suddenly dropped as Kook jeeps rolled closer in a convoy.

"You're joking" Sarah muttered clearly annoyed

"Don't stop" JJ sighed while Kie shook her head "anywhere but here"

You all watched as Topper cruised by at the front. They clearly spotted your group as a random Kook called out look. Stopping a small distance away.

"Oh, you're joking. Of course, they stop here" Kie sighed, her thoughts out loud."Why wouldn't they? When there's a whole beach"

"We were here first," Sarah pouted. "So lame" she walked back towards Twinkie, unable to look at them as John B stared at Topper, unloading his fancy board.

"Let's go, Baby," you heard Rafe yell as he jumped out the back of Top's truck. You hadn't seen him in months. Your heart jumped a little before plummeting as Sofia cuddled into his side. You'd hear rumors but hadn't seen them together yet.

"Oh, great, my brothers here" Sarah sighed as Rafes eyes scanned the beach and your group before they locked in on you.

"Kie, don't worry, he's not getting near you" JJ confirmed her as you all knew about the boat incident. "I can guarantee that"

You wished the promise of protection was to you too but they didn't know, you hadn't told them of your betrayal. The life line you took from Rafe. The reason the house and land was still there to buy in the first place.

"Hey, ya'll. John B" JJ called from the top of the Twinkie "Sunshines coming"

You broke eye contact with Rafe, adjusting your shades, placing the book in your lap to watch Topper approach. You watched as Sarah whispered warnings to John B, most likely telling him not to bite if Topper provoked him.

They seemed tense but ended civilly as John B walked back to your group. You rolled your eyes as some dumb Kook yelled, "Go home Pogues" like they owned the beach.

Things seemed to go smoothly after that. The Pogues happily caught the waves. You jumped up cheering as Sarah successfully rode a big swell in. "YEAH GIRL!" You cheered, picking up her towel while she was briefly stop by Kelce and Topper.

As she walked over you noticed Sofia saying something to Rafe, but he swigged his beer and shook his head.

"You ok?" You asked Sarah as she thanked you for her towel and flopped next to you.

"I'm good" She breathed before looking away from the Kooks "I just wished he'd stop staring over here"

You nodded as you noticed Rafe watching you two. Was he looking at you or Sarah?

"Hey, forget it" You hummed handing her a can out the cooler "he probably doesn't know....." You stopped as Sarah raised an eyebrow. 'How to talk to you after everything' you wanted to finish but instead said "he's probably plotting. You know crazy Kook shit"

Sarah let out breathy laugh "you sound like JJ. Kook conspiracy!"

Sarah dozed next to you as you read but you found it hard to focus, re reading the same line as Rafe kept looking over. You were reading a sentence for the 5th time when you heard yelling from the water. Sarah sat up just in time for you both to witness JJ poach Topper, sending him toppling into the waves as JJ rode to the swallows.

The Kooks yelled at him, including Rafe, before he flipped him the bird, and JJ shrugged, making you and Sarah, even though it clearly broke whatever peace had been created. "Well, that didn't last long" you sighed

The peace seemed to stay for the rest of the afternoon. A few pity poaching and pushing out of the waves happened but it didn't amount to anything. You helped Sarah and John B load the Twinkie as JJ and Kie got the last of the boards on the top.

"Guys! There's a turtle hatch!" Kie gasped, rushing over to the moving sand. You all hurried after her.

"Holy shit! Look at these little nuggets!" John B smiled as baby turtles emerged.

"They're so little!" Sarah made little movements with her hands

"Adorable!" You smiled

"Wait, guys, give them some space. Don't touch them" Kie warned after her excitement.

"Wait, we gotta make a path, right?" John B asked

"Yeah, clear the way" JJ exclaimed before starting to make a part towards the shoreline.

"We gotta clear these footprints" Kie instructed. "Sarah, MayB, keep the gulls off"

"I don't see any!" Sarah spread her arms wide, looking up before wobbling. You caught her laughing before helping shield the baby turtles.

"A turtle highway!" JJ exclaimed.

"Follow the turtle highway. Come kids" Sarah happily called out to them, and John B joked he was their human daddy leading them to the ocean-ocean

"Go on, babies." you smiled before looking at Kie, who was smiling widely, over the moon to see a hatch and that you were all helping her. The turtles and saving the ocean was her dream, and this was a part of it. If this hatch made it, all of them with your help they had a 50% better chance.

Just as you looked back down at them, something fast moving along the beach caught your eye "guys" you muttered before the revving got louder "guys!"

"Hey!" Kie jumped up quickly waving her arms as she saw the jeep too. You both desperately waved your arms to stop whoever it was. All of you started waving and yelling

"Hey stop!"

"Stop!"

"There's a hatch!"

"Yo Stop"

"Go around!"

They didn't stop. If anything, whoever was behind the wheel accelerated more. You and Kie stood your ground till the last second, diving and tumbling out of the way before you could be hit. JJ desperately looked around, seeing Sarah had Kie, he helped you up, checking you over for any injuries. "Shit, you good?"

You hummed and nodded before he ran over to Kie checking on her.

"Fucking Assholes" Kie frowned, looking at the babies. The revving started again "Oh hell no!"

She stood in the path of the jeep again this time, all five of you stood together, yelling from them to stop. Again, they didn't, making you all jump out of the way. Kie got hit with a drink as the Kook you recognised as Ruthie drove by.

As the others checked on Kie, you looked over that the Kooks hollering and cheering. Noticing Rafe and Sofia not joining in. If anything, Sofia looked disgusted. Did they feel bad for watching you almost get run over? You hadn't spoken to Sofia much, but she always seemed kind. She clearly didn't belong in a good way.

Kie's gasp and cry of "no no no no" broke you out of your thoughts. Looking down at her kneeling in the sand, you noticed a murdered baby turtle in her hands. The tiny broken shell. Kie whimpered and remained for a moment before suddenly standing up and heading for the overly happy group.

"Stay here" she said before walking away. JJ ran after her as John B held Sarah back before calling out to you, but you didn't listen.

"Kie, I know I'm the last to say this. But not today" JJ tried to stop her.

"I don't care" Kie bluntly responded

"Kie, we need to be smart about this" you said softly.

"I don't care" she repeated

"No. All right" JJ sighed "Just we are little outnumber in this situation. Let's jus-"

"I don't care!" She snapped at him, looked at the both of you.

"Here she comes!" Topper called out "on a warpath. Get ready!" Ruthie smugly stood beside him as everyone watched Kie with you and JJ behind her to see what would happen.

"Look what you did" Kie held out the baby turtle. "Is this OK?" Ruthie smug ass look dropped suddenly glancing at the baby before looking away.

"No, look at it!" Kie urged."You drove right over it! there was a turtle hatch, you idiots!" Everyone looked uncomfortable.

"I understand your upset, Kiara." Topper tried some conflict resolution bullshit.

"No, I'm more than upset, Topper" Kie snapped at him.

"All right but it was only one" Ruthie sighed pointing back towards John B and Sarah "I mean look there's so many more of them" she shrugged like it was nothing "what a hatch is like 100 turtles? Most of them don't make it anyway"

"Yeah, it's like 1 in 1000" Topper added, like stating the facts Kie knew would help.

"Hey, you know what? You should so throw that to the seagulls. " Ruthie taunted "cycle of life, right?"

"Cycle of life!" Kie pushed her back, causing her to cry out in shock, and Topper jumped in to protect her "getting flatten by a truck is not the cycle of life!"

JJ got between Topper and Kie holding him away from her as some Kook held up her phone. Ruthie got close to Kie, "Your move, Kie." She clearly felt protected by her friend recording. "What you gonna do?"

"I would just walk away. We are not going this today" Topper warned JJ and Kie. No one was really paying attention to you. You were JJ's quite, sweet sister.

"There is something seriously wrong with you people!" Kie yelled at them before turning around and pushing a speaker over.

"Come on, Kie" You said softly, putting an arm around her, which she shrugged off.

"Yeah, that's right! Get back to your side, Kie!" Ruthie yelled. You glared back at them, pausing between Kie walking away and JJ staying.

"If you touch her, or any of us ever again. I'll come back and kill every single one of you" JJ threatened.

"Was that a threat?" Ruthie gasped as someone called out they had JJ on video.

"Come on" He said softly to you as you continued to watch Ruthie, blood bubbling away under the surface.

"Always knew he'd end up like his daddy" Ruthie muttered, clinging to Topper like some poor victim. You caught what she said and saw red.

Before anyone knew what was happening, your fist connected with Ruthies' nose. A horrific crack broke the stunned silence. Blood poured from her nose as she cried out. You shook your hand out, not sure if the crack was your knuckles, her nose, or both.

"You dare speak of my family again" You seethed "and it will be more than just your nose. TURTLE MURDERING BITCH"

Chaos broke out as Topper went for you, JJ pushed him away as he broke out of his shock. John B sprinted over as Kelce took as swing for JJ. Shockingly, Rafe got between the four of them.

"Get the fuck out of here!" He yelled at JJ and John B "get her and go!"

JJ scribbled over to you, grabbing you arm and pulling you away "Holy shit, holy shit" He muttered "what the fuck? How the-" He was stunned just as much as everyone else.

"We have that on video?! Right?!" Ruthie cried, holding a towel to her nose, but her friend shook her head, having stopped when JJ and you started to walk away. She'd only caught the aftermath.

Back the Twinkle, Sarah held your hand, checking the bruising and broken knuckles. "You got a serious swing there, May"

"Well, J taught me" you shrugged.

"I taught you for emergency situations!" He ran a hand through his hair."That was not an emergency!"

"She looked too smug" You said sighing softly.

"Yeah, now we gotta deal with Shoupe" JJ sighed, knowing he'd probably already been called. The death threat was bad enough.

"May, hasn't got a record. She'll be fine" Kie said "but girl, you did what I wanted to do!"

"Plus Shoupe hasn't had to deal with MayB before. She's normally covering your messes. " John B pointed out calming JJ a bit.

"Um, yeah. Kinda not the first time" you muttered.

"WHAT?!" JJ and John B yelled, John B slammed the breaks in shock, bringing the Twinkie to a sudden stop just outside Poguelandia where blue lights flushed.

#rafe cameron #outer banks rafe #outerbanks #rafe cameron imagine #the pogues #obx pogues #jj maybank

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bits-and-babs · 2 years ago

Text

𝐀𝐭𝐭𝐚 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Previous Joel Fics: Mule [5.1K Words]

Summary: Marlene thinks Joel can save the fireflies. You’re not so sure.

Word Count: 10.2k!!!!

CW: LONG FIC. You have been warned! Slow burn Enemies to Fuck Buddies. Joel is 40 here, 10 years before the events of the game! Military and political themes because, say it with me now, “Jas loves plot”. Moody Joel, before Tess. Aggression. Slight gore. Power play. Hair pulling, f masturbation. Angst. Based off Game!Joel

Tease: “Look at you,” Joel growls. “Totally shameless.”

‘When you’re lost in the darkness, look for the light.’

The white graffiti paint drips down the chipped terracotta walls of the hallway you were designated to patrol. Your feet ache in the brand-new leather boots gifted to you in the last donation drop-off, and you want nothing more than to crawl back to bed and ignore the arrival of this smuggler that had Marlene promising that she could take control of Boston in a fortnight.

“What a bunch of bullshit,” you scoff bitterly, picking at your cuticles. The skin is red raw under the fluorescent lighting, crimson blood pooling around your nails. It's a nervous habit you picked up since joining the Fireflies, marginally healthier than staying up all night but still torturing your body somehow.

There was no light to this way of life, no promise that the darkness would ever subside. It was a brutal cycle of killing a handful of soldiers only for them to execute swathes of Fireflies. You saw it in your dreams, your colleague's brains splattered across the streets in the exclusion zone, a carmine reminder that the military would not tolerate any form of mutiny within their controlled zones. Too many had devoted themselves to suicide missions, but still, you had nothing to show for it. How much longer could Marlene continue to hurl young lives at a promise she couldn't fulfil? The likelihood of finding an immune individual grew smaller and smaller each time squadrons of Fireflies failed to return home, and even the most faithful of individuals were beginning to lose hope that this martyr would ever arrive. That was despite your dogged leader insisting that there must be someone out there that could help provide the vaccine that would eradicate the Cordyceps virus.

You hiss sharply as you subconsciously pull a hang nail down your first knuckle, resulting in a stinging sensation that rips you from your pessimistic thoughts. It's light outside now, and you wonder how long you will have to wait to meet this smuggler that Marlene speaks of so highly. She had claimed that she knew the man's brother, stating that Tommy had fought valiantly for the cause until he found himself unable to justify putting his life on the line for someone that they weren't sure even existed.

As Firefly numbers dwindled, so too did the morale that held the frayed edges of the organisation together. Everyone had sacrificed something and lost someone dear for seemingly no reward. Marlene's fantastical idea that one lone smuggler could change the course of the firefly's suffering left you feeling that options were running out.

As you begin to resign bitterly to your seemingly inevitable end, a pair of footsteps sound down the corridor in an indication of your saviour’s arrival, broken bottles crunching beneath his boots. When you look up from your throbbing finger, now stripped to ribbons, you are caught off guard by the view.

Marlene's expression is grave; eyebrows pulled together in a stark and silent warning. Soldiers aren't coming home today. You had seen that gaunt visage before. Hell, you'd seen it almost every week recently. However, the most shocking sight was the person who accompanied her.

The man is old, much older than you had been expecting. His mousy brown hair, trimmed short, is greying to match the thick, peppery beard that coats his jaw. The edges of his eyes are creased, no doubt carved with the years he spent fighting to survive. His thin lips turn downwards, and his eyes are cold and hardy, indicating his desire to get the job done and escape Marlene’s control.

"Soldier," Marlene addresses you with an air of authority that can only indicate she is attempting to impress her guest, "You will be coming with me."

"Yes, ma'am," you stand at attention and cast your eyes over the guest of honour, who is yet to introduce himself. He doesn't look as though he intends to. He watches you with an air of caution as though he doesn't trust you. It doesn’t surprise you. Everyone in this new world order is a threat. Perhaps this wariness is how he survived so long.

Falling in line, you follow behind your superior. There is an uneasy silence settling amongst you. The Commander and The Smuggler don't seem comfortable in each other's presence.

"So, say you take back Boston. What then?" The man's gruff Texan accent cuts through the silence like a dull blade. It's agonising, an unwanted intrusion to the apparent mutual decision to remain quiet.

"I think you know," Marlene speaks with frustration, "Restore democratically elected government control.”

"Didn’t you say that at the beginning? It ain’t as though you are any closer than 10 years ago." The smuggler points out, his assessment lacking any form of amusement. He doesn't seem to revel in the Fireflies' losses, yet he has the confidence to call Marlene out on her ridiculous ambition.

Marlene shoots the stranger a look of indignation, clearly not appreciating his accurate assessment of the Fireflies’ track record. She doesn't attempt to argue, instead leading him into a room and ushering you inside.

“Joel,” she begins, naming the enigma that had walked in and undermined the entire principal of the organisation he had joined momentarily. Marlene closes the door and locks it for good measure before turning to face her ‘last hope’. “I need you to tell me the plan. I can’t just let you blindly lead the last of my men into a war zone-“

“Didn’t expect you to,” he answers lazily, crossing his arms over his chest. The sleeves of his flannel stretch across his broad biceps, buttons straining slightly against his frame. You assume that his physique is thanks to lugging around the oversized backpack that rests over his shoulders, the worn nylon fabric practically bursting at the seams.

Marlene offers Joel a look, the kind that indicates she doesn't feel like joking around. He inhales slowly through his nose, then exhales as if preparing to begin a presentation at a job interview. In a way, that is exactly what this meeting was.

"Y’all can only gather the number of weapons you need from one place. You won't find this shit just lyin’ around. We'll have to take it from the military themselves."

You nearly choke on the oxygen in your lungs, rocked back by Joel’s confidence in his ability to steal directly from under the noses of the US Military. You knew that Marlene had faith in him, but this was lunacy.

"And just how do you suppose we do that?" Even Marlene, ever the optimist, looks at Joel as if he is crazy. There was no way to infiltrate the military bases that the Federal Disaster Response Agency sanctioned. They had the place secure, triple-locked to keep out humans and infected alike.

"We'll catch them on one of their supply runs," Joe answers her question simply, as though he thought of this already, “If we ambush during the night in the Outskirts, they’ll lack the defences to hold us off. At most, there'll be four of ‘em in the delivery vehicle.”

It's an insane plan. The soldier’s on the border of the quarantine zones are armed to the teeth to defend against the infected. The team would need to be stealthy, catching them off guard and dispatching them before they had a chance to call for backup.

Perhaps it's the kamikaze-like nature of Joel's plan, or maybe the lack of detail he’s sharing, but understandably Marlene seems unsure. "Do you think it'll be worth it, all that risk?"

"What, armin’ yourself and strippin’ them of their next lot of ammunition? Seems beneficial to me."

You can't help but wonder what Marlene is trading for Joel to run headfirst into a death trap like this. Likewise, is it wise for her to place all her bets on one man who seems intent on being captured and sentenced to execution?

The heavy sigh that rattles through Marlene's lungs indicates to you that she has nowhere else to turn. In exchange for Joel's basic scheme, she extends a nod of approval.

"You will be escorting Joel." It takes a second for you to realise that Marlene is talking to you, still caught up in shock. When you do, Joel looks less than pleased at the concept of having a babysitter. He drags his eyes over to you, expression flat. You can't say that you're precisely thrilled, either.

"Yes, ma'am," you offer confidently despite wanting to beg for mercy. She doesn't offer you the chance.

"Joel, gather all the men and firepower you’ll need." With that final comment, Marlene turns toward the exit, leaving the two of you alone in the unfurnished room. She seems animated and enthusiastic about getting this plot up and running.

Joel makes no move to leave, instead leaning against the wall and peering at the Firefly pendant that rests on your collarbone. You know what he's thinking, but he himself fails to speak the ‘why’ out loud. There’s an awkward edge to him, indicating a man who had grown too accustomed to surviving as a lone wolf.

"I heard your brother was a Firefly," you beat Joel to it, asking the question before he has the opportunity to interrogate you. This area of the conversation appears to irritate Joel, his eyes turning to the ceiling.

"Yeah, he wasn't happy with the way I did things. Said it was too violent. Instead, he joined you and continued his brutal crusade here despite criticisin’ mine." Joel scoffs, picking at the thread-worn sleeves of the flannel he wore. His words are bitter, leading you to believe that the brothers don't talk anymore.

"It's less of a crusade than an attempt to set things right," you justify.

"You're killin’ people," Joel accuses bluntly. It's as though he's tarring you with the same pitch-black brush as those who killed for their own benefit. It sparks a rage in you, the words spilling from your lips before you can stop them.

"You kill people to survive this world. I’m trying my best to revert it to the old one. If I have to kill soldiers to do it, who, by the way, act worse than the infected most of the time, then so be it.”

Joel appears to let your argument settle before he nods, pushing himself from the wall and making his way to the door. His boots scuff the flooring, the grating sound punctuating the silence as you await his response, which he delivers with an air of finality.

"Yeah, you just keep tellin’ yourself that bullshit."

—————————————————

Joel has a wealth of knowledge that can only result from his smuggling adventures and the network of insiders he worked with. He is somehow aware of the military's next supply drop-off date, which just so happens to coincide nicely with his arrival. It gave the team two days to plan their attack. It was almost too good to be true.

Your suspicions against the smuggler grow with your inability to discern his reason for aiding Marlene. There was no question that he was no longer involved with his brother Tommy, the two seemingly ending their relationship on less than amicable terms, and there also appeared to be no love lost between your sergeant and Joel.

Yet despite his apparent limited reward, Joel was focusing all of his efforts on ensuring that this mission was successful. His rucksack, which he had held close to him since entering the Fireflies’ hideout, was filled to the brim with rudimentary grenades and modified firearms. He admitted his knowledge of creating these weapons had come from manuals scavenged throughout his time as a smuggler. Reluctantly, Joel shares the blueprints, and the mission squad are armed with Molotov cocktails and nail bombs by the end of the evening.

You wish you could say that Joel's helpfulness had warmed you to his presence; however, you find yourself increasingly irritated by his constant attendance. You see him arrogant and consistently standoffish despite your fellow member's attempts to appease him with light conversation.

Following the half-a-day-long effort to sufficiently arm the team, Marlene had pulled all on-site members of the Fireflies into a meeting room. She stands at a table, an aged, worn map of the Boston quarantine zone spread across the surface. From where you're standing, you can see circles marked in red ink along the border.

Something akin to optimism clings to the air of the dusty meeting room. You feel it when the group goes silent as Marlene raises her hand for attention. Joel stands by her side, eyes assessing the map as he awaits the beginning of the briefing.

"Everyone listen in," Marlene orders, authority drenching her tone as she commands her army, "I want everyone confident in their role on this mission. We only have one chance to get this right."

You swallow thickly, readying yourself to hear how Marlene had taken Joel's absurd mission plan and cultivated it into a scheme for which her troops would feel comfortable risking their lives.

"We have information that the military is due a supply drop from FEDRA in two days. We are almost certain that this restock will contain firearms and ammo that could help us take down the military presence in Boston." A series of murmurs sound, those in the room comforted by the prospect that they may no longer need to ration their supplies.

"It is crucial that we obtain these weapons to take control of the Boston quarantine zone. With civilian support, we could increase our numbers and once again focus our efforts on obtaining a vaccine for the Cordyceps virus."

It was an unspoken truth that the Fireflies' efforts to acquire a vaccine had ultimately fallen by the wayside, the lack of soldiers, weapons and equipment making it increasingly difficult to travel across the country to the medical facility at Salt Lake City where the trials were taking place. The Fireflies focused most of their resources towards protecting the medical officials integral to finding a cure. Taking control of the militarised zone would provide more than enough manpower, vehicles, and firearms to travel safely and restart the process of searching for an immune individual who could help turn the tide of the war against the virus.

"I can confirm that most supply drops are handed over on the east side of the quarantine zone. Our best option is catching the vehicle containing the cache in the Outskirts before it reaches the wall.”

The Outskirts are notoriously dangerous, their desolate plains unlit and infested with runners that try their luck getting past the military blockade. If you somehow managed to survive the creatures, you then had to contend with the snipers on the wall. Many Fireflies had lost their lives crossing these lands to supply the medical facility in Salt Lake City at the peak of testing.

"I will be handing the mission over to Joel to ensure we have the best chance of obtaining these critical supplies,” Marlene finishes, stepping back and letting Joel take control of the meeting.

Wasting no time, Joel points towards the circled area on the east side of the quarantine wall. "They plan to hand over the cache at the gate on the East wall. If we can intercept ‘em before they reach the lit areas surroundin’ the zone, we should be able to take out the soldiers and grab the weapons before they can call for backup."

You're unsure where your frustrations come from. Perhaps it's the simplicity with which Joel delivers his plans, but you find yourself questioning whether or not it was possible to succeed without losing enough men to bring the Fireflies to their knees.

"I assume you expect us to travel through the underground tunnels beneath the apartment buildings. Who's to say we won't run into Clickers and Runners that drain our resources or leave us late and unable to complete the mission?" You question Joel with sincerity, but he looks at you as though you’ve queried his authority.

Marlene opens her mouth to interject and scold you for insubordination, but Joel raises his hand.

"I am gonna do a run of the smugglin’ tunnels myself and sweep for any infected so that the path is clear for tomorrow evenin’," Joel answered smoothly, despite the obvious irritation laced between his words, "Shipment is due at 9 p.m. tomorrow. We're gonna move out at 5 to make sure that we have enough time to get to the Outskirts and set up for engagement."

Still, you find yourself concerned with Joel’s leadership. None of you knew him. He hadn’t developed trust between the team and himself; instead, he kept you all at arm's length and maintained distance.

“How do we know you won’t hand us all in and take the weapons yourself? You’re a smuggler; you’d earn a lot from them,” you accuse, not unlike the tone Joel had taken with you hours before.

“Soldier-!” Marlene speaks up, running out of patience with your disregard for her ‘smuggling saviour’. Once again, Joel keeps his hand aloft to quieten her and fight his own corner.

“This is a job,” he states with a gravelly tone that betrays his relaxed posture, “I ain’t for your little militia group, and I’m not against it. I will lead this mission, hand the weapons over, take my ration cards and my cut of the firearms and leave. You wanna distrust me and end up dead? Be my guest.”

You can’t help but scoff, taken aback by his inability to choose his side of the moral compass. To fight for good with the Fireflies or battle to maintain the new world order with FEDRA. Instead, he doesn’t even sit on the fence. He’s situated in the shadows, benefitting from either side only for himself.

Joel’s expression serves as a warning to interrupt him again, pointing to the map as he begins to detail the step-by-step of his mission.

“Plan’ll go like this….”

—————————————————

You can’t exactly claim to be surprised that you had been left out of the mission squad and ordered to remain at the hideout after questioning Joel’s leadership. ‘One loose link’ and all that. However, you find yourself wracked with nerves as you return to your room for the night. What if they needed you? What if everything went south, and you were the one pair of hands required to maintain a grip on the delicate situation?

That wasn't to say that you didn't have faith in your fellow soldiers to carry out the mission successfully. Joel had picked the brightest and most skilled of Marlene's troops to carry out this night raid, and you knew they had enough experience to achieve this critical assignment. But what if…?

Marlene had delivered her scathing reprimand following the meeting when she had dragged you down a corridor and insisted you get your act together. You hadn’t been able to look her in the eye, believing her reckless for putting the lives of her troops, your friends, in the hands of a man who couldn’t care less what happened to them as long as he got his payout.

Were you being naive? Was it foolish to believe that every surviving person not aligned with FEDRA should stand opposed to the regime and attempt to restore some level of order? Or had humanity evolved beyond the return to everyday life, much preferring to fight for themselves, to remain in the dog-eat-dog system this virus had granted them?

You find yourself fearing the answer.

As you enter the doorway to the barracks, you hear the rapid pacing of footsteps down the hallway approaching you. The sound drags you from your thoughts, but not before a hand firmly grips your collar and pushes your back to the wall so hard that you hit your head off the jagged brickwork.

Pushing his forearm across your chest, Joel stares back at you with rage burning in his pupils. The metal of a watch strapped around his wrist digs into your collarbone painfully, but you grit your teeth in response, standing firm against Joel's display of intimidation.

His chest is heaving with heavy breaths, seemingly infuriated by your display in the meeting room. Despite his fury, his voice is relatively even. "You gotta problem with me?"

"Ha," you scoff, "That's funny. What was it you said? ‘Be my guest’?”

Joel answers first by applying pressure to your chest, his forearm balancing his weight and crushing your bones beneath it in a painful warning. You grab at the skin exposed by his rolled-up sleeves and dig your nails in, though it does little to de-escalate the tension.

"Look,” he sneers, brows creased together, “You don’t gotta like me. Ain’t even gotta respect me. But what you’re not gonna do is put doubt into your fellow soldier's heads. That shit’ll get them killed. You want that?”

"What's it matter to you? You don't care how many die as long as you get your payout," you dig in, not allowing Joel to think he could muscle you into submission.

He inhales shakily in anger, glaring at you as you attempt to pry his arms off. "The role Marlene gave me ain't to ensure the survival of your friends. My only goal is to guarantee y’all get your hands on those weapons, no matter the cost. So I suggest you assure their best chance of survival by keeping your mouth shut and your opinions of me to yourself."

"Aye, Aye, Captain,” you sneer.

"Atta girl."

The sarcasm dripping from those three syllables sets you off again. You grit your teeth while pushing hard on the limb that has you firmly pinned down, but your limited strength has little effect until Joel pulls away completely. Almost instantly, a bruising ache settles across your skin, and you suppose it's Joel's version of a parting gift.

There is a pause between the two of you as you take in Joel's command. He appears to be watching your expression for any sign of acknowledgement towards his order. You both breathe heavily, on the comedown from your respective anger aimed at each other. It's intense, the crackling tension in the air shared by both of you.

You're unsure how or why the mood shifts so violently in the room, but you can feel your heart racing as you watch Joel settle his hands on his hips. His tongue darts out to lick his lower lip as he exhales what must be the last of his anger. In this quiet moment, you note how handsome he is despite his weathered appearance. His usually aggressive, guarded expression is momentarily brought down and exposes the warm, earthy brown tone of his irises.

"Just…" Joel hesitates, searching for the correct words as he looks you in the eye. He's quiet for a long, drawn-out second as if processing you. "You ain't gonna like the guilty conscience of believin’ somethin’ you said is the reason your friends died. Trust me."

The gentle tone Joel offers indicates he has experience in what he's warning you against. When he offers this advice so calmly, who are you to deny this slither of kindness? So you just nod in acknowledgement, refusing to extend him any more appreciation.

Joel steps away whilst clearing his throat, appearing satisfied with your non-answer. He, too, provides little recognition, instead turning around and exiting your room in the direction he came.

You watch as he paces down the corridor, his broad back disappearing around the corner and leaving you alone to dissect what the fuck just happened.

—————————————————

On the morning of the mission, you see very little of Joel. It's all hands on deck, the mission team working hard to ensure they had the supplies needed for the hijacking. Every so often, you would catch glimpses of Joel's red tartan flannel or hear the rough intonation of his Texan accent. It was silly, but you began to think he was purposely avoiding you.

Yes, he had acted carelessly last night by cornering you the way that he did, though you're not sure that is entirely out of character for him. Instead, you believe that whatever happened that caused your heart to race when he pulled away was a shared experience.

Rather than concerning yourself with why he was skirting around you, intentional or not, you focus on enacting your promise from last night. You work hard to ready the troops for the deadline, a subtle nod that you approve of Joel's leadership to urge their confidence in him.

It is painful, but you take your time with each of them. There is almost a certainty that some may not return home, and so you commit them to your memory. It's something you did every time someone left to enter the field, but it felt especially pertinent considering how close the Fireflies were to shifting their luck. Those who died tonight wouldn't get to appreciate the spoils of their sacrifice.

By mid-afternoon, Marlene considered her soldiers ready for battle and ordered them at ease to relax and rest up before heading out. Some opted to share their last meal; others played card games while recounting the time they had spent together with fondness despite the difficulties shared.

Quietly, you had slipped away from the main halls and left them to their final goodbyes. You weren't going out there, so it felt disrespectful to sit amongst those waiting for the call to arms. Alternatively, you made your way to one of the medical bays to ensure that someone set up enough equipment for those who may come back wounded.

By now, you had set out multiple antibiotic syringes, readied bandages and sutures and prepped gurneys so that everything was ready should there be an emergency. You felt better this way, as though you had aided in the effort.

So caught up in the process, you failed to notice Joel leaning his shoulder against the doorway until he cleared his throat to alert you to his presence. When you look up, the sound having startled you, you find him watching you with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Do you… Uh-do you need something?" You offer awkwardly, unsure of what else to say. Joel shakes his head, eyes flitting down to where you had laid out the medical equipment.

"No. Everythin’ is ready, and the tunnels are clear of infected. Just comin’ to tell you I'm headed out." He walks across the room towards the desk you are sitting at, stopping at the foot of the wooden table and laying his palms flat along the surface. You can see the veins raised through his skin.

You look at him through your lashes, swallowing back the nervous energy you feel creeping to the surface as he leans over the table.

"Why should I care?" You ask. You intend for it to appear nonchalant, but it just sounds breathy even to your ears. Joel raises an eyebrow in question.

"Woah Woah, easy. Still bratty then, I see," Joel points out, his tone flat. You cringe inwardly, knowing that that must have been his attempt to extend an olive branch. "Thought we could put this little disagreement behind us before heading out."

"There isn't one."

"Could’a fooled me," Joel chuckles, but it lacks humour. His gaze slips over your body and appears to take note of all the tiny details. You hope it's all in your mind, but you can feel your face heat up and your heart thrum in your chest again.

"You know, you really remind me of Marlene."

Of all the things you expected Joel to say, that certainly wasn't one of them. You look back at him slack-jawed as you feel the warmth of what you assume was a compliment wash over you.

"Huh?”

"She doesn't put up with none of my bullshit neither. Always tellin’ me to take a hike when I'm outta line and put me back in my place," there's a hint of a smile and Joel's face as he recounts their strange dynamic. A fondness touches his eyes, a fraction of warmth you hadn't yet seen in the hardened smuggler. "Thinkin’ that's maybe how she managed to keep Tommy in check for as long as she did."

You hesitate in your response, unsure how to approach this conversation due to the awkwardness from this morning. Turns out you don't have to because Joel continues.

"Only difference between y’all is that you have the balls to question things you feel ain't right. That's a high-value quality in a leader."

You feel as though you've been bowled over. Yet another compliment from the man who had attempted to strangle the life out of you nearly 12 hours ago. They were starting to make you think that maybe he'd succeeded and that you had entered a strange alternate dimension.

Laughing awkwardly, you shift the syringes around the tabletop in an attempt to keep your nervous hands busy. "Don't let Marlene hear that, shall consider it mutiny."

That earns you another elusive chuckle, the Texan shaking his head in amusement.

"Yeah, well, it ain't mutiny if I ain't part of her little militia army. Don't think I got much to worry about." This dynamic isn't friendship, you figure, though it's undoubtedly more amicable than tussling in your bedroom. It may be the closest Joel ever got to anything akin to amity.

It's not hard to assume that almost 20 years of solitary survival might make it challenging to establish emotional ties. Plus, you know nothing of Joel's ordeals getting to this point. Still didn't excuse his arrogance, though.

Again, silence creeps between you and you feel your stomach somersault while Joel maintains his close proximity. You dread to think what you look like, horrified that your expression could give away your internal panic. Even if it did, it wasn't Joel causing it. It wasn't.

"I'm off," Joel grumbles, standing up and pulling away from the desk and allowing you to breathe a silent sigh of relief. You watch him stroll leisurely towards the door, his hands on his hips. "I'll see you in the mornin’."

Most people in the Fireflies were surprisingly superstitious. It wasn't often you heard someone announce with such certainty that they would return from a mission. Regardless of its abnormality, it manages to ease your nerves – not that you were concerned about what happened to Joel.

"Good luck."

The flippant comment causes Joel to stop in his tracks, pausing in the doorway. He peers over his shoulder at you as if to make certain that you said it. He appears surprised.

"Yeah. Thanks."

—————————————————

Pacing.

You're pacing uncontrollably, circling the room in a failed attempt to ease the nervous energy pent up in your system. No matter how hard you attempt to block out the repetitive dialogue in your mind, it rushes back to the surface of your brain. What if, what if, what if –

Joel and his squad had moved out the minute the clock struck five, just as he had promised. Although Marlene had provided Joel with a walkie-talkie, the mission's reliance on stealth meant that no one intended to use it. You were completely cut off, uncertain of Mission status or if the squad was even alive.

Hoping it would make your wait more bearable, you turned your ticking clock to face the wall and put your watch inside your bedside drawer. It had helped initially, but now the sun had set, and you were expecting their imminent arrival. Every second your colleagues don't step back into the compound, your faith dwindles.

Though she maintained a stony expression, you knew Marlene was equally anxious. The most wanted woman in America, though able to defend herself, still depended heavily on her armed personnel. Reliant on this mission being a success, she had offered them up to Joel in the hope that their experience would assure victory. You can't help but wonder if she feels exposed without them.

What if they didn't come back? Could she survive without them?

It’s bordering on the edge of midnight when Marlene informs you she’s turning in for the night. You can’t say you blame her, needing to sleep on the off chance the team didn't return. She had informed you upon the group's exit that if the mission failed, the two of you would be heading to Salt Lake City at dawn.

You opt to stay awake, knowing well enough that you won't sleep until you are confident there will be no return.

Continuing your anxious circling of the room, you pick at your wounded cuticles. They are weeping blood down their knuckles thanks to hours of torture, yet you can't bring yourself to stop the self-destructive behaviour. Not while you wait for news.

Your heart practically leaps out of your chest at the sound of the main doors creaking open. It's so quiet you almost miss it in the silence, the sound of your blood rushing through the shell of your ear nearly drowning out the barely audible noise.

Grappling for your pistol, you release the safety and suck in a shaky breath. No one had announced themselves, and without guards on the door, there was no way to discern that those who had entered the building were Fireflies.

You shake with nervous energy, carefully stepping across the rickety wooden floor to conceal the sound of your movements. Had the US military found your hideaway? Surely not; they would have moved in before any threat to their organisation could be enacted

Leaning your back flush to the door frame in an attempt to conceal yourself, you listen out for any advancing danger. It's quiet at first, but you hear the scuff of a boot against the uneven floor cut through the silence. Inhaling swiftly, you ready yourself before lurching out from behind the door frame with your pistol aloft.

Shock wracks your body upon setting your eyes on the intruder that stands before you. Joel. Covered in blood from head to toe, his hands drip the viscous liquid onto the floor. The shoulder of his flannel is ripped open, loose threads sticking to his sweat-soaked skin.

"Oh-oh shit-“ you gasp out, horrified by the state you find him in. Given the state of his clothes and the sheer amount of blood that continues to run from his hair down his temples, your immediate thought is to check for wounds-but you can't see any. Sure, there is a scrape on his shoulder where the fabric of his flannel has ripped open and a cut that spans the length of his whole knuckle that you can see when he wipes the sweat from his brow, but other than that, you can't see any wound that would cause that much blood loss.

Joel, however, appears relatively unfazed as he points over his shoulder.

"Most came out with minor wounds," he states calmly, his gruff voice laced with exhaustion, "Lettin’ Marlene know we are back and that I have her guns."

It's as though Joel had just completed a simple sweep of the hideout parameters rather than one of the most dangerous and vital missions since the fireflies began their fight for humility, all without having received a single major wound.

As he walks away and leaves you gawping after him, frozen in place, you hear your team filtering in through the main doors behind you one by one. They are shouting your name and proclaiming their victory as they surround you, holding their hard-won weapons aloft. Despite their hollering, you can barely hear them over the frantic thoughts buzzing through your mind.

How?

It takes hours to ease the excitement and adrenaline buzzing through each of Joel's soldiers. You stitch up the wounded and listen to their battle stories in awe. They are enthusiastic about informing you of Joel's brilliance, frequently admitting that they could not understate how much of this victory they owed to him.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” one laughs incredulously. "There were more than we had expected, but it didn't phase him. He took out two of them on his own, and when his gun jammed, he knocked them out with his fists!”

Turns out that the four soldiers the fireflies had expected were accompanied by another five unaccounted for. Joel hadn't let it affect the team, pushing them ahead with the mission. By blinding them with smoke grenades, the team had been able to ambush successfully, and despite the physical tussle that resulted in Joel's bloodbath, the mission had otherwise gone just as planned, the fighting all wrapped up within moments.

According to the many recounts told as you patched up your friends, the only reason it took so long was that the weapons boxes were heavy and made for a tight squeeze in the tunnels. You could have cried at the stupidity of it all.

Eventually, Marlene joined in with the festivities, having been woken by Joel to confirm "Mission accomplished." Leftover Molotov cocktails from the mission we used as celebratory drinks that had the majority of your colleagues wasted within the hour - including your commander.

As fresh, golden beams of sunlight peered through the windows, you excused yourself to bed despite the drunken protests of your colleagues. After explaining your exhaustion, thanks to your immense concern, they reluctantly allowed you to leave on the condition you would celebrate with them later. You imagined their hangovers would be too severe for further partying.

Practically clawing your way to your barracks, you breathe a sigh of relief as you walk through the open door. You can still hear the shouts of jubilation downstairs, noting that you’d probably have to drown out the sounds by covering your head with a pillow. The mattress calls to you like a siren, promising rest. You plan to skip removing your clothes and fall into bed as you are-

"Didn't expect to be greeted with a gun to my head."

The heavy, Southern drawl that sounds from your doorway behind you makes the hairs on your arms stand on end. You wish you could say it was a fear response or disgust, but your heart leaps in your chest with excitement.

Swallowing thickly, you close your eyes to collect yourself before you turn to face him. Your inhale is so deep you feel the edges of your lungs ache at the strain before you turn around to face the Walking Headache.

Joel is leaning against the door frame as he had in the medical room before he left. He has bathed since you saw him an hour ago, scrubbing the gore from his body and dressing in fresh clothes. His hair is still damp, and you assume he’s been forced to borrow the outfit from one of his new-found friends, the seams a little too tight on his broad body.

"Yeah, well, I didn't expect to find a serial killer walking the halls either," you dig at the state he had returned in. It earns you a deep chuckle that resonates in his chest, and you can't help but note the way you hold your breath to hear the pleasant sound better.

"That how you treat all your commanders?" Joel questions, his voice lilting with a hint of humour that you find dangerous, your heart stuttering at the drastic change in him since the last time you were in this room together.

You let out a scoff that doesn't quite match the indifference you were attempting to convey. "Don't flatter yourself. You were consulted to lead one mission; that doesn't make you a commander."

He doesn’t like that.

Standing gormlessly in the middle of the room, you immediately regret the words as soon as they leave your lips. Joel is gazing at you with an intensity in his earthy irises, taking in your feigned lack of respect with a slight arch of his brow. It's less of a look of surprise than it is an unspoken challenge. It makes your body flush with heat.

The sense of security you feel with him on the other side of the threshold to your door bursts the moment he effortlessly steps inside. He has no issue with invading your personal space, finding it even easier when you fail to find the words to protest his intrusion.

Joel doesn't hesitate, but he also lacks urgency, taking his time to leisurely bridge the space between the two of you. Again, he is close enough that you can see the intricacies of his face. There is a myriad of delicate freckles and a small, ruddy scar that kisses the bridge of his nose.

You're so wrapped up in the tiny details that you almost miss the flicker of consideration in his eyes. Despite his steady, authoritative body language, he’s questioning whether or not he can say what he has in mind as he studies your expression carefully.

He leaps.

"Insubordination results in punishment, don’t it, soldier?" His volume pitches right down, each syllable buzzing through your veins as he maintains heavy eye contact that has your knees melting beneath you.

It's only when he speaks that you realise you have stopped breathing, your lungs burning in a desperate attempt to shake you from the trance he’s put you in.

You have no explanation for your response. You don’t have the chance to argue, to insult him for playing this ridiculous role. Instead, each word forces itself from your mouth upon your shaky exhale, coming out in a broken whisper.

“Yes, Sir." Your answer is spoken embarrassingly quickly. There’s a flash of something powerful in his eyes, like he’s still buzzing on residual adrenaline left over from the mission. It surges forward at your answer, and he clings to it, taking control of the room- of you.

“Atta Girl.”

It drips through you like honey, coating your insides and warming them. Your body tingles and pleads for Joel’s attention despite your best efforts to fight the need he draws from it as he drags his eyes across its length.

A tiny voice in your mind rears its ugly head. He’s probably pent up from fighting, and you’re still stressed from waiting up all night. You could give in to what you want. Doesn’t mean you like him.

Joel seems to hear it too, his eyes searching for a hint of approval. You can see he’s itching to touch you, to release the anger that you’ve built in him back onto you with tongues and teeth.

Doesn’t mean you like him.

“On your knees, soldier.” He commands, and it’s like his voice strokes something hedonistic inside of you because your body surges with arousal at the implication of his order.

Doesn’t mean you like him.

Against your better judgement, you slowly sink to your knees in front of Joel, eyes pin-set on the toes of his dirtied boots. The wooden floor smarts your knees, but you maintain your position in an effort to appease him.

Joel doesn’t move, feet firm in their place on the floor as you bow before him. He’s making you wait, arms loose at his sides. You don’t dare to lift your head to look at him, to urge him forward, instead straining your eyes upwards to watch the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Prickling heat teases at your skin, your arousal triggered, knowing he was watching you submit to him so easily. The tension grips you, finding it ironic that Joel entered every situation all-guns-blazing yet had utmost patience when it came to prolonging your suffering.

Your need condenses, acutely aware of Joel’s entire being. It’s as though you can feel his eyes trail over your body like a feather-light touch, and you swear that you can smell the dampness of his hair. Most of all, you focus on Joel’s even, quiet breathing, the expansion and deflation of his lungs acting like a metronome in the silence.

Then- God, then he’s moving his hand forward achingly slowly, fingertips pressing delicately against your left temple. The brush of his fingerprint over your skin ignites a humming arousal between your thighs, and you subconsciously press them together when he pushes his digits into your hairline.

Your jaw drops, slack as you exhale shakily. So starved for Joel’s touch, you’re more than grateful for the innocuous brush of his fingers along your scalp. It’s probably so obvious to him, your desperation, but he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he takes a step forward, his boot settling into the wooden planks you’re kneeling on, his feet on either side of your thighs.

Joel is so close you can feel the fabric of his jeans brush against your forehead. So frequently worn, the denim has lost that rough texture and could almost pass for cotton. You don’t dare to move, knowing if you so much as twitched, your nose would graze over his crotch through the material.

“Atta girl,” Joel murmurs, unironically this time, his voice rumbling in his chest. It cuts through the quiet so suddenly that it makes you jump, almost loud to your ears. He sounds pleased with your reception of his proximity, rewarding you by taking a firm but painless grip on the roots of your hair.

It’s as though you can read his mind. His pulse thrums in his palm against the soft flesh of your scalp, matching the thumping pace of your own. Joel doesn’t speak his thoughts out loud, yet it’s like he whispers into your ear. ‘Good soldiers get rewarded.’

The pressure he applies to the crown of your skull is minute, but it’s enough to push your face into his crotch. Your gasp of surprise is so loud that it almost drowns out the resonant hum that he releases, gripping tighter to your hair as you nuzzle into him.

Rock hard beneath your cheek; you can feel Joel’s cock twitch at the delicate friction you gift him. Having plunged so deep now, you no longer have to reason with yourself to take what you want, kissing the shaft of his dick through the fabric he wears. Again, your reward is to be pushed closer to him, the adrenaline pulsing through Joel’s veins causing a heavy-handedness that makes the walls of your pussy flutter.

“Look at you,” Joel growls as your tongue drags across the fabric his cock strains against, as if resorting to desperate measures to taste him, “Totally shameless.”

You can’t contain it, the whimper that bubbles in your throat. It sounds around Joel’s twitching cock, and it seems to rile him up, momentarily cracking his composure when he thrusts his hips forward slightly.

Fuck, it’s like he’s hypnotising you with his grunts and groans, your body liquidating as they heat you from the inside out. Heaving breaths indicate the magnitude of your desire, and you’re kneeling up before you can even think of the consequences of taking matters into your own hands.

Pushing your nose into the seam of the crotch in his jeans, you use the tip of your tongue to search for the zipper. The brass is warm when it brushes your tastebuds, a metallic tang coating them as you slide your tongue beneath it.

Carefully, you take the fastening between your teeth, lowering your head to drag the zipper down. You probably only manage four links of the chain before Joel’s hand shoves itself between you and the fabric, bumping your nose as he tears the button of his jeans open with a stuttery exhale.

He releases his cock from the confines of his pants, and God, you’re so thankful he does. A thatch of thick curls frames the base of his cock, a subtle curve to the veiny shaft that stands at attention beneath your gaze. The tip gleams in the low light seeping through your thin curtains, coated with precum that weeps from the head that’s flushed a dusty purple. He’s not too big, with a perfect girth and length to him that has you convinced he’d fit inside you just right-

Joel doesn’t allow himself to examine how you practically melt at the sight of him, wrapping his fingers around his shaft and steadying it with his thumb. In any other situation, the gentle slap of his cock against your cheek would have you leaping from the floor and throttling him, but you’re both so needy that you open your mouth greedily without prompt. It drives Joel insane.

“Hah,” he heaves, pressing the tip of his dick to your flat tongue, “Shit- oh shitshitsh-“

Joel sheathes himself inside your mouth with one long stroke of his hips, and you’re almost sure your throat stretches beyond its limits to accommodate him.

“Fuckin’ shit,” Joel curses heavily, watching your eyes brim with tears at the intrusion as you fight your gag reflex. When you glance up at him through your watery lashes, you catch the way his upper lip arches at the sensation of your tongue tracing the underside of his cock. He’s sweating, brow glistening with evident arousal on his brow, and your stomach flips at the concept that you were the one making him feel this way- breaking his almost impenetrable composure.

Carefully, you inch him further down your throat until the tip of your nose buries into the curls framing his pubic bone. A musky smell that is uniquely Joel coats your senses, and you find yourself almost dizzy at the concept of being totally surrounded by him, filled by him. Just hours ago, you couldn't stand him, couldn't bear to be around him, and yet now you think you'd cry if you pulled away.

Joel groans above you as you swallow around his length, his fingers grappling with your hair for purchase and gripping tightly to the strands at the crown of your head. You use Joel’s distraction to begin bobbing your head, slowly pulling off him and feeling him drag against the walls of your throat until the tip of his cock rests over the flat of your tongue. Before he can complain, you sink back down and take all of him back into your mouth, and you swear that you can see Joel’s eyes roll back into his school in your periphery.

"Ah- fu-“ Joel appears entirely enraptured by the sensation of the head of his cock catching on each little ridge of your throat, and you can see him watching you work him in and out of your mouth at a lazy pace. "Look at you- Hnng- So fuckin’ good."

As you get used to the sensation of the velvety skin bumping against your throat, you begin to experiment a little more. You use the slow, steady pace to drag your tongue over the length of his fraenulum and swirl it around the head. The salty taste of the precum beading at the slit pushes you further, feeling him twitch with your ministrations.

Throbbing aches begin to settle in your knees, complaining about kneeling against the wooden floor but are drowned out by Joel's heady groans and the tight coil of arousal between your thighs. It's as though you can feel your pulse throughout your body, complaining about the lack of attention, but also invested in the way Joel appears to be losing his composure that you can't find it in yourself to protest.

“Christ-“ Joel groans out above you, suddenly taking a firm grip of your hair and pulling you up and off of him. The burn in your lungs has you gasping for air as you look up at him in concern. Had you messed up?

Opening your mouth to ask him what you’d done wrong, you find the words die in your throat when Joel pushes the tip of his weeping cockhead against your lips again. He’s staring down at you with this look in his eyes, something dark and potent swirling in his pupils. You taste him on your tongue again, and Joel pushes your head down onto him again.

He's unable to control himself, driven by the sensation of your mouth around him. The comprehension makes your mind spin with pride, and again you submit to Joel.

It’s rough, your hair wrapped around his fingers to better his grip as he forces you to still. Your eyes tear up, leaking tears down your cheeks as he begins to fuck your mouth at a brutally satisfying pace. Despite the bruising sensation of his cock hitting your throat, you’re practically dripping in your underwear when seeing the way Joel snarls at the overwhelming bliss.

Grasping desperately onto his hips to brace yourself, you cling on as Joel fucks deep into your throat. The hinges of your jaw ache at the effort of holding your mouth open for him, but Joel doesn’t let your efforts go unnoticed.

His free hand brushes his rough knuckles across your cheekbone, sliding down your face so his palm can cup your throat. Joel lets out the most wicked groan, applying pressure to your neck to feel himself slide in and out of you.

“God- You feel that?” He laughs out incredulously, his cock twitching, “You’re takin’ me so fuckin’ good.” He’s mouthing off, a lot more talkative than usual. You put it down to the blood having rushed from his head to his co-

“Touch yourself,” he orders, and it’s like the oxygen he’s starving you of begins to make you think you’ve imagined it. Your eyes flutter and blink back tears, your brain working to figure out if he honestly said it. It’s only when he yanks your hair in an attempt to wordlessly urge you to do as told that your hands snap down to your waistband.

Blindly, you push your fingers beneath the waistband of your trousers, practically sobbing with relief as your fingertips clumsily brush your clit. It sparks white hot, the muscles in your thighs trembling as they brace your weight on your knees.

“Mhmmm fuck,” Joel rumbles, watching your face as he fucks into it, noting how your brows pull up at the pleasure you draw for yourself between your thighs.

It drives him insane. You can feel it. His dick twitches against your tastebuds, and you can feel his pulse in the thick vein that runs down the underside of his cock. Joel’s fingers paw at the back of your head, pushing you down onto his length and making you take him impossibly deeper. You’re choking on him, gagging around his girth. It makes your eyes stream, yet it just makes your fingertip swirl around your clit quicker, seeking that high you craved.

“Nuh-uh,” you hear Joel’s gruff voice, his palm patting you harshly on the cheek. Just enough to sting. “Focus right here, right here.”

Blinking through the teary haze and the surging arousal that grips your muscles, you only notice with a particularly sharp slap to your cheekbone that you had closed your eyes. Joel’s urging has you looking up through your wet eyelashes as he continues with his harsh thrusts.

Sinking your digits into your heat, you melt against the intrusion in your throat as the walls of your cunt flutter around your fingerprints. Severely neglected, your pussy aches and arches towards orgasm at breakneck speed. Under the weight of your body, your thighs tremble at your ministrations, and your brows pull together as if to brace against the impending crest of ecstasy.

“Oh fuck, yeah, just like that,” Joel rumbles under his breath, eyes set on your twisted expression as his hips begin to stutter. You feel his pulse on your tongue and draw clumsy, sloppy circles over your clit to match.

The groan that tears its way through Joel’s throat when he cums almost startles you, and you’re almost sure it does the same to him. His fingers are white-knuckling your hair in an attempt to brace for the surge of pleasure, his cum streaking down the back of your throat.

He watches as you desperately stroke over your throbbing clit and swallow his load without prompt. Even through your blurred vision, you can see his awed visage as he watches you take everything he gives.

Perhaps it’s the apparent appreciation he shows you when you hear him mumble a muffled ‘Jesus fuckin’ Christ’, or it’s finally rendering the argumentative Joel Miller borderline speechless. Still, you hurtle off the edge with barely any warning other than a split second of a hot white crackle up your spine.

Your body contracts inwards as you rub yourself through the crescendo, grateful Joel was with it enough to remove himself from your mouth just before. The ragged gasp you exhale sounds strangled, your orgasm blinding you in its onslaught. Your vision spots and slides out of focus, seeing double as the warmth ebbs away.

Soon, the only thing your hearing focuses on is the inhale and exhale of your lungs, sharp and clawing at the oxygen that keeps you from blacking out. Had you stopped breathing?

Joel turns away for a moment to right himself, pulling his jeans back up and buckling his belt again. The afterglow of such an earth-shattering orgasm makes everything slow, and you can’t help but smile almost dopily to yourself as you watch him ruffle his salt-and-peppered brown locks.

A sharp inhale drags you from your brain-melting comedown, settling back on your haunches and stretching out your aching legs as you watch Joel struggle for words. He looks conflicted, opening his mouth to speak and then firmly pressing his lips together in frustration.

Cotton sticks to your back thanks to the perspiration beading there, patches of the khaki shirt you wear stained with darker sweat patches. The birds are singing to fill his silence, allowing him a moment to approach his thoughts without awkwardness. You don’t push him.

“You wanna help me?” He tests the waters, mahogany eyes flicking to your face to gauge your reaction, “You know… Takin’ some time to smuggle instead’a doin’ this militia suicide task?”

It’s like he douses your sticky sweet, pleased muscles in ice-cold water in your shock. You certainly hadn’t expected him to like you, let alone ask you to work for him. It’s your turn to be speechless, the oxygen you had fought so hard to breathe catching in your throat and choking you.

“I-“ You swallow thickly, wanting to approach this carefully, “Joel, I made a promise.”

He nods slowly, eyes shifting to the wooden floor and seemingly tracing the rough surface of each plank as though it were the most exciting art installation he had ever had the time to take in. Perhaps it was. Joel didn’t seem the type to stop and smell the roses.

“I have to fulfil my promise to help find a cure,” you tread delicately, but it’s almost pointless because Joel agrees with a nod of his head, neither forceful nor resentful. He appears to take your word, wordlessly encouraging you to chase that ‘pipe dream’, as he had once called it.

“You got it,” he clears his throat roughly, clasping his hips with both hands as he exhales slowly, letting the implications of your decision sink into his bones. Certain death. There wasn’t much else out there for a Firefly, and you weren’t naive enough to think any different.

‘When you’re lost in the darkness, look for the light.’

You couldn’t turn away now. Not when these guns he’d hand-delivered made that light almost close enough to touch.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you watch him slowly pace to the door, wood creaking beneath his weight. He leans his palm against the frame, glancing back at you momentarily.

“There’s a spot for you, y’know? If you change your mind.”

A melancholy smile plays at the corner of your lips. The likelihood that you’d survive long enough to begin sufficiently regretting your decision and change your mind was slim, but the thought that Joel was willing to set a place aside for you…

“Thank you, Joel,” you whisper, shocked to hear your voice crack with emotion with the gratitude you show him.

Doesn’t mean you like him.

“Mhm,” he nods awkwardly, thumb brushing against the circumference of the watch that had dug into your collarbone 48 hours ago. There’s a tenderness in that touch, something that your cheekbones ache to experience. Instead, you ignore the infuriating pining of your body for the man who had irritated you only moments before, watching as he steps out into the hallway and out of sight, no doubt to grab his stupidly oversized backpack and slink away into the darkness of the underground tunnels and return to his regular trade.

Your heart strains in your chest, but it doesn’t mean you like him.

It doesn’t.

END

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