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chvoswxtch · 10 months

Text

pancakes

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: a major setback causes you and frank to have to think quickly on your feet to find a new lead.

warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of guns & bombs

word count: 7.9k

a/n: so, i had to do a LOT of research about bombs for this chapter. in the event that i disappear, just know the fbi probably has me detained somewhere for my questionable search history, and i'm having to explain i'm a writer, not a serial killer. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

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A golden ray of honey dripped through the sliver of space between the thick wooly curtains in the motel room, dancing right across your eyes like a spotlight across a stage. The glow of the sun rising above the horizon of your eyelids parted the clouds of your subconscious, causing you to shift back into a sentient state. In your half-dazed condition, all of your limbs slowly uncoiled from their curled up position, and when your palm brushed against the empty sheets beside you that were cool to the touch, the absence of Frank’s warmth had you suddenly rousing awake.

Rubbing the remaining residue of sleep from your eyes, you glanced around the dimly lit room through a blanket of semi-coherence while you pushed back the thin quilt and scratchy sheets to sit up in the stiff bed. The motel room was completely silent, and the small analog clock on the nightstand showed that it was seven thirteen in the morning. As you looked around the room, you noticed that Frank’s duffel bag was missing.

Frank was also missing.

When you got out of the bed and made your way over towards the windows, you pulled back one of the thick wooly curtains, wincing slightly as the sunlight shone right in your eyes that were still in the process of adjusting to the new lighting in the room. When you saw that Frank’s truck was gone, a crease of confusion furrowed between your brows instantly.

“What the hell?”

Surely Frank wouldn’t have left you alone in a motel room in the middle of nowhere when a terrorist group was actively trying to kill you…right?

Looking around for your bag, you found it on the small round table next to the window, and your nimble fingers produced your phone quickly, only to find a dead battery signal glaring at you from the screen in neon red. As you frantically searched through your bag for a charger, it abruptly dawned on you that you didn’t have one. The only thing you had grabbed from your place the night you were attacked was your phone and your bag.

Panic instantly began to spread throughout your nervous system like wildfire on an unsuspecting barren forest.

You had absolutely no idea what town you were in, no mode of transportation to get anywhere, no phone to call Frank, no anything. You didn’t even have a goddamn toothbrush. For ten minutes, you searched every inch of that motel room for some kind of note, or something that Frank might have left indicating where he was going and when he would be back. In a fit of mania, you searched all of the drawers in the nightstands, all of the cabinets in the bathroom, underneath the bed and beneath the mattress, even inside both of the pillow cases. You also ripped the horrendous paisley quilt and the scratchy sheets off the mattress in a frenzy thinking something might have gotten lost in them somehow.

When you realized that Frank hadn’t left any clues behind for you, instantly you began to catastrophize the worst possible case scenarios while furiously pacing back and forth in front of the bed.

What if Frank was hurt badly somewhere? What if someone had come for you, and taken him instead? What if he had just abandoned you here because he didn’t want to deal with you anymore?

It was now seven thirty-seven in the morning, and you couldn’t take another minute of sitting in this empty hotel room alone with no answers. You swiftly changed back into your own clothes, deciding to stop by the motel office first to see if anyone had seen Frank leave. Maybe they could at least point you in the direction he had gone; Frank was not exactly an easy guy to miss. Someone had to have seen him leave, and it was the only idea you had at the moment that was keeping you from having a full on meltdown.

In the process of slipping on your shoes while sitting on the edge of the bare mattress, the lock on the door to the room suddenly clicked, and your head snapped up abruptly to see Frank’s broad figure appear taking up the entire door frame. In the span of a second, three emotions flashed through you; relief, confusion, and anger. Before he could even take a step into the room past the threshold, you subconsciously reached for the bare pillow on the bed beside you and hurled it in his direction as hard as you could.

Frank’s face instantly morphed from being stuck in an expression of concrete lividity to twisting up into pure obscurity. There was a faint twinge of offense nestled between his thick brows when he instinctively reached out to catch the the pillow, staring over at you in a state of complete disorientation.

“What the hell was-”

“Goddammit Frank! Where the fuck have you been?”

The shrill tone of your voice immediately caught his attention and subsequently softened the furrow between his full ebony brows. Frank’s eyes flickered around the space, taking in the disheveled state of everything before his curious gaze landed back on you. He took a cautious step into the room and gently closed the door behind himself, his vigilant stare locked on you.

“What happened?”

In a fit of frustration that was bubbling over with pure adrenaline from the anxiety rushing through your bloodstream, you reached for the other bare pillow and hurled it right towards his head, watching as it hit the wall behind Frank with a soft thud when he quickly ducked. Confusion creased in the center of his forehead again while he stared at you incredulously.

“You happened, you dick! I woke up and you weren’t here! All your stuff was gone, your truck was gone, you didn’t bothering leaving a fucking note. I had no idea if you were dead in a ditch somewhere or just ran off to be an asshole, leaving me stranded here in the middle of fucking nowhere with no way to leave and no phone!”

By the time you finished your hysteric rant, your chest was heaving from how hard you were breathing, and your hands trembled slightly at your sides where they were balled into tight fists. Frank’s face instantly dropped into a contortion of remorse when he took in the sheer look of terror in your eyes. Noticing the way your hands shook slightly with trepidation, his deep brown eyes softened with guilt, and he took a tentative step in your direction with his large hands held up in a faint sign of surrender.

“Sweetheart…m’sorry. I thought you’d still be sleepin’ by the time I got back. You usually sleep in when you ain’t workin’, and I thought…I shoulda left you a note or somethin’ just in case. I didn’t think ‘bout your phone bein’ dead. M’really sorry.”

The gentle cadence of Frank’s deep voice instantly soothed your lingering feelings of unease, and the overwhelming sensation of panic slowly dissipated seeing him staring down at you with his big puppy dog eyes swirling with regret. The contrition Frank felt was evident not just in his voice, but was also etched clearly on his face, and visible in his body language. He hadn’t meant to scare you. He also had a point; you weren’t a morning person by any means, and when it came to your days off, you did like to sleep in. Letting out a slow and deep exhale through your nose, you unclenched your fists slowly and and brought your arms up to cross over your chest.

“I would’ve slept in if those sheets weren’t made of sandpaper.”

Frank cocked his head to the side slightly as he heard you grumble under your breath, and the edge of his full lips curled up in bemusement at your sudden change in demeanor. For a second, he just eyed you quietly, taking in the sight of your messy bedhead, soft expression of irritation, and the evidence of the sleep you hadn’t gotten beneath your eyes.

“You’re awful grumpy in the mornin’, ya’know that?”

Letting out a quiet huff of annoyance, you narrowed your eyes into slits while looking up at him. Frank, unlike you, was a morning person. Well, sort of. Morning people are pleasant in the morning. Frank wasn’t always pleasant, he was just always up early. But given the recent knowledge of his military background, it made sense now.

As a matter of fact, a lot of things about him were starting to make more sense.

“Maybe I wouldn’t be so grumpy if someone hadn’t made me start my day with a close call of cardiac arrest.”

Frank let out a small chuckle at that and shook his head, glancing around at the cataclysmic mess you’d created in the motel room once again before looking back at you with one of his dark brows arched in challenge.

“Nah, you still woulda been grumpy. Now, you got anythin’ else you wanna throw at me? Or you want some coffee and breakfast?”

»»———　　———««

Halfway through your second coffee and devouring a stack of pancakes, you paused abruptly while staring inquisitively over at Frank across the table.

“Where did you go?”

Frank brought his own ceramic mug of black coffee to his lips, which looked comically small in his large hand, and took a hefty gulp as he swallowed down a bite of pancakes.

“The warehouse.”

A dry scoff left your lips as you let your fork drop onto your plate, making a sharp clattering noise that tore Frank’s gaze from his own plate up to your line of sight.

“I thought we weren’t going back there-”

“No, you weren’t goin’ back there.”

“Frank-”

“It don’t matter, it’s gone.”

As soon as those words left his lips, your vexation transitioned into perplexity. Your brows inched together in the middle of your forehead as you stared at Frank in pure puzzlement.

“What do you mean it’s gone? We were just there last night-”

“Someone burnt the goddamn thing down.”

Frank’s large hand was enclosed in a tight fist around his fork, and there was a slight edge to his gruff voice as he nearly glared across the table at you. His words only fueled your bewilderment, but the pissed off look on his face kept you from interrogating him any further. Frank leaned back into the booth of the table you two were sitting at in the small, outdated diner down the street from the motel and ran his fingers through his short, tousled dark waves in exasperation. His deep brown eyes scanned around the diner absentmindedly, a look of pure contemplation layering his appearance. After a moment of silence, he let out a heavy exhale through his large nose and looked over at you with a calmer expression.

“I went to check it out early this mornin’, and there were cops and firetrucks all over the damn place. Ain’t nothin’ left of it.”

Nothing left?

A sinking feeling settled in your stomach that the cop that had caught you and Frank last night had tipped the Defenders of Freedom off, and they had set off a bomb in the warehouse to cover their tracks.

“Do you…do you think that cop tipped them off and they blew it up?”

“Nah, it wasn’t blown up. We woulda heard an explosion. Besides, the bombs these assholes are usin’, they’re strong enough to do some heavy damage, but not enough to level somethin’ completely like that.”

Tilting your head to the side slightly, you looked over at Frank curiously when you heard the conviction in his voice. He dismissed the idea you presented with such confidence, it made you wonder why he was so certain.

“How do you know that?”

“If it was a bomb, even if it was set off in the middle of the warehouse, parts of it would still be standin’. They’re makin’ homemade ones outta shit that can’t easily be tracked, so they’re small scale. They do a whole lotta property damage, and hurt people close to ‘em when they go off, but they ain’t made outta strong enough shit to level a warehouse made outta concrete and steel like that. I don’t know if that cop tipped someone off, but someone sure as hell set that fire on purpose. Whatever was in there, they didn’t want no one to find.”

There was a hint of anger in Frank’s voice when he spoke, and it reminded you of the conversation you had with him in your office over a month ago when the last attack happened. He had sounded just as angry, and you suddenly remembered him saying how much he hated people that used bombs and how he had called them a coward’s weapon. You hadn’t fully understood his resentment then, but after learning about his past as a Marine last night, it all seemed to finally click in your head.

“You were attacked by one.”

Frank immediately tensed, and his eyes quickly snapped up to meet your sympathetic gaze. It wasn’t a question, but the look of rancor in his eyes that was as bitter as the shade of his coffee confirmed it. A crisp chill cascaded down your spine at the realization that there had probably been far more than just one attack that Frank had been caught in the middle of during his time in the Marines. It made you wonder if that’s where the scar on his left temple had come from, the one that made him freeze up when you touched it last night.

“Even if they find somethin’ in all that goddamn rubble, it’s gonna take days to sort through, so it’s back to fuckin’ square one.”

Frank grunted as he lifted the ceramic mug to his lips to take another large gulp of coffee. He clearly had no intentions of elaborating on his history with explosives, and you decided it was best to leave it alone for the moment.

Resting your elbows on the table, you ran your hands through your hair with a sigh and clasped your hands over the back of your neck as you stared down at your half eaten plate of pancakes and hashbrowns. There was absolutely no way you and Frank had come all the way upstate and were going to leave with nothing. Going back to the warehouse was out of the question since it was surrounded with law enforcement and reduced to ash, but there had to be some way to find a lead.

While you were staring down into your coffee, an idea popped into your head.

“Not necessarily.”

Frank quirked one of his dark brows while looking across the table at you, waiting to see where you were going with whatever thought was going through your head.

“You can’t build a warehouse like that without a permit. Someone had to have filed for that permit, and they would’ve had to have a deed of ownership for that plot of land.”

After your words hit Frank’s ears, his eyes seemed to light up with recognition while he processed what you were saying. If the two of you could figure out who filed for the permit, or who owned the land, you had a lead. He swiftly sat up a little straighter in the booth as he stared at you almost in awe.

“How do we find that?”

“Property records are public in New York. They would have had to file the permit with the local county office and provide the proper documentation.”

“So we find the local county office, we find the records?”

“Exactly.”

Frank’s warm whiskey eyes sparkled with an emotion that resembled pride, and his full lips suddenly split slowly into a toothy grin that caused crinkles to form at the edges of his eyes as he brought a bite of pancakes up towards his mouth.

“You’re a goddamn genius, sweetheart.”

There was something about the way that Frank was looking at you, and grinning at you, that made heat blossom across the tops of your cheeks and start to burn in your lower belly. You weren’t used to men complimenting your intelligence, or your ideas, and you weren’t sure how to react. Dipping your head a bit to hide the bashful smile that tugged across your lips, you reached for the bottle of syrup and cleared your throat, scrambling to form a coherent sentence in response.

“Finish your eighth cup of coffee and we can go.”

Frank let out a dry scoff of amusement as he watched you drown your pancakes in a pool of maple syrup.

“I’ll finish my eighth cup when you finish your tenth. In the meantime, how ‘bout I getcha some pancakes for that syrup, yeah?”

Setting down the sticky bottle of syrup, you rolled your eyes playfully as you looked across the table at Frank and attempted to hide your amused smile.

“It’s not that much-”

“I can’t even see your damn pancakes underneath all that.”

Without another word, you reached over with your fork and drove it into half a cut up pancake that was on Frank’s plate, and his face twisted up into an expression of mock offense as he set down his coffee mug when you stole the half pancake onto your own plate.

“Hey hey hey, whoa-”

“You said I needed more pancakes-”

“I didn’t say mine.”

“Well then you should’ve specified that you didn’t wanna share.”

You used the side of your fork to slice a part of his half pancake and smothered it in syrup before bringing it to your lips with a teasing smirk. Frank’s eyes narrowed slightly as he clicked his tongue against the inside of his cheek. He shook his head slowly before he reached across the table to swipe the two remaining pieces of bacon off your plate.

“I quit. I’m droppin’ your grumpy, theivin’ ass off at the next rest stop we pass.”

A loud fit of laughter erupted from deep within your chest at Frank’s disgruntled appearance, and you covered your mouth with your hand as a few patrons at the diner that were most likely regulars stared in your direction with looks of curiosity and annoyance. Frank glared at you lightheartedly as he tore the bacon in half and tossed one half piece into his mouth. You looked over at him with a whimsical smirk on your lips as you arched one of your brows.

“You can’t quit a job you don’t have, Castle.”

“The hell I can’t.”

Rolling your eyes frivolously, you pierced the half of the pancake with your fork and went to place it back onto Frank’s plate.

“Fine, here.”

Frank pulled a face of faux repulsion as he gently pushed at your wrist with his large palm.

“I don’t want it now.”

Your eyes widened slightly as you gawked at him and scoffed lightly in bemusement.

“Are you kidding? You just made a whole scene-”

“That was before you got it all soggy with all that goddamn syrup. Keep it.”

Placing the fork with the half pancake of Frank’s down on your plate, you crossed your arms over your chest and bit the inside of your cheek to contain the grin that threatened to take over your lips. You watched him eat the bacon he had stolen off your plate with a broody expression on his sharp features.

“And you call me grumpy.”

“You are grumpy.”

“You don’t think you are?”

“I am when you steal my goddamn pancakes without askin’.”

“Isn’t the whole point of stealing to not ask?”

Frank shot you a deadpan look as he brought the ceramic mug to his lips and downed the rest of his black coffee.

“Finish your fuckin’ syrup so we can go.”

The twinge of light annoyance in Frank’s voice mixed with the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he glanced around the diner coaxed a small laugh from you. It felt so natural to be sitting across from Frank, having breakfast and bantering back and forth, as if the two of you did this every morning. Despite the rough start to the morning, for you and Frank, he seemed lighter, and in an all around pleasant mood.

He was so incredibly different from the stoic, intimidating man you were introduced to for the first time almost six months ago. Lately it felt like the more time you spent alone with him, you were granted more and more glimpses of the real Frank Castle. And while you were elated to finally breakthrough so many of those broody layers of his, you were also starting to get nervous.

Because every little interaction made the miniscule crush you had developed on your bodyguard develop and evolve into something inherently deeper and more profound for the man behind the job.

»»———　　———««

The second your eyes caught the sight of Frank tucking a gun into the waistband of his jeans against his back and cover it with his black denim jacket, you instinctively held your hand out and placed it against his chest to stop him from reaching for the door of the county office. He glanced down at your palm on his chest before looking at you with a curious furrow of his brows.

“No.”

Frank tilted his head to the side slightly in perplexity when you gave a firm shake of your head in his direction.

“No? No, what?”

“Frank, I am not letting you go in there guns blazing-”

“Aw Christ, it’s just a precaution-”

“-or letting you intimidate, or beat the hell out of whoever is working at that front desk just to get what we need. We do this my way.”

Frank clenched his jaw as he stared down at you, taking in the stern expression on your features.

“I was gonna ask nicely.”

“You don’t know how to ask nicely.”

Letting out a deep exhale of frustration, Frank narrowed his eyes at you in annoyance while his index and middle finger on his right hand twitched at his side a few times.

“So what the hell are we doin’ here then?”

“I am going to do my job, and I need you to let me do that.”

“What, you…you wanna interview ‘em and get an exclusive for a damn article right now? Is that more important?”

Frank’s evident exasperation and sour attitude were starting to get on your nerves, and you grit your teeth as you narrowed your eyes at him in defiance.

“No, I’m not ‘getting an exclusive’, Frank. My job isn’t just writing. It’s called investigative journalism for a reason. You think all the evidence I get for my articles, I’m just…given? Not only do I have to hunt down my own sources, but I have to make them talk to me and give me what I need, by any means necessary.”

It suddenly occurred to you that in the six months Frank had been your bodyguard, he had never really seen you in action. He had been to your office several times, and watched you write countless articles, but the only person he had ever seen you interview was Steven. After the first threat you received, your story content was limited, and you were confined to topics that involved as little human interaction as possible for your own safety.

You understood Frank’s apprehension about letting you take the lead on this, but you also wanted to prove to him that you weren’t some damsel in distress. You could do this. It was your job, and it was what you were good at. Letting out a soft sigh, you fought off your own agitation to flash Frank an imploring expression.

“Frank, I know what I’m doing, Okay? Just trust me. And…behave, please.”

Taking in the pleading look in your eyes, Frank stared at you silently for a minute before throwing his hands up in resignation and letting out a grunt of agreement, reaching out to open the door to the county office and motioning for you to enter first. You tried your hardest not to laugh at the look of pure irritation that shrouded his face when you asked him to behave. As you stepped into the small office building with Frank, you just hoped the two of you could get what you needed and get out before a scene was caused.

The county office was small and stuffy, filled with the scent only a building that hadn’t been updated since its initial construction decades ago could have. Despite the cool temperature outside, there was an uncomfortable heat that lingered in the air. There was a stout, middle aged man sitting behind the desk with his feet propped up, arms crossed over his protruding belly, and his weary eyes were focused on a small television screen in the corner of the office that was playing a baseball game. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else at that moment, and you hoped you could use that to your advantage.

To your right, there was a meager waiting area that had a few worn chairs lined up against the wall that had definitely seen better days, and a little square coffee table piled with magazines that were several decades old. Glancing up at Frank over your shoulder, you motioned towards one of the chairs.

“Sit there, I’ll be right back.”

Another displeased grunt sounded from Frank at your instruction, but he didn’t verbally protest. He plopped down into the chair closest to the door and crossed his big arms over his broad chest. His full lips were pursed in a slightly adorable pout that was accompanied by his signature broody expression, and if your phone weren’t dead, you would’ve definitely taken a picture to laugh about later.

As you approached the desk, you fluffed up your hair a little and plastered your most charming smile across your lips before clearing your throat.

“Excuse me?”

The older man’s bushy brows were furrowed in aggravation at your interruption, but when his cobalt blue eyes navigated up to investigate the cause of the disturbance, they swiftly rose up his forehead in surprise. Before he could even get his feet off the desk, his gaze landed on your chest where the v-neck cut of your shirt’s collar showed a bit of your cleavage, and he stared unabashedly for a good ten seconds before a crooked smile split open his thin lips.

“My my, aren’t you a pretty little thing? I’ve never seen you around here before, Miss…?”

This wasn’t the first sleazeball you’d let ogle you to get concrete evidence for a lead. It was honestly easier for you to get information from men, because most of the time they were too busy shamelessly staring at your tits to even notice that you were hustling them. Still, it always made you feel a little cheap, like you needed a scalding shower afterwards to burn away their lingering stares. At least this time you had the comfort of knowing Frank was just a few feet away if there was any trouble.

“Oh, I’m not from around here. My name is Lorelai. I could actually really use your help. What did you say your name was?”

You asked in a sweet voice, tilting your head to the side innocently. The man rested his elbows on the desk, leaning in slightly towards you with that same crooked grin.

“Lorelai? Pretty name for a pretty girl. I’m Roger, and I’m happy to help you with whatever you need.”

It took every ounce of willpower you had not to gag at the wink he shot you. He probably thought it came off as flirtatious, but in reality, it just made you nauseous. Swallowing down your discomfort, you forced another convincing charming smile onto your lips and leaned forward on the desk slightly, granting him a better view of your cleavage. You hated yourself as soon as you did it, but you prayed this idiot would take the bait and just give you the documents you needed without any suspicion.

“Thank you, Roger. See, I work for the company that owns the warehouse that burned down this morning, you know the one on Wick Road? Anyway, my boss wanted me to file an insurance claim, and in the middle of it I realized that I don’t have any copies of the permit or the land deed that I need to file the claim, and if I don’t get it filed by the end of the day, I’m gonna be in a lot of trouble. Can you help me? Please?”

Using that same saccharine voice that was several pitches higher than your normal tone, you batted your eyes a few times for dramatic effect, crafting a faux expression of innocence and helplessness. Incompetent men like Roger enjoyed playing the hero, so you laid the vulnerable act on thick.

“Of course I can help you, sugar. It’s no trouble at all. Anything I can do to help a sweet little thing like you, I’m happy to.”

The way his hungry eyes wandered over your chest coupled with the bravado in his nasally voice had you digging your nails so hard into your palm, you were shocked you hadn’t drawn blood.

You’re almost there. It’s almost over. Just keep it together.

“Really? Oh my God, you’re a lifesaver, Roger.”

You reached out to give his shoulder a light squeeze for good measure, and the overwhelming scent of his cheap cologne filling your nostrils triggered the early onset of what was sure to be a powerful migraine. Roger stood up from his chair and brushed his oily black hair away from his greasy forehead in a way that was probably meant to look slick, but made you shudder internally with disgust.

“Why don’t you come with me, and we can-”

As his eyes caught sight of something over your shoulder, Roger’s reptilian grin instantly fell, and his “suave” expression melted into one of discomfort. His eyes flickered over to meet your gaze again, and he cleared his throat.

“Uh…is he…with you?”

When you furrowed your brows in confusion, Roger gestured with one of his sausage fingers behind you, and as you turned your head to see what he was talking about, you were met with the sight of a very pissed off looking Frank. His large hands were balled into such tight fists that his knuckles had turned white, and they were resting on the top of his thighs, like he was ready to spring into action at any moment. Frank’s jaw was set in a harsh line, and you could see a muscle feather beneath his skin when he grit his teeth. His thick brows were pulled together in vexation, and you could see a wrathful fire burning in his eyes that had nearly turned black with rage.

You had to wrap this up quickly before Frank lost his patience.

Turning back around to face Roger, you gaped at him for a moment as you let out a nervous laugh.

“I…yeah. He…he’s with me.”

“He your…husband or…something?”

“He’s…my-”

Before you could finish, Frank’s heavy boots were thundering across the floor, and you suddenly felt the heat radiating from his chest flush against your back as his large hand settled on your right hip.

“You mind hurryin’ it up with them documents my wife asked for? We ain’t got all goddamn day. And while you’re at it, why don’t you try lookin’ her in the fuckin’ eye when you talk to her, yeah?”

While Roger had initially taken a sharp step backwards when Frank marched across the room to stand behind you, the barrier of the desk clearly made him feel safe enough to provoke Frank. He let out a scoff as he crossed his arms over his ill-fitting button up, glaring up at Frank in a mixture of offense and irritation.

“Hey, I didn’t see a ring, buddy.”

Frank took a step closer towards the desk and reached his hand beneath the collar of his black henley, slipping his thumb under the chain around his neck to pull it upwards to flash the gold wedding band that dangled from it. The gesture caught you completely by surprise, and you felt a slight pang in your chest at the sight of the wedding ring now that you knew Frank was a widow. His eyes were wild with animosity, and his gruff voice dropped a dangerous octave lower as he sneered down at Roger.

“There’s your fuckin’ ring. Now you got thirty seconds to move your ass and get her what she asked for, or I’m comin’ back there and I’m gonna fuckin’-”

“Okay! Okay, sorry can you just…one second.”

After flashing Roger an apologetic expression and a nervous smile, you swiftly turned around and pressed your palms flat against Frank’s chest to push as hard as you could to guide him backwards in the direction of the door.

“Out.”

You hissed quietly through gritted teeth while staring up at him with your own hardened gaze. Frank’s face instantly twisted up in fury and rebellion as he glared down at you, refusing to move to an inch.

“You outta your damn mind? I ain’t leavin’ you alone with this motherfu-”

“Frank, wait outside, now.”

You shoved at Frank’s chest as hard as you could, but he only wavered backwards half an inch. For a solid sixty seconds, the two of you seemed to be locked in a glaring contest. You didn’t have time for his shit, and you snapped your fingers and pointed towards the door as a final signal for him to leave. Frank shot one final death glare over your shoulder at Roger before staring back at you in unfiltered vehemence. The top left corner of his lip curled up slightly in a sneer, and he grunted as he stalked off towards the door and shoved it open with a force so powerful, it rattled the door hinges.

Fuck.

Swallowing thickly, you took a deep breath as you quickly formulated a plan for damage control. Turning back around to face Roger, you saw that he was glancing between you and the door with wide eyes, and his body language was significantly more conservative than it was before. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, you took a small step forward and looked at him with a repentant smile.

“I…I’m really sorry about that. He’s um…he’s…been struggling a bit…ever since he came home…from his last tour.”

A look of cognizance flashed across Roger’s face, and as his eyes flickered towards the door before settling back on you, his features dulled into a more friendly look that was splattered with pity.

“What branch?”

“Marines.”

A wry smile tugged at the corner of Roger’s thin lips, and he nodded his head in a gesture of understanding.

“Tough sons of bitches.”

“Temperamental, too.”

He let out a snort at that, rubbing his plump hand over his patchy onyx beard that was loosely sprinkled with flecks of gray.

“No kidding. My father was a Marine, and he was always a real hot head. Wasn’t always that way, but…I guess they uh…never really come back, huh?”

For some reason, that caught you off guard.

They never really come back.

In the nearly ten hours that had passed since you learned more about Frank’s history, you hadn’t really had a chance to really process it. You hadn’t had a moment to think about what he must have gone through, the things he must have seen or done that changed him, the people he might have lost, or all the ways he could have suffered. In that moment, you felt an overwhelming wave of sadness for Frank, thinking about the absolute hell he must have gone through, and then the added weight of losing his wife on top of that.

“No…I guess they don’t.”

Roger wrung his worn hands together in front of him almost in remorse, gesturing loosely towards you as he let out a quiet laugh.

“Look I didn’t mean any disrespect to you or your husband-”

“It’s fine, really. You were just…trying to be nice.”

You were being a fucking creep.

“Here, let me get you those documents. Wick Road, right?”

A tiny surge of hope shot through you at that, and your lips parted into a small, grateful smile as you nodded eagerly.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

Flashing you a tight lipped smile, Roger disappeared into a back room before emerging a few minutes later with a manila file that contained several copies of documents. He handed it over to you and slipped his plump hands into his pockets, nodding his head in the direction of the door.

“You uh, tell your husband I apologize…and uh…thank him for his service for me, would you?”

It made your blood boil that he was only willing to be respectful of you because he thought you were married, and because you had told him Frank was a Marine. But you shoved all that down as you took the file from him, nodding with a tiny smile.

“I will, thank you.”

“Have a good day, Miss Lorelai.”

As soon as you turned around to leave, your eyes rolled so far back into your head, it was painful. When you stepped outside the office, Frank was leaning against his truck with his arms tightly crossed over his chest, looking thoroughly heated. His head snapped up when he heard the office door creak open, and you marched over towards him with a pissed off expression of your own.

“What the hell was that?”

“You said you had that-”

“I did, Frank! Until you flew off the handle-”

“What was I s’posed to do, huh? Just sit there and watch that asshole stare down your shirt-”

“You were supposed to let me do my job!”

Frank scoffed and let out a dry, humorless laugh. His ferocious gaze roamed over the area surrounding the small building before he glared down at you with a look of repulsion.

“So that’s what you do, huh? You just let ‘em stare at you like that to get what you need? That all you do, Lorelai?”

The implications behind Frank’s words should’ve incensed you, but if anything, they felt like a jagged blade cutting through your chest. The fact that he would not only insinuate that you would use your body to get a lead, but look at you in disgust as if he actually believed it, hurt you more than anything. The venom with which he spit out your alias made you shudder slightly. Treacherous tears stung along your waterline as you clenched your jaw to keep the dam from breaking.

“I’d rather them stare at my chest than shoot them in cold blood.”

Frank’s anger faded slightly hearing the accusation laced within your tone of dejection. Clutching onto the manila folder in your hand, you spun around on your heel and started walking swiftly in the opposite direction. You didn’t know exactly where you were, or how you would get home, but right now Frank was the last person you wanted to be around.

The sound of Frank sighing heavily from behind you rang clearly in your ears.

“Where you goin’?”

“Home.”

“What, you gonna walk there?”

When you didn’t respond and continued to keep walking, Frank dragged his palms down his face in pure frustration.

“For Christ’s sake-don’t be ridiculous. Get in the truck. Y/N…Y/N! Get in the-goddamnit.”

For a moment, you thought Frank had given up and was going to actually let you find your own way home. But then all of a sudden, you heard tires rolling tumultuously across the loose gravel of the parking lot, and before you could make it to the edge of the street, Frank pulled his truck out in front of you a few feet away to cut off your path. He quickly hopped out and left the driver side door open, walking around the hood in your direction with determination.

“You ain’t walkin’ all the way back, alright? Just get in.”

“I can find my own way home-”

“You can’t go home. Not until I figure out-”

“Frank, I’m not your fucking problem anymore!”

Frank stared at you with a storm of emotions brewing behind his eyes. While the annoyance he felt was still lingering on his sharp features, the rage that had clouded his vision had dissipated into shimmering guilt. The migraine that had been triggered by Roger’s cologne had steadily begun to throb, and you rubbed at your right temple and sighed heavily in frustration as you took a look around at your unfamiliar surroundings. A few stray tears slipped down your cheeks, and you weren’t sure if they were from the pain in your head or the pain in your heart.

“You’re not my bodyguard anymore, alright? I’m not your problem, and you owe me nothing. Okay, I was just a job, and the job’s over now, so just-”

“Hey, hey…quit that.”

“Frank-”

“You were never just a job, and you know it.”

Frank’s words immediately caught your attention, and when you looked up at him, he was already staring at you with finality. The timbre of his voice made it clear there was no contesting that statement, and it was almost like your ribcage had shrunk around your heart and lungs with how tight your chest felt. He took a step closer towards you and carefully brought his large hands up to cradle your face delicately, wiping away the tear tracks from your cheeks gently with the rough pads of his thumbs. Frank’s features had repressed into an expression of disgrace, and his eyes were shining apologetically as he looked down into your own.

“Look, I…I didn’t mean that, alright? It was a shitty thing to say. I just…I hated the way he was lookin’ at ya, and I hate the thought of you subjectin’ yourself to that kinda shit just for a goddamn lead. It’s dangerous-”

“Yeah, well being a woman and just existing is dangerous, Frank. I deal with that kind of shit everyday, even when I’m not chasing a story. When I’m walking down the street, when I’m in line at the grocery store, when I’m in the middle of a meeting at work…it…it happens all the time.”

Frank’s warm brown eyes held pure sympathy for you as he listened intently.

“I ain’t seen it happen like that though, ‘cept for when you interviewed that trust fund asshole.”

It took a second for you to realize that he was talking about Steven, and you involuntarily let out a quiet laugh that immediately made you wince and rub at your right temple.

“Yeah well, apparently having a big, scary looking guy with murderous intent in his eyes threatening people on my behalf has done wonders for keeping creepy men away.”

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Frank’s mouth, but he was looking down at you in concern when he noticed the way you kept rubbing your head. He slipped his fingers into your hair to hold the right side of your head tenderly, and he gingerly brushed his calloused thumb over your right temple. Your breath hitched slightly at the contact, and you stared up into his eyes as his own inspected your face. The way he was touching you right now reminded you of the way he had comforted you after that night at the bar a few months ago, when he’d held you in his arms for the first time.

The only time.

You hadn’t been that close to him again until now…and you wanted him to feel that again.

“Headache?”

“I think Roger’s cologne gave me a migraine.”

A crease of confusion sprinkled with a hint of irritation settled between Frank’s dark brows as he stared down at you, and his large nose was wrinkled up slightly like he’d just smelt something foul.

“Who the fuck’s Roger?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the way he asked that, and the look on his face, which you instantly regretted when a shooting pain seemed to split right through your brain.

“The guy at the office. He also said to tell you, ‘sorry for hitting on your wife’. Oh, and I may or may not have told him that you had PTSD and that’s why you were being an asshole, so he also said, ‘thank you for your service’.”

Frank blinked at you in sheer incredulity a few times as he processed those words. After a moment, his face twisted up again in irritability, and he carefully dropped his large hands from where they were cradling face and the right side of your head. He walked over to open the passenger side of the door for you while shaking his head in annoyance and grumbling under his breath.

“Roger can kiss my ass. Fuckin’ shithead.”

The fact that Frank seemed genuinely offended only made you laugh harder, and you let out a quiet whine of pain as you rubbed at your temple.

“Frank…please don’t make me laugh right now. My head is killing me.”

“C’mon, get in the truck, sweetheart. I got somethin’ for your head.”

Frank gently took your hand and helped you up into the passenger seat of his truck, shutting the door as quietly as he could to not cause you any further discomfort. While he walked around the hood, you could see the annoyance still plastered on his face, and you heard him grumbling to himself under his breath.

“Roger’s goddamn lucky I don’t go back in there and kick his fuckin’ ass.”

After Frank handed you a few pain reliever pills from the first aid kit he kept in his truck along with a bottle of water, he went to put his truck into drive, but paused for a moment and turned his head to look over at you analytically.

“Where’d you get that name?”

“Huh?”

“Lorelai. You use that all the time? Or is it always a different one?”

“Oh, um…it…it was my mother’s name. It’s usually the alias I give. It just…it makes me feel closer to her in a way. Like she’s…still around.”

There was a look of understanding in Frank’s warm brown eyes. He didn’t need to ask anything else to comprehend the grief and the longing in your cadence. Without you having to speak another word, he could interpret the loss you’d experienced, and he simply nodded respectfully in response. It was refreshing to have someone not pry at details you weren’t ready to discuss for once, and to have someone that understood the complicated timeline that came with mourning.

It seemed as if tragedy was something that had plagued you and Frank both, and it was oddly poetic in a way how it seemed to connect you on a level you hadn’t experienced with anyone else before.

Wanting to switch the conversation to a lighter topic as Frank pulled out onto the empty two way street, you glanced over at him in curiosity when you noticed he was driving in the opposite direction of the motel.

“Where are we going?”

“Someplace that ain’t got sheets made of sandpaper.”

tags: @thyme-in-a-bubble @twoshields @day-dreaming-goddess @messymissy @itwasthereaminuteago @strawberry1042 @queenofthenoobs @wanda2themax @xcastawayherosx @ferns-fics @stevenknightmarc @ponyosmom35 @babygal-babygal @wellwwhynot @oldermenaremyreligion @combustiblemeow @tired-night-owl @fairykiss32 @danzer8705 @calkissed @fxckahs-blog @lemon-world1 @yeah3459 @collaps3r @polskiperson @imperihoe @v4leoftears @harperdoodle @spideyvibez @joalslibrary @cherry-berry-ollie @annalism @sorrowfulfragmentation @kdogreads @sumo-b98 @blackhawkfanatic @gloryekaterina @whistle1whistle @starbritestarlite @callmebrooklynbabes @hallway5 @scarletfvckingwitch @bifuriouslatina @soupyspence @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes

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#frank castle #frank castle x you #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x reader #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x fem!reader #frank castle x f!reader #frank castle fic #frank castle series #the bodyguard series #bodyguard!frank castle fic #bodyguard!frank castle series #bodyguard!frank castle x reader #the punisher #the punisher fic #the punisher series

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captain-hawks · 4 months

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Hi 💝 yuta okkotsu + coffee + green

yuuta okkotsu x reader

c: timeskip yuuta, fluff, feels

It’s not the warm, gentle breeze filtering in through the window that stirs you from sleep—nor is it the insistent chittering of the birds perched in the tree nearby, or the bright morning sunlight that floods across your rumpled sheets.

—it’s the fragrant smell of coffee wafting through the house, your tired eyes flying open the moment the scent hits you.

You don’t drink coffee.

Throwing back the sheets, you stumble out of bed and dash out of the room.

You don’t drink coffee.

The laminate flooring squeaks beneath your bare feet as you skid to a stop in the kitchen, heart clumsily skipping a beat at the sight of the man leaning back against the counter, an ugly, green mug with a chip in it clutched in one hand.

It’s hideous, really—it looks woefully out of place amongst every other cup lined up in your cabinets.

It was presumptuous of whomever made it in the first place, to think someone would want to drink out of something such an unpleasant shade of green.

—that’s exactly what you said when you plucked it up off of the shelf in a flea market stall years ago, laughing so hard at the agreeing frown on Yuuta’s face that it went clattering to the ground. Still not quite past the boundaries of friendship at the time, you’d both been flustered when you bumped heads and brushed hands as you dove to the floor to rescue it before the old woman sitting at the register nearby could notice.

And naturally, rather than letting you sneak the ugliest mug in the world back on the unfortunate shelf from whence it came, Yuuta insisted on buying it once he realized that you’d chipped it.

It’s such a goddamn ugly mug.

—and you’ll keep it forever, probably.

He smiles at you conspiratorially over the rim.

You don’t drink coffee, but he does.

“You’re home,” you whisper, biting your lower lip to suppress the size of the grin spreading across your face as you look at Yuuta. “A week early.”

The black strands of hair that frame his face have grown longer in the months that he’s been away, and you step forward, unable to deny yourself the need to card your fingers through the soft locks. Yuuta hums, his posture relaxing under the weight of your familiar touch, the looseness in his shoulders at odds with the dark circles that linger below his lower lashes.

You’ve missed him so much—so much that it hurts, a splintering ache that’s settled deep in your bones.

“And you’re up early,” he muses, eyes sparkling with mirth as he reaches up and prods at a rogue strand of your sleep-mussed hair.

One of his hands comes to rest along the curve of your hip, the steady, seeping pang in your chest giving way under the warm pressure of his touch fluttering along your nerve endings.

You roll your eyes fondly and lament, “I just couldn’t resist the smell of hot bean water.”

Yuuta’s tongue darts out, passing over his lips, and he huffs, fingertips skating along your collarbone. A shiver dances down your spine as he drags them up the side of your neck, middle finger tracing the curve of your jaw before he finally takes your chin between his thumb and pointer finger.

“Morning breath,” you grimace, despite the emotions swelling inside of you at the soft promise of his mouth hovering inches away.

“Don’t care,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. “Coffee breath?”

“Don’t care,” you echo.

Yuuta laughs, the noise reverberating through the kitchen and dripping like honey down the taut, yearning strings of your heart.

It’s a rich, beautiful sound.

One you’d do anything to hear.

One you’d trade for nothing—save for the quiet that follows when his lips finally find yours.

#yuuta okkotsu #yuta okkotsu #yuuta okkotsu x reader #yuta okkotsu x reader #okkotsu yuuta x reader #okkotsu yuuta #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #dee writes

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dxckgrxsonx · 1 year

Note

The dick pic storyline is driving me absolutely feral, I need more, my love. Please, I am on my knees begging you 🙇‍♀️ 🙏

im chewing my laptop and maybe committing a few crimes because of the feelings. they're going to fuck eventually i swear!!

Sunlight yawns bright and weightless over the horizon, dawn dappled in lazy diluted watercolour brushstrokes.

Bronze scatters across the sky, endless wavelengths of vibrant colour sliding seamlessly into the other; gold hooks into blue and smudges talented fingers into the soft line of pink.

It’s been a long time since you’ve seen the blinding curve of the sun in the morning. You’ve missed the quiet plethora of colour. The silence. The absence of responsibility.

Watching the dawn break over the horizon is easy, it’s beautiful; makes you want to swallow the world whole.

You think of Jason and how sometimes, when you really make him smile, you get the same endless feeling in your chest.

“I don’t remember you being here when I went to bed.” Jason rumbles as soon as he spots you standing by the window, voice thick and lazy with sleep. He rubs a hand through his hair, confusion thumbing gently against the tired lines of his face. “More importantly, I can’t remember the last time you were up this early. Everything okay? Do you need me to beat someone up for you?”

Your smile is automatic, reflective.

“I don’t need you to beat anyone up for me. I can do it myself.” Jason wanders forwards, steps eerily silent, and grabs you from behind, tucks you soft and warm against his chest. His fingers interlock against your stomach, trapping you in place, and you tip your head back to look at him.

Jason meets your gaze and doesn’t let go. It’s almost unnerving having his undivided attention. You find that you’re suddenly unsure.

It feels like the ground is shifting under your feet, feels like a fracture, a planetary faultline; like if you take one wrong step the floor will simply open right up, leave you falling into a hole with no bottom.

The look on his face is sleepy and thoughtful, you see him swallow.

“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you have to.” Jason says after a careful silence. Pressing his mouth to the crown of your head he mumbles into your hair, “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep you safe.”

Your heart swells in your chest and you think of how goddamn lucky you are to have him as your best friend.

“Oh good.” You sigh, relieved. “Because the real reason I’m here is because there’s this spider in my apartment and I think it wants to kill me.”

Jason laughs softly against the top of your head and then ducks down to tuck his face into the crook of your neck, “I’ll get my gun.”

“Breakfast first?” You choke, shivering at the feel of his lips so close to your pulse point.

“You just want free food from me don’t you?” Jason grins, teeth scraping the thin, sensitive skin under your ear. Your stomach flips, excitement snaking thick down your spine. Part of you thinks he knows exactly what he’s doing, and thinks he’s doing it on purpose.

“Well,” You admit, “I do love your cooking.”

Shuffling out of his hold when the sensation of his mouth against your neck becomes unbearable, you turn and finally settle your attention firmly on the chaotic mess of Jason’s hair. Strands stick up at odd angles from where he’s slept, soft curls knotted together on the side of his head above his ear. He looks dishevelled.

He looks unbearably domestic.

You feel suddenly fond, maybe even warm. But not in the same way you get when he sends you a video, or a photo. It’s different. It’s softer. Almost like stumbling into a patch of warm sun when you’re just starting to feel cold.

Unexpected. Comforting.

Jason yawns and stretches his arms above his head. The thick curve of his biceps catch your eye and you’re reminded of his strength, of how utterly big he is.

The sleeves of his t-shirt pull tight over the muscle and there’s something almost unhinged tugging at your ribs, wanting you desperately to sink your teeth into him.

A relieved little groan slips out of his pretty mouth when his shoulder cracks and you respond with an almost silent whine.

Glancing down you watch as his shirt starts to ride up, exposing a thin strip of warm skin. The sight of his tummy makes you lightheaded, makes you press your tongue to the backs of your teeth.

Dragging the tips of your fingers over his exposed stomach Jason sucks in a sharp breath. It’s almost like a flinch with the way his entire abdomen tightens up, muscles preparing for a hit you would never land.

It reminds you that not everyone touches him with the intent of gentle, almost innocent exploration. Even worse: it reminds you that the action is so well ingrained in his head that he’s been hit there more than once; that he’s been hit enough that every touch there is expected to bring pain.

It fills you with a quiet sort of hurt.

It’s the same hurt you get when you catch sight of bruises scattering dark and heavy over his skin. When you see his knuckles swollen and discoloured. When you watch him move out of the corner of your eye and see him wince because he’s pulled at a still healing wound.

Endless. Agonising.

The pads of your fingers sweep slowly against his skin, tracing the dips and grooves of his navel. You brush lightly over multiple thick, angry lines of raised scar tissue and Jason makes a small, desperate noise in the back of his throat—the healed skin horribly sensitive—and you can’t ignore the way you ache between your legs.

There’s the slightest brush of his happy trail against the pad of your pointer finger and you follow it down until you meet the elastic of his sweatpants. Tucking your finger just underneath the waistband Jason’s abdomen flexes and he quickly clears his throat, making you look up.

His cheeks are flushed.

You realise a little too late that he’s not wearing anything underneath his sweats.

“Can I put my arms down now?”

“Only if you make me waffles.” You reply, removing your palm from his tummy. “And let me use your shower. And also maybe take a little nap with me.”

Jason sniggers, amused. “Anything else?”

Your eyes slant to his mouth.

You think of the nights spent having his head in your lap. Fighting over who gets the last bite of food. Playing hide and seek in the middle of the supermarket because it makes him laugh. You think of the silly way you send each other stupid selfies. The way he plays pranks on you when he’s bored.

You think of how when he’s hurt and bleeding out somewhere in Gotham he calls you, says your name in that quiet, revenant way he does when he’s scared; almost like calling your name will save him.

It would be so easy.

“Uhh–no, that’s it.” You manage to get out, voice thick, distracted. “But I'll let you know if I think of anything else.”

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #red hood x reader #red hood x you #ella writes #asks #answered #croimilis #💕💕#I’ve got one more slightly smutty part planned #then there’s going to angst and feelings and action and aaaaaa

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piratefishmama · 5 months

Text

I Wish | Part 2

Two sharp claps woke Eddie that following morning.

Followed by the whirring sound of some kind of motor, and then gradually, sunlight.

Sunlight travelled up his face until it hit his eyes directly, lighting up all the little veins behind his eyelids that nobody ever really wanted to see but no matter which way he shoved his head into the pillow, and he did try left and right…

He couldn’t dodge the sunlight.

“Wakey Wakey rockstar!” He was awake. Wide awake, sat up very straight very quickly and then everything felt very wrong when his world spun and— “awh shit Eddie, not again. Hold it! Don’t you dare, not until I—” chunks hit the floor about two seconds before a bucket would have been in place to catch it all. The shockingly red bucket held frozen in place where it’d failed to reach him. “Get there.”

Whoever that was sounded so disappointed.

Eddie had no idea why, but he felt like death. The sunlight hurt his eyes, and his head ached like he’d been hit by a brick wall, not him walking into one, no, one falling on him.

“Ngghhh” he groaned, before spitting what remained in his mouth out into the bucket, for what it was worth.

“What did you do last night, Eddie?” Eddie lifted his head up slowly, trying not to agitate his throbbing headache any more than it already was. With squinted eyes, he struggled to make out the person in front of him, but even when his focus returned, he couldn’t place exactly who the guy was, nor… where he was.

The room he was in was… large.

A huge open space with beige walls sparsely decorated by what looked like gaudy hotel art, he didn’t recognise the bedsheets either, softer than his usual ones, and when he finally found his eyes able to focus against the harsh direct light of the windows, with his hand shielding them a little, the large floor to ceiling windows of his room looked out across a city skyline.

“Who… who’re you?” That was apparently the wrong thing to say. Mystery guy didn’t look too impressed.

“Are you kidding me? Who—who am I? That’s how bad it is? You’re so fucked up you’ve forgotten me this time? I swear to god every fucking time Eddie. Every single goddamn time it’s like this and you just—I keep falling for it!!” Every pitchy hike of that voice had Eddie wincing back “What excuse will it be this time Eddie? It was just ‘one last time?’ Or what about your greatest hit ‘everyone else was doing it’, or maybe you’ll just wave it away like it doesn’t even matter? What did you even take?!” Eddie just wanted to hide, he wanted to hide under the mystery covers, away from this loud person who seemed to know him but…

Eddie was still drawing a blank.

The last thing he remembered, the last thing he clearly remembered, was being in the trailer after coming home from the faire, he remembered… he remembered—

“Where’s… where’s Stephan?” He remembered the Genie.

“Stephan? Who the fuck is Stephan? Are you—motherfucker are you cheating on me?! Who the FUCK is Stepha—” the bedroom door opened, cutting off the mystery mans tirade before Eddie could think too deeply about the idea of cheating on someone he didn’t even know, and like straight out of some kind of sit com, in walked the man himself.

All that was missing was an audience cheer track.

“I’m Stephan, Louie. Please get out.” ‘Louie’ straightened up, face seemingly set into a permanent scowl, he’d have probably been attractive if Eddie’s first encounter with him wasn’t that.

“Steve? Where the hell have you been?! You let him get like thi—”

“Get out Louie, or I remove you.” Arms crossed over broad chest, frame tall, broad, his attire less like it was in the trailer, now he wore a simple white button down and a pair of black slacks. Imposing despite its simplicity. “And make no mistake I will remove you.” He added, tone just as firm as his stance, Louie faltered, resolve quickly crumbling under that impressive presence.

“Fine, but I’m done with this. I can’t do it anymore, I can’t support him like this, so… please have my things sent to my apartment in Chicago. I’m finished.” And out he went, without even so much as a backwards glance to the deeply confused man still in bed, door slammed behind him leaving him alone with ‘Steve’.

“…Stephan?”

“Yeah, Eddie?”

“What the fuck is going on?” The outfit melted away, replaced with a glittering twinkle of a stereotypical magical effect, by the peasant garb he’d worn in the trailer. It was him.

He was real.

Stephan, or… Steve. Steve was easier, he was going to use Steve. Steve offered him his best attempt at an apologetic smile, before approaching to sit on the edge of the bed. “World fame, big shot. You’re lucky I didn’t dump you mid-way through one of your gigs, or worse, last night. Sorry but this was the uh… lesser of many evils. You’re currently in LA staying at a hotel midway through a press tour to advertise your new album, and that… was Louie. Your boyfriend of… three months now? Underwear model, definitely too young for you, I never approved but hey, who listens to the Genie? Nobody, because you’re all too ‘metal’ to listen to the Genie.”

That was… so much information at once. The room still felt like it was spinning, Louie had left the bucket on the floor next to the throw up. Eddie kind of wanted to throw up again. He couldn’t even process the ‘boyfriend’ thing.

“Can… can I wish to feel better?” He was almost proud of himself for coming up with that one.

“Sure you can.”

“I wish I felt better.” A snap of Steve’s fingers, and all those aches, all those pains, the headache the nausea the spinning, it all just. Vanished. Kind of disorientating but, for less than a second, and he was fine. Clear as a whistle, never felt better than he did in that moment. “Holy shit…” Steve smiled. He was prettier than Louie when he smiled.

“You’re welcome. Listen Eddie… I’ve basically disguised myself as your bodyguard in this reality, I exist as a normal person in your life, your band know me, your friends know me, I will be there in all realities we walk through together in some way shape or form. But this one… this one is tricky.”

“Can I wish for the throw up to be gone cause it’s starting to smell.”

“Go ahead.”

“I wish the throw up was gone.” Another snap, both the vomit, and the bucket were gone “oooh bucket too, you overachiever” Steve snorted a little laugh, shaking his head, making his softly coifed bangs sway lightly. “Where were you when I needed to clean my room last month?”

“Please be serious, Eddie, only for a moment.” Eddie settled in the bed, hands in his lap, totally fixed on Steve. Then he noticed he had new tattoos on his hands and suddenly that was way more interesting. As were the tattoos up his arms, a whole sleeve, no. Both sleeves! He looked down at his chest, MORE tattoos, and— Steve grabbed the covers before he could lift them to check his lower half. “Eddie.” Oop. The tone was firm, not quite as intimidating as the one Steve had used on Louie, but… Eddie stilled.

“I’m listening big guy.”

“You wished for world fame, that your band were to become world famous. That does not happen in a blink of an eye, Eddie. Not even by magic. That happens with years of experience, of effort, it happens with dive bars, basement, and garage gigs, it happens with multiple awful record deals that limit and exploit you until you find something that works, it takes nearly breaking apart, it takes, and it takes, and it takes, but what it takes the most of… is time. Eddie. It takes time.” And wasn’t that sobering.

He looked at his hands again. Saw the weathered lines amidst the tattoos for the first time.

Steve didn’t stop him this time from looking beneath the covers, there were more tattoos, way more than he remembered having, but there were lines where lines shouldn’t be, scars where scars shouldn’t be, there were wrinkles in places he was too young to have wrinkles in. Weathered.

He looked weathered.

Steve could only be sympathetic about it, could only appear softened, like he knew this would be tough, but he couldn’t really do anything about it.

“…How much time, Steve?” His fingers gripped the covers tight, he could feel his heart in his throat, thumping away faster as anxiety skyrocketed. He was older. His wish was world fame he didn’t think about anything other than that. It wasn’t even supposed to work Steve was supposed to just be some crazy homeless person who walked in from the cold.

He wasn’t supposed to be real.

“About thirty years?” Eddie pinched himself again on autopilot. It hurt. Silently, he threw his covers off of himself, and stood, the room didn’t spin like it had been earlier and nothing hurt like before, Steve’s magic working like a charm. Still silent, he crossed the room to the bathroom, turned on the light, and found himself looking at… a stranger.

No. It was still him. But he was struck with the thought of why someone like Louie, youthful and handsome as he’d been even in his anger, would want something like him? Wrinkled skin, bags under his eyes, his body slimmer than it ever ought to be and his hair… still long and badly maintained, but now peppered with streaks of grey. “What…” his voice croaked, his hand lifting to rub at the loose skin of his cheeks. Gaunt. Weathered. “What happened to me?”

“Addiction mainly.” Steve was there, behind him in the doorway, close but not touching. Never touching. He held a robe in his hand.

“I don’t do—”

“Mmm… you didn’t… not at first. You smoked but… drugs were more a business venture to you than a vice, right?” Absently, Eddie nodded. He’d dealt his fair share of weed, so what? How had he gone from dealer to— “one of those record labels that didn’t fit. You see… it’s easy to keep a band relevant and making money, when they’re always making headlines, good or bad, it doesnt matter, getting publicly trashed makes some people more money than it loses. Coupled with heartbreak, encouragement, and easy access… impulse control was never your strong suit, was it?” He spoke like he knew him. Maybe he did, Steve had said a genie knew its master, right? “World fame has its dark side. There’s no gain without some form of suffering, Eddie, especially when the gain is as gigantic as world fame.”

“Can—can I go back?”

“Of course you can, you need only wish it. However… I don’t think you should though. Not yet. This is jarring, seeing yourself like this, it’s incredibly jarring, however… you asked for world fame and haven’t even experienced it. Just a small downside. Why don’t you live the day, think of it as an opportunity to experience what this is like, maybe it’ll help you achieve some goals in your own time.” Eddie’s eyes returned to his own reflection, taking it in…

He kind of looked like Wayne. There were worse people he could look like in his older years, especially since people had always claimed he looked like his father. But no... he looked like Wayne. He took some comfort in that.

“…Will it be safe?” Steve regarded him with silence for a moment, just long enough for Eddie to understand. “Nothing’s ever totally safe, is it?”

“No, it’s not. But as your bodyguard I’ll be as close as I can at all times. You don’t need to ask if you can wish it either, if you want to go home, just wish it, and it’ll be done, alright?” Steve stepped forwards into Eddie’s space, and carefully draped the robe over his bare shoulders as Eddie nodded his acknowledgement and pulled the robe tighter around himself, Steve’s hands still there, a pleasantly warm and grounding weight on his shoulders. “Now you should shower, and get yourself dressed. You have a few things to do today so I’ll be waiting outside to take you to your first thing once you’re ready.”

Eddie was almost scared to ask. “Which is?”

“Breakfast of course, but then you’re taping a talk show so chop chop!”

Two quick claps in succession and Steve was off, headed for the door to give him some privacy as if he hadn’t just seen Eddie completely nude, ignoring the sharp, “A what?!” That followed from the bathroom as he exited the suite.

Part 4

#PirateWrites #IWishFiclet #Steddie #No Upside Down AU #Genie!Steve #The Adventure begins!!

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tightjeansjavi · 8 months

Text

Slow Hands | Chapter 7

“the losin’ touch, the waiting game”

A/N: so originally this was not going to be a super long chapter, but I felt like a lot needed to be said and boy, was I right. This is another angsty one, but I promise there will be more development of Joel & Beanie’s relationship coming in the next chapters!

Summary: Joel faces punishment for his violent actions towards Lucas. Tensions rise when Joel makes some accusations that test Tommy’s loyalty towards his brother.

~word count: 8.3k~

Pairing | Joel Miller x f! reader

Warnings: angst, family arguments, bigotry, picking favorites, punishment, tension, trauma responses, alluding to depression, explosive anger, resentment, violence against an animal (not depicted but there’s enough detail for assumptions to be made) mentions of a bullet wound, deprecating negative thoughts, mild gaslighting, unknown motives, mixed emotions, making up, starting over, soft Joel!, protective! Joel, no age gap, reader has no physical descriptions (skin color/body type) readers nickname is Beanie (coffee beans) +18 minors dni!

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“Joel, do you know why the community that Tommy and I have built here has been able to thrive for so long?” Maria inquired her brother-in-law who was presently sitting across from her and Tommy. In short, Joel was brought in for questioning after Lucas showed up to Doc's home a few nights back with his broken wrist and a layer of skin missing from the side of his face where Joel had it shoved against the stone wall.

Word had traveled fast through the community, and Tommy clearly didn’t have his brother’s back.

Joel was irritated to say the least. He was hurt by his brother, hurt by Ellie, and by you. He knew you didn’t have the intentions to hurt him, and he couldn’t hold it against you, but man, did it sting.

“Because you don’t condone violence amongst community members.” He gruffly responded under his breath as he crossed his arms over his chest. His jaw was clenched under the sunlight peeking through the windows as he grinded his teeth together.

“Exactly, so what do you think happens when someone in our community acts out violently?” Maria mirrored his actions as she leaned against the bar countertop with a deadly serious look on her unamused face.

“For fuck sakes, Maria. You ain’t have to lecture me like I’m a goddamn kid. Jus’ fuckin’ reprimand me for my actions and get on with it.” He snapped.

“Don’t talk to my wife like that, Joel. Don’t you fuckin’ dare.” Tommy chimed in as he stood up from his chair but Maria held her hand out in a stopping motion, giving her husband a warning look.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ. You’re actin’ like I killed the guy! I broke his wrist and roughed him up a bit. You both realize I could have made it so much worse, right? What the fuck else was I supposed to do? You saw the emotional state Beanie was in after Lucas grabbed her! Y’wanna reprimand me for doin’ what I feel was the right thing? Be my guest, but I won’t sit around here another fuckin’ minute while you lecture me for it.” Joel threw his hands up in the air frustratingly. He didn’t like to be put on the spot, especially by his own family.

“You’re off patrol for two weeks. You are not authorized to leave your house under any circumstances. Tommy will bring you your meals. If you demonstrate good behavior, then I’ll allow you to return to patrol before the two weeks are up.” Maria spoke calmly.

“You’re forcin’ me into fuckin’ isolation? Wonderful. Ain’t like I don’t already know what that feels like on a personal level.” He grumbled under his breath as he stood up from his chair in a haste. He had nothing left to say to either his brother or sister-in-law, and even if he did, it would have fallen sharp on his tongue from the anger that was simmering in the pit of his stomach like a kettle on the stove just waiting to boil over.

He didn’t even pay attention to the sound of the bar stool scraping behind him as he shoved open the bar door on its hinges before storming out. Tommy was right behind him, calling his brother’s name as his palm came to rest along Joel’s shoulder.

“What the hell is the matter with you, Joel?!” Tommy hissed under his breath as the older Miller brother whirled around to face him with a stern look.

“You didn’t even bother to fuckin’ defend me, Tommy! What the hell happened to havin’ each other's backs?! You knew exactly what I was gonna do! Don’t stand there lookin’ at me like that as if you wouldn’t have gone and done the same if it was Maria havin’ a fuckin’ panic attack on that goddamn bathroom floor!” Joel snapped as he yanked his shoulder from his grip.

“Defend you?! What in god’s green earth would I defend you for?! You assaulted Lucas! Every goddamn person saw you drag him into the alley, Joel! This has nothing to do with Beanie, and everythin’ to do with you tryin’ to be the bigger man! For fuckin’ what? To burn some steam off?! Lucas grabbed her arm! He didn’t grab her in a malicious way, Joel!”

“Oh, so that just fuckin’ makes it okay?! You’ll defend him but not your own goddamn flesh and blood? So be it.” Joel spat as he jabbed one of his fingers directly in the middle of Tommy’s chest. “Y’know what I fuckin’ think? I think you’re a goddamn pussy, Tommy. I don’t regret what I did, and I’d fuckin’ do it again in a heartbeat. So don’t even bother bringin’ me my meals. I don’t want to fuckin’ see your face.” His voice cracked as tears pricked the corner of his eyes. Tommy could see his finger trembling as his brother struggled to keep his composure.

“I never fuckin’ said that it makes it okay, Joel! Did those words leave my goddamn mouth? No. If you would just let me fuckin’ finish? Lucas shouldn’t have grabbed her. He had no right to touch her, but Jesus Christ, did you really have to go and break his fuckin’ wrist for it?” Tommy sounded exhausted and on the verge of defeat.

“If I didn’t go out there and teach him a lesson, then no one would. If that kind of behavior goes unpunished, what kinda message do you think that sends to the community?” He was awaiting Tommy’s answer but when he didn’t receive one, he scoffed under his breath and turned on his heel to head home.

Tommy did agree with him. That kind of behavior couldn’t go left unpunished, but he couldn’t argue with his wife and her judgment on the situation. He was between a rock and a hard place when it came down to taking his brother’s side, or his wife’s. Joel’s behavior had to be addressed, but what of Lucas’s and Seth’s? Was he really about to let bigotry fester like an open untreated wound in his community?

“Joel..” Tommy uttered in an unsure tone.

“What?” Joel muttered back in a bitter gnawing tone.

“I’m sorry.” Tommy wanted to say more. He should have said more, but he couldn’t find the words.

“No, you ain’t. You ain’t sorry for shit, Tommy. Couldn’t even defend your own goddamn brother back there? Fuck you. I’m done here.” Joel snapped before he walked off, leaving Tommy in the dust.

Tommy was going to have to swallow his ego one way or another, he was going to have to swallow it and not throw it right back up. So that’s exactly what he did, he swallowed down his pride with one hefty gulp before he walked back into the Tipsy Bison where Maria was still standing in the same position she was in previously before Joel had stormed out.

“Maria, we oughta think about this whole situation through a lil’ more rationally. I ain’t sayin’ we shouldn’t reprimand Joel, but takin’ him off of patrol for two weeks ain’t the way to go about it.”

Maria raised an eyebrow in her husband’s direction with a tight shake of her head. “So, Joel throws a hissy fit and you then decide to take his side? Tommy, he assaulted Lucas. He broke his wrist. He’s lucky we aren’t fucking throwing him out of town. I could have easily exiled him, but felt that was too harsh of a punishment to instill on my brother-in-law.”

“Maria, I hear you, but what about Lucas’s actions? Seth’s? If we’re gonna punish my brother, we should punish them as well. You and I both know I’d never let you throw my brother out. Don’t even bring somethin’ like that up.” He warned her with a disappointed tilt of his head.

“How do you propose that we reprimand them? It would be unfair if their punishment was as severe as Joel’s. Neither of them acted out in a violent manner, Tommy.” Maria attempted to reason with him.

“Maria, with all due respect, Seth called Ellie and Dina a homophobic swear. He harassed them in fuckin’ public. You and I did not witness the way that he grabbed Beanie. No one did because they were in the corner outside of the bathrooms. He claims all he did was grab her arm, but how are we to know for certain?”

Maria let out a sigh as she dropped her arms at her side. She did not enjoy disagreeing with her husband, but it came with being a leader. If Joel goes unpunished for his actions, what kind of message does that send to the community? On the same token, Seth and Lucas’s behavior was unacceptable as well. “Okay, let's meet in the middle on this issue then. Joel is off patrol for 1 week and he’s on house arrest during the evening. Lucas and Seth will be on septic tank duty for that week.”

“I don’t think it's wise for us to take Joel off patrol at all. Maria, he’s one of the most able bodied men that we have. Takin’ him off patrol could put the town at risk. I’m jus’ sayin’ that I personally don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“We have more than enough able bodied men on patrol, Tommy. One week without Joel isn’t going to be detrimental.”

Tommy let out a sigh as he shoulders slumped forward knowing that he wasn’t going to be able to convince her. Maria was pretty damn hard headed when she needed to be. “Alright. I ain’t gonna argue any further. I’ll let Joel know, but after he’s cooled off a bit. He was practically steamin’ out there.”

It was Ellie’s suggestion that her and Dina go and check in on you. It had been days since you left your home since the incident at the Tipsy Bison. You were practically rotting away on the couch in the same spot that Joel left you. Still dressed in the same clothes, with the cup of tea he made you left untouched on the coffee table. You watched the sun rise, and fall each day. You heard the birds chirping outside the window, and the buzzards singing their song, but you did not move. It was as if you were dead from the inside out. Your skin felt filthy after being unwashed, and you could faintly taste copper along your tongue where you had chewn the fleshy bit of your cheek to ruin. Your cuticles were torn with crusted blood along the edges. You welcomed the pain with open arms. You couldn’t even recall tearing your nail beds to shreds.

When you heard the faint knocking at your front door your head just barely turned to acknowledge the sound. You could hear two familiar voices just outside the open window where the cream colored curtains billowed softly in the breeze.

“Hey, Beanie?” Ellie called. “You in here? It’s jus’ Dina and I. Can we come in?”

No answer.

“Well, it’s rude if we just barge in there, El.” Dina whispered.

“It’s been days since anyone has seen her, Dina. We gotta make sure she’s alright.” Ellie whispered back.

You blinked slowly at the clicking sound of the front door being opened.

“Beanie?” Both girls softly whispered amongst each other as they stepped inside.

“In here.” You croaked. Your throat felt raw and rubbed dry like scratchy sandpaper. Was it not just days ago where you had moments of wanting to kiss Joel? Now look at where you lay.

“Oh, Beanie..” Dina trailed off as her and Ellie discovered your curled up frame on the couch.

You diverted making eye contact as the two teenagers approached. Kindness felt so foreign to your skin.

“Have you been laying here all this time?” Ellie asked as she lowered herself along the edge of the coffee table.

You meekly nodded in response.

Your sullen eyes slowly flitted up when you saw the look that Dina and Ellie gave one another. It was the look of concern, not pity.

“Can we help you up?” Dina softly asked as her hand reached out to gently touch your arm.

“No.” You whispered as you turned your face into the pillow.

“We gotta getcha out of the clothes and into a bath or somethin.’ Can’t just let you rot away like this, Beanie.” Ellie was so much like Joel that you would have believed that she really was his own blood.

“Please don’t touch me.” Was all you could muster out as Dina slowly retracted her hand.

Dina and Ellie opted to sit with you instead until Ellie grew curious when she noticed your record collection on the nearby bookshelf. “Y’mind if I take a look at these?”

“Knock your socks off, kid.” Well, at least your humor hadn’t shriveled up and died in some hole too.

Ellie didn’t need to be told twice as she pushed herself up from the coffee table and padded over to the bookshelf. She was extremely careful as she flipped through the records. “Woah, Stevie Nicks? What I wouldn’t have given to see her live.” Ellie murmured softly.

“She was incredible. Saw her for the first time in ‘87. I was just a teenager then. Stevie always had somethin’ special. Grew up listening to her along with Zeppelin, Queen, Depeche Mode, just to name a few.” You mumbled as you slowly sat up from the previous fetal position you had been in.

“Holy fuckin’ shit. You saw Stevie live?!” Ellie lit up like a goddamn firefly as she set the record down gently.

“Kid, I've seen them all live. The 80’s and 90’s were a time to be alive. My friends and I went to as many live concerts as we could. Traveled around the country at one point in an RV. Totally tried the whole groupie thing for The Rolling Stones. I may or may not have kissed Mick Jagger at one point. He was definitely way too old for me, but as a teenager I could have given two shits.”

“Oh my god, you kissed Mick Jagger? Beanie, you swear you ain’t makin’ this all up?” Ellie and Dina were both immediately drawn into your past as you recalled memories being a teenager back in the day.

“I swear on my parents grave, I am not making this up. Back then concerts weren’t all that expensive, and my parents were pretty big hippies so I had a laid back childhood and upbringing. They were always playing music in the house and took me to my first concert when I was 10, and from there the rest was history.”

“Do you have any pictures? I love Depeche Mode. I listen to them on my walkman frequently.” Ellie stated excitedly.

“I’ve got what’s left of the pictures I salvaged after outbreak day. They’re upstairs. I’ll go and get them for you girls.” Suddenly the world didn’t feel like it was weighing down on you like a bag of bricks. Your lungs breathed in a hefty gulp of fresh air, and it no longer felt like you were drowning in an endless sea. It had been years since you brought up your past, but to see both Dina and Ellie show genuine enthusiasm and curiosity? It sent a warmth simmering up your spine.

It didn’t take very long for you to find the box of pictures inside one of your dresser drawers. They were a fair bit dusty and faded, but they instantly brought back wonderful memories that you clutched so tightly to your heart. You shared the same giddy excitement as the two teenagers on your couch as you brought the pictures downstairs.

You sat comfortably between Ellie and Dina as you went through each picture in vivid detail. You were Texas born and raised, and you were damn proud of it. Your parents were the definition of peace, love and happiness. They raised you with goodness in your heart and harmony in your soul. You learned to share your space with simple living things. You always had a soft spot for animals with the dream of becoming a veterinarian from the day you could walk. Turns out, you couldn’t stomach blood very well so Vet school was out of the question. This didn’t deter you from saving every injured creature that would cross paths with you.

The yearning to own an establishment came later in life. At first you thought about opening an art store, apothecary, nursery, or even a bookstore. Coffee was one of your favorite pleasures, and that’s how cuppa smiles came to be. That was the beauty of life at its core. You could wake up one day and decide that you didn’t want to be the person you were presently. You could change your looks, your wardrobe, your aspirations and hope that you got it right this time around.

“Hey, Beanie? Would it be alright if I kept this picture of you?” Ellie asked. The picture was of an 18 year old you. It was graduation night and you were in the back of some guy's pickup truck with a bottle of cheap champagne in your grasp. Your smile was bright and full of life. Eyes wild, filled with mischievous as you grinned at the camera. You were the epitome of beauty. A woman who had made it, and had her whole life ahead of her.

“Sure, you can keep it. I haven’t looked at these photos in years, so it’s nice to see them getting some attention. Is there a specific reason why you wanna keep that one?” You asked with genuine curiosity.

Ellie turned, looking at you with a knowing smile as she held the photograph gently between her fingers. “You just look beautiful and happy.” She murmured with a shrug. Little did you know..Ellie had all the intentions to pin the photograph up on the fridge at Joel’s right where he could see it every morning, and every night.

“It was graduation night. I was absolutely drunk out of my goddamn mind in that photo. It’s a miracle I didn’t fall out of the damn bed of the truck. That dress I was wearing was a real killer too. It was my favorite.” You looked over at her with a small smile tugging on your lips.

For the rest of the afternoon you told the teenager’s more stories, played a few albums on your turntable. Suddenly, taking a shower didn’t seem so terrible anymore. Ellie and Dina gave you your privacy as you bathed, but they stuck around to keep you company through the approaching evening hours.

For a moment that voice inside of your head was muffled, gagged by kindness and unable to lash through it with its sharpened claws. One night of peace seemed a hell of a lot better than none.

Whenever Joel was feeling particularly stressed, he would turn to the domestic comfort and safety of his woodworking shop that was tucked away in his shed behind his home. He did have a little workspace upstairs in his room. His shed was like his own personal safe haven. He could escape there for hours while his hands crafted something beautiful. The same hands that could break a man’s neck in one swift movement could also be held steady while he carved intricate details. Antlers for a moose, swift hooves for a mustang, delicate ears of a doe. Hands that could bruise, and hands that could heal. Hands that clutched a knife and held a life between his weathered fingertips. Hands that grasped a gun like it was an extension of his body. Hands that would tremble, hands that were bruised, torn, broken. Hands that could hold your face so tenderly, so softly as the rough texture of his thumbs brush your tears away.

The rain was softly pattering along the roof shingles as he was working on his newest piece. It was two horses nuzzling in an affectionate way. It was Tex and Tess. He was working on the wispy strands of your mare’s mane when he heard footsteps slowly approaching the small space between the open door. His undamaged ear zoned in on the exact movement as he deciphered who it was. It wasn’t Ellie. It wasn’t you..so that narrowed down his choices immediately. Based off the distinct sound of hesitation, Joel knew it was Tommy and his demeanor already shifted as he tossed his chisel into the nearby toolbox before crossing his arms over his chest with a gruff sigh.

“I come in peace.” Tommy reassured his brother as he gently pushed open the shed door with his shoulder.

“Y’sure about that Tommy? You ain’t come here to rub salt into the wound?” Joel muttered under his breath, nostrils flaring slightly. He was still pretty fucking pissed off at his brother if it wasn’t obvious enough by his body language alone.

“No, i’m here cus’ I was able to get through to Maria on decreasin’ your punishment.”

“Wow.” He huffed, “It’s a fucking miracle.” He deadpanned with a tight shake of his head. “Y’tell her it’s a fuckin’ stupid idea to take me off patrol?”

“Well, I was able to convince her to decrease your punishment to one week off patrol instead of two. I tried to tell ‘er that it’s a risky decision to take you off patrol, but she wouldn’t listen.” Tommy responded as he sank down into the chair nearest to the door.

Joel scoffed as he jaw clenched tightly. “Listen, I respect your wife, Tommy. I’m all for women’ bein’ in leadership roles, and she’s done a damn good job keepin’ this town safe, but she’s got some poor fuckin’ judgment right now. I give it one day before someone gets their head blown off out there.”

“Joel, what the fuck else was I supposed to do, huh? You’re fuckin’ lucky she didn’t decide to throw your ass out.” Tommy bit back.

“She’d be a goddamn fool if she threw me out. She jus’ wanted to make an empty threat so you’d be an obedient husband. She never wants to admit when she’s fuckin’ wrong. Whatever, I'll eat my goddamn punishment with a smile on my face.”

Tommy rang his fingers through his hair with a sigh as he sank back into the chair. “Yeah, well I personally think Lucas and Seth are bein’ let off easy for their actions. They’re gettin’ a week on septic tank duty.”

Joel turned in his chair fully as it scraped across the ground. He let out a full on belly laugh as he shook his head. “Fuckin’ septic tank duty?!” He hissed. “Y’gotta be fuckin’ jokin.’”

“I ain’t.”

“Lucas has a broken fuckin’ wrist! How the hell is he gonna do shit? Not to mention he’ll jus’ find a way to get out of it. Seth is jus’ an old racist n’homophobic fart. He’d rather drop dead before he takes a punishment.” Joel could feel his blood begin to boil at the distaste towards Maria’s choice of punishment.

“Joel, I know you ain’t a fan of Lucas cus’ of how he grabbed Beanie, but you’re gonna drive yourself mad holdin’ a grudge like this. Seth is your stereotypical dickhead, and if I had the authority to kick him out myself? I would.”

“It ain’t have anythin’ to do with Beanie, Tommy.” Joel was quick to snap back. “I don’t trust the guy. Y’remember when we found those bodies in the woods? He barely blinked an eye! He’s got the whole goddamn town wrapped ‘round his finger just cus’ I broke his poor poor wrist. He’s like a snake, i’m tellin’ ya!” He spoke exasperatedly without a care in the world if he was making some wild accusations. Accusations were only false until evidence was presented to turn that false claim to be true.

Joel watched as his younger brother scrubbed his hand down his face with a roll of his shoulders. “Jesus Christ, Joel. Do y’hear yourself right now?! Fuck. Y’can’t be goin’ n’makin’ these wild accusations without any evidence to back it up! Look, I ain’t a huge fan of the guy either, but I ain’t gonna be wavin’ my finger around like you are.” He shook his head disappointedly.

“Course you ain’t. Why don’t ya jus’ go’n turn a blind eye like everyone else then. Go ahead and be a fuckin’ sheep, Tommy.”

Tommy breathed in deeply through his nose with his eyes squeezed shut. He knew that Joel was smart. Smarter than most of the community would believe him to be. Joel also wouldn’t go and make wild accusations without having valid emotions set behind it. If Tommy was going to prove himself to be loyal to his brother, then he was going to have to start making those tough choices now.

“Alright, lets jus’ calm down here for a second, alright?” Tommy tried to reason with him.

Joel was dead silent as he leaned his weight against the chair with a stern look crossing his weathered features as he waited for his brother to continue.

“If you’re suggestin’ that y’wanna start keepin’ tabs on Lucas’s whereabouts, you better have a damn good plan at not gettin’ caught. Cause if this whole thing goes up into fuckin’ flames? Y’know I ain’t gonna be able to defend you without a solid amount of evidence. I’ll take the bullet for ya, but you better give me a damn good reason to, Joel.”

“That’s exactly what i’m suggestin’, Tommy. Maybe I've got it all wrong. Maybe I'm losin’ my mind, but somethin’ about him ain’t sittin’ right with me. If I'm proven wrong, there won’t be a bullet for ya to take.” His tone was much softer now as he un-tensed his shoulders and jaw.

“Alright. Y’do what you gotta do, but don’t let anyone, and I mean anyone, figure out what you’re up to.” Tommy declared in a serious tone as he pushed himself up from the chair.

“Thank you.” Joel murmured.

“For what?” Tommy asked with a slight raise of his brow.

“For havin’ my back.”

“That’s what brothers are for ain’t it? Jus’ don’t make me regret it, Joel.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

Tommy responded with a slight nod before he was slipping past the shed door and into the steady rhythm of rain.

Joel sank back further into his chair as he faced his work bench once more. He gently blew off a bit of wood dust that had settled along Tess’s delicately carved forelock. He worked on the sculpture for hours into the late night until he inevitably fell asleep at his work bench with the soft pattering of rain to lull him into slumber.

Maria was eating her words after one day of not having Joel on patrol. Cody was grazed in the shoulder by a stray bullet that was shot at point range from the nearby treeline. Raiders, no doubt. This one was just a scout, but a skilled one. Not as skilled as Tommy, who ultimately took him out.

Maria dismounted from her horse as Tommy was checking the body for any clues. Any information that would lead them to the raider camp. His search was fruitless. Unrewarding as he crouched down along the bloodstained earth with a sigh. His eyes narrowed in on where his bullet was buried in the scout’s temple, right between his eyes that were now staring up at the dove gray sky, cold and lifeless for eternity.

“I told you it wasn’t a wise idea to take Joel off patrol.” He muttered under his breath as he stood up straight.

Maria ignored her husband as she stood over the body. “Are there others?”

“No. Jus’ the one. That ain’t to say that this one didn’t come from a camp. Most likely was a scout.”

“I thought they would have moved on by now. What the hell are they sticking around for?” She asked with a shake of her head. As far as she was concerned, the raiders should have moved on by now. What was their purpose for sticking around? There weren't nearly enough of them to devise a plan of attack on the town.

“No clue. What I will say is that we’re gonna have to patrol the area more frequently. Expand our routes in every direction. More importantly, Joel is back on patrol startin’ tomorrow.” He leaned in close to his wife as he spoke. This wasn’t him asking for her permission, this was him telling her.

Maria didn’t argue with him.

Joel was back on patrol the following morning. He remained neutral with his sister-in-law. He felt no reason to be smug, especially when he was trying to keep a low profile on himself. It did come as quite the surprise when Maria showed up on his doorstep to personally ask him herself. Now, he was back in the saddle on Tex with the strap of his rifle resting across his shoulder as he rode next to Tommy.

It was fairly quiet as Tommy mapped out the next patrol routes to take. Tex and Timber were as quiet as two mice as their sturdy hooves flattened the earth beneath them. There were no alarming signs of raiders. No danger that could be detected as Tommy placed a marker down at the midpoint. Joel had eased Tex to a halt as he leaned down and gave him a gentle pat on his jet-black neck. His eyes zoned in on a rustling in the tall wispy grass. He noticed fur and white spots as he carefully dismounted. Tommy was half paying attention to his brother as he was scribbling something down on the map.

Joel had slowly crouched down as his hands gently pushed apart the tall grass. There he found a tiny fawn, not more than a day old, curled up in a protective position with only the tips of its tawny colored ears visible. His face softened as he gazed at the innocent creature. He wondered if its mother was nearby. He knew that fawns were often left in a safe area while the doe would search for food. He was just about to stand up when the wind direction shifted and the stench of death attacked his senses.

“Holy fuck.” Tommy stated in disbelief as he was standing over the fawn’s dead mother. At first he thought this was the work of wolves or another predator, but this was man. The poor creature was butchered in a disrespectful and heinous way. Both brother’s had butchered many game animals for meat, but not in the way that would send a grown man buckling to his knees and retching the contents from his stomach. The doe’s body was mangled to say the least. The details were too gruesome for even Joel or Tommy to describe.

“Wolves?” Tommy asked in an unsure tone. He knew the answer.

“No. Wolves wouldn’t kill like that. This was man’s work.” Joel grimaced.

“A warning?” There was a sharp edge to Tommy’s tone as he leaned his weight back into the heels of his boots.

Joel kicked at a patch of torn up grass with the toe of his boot. “Can’t know for sure, but it’s a possibility.”

Both Miller brother’s attention diverted to movement in their peripheral vision as the fawn had hesitantly crept out from the tall grass. Its legs were still a bit wobbly with each step it took towards Tex and Timber. Both horse’s were gentle and curious as their heads lowered towards the tiny, defenseless creature. The fawn’s coal black nose nuzzled against Tex’s before it collapsed to the ground with a squeak.

“We can’t leave it out here to die, Tommy.” Joel sighed as he placed his hands on his hips.

“What the hell are we supposed to do? Take it back with us? Joel, it’s a goner without its mom. Jus’ let it meet its fate.”

“No. It’s innocent. Jus’ barely a day old. It doesn’t deserve to die out here alone or god forbid get torn to shreds by wolves. I won’t stand for it.” Joel muttered as he approached the fawn once more. The poor thing was trembling as it tried to escape between Tex’s front legs.

“Hey, easy there little one. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.” Joel softly spoke as he shrugged his flannel off his arms. “You’re alright. You’re safe. M’gonna take care of ya.” He cooed as he gently brought the flannel around the trembling creature and scooped it into his arms. The fawn struggled for a moment as it cried out for its dead mother. Joel continued to soothingly speak to it while his fingers gently stroked the top of its delicate furry head. Once the fawn recognized it was no longer in danger, it settled in Joel’s arms and soon fell asleep as it was ridden with exhaustion and malnourishment.

“Where are ya even gonna keep a fawn, Joel?” Tommy asked as he mounted back onto Timber with a huff.

“Dunno. Maybe I can make a pen or somethin’ next to Tex’s stall. I’ll figure that out when we get back.” He gruffly spoke as he used his free arm to mount back into the saddle. He was careful to not jostle the fawn too much as he held it securely with his freehand clutched around the reins.

He tilted his head downwards in a somber motion towards the fawn’s deceased mother.

I’m sorry, my dear. Man can be so cruel. So unforgiving towards Earth’s innocent creatures.

The tidings of a new morning kissed your skin like dew drops along a flower petal. You were so grateful for the company of Ellie and Dina. They had shown you unconditional kindness that came purely from their souls. Now you have two new friends. The three of you would become as thick as thieves. Until then, you were back in your shop with the door propped open to welcome in the fresh late spring breeze. Summer was on the horizon in a day's time. You decided to spruce up a little to get your mind off Joel and how you dismissed him on your couch after the incident. Your heart hurt as your mind replayed the image of his hurt stricken face as he slipped past your door. The night was so perfect, too perfect. You knew you’d see him again, but when? Under what context? You couldn’t blame him for not seeking you out. You never meant to hurt his feelings and of course he knew that, but your heart still stung. Why couldn’t you just be normal?

You were drawn away from your present thoughts when the bell dangling along the door chimed. Your heart skipped a fucking beat as you immediately assumed it was your Joel. You were already subconsciously checking your appearance in the mirror along the wall when you heard someone clear their throat. Your face fell mildly for a moment when you turned the corner. It wasn’t your Joel; it was Lucas, with a visible bandaged wrist.

“Hey, Beanie.” He waved with his good hand as a lopsided smile spread across his lips.

Your eyes zoned in on his bandaged wrist as he approached the countertop where you were presently standing. When did that happen? How did that happen? Who broke his wrist? Did..Joel have something to do with this?

“Lucas? Hey, how are you doing? I uh–wasn’t expecting you to drop by.” You calmly spoke as you nervously played with your fingers behind your back.

“Could be better. Nice place y’got here. I shoulda stopped by sooner. What’s your speciality?” He gestured to the chalkboard menu above the countertop.

“Lattes. Any flavored latte really. Would you..like one?”

“Sure. Surprise me with the flavor.” He shrugged as he looked around with an unreadable expression on his face. “I’m sure you’re wonderin’ why I stopped in today, huh? I just wanted to apologize for my behavior the other night. I had no intentions to send you any mixed signals, Beanie. If I was coming across in a suggestive way, I am very sorry.” He apologized in a calm and collected manner as he stood a few inches from the countertop.

“Oh, it’s alright. I suppose I should apologize as well for the way that I reacted? I’m just..not used to people reaching out and grabbing me like that. I am sorry for causing a scene. I know that you didn’t have any ulterior motives. Was the way I reacted a direct result in the cause of that bandage around your wrist?” You asked quietly as you grabbed a mug for the latte.

“My wrist?” He chuckled then as he leaned his elbow against the countertop casually. “You could say that. Your guard dog has himself a bit of a temper. S’a good thing it was a clean break. Scraped my face up pretty good too.” He responded in such a casual tone that you couldn’t help the slight chill that rolled down your spine like a dripping faucet.

“Im..sorry? My guard dog? Are we talking about Joel? He broke your wrist?”

“Darlin’ who else would act that way? Yes, it was Joel. Cornered me in the alley and shoved me against the wall.” He tsked under his breath with a sigh.

“Lucas, I'm so sorry. I swear, I had nothing to do with that. I didn’t tell him to go and break your wrist.”

“Beanie, s’alright. He’s a violent man. Probably woulda killed me with his bare hands if he got the chance. Anyway, I jus’ wanted to make sure I cleared the air with you first and foremost.”

Your stomach felt slightly queasy as your fingers trembled out of sight. You weren’t naive. You knew that Joel had killed numerous people in order to survive for this long. You held no judgment towards him. Everyone had to kill at some point in order to survive. Why would he act in such a manner if he no longer had to function in survival mode? Joel’s violent outburst towards Lucas wasn’t sitting right with you at all. You could feel your heart rate increase as you clutched your chest with a shaky breath.

“I’m–i’m sorry he did that to you, Lucas. I appreciate your apology, and I accept it.” You stuttered out as you nearly spilled a bit of coffee on your hand while you were handing him the mug.

“Like I said, it’s alright. Don’t go and worry your pretty little head over that violent Joel Miller. Thanks again for the latte.” He was looking right into your eyes now as he took the mug from your trembling hands. He stepped back from the counter followed by a tip of his imaginary hat in your direction. “See ya around, Beanie.” He left through the front door of your shop moments later and disappeared down the street.

You were left frozen on the spot as you used a rag to wipe away the stray dribbles of coffee from the counter. Your hands were still trembling as you busied yourself with more cleaning.

Joel would never. He wouldn’t.

Oh, but he would.

He did.

Why would Lucas lie about his wrist?

Joel is a violent man.

It's in his nature.

He’s dangerous.

Unpredictable.

A ticking time bomb.

And you’re a fool if you think otherwise.

Maybe that nagging voice inside of your head was right. Maybe Joel wasn’t all you believed him to be. This was about to be put to the test when his familiar scent wafted in through the open door. You heard his boots scuff along the wood flooring as the bell chimed above his head. He was holding something in his arms. You couldn’t tell what it was, but by the flushed expression on his face, whatever it was held a sense of urgency to him.

“Beanie.” He breathed out as he held the bundle in his arms close to his chest.

“Joel.” Your response was meek as you stepped around the corner of the countertop.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know where else to go. Couldn’t leave this poor baby out in the wilderness to die.” He murmured urgently as he approached.

“Joel, what are you talking about?” You asked with a hint of caution laced in your tone.

“This..fawn. Tommy and I were patrolin’ and I found it in the tall grass. Its mother was..killed by wolves presumably. I couldn’t just leave it out there. It’s barely a few days old.” He spoke softly as he gently pulled back the flannel to reveal the tiny fawn’s head. Its big brown eyes stared up at you with thick black lashes. The fawn showed timid curiosity as it sniffed the air for any immediate threats.

“Oh my goodness.” You whispered in disbelief as you peered down at the innocent creature.

How could a man be so violent, yet be tenderly holding a fawn in his arms as if it was fine delicate china that would shatter from the slightest touch.

It made your head spin.

“I ain’t got a single clue how to take care of it, and there's no tellin’ if it’ll make it through the night. Can..you help me, please?” He looked into your eyes, pleading silently.

“Joel, of course I'll help you. It's probably starving. Why don’t you..sit down and i’ll get some milk. Hopefully the poor thing will drink it.” you murmured in a hush tone as you disappeared behind the counter. There was a fridge in the back room that stored milk, cream and the occasional snack or two. You grabbed the small bottle of milk and a bowl before returning to the front area. Joel was sitting stiffly in one of the chairs as the fawn laid comfortably in his lap. You took the seat across from him with the bowl and milk bottle sitting on the table before you poured a bit into the bowl. “Here, put a bit on your finger and see if it’ll nurse.”

He slowly looked over at you before he nodded and used his free hand to dip one of his fingers into the bowl. The fawn was already lifting its head towards the familiar scent of milk and when Joel slowly lowered his finger towards the fawn’s nose, it immediately began to nurse. Joel stilled in his seat for a moment as images of a baby Sarah nursing from a bottle in his arms surfaced through his mind. She was so tiny. A silent tear rolled down the cavern of his cheek as the fawn sucked the few drops of milk from his finger.

“Joel?..”

“I’m sorry.” He whispered as he went to brush the stray tear away.

“Joel, what..happened after you left the bathroom?”

God, she knows. She knows and now she’s afraid of me.

You watched as he inhaled a sharp breath before his eyes slowly flitted over to yours. He held a steady contact before he finally spoke.

“I did what I felt was right. It’s not alright for anyone to go and grab someone like that. He had no right to touch you, Beanie.” He breathed out.

“And you had the right to break his wrist?” Your voice trembled slightly as you watched the way his face fell.

“Beanie, I–couldn’t jus’ let him get away with that. I only wanted to protect you.” He tried to reason with you.

“Joel, I never asked you to protect me. You can’t just go and break people’s wrists just because they touched me. Why couldn’t you just leave it alone?”

“You never had to ask. It comes naturally to me. Look, I've already been punished for my violent actions. I couldn’t leave it alone because you were a wreck. I came into the bathroom and you were thrashing like a goddamn fish in Tommy’s arms. You wouldn’t even let me get near you for over ten minutes. Don’t you remember? Honey, you were in fuckin’ shambles.” He nearly whispered as his voice cracked.

“I–I don’t remember, Joel. I don’t remember any of it.” You could feel the tears begin to brim along your waterline as your fingers trembled in your lap. “I..was that bad?”

“Beanie..you tucked yourself between two sinks with your back facin’ Tommy and I. My intentions were to just..rough him up a bit. He didn’t even know what the hell I was gettin’ on him for. He acted like he had done nothin’ wrong. Look, if you hate me now, and you ain’t want nothin’ to do with me, jus’ please save it. I’ve endured enough pain in my life. Jus’ rip the bandaid off if that’s what you gotta do.”

“What?” You looked over at him with tears freely rolling down your cheeks, mirroring his own. “Joel, I don’t hate you, I just didn’t understand why you did what you did. I wish that I remembered what had happened so that I could wrap my head around this whole thing. Lucas came in here about twenty minutes ago and told me what happened. He also apologized for how he acted, and then he left.”

Hell had suddenly frozen over in Joel’s world when you recounted Lucas having the nerve to show up to your shop and apologize for his behavior. Joel knew he had to remain calm despite the temperature of his blood skyrocketing. Lucas was here. He was in your shop, and Joel was not happy about it.

“Beanie, S’alright that you don’t remember what happened. I don’t wanna end up triggerin’ your memories or nothin.’” He sighed softly as he thought about the careful choice of words he’d have to use when discussing Lucas. “Lucas was here?..Well, I'm glad that he apologized. Is that all he said?”

“Joel, it’s not okay that I don’t remember. I can’t fucking recount anything after the moment he grabbed my arm. It’s all a blank screen in my mind.” Your tone alone gave away how frustrated you were as you vigorously wiped away your tears. “He–said that you’re a violent man, and that I shouldn’t worry my pretty little head about it.” You whispered the last bit out as your eyes drifted down to your trembling palms that were resting in your lap.

Joel bit down on the inside of his cheek hard enough that he could taste copper along his tongue. He swallowed hard as he tried to calm his nerves. How dare he. How dare he try and turn you against him. What was this little conniving snake trying to stir up now?

“He’s right. I am a violent man.” He muttered under his breath. “I’d be a fool to sit here and try to lie to you, Beanie. I’ve done some godawful things in the name of survival, but I'd never hurt you. I’d never grab you like that. I’d never cross those boundaries. Beanie, please jus’ be careful, okay? Please.”

“Joel, I know you’d never hurt me. I don’t care that you’re a violent man. Who am I to judge you? Everyone has had to kill to survive. I’m no saint either. Look, neither you or I can go back to that night. I wish I could. I wish I could reverse the clock because I was having such a good time with you, Joel.” You looked over at him with glassy eyes as you sniffled softly.

“You..don’t care? Do you truly mean that, Beanie? I was having such a wonderful time with you as well. I’m sorry that I allowed myself to act upon violence. I should have jus’ stayed in the bathroom with you and Tommy. Should have stayed with you.” His head dropped slightly in mild defeat.

“Joel, of course I mean that. I’m sorry too. I’m sorry for pushing you away when you tried to comfort me on my couch. You were just trying to help and I pushed you away..”

“Sweet girl, you don’t have to apologize for a goddamn thing. You needed space, so I gave it to ya. You know your body best. I wasn’t gonna try’n force you to let me stay. Last thing I wanted to do was make you uncomfortable.” He murmured sincerely.

You wanted to laugh through your tears when he called you sweet girl. You weren’t anywhere near the age of a girl anymore, but it was still a thoughtful gesture that you appreciated more than you realized.

“Can..we start over? Can we put this all behind us?” You asked hesitantly as your hand slowly reached across the table.

“Course we can. There ain’t anyone here that can tell us that we can’t. Clock’s still goin’ but that doesn’t mean we gotta stick with the times. We can go at it at our own pace. Whatever we’re comfortable with.” He reassured you as his hand that wasn’t occupied with the fawn reached towards you across the table.

Your fingertips brushed before they interlocked in a gentle squeeze as you both fell into a moment of silence.

“What do we name this little one?” He asked softly as he dipped his free finger back into the bowl of milk.

“Bambi?” That seemed like the obvious choice given the circumstances.

“Nah.” he murmured with a boyish grin. “How about Beanie number 2?”

“How original.” You mused with a soft smile on your lips.

“Or what about Honey? Pretty sure it's a girl.” He shrugged.

“Honey. I like it.” You murmured as you squeezed his hand gently.

“Y’hear that, Honey? We’re gonna take care of ya. Remember that horse you were nuzzlin’ on? That’s Tex. He’s gonna be your protector too. We’re gonna make sure you have a good life, alright little one?” He spoke so softly to the innocent creature that gazed up at him like he had crafted the sun for that fawn with his bare hands in his toolshed.

How could a man be so violent, yet so tender.

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teenidlegirl · 2 months

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꣑୧ ݁.﹒𝓜𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝓜𝐄 𝓗𝐀𝐋𝐅𝐖𝐀𝐘 .ᐟ

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 ┆ 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞

ઇ ˚ ݂ ֹ ꒰ miguel o’hara 𝓍 fem!civilian!reader ꒱ ! ۟ ׅ ♡

. ˚◞ ♡ 𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚⠀˖ ࣪ ༘ you wake up in a random bed and dressed in an oversized shirt. turns out you are in miguel’s penthouse. you demand some answers about what happened. however, he says some things he shouldn't have said.

. ˚◞ ♡ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕⠀˖ ࣪ ༘ angst, heartbreak (sorry not sorry), swearing, mentions of drowning, mentions of near-death experiences, miguel being an asshole

❛⠀ previous chapter⠀⋅⠀masterlist⠀⋅⠀next chapter ⠀❜

softness awakes you, engulfing your body in a delicious comfort. the sunlight shines down your on form, like a warm blanket. slowly opening your eyes, you’re greeted by the warm light of the sun through the window, no curtains to block it. you blink a few times to adjust to the bright sunlight. once your eyes adjust, you look around your surroundings. you find yourself in a bed, not your bed. this is not your room; not your home. you take a moment to stretch, arching your back and stretching your arms, soft kitten moans escaping your lips. damn that was a good stretch. slowly sitting up on the bed, you find daisy on the floor softly barking and wagging her small poofy tail in excitement. oh how you miss your furry baby. before you jump out of bed, you quickly glance down at your clothes. a plain white shirt.

wait — this isn’t your shirt.

you slowly get out of bed, rubbing your eyes. as you stand up, you glance down at the white shirt again and your mouth drops open.

holy shit — the shirt is huge on you. it reaches down to your knees and the sleeves are so loose on your shoulders. it looks like a nightgown. looking down further, you seem to be wearing a pair of white socks that goes up to your calves.

whose clothes are these?

whose home are you in?

so many questions plagued your mind. scooping up daisy and carrying her in your arms, you walk out of the bedroom and down the hallway. there’s no pictures or wall decor, only blank white walls. two voices come from the end of the hallway. walking down the hallway and entering the living room, you find a tall man clad in a white long sleeve sweater and gray sweats standing in the middle of the room. you recognize that muscular back any day.

“uhhh boss, you got a visitor.” lyla nods her head at you before vanishing.

miguel swiftly turns around, meeting your gaze. “oh you’re awake, oh gracias a dios.” he walks up to you but leaves some space in between.

“uh yeah.” you clean your throat awkwardly. “quick question, where the hell am i?” you quirk a brow.

“my penthouse.”

your brows raised in surprise. “your penthouse? goddamn. okay, richie rich.” a chuckle escapes your lips, glancing around the living room in amazement.

miguel rolls his eyes, taking another step closer. “how’re you feeling? did you sleep okay?” he rushed out, hint of concern in his tone.

“uh yeah, actually. probably one of the best naps i’ve ever taken.” you chuckle, gently petting daisy’s head. “what the hell happened last night?” you knew something happened in order for you to end up in miguel’s penthouse. yes, you do remember him and the gang rescuing you but your mind went blank afterwards. you really want answers.

miguel stares at you dumbfounded. “are you serious? you don’t remember anything?” he sounds genuinely shocked, or even confused a bit.

“oh well — i remember you and the others rescuing me. kicked harry’s and doc ock’s asses but i don’t remember anything else after that.” you shrug awkwardly but answer truthfully.

you got the sense something serious happened by the way miguel was looking at you with those wide eyes, like he was in disbelief by your words. it made you feel a bit anxious. what the hell happened last night? was it that bad or something?

a sad sigh escaped his plump lips as he ran a hand through his dark chocolate locks, the other hand resting on his waist.

oh you didn’t like that look. that definitely meant something bad happened.

“miguel, what happened?” you sounded desperate, taking a step closer towards him.

he turns away from you. hands rested on his waist, head hanging low. “you couldn’t listen, could you? always so damn stubborn.” he mumbled.

you frown at that. “what?…”

“why couldn’t you just listen to me?” he mumbles on, still looking away from you.

why is he saying these things? did you do something bad? it confuses the hell out of you. sure, you are a stubborn person but not stupid. these mumble words were starting to piss you off since he isn’t answering the damn question.

you take another step forward. “miguel, what the hell happened?!”

“YOU ALMOST DIED!”

he finally turns around. crimson eyes boring into yours. canines and claws peeking out. chest heaving rapidly and hands balled into fists at his sides.

that look reminded you the first time he looked at you like that when you accidentally snooped through his private files in his office. the sight terrified you, this time not really but startled you a bit. it just naturally happens when he get angry or frustrated.

“what?…” you look at him confusingly, almost in disbelief at his shocking answer.

“you almost drowned!” miguel threw his hands in the air out of frustration. “you almost drowned, don’t you understand that?! of course not because you’re so fucking stubborn! you should have just listened to me when i told you to leave but no! you never listen to me and almost got yourself killed!”

for once, you were speechless. all you could do was stare at him with wide eyes. poor daisy was shivering in your arms, softly whining.

almost drowned? oh fuck.

it was that bad.

he lets out a sad sigh at the lack of your response. miguel runs a hand through his hair again, shoulders slumped. he knows lashing out at you is wrong, considering the last time he did that and things went to shit afterwards. he needs to tell you everything.

“after we took them down, harry activated one of his grenades and threw it at us. i rushed out to you but the whole place blew up before i could even reach you. then, you got knocked out by one of the pillars and you fell into the lake. i went after and saved you. when i did, you didn’t wake up…” miguel meets your gaze for a moment then looks back down, feeling anxious at the horrible memory. “you… you just laid there… not moving or breathing for two minutes. two fucking minutes. the worst two minutes of my fucking life.” he rubs the temples of his forehead with a hand, calming himself to not lash out again. “then you finally did.” he brings down his hand to his side. “but then you passed out. so i took you back here, changed you into warm clothes and carefully placed you in my bed so you could rest. i stayed up all night to make sure you were okay.”

you remain speechless, or perhaps enthralled by the last part. he took care of you? changed you out of your drenched dress and into his own clothes? slept in his own damn bed? stayed up all night just to see if you were okay? your heart fucking melted. suddenly, your eyes began to feel moist but you held it back. you can't cry right now.

“i…” you don’t even know what to say, too speechless and enthralled by his actions. the first thing that popped in your mind was expressing your gratitude. “thank you… for all of this…” you gesture at your (his) shirt and his bedroom. “i’m grateful…”

you were too shy to look at him. when you do, your eyes meet for a second before miguel looks away. he turns around again, his muscular back to you. the sight makes you sigh, slightly annoyed.

“what?” you push, annoyance laced in your tone.

you’re only met with silence. it’s clear there was more and miguel is just being difficult. you just wait, folding your arms over your chest.

“this can’t happen anymore…”

you look at him in confusion. “what?”

his shoulders slumped as a sad sigh escapes him, clenching his fists. “whatever… this is, it’s over.”

anxiety starts kicking in, adrenaline flowing through your veins. “what the hell are you talking about?”

miguel turns to face you, those ruby irises present. “this!” he gestures at the space between you two. “whatever this is, it’s done! it’s over.”

you stand there dumbfounded. heart pounding in your chest, anxiety consuming your body. a thin layer of water began forming in your eyes. “what?”

he flinched at your voice crack, making his heart ache. “you need to forget about me. forget about everything about us.”

you frown. “what the fuck are you talking about? what do you mean ‘forget about you’?”

“we can’t be friends anymore, or whatever the hell we were. this is done.” miguel states firmly, but deep down inside he was hurting. he knew this would hurt you both, break both your hearts.

but he has to do this.

he has to keep you away from the down side of him.

your vision turns glossy as tears threaten to spill. your heart breaks, anxiety at its peak. he can’t be serious. he doesn’t want to be friends anymore? he wants you to forget him? and he forgets you?

what the fuck?

“why?” your voice cracks, a mix of upset and anger.

“because you’ll get hurt!” miguel exclaims and you went silent. “you’ll always be in danger because of me! look what happened! you were kidnapped and almost fucking drowned because of me!”

a single tear drop from your eyes trails down your cheek and miguel’s heart cracks.

“this is why i don’t get close with anyone! because they always get hurt, or worse, killed!” his chest heaves. “i should never have met you.” oh fuck that slipped out his mouth and instantly regret it. his eyes widen in realization, looking at you but he knew those words hurt you by that heartbroken look. oh he fucked up again and he hates himself. he hates the hurt look in your eyes all because of him.

that’s when your heart breaks.

in simple terms, he wants you out of his life.

to fuck off.

more tears spill from your eyes and you don’t even bother to wipe them, allowing them to fall freely. you can’t even look at him anymore now that he wants you out of his life. then, the sorrow turns into anger. very slowly and intimating, you finally look up at him but with anger in your eyes. that made miguel shit his pants, an unpleasant shiver his spine. that was the first time he witnessed anger in you.

“fine.”

without giving him a chance to speak, you storm back into his bedroom, leaving a confused miguel in the living room. not even five minutes, you return but wearing your black dress that was drenched from yesterday’s attack as daisy follows you. supposedly he washed and dried it while you were asleep; how generous but that doesn’t get rid of the frustration flowing through your veins at this moment. miguel watches you walk towards the front door without sharing a glance at him before stopping in front of it.

“since you want me out of your fucking life, i don’t need this shit.” you take off the watch he gave you and throw it on the floor, shattering into pieces. without looking back at him, you grab daisy again and walk out the door, slammed it on your way out, leaving him speechless and heartbroken.

the minute the door closed, miguel fell down to his knees and broke down.

he fucked up for the second time.

ᡣ𐭩ㅤㅤ ݁. 𝓣𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ˖ ࣪ ༘ @loser-alert @keepitreal001 @iamperson12280 @nostalgicdaira @flordelalunas @oharasfilipinawife @cho-coquette @lavenderslemonade @palesatan @awkward-d3rs3-dr3amer @lilscast @beanieboy23 @dorck26 @kakabskbskdnd @4crew @deputy-videogamer @36namey @sin4tra @holographicang3l @migueloharasoulmate @darlingz99 @opalesquegirl @freehentai @rinverse @colorfulbluebirdpainter @razertail18 @shadowzena43 @undf-stuff @miatjie @leshasnolife

#꒰ ˖ ࣪ . 𐙚 ⊹ ꒱ — 𝓜𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝓜𝐄 𝓗𝐀𝐋𝐅𝐖𝐀𝐘 .ᐟ #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #across the spiderverse #fanfic series

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pink-sparkly-witch · 1 year

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The Widow - Chapter Eight (Finale)

Chapter Eight

Summary: Sam and Y/N are happily married, but everything changes after a fatal car accident leaves her a widow. The Winchester motto: "Family Don't End with Blood," takes on a whole new meaning for Y/N as she navigates her new normal with the help of her brother-in-law, Dean. But what no one can tell her, is what happens when she falls in love again?

Pairing: Sam Winchester x F!Reader (past) | Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, feelings, heart-to-heart, fluff, kissing

Words: 2,641

A/N: That's all folks! Thank you all for reading and for coming on this journey with me. I appreciate all of you more than you know! 💖 I'm sure going to miss these two, but it was fun getting them to where they needed to go.

Huge thank you again to my gorgeous beta: @negans-lucille-tblr I’m not sure this would’ve even been posted without your encouragement, and thank you doesn’t seem like enough 😘

Now… go and grab those tissues!!

You can catch up here!

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Y/N’s POV

The first few minutes in the car are spent in awkward silence and it kills you. The relationship you have with Dean has always been easy and to think it’s been damaged beyond repair makes you sad.

“So…” Dean finally breaks the silence between you when you stop at a red light. “Good lunch?” He glances over at you and you scoff.

“That’s where you wanna go here? How was lunch?” You laugh, but it’s not the humourous kind.

“If you don’t mind, I’d much rather we get to the point and just agree that last night was a mistake and won’t happen again. So let’s do that, let’s pretend it never happened, not talk about it ever again and try to go back to the way things were.” You finish and turn your head to look out the car window.

“Before we do that, I need to say something. Last night meant everything to me,” he looks over at you and waits until you turn back towards him and meet his gaze. “Everything, Y/N. I don’t know when it happened, but I do know when I realised I was in love with you.”

“Dean…” you mutter. His words shock you, that’s about as much as you know right now, and you’re glad Dean ignores the interruption and continues talking, because you have no idea how to respond.

“It was when your car broke down on the hottest damn day of the year,” he chuckles at the memory, “and you called me for a tow. I was driving down the road you were stopped on, and I saw you sitting on the hood of your car, and you looked so beautiful. I swear you were glowing in the sunlight. It was like you had a goddamn halo or something! And my heart just stopped, and I thought ‘shit, I’m in trouble here,’ since then, I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re the first thing I think of when I open my eyes in the morning and the last before I fall asleep. Fuck… I tried to stop, I swear I did…

“I know this is hard for you to hear and it’s probably the last thing you want to deal with right now and that’s okay. But, I need you to know you were not a mistake, sweetheart. I don’t regret what we did and I never will. I know we have something that could work if you give us a chance, because you can’t fake the kinda connection we had last night. But if you want to pretend last night never happened and go back to how things were, then I’ll do that for you… but if I’m right and you feel something more for me, please, tell me.”

You remain silent and take in his confession. He’s right, you do have feelings for him, the trouble is, you don’t know if you can trust yourself. Are they real feelings, or are you mistaking them for the comfort and familiarity Dean gives you?

And then you ask yourself where this can even go. He’s your husband’s brother; people will talk. And it’s not that you care what they’ll say necessarily, there are other factors involved here. Including how John will feel, and the impact such a “scandal” could have on the family business. More importantly, though, you don’t know if you can do that to Sam.

“You know what? Forget I said anything. Your silence says it all, Y/N. Let’s just sweep last night under the carpet and chalk it down to bad judgement,” you know Dean is hurt because his voice comes out weak and defeated and you despise yourself for it.

“It wasn’t,” it’s barely audible, but at least you got something out.

“Wasn’t what?” Dean asks.

“Bad judgement,” you clarify. “And I do feel something for you, I just…” you sigh, and let your thoughts hang in the air as you try and decipher what this all means and what the best thing to do is.

“Alright,” Dean nods his head. “When we get home, we’re going to talk about all of this, okay?” Dean fixes his gaze on you and you nod in agreement. “We need to lay our cards on the table and hear each other out. It’s the only way we’ll be able to get past this, whatever this is, or ends up being.”

Again, you know he’s right. You need to get it all out in the open and be completely honest with each other because it’s the only way you’ll be able to keep Dean in your life.

“Okay,” you agree with a nod.

You go back to spending the journey in silence, but it’s not quite as heavy and suffocating as before, and you have the tiniest glimmer of hope that everything will work out just fine.

Sitting on your sofa next to Dean, you hand him a tumbler with a decent measure of whiskey and untuck the bottle from under your arm to place it on the table. In a bid for more time, you take a long sip from your wine glass as you desperately try to figure out what the hell just happened and how you ended up in this position. Dean speaks first and you sigh in relief as you’re at a complete loss for words.

“I just wanna start by saying I meant what I said,” Dean begins. “All of it,” he adds before you can question him. “I have fallen in love with you, and last night did mean the world to me.” With that, he downs the whiskey in one gulp and refills his glass. Now, at least you have your first question.

“So why didn’t you stay with me? Why did you get up and drink all night?” you ask quietly.

“We got so caught up in the moment, and neither of us even stopped to think,” he looks down at the floor and you can see and feel the shame radiating from him in waves.

“When we were finished and you were sleeping in my arms, it was like everything came crashing back to reality. I felt guilty for doing that to Sam, I felt ashamed for taking advantage of you when you were upset, I knew I’d ruined things between us and I knew I had no one to blame but myself.

“I didn’t mean to stay away all night,” Dean says, looking at you for the first time since he’d started to explain himself. “I only intended to have one or two to help me sleep, but I got upset and… two became four, and well… you saw me this morning.”

“You know you didn’t take advantage of me, right? That if I didn’t want it to happen, it wouldn’t have?” you ask him, reaching a hand out to cup his cheek and pushing gently to make him look at you. “Dean, I swear to you, I wanted it too…” you begin, but a scoff from the green-eyed man next to makes you frown.

“So this morning was what?” He looks at you pleadingly, like he was silently asking you to tell him that he hadn’t been a mistake.

“One big miscommunication, apparently,” you chuckle sadly. “Dean, when I woke up this morning, the first thing I felt was guilt for doing that to Sam. And when I turned over to seek you out, to get some comfort and to be told we didn’t do anything wrong, I was met with a cold bed.

“Fine, I thought, maybe he feels some of the guilt I do and was awake early, or couldn’t sleep… but when I came downstairs and saw the empty bottle and the bloodshot eyes, I went to the worst thing I could think of. Regret. And I went on the defensive, and for that I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left without talking to you.”

“And I should’ve never left you alone. I’m truly sorry, sweetheart. Not once did it cross my mind that you’d feel the way you did. You know, knowing that makes me feel worse than the guilt ever could.” Dean’s words are full of sincerity and you nod, believing everything he’s told you tonight.

“Okay, so we both agree we did nothing wrong and that it wasn’t a mistake, but I still feel like we haven’t resolved this,” you say looking up at him. Dean nods his head in agreement, but remains silent, staring at you intently. You know this part is up to you–he’s already told you how he feels–but you stall by taking a few more sips of wine.

“I know Sam is gone, and no matter how much I want it, he’s never coming back. I know he’d want me to be happy and to find someone to love and who loves me,” you glance up at Dean and see hope in his expression. “But I feel like I’d be cheating on him or something if that person is you. And,” you continue quickly, wanting to get everything out at once, “I don’t know if I really feel what I feel for you, or if I’m confusing your familiarity with Sam for real feelings.”

Dean nods and reaches his hand out to stroke your cheek. “I understand that, sweetheart. I feel the same way, but you’re right, he’d want you to be happy, and if that ends up being with me, then we’ll get through it together. And if it isn’t with me, then I’ll help you get through it.”

You think about what Dean said, your heart filling with hope that no matter what, he’d still have your back. “How do I know if what I feel is real?”

“Well, sweetheart,” he chuckles, “I can’t help with that, that’s gotta be all you. Only you know how you feel and what’s real or not.”

Placing your wine glass on the coffee table, you shift closer to Dean and tentatively place your head on his shoulder. You smile as you hear him sigh happily.

“C’mere,” he opens his arms and lets you cuddle into his chest before putting his arms around you and kissing your forehead. The warmth and safety of Dean’s embrace spreads over you like you’ve just lay down in a hot bath, and it makes you hum in pure contentment.

His arms squeeze you tighter into his body and you find yourself raising your head to look at him. Really look at him. His bright green eyes show you nothing but tenderness. You scan your eyes over the freckles that dust his face like a beautiful, undiscovered constellation; he truly is a stunning man.

Dean licks his lips, bringing your attention to them and your memories drift to last night and how those lips felt on yours and your body. Slowly, you tilt your head and move closer to him, gently pressing your lips to his.

Hesitantly, Dean opens his mouth and you take him up on his invitation, deepening the kiss and moaning as your tongues meet. The kiss is gentle and slow, neither of you in a rush to be anywhere but right here at this moment.

With your lips still attached to his, you straddle him and settle down in his lap. Feeling the beginnings of a bulge in his jeans, you grind your core into it, smirking at his groan.

“Y/N, sweetheart.” Dean is breathless, and you find the effect you have on him intoxicating. “If you want a repeat of last night, I’m all yours, but I need to hear you say it.”

“I want you, Dean.”

Six Weeks Later

“Hey, handsome,” you smile. “It’s been a while and I’m sorry for that,” you say as you sit cross-legged at Sam’s grave. “I’ve had some things going on that I needed to work out,” you pause and pick at the strands of grass around you.

“Something happened that I never thought would. I fell in love again. He makes me happy, Sammy. And I know he’s a good man and he’ll treat me right. If he doesn’t I’ll kick his ass,” you chuckle. “Then I’ll come here and beg you to haunt him!” your smile quickly turns to a sob.

“It’s Dean, Sam. I fell in love with Dean but I didn’t mean to. It just happened. And I need you to know that I never…” you need to stop talking to make way for the tears that won’t stop falling.

“I never felt that way about him when you were here. And I need you to know that. This is new and unexpected for both of us. I’ll always love you, Sammy, and I miss you. So fucking much every goddamn day! It’s just that I love him too. And I hope you can forgive me.”

You sit in silence for a while, just being. You know you should leave soon. Dean and John are waiting and you know they’ll be starting to worry about you. Movement catches your eye and you turn your head to see a butterfly fluttering nearby.

It lands on Sam’s gravestone and you smile, feeling a childlike joy at seeing the red admiral so close and so late in the year, even with the mild fall.

It remains perched and unmoving for a while longer before it flies over and lands on your knee. That’s when you know that this beautiful creature is a sign, and that Sam is with you.

You can feel him next to you, and you have the overwhelming feeling that everything is going to be alright and that he approves of you and Dean. The red admiral takes flight once again and circles your body.

You don’t know if it’s a laugh that erupts or if it’s a sob–maybe it’s a mixture of both–but it’s something, and you feel at peace with yourself and everything around you as you sit by his grave.

All too quickly, the butterfly takes off and flutters back into the nearby shrubs.

“I love you, Sam. Always and forever,” you say as you kiss your fingers and place them on his headstone before standing up and brushing the dirt from your jeans.“I’ll be back soon. I promise not to leave it so long next time.”

Walking away, you feel lighter than you have in a long time, and you know that finally, you’re at peace with your husband's death and with the path that has led you to looking forward to a life with Dean.

“Hey, sweetheart, you good?” Dean asks as you wrap your arms around his waist and hug him tight. You can’t bring yourself to speak, so you nod against his chest and once more you let the tears fall, knowing that this time, they’re happy tears.

“You’re alright, Y/N, I’m right here.” Dean murmurs, and you feel another hand stroking your back.

“Sam would be happy, you know that, don’t you darlin’?” John asks. “For both of you.”

Pulling away from Dean’s embrace, you wipe your tears away and smile, “I know he is.”

You saw a red admiral at every big life moment after that day at his grave. You saw one the day Dean proposed, and again at your small, intimate wedding. One flew in the kitchen window on the day you found out you were expecting your first child, and one appeared on the day you found out about the two that came next! On every birthday and holiday, on the day you gave birth to each of your children, and on their first days at school.

It gave you immense comfort, and though at first Dean, John, and Jody put it down to coincidence, after the first few times it happened, they started looking for the butterfly on the special days too.

THE END

@deans-spinster-witch @muchamusedaboutnothing @kazsrm67 @twinkleinadiamondsky @waters-2567 @leigh70 @waynes-multiverse @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @chriszgirl92 @stoneyggirl2 @marilynnlew @ilovedean-spn2 @deans-baby-momma @acitygrownwillow @xxsovereignsarayaxx @frozenhuntress67 @lacilou @rach5ive @iprobablyshipit91

#the widow #dean winchester x reader #au dean winchester x reader #angst #fluff #tw: grief #tw: grieving

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autisticlancemcclain · 1 year

Text

God, sunlight feels so good. Lance missed it. It’s really such a nice way to wake up. Warm sunbeams on your bare skin, a gentle brightening of the room; God, it even makes the room smell better… it sucks so bad that his room in the castle doesn’t have any windows. He’s so glad to finally be getting some now.

Lance shoots awake in a panic.

He should not be feeling sunlight on his skin right now.

He takes a half second to wake up fully, taking in the clean white sheets tangled around his hips, the sterile boringness of the room, the giant window with a sparkly view.

Oh, right. They stopped on what was essentially a Vegas planet yesterday to get a specific part for one of the castle’s reactors, and then he, Hunk, and Pidge convinced Shiro to let them hit the casinos for a bit.

The rest of the night is a blur.

“What the fuck did I do last night?” Lance mumbles, shifting around to stretch a bit. His hip bumps into a lump in the bed — a person-sized lump — and the movement makes him suddenly aware of a soreness in his rear.

His face heats up.

Oh.

That’s what he was doing last night.

Makes sense, he supposes. Drunk Lance is either extremely affectionate or extremely horny, so it was really only a matter of time. He rubs his eyes, then drags his hand down his face. Fuck. He’s gonna have a helluva time explaining this one to the team.

Fuck!

With a renewed panic, he throws himself out of the bed, tripping out of the sheets and looking around desperately for his clothes. Fuck fuck fuck! He is supposed to be on the castle right now!

He finally manages to locate his boxers, yanking them up his legs as he checks his watch. 5:13. Okay, not ideal, but no one’s usually awake before seven, so if he grabs some coffee or something on his way in he should be able to make it without making anyone suspicious —

“Lance, please shut the fuck up,” mumbles a grouchy voice, tinged with sleep, and Lance’s heart drops to his throat.

“Keith?!”

Keith drags himself upright, black hair a rat’s nest around his head, and glares heavily, shielding his eyes from the sun.

“What part of shut the fuck up do you not understand, God, it’s like your voice is actively bashing into my head —”

Lance registers the exact second Keith awakes fully, because his eyes widen and he yelps, yanking the sheets up his chest.

“Oh my God!”

“Oh, drop the fucking sheet,” Lance snaps, face flaming. “It’s obviously not something I haven’t seen before.”

Keith thankfully does let go of the sheet, using his hands to yank on his hair instead.

“Fuck,” he says, turning panicked eyes to Lance. “Oh, we fucked up, we fucked up good —”

“Why, thank you, Keith, that’s oh so lovely to hear from you in this situation —”

“Fuck, we gotta call Shiro —”

Lance abandons his search for pants and lunges towards Keith, yanking the comm out of his hands and throwing it randomly behind him.

“Are you cracked in the fucking head,” he hisses.

“My comm!” Keith cries. He throws off the sheets and stumbles in vague direction Lance threw it, ass fucking naked.

“Put some goddamn pants on!” Lance shouts, whipping a pillow at Keith’s chest and frantically looking away, pretending his did not just get and eyeful and that said eyeful was not an objectively kind of a nice one.

“Piss off,” Keith snaps, face red, but dutifully locates his pants and puts them on before continuing. “I’m calling Shiro now.”

Resisting the urge to tackle the thick-headed dumbass to the ground, Lance forces himself to stay where he is.

“Do you want to be lectured for three straight days?” he demands.

That makes Keith pause. “It won’t be that long.”

“Sure, but then what? He’s going to be mad, Keith. Or at least disappointed. And you know we’ll be assigned the most boring missions possible until he forgets about it, and who knows how long that will take?”

Keith hesitates a moment, then sighs, giving up on his search for his comm and flopping back on the bed.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, face muffled in a pillow. “This sucks. And my head hurts.”

Lance reaches out, pressing his hand to Keith’s forehead — it’s definitely a little hot. Keith groans, wrapping his hand around Lance’s wrist and holding tightly.

“God, your fingers are freezing. Do not move them.”

Despite the situation, Lance smiles, brushing his fingers carefully through Keith’s fringe.

“Let me go. I have painkillers and peppermint oil in my jacket pocket, it should help.”

“Mmf. Fine.”

As soon as Lance’s hand is relinquished, he pulls away, hunting around the mess on the floor for his clothes. He finds his jeans first, but can’t find his shirt — only Keith’s black one, and a white shirt with some text on it.

“Keith?” he calls, pulling it on and tilting his head down to read it. “Why has my shirt been replaced with one that reads ‘SEAT RESERVED FOR DILFS’ with an arrow pointing to my face?”

Keith props himself up his elbows, squints at the shirt, and then winces.

“I may have,” he says reluctantly, “the faintest memory of throwing up on your shirt. So. I imagine you replaced it.”

Lance pouts. “Aw, man. I liked that shirt.”

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault. You are getting me a new shirt that I can wear without getting mocked, though.”

“Noted. What’s the ETA on that advil, by the way?”

“Coming, Mr. Impatience,” Lance mumbles, finally locating his jacket. (Thankfully Keith didn’t throw up on that, or Lance would have to kill him.) He digs around in his pockets, finding the peppermint oil where it usually is, but not the advil. He flips his other pockets inside out, and thankfully the bottle comes tumbling out, along with two slips of paper. He hands to pills to Keith, along with a bottle of water and the oil, and then reads the papers curiously.

His eyes widen.

“Keith,” he says, voice strained, “I have some very good news, and then some very bad news.”

“Good news first,” Keith says immediately.

Predictable.

Lance hands Keith the smaller slip of paper. Keith squints again, harder this time, bringing the paper close to his face.

Lance rolls his eyes.

“Coran had reading glasses made for you, you know. Months ago. How many times have I told them to bring them with you places?”

“I don’t need them,” Keith insists, paper perhaps an inch from his face. “I’m just — hungover.”

“Okay, dumbass.”

It takes Keith a second to read it — really, Lance might start carting around his glasses for him — and then his eyes get just as wide as Lance were.

“That’s a lot of zeros,” he says quietly.

Lance snorts. “Sure is. Apparently we’re very good at card games when we’re drunk. Or very lucky at one game.”

“Apparently,” Keith agrees. He looks back down at the paper, whistling. “You’re gonna have a hard time finding bad news bad enough to beat this, I think.”

Lance grimaces. He glances down at the bigger, fancier paper, then hands it to Keith.

“I really don’t think so.”

This paper is a lot easier for him to read — it would be hard for him to miss the giant ‘CERTIFICATE OF MARRIAGE’ printed in bold at the top of it.

“Oh, shit,” he says weakly. He glances at Lance’s hands. “I guess that explains why you’re wearing my dad’s ring.”

Lance stares at his left hand in horror, where, on his fourth finger, shines a red stone inlaid in heavy gold — Keith’s father’s ring, that he’s never once taken off his pinky in all the time Lance has known him.

“Fuck!” Lance exclaims, immediately taking it off to give back to Keith. He knows how much that ring means to him.

Only — the ring isn’t coming off.

“I can’t get it off,” Lance says, looking at Keith in a panic. Keith looks back, just as freaked.

“It’s stuck?”

“No, it’s not — it’s not tight, I can move it and my fingers are narrow, but it’s not coming off!”

“How is that even possible?”

Lance pulls on the ring until it hurts, twisting it every which way and shaking his hand roughly. “I don’t know!”

“Here, just — stop freaking out,” Keith orders. Lance freezes, heart pounding. Keith slowly reaches over and wraps his left hand around Lance’s wrist, right hand on the ring. Lance has a sudden, vivid memory of their hands in the exact same position, stood in front of an alien with bright pink hair and dressed like fuckin’ Elvis, because of course they were, only in the memory Keith is sliding the ring on instead of trying to pull it off.

“Okay, that’s weird,” Keith says, finally giving up after pulling hard enough to make Lance wince. “It must be the marriage ritual in this place, or something. Alien magic, I dunno.”

“There has to be something we can do,” Lance says, snatching back their marriage certificate — their fucking marriage certificate, dear God — and reading it over carefully.

“Here!” Lance points out a tiny block of text near to corner, then reads aloud for Keith’s benefit. “Klent City State 347th Union Office.”

Keith sighs in relief. “Oh, thank God. We’ll just explain the situation to them, and boom. Annulment. Problem over, we rush back to the castle before anyone else wakes up, and then we never speak of this again. Perfect.”

Lance nods, swallowing around the sudden bile in his throat. “Yeah. Perfect. Get dressed, Mullet. We have a divorce to attend.”

Keith snorts, rolling back off the bed and digging around for his dumbass go-go boots and jacket.

Once he looks away, Lance allows himself a pained wince, pressing his fingers to his eyes and scrunching his shoulders up to his ears.

“Lance? You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Lance says, pulling his hands away and straightening himself out. “Just — I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Keith, obviously, does not do that, because he is incapable of following instructions. He presses his hand to Lance’s forehead in a mirror of what Lance did earlier.

“You hungover, too?”

Lance shakes his head. “No, it’s not that. I don’t get hungover.”

Keith raises an eyebrow.

“Seriously,” Lance insists. “I drink lots of water when I drink, and besides that, I never really have enough alcohol to get hungover in the first place. I am essentially a toothbrush bristle, Keith. I get drunk off, like, two drinks.”

Keith snorts. “You had a lot more than two drinks last night, if I’m remembering correctly.”

Lance flushes. Keith is remembering correctly. Lance hadn’t even intended to drink last night — he wanted to have fun and be sober — but he’d gotten bored watching Hunk and Pidge demolish the slot machines, and he didn’t feel like helping Shiro and Allura supervise Coran, so he went to go find and bother Keith. Unfortunately, he found Keith leaning close to some guy, laughing brightly, his hand on Keith’s bicep, and he’d tipped back an entire line of shots before he could convince himself not to be a dumbass.

Not that Keith needs to know that. Not that it even means anything.

“I got bored,” Lance says instead, which isn’t even technically a lie. “But, no. I’m not hungover. I’m just — um, it was a big night last night. Lots of light and sound. I’m a little overwhelmed and oversensitive.”

“Oh.”

“Mhm.”

A minute later, something is being placed on his head. Lance looks up in surprise at Keith, who just smiles sheepishly.

“No idea why there is a sparkly pink ball cap with my clothes, but you need it more than me.”

Lance laughs brightly. “Oh, I remember this one! You remember when we were first running away from everyone else? Hunk was on our tail at some point, so I decided to steal your hair band and shoot him with it to distract him. Then you were moping about your hair in your eyes, though, and you grabbed the hat right off some dude’s head.”

Keith’s jaw drops. “I did not.”

“You really did, dude,” Lance says, grinning. “Clean off his damn head. Then you walked off like it was nothing.”

Keith shakes his head at himself, snorting. “Whoops. Sorry, Random Alien Dude.” He pauses for a minute, checking his watch. “Hey, we still have a little over an hour before everyone else gets up. Do you think we can grab some food on the way? I’m starving.”

“Shocking,” Lance says drily, but makes no argument. He could go for some shitty fast food too, honestly. They make their way out of the hotel, both of them wincing at the brightness when they finally make it outside, and head to the nearest brightly lit sign that offers grease and salt.

“Good thing we’re billionaires now,” Keith teases. “We wouldn’t be able to afford this otherwise, because your drunk ass was losing at every game we played.”

“I was not!” Lance says indignantly, but Keith pays him no heed.

“You were so. You only started winning when I was blowing on the dice.” He smiles smugly, poking Lance in the cheek. “You suck at poker, dude.”

Lance huffs, reaching over and stealing one of Keith’s fries as revenge.

“Hey! Paws off! You have your own!”

“You’re being a dick, and you upchucked on my favourite shirt last night,” Lance points out. “I deserve at least half of your fries.”

Keith inclines his head. “Yeah, alright, fair. But if it makes you feel any better, I couldn’t find my boxers and these pants are tight as hell, so I promise I am also suffering.”

Lance eyes, without his permission, glance down at the front of Keith’s pants. He flushes.

“That does make me feel better.”

Because Keith is suffering. That’s why.

…Whatever.

“Hey, by the way,” Keith says, swallowing his last bite of food. “How come you’re limping?”

Lance could smack him. Honestly.

“Why do you think, dumbass?” he snaps. “I’m not…used to this kind of thing. Or whatever.”

It takes a moment for Keith to clue in, but when he does, his eyes go wide and he freezes in his tracks.

“Please tell me I did not just take your fucking virginity.”

He looks so genuinely horrified that Lance can’t help himself, so he rears back and punches Keith in the arm as hard as he can.

“Ow!”

“I don’t buy into that shit, so don’t flatter yourself,” Lance says harshly. “It’s the most dumbass idea I’ve ever heard. So what last night was my first time? It doesn’t — don’t be an idiot about it.”

Keith glares at him for a moment, rubbing his arm — in hindsight Lance could have probably held back a little, he’s definitely going to bruise — but then sighs.

“Yeah, sorry,” he relents. His face turns slightly teasing. “I just — I guess I just didn’t expect that from you, Loverboy.”

Lance scowls. “It makes perfect sense! I bet your first time was some rushed and unsatisfying bullshit on a random couch in an unsupervised room.”

That makes Keith frown, looking at Lance strangely. “There’s no possible way you know that.”

“Of course I know that, because it was the fucking Garrison, man. That’s what everyone did. I have no interest in that garbage. I want it slow and on a nice bed or I don’t want it at all.” He flushes up to his ears, realising what he said. “Or — I did want that. Whatever.”

Keith is quiet for a long time as they walk, and the tension is so thick that Lance almost considers giving up and calling Shiro despite his whole tantrum earlier.

“I hope it was like that,” Keith says quietly.

Lance thinks back to all he can remember last night — it’s not much, but he does remember it, remembers them clumsy and drunk and laughing and affectionate. He remembers how Keith had kissed him softly, pressed him gently into the mattress, how the skin of his hands had been rough under his gloves, tangled with Lance’s beside his head. He remembers how Lance’s ring — Keith’s ring, Keith’s ring, they’re not really married — had glittered in the dim light of the room, how the same soft glow had been reflected in Keith’s indigo eyes. He remembers feeling so loved his chest hurt with it.

But Keith doesn’t remember — ‘I hope it was like that’, he’d said. He doesn’t know.

And it doesn’t matter, anyway.

“I don’t remember,” Lance lies. The words burn his mouth.

Both of them are quiet. Bitterly, Lance wonders if their relationship is ever going to be the same, or if everything they’ve ever built is ruined. If Lance ruined everything. Fuck, and he and Keith worked so hard, too. They both put so much fucking effort into their relationship. And Lance cherishes it — he really does. He likes having someone who’s just as competitive as him, grinning at him as they train, teasing and taunting as they spar. He likes having someone to look just as lost and confused with when Hunk and Pidge start talking tech. He likes having someone who will strike goofy superhero poses behind Shiro’s back whenever the man says something particularly Captain-America-ish. He likes having someone sit carefully next to him on the observation deck on bad nights, asking him to tell stories of his family to ease the hurt.

He likes being Keith’s friend. He hates that he ruined it with his stupid, stupid feelings. He should’ve just let Keith flirt with the alien dude. He should’ve stuck with Hunk and Pidge. Hell, he should’ve let Hunk bust out the Drunk Lance Backpack Leash —

He startles when a warm hand grabs his, tangling their fingers together.

“Keith?”

“Alien marriage magic,” Keith says, looking straight ahead.

“Huh?“

“I keep getting — urges,” Keith explains. His cheeks are red. “I keep wanting to — touch you, or whatever. It must be the bonding magic.”

Lance swallows roughly, looking away. He should really pull away. He’s only making things worse for himself. He should let go, maybe even sidestep away.

Instead he tightens his grip, and steps even closer.

“Must be.”

Lance can’t bring himself to look at Keith for the rest of their walk. There’s no point in making things even harder for himself, after all. Eventually Keith is going to let go, and their going to get their wrongful marriage rightfully annulled, and Lance is going to give back his ring — not his fucking ring, God, why has he become so possessive over it already? It’s only been one night, and barely! — and they’re both going to go home and pretend this never happened. Just like Keith said.

Except it did happen.

And Lance won’t forget it.

“We’re here,” Keith says quietly, jutting his chin at a flashing neon sign.

“Real tasteful of us,” Lance mutters as he looks at it. Keith snorts.

“Practically a destination wedding,” he agrees. Despite himself, Lance smiles.

Keith lets go of his hand to push open the doors. Lance does a very good job of not crying about it, which is excellent. Point to Lance for that one.

“Hello, there,” greets a woman, smiling kindly. “Come to get married?”

Lance winces. He wonders how he looks at Keith for her to assume that.

He’s taking back that mental point he just gave himself. He does not deserve it.

“Uh, opposite, actually,” Keith says. He clears his throat, embarrassed. “We got drunk and hitched last night? And now my dad’s ring is stuck on his finger. So. We were wondering if you could fix that.”

The woman looks a strange mix of pitying and amused. “Yes, that would be the bonding spell. Interesting that it worked on you both, if you were as inebriated as you say.”

Lance furrowed his eyebrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing important,” she says, waving a dismissing hand. “If you wish to annul your union, I can do that for you.”

“That would be great,” Keith says.

Lance says nothing.

“Alright, then. Hold out your hands and close your eyes.”

Both of them do. Lance feels something ticklish and breezy wrap around his hands, and something glows brightly enough that he can feel it even with his eyes closed.

“Now, all magic bonds work on two things: consent, and desire. The breaking of those bonds is very similar. Both of you must envision your ties together, specifically those of marital union, and then use your desire to be unmarried to envision those ties broken.”

Lance squeezes his eyes shut tighter, trying to envision his bond with Keith. He’s not one hundred percent sure what that means, so instead he tries to picture Keith, just as he is. He thinks of sly smiles showing the barest peek of crooked incisors, of a strong hand on the small of his back when Lance gets overwhelmed, of a gravelly voice whispering ‘I bet they’re waiting for you, Lance, and when you come back to them it’s going to be great,’ of the scent of pine and sandalwood, somehow, even in space. And then he envisions Keith’s panicked face when he woke up, when he saw that it was Lance that he spent the night with. He envisions the steadiness in Keith’s voice as he asked the woman for their annulment.

The glow burns brightly, strong enough to hurt his eyes through his eyelids, and then there’s nothing.

“Did it work?”

“If you both followed the instructions, yes.”

Lance opens his eyes, glancing over at Keith’s expectant face. He swallows the lump in his throat, and forced himself to wrap his fingers around his ring — not his fucking ring — and pull.

It doesn’t move.

“It’s still stuck,” Lance says desperately. He pulls harder on the ring, more and more panicked by the second.

“Shit, Lance, don’t hurt yourself —”

“I’m — I’m pulling, and I followed to instructions, I envisioned the broken bonds —”

“Both of you followed instructions?” the woman interrupts.

“Just as you explained,” Keith says. “Our bond, and then envisioned it breaking.”

She raises her eyebrow. “Hm. That’s strange. I’ve never seen the ritual fail for two willing parties before.”

“Fuck,” Keith whispers, dragging his hand down his face. “This is bad. Did it maybe not work because we’re human? Well, I’m half-human, but still.”

“We’re a largely tourist-oriented planet,” the woman explains. “Most people who come to this office are not native here. There is no reason your species should have affected the spell.”

“Yeah, I get that, but humans have never been to space before, so maybe —”

“It’s my fault,” Lance blurts. He shrinks back at their questioning looks. He looks down at his hands, twisting his ring — fuck — around his finger.

“Lance?“ Keith asks quietly.

“I don’t want to get divorced,” Lance admits. He’s ashamed to feel tears welling up in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I know it’s not fair, I’ll try to ignore it, but —” He looks down at his feet, voice small. “I don’t want to get divorced.”

“Oh, thank God,” Keith says, and before Lance can even process, Keith strides towards him, cradling his face in his hands, and kisses him soundly.

“Wha —” Lance mumbles against chapped lips, confused and scared and unable to shake the hurt built in his chest quite yet. “You —?”

“So long,” Keith whispers, pulling away and then pressing back in again like he can’t help himself. “I — I’ve loved you for so long, Lance.”

Lance feels the tears leak finally from his eyes, dripping onto Keith’s cheeks. “Really?”

Keith pulls away for real this time, resting his forehead against Lance’s and laughing softly. “You have no fucking idea. You’re just — you are everything I’ve ever wanted. When I woke up this morning and saw my ring on your finger I thought I was still dreaming.”

Lance’s hands loosen their grip on Keith’s shirt, resting open-palmed on his chest. “But you wanted the annulment.”

“I wanted you to be happy,” Keith corrects. “I want you to be happy. Ideally with me, but — you were so panicked, this morning. I don’t want you to be tied down with someone you don’t want.”

“I want,” Lance says quickly. “I have — I love you, too. Always. Since the Garrison, probably.”

Keith grins. “Even when we were rivals?”

“We’re still rivals, Mullet. If you think I’m going to stop kicking your ass just because you’re my husband then you’re solely mistaken — oh my God. You’re my husband.”

“Yeah, hopefully.”

“No, Keith —” Lance pulls away slightly, so he can look up at Keith with the appropriate amount of panic. “What are we going to tell the team?”

But instead of freaking out like Lance expects, Keith is totally calm. Amused, even. He slides his hand down from Lance’s face to his hand, pulling it up to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss just below his knuckles, right above his — his! — ring.

“That I went to space Vegas and married the love of my life,” he says. He shifts slightly, turning Lance’s hand to press a kiss to his wrist.

“That I gave him the ring that I got from my father and he got from his grandfather and I’m happy I did.” He pulls up Lance’s sleeve, kissing the middle of his forearm.

“That I don’t regret it for anything, and would do it again in a second.” Three kisses, slowly, one after the other, up his bicep.

“That I look at him and every day is brighter. That even drunk me looked into those gorgeous brown eyes and couldn’t think of anything but being with him forever.” A lingering kiss to his shoulder, then a trail of them to his neck, where Lance can feel him smirk.

“That I got hitched and then spent an amazing night after doing more than just kissi—”

“Okay,” Lance interrupts, pressing his hand over Keith’s mouth and going red. Keith presses a kiss to his palm, eyes sparking in amusement. “I got it, Gomez. We’re telling them the truth. Maybe cool it a little.”

“For now,” Keith agrees, muffled.

Lance shakes, pulling his hand back and looking away. After a second or too he rolls his eyes at himself — why the hell is he holding back? — and presses a another long, lingering kiss to Keith’s lips.

“Ditto, by the way. With — all that mushy shit.”

Keith snorts. “Poet, you are.”

“Roses are red, violets are blue, shut the fuck up.”

That makes Keith laugh outright, pressing their lips together one last time before pulling away. He turns toward the officiant woman, who thankfully looks amused.

“Uh, sorry for wasting your time.”

“All is well,” she says, smiling slyly. “That was the most entertainment I’ve had in a long time. Enjoy your day, boys.”

Smiling like fools, they duck out of the office, giggling as they stumble back in the direction of the castle.

“Shiro is going to give us so many chores,” Lance says brightly.

“So many,” Keith agrees.

“And Hunk and Pidge are going to tease us for eternity.”

“Mhm.”

“Allura too, probably.”

“Most likely.”

“Coran’ll be on our side, though.”

Keith stops, wrapping his arms around Lance’s waist and dipping him before kissing him again.

“You’re a sappy loser,” Lance informs him.

“You love me so much you couldn’t even pretend to want a divorce,” Keith shoots back.

Lance sighs happily. “Not even a little.”

And God, is he ever grateful for that.

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matttgirlies · 16 days

Text

Matt & Me🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - mentions of drug use,, mentions of cheating,, physical violence

y/nn = your nickname for any confusion🩷

Chapter 12

Now I could spend every minute with Matt. There were times when we’d shut ourselves off from the rest of the world for days. Matt would leave word that he wanted “no calls unless it’s my dad or an emergency call from Colonel.” It was my time, and no one could interfere. He was all mine.

When we got hungry, I phoned down to the kitchen and ordered our food, which was brought up and placed outside our bedroom door. After we finished, we stacked our empty trays neatly back in the same place.

We saw no one, nor even the light of day. The windows were insulated with tin foil and heavy blackout drapes to prevent any hint of sunlight from entering. Time was ours, to do with as we pleased, for as long as we pleased. Matt had a few months free between film commitments, and there was no pressure to return to Hollywood. We always seemed to be more in love when we were alone. I loved those times, when he was just Matt, not trying to live up to an image or a myth. We were two people discovering each other.

Only in the privacy of our own quarters did Matt show me a side of himself which had rarely, if ever, been seen by others. With no Colonel, no scripts, no films or music, nor any other people’s problems, Matt could become a little boy again, escaping from the responsibilities of family, friends, fans, the press, and the world. Here with me, he could be vulnerable and childlike, a playful boy who stayed in his pajamas for days at a time.

One day he was the dominant one and would treat me like a child, often scolding me for an incidental action. On other days I was the stronger one, looking after him like a doting mother, making sure that he ate everything on his plate, took all of his vitamins, and didn’t miss any of his favorite TV shows like Laugh-In, The Untouchables, The Wild, Wild West, The Tonight Show, and Road Runner. We listened to early Sunday morning gospel singing—our favorites were the Stamps, the Happy Goodman Family, and Jake Hess—and we watched the old movie classics that Matt loved: Wuthering Heights, It’s a Wonderful Life, and Miracle on 34th Street.

When we weren’t watching movies, we played silly games like hide-and-seek, or we’d have pillow fights that often ended in heated discussions of who hit whom the hardest. Our arguments were usually playful, but I noticed that they could become serious, especially after we’d each taken a couple of diet pills.

One evening we had both taken uppers and were wrestling with each other. I threw a pillow at him. He ducked it, and then, laughing, threw it back. I hurled another one at him, and then another, and without giving him a chance to recover, I threw another one. The last one hit him in the face. His eyes flashed with anger.

“Goddamn it!” he snapped. “Not so rough. I don’t want to play with a goddamn man.” He grabbed my arm, throwing me on the bed, and while demonstrating how hard I had thrown the pillows, he accidentally hit me in the eye. I flung my head to the side and jumped up, accusing him of hitting me on purpose.

“You can’t play without winning,” I yelled, “even with me. You started throwing harder and harder. What did you expect me to do?”

I stomped off to my dressing room and slammed the door as I heard him yelling, “You’re not a goddamn man.”

That night, we went to the movies. My arm was bruised where he’d grabbed me, and my eye was swollen black and blue. To make matters worse—and to make sure he felt bad—I wore a patch over the bruised eye. Everyone teased me, and Matt joked, “Couldn’t help it. She tried to get rough with me. I had to show her who’s boss.”

That night I got named “Toughie.”

Despite his teasing, Matt felt terrible about the incident. He had immediately apologized to me and kept apologizing for days.

“Baby, I’m really sorry,” he said. “You know I’d never hurt you in any way, that I’d never lay a hand on you, don’t you? That was a real accident.”

Yet the incident frightened me.

From then on, I began taking fewer pills and eventually stopped. I tried to persuade him to do the same. I started to question the quantities even though I knew he had various ailments causing pain which necessitated taking prescribed medication. I did everything I could for Matt and we shared many wonderful happy times together. However, his harsh objection to stopping made me realize that there could be a problem. I assumed he knew best for himself.

Colonel William’s theory was: “If you want to see Matt Sturniolo, you buy a ticket.” Once you started passing out freebies, it meant a lot of lost income. He stuck to that policy.

Matt agreed with the Colonel, feeling that Colonel knew best, saying, “Colonel doesn’t mind taking the blame.”

When life got boring you could count on Matt to concoct some new escapade. He was extraordinarily inventive. One particularly dreary day he decided out of the blue that he didn’t like the looks of an old house located on the grounds in back of the mansion. His uncle Travis had once occupied the place, which was now used for storage. Matt took a long look at it, called his father, and told him to get a bulldozer over there right away and get rid of it.

I could imagine what was going through James’s mind: Good God, what’s he up to now? He knew if Matt was at home and bored between films, anything could happen.

When the bulldozer appeared, Matt insisted that he was going to do the honors, convincing his father—and the local fire and demolition departments—that he could handle the job himself.

Wearing his football helmet and his big furry Eskimo coat, Matt proceeded, as his entourage cheered him on, to bring down the house and set it afire. This brought the fire trucks screaming through the gates. “You’re a little late, fellows,” Matt said, a happy, mischievous smile on his face.

Another time, he ordered his go-carts to be brought out and readied to ride. He held the record, of course, for the fastest time around the large circular drive.

Trying to prove that I was just as good as the guys, I tried to equal his time. Terrified, I would speed along as Matt clocked me on his stopwatch, giving me an approving grin when I reached the fifteen-mile-per-hour mark.

He turned Graceland into a private playground for us all. He’d have gun-shooting contests and also “screaming thrill rides” when he’d pack several people into his custom-built golf cart and race around the grounds at top speed.

Graceland’s backyard had more holes in it than the moon has craters—all from Romancandle fights. On the Fourth of July Matt always spent a fortune on fireworks, which arrived by the boxload. The boys would team up sides, aim candles directly at one another, and fire.

Although there were casualties—burned fingers and singed hair—no one seemed to care. Matt himself was as carefree as a young kid, hiding and then sneaking around the opposition with surprise attacks. Matt knew how to play hard and have fun.

Unfortunately, the time came for him to go back to Hollywood. He was due to begin his new film, Viva Las Vegas. His bus was parked in front of the white stone lions flanking the front steps of Graceland, loaded and ready to go.

I hated to see him leave. Arm in arm, we walked out the door.

Suddenly I pulled him back and tried to tell him what I was feeling, but there were distractions all around—people saying goodbye, music blaring from inside the bus, Alan yelling to George Klein to keep the sound rockin’ and rollin’.

I thought, If only it were quieter, if only Matt would take me aside so we could have some privacy.

But his attention was on all the activity and he was caught up in the excitement of going back to work.

“What is it, Baby?” he asked.

“I just wish you didn’t have to leave so soon,” I said, still unable to tell him what was really on my mind. “Just when we were starting to get used to each other, you have to go. I wish there were more time.”

“I know, Little One. Just give me a couple of weeks to get into the film and maybe you can come out for a while. Be a good girl, and I’ll call you tomorrow.”

He gave me a quick kiss on the lips and boarded the bus, the doors slamming shut behind him. Then I heard the familiar shout, “All right. Let’s roll it!”

With a roar, the bus cruised down the hill and through the Music Gates where, as always, his fans were loyally waving goodbye and urging him to “hurry home!”

I watched until I could no longer see the red taillights fading out on Highway 51.

Cursing myself, I wondered why I couldn’t tell him what I feared. I’d been upset ever since I’d learned that his new leading lady was going to be Julia Ernst, the fastest-rising starlet in Hollywood. Julia Ernst had made only a few movies, including Bye-Bye Birdie, but she’d been dubbed “the female Matt Sturniolo.” Matt was curious about her, pointing out that “imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

I realized that even had I told him my fears, he could have said nothing to put my mind at ease, because one evening he had made the mistake of telling me about the romances he’d had with many of his costars. Trying to listen calmly to these stories, I justified his behavior by reminding myself that I’d been living in Germany during those years and that we’d had no real ties then.

Now I was in his territory, living in his house with his friends, his family, and mementos of the past. It didn’t occur to me then, but I was living the way he wished—out of Hollywood society, the girl back home. I adapted. I wasn’t with him, but in a sense I was. And I assumed that he would be as faithful to me as I was to him.

Each time I would get ready to join Matt in Los Angeles he would delay my visit.

“Baby, now’s not the time to come out. There’s a problem on the set.”

“What kind of problem?”

“It’s just that all hell’s broke loose. I’ve got some crazed director madly in love with Julia. The way he’s directing it, you’d think it was her movie. He’s favoring her in all the goddamn close-up shots.” He paused, his anger rising. “Not only that, they want her to sing some of the songs with me. Colonel ’bout blew a fuse. Told ’em they’d have to pay me extra to sing with her.”

As I listened to Matt rant and rave, I tried to sympathize with him and his situation, but emotionally I was far more concerned about his leading lady than his director.

“Well, how are you and Julia Ernst getting along?” I asked.

“Oh, she’s okay, I guess.” He casually dismissed her with the line, “a typical Hollywood starlet.”

My concern was temporarily allayed. I knew that his attitude toward actresses was unfavorable. “They’re into their careers and their man comes second,” he’d say. “I don’t want to be second to anything or anyone. That’s why you don’t have to worry about my falling in love with my so-called leading ladies.”

I wanted to believe him, but I couldn’t help noticing the national gossip magazines and the headlines about the torrid affair on the set of Viva Las Vegas. The problem was that the affair was not between Julia Ernst and the director. It was between Julia Ernst and Matt.

We were talking on the phone one night and I asked, “Is there anything to it?”

“Hell, no,” he said, immediately becoming defensive. “You know how these reporters are. They blow everything out of proportion. She comes around here mostly on weekends with her motorcycle. She hangs out and jokes with the guys. That’s it.”

But that was enough for me: She was there and I wasn’t.

Infuriated, I declared, “I want to come out now.”

“No, not now! We’re wrapping up the film and I’ll be home in a week or two. You keep your little ass there and keep the home fires burning.”

“The flame’s burning on low. Someone had better come home and start the fire.”

Matt laughed. “You’re beginning to sound like me,” he bragged. “I’d better watch it. There can’t be two of us walking around. I’ll be home soon, Baby. Get everything ready.” By the end of our phone call, I was eagerly making plans for his return.

I took out my calendar, counted the days until his homecoming, and then crossed them off one at a time. Threatened with doubts and fears, I did everything I could to please him, from educating myself about the gospel music he loved to taking good care of Graceland.

My eagerness to please Matt was so overwhelming that it almost angered him. He always had an excuse why his other relationships hadn’t worked out. “They were either too hometown and couldn’t fit in with my Hollywood life-style,” he said, “or they were actresses too into their careers.” But how could he get out of a commitment to such a willing partner as me?

I often felt sorry for myself, and angry at Matt for putting me in a situation in which I was forced to be alone for literally weeks at a time.

Bored, I resorted to exploring the attic at Graceland. I’d asked Grandma once what was up there, and she’d answered, “Oh, nothin’, Hon, jus’ some old junk. God, I haven’t been up there in ages. No tellin’ what’s up thereor who.”

There was no question that something was stirring around in the attic. Many nights strange noises were heard above the kitchen. Grandma said she’d heard the noises herself, lying awake, praying for daylight before even closing her eyes for sleep.

She imagined that it might be Mary Lou’s spirit up there, watching over Matt.

“Do you believe in spirits, Grandma?” I asked.

“Ah, yes, Hon. Sometimes I wander through this house and I can just feel ’em all around. Ask Hallie, she knows. She’s felt ’em too.”

Hallie was a large dark-skinned woman, our faithful and devoted companion. She stayed with Grandma and me at night while Matt was away, guarding us with her life—and a small gun that she tucked securely under the bed each night.

One evening, after Hallie turned out the lights, I asked her, “Hallie, do you think there’s spirits there, like Grandma does?”

“Well, Miss y/n, all I can tell you is that I hear strange voices I ain’t never heard before in any house I’ve ever been in, and sometimes it gits awful quiet here, a kind of stillness that I ain’t never felt neither. But don’t you lay there and worry, child. If there are any spirits, they’ll do you no harm.”

“Amen,” Grandma said.

The next day, I decided to venture up to the attic, to see for myself what was there. As I walked up the stairs, I rubbed my hand up and down the gold-painted banister, noting the chipped paint. I called out, “Don’t you think this should be repainted, Dodger?”

Grandma, standing at the bottom of the stairs, lifted her dark shades to get a closer look. “Yes, Hon, we’d better tell James. That does look bad.”

“Maybe we should do it before Matt gets home and surprise him. I’ll ask Mr. Sturniolo in the morning.”

At the top of the stairs I entered the attic and discovered Matt’s world.

Several trunks were filled with his military gear. There were old television sets and furniture that had been in his bedroom years before. I ran my hand over a couch, wondering who’d sat there with him. Jealous, I walked away.

I found two closets side by side and opened one. It was filled with clothes from Matt’s early days—black leather jackets, motorcycle hats, and a pink shirt I’d seen in pictures. I loved the way he looked in that shirt and wished he’d wear it again.

With growing curiosity, I sorted through everything. I felt closer to Matt just by touching his things, and all I could think of was what girl he’d been with at the time—Lucy, Judy, Nicole, Bonnie? I was so possessive, I had to know.

Then I came across some letters hidden under an old sweater, letters from Nicole, all addressed to him in Germany. I put them in dated order, from his arrival in Germany to his departure, and sat there for hours poring over every one.

Nicole had written at least two letters a week, all saying basically the same thing: she loved him, missed him, and was counting the days until his return—just as I had done. She had been in the process of acquiring him as a lover just as I’d been losing him. Clearly Nicole had been telling her that she was the only one in his life. Confused and hurt, I realized that he had been writing to his “Little Bit,” as he called her, that he couldn’t wait to come home and see her, at the same time that he had been holding me tightly, telling me he couldn’t bear to leave his “Little Girl.”

I felt betrayed, as I’m sure she felt when she read and heard about me. Returning the next day to investigate the adjoining closet, I came upon Mary Lou’s belongings—her clothes, her old photos and papers. It was strange to see all her dresses, hanging neatly. I knew Matt had had them put there. He couldn’t have faced throwing away any of her personal belongings.

I tried on one of her dresses and could tell that she liked soft materials on her skin, just as I did. By the size of her dress, I could see she was a small woman, and by the texture, I knew she cared more about the feel of a dress than about fashion or style. She liked to dress simply and comfortably. I felt guilty in her dress, but it gave me a better sense of Mary Lou Sturniolo: a woman, as Grandma had described her, with a heart of gold—yet you never wanted to cross her. When she was angry, “she cussed like a sailor and had the wrath of God in her.”

I felt sad—for Matt, for Mary Lou, for us all because we have to contend with death. Life could be so different if Mary Lou were here, I thought, weeping as though she were my own mother. I felt Mary Lou’s presence in that little room, also her grief and loneliness. Maybe it was her spirit that Grandma and Hallie sensed.

All of a sudden, Hallie’s face appeared in the doorway. We both screamed with fright, yelling, “What are you doing up here?”.

“Child, this ain’t no place you should be. Too many sad memories. B’sides, it’s dark and scary. Only reason I come up is ’cause Miss Minnie was worried ’bout you.”

Then, as Hallie walked away, waving her hands above her head, she said under her breath, “No ma’am, I don’t like it up here.”

The next time Matt returned to Los Angeles, where he was to begin filming Kissin’ Cousins, I flew with him. I loved L.A. It was exciting compared to the slow pace I had grown accustomed to in Boston. Best of all, I felt a part of Matt’s world. His hectic schedule and daily life were realities to me now, no longer just remote events chronicled in our nightly phone calls.

The problem was that his life still included Julia Ernst, despite the fact that their film, Viva Las Vegas, had been completed six weeks before. The newspapers were reporting their “blossoming” affair daily, each article hitting me like a slap in the face. I thought, When will this be over—the news, the gossip, the headlines, the affair.

Matt returned from the studio one afternoon, carrying a newspaper and fuming. “I can’t believe she did it.” He flung the paper against the wall in disgust. “She had the goddamn nerve to announce we’re engaged.”

Though I was pretty sure of the answer, I asked, “Who?”

“Julia Ernst. Every major newspaper in America’s picked it up. The rumor’s spread like a goddamn disease.”

Turning to me, he said, “Honey, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave. The press will be hanging around the gate and following me all over for a statement. Colonel suggests maybe you should go back to Boston till it calms down.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Suddenly all the months of unbearable silence broke and I screamed, “What’s going on here? I’m tired of these secrets. Telephone calls. Notes. Newspapers!” I picked up a flower vase and hurled it across the room, shattering it against the wall. “I hate her!” I shouted. “Why doesn’t she keep her ass out of here where she belongs?”

Matt grabbed me and threw me on the bed. “Look, goddamn it! I didn’t know this was going to get out of hand. I want a woman who’s going to understand that things like this might just happen.” He gave me a hard, penetrating look. “Are you going to be her—or not?”

I stared back at him, furious and defiant, hating him for what he was putting me through.

After a long pause, our tempers cooled considerably. Once again desperate to please, I said, “I’ll leave tomorrow. I’ll be waiting in Boston.”

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd. This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - 3 songs for extra long chapter!! (can you tell i like ultraviolence😬) 🎀

#matt stuniolo fanfic #matthew sturn #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo edit #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #Spotify

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borathae · 1 year

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↳ Index [Chapter 19 - Seaside]

Warnings: big sad, but it’s a little tinier already, the fighting continues, fears of abandonment & so much guilt, OC does way too much overthinking, Yoongi has done no wrong, I tried to sprinkle some good moments in between for damage control hahahelp, this is a healthy balance of hurt and comfort

Wordcount: 11.9k

a/n: i hope that there isn’t too much happening, but i thought that we all want them to make up as soon as possible. originally this chapter was supposed to be three individual chapters fjadsf it’s better that way i think

Yoongi isn’t with you when you wake the next morning. His clothes are gone. The only thing greeting you is the little leaf he picked for you last night. You sit up and reach for it, cradling the little bowl of water in which he put it. The sunlight is breaking in the water, casting figures of lights on the edges of the bowl in golden colours. On the parts where the leaf prevents the light from shining a small black dot is painted on the edge.

“Fuck”, you press out under your breath, lowering the bowl to your lap.

You don’t feel better. You feel awful. The sleep should have helped you, but it didn’t. All it did was stop the pain for a few hours. It is back again, now that you are alone and Yoongi is gone.

You wonder if he has already left. If he has taken Jungkook and the others and left you in this tiny single person bed. You wouldn’t even be angry at him if he did. You would deserve it.

You can’t believe that he still took care of you last night. After all the shit you did. The guilt you feel because of it makes you sick to the stomach. Yoongi shouldn’t have had to take care of you. He should have left you to cry and not given a shit.

You hear a knock on your door.

You lift your head, but can’t call out to whoever is knocking.

The door opens regardless.

Hoseok steps in.

“Goddamn”, he says, “that room smells like me after watching too many sad movies. Get some fresh air ___, you’re literally reeking of sadness.”

He opens the window for you, pulling the seethrough curtains to the side to let in even more sunlight. He turns to you, studying you from head to toe.

“What’s that you’re holding?” he asks.

“Leaf. Yoongi gave it to me last night.”

“He did? Wah Yoongi’s such a romantic”, he says and chuckles.

When you don’t laugh with him, he stops, furrowing his brows.

“Is it bad that he did?” he asks.

He closes the distance between the bed and him and sits down on the edge of it.

You shrug your shoulders, “I don’t know.”

“I’m sure he did it to make up for the fight you were having”, Hoseok says and places his hand on your knee.

“But it’s not his job. I ruined everything, not he.”

“Tzt __”, Hoseok says and clicks his tongue. He gives your knee a soft squeeze, “don’t say that. You guys are having a fight, but that doesn’t mean that you ruined everything. Every couple fights. Hell, you should have witnessed all the fights I had with Annelise. They were brutal and yet we still made up.”

“You did? So why’s she not with you then?”

“That is because she went rouge and killed fifty people on our holiday in Vienna. I didn’t wanna be with someone like her after that.”

“Fuck”, you press out, “I ruined everything.”

“Okay, I’m realising that I said something wrong here”, he murmurs, pinching his brows in worry.

“Hobi”, you press out, “Hobi, all of this is such a mess and, and it’s my fault. Tae’s still missing because of me. He thinks that I lied to him about Jimin. And, and Yoongi is mad at me. And it’s my fault.”

“Okay, okay hey”, he says, holding you by your shoulders, “calm down ___. It’s not as bad as you think it is.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“No, it’s not. Hey”, he cups your cheeks, wipes your tears away, “come downstairs with me. They’re back. All of them.”

“What do you mean?” you sniffle.

“Taehyung’s back and Yoongi too. Seokjin, Emma and Kook are having breakfast with them right this moment.”

“Really?”

“Yes, so come downstairs.”

You shake your head, “I can’t.”

“Of course you can”, Hoseok gives you a sweet smile.

“No, they are all mad at me. I, I can’t bear being in a room with them. It hurts so much.”

“That’s not true. We’re not mad at you. Not me or Jin or Kook or Emma”, he speaks softly, giving your cheek a soft pinch, “come downstairs. I’m sure it’ll be good for you to eat something.”

“Fine”, you give in, “but you are not leaving my side.”

Hoseok chuckles, “of course not, I’ll stick with you.”

He hooks arms with you, leading you out of your tiny room.

The air is tense. It has been tense even before you entered the room. You inch closer to Hoseok in instinct.

Nobody is talking.

Seokjin looks relieved to see you and Hoseok.

Emma isn’t in the room, but judging by her missing coffee mug she fled to the vending machine.

Jungkook looks uncomfortable by the silence, fumbling with his cutlery.

Yoongi is sitting at one side of the table. Taehyung is sitting at the other.

Neither one of them have food in front of them. Or even a beverage. They are simply staring at each other with their arms crossed in front of their chests.

Jimin is nowhere to be seen.

“Jesus, the mood in here is worse than in a funeral home”, Hoseok tries to diffuse the situation, “I thought that you guys would find at least something to talk about in the time I was gone.”

Seokjin and Jungkook look at you.

��Look who decided to join us”, Hoseok says and points at you.

“Hey ___”, Seokjin greets you, giving you a quick smile. It said I am so glad that you are here, but I am also deeply uncomfortable by the tension so I’m trying not to act too happy in order to minimise damage.

“Good morning ___”, Jungkook sounds a little less tense, standing up from his chair, “are you planning on getting some tea?”

“Uh...sure?”

“Great, I’ll join you. I need more coffee.”

Seokjin stands up as well, “me too. I need coffee too.”

They both abandon their filled cups by the table, basically dragging you and Hoseok out of them room.

“I am telling you”, Seokjin says, “I would rather sit in a box full of scorpions than this room.”

“Seriously”, Jungkook agrees, “you can basically cut the air.”

“Is it that bad?” you ask them.

“Oh it’s bad. They’re not violent, but I think if you weren’t in the picture, they would have both already ripped each other apart. And not in a sexy kind of way”, Jungkook says.

“Fuck”, you lower your head, “I never should have come down.”

“Huh?”

Seokjin and Jungkook look at Hoseok with confusion.

“She thinks that it’s all her fault”, he explains.

“What? No, it’s not”, Jungkook says instantly.

“I agree. It’s not your fault”, Seokjin says.

“No. No, it is. Tae thinks that I lied to him about Jimin and Yoongi won’t ever forgive me.”

“Then tell him what really happened. This will change his mind.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” Seokjin says.

“Because I can’t.”

“Why not? It’s not your fault.”

“I’m so scared. I can’t take another day like yesterday”, you choke out and bite down a sob.

“Hey”, Hoseok says, taking your hand, “don’t cry, sweets.”

“Hobi, I can’t take another day”, you choke out, hiding your eyes behind your hand, “I wanna keep crying, everything hurts so much.”

“I know, but it’s going to be okay. You’ve got us”, he whispers, “do you want to be hugged?”

“Yes please, I’m so sad”, you confess and just like yesterday, your friends spring into action, taking you into the tightest and most loving group hug ever. Just like always when one of you is sad. Just like always. You will lean on each other and hug it out until it hurts only half as much. Just like always. Emma joins in too, even if she doesn’t quite understand what the hug was for. You catch her up on it and soon after she hugged you lovingly, telling you that you weren’t alone.

You left for the dining room once you calmed down enough, still feeling terribly nervous but not so alone anymore. You want to tell Yoongi. They managed to convince you that telling him the truth will make everything easier again. You agreed in the end.

The air was as tense as it was when you left. The silence is still deafening.

You sit down on the empty chair next to Jungkook, leg bouncing up and down nervously. So Jungkook touches your hand under the table, intertwining his fingers with you. The bouncing stops.

“Good morning”, you whisper, feeling courageous now that Jungkook is holding your hand.

Taehyung sneaks a glance at you and looks away again. Yoongi does the same, giving you a nod of his head at least.

“Ho-how are you guys?”

“Murderous”, Yoongi grumbles.

“Homicidal”, Taehyung counters.

“Geez guys”, Hoseok laughs awkwardly, “what are we? Edgelords? Come on, lighten up a little.”

“Tch”, Yoongi scoffs.

Taehyung rolls his eyes, tongue in cheek and arms crossed in front of his chest.

“___ has something to tell you”, Seokjin says, placing his hand on your shoulder encouragingly.

They both look at you. Taehyung looks angry. Yoongi looks curious.

“I uhm…” you falter.

“Go on, tell them”, Seokjin whispers.

“It’s about, uhm…” you lift your eyes as someone next to Taehyung pulled a chair out.

Jimin. He plops down on the chair, crossing his arms in front of his chest. His eyes are focused on you with such intensity you wonder if he is aware that you wanted to expose him.

“Doesn’t really matter”, you say, “sorry, I forgot what I wanted to say.”

“___”, Seokjin sounds disappointed, but you only have to sneak one look at him and he understands. You can’t do this with Jimin present. It takes way too much courage. He nods his head in understanding, caressing your shoulder, “it was just a stupid joke we thought of in the kitchen to lighten the mood.”

“Yeah, exactly”, Hoseok says, “guys, why is it bad to eat clocks?”

“Does it matter?” Yoongi grumbles, “we don’t have time for silly jokes. Eat up, we’ll leave afterwards.”

“Because it’s time consuming”, Hoseok says quietly, painting a faint smile to Jimin’s lips.

“Funny.”

“Didn’t you hear what I just told you?” Yoongi hisses, looking at Jimin.

“I already ate, chill out. Tell your human to eat faster, not me.”

You lower your head to the empty table.

“I’m not hungry. We can leave if you want to “, you whisper.

“Are you sure? You didn’t eat a thing”, Jungkook asks with concern in his voice.

You nod your head, “I’m not hungry.”

“We’ll just get something on the way, yeah?”

“Mh-hm yeah.”

“Good. Let’s go”, Yoongi says, getting up from his chair, “we’ll leave in ten. So get your shit down to the cars”, he says, strutting out of the room afterwards.

“He’s such a cunt”, Jimin says.

“Says the biggest cunt of them all”, Seokjin throws back.

“Excuse me?”

“We know what you did to ___”, Seokjin hisses, “I’d sleep with your eyes open if I were you, I can’t guarantee that I won’t lose my wooden stake in your chest.”

“Yeah seriously”, Hoseok agrees, talking with his cheeks covered in black veins and his eyes glowing ruby. The anger is imminent on his face, “I’ve got lots of practice with killing vampires these days, I’m happy to flex these skills on you.”

Jimin rolls his eyes and gets up, “yawn”, he says, leaving the room afterwards.

“Come back you asshole! I will actually kill-“ Seokjin screams, but gets stopped by Emma.

“Calm down, my moon. He is not worth it”, she says, smoothing her fingers through his hair.

“I hate this guy. He was better off dead.”

“I know, we all think the same.”

“Tzt”, Taehyung scoffs, calling all of your attention. He stands up, sending Emma a dark look, “not all of us”, he says.

“Why did you even come back then?” Seokjin throws back.

The look Taehyung sneaks at you doesn’t go unnoticed by anyone here. He looks away again and leaves without saying anything.

You left to pack your stuff afterwards, feeling worse than you did this morning. You really ruined everything. Holy shit, you feel terrible.

Knock. Knock.

You turn at the door you left open.

Yoongi is in the doorway.

“I left to eat this morning”, he says.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to explain yourself.”

“Mhm”, he nods his head, eyes drifting to the leaf in your hair. He points it at, “looks good.”

You touch it, feeling your heart skip a beat.

“Thank you”, you whisper, eyes running over his face. Is it really not as bad you think it is? Was Hoseok right? “hey uhm, do we have time to, uhm, should we talk about it?”

Yoongi takes a deep breath, releasing it through his nose.

“Can it wait? The others are waiting downstairs.”

“Yes of course.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

“Are you done packing?” he asks.

“Yeah. I just have to carry them downstairs.”

He walks to you, taking the suitcases out of your hand.

“Oh? Thanks.”

“Mhm”, he nods his head and turns, leaving the room.

You jog after him, keeping your distance because you have no idea what you can or can’t do.

“Kook and Hobi agreed to take the car with the two cunts”, he tells you dryly, “I want you to drive with me.”

“Yes, of course. It’s better for space too”, you say, meaning it more than one way.

He nods his head, not saying anything more.

The others are already outside, loading the cars. No words are spoken, but the tense air speaks a thousand words. You all enter the cars without saying anything, except for Yoongi who stays to walk over to Taehyung’s car. The latter rolls his window down, staring at the Creator with dark eyes.

“That’s the address. We’ll meet there”, Yoongi grumbles, stuffing a piece of paper into Taehyung’s hand.

“Thanks”, Taehyung hisses, ripping it out of Yoongi’s hand. He rolls the window up afterwards, driving off without making sure Yoongi is far enough away from the car.

“So where are we going?” Emma asks once Yoongi has claimed the driver’s seat and started the car.

“An old acquaintance of mine”, Yoongi answers her, driving off, “Meredith, she hates Namjoon as much as we do.”

“Is she like us?”

“No, she’s a witch.”

“I never liked witches. They’re always plotting something.”

“We can trust her. She helped me countless times already.”

“Does she know that we are coming?” Seokjin asks.

“Yes, she invited us.”

“How long are we going to drive?”

“Half a day.”

“That’s so long”, Seokjin says and groans.

“Let’s take a nap, my moon”, Emma says and afterwards their conversation drowns out as Yoongi turns on the music.

He stops after two hours of driving and having snuck too many glances at you. Seokjin and Emma are sleeping deeply on the backseat, holding each other.

“Why are we stopping?” you ask him.

“Lock the car, I need to do something”, he says, leaving you in your confusion afterwards. He disappears inside a bakery and for the next ten minutes you are left wondering what the hell he needs to do in a bakery.

“Are we there?” Seokjin woke up during the waiting time, now looking at you with puffy eyes.

“No, he needed to do something and now he disappeared in a bakery.”

“Is he meeting someone?”

“I have no idea.”

“How long did we drive already?”

“Two hours.”

“Well, that’s just way too short. Did you tell him about Jimin?”

You shake your head.

“Why not?”

“I’m scared. I don’t want to cause a fight again. Not when we’re locked in here for ten more hours.”

Seokjin places his hand on your shoulder.

“He needs to know. You know that, don’t you?”

“I know, just please give me time to find the right moment.”

“Of course. I’m sorry for being pushy.”

“No, it’s okay. Thank you for being there for me.”

“Of course, that’s what family is for.”

“And for not telling it for me.”

“Hey, that’s a given. You have to do this, it’s not my job to do it for you.”

“Thank you”, you hold his hand, “you’re like my only light right now.”

Seokjin chuckles, “you old sap. Look, Yoongi’s coming back.”

He is carrying a big paper bag and a paper cup.

“Did he buy coffee?”

“I don’t know.”

Yoongi gets back inside.

“Did you meet someone?” Seokjin asks.

“No”, Yoongi answers him, placing the bag on your lap and handing you the cup. The paper is warmed by whatever is inside. It doesn’t smell like coffee, making you wonder what he got. You smell it again. The scent reminds you of a really good chai latte.

He starts the car and drives off.

Curiously, you open the bag. Two croissants, a wrapped tomato mozzarella sandwich and a blueberry muffin.

“I don’t understand. Why did you get food?” you say.

“You shouldn’t skip breakfast”, he says dryly, eyes focused on the road.

“Oh”, you let out, heart skipping a beat, “thank you.”

“Mhm”, he hums, placing his hand on your thigh to give it a soft squeeze. It doesn’t last long, not even a second and he has it already pulled back again.

The rest of the drive doesn’t feel as tense anymore. It seems that distance to the people, who truly anger him, does Yoongi well. When the seventh hour of the drive starts, he tells the group all about how he and Meredith met.

They met back in 1790, which alerted great confusion with the rest of the group until Yoongi explained to you that the magic Meredith uses is far from the magic, which was allowed and that it prolonged her life unnaturally. He said that exactly this kind of magic will finally give you the advantage point you needed over Namjoon.

Once the eighth hour hit, you catch him drumming his fingers to the music every now and then. At some point he even moved his fingers as if he was playing the piano. You didn’t call him out on it, but you liked watching him.

By the ninth hour, the scenery had changed drastically, passing you by in streaks of red dirt, white stone and scrubby trees. You really loved the view and so you spent most of the time looking outside. Emma and Seokjin played a game on the backseat. It involved way too many rules and was entirely silly. If they saw a tree with three branches on the right they had to hit each other on the arm. If a rock looked like a face they could pinch each other. A yellow car meant flicking the other’s forehead. And all in all, it meant lots of giggles from the backseat.

“Tree!” you joined them at some point, reaching over to hit Yoongi’s arm.

He snuck a glance at you, but didn’t react. You spent the next minutes overthinking everything you did and worrying that Yoongi will never forgive you, until suddenly you felt the impact of a hand on your arm and you could listen to Yoongi mumble, “tree.”

Your worries stopped then and for the rest of the ninth hour, your little group played this silly game while outside the scenery passed by.

By the time the tenth hour struck, you felt sleepy and so you fell asleep with your head leaned against the window and your knees turned to Yoongi. Yoongi snuck a glance at the backseat then, because it had gotten terribly quiet, and he realised that Seokjin and Emma had fallen asleep as well. They hugged each other.

Yoongi turns off the music and takes off his jacket, draping it over your lap. He keeps his hand on your thigh for a while, counting the headlights passing by. He is glad to have you in the car with him. He would have never forgiven you, had you decided to drive with Taehyung. Warmth places itself over his hand and for a second Yoongi panics.

He turns his head, realising that you are still sleeping and that you merely reached for his hand in your sleep.

He looks back at the road, squeezing your hand.

“Fuck”, he presses out quietly enough not wake anyone, “why did you have to do this, ___?”

The next time you open your eyes is when you are being carried. Your comfort scent surrounds you, gravel crunches under someone’s feet. You lift your head from the chest you had it rested against previously.

“Yoongi?” you say, voice heavy in sleep, “where are we?”

“We’re here”, he speaks softly, “go back to sleep, it’s late.”

You rest your head back against his chest, but keep your eyes open. You can’t fall asleep again, not when you have to treasure the current moment here in Yoongi’s arms with the cicadas singing far away and his scent in your nose.

“Hyung”, Jungkook’s voice is instantly recognisable, “finally you guys are here. We were wondering what took you so long. Meredith’s not here tonight, but the witches told us to get comfortable. The others are already in the rooms. I reserved the best one for us.” His steps on the gravel come closer. “What’s wrong with her?”

You lift your head in order not to worry him.

“Oh? Hey ___”, he greets you, sneaking a glance at Yoongi, “are you guys good again?”

With bated breath you look up at Yoongi, waiting for his answer.

“She’s tired”, Yoongi answers him, “get her stuff and bring it to her room.”

“On it”, Jungkook says and disappears behind Yoongi’s back.

Yoongi looks down at you, locking eyes with you for just a second. It is enough to tell you that there is still a lot to fix, but that at least he wasn’t fuming in anger anymore.

You rest your head on his chest and close your eyes. You won’t open them until Yoongi sets you down on your bed and slips his arms from you.

Your eyes meet.

“Thank you for carrying me”, you say shyly.

“Mhm”, Yoongi nods his head.

“That’s uhm”, you begin, looking around the room. Small with lavender walls and a big queen sized bed which fills up almost the entire room. The duvet covers are fluffy and smell like laundry detergent. The furniture seems old, carrying marks of much use on their surfaces, “it’s quite cozy here.”

“Yeah.”

“Will you stay here?”

“No.”

“Oh, uhm.”

Tension fills the air and thankfully for your heart, Jungkook enters the room just this moment.

“How was your drive?” he asks.

“Good. We played some games”, you answer him, trying your hardest to make your voice sound normal.

“That sounds nice. Our drive was awful. I was happy when I finally got out and could go the other way”, he says, placing your suitcases on top of the chaise lounge. He claps into his hands and sighs contently, “there we go, all done.”

“Thank you, Kook.”

“No worries”, he gives you a grin, “are you guys sleeping here?” he asks, looking around the room, “cozy.”

“I’m staying with you. She can sleep alone”, Yoongi says, making you lower your head.

Jungkook, who notices, laughs awkwardly.

“Yeah sure, uh sure. I’ll be downstairs then uhm, sleep well ___”, he says, fleeing the scene as quickly as possible.

The door falls closed.

You are alone with Yoongi.

With a racing heart, you look at him. He is studying your features, eyes weary in nervousness yet lips turned into a frown.

Is this your moment? Will you finally be able to talk it out with him?

You take a deep breath, readying yourself to speak. Yoongi however interrupts you before you can.

“Okay. Good night”, he says, turning his back to you to leave the room.

“Yoongi wait”, you say, hurrying to him and placing your hands over his, “don’t go yet.”

He looks at your hands resting there atop of his', clutching the doorknob tighter.

“I want to tell you again that I’m sorry”, you say, “I’m so goddamn sorry.”

Yoongi looks at your face, “I know”, he says.

“I understand that you’re still angry at me.”

“I’m not angry at you. I’m disappointed.”

“Oh.”

You slip your hand from him, feeling sick in guilt. Having him be disappointed in you feels worse than him being angry at you. You understand him, you really do, but still it hurts so much to know.

“Please let me be alone”, he says quietly, “I can’t talk about it yet.”

You want to say that you understand, but you can’t make a sound. This feels as if he is breaking up with you.

“Do you want to leave me?” you ask quietly.

“No. I just need time for myself.”

“Are you sure?”

“Oh my god, ___”, he blurts out, “I’m trying.”

You fall silent, gawking at him with big eyes.

“I keep going back and forth. Keep going back and forth between wanting to be close to you like I’m a stupid fucking addict because, because fucking avoiding you hurts me. Like fuck, I’m so fucking dumb”, he spits, twisting his hand on his own hair, “but then when I’m close to you, all I think about is what you did and getting so fucking upset that I can’t bear to even look at you. Fuck.”

He drops his hand from his hair, gripping his own neck in an almost painful grasp. As if he needed something to hold on. He can’t look at you as he speaks.

“My biggest nightmare is to have to watch you bleed out”, he says, eyes filling with tears.

“Yoongi”, you whimper, trying to reach for him but he flees.

“To watch you bleed out and to know that the only way to save you is to feed you my blood. That’s my biggest nightmare. That I have to curse you with my hell, just so I wouldn’t lose you. And you made me experience it”, he says, throwing his hand over his mouth in order not to sob. He prances up and down, squeezing his own cheeks. “I’m so hurt that I can’t breathe”, he squeaks out.

“Yoongi, I’m sorry”, you croak out and he ends up squeezing his eyes shut. You watch it happening with a breaking heart.

For just a moment you think that he will lose control, but he doesn’t in the end. Like he taught himself over decades and decades, Yoongi gains back control. His eyes flit to you. They are still teary, but are filled with anger.

“I’ve been trying so hard to show you that I won’t fucking leave you even after what you did. But fuck, I need some time to be able to look at you again without wanting to…be…angry. So give me a fucking break. I need some time.”

He meets your eyes, gulping upon seeing the fear in them. He can smell it too, could do so the entire day, you are soaked in anxiety. True and painful anxiety.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that…” he exhales and puts tenderness into his voice, “I’m doing all I can emotionally do right now to assure you that I won’t leave you. I can’t do much more and I don’t want to stay because I know that if I did, I’d say things that I would regret. So please give me some time.”

“I understand that”, you take a step back, “I’m sorry for being pushy.”

“Thank you for understanding”, he says and turns to leave.

“Yoongi wait.”

He turns with an exasperated gasp. Fuck, you did it again. You were clingy.

“Sorry I was…just…forget it, I wanted to keep you here again. Just go. I’m sorry, I won’t keep you.”

“Thanks”, he says and turns away, “sleep well.”

“You too.”

You watch him leave with a lump in your throat and your heart aching. You want to run after him, hold him and beg him to stay. But you shouldn’t. Yoongi needs his freedom right now. He needs you to understand, just as much as you are asking him to understand your actions. And you do understand, you really do. It is just so hard to watch someone you love so very much leave you with so much disappointment in their chests.

“Fuck”, you press out once the door fell closed, squeezing your eyes shut in order not to cry miserably.

You just hope that he comes back soon. Please, don’t let this situation be too long.

You wake with the sun. The sound of cicadas and the ocean greets you. Seagulls and gentle waves. It would be such a beautiful thing to wake up to if your situation wasn’t so fucked up.

You peel yourself out of bed with heavy limbs, dragging yourself to the window to open it. The salt is heavy in the air, mixing with the scent of pines and the lavender which seems to grow in the garden which the window overlooks. Olive trees and old fruit trees grow in the garden alongside roses, vegetables and the already mentioned lavender. There is an earthen path winding its way through the garden, ending by a stone wall and a gate. There was a small beach behind the wall just close enough that you could see the waves crush the shore. The gate is currently open, allowing whoever wanted to visit the beach to reach it easily. It seems that Taehyung and Jimin took said opportunity. You can watch them climb over the dark rocks, both of them not wearing much more than bathing shorts and sunglasses. They are talking to each other.

This right here would feel like you entered paradise if everything wasn’t still as twisted as it was. You break away from the window with a sad sigh, deciding that you should look for the others before you fall into total despair.

The house of the witches turns out to have two floors. Your room was located upstairs. The interior of your room continues outside. Colourful walls, old and well loved furniture and the most beautiful handmade decorations greet you as you wander through the hallways in search of the stairs.

You get stopped before you could find them by a woman leaving one of the rooms. She stops and looks at you.

“Hello”, you say shyly, running your eyes up and down her body. Her skin was tanned from the sun, her hair was dark and reached her down to her waist. A long scarf holds it out of her face. Green fabrics were draped over her body as a dress and a necklace made with dried flowers adorned her neck.

“Hello”, she says and smiles, “are you one of our guests?”

“Yes. I’m ___.”

“Nice to meet you ___, I’m Jelena.”

“Nice to meet you, Jelena”, you say.

“Were you on your way downstairs?”

“Yes, but I don’t know where to go.”

“Follow me.”

You jog to catch up with her, walking by her side. She has a bounce in her steps and even with a relaxed expression she is smiling.

“You aren’t like our other guests are you?” she asks you.

“No. I’m human.”

“Human”, she studies your face intently, “human, I see. Well, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Are you a witch?”

“Yes, we are all witches here.”

“That’s really cool. Yoongi told me that you can help us with Namjoon.”

“At least we will try”, she says and laughs, “right down here”, she says and jogs down the stairs. Her naked feet make a soft sound on the stone, your own feet accompany the sound a little slower. You try not to run down unknown stairs, especially not with Yoongi’s blood still in your system. If you slipped and died only to come back a cursed vampire, Yoongi would never forgive himself.

“You have a very nice house”, you tell her once downstairs.

Bundles of herbs and flowers hang from the hand railings of the second floor balconies. Some seem to be freshly picked while others were in different stages of drying. Slices of oranges and apples dried right alongside them, mixing with the salty scent of the ocean.

“Thank you so much. We love it here a lot. Yoongi told me that you like to grow your own plants.”

“He told you that?”

“Yes. He made it sound as if you knew a lot.”

“Oh”, your cheeks feel on fire instantly. He talked about you to them. “I, I guess. I still have a lot to learn though.”

“One can’t learn enough, isn’t that right?”

“Yes. Totally. I think it’s fun to learn new stuff.”

“I agree. Now just through that door. Your friends must be eating breakfast if I’m not mistaken. They woke not that long ago. Except for your friends by the beach, they have been awake since sunrise”, she says, leading you through a kitchen.

The walls were made out of yellow painted stone with the ceilings rounded and decorated with more drying plants. A wooden oven was built right into the walls and the work counters were covered in glasses filled with what you assume to be magical potions. Two women were hurrying through the kitchen, slowing down when they notice your presence.

“Hello”, you greet them both.

“Hello”, they greet you.

“___, Suzy and Dragana. Suzy, Dragana this is ___”, Jelena introduces you to each other.

“Nice to meet you. You have such a beautiful home.”

“Thank you, we hope that you have a lovely time here”, Dragana says with a smile.

“I am sure that we will. Thank you for housing us.”

Suzy gives you a smile and then the loudly bubbling potion on the fire rips her attention from you. “Oh dear, oh dear that would have been a disaster”, she babbles to herself, stirring the red liquid vigorously.

“What happened?” Dragana asks her and then their conversation drowns out in your ears as Jelena continues her walk and you follow her.

“Is Suzy making potions?” you ask her.

“In a way. She is making tomato sauce, but her recipe tastes so good that it could be considered magic”, she says and snickers because of her joke.

“I see. I’m sorry for asking. I don’t really know how being a witch works. I hope I didn’t offend you.”

“Don’t worry, we are not shy to answer questions. So ask whatever you want to ask”, she assures you.

“Thank you.”

You have to walk under a tunnel of grapes and then a spacious sitting area reveals itself to your eyes. There are a total amount of eight tables scattered around the paved terrace and beds of lavender frame it. The tables, except for one, are unoccupied. Your friends sit by the occupied table, each wearing the darkest sunglasses imaginable.

They turn their heads to you. Hoseok lifts his hand and waves at you with squeaky sound effects and a bright grin. His bubbly greeting makes you feel better. His good mood is always so contagious.

“Good morning, guys”, you greet them.

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?” Seokjin asks you.

“I guess. And you?”

They tell you that they all slept well, except for Jungkook who spent the night talking with Yoongi. There is no sight of the latter. Jelena tells you that it is probably because he is in the shed with Meredith and then she says her goodbye as she herself needs to go to the shed.

“What shed is she talking about?” you ask them, sitting down on the chair Jungkook pulls out for you.

He sits down next to you once he made sure that you are comfortable.

“Apparently the witches have a shed where they make all the magical stuff that could be dangerous. Just in case it goes wrong, the whole house doesn’t burn down”, Hoseok explains.

“I see. That makes sense. So what is Yoongi doing there?”

“Helping them build the device which will help us capture Namjoon.”

“Oh? That sounds good. I didn’t even know that he knew how to do that.”

“Right? We were really surprised as well, but apparently he is really knowledgeable in magic.”

“Really? Thank you”, you thank Jungkook for preparing tea and continue talking, “he knows so much about everything. He is so cool.”

“Waah look at her. She’s totally into him”, Hoseok teases.

“Yeah obviously, he’s my boyfriend”, you throw back with faux annoyance in your voice.

Hoseok snickers. Seokjin does too.

You share a few moments of silence with each other. You fill your plate with the most delicious looking breakfast ever while the others busy themselves with finishing their own servings.

Seokjin sighs loudly and leans back in his chair, presenting his face to the sun.

“It’s beautiful here isn’t it?” he asks.

“Yes, it’s so nice”, Jungkook agrees, “I love the seaside so much.”

“Same.”

“Did you guys visit the beach already?” you ask them.

“Not yet. It’s occupied”, Seokjin says, “there would be a murder if I went down there now.”

Jungkook chuckles lazily and Emma smirks in agreement.

You know what he meant by that, feeling some of your morning sadness return.

“It’s all so twisted, isn’t it?” you ask them.

They look at you, then exchange a glance. Jungkook reaches out, rubbing your arm.

“Don’t be too sad, I promise you that it’s not as terrible as you think it is.”

“Are you sure? I don’t know.”

“I do. I talked to Yoongi and he just needs some time.”

“I know, but I’m so scared he’ll decide that he wants to break up.”

“He won’t. Trust me.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Really.”

Jungkook doesn’t lie. Not to you at least. And especially not about something like that. So to hear his reassuring words lessens a little bit of that pressure on your chest.

“Thank you”, you whisper, “I really want to go to him and apologise a million times, but I know that I shouldn’t.”

“I’m sure that he appreciates it a lot”, Hoseok says, “I think it’s really great of you that you respect his wish. It shows that you care a lot for him.”

“I do. I care so much.”

Hoseok smiles, “and I am sure that he knows that as well. Right Kookie?”

“He does. Although I hope that you guys talk soon. I can’t bear to watch you guys fight”, he says and pouts, “it’s like watching my parents fight.”

He cracks you up.

“Don’t call us your parents. We fucked multiple times, it makes it weird”, you say in a laugh.

“True. Sorry”, Jungkook says, flustering.

“I mean in a sense you can still be his Mommy and Daddy, it’s just the different type” Hoseok says, earning himself a slap on his arm by Seokjin.

“Why does your mind seriously always go there? You are such a perv”, he says while Hoseok laughs loudly.

Jungkook sneaks a shy glance at you, you do the same. You end up laughing as well.

“You’re so dumb sometimes, Hobi”, you say.

“I can’t argue with that”, Hoseok jokes, sending you some finger guns with a cute sound effect. He is so adorable.

The rest of breakfast feels nice. Conversation is mostly about how awesome this place is and your plans on going to the beach later. You clean up once breakfast is finished. Suzy and Dragana are still in the kitchen, telling you to put the dirty dishes in the sink because they will take care of it later. You go your separate ways, but decide to meet up once you are all washed up.

Hoseok knocks on your door when you are in the middle of putting on your shirt.

“Come in”, you call out, tugging it into your shorts.

“Are you naked? I hope you aren’t. I’m not looking”, he says, entering the room with his eyes covered.

“You can look. I wouldn’t have told you to come in otherwise.”

“Ah yeah, right”, Hoseok drops his hand, running his eyes up and down your body, “nice fit. I like the colours.”

“You do? Thank you. I feel like I have no clothes with me. I’ve been wearing the same bra for four days now.”

“Hey we’re on the road, you’re allowed to circle your outfits.”

“And yet I’ve never seen you wear the same outfit twice.”

“That’s because I have too many clothes with me”, he says and pulls a pose, “I have a reputation to keep up.”

You snicker, “of course you do. You look very handsome, Hobi. I like the fit.”

“Thank you, thank you”, he says and offers you his arm to hold, “let’s find the others, me lady.”

You hook arms with him, snickering because he is so funny.

You plan to go into the village together. Dragana told you that it offers an amazing market and a beautiful port to hang out at. So you want to check it out with the others.

Seokjin and Emma are waiting in the garden with a matching outfit. Jungkook is on his knees trying to take the perfect picture for them.

You and Hoseok wait by the sidelines until they are finished.

“Now take one of us”, Hoseok says, dragging you in front of the camera, “Kookie, take one of us”, he says and hugs you sideways, throwing one of his legs around you as well.

It makes you laugh. The shutter clicks, capturing the moment for all eternity.

“That picture is so pretty, wow both your smiles are so pretty”, Jungkook gasps, beaming at you.

Hoseok releases you and stretches his arms out, “go to her, I’ll take a pic of you guys.”

“Really?” Jungkook gasps, gazing at you.

“Come here, Kookie.”

He skips to you and places himself right beside you, grinning at the camera as big as he can.

“That’s perfect. You guys look so cute together”, Hoseok says, pulling the weirdest poses on the ground to truly capture your best sides, “now one where you’re hugging. Come on, give me that emotion.”

Jungkook hesitates in shyness and so you end up hugging his waist. He squeaks quietly, tensing up.

“Relax, you look like you don’t wanna be with her.”

“Sorry uhm sorry”, Jungkook stutters and finally wraps his arms around you, resting his cheek against your head.

“Yes! Cute! Oh you guys are so cute”, Hoseok exclaims, capturing the moment with perfection.

Jungkook breaks away from you afterwards instantly, keeping his eyes lowered shyly.

“I think that was really nice”, he says.

“I think so too”, you say.

Jungkook giggles and moves in, pressing a surprise kiss to your cheek. It paints heat to your face instantly, heart fluttering in your chest.

“You look really pretty”, he says.

“Thank you Kookie, you are so pretty too”, you whisper, looking into his sparkling eyes.

“You guys! You are so cute together. Look at that”, Hoseok says, showing you the secret picture he just took of the moment. Jungkook looks totally smitten for you while you are spilling over with fondness.

“I love those pictures. Please send them to me, I need to have them”, you gush.

“Me too please. I wanna put it as my lock screen”, Jungkook says, holding your hand tightly now that the nice pictures gave him a confidence boost.

“Of course, I’ll do it right away”, Hoseok says, opening Seokjin’s chats without asking.

“Hey. Don’t read my chats, they are private”, Seokjin complains, snatching his phone out of Hoseok’s hand, “I’ll send them to them.”

“Sorry”, Hoseok apologises.

You thank Seokjin once you receive the pictures. You also suggest saying your goodbye to Yoongi and the witches before you leave and they agree.

The doors to the shed are open. Chatter is lively. There are five witches with Yoongi. The latter is leaning over a table, having shrugged off his shirt and only working in a tanktop because of the immense heat in here. He was explaining something to Jelena but stops when he senses your presence.

“How are you guys doing? Any progress?” Hoseok asks.

“Lots. Thanks to Yoongi”, the witch next to the latter says, eyes flitting to you, “you must be ___. Yoongi told us a lot about you. Nice to meet you, I’m Meredith.”

“Nice to meet you too”, you say, glancing at Yoongi who is already busying himself with talking to Jelena. There is barely any distance between them and she keeps looking at his lips.

Meredith closes the distance between you and her.

“I am happy to have you as my guests. I hope that you are enjoying your stay here.”

“We are. You have such a lovely home. I really love your garden.”

“Thank you, this is very sweet”, she smiles, “you look dressed up. Are you planning to go somewhere?”

“Yes. We want to visit the market Dragana told us about.”

Yoongi lifts his head.

“Ah the market”, Meredith’s eyes light up, “you will love it a lot. It offers many useful things. We like to get our milk and eggs there.”

“I can imagine. It must be so nice to live such a life.”

“It is. I wouldn’t exchange it for any other life.”

Yoongi appears next to Meredith.

“You are leaving?” he asks.

“Yes. Why? Do you want to come with us?” Hoseok asks.

“I can’t. We have to fix up the device.”

“Yeah sure. Should we get you something from the market?”

“I don’t want you to leave”, Yoongi ignores Hoseok to address you instead.

“Mhm?”

Meredith excuses herself, hurrying back to the other witches in order not to eavesdrop on a clearly private conversation.

“I can’t hear if something happens when you’re at the market. I want you to stay on the grounds today.”

“Okay? Yes, sure. I understand. I’ll stay here.”

“Thank you”, he says, nodding his head, “you’ll be rid of it tomorrow.”

“I know, it’s okay.”

“Mhm.”

And with that he turns his back to you and walks back to the witches. You leave the shed, knowing that he won’t want to have any more conversation with you. The others follow you.

“What was that about? Are we not going to the market?” Hoseok asks.

“You guys can still go, but I guess I’ll stay here today.”

“Then we won’t go either. We won’t leave you here alone.”

“No please, I don’t want you guys to miss out on it.”

“We won’t. We can go another day”, Emma assures you.

“Hell yeah we can. Let’s make a nice day here”, Hoseok says, draping his arm over your shoulder, “should we go to the beach instead? Swim a little? I bet the water’s nice.”

“I’d love that. Thanks guys, I’m happy that you aren’t going without me.”

“Don’t mention it. It’s either all of us or none of us. I just don’t get why he wants you to stay here.”

“I guess he is scared that something could happen to me now that I have his blood in my system.”

“I forgot that already."

You sigh loudly, “this is all my fault.”

“Please don’t start again ___, it’s not”, Seokjin says.

“No, but what if Jimin’s right? What if I actually begged him to drink my blood? What if I forced him to feed me his blood? I can’t remember doing it, but is he right? What if I forced him?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Taehyung told me that Jimin said that I initiated the thing in the club. What if I did? What if Jimin controlled my mind to think that he was the villain so I don’t have to live with the guilt? What if I was too drunk and remembered it wrongly?”

“You are seriously saying the stupidest stuff sometimes. Jimin said that to Taehyung to shift blame. All he wanted to do was to look good in Taehyung’s eyes”. Seokjin says, furrowing his brows so intensely deep creases form on his forehead.

“I don’t know anymore. It’s driving me fucking insane”, you choke out and touch your own head.

“How would that even work? Why would Jimin control your mind to forget shit like that? Please think for a moment, ___”, Seokjin says in a stern voice.

“Hey, don’t be so harsh to her”, Emma says.

“No, I’m pissed off”, Seokjin says, “stop trying to blame yourself. Yeah you fucked up when you gave Tae your blood, yeah maybe fucking Jimin wasn’t the best idea, but fucking hell stop trying to blame yourself for shit you didn’t even do and which couldn’t have happened logistically. Sorry if that sounded harsh, but it’s the truth.”

You glance at Seokjin. He was frowning at first, but softens his gaze when he sees the sadness in your eyes. He steps closer.

“Hey”, he says, caressing your cheek, “I am here for you, you know? I just don’t want you to hurt yourself by feeling guilty over stuff which never happened. It’s unfair to yourself, please treat yourself gently not with so much unnecessary hate.”

“I know”, you whisper, “I don’t know what else to say. I’m just…tired. Really fucking tired.”

Seokjin sneaks a glance at the others. They think the same he does. They close the distance between you and them and hug you, sharing comfort that way.

“Then it’s seriously best that we stay here. We should relax and take it easy. We can have a nice day at the beach and stop thinking about stuff which never happened, yeah?” Emma says.

“We can eat snacks and play games and nap in the shade”, Hoseok says, “that sounds like fun, doesn’t it?”

“It does”, Jungkook says, rubbing your back, “and you have to swim with me, ___. You can even hang onto me, I’ll do all the moving.”

“Do I have to? The water’s so cold.”

“I’ll keep you warm, promise.”

“Fine”, you give up with a huff of air, “thank you guys, I know I’m a lot.”

“___, treat yourself gently”, Seokjin warns, giving you a soft squeeze.

“I’m sorry, yeah. Thank you for being there for me, guys”, you correct yourself and it felt good to do. It felt really fucking good not to put yourself down for once.

The day at the beach turns out to be way more fun than any day at the market could have ever been. Jungkook manages to get you into the water with him and eventhough you squeaked about the temperature at first, you had a great time with him. Hoseok joined you the second time you went for a swim and this time around, he was the one squeaking about the cold temperatures. Seokjin and Emma joined you for your third round. Jungkook proceeded to chase Seokjin with some algae while the latter called him a punk and screeched for Emma’s help. Emma merely laughed and continued chatting with you and Hoseok. You have lunch in the garden with the witches. After lunch you spend the time in the gardens, playing badminton and a round of soccer where Jungkook gets way too competitive and proceeds to call Seokjin a cheater for winning. It was hilarious to watch because Seokjin kept teasing him while Jungkook acted like the sorest yet cutest loser. By sunset hours, you fled back inside, helping the witches cook dinner and chatting about life here. Apparently the coast and its surrounding mountains were covered in little villages and estates such as the coven’s estate. There was a big community of witches, vampires and humans living together in peaceful synergy. The vampires along this coast are on a diet consisting of animal blood and blood bags and as a thank you the humans and witches here willingly donated a few bags of blood per month to help them out. Even the wolves living here get along with the vampires and just next month there will be the first human-wolf wedding between two of the villagers. The entire coastline and mountain is invited to the wedding and the witches look forward to it with great excitement. They will be responsible for the fireworks. All of magical nature of course without any harm to the environment.

You eat dinner outside with the crickets accompanying you and great laughter hanging in the air.

Taehyung and Jimin aren’t present for any of it.

Neither is Yoongi.

The feeling of their absence finally comes back to you once you are in bed all alone and with nothing to stop your bad thoughts from coming back. You had a good day, but how good was it really when everything was still so ruined? You try to fall asleep with that thought but can’t in the end. You text Hoseok, asking him to come to your room.

He is by your door five minutes later, knocking gently.

“Come in.”

He enters the room. A white flowy t-shirt and blue striped boxer briefs adorn his body. His hair is let down and his skin glowy from his excessive skincare routine.

“Hey there”, he says, “are you okay? Why did you text me?”

“Hobi, can you stay here tonight? I don’t wanna be alone.”

“Yeah of course, what’s up? Wanna talk about it?” he asks as he hurries to your bed. He steps out of his fluffy slippers and crawls under the blanket with you.

“It’s just the same thing over and over again. I feel like all of this is my fault and I’m angry at myself and fucking sad because Yoongi and Tae are upset with me.”

“Yeah, I get you”, Hoseok caresses your hand softly, “tomorrow’s going to be a new day and won’t hurt as much anymore.”

“I don’t think it will. I feel so broken.”

“I get it”, he gives you a sorry smile, “do you want to hug?”

You nod your head.

“Com’ere”, Hoseok says, closing the distance between you and him to cradle you against his chest. His body feels warm for a change, courtesy of the witches giving them their blood earlier today. He smells good. Fresh, warm and manly. He always smells so heavenly. Hoseok runs his fingers up and down the back of your head, resting his other arm around your waist.

“You know”, he begins, “I suck at words, so sorry if my advice sucks, but I think you should listen to what Seokjin said today. Jimin lied to get out of the mess.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah. You’re wearing your magic ring and Jimin’s really unpredictable. Of course he bit you and force fed you, it fits his character.”

“Yeah, I know. I think that I said those things because I just want to make sense of everything.”

“Yeah I get it. You can rant to me if you want to, I can listen really well.”

“No, I don’t want to talk. I just wanna be held and fall asleep. I’m so bloody tired of being awake.”

“Okay, I can do that too”, Hoseok says and shifts his head into a position which would allow him to kiss your forehead. He hesitates, looking at you with weary eyes.

You crane your neck, locking eyes with him.

“What?” you ask him.

“I just wanted to give you a kiss, but I don’t know if that’s good with you”, he says.

“Yeah”, you say, returning to your previous position, “it’s okay.”

“Nice”, Hoseok says and finally kisses your forehead, listening to the deep exhale of relief you do because of it. He pulls you closer afterwards, drawing nonsense patterns on your back.

“Thank you, Hobi”, you whisper, closing your eyes as you hide away in the comfort of his chest, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, ___”, Hoseok whispers, allowing his eyes to fall close.

You fall asleep in his arms minutes later, while Hoseok still stays awake for a little, listening to your calm heartbeat and slow breathing.

Hoseok is gone when you wake the next morning, but he left a note on the pillow for you which tells you that he had to leave early because he promised Seokjin and Jungkook to go for a run together. You didn’t mind that you woke up without him. Being held tonight felt healing to your broken heart.

Like yesterday you open the windows, looking at the beach. It was empty today. The garden was empty as well. You woke earlier than you did yesterday. You offered the witches your help when you ran in on them making breakfast, but they declined you and told you to take a walk because the weather was amazing. You did so barefooted just as Jelena suggested, enjoying the warm temperature of the ground under your toes.

You stop when you are by the fountain just at the west end of the garden. Yoongi is sitting on its edge.

He turns, sensing your presence like he always does.

“Sorry. I didn’t notice you here. I swear I wasn’t trying to invade your privacy”, you say.

“It’s fine”, he says, running his eyes up and down your body.

“Sorry again. I’ll leave you to your sitting. It’s so nice here, isn’t it?”

“It is”, Yoongi lifts his hand and points at the mountain. It is so close to the house that it almost takes up all of your vision, “how far do you think you can see from there?”

“I don’t know. Probably really far.”

You shimmy from one foot to the other, fumbling with your fingers. Yoongi turns away from you and pats the spot next to him. You hurry to him instantly, sitting down with a racing heart.

“The sun rises behind that mountain. I watched it happening.”

“You did? You must have been awake really early then.”

“I never fell asleep.”

“I see.”

“My blood’s outta your system.”

“I know.”

“You can go to the market today.”

“I know. Do you want to come with us?”

“No. I want to stay here.”

“Okay. I respect that.”

Yoongi sneaks a glance at you.

“I do”, you insist.

“Mhm”, he looks at the mountain.

You do the same. You really want to bring up what Jimin did and you want to apologise again and tell him how awful you feel, but you know better than to do that. Yoongi may sit with you right now, but this is not your invitation to start the conversation. So you try to make small talk, hoping that you are allowed to do so.

“You told the witches that I like gardening.”

“I did.”

“Did you tell them more about me?”

He glances at you.

“Sorry. I know it doesn’t have to interest me”, you backtrack now that you realised how self absorbed that sounded. You however just wanted to know whether or not it is safe to say that he is your partner.

“They know that we’re together if that’s what you wanted to know”, Yoongi says.

“I did.”

“Mhm.”

You glance at his face. He is sloughing which he never does and his eyes look so fallen in and puffy. Has he been crying?

“Yoongi, I’m-”

“If you’re gonna apologise again, I’m getting up”, he interrupts you.

“I was, I just- fuck sorry, I won’t do it”, you murmur.

He doesn’t say anything and touches the side of his neck in soothing.

“You uhm”, you begin because you are fucking greedy for conversation. Not because of selfish reasons, but because you are scared that if you shared silence he would realise how little he actually cared for you and then you would lose him, “are you having neck problems?”

“It’s just tense, it’s fine.”

“I could massage it for you if you want to.”

“I said it’s fine.”

“Okay, sorry yeah. Uhm…are you going to fix up the device again?”

“Yes.”

“That’s cool. Are you far already?”

“No.”

“I see. I bet you’ll make lots of progress today.”

“We’ll see”, he says dryly and takes out something from his pocket. He opens his palm, revealing a delicate ring to you. It was made out of gold and had a blue crystal in the middle. “I had Meredith enchant it. Wear it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re not wearing your ring anymore.”

You glance at your empty finger. You were too preoccupied with everything happening that you hadn’t even noticed. Holy fuck.

“Thank you”, you whisper and accept the ring. His fingertips brush your skin when he places it into your palm. The simple touch leaves you aching because of how much you miss him.

Yoongi eyes your hand as you slip the ring on. It is too big for your finger at first, but shrinks to perfect size once you slipped it on. It is so comfortable that you don’t feel it.

“Huh?” you let out. That didn’t happen with the other ring.

“It’s made for you”, he says, “only you can wear it, it won’t slip off and only you can decide when to take it off. Give me your hand.”

You present your hand to him. Yoongi wraps his fingers around the ring and tugs strong enough that you have to follow the movement with your arm. The ring doesn’t budge one bit.

Yoongi releases the ring.

“You try”, he says.

“O-okay”, you say and put your fingers on the ring. The ring grows again, allowing you to slide it off easily, “holy fuck.”

“Yeah. Nobody can fuck with you anymore, unless you allow it.”

“I won’t allow it anymore”, you say, slipping the ring back on, “unless it’s you.”

Yoongi glances at your face, hiding the surprise with a blink of his eyes. He doesn’t say anything and looks back at the mountain.

“Thank you”, you say, “for looking out for me.”

“I said that I would keep you safe, didn’t I?”

“You did and I don’t take it for granted. So thank you.”

“Mhm”, Yoongi hums and places his hand on the stone next to yours.

You tense up when you feel his pinkie finger brush against yours. Once. It was probably a mistake. Twice. You glance at your hands with bated breath. Yoongi runs his pinkie down again. Holy shit, he is doing it on purpose. Feeling encouraged and with a racing heart, you reach out and hook your pinkie with his’.

He doesn’t show a change in posture, nor a change in expression, merely his pinkie closing around yours lets you know that he wanted this to happen.

And you feel close to passing out. Your heart tells you to break into tears and to fall around his neck and never let him go again. Your brain tells you to speak your truth and apologise a million more times. Your body is too weak and overwhelmed by this simple show of affection to act on any of those things. You are paralysed, left to stare at the mountain with a racing heart whilst wishing for time to never pass.

Yoongi turns, making you turn as well. You turn just in time to watch the others push and pull each other as they are trying to flee before you could notice them. You hear Hoseok whisper something along the lines of “they’re talking guys, let’s piss off.”

“We know that you’re here”, Yoongi says.

They stop, gawking at you with widened eyes.

“Oh guys? Oh hey wow you are here?? We didn’t even notice you here”, Hoseok lies, laughing nervously.

“You’re a shit liar, Hoba”, Yoongi says dryly.

“Ah yeah. Hah”, Hoseok touches the side of his neck.

“We didn’t want to disturb you”, Jungkook says.

“It’s okay. I’m leaving anyways”, Yoongi says, standing up, “have fun at the market today”, he says, strutting away with his hands hidden in his pockets.

You ache. You weren’t ready to let go yet.

The others wait until he is far away enough, hurrying to you quickly.

“And? Are you guys good again?”

“I don’t know. We didn’t talk about that.”

“So he doesn’t know about Jimin?” Seokjin asks.

“I just…didn’t think it was the right time.”

“Oh ___.”

“Please don’t be angry at me. I just don’t want to pressure him into having to talk to me. We, we hooked pinkies and, and it felt so nice that I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“You hooked pinkies? That’s so romantic”, Jungkook gasps.

“I didn’t wanna ruin that”, you whisper, looking at Seokjin.

Seokjin sighs in defeat, “I get it. Fine, I won’t say something again.”

“Thank you.”

“Should we get breakfast and then go to the market? I bet it’s better than to sit here and be sad, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I’d like that.”

The market turns out to be as lovely as Jelena described it. You buy lots of delicious food and share it by the port whilst talking about Hoseok’s time with Annelise. She was a sweet woman until she went off the rails. Hoseok was angry at her for the longest of times, but isn’t these days. He wishes for her recovery and hopes that she will find happiness. He then proceeded to joke way too much, which let all of you know that he was embarrassed about being too emotional. You didn’t call him out and laughed at his silly jokes. On your way back to the house, you stumbled upon a bookshop and you insisted on visiting it. You came out of it with three new books, planning on reading them once you are home.

You return to the house in the late hours of the evening. You went sightseeing to a nearby mountain village, walking up small windy roads for way too many hours. The view was totally worth it. As was the incredible food you ate at a small restaurant up there. The owner instantly knew that your friends were vampires, welcoming them with a glass of blood on the house. The owner turned out to be a werewolf called Petar who is running the restaurant with his wife and son. He chatted about life here, resting his hand on Jungkook’s shoulder the entire time whilst rubbing his own belly mindlessly. Jungkook was nervous at first, but relaxes once he realises that he meant no harm in it and that this is simply how Petar the werewolf tells his stories. Petar called life here peaceful. He said that he spent many years in the big cities and that he hated the fighting between the different groups and so he moved here to find peace. He loved life here and he loved that the communities lived together in harmony. He hopes that the generations coming after him will have the same simple yet harmonious life as he and his wife had. Petar then proceeded to dish out the most incredible lobster you have ever eaten and sent you on your journey back home with a bottle of his daughter’s homebrewed Rakija.

Emma and Seokjin disappear in their room once home and won’t be seen for the rest of the evening. Yes, Hoseok made a horny comment before they left and Seokjin did slap his arm in punishment while Emma rolled her eyes fondly. Hoseok soon disappeared in his room as well and he won’t be seen for the rest of the evening.

Jungkook stays with you, offering his thigh for your head to rest upon as you read while he scrolled through his phone.

“You’re back.”

You and Jungkook lift your heads simultaneously. Yoongi is standing in the doorway.

“We are.”

“Good.”

“Do you want to sit with us?” Jungkook asks.

Yoongi sneaks a glance at you. You sneak a glance at Yoongi. Jungkook almost wants to yell because you both look so desperate for each other.

“I’m still busy”, Yoongi says and Jungkook swears he almost called him an idiot. He is yearning for you and yet he doesn’t want to accept it. Oh Jungkook is so angry at his stubbornness. He should get his head out of his butt and talk to you.

“That’s okay. You work so hard”, you say and Jungkook swears he almost called you an idiot. Your scent is soaked in yearning and yet you pretend that you are okay with giving him his space. Oh Jungkook is so angry at your good will. You should be disrespectful just once and kiss Yoongi until he feels dizzy.

Stupid fight! Jungkook hates this so much!

“Thanks”, Yoongi says, “sleep tight you two.”

“You too.”

Yoongi leaves. You settle against Jungkook. And Jungkook almost throws something. If this tiptoeing around each other continues, this stupid fight will last forever. Jungkook forces himself not to huff out air in frustration. He has to do something. He can’t watch idly by.

“Hey ___, I think I’m gonna go to sleep now. I’m really tired.”

“Oh? So soon already?”

“Sorry, the day was really long.”

“Oh yeah sure”, you sit up, “sleep tight, sweets.”

Jungkook kisses your cheek, “you too, baby.”

And with that he leaves, deciding to use the entire night to come up with a plan on how to get you and Yoongi to talk to each other.

You proceed to fall asleep on the couch twenty minutes later with the book in your hands, sleeping for a good two hours before you wake again to the sound of your phone.

“Urgh god. I fell asleep”, you groan, sitting up and reaching for your phone.

Kookie is calling

You pick up immediately.

“Hey Kookie, what’s up? Why are you calling me in the same house?”

“___ can you please help me?” his voice sounds strained as if he was in pain.

You jerk up in alarm, dropping the book on the floor without caring.

“What happened? Where are you? Are you okay?” your voice is raised in worry.

“No. I, I need your help, please. It hurts so much, m-my head.”

“Holy fuck”, you jump to your feet, running out of the room even if you have no idea where to go, “where are you? I’m coming.”

“The, the….”, his voice is slow, weak, “the attic room…help me…please…”

“I’m coming, Kookie. Hold on, okay? I’m coming.”

“Thank…you”, Jungkook whispers and then the line cuts.

You drop your phone on a random dresser, running through the house. You take two steps at a time, jump over folds in the carpets, dodge pieces of furniture. Your heart is pounding, but you don’t care. Jungkook is in pain and you need to get to him.

The stairs to the attic room croak under your aggressive steps, but you barely even hear the sound. The door is so in reach. Leaned closed, it lets out the shine of a weak light source. You throw it open. Candles are scattered in the room, illuminating your way.

“Jungkook?!” you call out, “I’m here! Where are you?”

Silence answers you.

“Please say something! Where are you?”

You have reached the end of the room. There is a huge round window in front of you, its glass is tinted in colours of reds and greens, showcasing a rose bush. There is a mattress in front of it with dozens of throw pillows on it. Pink rose petals and violet lavender buds are scattered over the sheets. But no Jungkook.

“Where are you? Kookie?”

You twist and turn. He isn’t here. Where is he?

“Jungkookie!” someone else calls out his name, stumbling through the threshold, “I’m here, hyungie’s here!”

You feel nervous instantly.

Yoongi stops, staring at you with widened eyes.

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