#<-I WILL BUILD THIS TAG FROM THE GROUND UP

[soulrox]

DPxDC #23

Danny has learned to change his ghost appearance and has become a tiny gremlin. AKA Little Baby Man.

Danny as LBM is fooling around with Cujo. They've been alternating between games. They've chased each other around, played hide-n-seek, tag, and fetch. Several hours have passed of them playing. The sun is setting. Unknown to Danny they've also flown quite away from Amity Park thanks to their games of tag.

Danny when he catches up to Cujo again wraps his tail around Cujos collar. Danny finally notices that the sun has almost set, so it's time to head off to patrol. He is about to tell Cujo that it's time to leave when he looks down and doesn't recognize the buildings.

Danny: Umm hey boy I don't suppose you know where we flew to. haha.

Cujo just gives Danny a puppy smile. Danny huffs and cuddles him. They fly closer to the ground giving Danny a better look at his surroundings. All around the two little ones is Gothic architecture. It clicks to Danny that they've flown all the way to Gotham after spotting all the gargoyles. Sam had on several occasions talked about and shown photos of all the gargoyles spread throughout Gotham.

Danny is about to ask Cujo to portal them back to Amity when the building near them explodes. A huge hole is blown in the side of the building. Several people wearing green with question marks make their way into the building that just blew.

Danny doesn't want to get on the bats' radar but he is still a protector and the screams he can hear from inside the building are a compelling reason to help. Thinking Danny decides to stay as LBM so when the bats show up they won't know who he is.

Cujo and him fly into the building. The goons have tied up the civilians and a man in green and purple with question marks all over is commanding people. Danny tells Cujo to wait while Danny goes after the Question Mark Man.

Danny flies right into the face of the Question Mark Man and pats his face. Exactly like a toddler does to a person's face. QMM starts to sputter. Going cross-eyed to look at Danny.

Danny: Hey Question Mark Man do you want to play?

Dannys' voice as LBM is feathery. Very soft, thin, and airy, but with an echo of something unnatural underlining it.

QMM: Question Mark Man!? I am the Riddler, you tiny thing. Play? This is my show, my riddles! Riddle me this what are you?

Danny: Riddler nah you're Question Mark Man and my dog and I wanna play more. CUJO FETCH!

Cujo grows big and starts chasing the goons. Several goons get stepped on or thrown into walls and one poor soul gets captured in Cujos' mouth and gets shaken violently back and forth.

So while Cujos off dealing with the goons Danny punches QMM in the gut. QMM flies across the room from the strength of the punch, getting knocked out. Although Danny is LBM he still has all the same strength and powers as his normal-sized self. Danny freaks out, he didn't think he hit that hard. Forgetting the fact he only deals with ghosts and not the living.

The civilian hostages are so confused. First, their day is ruined by Riddler and they'd have to sit through whatever game he set up for the Bats and Birds. Then instead of the normal routine a tiny thing and their dog deal with Riddler and his goons. When Riddler goes flying some of the hostages have to stifle their laughter. When they turn back to the Little Guy they see the flying Little Guy looking frantic at what they just did. The Little Guy is wide-eyed looking frightened and unsure rocking themselves side to side. The flying green dog shrinks and joins them, cuddling in the air. The civilians are unsure of what to do and are still tied up. Thankfully Batman and the newest sword-wielding Robin show up.

Batman and Robin are unsure of what situation they have just arrived at. Riddler is in an unconscious heap on the ground the goons knocked out or not moving,(they can see they are all breathing) one wet, covered in some type of substance, and two small individuals wrapped around each other in the air, while a group of hostages is tied up on the floor.

[fushiguruuzzzz]

xviii  ⊹ ࣪ ˖  Deja Vu 

Series mlist 

Tags — cliche I fear, mentions of violence, mentions of alcohol, possibly offensive humour (?) 

Words — 2.1k 

You elbowed your way through groups of people, ignoring the disgruntled looks sent in your direction. You suddenly felt completely sober, the fuzziness in your mind replaced by sheer panic. Toges text repeated over and over in your mind, the possibilities forming into endless images and scenarios. As much as you wish you didn’t, you knew exactly who they were talking about. Megumi and Kamo. 

The string lights hung around the yard did little to illuminate the space, the primary source of light being whatever leaked out from the house. When the brisk outdoor air hit you, your eyes darted around, very quickly recognizing where they were. It was pretty obvious, with the crowded people and nauseating sounds of the altercation. 

Panda, being the tallest of the bunch, was the first you spotted. You used him like a landmark as you weaved your way around, joining your group of friends near the centre of the action. When you were met with the sight before you, you felt as if you’d travelled back in time. There he was, in all of his glory. Blood trickling down the side of his face, though he looked to be in a much better condition than his opponent. Megumi versus Noritoshi, a fight driven by irrational jealousy and the effects of alcohol. His knuckles were battered, the crimson evidence of his rage staining the skin over the joints. 

He was just about to pull his fist back; just about to land another hit on the man, but then his eyes met yours. They softened, undeniably so, his grip on Kamo’s shirt loosening and arm lowering. Noritoshi took this opportunity to roughly pull from his grasp, giving Megumi a shove backwards on his way. He briefly passed you as he shoved through the crowd, retreating from the scene. 

“Control your dog,” he spat roughly before leaving you slack jawed and blinking in your place. Your eyes hadn’t moved from Megumi, the world around you seeming to dissipate, leaving just the two of you. You longed to reach out to him—no, your soul longed for him, longed to feel the touch and unity of his presence. 

By what seemed like muscle memory you moved forward, grabbing Megumi’s hand and ignoring the worried shouts of your friends. The warmth of his palm–or was that blood?–pressed gently into yours, the only thing keeping you grounded as you guided him away from the people. He followed you into the house without a second thought, blinded by trust, intoxication, and familiarity all in one. You’d been here before, he knew the drill. 

The familiar muggy atmosphere greeted you as you rushed through different rooms, the building seeming like a maze as you so desperately tried to find a washroom that wasn’t occupied by students, either puking or too immersed in each other to even notice you barging in. 

He trailed behind you like a lost puppy dog the entire time. He didn’t speak a word, he didn’t know if he knew how to anymore. Honestly, he was scared. Scared to speak to you, scared that if he dared to open his mouth everything would come spilling out. The bits of him he kept tucked away deep inside were itching to reveal themselves, crawling up his throat and making it tighten with the threat of guilty tears. He could barely face you. He felt like such a complete and total asshole. Ignore you for a week, snap at you, ignore you for another week, then almost kiss you and fight your boyfriend (as he’d begun referring to him as) in the same night? Who even was he? He felt as if he’d regressed years, being the same immature brat he’d been the first time he lost you except much more angry and much more aware. Shame gnawed at him like a plague, eating him from the inside out. Not that he necessarily knew himself very well beforehand, but any grasp of his character seemed to be lost the moment he saw you with… him. 

Finally, after countless trips down hallways and up flights of stairs, you found a place. A small tile washroom with a flickering light above the sink, chilly and empty. It didn’t do much to lighten the mood as you guided him in, your hand parting from his and leaving him feeling oddly empty as he sat on the low marble counter. 

He may as well have been a mime, dead silent as he watched you search the inventory of the room for a cloth. You muttered something under your breath, he couldn’t hear you. His ears rang with anxiety and his own thoughts, growing louder and louder until they were screaming at him. ‘You fucked it all up. You’re such an idiot. No wonder she chose him.’ 

“You’re so stupid,” you huffed, extending to your full height with a washcloth in hand. Well, he knew that already. 

“Mm,” he replied, a lazy hum. He couldn’t find it in himself to respond, let alone argue. There wasn’t a point, you were right anyway. 

Suddenly you were fourteen again, scolding him for getting into yet another fight. Yet again he’d developed some rivalry with your newest love interest, for reasons you couldn’t understand. He wished you did, that would’ve made this so much easier. Despite your anger and hurt, your hands were gentle and warm, every press of the warm wet cloth against his skin a soft caress. 

“I don’t– I don’t get you, Megumi,” you began, deciding to focus intently on your handiwork to avoid looking at him. If you saw that desperate, intent look on his face, you knew you’d break. You couldn’t, not yet. Though the only thing he was thinking was that you’d said his name, the familiar syllables rolling from your tongue with ease. Just like it had when he’d gotten ahead of himself, when he’d almost kissed you. He hated the way your voice sounded when you said his last name, made something bitter swirl in his gut. 

“You’ve been so weird lately.” Your voice was soft, almost afraid. It was a tone he hadn’t heard from you before, and he hated to be the cause of it. “You walk back into my life and everything is normal, great even. We spend months getting close and I’m actually happy, and you aren’t weird at all, in fact, you’re nicer to me than anyone. Then you completely shut me out, and you won’t even tell me why. You tell me you can’t, I don’t buy it,” you took a shaky breath. Your hand had stilled, simply hovering in the air. “And then you almost kissed me, and–and then you leave. You– I–..” you began to stutter, blinking away unshed tears. His heart clenched, feeling unfamiliar and afraid. He’d only seen you cry twice, the first being he’d found you alone in the rain on a dark stormy night and the second being when he’d taken you to see some sad dog movie (which he’d insisted wasn’t a date). You never spoke of the former after that. 

“[name],” he whispered. Someone should’ve started tallying how much he’d said that tonight, you were sure they’d have a full page by now. That wasn’t a bad thing, though. 

“Do you like me or not? I’m sick of this back and forth and I’m sick of using Kamo as a distraction and I’m sick of feeling like this just because you’re a ‘coward’. Am I too much? I just need you to tell—“ 

“If you want me to tell you, you have to let me speak,” he cut you off, taking the hand holding the cloth and gently pushing it away. “You aren’t too much. That’s the thing about you, you’re just you and it’s just right. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that I’m a coward. It’s just– you make me feel all of these things and I hate it, makes me feel weak. I am. You make me weak and you always have, fuck– it’s been this way since middle school.” 

You drew in a breath, trying to process his words. The effects of the alcohol lingered, but the both of you had somewhat sobered up by now. 

“You deserve better. You… you deserve everything. I can’t give you that, maybe Kamo can. I see why you went for him and that’s what hurts the most,” he whispered, voice oddly gentle. His throat felt tight and he had to stop speaking or else you’d notice the way his eyes stung, voice cracking. He was always a sad, clingy drunk. 

“Can’t you see? I don’t want better. There isn’t better for me, Megumi. I haven’t even spoken to Kamo since you stopped talking to me because I realized that,” you said, a weak sob chasing your words. He stared at you, wide eyed and ridiculously pretty as he tried to process what you were saying. He wanted to believe you, but could he? 

“I’ve always loved you. Maybe if you payed more attention to that instead of swinging at every guy that glances in my direction, this could’ve gone much smoother.” 

“… you love me?” 

“Too soon?” 

“No,” he shook his head. “I just… don’t understand, I guess. I’m not exactly one to be loved.”

“Don’t say that. You’re wrong. So wrong it’s laughable, actually,” you said, feeling your lip tremble as a soft, almost sad smile crossed your face. 

You didn’t realize when you’d gotten so close. You were brought back to a few hours before, when you’d almost gotten this until todo had sauntered by. But now you were in the secluded peace of the shabby tile restroom, not the most romantic place, but that was the last thing on your minds. 

Your lips met gently, almost chaste before parting. He breathed, “I’m sorry, are you sure you–“ 

“Please.”

It was barely enough time to breathe before he was surging forward once again, this time far more passionate and with a desperation he wasn’t even sure resided in him until that very moment. You wanted him to kiss you. No, you wanted him period. He wanted to kick himself for not noticing, for spending literal years believing someone like you couldn’t feel for him as he felt for you. 

His bruised hand caressed the nape of your neck, the other slithering around your waist and tugging you closer. His brows were furrowed, the love radiating from him so deep it formed a crease between them. You both tasted like booze and the music still shook the floor with every beat, but every bit of it washed away with every passing second of his lips on yours. 

You craved him like a vampire lusted for blood, and he kissed you like a deserted man that had found his oasis. It was sloppy and messy and filled with want, teeth occasionally clashing in your drunken frenzy. You didn’t feel drunk, though, you felt more aware than you ever had in your life. In that moment you were sure he was the love of your life, and you could see the years ahead stretching before you like a calendar all planned out. You wanted to see his hair grow grey and his wisdom form lines on his face, you wanted to spend the rest of your life holding him like this. His black locks of hair were soft between your fingers, and he let out a gentle groan against your lips as you tugged. His teeth dragged over your bottom lip and you shuddered, feeling goosebumps erupt all over your skin. 

When you parted, all he could do was look at you. Almost curiously, he ran a thumb over your bottom lip, right where he’d nibbled just a moment before. 

When he met your eyes, he realized he had forgotten to say something rather important back. It was hard to say, felt as if it was stuck in his throat, but the buzz he had helped. 

“I love you,” he said, voice suddenly hoarse. He stood by the idea that you deserved better than him, you deserved more. But just this once, he wanted to be selfish. 

When you dived back in for another taste of him, you swore the declaration had made his lips taste sweeter. Sweet and soft and undeniably him, just like you liked it. 

Taglist !¡ —

@1l-ynn @meowymeowbreow @missunrise @kiss-my-asscheeks @starrysho @good-mourning0 @gumims @beaniesayshi @mrowwww @luvvmae @megumislovedoll @azharyy @starsryi @tibibibi123 @idkidk32 @dazaisfavgf @tlissablr @vi0let-writes @walllflowerrrsss @sh0ot1ngst4r @blubearxy @tvnamayo @san-it-is-i-guess @harryzcherry @vivienne-jo

finally. Holy shit. I think there’ll be one more chapter after this?? Maybe two, then it’ll be 20 even I’ll see ending this feels like a divorce

[carpkoinobori]

[⟢] cop car — karina x reader

[𖤐] 1/1 [please be aware this is all fiction! none of this is real and idols behavior is not accurately represented.]

song(s): cop car - mitski | no te pido mas - helenita vargas | de oro - la familia andre | la murga - willie colón | la cuchilla - las hermanas calle

summary: you grew up desperate and made your way to the top, even started working for DAS. but your first assignment shouldn’t have been this— they sent you to die. your body lived, though. you didnt.

pairing: patrón!karina x halcón!reader (also x teniente!giselle)

tags: angst, like horrible angst, toxic and I mean Very Toxic yuri, major character death, implied sexual content, this is DARK, set in 1970-90’s colombia, kind of ambiguous but happy ending? reader is lowk stupid and a bop

wc: 10.9k

cw: karina is horribly manipulative, cartels, guns, selling, making, and use of drugs, use of weapons, murder, bombs, death, etc. this is about the colombian cartel ok shit is fucked.

ex: before there’s any outrage I AM COLOMBIAN. all information is acquired through primary sources (ex: family who literally lived through it). most info will be accurate, but my family specifically lived in medellín, calí, and barranquilla. this is set in bogotá. apologies for any city-based in accuracies.

a/n: this is for you aettudae my #1 ❤️

1964, Cundinamarca, Colombia Local time: 1:00 A.M. Location: a small town in Soacha, Cundinamarca, Colombia Objective: . . .

You were born on the outskirts of the city. Bogotá, the capital— the inside was rich, used to be filled with tourists, big buildings and fancy cars. The outside was él pueblo, where you’d wake up at three in the morning, walk to the nearest bus stop, which was probably a few kilometers away, take the buses that never ran on time with the rest of the exhausted men and women heading to work— work for rich people that ran the city till nightfall, get on another bus, and walk a few kilometers home, every day, constantly, while getting paid barely enough to support your family.

That was if you didn’t get robbed, or blown up in the middle of the city, of course— political unrest stemming from La Violencia had made FARC, and the cartel had begun to ramp up production and organization, planting car bombs under public buses and cars. The country was rife with bombings and gang violence till the late 90’s.

But right now, it was in the very early morning.

You would be born in 1964 to a poor family living in Soacha, Cundinamarca, Colombia, right on the outskirts of Bogotá. Your mother would be killed in 1970. Your father would be killed en la cantina, at night, in 1972.

You had been working since 12, anyway. Being told of your pathetic father’s death by a police officer who clearly did not care was when it was decided— you would not die in this town. You would make a name for yourself.

You were right, of course. You did make a name for yourself— you took down one of the most prominent cartel leaders in the country.

Or, at least, that’s what the media thought.

LA VERDAD DE LO QUE PASÓ EN 1989. —————————————————————— THE TRUTH OF WHAT HAPPENED IN 1989.

1985, Bogotá, Colombia Local time: 2:00 P.M. Location: Departamento Administrativo de Seguridad | Administrative Department of Security (DAS) HQ Objective: Enter the meeting

You made it into DAS at 21.

Really, it was probably just because the high-rank workers felt bad for you. They understood— a girl from the outer part near Bogotá, no parents— you just wanted to make the country better for people like you.

You were given small jobs like paperwork and editing documents, until now. They were calling you in for your first meeting. Despite your usually serious nature, you couldn’t help a bubble of excitement. You’d finally be able to help like you’d always wanted.

which is why it was confusing why everyone was so somber when you walked in.

“Good morning,” you greeted, taking a seat.

“Good morning, y/n,” replied the woman who headed the ground-team. All your coworkers around her looked solemn, and you stared at them all puzzled.

“Your first assignment will be to infiltrate a specific branch of the Bogotá cartel— we fear they might be working with either FARC or plan to merge with another faction, and they’re already quite dangerous as it is— we don’t need more of them,”

the room was silent. You knew what this was— your first year on the job with barely any training. They were sending you to die, just to get some information.

You sat up straight, squaring your shoulders. You would get the information to help your people. You would live.

“I understand,” you replied, with a nod, standing to collect your file.

The woman handing it to you leaned in, a pained look in her eyes “Perdón,”

1985, Bogotá, Colombia Local time: 10:54 P.M. Location: Una cantina Objective: Scout an in to the “organization”

The woman in charge of the specific section of the widespread cartel that was causing so much destruction frequented a specific bar. You had been given her file— she was beautiful, with dark hair and pale skin, but she didn’t seem to be colombian. It didn’t really matter, to you— you weren’t here to ask her why she’d made these choices— you needed to infiltrate one of the largest cartels in Bogotá, on your first job.

you sighed, your head in your hands, the bartender giving you a cursory glance. The place was seedy, filled with alcoholics and sex-workers, as well as probable cartel members, which is why you were here.

You sat up, looking around. It was said Karina frequented this bar. You prayed she’d show up, making the sign of the cross.

God delivered— she walked in, with two other people you didn’t quite recognize— one had dark hair, as well, with big eyes, although her face was serious. The other was lithe, thin— her hair was shorter, and lighter in color, more similar to a brown.

You knew what you’d have to do to start getting information. It made you feel a little sick— a part of you, though, was grateful Karina was so beautiful. Her smile was cocky and smug, like that of someone who knew she was untouchable. She made conversation with her two accompanies, talking and laughing and drinking. You waited for an hour or so, so that she was now most definitely more than tipsy.

you walked over, wearing a short, tight black dress that let you fit the bill of another profession, looking at her through half lidded eyes.

another thing about the cartel. if they wanted a girl, they’d have her. The club was a dangerous place, the bar was a dangerous place— you’d seen a man get shot at a hamburger cart. The cartel was ruining the country.

you pushed down your sudden wave of resentment, focused on flirting with Karina. Her friend, the long haired girl, stared at you for a long time, scrutinizing. You wouldn’t know what that meant, for a while.

Karina grinned, tilting her head. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“I don’t see why not,” you smiled, voice practiced to be smooth and flirty. You didn’t drink, usually, but you needed the courage.

She handed you a shot of aguardiente. It was dry and burned your throat, but it was good. You made conversation. “What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” You smiled, putting a hand on her arm. “Seems a bit.. dirty,”

Karina smiled, predatorily, teeth glinting in the low yellowed light. “Just trying to relax. You don’t seem like the type of girl to frequent this place. Why are you here?” She asked back.

“Oh, just.. trying to have a little fun,” you replied, lowly, voice ghosting over her ear. She seemed to like that answer.

“Yeah? Why don’t you come home with me, then?”

Your smile widened, although your eyes with still half lidded, touches fleeting. You still played your part.

“I will,”

you ended up going home with Karina. It took months to get her to trust you, but you had finally managed to get her to let you start working. All it took was a sob-story, a fake name, and she allowed you to work in her jurisdiction.

and so began the first objective: names. You needed names.

1985, Bogotá, Colombia Local time: 4:33 P.M. Location: currently, a safehouse for the cartel Objective: Find the key members of the cartel

Karina had a home, of course, a large one— you had seen parts of the inside many a time. Of course, they also had some warehouses where they kept goods, where some of the members could crash for a night. You usually stayed with Karina, following her orders.

Some of the members used fake names. You had managed to catch onto one— Ning Yizhou, or NingNing. It was kind of stupid to put part of your real name in your fake name, but plenty of members didn’t use false names at all. You supposed it was just because they didn’t have much to hide.

The name was quietly recorded into your notebook— in code, of course, specifically pigpen-cipher, although you mixed it in with a few different things, referencing dice code as well to make it more confusing— the members of the organization sometimes forgot to call out their chosen names for each other, slipping up. You didn’t mind, though, it made your life easier.

The group had a whole network across Bogotá, planning to move into Medellín, which you felt was not a good idea, but had said nothing.

at one point, Karina brought you all out to eat at a very nice restaurant. You had become a favorite of sorts, for her. She didn’t suspect a thing, thank god.

They began to make small talk, conversations imbued with remarks about the ‘business’, people causing problems, supply and demand, and those annoying Americans.

the waiter came, and everyone quieted.

”Una cerveza, porfa,” Karina was first.

“Dame un refresco, por favor,” Giselle.

You felt something.. off. Obviously, Giselle wasn’t colombian. None of these four women were. But they all learned Spanish here. None of them really spoke Spanish beforehand. Giselle was speaking very.. correctly. Or, at-least, not using slang from colombia. Had she learned Spanish in Mexico? Castellano? Was she part of another gang?

you hadn’t noticed it was your turn to order with all the thoughts running through your mind. You looked at the waiter, glancing at Giselle.

“Si me haces el favor, una gaseosa,”

Giselle didn’t seem fazed by it. but something was off about her. Something was very, very off.

“Karina,” you called, walking into her office. She seemed to be writing something down. Most likely something about funds or money. She did have people in the banks to clean her money for her, but she didn’t like others running her finances. Too much of a chance for embezzlement. A part of you liked she was smart with her business.

“Winter told me you called for me?” You murmured, leaning against the side of her desk, tilting your head, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Ah, yes,” she affirmed, turning in her chair to you. “I have a job I need you to complete. You’ll be going with Winter,” she informed. “It’s nothing that difficult. You’ll both be going on some runs. It’ll just be delivering a few.. products, to a contact. It’ll be a long drive, maybe a few hours. She’ll come get you at four in the morning, exactly,”

Your face stayed carefully blank, but you plastered a content smile onto it. “Of course, I’m glad to be of any help. Speaking of help, Karina, you seem a little stressed..” you smiled wider, voice imbued with a sultry tone.

Karina was honestly a bit foolish. Smart with money, bad with people. Perfect for you.

She still suspected nothing, you thought, as she kissed you, hungrily.

the night ended with her paperwork left unfinished, and you asleep in her bed.

Winter was probably not going to be happy.

Winter was waiting outside the room for you, arms crossed and leaning on the wall. You had dressed into something casual— just jeans and a shirt. You glanced over at her with a blank expression. “What do we need to deliver?”

She seemed to be thinking, before pushing off the wall, and beginning to walk. You followed.

“Guerrilla wants some weapons. We’re just there to deliver,” she muttered, cigarette hanging half out of her mouth, unlit. You made your way to the car, getting in the passenger, the supplies in the back. “It’ll be a long drive up the mountain. Let’s try not to get stopped, yeah?” She muttered, starting the ignition.

You drove in silence, for a bit. The humidity of the air was starting to get to you. You hated the heat.

Winter didn’t talk to you, much. You didn’t think she liked you. You were pretty sure it was because she believed you weren’t worthy to be in the gang— you were just Karina’s plaything.

you didn’t really care what she thought, though. You had a job to do.

after a few hours, you had made it sufficiently up the mountain to the trade-off point. You stepped out of the car.

It was still foggy, from the rain and the altitude. You almost felt a bit lightheaded— but it was nothing you couldn’t handle. The plants and mosquitos were certainly bothersome, but you said nothing. Helping Winter lug up all the weapons was definitely hard— you weren’t very strong. Winter stared at you in annoyance, mumbling curses, most likely about you, under her breath.

the trade off was successful, but then, yet again, you had to make your way down the mountain with duffel bags of money. It was heavy. Putting it away in the trunk was simple enough. You collapsed back into the passenger, wiping the sweat from your forehead. You felt gross.

“Why was that so heavy?” You muttered, under your breath. Winter closed the door of the driver’s side.

“It’s not that heavy, you’re just weak,” she spat, annoyed. “You made us take an extra half hour. You’re not efficient,” she continued.

“It’s hardly my fault, Winter! This was my first job, I don’t-”

“I don’t know why Karina thought it’d be a good idea to let you help, you’re absolutely shit at it,” she retorted, acidly. “The only thing you’re good at is being her whore,” she cursed, as a snide closing remark.

You turned to her as she drove. You may be making sacrifices to get information, but Winter had no idea what you were working towards. It was an insult to your pride. Yet, you couldn’t think of a retort.

“I’ll work harder,” you muttered. “I want to be useful,”

she scoffed, but at least you said you’d try. She still didn’t like you, though. “Face it, sweetheart,” she began. “You’re not cut out for this life,”

When you arrived back to the warehouse, Ningning spotted Winter before you. You were taking some of the bags out, but could still here from the inside.

“Kim Minjeong! What took you so long?” She chided.

Winter rolled her eyes with a scoff. “Quiet down, Ning. Karina’s toy isn’t supposed to know our names until she proves herself. And anyway, she’s nearly useless. She’s the reason I took longer,”

you obviously pretended not to hear as you hauled money bags inside.

Two names down. Two to go.

Giselle and Karina were two harder to find out then the other two. You were sure with enough time, Karina would tell you her real name. She seemed on the verge of it, anyway, with how much she wanted to hear it fall from your lips.

Giselle, though.. you had no contact with her. She was always off, managing distribution or making sure people stayed in line. You never saw her around much.

but slowly, you began to become part of the group. You mostly helped on small runs, with either Winter or Ning. Ning didn’t really care what name you called her, writing it off as semantics that didn’t matter. Winter, of course, took herself very seriously, so you continued to have to address her formally. She was such a pain, but honestly, you didn’t mind much.

what you had to focus on now, most of all, was getting Karina to trust you.

that came in the form of another run. Although this time, it went so, so wrong.

You were meant to drop off a shipment near Medellín. You didn’t think anything would happen, really— the mountains were a bit far out from Bogotá, and it was closer to the border anyway.

You had been given a gun. It was handed to you by Ning a few weeks prior, under the orders of Karina. You knew how to use one, and no one asked why.

the drive there was mostly silent. Winter still wasn’t very warm to you, yet, she didn’t hate you. You had begun to earn your place, and she respected the effort, if anything.

You drove, and the closer you got to the warehouse, the more dread washed into your bones. “Winter,” you called, under your breath. “I think we’re being watched,”

“We’ve been down this route a million times, y/n. We’re fine, no one would-”

a gunshot rang out through the silence.

It missed Winter by a centimeter, hitting the windshield. You cursed the fact these jeeps didn’t have roofs or side-door windows. Minjeong sped up, of course— if she braked they’d fire again. It was all a blur, from there. You got out of the car, your back against the corrugated metal of the drop off point’s doors. You stared around you, pointing at an old building. “There, Winter- it’s a-”

“Snipers,” she finished, eyes wide with panic. “Hijueputa! I fucking knew we should’ve stayed away from Medellín-”

“No fucking time for that, Winter, get down-”

bullets cut through the air. You dragged Winter behind the Jeep’s metal body, looking over it and shooting wherever the bullets rained from.

there was maybe three people, four, even. Winter focused on the right, you focused on the left. You only had a pistol on you, but luckily you had enough rounds. You aimed straight at one man’s head— it was a straight shot, and you saw the blood spew out from his forehead. It was a mess of blood and bits of brain as far as you could see, his body slumping over the sandbags where he was hiding. They turned red, quickly.

You peeked over the jeep, again, about to shoot the second man on the left when—

a sharp pain was felt in your right shoulder. The force of it sent you nearly falling back, but you caught yourself. You looked straight ahead.

the sniper.

You were panicking and filled with adrenaline— you set the gun on the other man, watching him rise slowly, and—

straight into the neck, blood rushed out of the wound, and you heard a disgusting gargling noise. Blood, in some areas, was highly pressurized— it would shoot out like a fountain.

Winter had managed to shoot the sniper, finally, which was a miracle considering the distance. Right now, you didn’t care about the logistics of how, all you knew was that this was a trap. More people were coming. “Winter, we have to go,” you demanded, looking over at her.

She was bleeding from her thigh and side. Fucking hell.

you shoved her into the passenger seat, ignoring the warmth you could feel trickling down your shoulder, the way it hurt to move your arm. You started the car, and drove straight out of there. You drove as fast as you could, making it back in just around two hours and a half. You had tied your jacket around Winter’s leg, and her own around her side, the other girl groaning in pain throughout the ride. “Ya, Winter, cállate!” You spat, stressed and frazzled. “You’re gonna be fine, you’re gonna be okay-” you continued, clenching your jaw to not scream from the burning in your shoulder.

When you made it back, you stumbled out of the car, glass shards all over the hood, opening the doors. “Ning,” you called, knowing she’d always be near, most likely cleaning some blood after an interrogation or packing some coke. “Ning, it was a trap- help, please, Winter got shot,” you continued, calling out desperately. Ning appeared a few seconds after, eyes wide, rushing to the car. She helped Winter inside, laying her on the couch. She had lost a bit of blood, but the bullet hadn’t hit a major artery. You knew the bullet shouldn’t have hit her heart, either. Ning looked at you, seriously. “Go get Karina. And Giselle,”

you did as told.

you rushed to Karina’s office, the older woman looking at you with a bored expression, gaze lingering on your shoulder.

She didn’t ask any questions, just raised an eyebrow. “It was a trap,” you replied, panting, ignoring your own bleeding shoulder. “Winter.. she needs- she needs a hospital,”

Karina looked unsurprised. “Oh, yes,” she replied, holding your gaze. “How unfortunate of an event,”

Her words were.. slow. Almost mocking or sarcastic— you didn’t have time to decipher what they meant. She brushed past you, making her way to Winter, calmly

“Ning, how bad is it?” She questioned, leaning over the other girl’s body. There was no hint of worry or concern on her face, just curiosity.

“Not fatal, but serious. It didn’t hit the femoral artery, but I suspect it either fracture or grazed her femur. For the side wound, I don’t think it hit anything major, maybe a rib, but no organs. Even so, she needs medical attention now, Karina— speaking of, where is Giselle?” She continued, exasperated and stressed.

“She should be on her way. She was coming back from a job, already. She should be here soon,” was Karina’s nonchalant reply.

you decided that she couldn’t really be waited on, and Karina was clearly unhelpful.

“Do you guys have an operating table? You know what— get me a table. Just get me a table,” you demanded, reaching for some surgical gloves.

They laid Winter on the table, turning on all the lights. You positioned a lamp right over her, and stared at the bullet wounds.

there were only 2. You could do this, you had been taught first aid. This couldn’t be that hard.

You began to clean the wounds with running alcohol and cotton balls, trying to wipe away the blood that wouldn’t stop, and clean the wounds. You had grabbed a pair of tweezers, planning on just yanking out the bullet yourself when Giselle slammed the doors open, staring at the scene in shock.

“What the fuck are you all doing?” She shrieked, rushing over and moving you away. “Do you have any surgical training at all? You could kill her!” She exclaimed.

“Well, you weren’t exactly coming very quickly,” you retorted, now insulted. “I’m sure it’s not that hard to remove a bullet, just take it out-”

“Are you an idiot?” She exclaimed, shocked. “Get out of the way, this is why I’m here. I’ll deal with this,”

she pushed you away, putting on her own pair of blue surgical gloves, and a mask. She moved the lamp to the wound on Winter’s chest, inspecting it. She took hold of the tweezers, cleaning the wound once again with an alcohol wipe— but there was no time for painkillers. She extracted the bullet carefully, holding Winter down so she wouldn’t squirm and hurt herself, followed by her stitching up the wound. It took around twenty minutes for the bullet hole to be stitched up.

she repeated the same process with the second, before cleaning the wounds, again, and beginning to wrap them with gauze. Winter looked pale, and in pain, but she tried to show no sign of it on her face. Once Giselle finished with her, she turned over to you.

“Sit,” she instructed, voice flat and providing no room for judgement.

Karina had shrugged, disappearing back to her office, while Ning had left to go help Winter, leaving you alone with Giselle. She removed your shirt, unclipping your bra with practiced ease, and inspecting the wound. It had started to really hurt, now, the adrenaline having worn off.

“Don’t you have painkillers?” You asked, petulantly.

“No,” she muttered back. “You can handle it. You’re part of a gang, now, there’s going to be pain,” she reminded, harshly.

She cleaned the wound with alcohol, a hiss leaving your mouth at the sting. Your breath hitched when the tweezers made their way into the wound on your shoulder, clenching your jaw in pain. Giselle looked at you, coldly. “Don’t scream,” were her final words before she removed the bullet, cleanly, in one piece.

you gasped in pain, breathing heavily as the wound began to bleed again. Giselle held your other shoulder, keeping you in place as she sewed it shut, cleaning it again, and wrapping it with gauze. “Fuck,” you hissed, wincing at the sting of alcohol.

“Stop squirming,” she growled, and it made you sit still, albeit breathing hard and cursing under your breath. She handed you two pills— painkillers— and a glass of water, after the fact.

“Don’t take baths, you’ll reopen the wound, make sure to shower. Someone will have to help you redress the wound and make sure it doesn’t get infected. Karina isn’t good with wounds, and Ning will handle Winter. I’ll keep an eye on you myself,” she muttered, and it felt more like a threat than anything.

you took the pills, drinking the water to wash them down.

you glanced over to her.

“What are you, a doctor?” You asked, curious albeit a bit sarcastic.

“Yes, technically, I am,” she responded back, flatly. “Worked in el campo for my residency, saw the Guerrilla, saw the way people were living— got into this business, just as it started. That’s all,” she finished, succinctly.

you felt like the story was too practiced. Too simple. You began to suspect that something was off with Giselle— something most definitely was. The way she was never with the rest of the group, her detachment, her strange accent— she was suspicious, and it occurred to you that if you could reveal whatever it was, you’d secure yourself a spot in the gang and officially cement your place, as well as weakening the structure and trust of the organization. It was perfect. This was a great chance, an amazing opportunity. You were sure to take it.

That is, of course, if everything went according to plan.

(It never did)

You couldn’t shake the feeling that Karina had something to do with this. She seemed so dismissive, so.. unimpressed. What was it? Why was she so cold?

You sat at the edge of Winter’s bed, the other girl listening to your ramblings and theories half-heartedly, dazed. Ning was leaning against the wall, the both of you speaking lowly, so as to not be heard.

“She was testing you,” Ningning informed, after mulling on it for a bit.

“What?” You blinked, the words like a shock to your system. “She sent one of her men— along with the newest recruit— into a trap, with only two pistols against a sniper and three other men, all to test.. no, why would she do that? She wouldn’t endanger her own members,” you dismissed, shaking your head.

“She would,” Ning informed, flatly. “Karina’s our boss, yes, we respect her. But she didn’t get to where she is by playing nice,” she reminded. “Karina will do whatever she has to do to ensure her business, first and foremost. That is what is the most important to her. Plus, the government has been far too close to us, lately,” Ning scoffed, shaking her head with her arms crossed. “She’s probably become more careful— which isn’t good if you’re new. You’re probably in for it,” The dark haired girl guessed, meeting your gaze. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we got dragged into it, too. We’re disposable. Just pawns in this game,” she continued, pushing off the wall and reaching the door, hand resting on the handle. “But I hope you make it out,” she added. “You’ve been helpful,” was her final compliment, before she exited.

You stared at your hands. You had thought— genuinely— that Karina was kind, maybe misunderstood. You really thought you were smarter than her.

you now realized that Karina was extremely intelligent. She didn’t care what sacrifices had to be made— she’d protect what was hers, what she’d built. Worst of all, she might even know you were an informant already, she might just be playing with you.

you had walked right into the lion’s den, without even knowing. All the while, you thought you were one step ahead, that you were in control.

your head fell to your hands, a choked sob leaving your body.

you were going to die here.

Every single one of you was going to die here.

1985, Bogotá, Colombia Local time: 6:25 P.M. Location: currently, a safehouse for the cartel Objective: Find the key members of the cartel

it had been a week since the incident. Winter had given you her real name— Kim Minjeong. Why? She said you had earned it, after saving her life.

Things had been tense, to say the least. Ning was considerably angry with Karina, which the older girl did not like. Giselle had been speaking to Karina more often, yet, she was also out the same amount of time.

Minjeong had told you that there had been talk of working more closely with the guerrilla, and that information worried you. The guerrilla was already enough trouble on its own— with the resources from the cartel, it’d be a horrible force for the government.

It was early November, already, and Giselle had seemed beyond tense, pacing whenever you caught a glimpse of her in her room, always thinking to herself, it seemed.

she was changing your bandages, now, a distant look on her face. The movements were practiced, almost like she was working on autopilot.

“Hey,” you called. “Giselle,”

“What?” She responded, flatly. “What is it?”

“Why do you seem so mad lately?” Was your question. She kept a blank, annoyed look on her face. She continued to clean your wound, but eventually responded. “Nothing. Just some negotiations that have been going in circles for days, now. Don’t worry about it,” she dismissed, stepping back once she had finished, moving to get some gauze.

“Really?” You hummed. “Anything to do with the guerrilla?”

Giselle stared, clenching her jaw. She began to bandage you, but spoke lowly. “Don’t talk about them. You have no idea what they’re like. You shouldn’t know any of this, anyway. I’m sure Karina wouldn’t like that,” she added, dangerously.

After the events that transpired on your last run, you had grown wary of Karina. You tried not to make it obvious, but everyone could tell, and the girl delighted in it. She loved the power and control, of course. Her smile was unsettling.

you quieted, after that comment. Giselle finished bandaging you, stepping away. “Stay out of things that don’t concern you,” she advised, but took a second to add something on. “Don’t worry too much. I don’t think she’ll kill you,” Giselle paused, a smile blooming on her face, “Yet,” she added, walking out.

Not very comforting in the slightest, but you should figure out what you could while you were here. You sighed, laying back on the bed.

Giselle was definitely lying about something— you just needed to find out what.

The guerrilla had led a siege on el Palacio de Justicia. It lasted two days, with many deaths. You saw the current news on it, even contacted your people in DAS about it— they had strictly warned you not to unless information was found, but those were your people. They could’ve died.

Giselle watched the news over your shoulder, or listened to it while she fixed your bandages. Minjeong had been getting better, too, her leg much better. Ning watched as well, her arms crossed.

Karina didn’t comment on it. Almost like she knew it would happen.

a suspicious amount of money was given to the guerilla by Karina a few weeks prior. You felt a shudder run through you, which Giselle responded to with a bark of “Stop squirming”.

later, Karina called you into her office.

“Y/n,” she smiled, tilting her head. “You seem.. on edge. May I ask why?” She was being overly formal, and it unsettled you.

“Ever since the attack, I keep feeling like it’ll happen again,” you began, rambling— it wasn’t a lie, per se, but it wasn’t the whole truth. The fear in your eyes and shakiness of your movement confirmed that, at least, it was partially true. “Im scared, that they’ll come here, and kill us. I don’t know what to do,”

Karina’s smile stayed in place, as she ushered you to sit down on the couch, there. “Don’t worry, corazón,” she assured, a hand running through your hair. You began to relax— maybe she wasn’t so scary, after all— It was understandable, maybe it wasn’t actually a test, maybe-

“As long as you’re loyal, nothing bad will happen to you,” she continued, hand tightening in your hair. “If you were to sell us out, then, you understand. I couldn’t promise your protection,” her hand strengthening its grip on your hair, speaking into your ear.

“Now, why don’t we get your mind off it?” She offered, looking into your eyes with a faux-sweet expression.

you complied, obviously. Despite the fear, there was a part of you that was drawn to her. She was threatening to kill you if you betrayed her, yet, you still kissed her, desperately.

she kissed back, of course, hungrily and heatedly.

That’s how most of the both of your talks ended, anyway.

1986, Bogotá, Colombia Local time: 12:01 AM Location: una discoteca Objective: Find the key members of the cartel

It was 1986, now— had just turned into the new year. You were at a club, celebrating another year alive.

You had no idea where the other three girls went, thoroughly tipsy and entranced with Karina.

Karina was a bad person, you knew this. She was ruthless, and you should be scared of her.

but right now, with her hands on your hips, in the flashing lights of the club, you couldn’t quite remember that.

The two of you stumbled into the quieter, back parts of the club where there were rooms. Karina knew this place better than you, anyway.

it was still loud, and you could barely hear anything. She pressed you against the wall, tugging your hair, beginning to suck and bite at your neck.

she was most definitely drunk, you could tell by the flush to her face and how her words were looser than normal.

You knew you should’ve taken advantage of this, but you couldn’t. Your body felt hot, and instead of finding information, like you should have, you fell right back into Karina like a rat to a glue-trap.

you were pathetic.

and you knew it.

1986, Bogotá, Colombia Local time: 2:23 AM Location: a safehouse for the cartel Objective: Find the key members of the cartel

Karina had called you into her office, except this time, Giselle was there.

You were beyond exhausted, but did not complain.

They were both intimidating. Giselle was staring at you, coldly, arms crossed, while Karina had an amused expression on her face, grinning, head tilted into her hand.

“Y/n, I have a job for you,” she called, in a cheery voice.

“It shouldn’t be too hard, but you’ll be working with Giselle from now on. It’ll be good for you,” she continued, standing up and walking towards you. “She’ll keep you safe— won’t you, Gigi?” She asked, almost mockingly, a saccharine expression in her face.

“You’ll have a body by the end of the day. That’s all you want her for, anyway,” Giselle retorted, irritated.

“How great! Come now, y/n, Giselle will explain,” Karina beckoned, quite happy today. Some expansion into the U.S. had gone well, you knew that much, but there was no reason she should be so.. animated.

Karina handed you a semiautomatic pistol, which you stared down at. She then smiled, handing you a small box of bullets. She still kept a smile on her face, remarking, “You know, these are special. They’re hollow point bullets— Ningning made them,”

“What? She made them?” You knew of hollow-point bullets, they weren’t a secret, just uncommon.

“Drill a hole into them, cut an X to make some petals, and there you have it— well, I’d ask Ningning, of course, I’m not a weapons specialist. It’s quite easy,”

“But why? They don’t-”

“Effectiveness. They leave a bigger exit wound, and leave shrapnel inside the body at times,” Giselle interrupted. “In other words, pain. They’re used to inflict pain,”

Karina smiled, sadistic as ever, as she watched Giselle load some rifles.

“Today, we have a few hits to get done,” Giselle informed. “You’ll be coming with me. You know how to shoot a rifle?” She asked, glancing over at your horrified expression.

“No, I-”

“What about a pistol?”

You nodded.

“Perfect!” Karina exclaimed. “You can help with the interrogation, then. Giselle, I’ll meet you at the location. Try not to dirty her too much, hm?” Karina advised, slinking away.

“That’s why she’s so happy?” You asked, in shock. “Because-”

“Because she gets to kill someone? Yeah, that’s why. She’s sick in the head. You knew what you were getting into,”

you stared at Giselle in silence. The other girl was grabbing some sniper-rifle that you had never seen before, and several rounds of ammunition.

she loaded it into the car, and you two began the drive.

you held the pistol in your hands shakily, silent for most of the ride.

once you got to the location, you watched Giselle pray. You had heard of hitmen praying before their job, and you still couldn’t understand. They prayed to God to protect them, yet, they were about to take a life.

“Why are you praying?” You asked, suddenly, acidly. “We’re about to kill people, God wouldn’t-”

“It’s my job,” she interrupted, which was a common occurrence with Giselle. “It’s my job, and I’m just asking Him to keep me alive until it’s over,” she spat, coolly. “You don’t know what I’ve had to do. But you will, soon. So just shut up, will you?” She got out of the car, slamming the door shut. You scrambled after her, and the both of you hauled the equipment up the boarded-up, run-down building, up several flights of stairs, finally beginning to set it up after a few stories, looking down at a busy road.

“Why are we killing him?” You murmured your question, watching as Giselle began to adjust the rifle.

“He owes Karina money, and he won’t pay it. He also stole some of our goods and has been cutting pure cocaine with some other shit, I didn’t really care enough to figure out what. His other friend is the one we’ll be interrogating. He’ll die no matter what he says,” Giselle shrugged, watching the empty street, the morning finally coming through the sky, although the dark, clouded sky blocked the bright sun.

“How long will we be here?”

“However long it takes,”

It turns out that “however long it takes” meant almost eight hours. You were bored to death, yet still terrified. You were about to kill someone. And you had been here, waiting on edge for it to happen, for almost eight hours. You felt like you were going to burst into tears.

“Giselle, how much longer is this gonna take?” You complained, although a bit shaky.

“Trust me, I don’t want to be here either,” she drawled. “But he should be here, soon. He works near here,”

It took maybe another half hour before he appeared. Giselle saw him before you did, obviously— you didn’t even know what he looked like— but she didn’t immediately shoot. Her eyes stared down at him through the scope, her fingers brushing against the trigger. He was wide open, walking slowly without a car in the world. He stopped for a second, someone crossing in front of him—

click.

you heard the gun go off before you looked down.

Giselle had shot him perfectly in the side of the head. You couldn’t see a lot, obviously, you were pretty high up, but you saw enough.

his body crumpled to the ground, immediately, blood pooling around him. People screamed, cars stopped, and they all were looking around frantically trying to find the shooter. Giselle moved the gun and herself away from the window, to the side where they weren’t visible.

“Come on, hurry up— we gotta go,” she urged.

“Hold on, won’t they see us step out of the building? Isn’t this a bad idea?”

“They won’t catch us, there’s too much chaos going down there. Now come on, let’s go,”

The drive to the warehouse was relatively silent.

Giselle was tense, but that wasn’t new. She always was. But she seemed almost.. solemn. Quiet.

you both arrived, stepping out of the car, into the meeting point. Giselle had her own pistol, you also kept yours on hand.

when you entered, there was a man tied there. Giselle tensed when she saw him, but said nothing. You figured it was because of Karina, standing behind him with the same placid, content smile. It was eerie.

“Giselle, Y/n! You’ve made it,” she smiled. “I take it the job went well?”

“It was all fine,” Giselle replied. “Nothing out of the ordinary happened,”

“That’s great, really, it’s good! I’m quite happy today, Y/n, because we have a special guest. I know I said he owed me money— in a way he does— but this is something far more important. He works with the Americans! Isn’t that just amazing?” She continued, happily, waving her gun around in the air as she spoke. “I’m sure we’ll get some good information out of him,”

“So, the both of you, come! Let’s begin,” Karina gestured to the man, in the dim lights.

you figured, well— the show must go on.

The man was tied to a chair, that much was obvious. The floor was concrete, and there were boarded up windows and maybe one or two hanging lightbulbs. It was a bit dark.

the walls were steel, corrugated iron, and it gave a prison-like feel. the man was looking around, wildly, straining against his restraints.

“Hey,” Karina called, walking closer to him.

“You’re going to tell me everything there is to know about those Americans, okay? And then I’ll let you go. As long as you don’t lie,” she assured, pausing. “Now talk,” she demanded.

“They’ve noticed the supply into their country. They’re working on stopping it. They’ve already sent a few agents to infiltrate a few different parts of the cartel—”

“Which ones?” Was her sharp, quick reply.

“Medellín, primarily, but they’ve been looking to Bogotá. I don’t know much more than that, I don’t even know who the agents are, I-”

“Ning!” Karina barked, the dark haired girl appearing out of the dark. She held a pistol in her hand, jaw clenched, staring up at Karina.. defiantly, almost. “Won’t you be a dear and deal with him, for me?”

Ning glanced to the man. His eyes widened, and he began to thrash. “No! I don’t know anything, I swear, I don’t know any agents! I don’t know anything!” He pleaded, desperately. Ning looked away, aiming the gun.

You heard a whispered ‘I’m sorry’, and she made the shot.

Through the head, perfectly center. Ning placed a hand over her mouth, the smell of blood biting and metallic, letting out a choked sob.

Karina looked over at Ning. “Now, Ning-ie, there’s a bus waiting for you outside. You’ll take that back to our meeting point, won’t you? So you won’t get caught?”

Ning nodded, wiping her eyes of tears. She went over to Giselle, they exchanged some words, hugged— she came over to you.

“Y/n.. I’m sorry. There’s no way to get you out, now. Be careful, don’t.. don’t trust anyone, don’t- just.. be careful, okay?” she advised, lowly, hugging you, still crying faintly.

“Ning, what- I don’t understand, why’re you acting like this?”

“You’ll tell Minjeong I’ll miss her, right? I wanted to say goodbye, properly, but.. I didn’t have time. I left a note,” she added, slipping it into your pocket inconspicuously, pulling away from the hug. “Give it to her, for me. You were fun to be around, I’ll miss you too. Don’t lose yourself, stay focused. It was nice to know you, y/n,”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll tell her- I’ll give it to her- Ning, why are you acting like this? What’s going on?”

Ning smiled, laughing wetly, still crying. “You’ll find out, later. You’ll find out..”

Karina walked Ning out of the warehouse. You and Giselle trailed behind, still a few paces away. The bus was parked right outside, filled with people.

Karina hugged Ning, whispered something to her which made Ning clench her fists and cry harder— you don’t know from what.

Ning got on the bus with a smile, crying— though you still didn’t know why— and waved goodbye.

You looked to Giselle, confused, watching the bus continue on, further down the street, already maybe a mile or two away from you. “What was that abou-”

your ears rang. You heard it before it registered.

the bus had exploded.

there was carnage, everywhere. Parts of it had been thrown into different buildings. There were body parts strewn across the street, a crater in the asphalt, fire, along the metal— cars had been crushed, it was now chaos in the streets. You had almost been pushed back from the force, nicking yourself with the small, sharp pieces of metal. Karina was still standing, her suit dusty and filled with ash.

“Karina, what- what did you do?” you cried, confused and distraught yet again, feeling the tears build in your eyes.

Karina cooed, crouching down over you, thumbing the skin under your eye. “Oh, mi amor, don’t cry,” she reassured. “Ning was working with the Americans. The man in the warehouse knew, and was helping her sneak information along our supply chain! Don’t worry, the traitor is gone,” she ran a hand through your now dirty hair, cleaning a cut on your face with her finger. She smiled, pressing a kiss to your cheek, speaking lowly into your ear.

“I’m tired of these Americans trying to ruin my business. They keep putting themselves where they don’t belong. Don’t worry, mi cielo, you’ll be safe as long as you’re loyal to me, and as long as you listen. I know you will. Because you’re trustworthy, aren’t you?” She smiled, looking down at you.

you nodded, dazed. Karina had just killed Ning. Ning was dead. You had to get out of here. You figured hundreds were injured. You had to leave.

Giselle was even farther back, looking at Karina with contempt.

you didn’t notice, though. You were too busy watching the flames dance in the street.

1987, Bogotá, Colombia Local time: 9:46 P.M Location: a safehouse for the cartel Objective: Find the key members of the cartel

it had been almost a year since the incident.

ever since Ning died, things had been different. Minjeong had been quieter, and angrier. Everything set her off, she came back covered in blood most of the time. You didn’t want to ask where she’d been— you’d just sit with her, quietly. Sometimes you heard her cry at night.

Giselle had been even more cagey, always out, defensive, on high-alert constantly.

and Karina.. well, you’d been spending a lot of time with Karina. You knew she was bad, you did, but there was something about her. It was just something about her, something that drew you in, and you hated yourself for it.

like right now. You were in her office, again, as she kissed you hungrily, hands gripping your hips in a bruising grasp.

your mind drifted. You reported back to DAS every so often, but you did inform them that you had to be very careful, that your reports would be sporadic. Truthfully, they didn’t event think you’d make it this far, do they were okay with waiting. They seemed to have several informants, anyway.

”y/n,” Karina growled, lowly, sucking and biting harshly at your neck. “You seem distracted. Focus on me, no? You promised you’d help me..” she murmured, almost a pleading sound to her voice. You weren’t stupid, though. Karina didn’t beg, she didn’t plead. This was mocking. You sucked it up, though.

you tried to focus on her, you did, but everything was beginning to get to you. DAS weighed heavily on your mind, and Minjeong’s grief did, too, and Giselle’s odd behavior, her accent, even the way she dressed— she didn’t seem like she was from here. She didn’t seem like she’d been her a long while.

“Y/n,” Karina snapped, annoyed. “Focus, will you? Or maybe you’ll end up like that bastard traitor,” she remarked, acidly, far too much emotion for the situation. Karina had been angrier lately, too. It must be the stress of the betrayal. Surely that’s why— it shook her to her core that there was a rat in her ranks. She had gotten paranoid.

the mention of Ning made you emotional, though. You felt tears prick at your eyes.

she looked down, and let out a laugh. “Oh, I love when you cry, baby,” she grinned, voice rough. “It makes you look so good. But not right now.. maybe in a bit. Stop being such a pussy,” she instructed, to which you nodded shakily.

and like that is how your work went, for a bit.

it wasn’t until late 1988 everything began to change.

Karina had been busy, lately. A lot of men came to her office, ones you didn't recognize and some you did, vaguely, from other meetings.

Karina had been overtly paranoid about informants— It was a miracle she hadn't discovered you, yet— or maybe she had. Maybe she was just waiting for the right time, playing with you, maybe-

"Y/n!" She called, in a sing-song tone.

You entered her office, quietly.

"I need your help for another job. A big one. If you do this, then it'll officially make you a part of us! Isn't that fantastic, baby?"

Karina had her hands on your hips, the same practiced smile she always wore on her face.

"Yes.. fantastic, it really is," you replied, in a murmur. "But what will I be doing?"

"You know the DAS building, here, in Bogotá? Well, amor, we'll be getting rid of it,"

"rid of it?" You tried to school your expression, but the shock and horror was plainly visible on your face. You felt sick.

"Rid of it. As in, you know— the building. I have a few ways to make sure it stays gone for quite a while. It’ll take nearly a year, I predict, but it’ll get done. You’ll be going to a few meetings with Giselle and me to make sure you can help. Is that okay, y/n?” She asked, in a faux-concerned tone. You both knew she wasn’t asking whether or not you’d do it, you had to. It was a rhetorical question. You would say yes, either way.

“Yes. It’s.. it’s fine,” you murmured.

“Good. Now, you can go. I’m sure there’s something for you to do to make yourself useful around here,”

MEETING ONE 1988, Medellín, Colombia Local time: 4:52 P.M. Location: a small town up in the mountains; el campo Objective: Find the key members of the cartel.

Driving with Giselle was really not a good time. The songs on the radio were good, though.

the other girl was so frustrated, for some reason.

“Giselle,” you chanced. “I don’t mean to pry, but seriously— why are you so.. stressed?”

“We’re about to blow up Colombia’s national security headquarters, I think anyone would be stressed,”

You eyed her, not quite convinced.

“You know, anytime we carry out a job you’re so on edge,” you commented. she whipped her head around, knuckles turning white as she gripped the steering wheel.

“Are you accusing me of something, y/l/n?”

“No,” you replied, slowly. “Not at all,”

the meeting took place up in the mountains.

the negotiations were mostly handled by Giselle, but she looked nearly ready to scream.

“We’re paying you what you’ve asked, just give us the supply,” she repeated, voice low.

“I think it’s fair to ask for a little more, linda,”

Giselle was seething. Honestly, these men had rifles, machine guns— you weren’t about to fight them. you took out your pistol.

you pointed it right at the 500kg of dynamite.

“Take the money,” you instructed, eyes wide. You looked crazed, most likely.

they stared at you.

“I said take the FUCKING MONEY! You think I won’t do it? We can add on 130,000 more pesos, but that’s it.”

They agreed.

Giselle was silent, in the car drive. You stared at your hands.

“You would’ve done it,” she murmured.

“I would have,” you agreed, and it came with a sick sense of realization. You would have killed everyone in there, including yourself. You would have done it. Who were you? What had you become?

Giselle laughed, one of the only times you had ever seen her show a positive emotion.

“Oh, God,” she snickered. “You really didn’t think when you signed up for this, huh?” She commented. Your eyes widened, but you schooled them back into place.

no, she couldn’t mean what you thought. She couldn’t.

“Careful, baby,” she hummed. “You don’t wanna become something you can’t come back from,”

well, that’s fucking ominous.

Your next meeting was scheduled in the following weeks. You felt like Giselle was.. watching you. Her gaze never left you, but whenever you looked back, she was always just staring out a window, or at something on the wall. It was unnerving.

The second meeting went smoothly, but ended late. Giselle was driving once again, smoking.

“Do you have another?” You asked, suddenly, glancing at her against the dark backdrop of the night.

“Another what?” She questioned, looking over at you for only a moment, before focusing on the old, pot-hole filled road again.

“A cigarette. And a light,” you clarified, holding out a hand.

“I have a cigarette,” she confirmed, handing you one. “But no light. Sorry,” she shrugged, seemingly unbothered.

“Oh, fuck off Giselle. Just light it with yours,”

She rolled her eyes. “Why should I? Don’t you have a lighter?”

“I didn’t bring my lighter, I didn’t think I needed it,” you shot back.

She sighed, annoyed, but complying. She kept one hand on the wheel, barely glancing at the road, lit cigarette half in her mouth, being held in place by her hand. You kept your own firmly between your lips, not wanting it to fall.

she pressed the lit end to your own, eyes dark, and you couldn’t help but stare into them.

the end finally caught a spark, lighting up, and you both stared for a second more before breaking away.

You took a long drag, averting your eyes from her gaze, glad the dark of the night would hide your blush.

“Thanks,” you muttered, gazing out into the fields.

“Don’t mention it,”

MEETING THREE 1988, Bogotá, Colombia Local time: 2:31 A.M. Location: Karina’s office Objective: Find the key members of the cartel.

It happened so very late, and you struggled to stay awake. You felt your eyes closing, but Giselle would push you, and you’d spring back up.

Karina was arguing with a man about the price of the job. She was aggravated, he wasn’t taking the accepted offer.

The meeting had started off very casual— she even offered him some of their supply. You didn’t take any, neither did Giselle, but Karina and the man each did a line, snorting it off the table.

You watched the cross that hung from her neck dangle along the table, occasionally tapping the wood. The other man wore one as well, as did Giselle, as did you— you felt just a bit guilty about it. Hopefully, He’d forgive you for your wrongdoings. Hitmen prayed to God and so did drug lords— as did nuns, priests, politicians— all prayed, all believed. At least, most did. They claimed so.

You were shaken from your thoughts by a loud crash. Karina had pushed the man against the wall, yelling, now— “¡Me estás sacando la piedra!”

Giselle never said anything like that. Come to think of it, she cursed under her breath, you weren’t even sure what language it was. you shouldn’t be thinking of Giselle, though, not when this man seemed like he would die. That shook you out of your stationary position.

you jumped up, rushing towards her. “Karina! Karina, let him go!” You demanded, trying to pull her off. Giselle followed suit, prying her off him. Karina was panting, she looked crazed. Blood trickled out of her nose, and you wondered how much of her supply she was doing.

“You don’t understand,” she growled, clutching her desk. “Just take the money,” she began, again, and the man finally nodded. She practically threw the money at him, watching as he scrambled out. She let out a frustrated sound, slamming her hands on the desk.

“Giselle, get out. Y/n. Stay,” she demanded, not turning around.

Giselle hesitated, for a moment, it was barely noticeable.

but she left.

Karina turned to you, and like so many times before— you were truly, deeply scared. And yet..

you fell right back into her, letting her kiss you, use you, until she was fine again.

1989, Bogotá, Colombia Local time: 3:13 A.M. Location: An old, unused road in the mountainside Objective: Find the key members of the cartel.

The meetings happened in quick succession. They took place all throughout the rest of 1988, and into early 1989. It wasn’t until September that things really began to change.

Minjeong was always out. She avoided Karina, and only spoke with Giselle sparsely.

You and Giselle were in the car, currently. The final meeting had just occurred, and the both of you had gotten tired of driving.

you were both just sitting there, with the car off. Giselle spoke, suddenly.

“How do you do it?” She questioned. “How do you put up with her?”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Karina. I just.. sometimes, she’s too much. Especially lately. She’s paranoid,”

“I don’t know, I just-” you couldn’t say it was because it was your job. You couldn’t say it was because a part of you wanted her. You weren’t sure how to even reply to that. “I just do,”

Giselle seemed like she wanted to say something, but she closed her mouth. It was silent till she spoke again. “I don’t understand you. I mean, you’re like me, but.. you’re just so.. different— naive,”

“I am not naive!” You protested, even though you knew very well you were.

“Yes you are! I know you’re- I-” she wasn’t being very coherent, aggravated, fingers flexing like she was antsy.

“I’m what? What am I? Just spit it out, Giselle! I’m tired of-”

She cut you off, kissing you. You were surprised, for a moment, but quickly reciprocated. Her fingers curled in your hair, pulling you closer. You braced yourself on the dash, trying not to touch the wheel or anything else that could move the car.

“You’re so fucking infuriating,” Giselle muttered, pulling you into the backseat with her. “You just have no idea what’s going on, do you?”

You panted, now slightly confused. “What?”

“Nevermind,” she groaned, pulling you closer once again.

She pulled you onto her lap, and you snaked your hands into her hair, tugging at it, blunt nails scratching at her scalp.

You didn’t really feel bad about it, is what you’d realize later, when you were driving back in silence.

You kind of wanted her to do it again.

You and Giselle didn’t talk about anything that had happened. Partly because you didn’t want to, and partly because you feared what Karina would do if she found out. The weeks leading up to what you found to be a tragedy were tense. Minjeong was out more often than not, as was Giselle. You couldn’t warn anyone, because Karina had such a close eye on you, lately. She just wouldn’t leave you alone.

December came quicker than you would wish.

It was night when you heard Minjeong speaking to Karina.

“Jimin, you can’t do this,” she murmured, lowly, voice laced with an unseen anger.

“Why are you so tense, Minjeong? I thought you always agreed with me..” she sighed, and you could hear her walking through the thin walls.

“I can’t let you kill so many people, it’s just- it’s insane! You’re being irrational— you’ve snorted half of your own fucking supply!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Karina— Jimin, you’ve learned— spat, and the unmistakable sound of a slap resounded through the warehouse, Karina breathing hard. You heard a struggle, and panting. “I’ll kill you, Minjeong, don’t think I won’t. I’ve kept you around out of pity— and of course, you’ve always been so obedient. Why are you so hellbent on rebelling now?” She whined, in a mocking manner.

“You killed Ningning— how am I supposed to be loyal to someone who kills her own men?” Minjeong replied, voice breathy, as if she couldn’t breathe.

There was silence.

“You’ll learn. Now, leave here. If you argue against me again, I’ll feed you to the wolves,” Jimin growled, and the sound of Minjeong hitting the floor was heard all throughout the warehouse. “Get out of my sight,”

1989, Bogotá, Colombia Local time: 11:13 A.M. Location: a safehouse for the cartel Objective: Find the key members of the cartel.

Karina was, and always will be, a mystery.

you had found out now that Karina’s name was Yu Jimin. You had asked Minjeong, shortly after what happened. You went to sleep, and awoke to the sound of the radio, blaring.

“El edificio del Departamento Administrativo de Seguridad ha sido bombardeado.”

you woke up with a start. You knew it’d happen. But there was a sense of true hatred, in that moment.

you walked out of your room.

you walked into Karina’s office.

“Yu Jimin,”

she whipped around, smile morphing into a frown in seconds.

“How do you know that name?”

“Minjeong,”

She saw the gun in your hand.

“Oh, won’t you put that down?”

You stared at her.

She smiled, then.

“You know, I knew you worked for them,” she began, nonchalantly.

“What?”

all that work, all that secrecy— it meant nothing, in the end? She knew, she always knew?

“I saw you searching for our names. You were just so.. you seemed like you’d work for the government. And then I found that little phone you had! It’s been disconnected for years. They haven’t received a single message,”

You stared, still, dumbfounded. Suddenly, this made it all the worse. She did this, forced you to help— knowing? You raised the pistol.

“Giselle,” Karina called, and the other girl appeared a few seconds later. She stared at the scene in front of her, looking between the two of you.

“Get rid of her for me, will you?” Karina dismissed, shrugging off the threat.

Giselle slowly took out her own gun. She pointed it at you, and yet—

“Yu Jimin, you’re under arrest for drug trafficking, terrorism, murder, smuggling, and-”

“What? What are you talking about?” Her eyes widened, as she shot up to her feet, gripping at her desk.

“My name is Aeri Uchinaga. I work for the FBI-”

“It was you!” She shrieked, nearly mad. “You were the mole? But you- you’ve killed in my name! Won’t you be implicit?”

“I’ll be pardoned by the state, most likely,” she informed.

it all made sense now. The strange accent, the tray she was so tense, constantly— you were a bit proud of yourself for noticing all the off things about her, but now was not the time.

you stared at Karina. You wanted to shoot her.

“She could leave,” you pointed out.

Giselle glanced over at you. “She could,”

you aimed at her leg. Just a bit off from the major artery in the thigh.

a click.

The aftermath was severe. The building was destroyed, most of your department had dissolved. Minjeong was working with the police, you had found out— although you hadn’t heard from her since the arresting.

you weren’t sure what to do, anymore. You had dedicated so much to this— and it was all for nothing. Essentially, you had failed.

You were currently living with Aeri, actually. You were a valuable witness— you had seen and done things that would hopefully be able to incriminate Karina, more than all the other records there was of her actions.

Aeri wasn’t as mean as she had been. She was actually quite quiet— but not mean. You two spoke about it. A lot had happened, and you both lived through it. You could relate to each other.

it would take time, though.

1993, Bogotá, Colombia Local time: 11:13 A.M. Location: Washington, D.C. Objective: . . .

It had been 4 years since Yu Jimin had been arrested. She was facing many, many charges— although you tried not to keep up with the news. There was to much going on.

currently, you were with Aeri. You and Aeri had gotten much closer in the following years— how could you not? You spent almost every waking moment together.

Aeri had some work to do, so you were waiting. It was quite simple, really.

You had been offered a position, here— in D.C. You’d work on other jobs, similar to this, but far more investigative. It sounded.. good. You’d like to help people, thats alway’s something you’ve wanted.

You were shaken out of your thoughts by Aeri.

“Hey,” she called, to get your attention. “Let’s go, they’ve got some questions to ask you before you can get hired. You know how government jobs are,” she shrugged, leading you down a winding hallway.

“Yeah,” you replied, your hand in hers. “They kind of suck,”

“They do,” she agreed, with a sigh. “They kind of do,”

A/N: I HATE HOW THIS CAME OUT 😭😭 it took me so long but it’s done. I kind of just wanted to get it over with. I don’t have much to say, honestly I might delete this. I had a good idea for it but just couldn’t find the words to execute it. sorry </3 expect a better work soon. I’m hoping to finish up some less heavy ideas before returning to my cold war AU. In any case, asks are appreciated, and I’m open to requests! thank you for reading this mess </3 also aeri being endgame is payback for you (aettudae) making her married to a man in honeycomb. that should be ME.

EXTRA: when you read ‘mi amor’ keep in mind I’m imagining to pronounced like one word, so more like ‘mia-mor’. ‘mia’ kind of sounds like ‘mya’. this will make sense to spanish speakers.

[novaursa]

The Hound She Loved

- Summary: You loved him and he loved you, but he had to leave you behind. 

- Paring: baratheon!reader/Sandor Clegane

- Note: The reader is the oldest child of Cersei and the only trueborn child from Queen's marriage with Robert Baratheon. This one-shot is based on an anonymous ask I received not long ago and I've managed to find some free time to write it.

- Raring: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The air is heavy with the mingling scents of roasted meat, horses, and the distinct tang of sweat from the crowds gathered at the tourney grounds. Robert, your father, is in his element, his booming laughter carrying over the clamor of the festivities. Knights parade past the royal pavilion, resplendent in polished armor and house sigils. But none of this interests you. Your focus is elsewhere—on the shadow looming just behind your chair.

Sandor Clegane, the Hound, stands like a stone sentinel, his face set in its usual grimace. To everyone else, he is merely fulfilling his duty as your sworn shield. To you, however, he is far more. The knowledge of your shared secret sends a thrill up your spine, though you force yourself to keep your composure.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, careful to make it look casual. His eyes flicker down to meet yours briefly, a flash of something soft in his usually hard expression. It’s a fleeting moment, gone as quickly as it came, but it’s enough. You straighten in your seat, pretending to adjust the folds of your gown, but really trying to steady the quickening of your heart.

"Your Grace," Sandor mutters, his voice low and rough, just audible over the noise.

It takes you a moment to realize he’s addressing you, and you tilt your head slightly in his direction. “Yes, Ser Sandor?”

“Eyes ahead,” he growls, though the corners of his mouth twitch as if suppressing a smirk. “You’re drawing attention.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. “I was merely admiring the knights,” you reply, your tone light and innocent. “Surely that is allowed?”

He grunts in response, which you’ve come to understand is his way of conceding the point. Still, his gaze lingers on you for a heartbeat longer before he resumes his stoic vigil.

The day drags on, the tourney unfolding in the predictable manner you’ve grown accustomed to. Your father bellows his approval of a particularly brutal joust, your mother sips her wine with an air of practiced disinterest, and you pretend to watch while your thoughts wander.

As the crowd’s attention shifts to the melee, Sandor leans down ever so slightly, his proximity sending a shiver through you. “The stables,” he murmurs, his breath brushing your ear. “After sunset.”

You don’t respond, but the subtle nod of your head is enough. The stiffness in your body eases slightly, anticipation already building.

The stables are quiet, save for the occasional snort or shuffle of the horses. The scent of hay and leather fills the air, a welcome change from the oppressive atmosphere of the tourney grounds. You slip through the shadows, your heart pounding as you scan the dimly lit space.

Sandor is already there, leaning against a wooden post, his massive frame partially obscured by the gloom. His helmet rests on a bale of hay, and his hair is damp with sweat, strands clinging to his scarred face. Despite his usual grim appearance, there’s a softness in his eyes as he watches you approach.

“You’re late,” he rumbles, though his tone lacks any real bite.

“I couldn’t just leave without a good excuse,” you retort, crossing your arms. “My mother has eyes everywhere.”

Sandor snorts, pushing off the post and closing the distance between you. “Your mother doesn’t scare me,” he says, his voice low and rough, though there’s a flicker of something akin to amusement in his tone.

“She should,” you reply, though the edge in your voice softens as he steps closer.

His hand, calloused and rough, reaches out to brush a strand of hair from your face. The gesture is uncharacteristically gentle, and it takes all your willpower not to lean into his touch. “And what about you?” he asks, his voice quieter now. “Do I scare you?”

You meet his gaze, the intensity of his brown eyes pinning you in place. “No,” you say softly. “You never have.”

His hand lingers, the rough pads of his fingers grazing your cheek before dropping to his side. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the silence stretching between you like a fragile thread. Then, unable to resist any longer, you close the distance, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that is as desperate as it is tender.

Sandor’s hands come to rest on your waist, his grip firm but not unwelcome. You feel the tension in his body, the way he holds himself back, as if afraid of breaking you. But you press closer, your fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic, silently telling him it’s okay to let go.

When you finally pull away, your breathing uneven, he rests his forehead against yours. “This is madness,” he mutters, though there’s no conviction in his words.

“Maybe,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “But it’s worth it.”

He huffs out a breath that could almost be a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re going to be the death of me, girl.”

You smile, your fingers brushing against the rough stubble of his jaw. “Not today.”

The moment is short-lived, reality creeping back in as the distant sounds of the tourney reach your ears. Sandor steps back reluctantly, his hands falling away. “Go,” he says, his voice rougher now. “Before someone notices.”

You hesitate, your heart aching at the thought of leaving him. But you know he’s right. With one last lingering glance, you turn and slip back into the shadows, the memory of his touch burning like a brand on your skin.

As you make your way back to the royal pavilion, your mind is already racing with thoughts of the next stolen moment, the next fleeting chance to be with him. For now, though, you wear the mask of the dutiful daughter, hiding the fire that burns within you—a fire only Sandor Clegane can stoke.

The road stretches long and dusty before them, the air thick with the heat of the sun. Sandor Clegane trudges ahead, his armor clinking faintly with each step, while Arya Stark stalks beside him, her eyes sharp and observant as always. It’s been days of travel, days of Arya’s barbed remarks and Sandor’s gruff retorts, yet an uneasy companionship has formed between them.

For the better part of the morning, the two have walked in silence, the rhythm of their boots on the dry earth the only sound. But Arya is not one to remain quiet for long.

“You talk in your sleep, you know,” Arya says suddenly, her tone casual but her eyes glinting with curiosity.

Sandor’s head jerks toward her, his scarred face twisting into a scowl. “I don’t.”

“You do,” Arya insists, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “You said something last night. Something about a ‘princess.’”

Sandor freezes for a fraction of a second before resuming his stride, his shoulders stiff. “Mind your own business, girl.”

Arya falls into step beside him, undeterred. “Was it about Joffrey’s sister? The one everyone says is so beautiful?” Her voice is laced with mockery, though there’s genuine interest beneath it. “Did you have a crush on her or something?”

Sandor stops abruptly, turning to glare at her. “Watch your tongue,” he growls. “She’s not like that little shit you called a king.”

Arya blinks, caught off guard by the vehemence in his voice. Her curiosity flares brighter. “Then who is she?” she presses. “You care about her, don’t you?”

Sandor exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. For a moment, he seems to wrestle with himself, his scarred face a storm of conflicting emotions. Finally, he mutters, “She’s the only one I’ve ever cared about.”

Arya tilts her head, her brow furrowing. “The princess?” she asks, her voice softer now, less teasing. “What happened?”

He hesitates, his gaze fixed on the horizon as if the answer lies somewhere in the distance. “I had to leave her behind,” he says at last, his voice low and rough. “When I left King’s Landing, I couldn’t take her with me. Couldn’t drag her into this.”

Arya is quiet for a moment, studying him. She’s seen Sandor angry, sarcastic, even vulnerable in fleeting moments, but this is different. There’s a rawness to his voice that makes her pause. “What was she like?” she asks eventually.

Sandor’s lips twitch, the faintest ghost of a smile playing across them. “She was… everything the rest of them weren’t,” he says, his tone unusually soft. “Kind. Honest. Didn’t care about how I looked or what people said about me. She saw… more.”

Arya frowns, trying to picture it. The idea of someone like Sandor being cared for, being seen as more than a killer or a brute, is strange to her. “If she cared about you so much, why didn’t she leave with you?”

Sandor’s jaw tightens, his expression darkening. “She couldn’t. She’s tied to that place, to her family. And even if she wasn’t…” He trails off, shaking his head. “She deserves better than this. Better than me.”

Arya crosses her arms, her sharp eyes narrowing. “That’s stupid,” she declares. “If she cared about you, she’d want to be with you, no matter what.”

Sandor snorts, though there’s no humor in the sound. “You’re a stubborn little thing, aren’t you?”

“You’re the stubborn one,” Arya shoots back. “You think you’re doing her a favor by leaving, but all you’re doing is making her miserable. You said it yourself—she saw more in you. Maybe you should start seeing more in yourself.”

Sandor’s gaze snaps to her, startled by the unexpected insight in her words. For a moment, he looks almost vulnerable, the weight of his regrets laid bare. But then he shakes his head, the walls going back up. “Life’s not that simple, girl,” he mutters. “Not for people like me.”

Arya doesn’t respond immediately, but her mind is whirring. She files this revelation away, this glimpse into the heart of the Hound, the man who had once been her enemy but now feels like something more complicated. She’s seen too much of the world to believe in happy endings, but some part of her hopes Sandor might find a way back to his princess, even if he doesn’t believe he deserves it.

As they resume their journey, the silence between them feels different—heavier, but not unpleasant. Arya glances at Sandor out of the corner of her eye, her curiosity sated for now. She knows there’s more to his story, more to the princess he left behind. And maybe, just maybe, there’s more to Sandor Clegane than even he realizes.

[focusonkayjay]

Wildly Wealthy Koreans (2); inspired by Crazy Rich Asians

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: photographer/ filmmaker! jungkook, rich girl/ fashion designer! reader, established relationship, angst, fluff, potential smut

Word Count: 6.6k+

Series summary: When you invite your boyfriend, Jungkook, to accompany you to your brother's wedding in your hometown, Daegu, he’s overjoyed, eager to meet your family and experience a side of your life you’ve never shared with him. However, once he uncovers the truth about who you really are, he’s unable to grasp the full extent of your reality. The situation becomes even more complicated when a certain someone makes him feel profoundly unwelcome, leaving him to question not only your world, but also his place in it.

Disclaimer: This series is heavily inspired by the movie Crazy Rich Asians, with the storyline closely following the original film's plot. However, I wanted to reimagine it as a fanfiction, where Jungkook and OC take center stage as the main protagonists. While I’ve kept the core elements and themes from the movie, I’ve added my own touches here and there, such as altering certain character dynamics and incorporating a few original settings. Some scenes are directly inspired by the movie, and I’ve worked to recreate them in a way that it hopefully resonates with the fans of the movie. Hope you enjoy!!

Chapter Warnings: talks about culture, your mom is a meanie

A/N: literally fighting the urge to rewatch crazy rich asians right now omg. anyways, i'm having so much fun writing this because i love explaining every little thing in detail, and this series gives me so many opportunities to do so. let me know your thoughts <3

part 2

“I can’t believe this.” Jungkook breathes out, sinking into the plush comfort of Yoongi’s ridiculously soft mattress. He runs a hand through his hair, his mind racing as he tries to process everything he had found out during the eventful lunch he just had with Yoongi's family.

It feels like the ground beneath him has shifted. You’re not exactly who he thought you were. Not that he had preconceived notions about your life, but this? This was on an entirely different level. “I wonder why she never told me.” he mutters, more to himself than anyone else.

Yoongi chuckles from across the room as he pulls back the heavy, luxurious curtains, flooding the space with the warm afternoon light. His bedroom is just as opulent as the rest of the mansion... floor-to-ceiling windows, sleek modern furniture, and an aesthetic that screams understated wealth.

“I mean… maybe she didn’t want to show off.” Yoongi suggests casually, as if being from an ultra-rich family is something people hide every day. “Yeah… like you.” Jungkook points out, sitting up and gesturing around the room.

His eyes narrow as they take in every detail. “You never told me you were this...” he pauses, glancing pointedly at the chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the antique show piece on the side table, and the impossibly soft bedding beneath him “...rich.”

Yoongi smirks as he leans against the window frame, arms crossed. “What can I say? I’m humble like that.”

Jungkook groans, leaning back on the mattress as he throws an arm over his face. “My whole life is a lie. You’re telling me I’ve been surrounded by literal multimillionaires this whole time and I didn’t have a single clue?” His voice is half-frustrated, half-bewildered, and the wide-eyed expression on his face makes Yoongi snort with laughter.

“Come on, you’re being dramatic.” Yoongi teases, his tone light but with a knowing smirk. It’s almost laughable coming from him... the same guy who was practically losing his mind over you back in the dining room. “It’s really not that big of a deal.” he adds casually, as if he hadn’t been the one freaking out just moments ago.

“Not that big of a deal?” Jungkook echoes, sitting up with an incredulous look. “You live in a mansion. You drive a car that costs more than my entire apartment building. And now I find out my girlfriend is a part of one of the most powerful families in the country?” He shakes his head, rubbing his temples. “You’re right. Totally normal. Nothing to see here.”

Yoongi grins, clearly entertained by his friend’s over-the-top reaction. “You’re handling this surprisingly well.” he jokes. Jungkook shoots him a look. “I’m on the verge of an existential crisis, and you’re laughing at me.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Yoongi says with a shrug, making Jungkook groan again.

“And now I can’t stop thinking about that damn tea party ceremony thing I have to go to, this evening.” Jungkook sighs, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

His fingers thread through his hair in frustration. “I don’t know what to expect after everything I’ve learned today.” He breathes out heavily, as though the weight of the world is pressing down on his shoulders.

“Don’t stress it.” Yoongi replies, his tone infuriatingly nonchalant as he leans back in his chair. He looks completely at ease, like Jungkook hadn’t just had his world turned upside down in the span of a few minutes.

Jungkook stares at him, exasperated. “How can I not? I don’t know if I’ll even be able to fit in. Everyone there will probably take one look at me and smell the filth on me. They’ll know right away that I’m a completely different breed compared to them.” he huffs, gesturing dramatically to make his point.

Yoongi stifles a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” Jungkook counters, his tone sharp. “I’m just some regular guy. I grew up in a tiny apartment with my mom, eating instant ramen and working part-time jobs to get by. These people... your people... live in literal mansions and probably eat gold-flaked caviar for breakfast or something.” he rambles.

Yoongi finally bursts out laughing, the sound making Jungkook scowl even more. “Gold-flaked caviar? That’s a bit too much, even for us.” Yoongi teases, his voice dripping with amusement. “But seriously, You’re overthinking it.”

Jungkook shakes his head, his insecurities bubbling to the surface. “You don’t get it. I’m not like them. I don’t know the rules, or how to act, or what to say or how... how to dress. I’ll stick out like a sore thumb.” he says, covering his face as the stress surges through his veins.

"Well, since you brought it up... do you have an outfit for the evening?" Yoongi questions. Jungkook shrugs, a bit unsure. “Well, I have this simple suit. It’s... it's this black-”

“No way.” Yoongi interrupts, shaking his head in disbelief. “There’s no way you’re wearing a simple black suit to this thing.”

Jungkook blinks, taken aback. “What’s wrong with a simple black suit?” he asks, genuinely perplexed.

Yoongi clicks his tongue like a disappointed teacher, standing up from his seat. “This won’t do. Follow me.” he says briskly, already turning on his heels. Jungkook barely has time to react before Yoongi is leading him down the hall and into what can only be described as a dream closet.

The room is enormous, with racks of clothing neatly arranged by color and style. Spotlights illuminate the array of designer outfits, from tailored suits to silk shirts and everything in between.

Shelves line the walls, displaying polished leather shoes, neatly folded ties, and an impressive collection of watches. A faint, luxurious scent lingers in the air, and Jungkook can’t help but gape at the sheer extravagance of it all.

“Okay, let’s see.” Yoongi mutters, his sharp eyes scanning the racks like a man on a mission. He pulls out a prussian blue short coat with clean, sharp lines and a tailored fit. The material has a subtle texture that exudes luxury without being flashy. “This is so so sleek and I think this should be perfect for tonight.” he muses.

“Blue?” Jungkook raises an eyebrow. “You think that’s the move?”

Yoongi smirks. “I don't think... I know it is.” He sets the coat aside and grabs a light blue silky dress shirt, its soft sheen adding just the right amount of elegance. “This will add a little softness. Plus, it’s classy as hell.” he explains.

Before Jungkook can protest, Yoongi moves to another section, pulling out matching prussian blue trousers. “These match the coat...” he softly says, more to himself.

Yoongi then crouches down to the shoe shelf, grabbing a pair of sleek black loafers “And these... for your feet.” He stands back up and makes his way to the display of accessories.

“We’ll keep it simple...” he murmurs, looking around and a few seconds later, he picks out a delicate diamond brooch shaped like a flower. “This is gonna add just the right amount of sophistication without being too much.” he smiles, proud of himself for the fashion choices he's making.

“Try it on.” Yoongi orders, shoving the outfit into Jungkook’s arms.

Jungkook hesitates, still overwhelmed by how much thought Yoongi has put into this. “Isn’t this… a bit too much for a tea... party?”

“Not for this one.” Yoongi says matter-of-factly, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Trust me, this is how you blend in while still making a statement.. you're gonna thank me for this.”

A few minutes later, Jungkook emerges from the dressing area, and Yoongi’s face lights up in approval, completely satisfied with his work.

The prussian blue coat fits Jungkook perfectly, accentuating his broad shoulders, while the silky light blue shirt adds a sophisticated edge. The trousers and polished loafers complete the look, and the diamond brooch glimmers subtly, tying everything together seamlessly. (jungkook's full outfit if u want to visualize it)

Yoongi whistles low, nodding. “Now that’s what I’m talking about. You look insanely good.” he claps. Jungkook glances at himself in the mirror, stunned by the transformation. “I look… fancy.” he mutters, running a hand down the soft fabric of the coat.

Yoongi smirks. “You look expensive. And that’s exactly the point.”

//

As the clock strikes 5, Jungkook’s phone buzzes with a message from you. It’s the address of the place he’s supposed to go. The pit in his stomach deepens as he reads it... nerves gnawing at him now that the event feels real and imminent.

He stands in Yoongi’s room, fidgeting with the cuffs of the silky dress shirt he's wearing, while Yoongi carefully styles his hair. After a few minutes of fussing, Yoongi steps back, his expression satisfied. “There.... perfect.” he quips with a smirk.

Jungkook sighs, taking in his reflection. He looks different... polished, refined, like someone who owns a portfolio full of stocks and leaves enormous tips at fancy restaurants without a second thought. He tilts his head, still processing the transformation.

“Let’s head out?” Yoongi suggests, and though still hesitant, Jungkook nods, grabbing his phone and wallet before following Yoongi downstairs.

When they step outside, the familiar luxury of Yoongi's estate greets him and he instantly notices that this time, Yoongi has opted for a different car... a sleek, deep-red Ferrari Roma. The polished exterior gleams under the fading daylight, and Jungkook can’t help but gawk. "This car looks like it belongs in a museum." he mutters, still trying to process Yoongi’s absurdly lavish lifestyle.

The same guard from earlier appears, carrying Jungkook’s luggage, which he efficiently loads into the the car's surprisingly spacious trunk. Yoongi slides into the driver’s seat, revving the engine, and the low, throaty hum fills the air.

Jungkook gets into the passenger seat, muttering under his breath, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.”

Yoongi chuckles as he adjusts the rearview mirror. “You’re supposed to say, ‘Thank you, Yoongi, for giving me a taste of luxury.’” he jokes.

The ride to the address you’ve shared isn’t long, but with each passing kilometer, Jungkook grows more apprehensive. The city’s bustling streets fade away, replaced by quieter, tree-lined roads. And as the sun finally sets, the atmosphere feels secluded and serene, the kind of area reserved for only the wealthiest of the wealthy.

By the time they approach the destination, it’s almost completely dark, and the surroundings are cloaked in shadow. Eventually, the headlights illuminate a massive iron gate adorned with intricate designs, the kind that looks custom-made and costs more than an average car.

Tall stone pillars flank the gate, with elegant golden lettering engraved on plaques— 'The Kims' etched prominently.

The GPS pings, signaling they’ve arrived. Before Jungkook can say a word, the gates swing open automatically, revealing a long, winding driveway lined with towering, perfectly trimmed trees. A soft glow from decorative lanterns illuminates the path, casting an ethereal ambiance over the grounds.

“Is this a driveway or a runway?” Jungkook mutters as the car rolls forward. The sheer length of the driveway seems surreal and it takes them almost five minutes to reach the end.

When they finally arrive, Yoongi slams on the brakes, his jaw dropping. “Holy fuck…” he breathes, gripping the steering wheel tightly. His voice is barely above a whisper as he asks, “Are you seeing this?”

Jungkook stares, utterly gobsmacked. Before them stands an enormous mansion, more like a palace than a home. The architecture is a seamless blend of modern elegance and classic grandeur.

A sprawling facade of pristine white marble reflects the soft golden lights strategically placed along the perimeter. Massive glass windows stretch across the mansion, framed by intricate black ironwork.

A fountain stands proudly in the center of the circular driveway, water cascading gracefully in the glow of ambient lights. The front doors are enormous, crafted from dark wood and adorned with golden handles that look like they belong in a royal palace.

Behind the mansion, faint silhouettes of sprawling gardens and additional wings of the estate hint at just how vast this property is. Jungkook feels like he’s stepped into a movie. His voice is barely audible as he murmurs. “This… This is where Y/N lives?”

“Dude...” Yoongi says, still staring at the mansion. “I told you my place would be nothing compared to this.”

As Yoongi is still marveling at the house, his hands gripping the steering wheel like he’s afraid to blink and miss something, Jungkook’s gaze drifts beyond the car's window.

Near the expansive lawn and the grand entrance of the mansion, groups of people mingle, their laughter and chatter carried on the soft evening breeze. It’s all so overwhelming, but then his eyes land on you, and suddenly, the world seems to still.

You’re standing by the grand double doors, chatting with two women who appear equally elegant. But his focus is entirely on you. You’re dressed in a stunning emerald green gown that hugs your figure just right.

The strapless design accentuates your shoulders and collarbones, and the gown flows down in soft, silky waves, brushing against the floor with every slight movement. A string of delicate pearls adorns your chest, their soft sheen catching the light with each turn of your head.

Your hair is styled in a way that frames your face beautifully, soft tendrils brushing against your cheeks. The golden glow of the mansion’s lights reflects in your eyes, making them look like the night sky dotted with stars.

You smile at something one of the girls says, and that smile... it’s the kind that makes Jungkook’s heart skip a beat, the kind that could light up even the darkest of nights.

As he sits there in Yoongi’s car, rooted to his seat, he can’t help but take in your beauty. The way you carry yourself with such grace and confidence, as though you were born to belong in a setting as grand as this. Jungkook feels his throat tighten. How? How on earth had someone like him... ordinary, flawed, and a complete mess half the time, ever managed to end up with someone like you?

You’re perfect, he thinks, in every sense of the word. From the sparkle in your eyes to the way your laughter carries, soft and melodic, across the air. He feels a pang of disbelief, as though at any moment someone might tap him on the shoulder and tell him it’s all been a dream.

His hand clenches slightly against his knee as he leans back into the seat, still staring at you, unable to look away.

And like magic, your eyes meet his from across the expanse. It’s as though the crowd and the grandeur of the mansion fade into nothing, leaving just the two of you in your own world.

Your expression instantly lights up, a radiant smile spreading across your face. You excuse yourself from the two women without the slightest bit of hesitation, your steps purposeful as you make your way towards the car parked by the grand fountain.

“Oh my god, she’s coming… she’s coming here.” Jungkook mutters under his breath, panic and exhilaration twisting together in his chest. His words snap Yoongi out of his trance, but before Yoongi can even react, Jungkook is already out of the car.

“Baby... you made it.... Hi.” you say, your voice sweet and filled with warmth as you approach him. Without a second thought, you wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. The faint scent of your perfume envelops him, soft and comforting, and for a moment, he’s too stunned to move.

Just seconds ago, Jungkook’s mind had been a mixture of nerves and doubts, the unfamiliar surroundings and the weight of everything he’d learned earlier still pressing on him. But now, as he feels your arms around him and the steady rhythm of your heartbeat against his chest, all of that melts away.

He exhales a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, his arms instinctively wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer. In your embrace, the humoungous mansion, the status of those around him, and the intimidating luxury that surrounded him, no longer mattered. None of it.

Right here, right now, he feels safe. He feels like he belongs... not with the wealth, not with the prestige, but with you. It’s in the way your presence calms his racing heart, in the way your touch grounds him. With you, it feels like home.

And in that moment, he knows. No matter how out of place he might feel in this world of opulence, as long as he has you, he’ll always belong.

“Ahem.” Yoongi clears his throat, a playful glint in his eyes as he watches the two of you pull away from the hug. He stands by the side of the car, arms casually crossed, his lips curling into a teasing smirk. His gaze flicks between you and Jungkook, his eyebrows wiggling as if to silently ask... Are you going to introduce me, or what?

Jungkook’s eyes travel to Yoongi, and the subtle shift in his expression tells Yoongi that he’s caught on to the unspoken request. He gives a small, sheepish chuckle, the tension that had lingered before, now dissipating.

“Babe, this is Yoongi.” he says, his voice soft but genuine as he reaches out to encircle your waist again, his fingers lightly tracing the curve of your back. He turns his head to Yoongi with a grin. “And Yoongi… this is Y/n.”

You look at Yoongi, a warm and open smile immediately spreading across your face. You’ve only heard bits and pieces of stories about him from Jungkook, but you already have a good sense of his nature. “Yoongi, hi!” you greet him, your voice bubbling with kindness.

“Thank you so much for bringing him. I'm a little mad at you for stealing him away from me on his very first day here...” you tease, your eyes sparkling as you glance up at Jungkook. “But I still get it. I guess I’ll forgive you... only this time, though.”

Yoongi chuckles, genuinely amused by your playfulness. He raises his arms, giving a mock bow, and offers a teasing apology. “I apologize. But thank you for letting him come meet me. It was really nice catching up after all these years." he sincerely says.

You smile at the sentiment, inching closer to Jungkook as you move past the brief formality. The three of you stand for a moment, the evening breeze and the sound of the water splashing in the fountain, wrapping around you.

The conversation feels comfortable, like a warm, shared space where everyone is still figuring each other out but already enjoying the connections being made.

Then, with a sudden idea that seems to come naturally to you, you look up at Yoongi with a soft but insistent smile. “Why don’t you join us tonight? It’ll be fun.” you suggest, your tone light but sincere.

Yoongi looks like he’s about to refuse, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he opens his mouth to protest. “Oh, my god, no. It’s alright, really-”

You cut him off gently, your voice light with the promise of something easy and enjoyable. “Oh, come on. It’ll be amazing. Besides you're already here and I would feel like a horrible person if I just sent you away without an invitation. Plus, I'm pretty sure you'll find some you know in there.. so please, do come.”

Yoongi hesitates again, the pull of his curiosity and the warmth of your invitation winning him over. But deep down, he knows he’d be stupid to refuse. Why the hell wouldn’t he want to spend his evening at the Kim estate, soaking in the luxury and splendor?

“Well... if you insist…” Yoongi begins, finally giving in with a playful smirk. “I’d be honored to stay.”

Jungkook watches the exchange with a soft grin on his lips, his heart swelling with a quiet affection for you. In moments like these, it’s impossible not to marvel at how effortlessly you make everyone feel at ease.

Your ability to connect with anyone, to put people at ease with your calm demeanor and genuine interest, is one of the things he admires the most about you.

//

As the three of you enter the mansion, Jungkook’s eyes immediately widen at the sheer gloriousness of the place. The space is expansive, and the walls are adorned with elegant artwork, framed portraits, and intricate carvings that speak of a long history of wealth and taste.

The air smells faintly of fresh flowers and something warm, like vanilla, and the soft lighting gives the house an intimate yet sophisticated feel. He can’t help but be in awe, his footsteps slowing as he takes in the magnificent surroundings. From the grand chandeliers overhead to the tastefully arranged furniture, every corner is meticulously curated.

Suddenly, Yoongi is distracted by a familiar face in the crowd... a friend of his, evidently, who bumps into him as they walk into the entryway. "Yooooo...Yoongi, What are you doing here, dude?" the man beams, instantly dapping him up.

Yoongi’s expression shifts from casual to excited as he greets the man, and soon enough, they’re deep in conversation, his attention completely absorbed by the exchange.

Seizing the moment, you lean over to Jungkook and softly whisper. “Come on, let's leave Yoongi to catch up with his friend." you simply say.

Without giving him an opportunity to agree or protest, you take Jungkook’s hand and lead him up the grand staircase, the polished wooden steps creaking slightly beneath your heels.

The second floor seems even quieter than the first, with only the distant murmur of conversation from the living room and the lawn below. The hallway is empty, the walls lined with family portraits and antique furniture that speaks of both elegance and history.

As you walk down the long corridor, Jungkook follows quietly, his hand wrapped around yours, the warmth of your touch grounding him.

Glancing over your shoulder, you catch his gaze and flash him a playful, flirty smile. Then, with effortless grace, you turn to face him, continuing to walk backwards, your eyes never leaving his, a teasing glint dancing in them.

A comfortable silence settles between you two as your eyes take him in. He looks undeniably charming. The way the outfit fits him, accentuating his sharp features, makes your heart flutter in a way you didn’t expect.

Even though you’ve only been apart for a few hours, you’ve missed him deeply. Unable to find the right words, you let your gaze speak for you, your eyes lingering on him with warmth and admiration, as if memorizing every detail.

“Did I tell you how fucking gorgeous you look tonight?” Jungkook’s voice cuts through the stillness, and you can't help but giggle at the awe in his expression.

His eyes glint with admiration, the kind of look that makes your heart flutter in your chest. He’s not hiding his feelings, and it’s evident from the way he glances at you, his gaze tracing your figure as if trying to etch every detail into his mind.

You feel a spark ignite inside you at his words, but you manage a smile, keeping your composure as you look at him. “You don’t look too bad yourself.” you tease, your steps slowing as he steps closer, releasing your fingers from his hold as he places his hands on your waist, halting you in your tracks.

The corridor feels quieter now, the faint hum of distant chatter fading into the background as his presence fills the space. He pulls you closer, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “I missed you.” he murmurs, his voice low and earnest, his gaze flickering to your lips. And as though it’s second nature, he leans in, capturing your lips in a soft yet passionate kiss.

A smile curls on your lips as you kiss him back, the warmth of the moment sending a flurry of butterflies through you. You can’t understand how he always manages to have this effect on you, leaving you breathless and wanting more.

“I missed you too.” you whisper as he pulls away, your eyes catching the faint shimmer of your lip gloss now smudged on his lips.

Despite the intimate moment you’ve just shared, you can’t help but laugh softly. He tilts his head in slight confusion, his brow arching adorably. Without saying a word, you take his hand again, leading him forward down the corridor.

“Come on, I want to show you my room.” you say, your voice light and eager as you guide him further into the corridor.

Jungkook’s eyebrows raise in eagerness as you lead him further down the corridor, past several closed doors. The silence around you both feels almost comforting, as if this is a moment just for the two of you... away from the grandiose of the house and the people downstairs. You’re aware of the weight of the space around you, but in this moment, you’re only aware of him.

“I’ve lived in this house ever since I was a baby...” you continue, your voice quiet but soft, allowing a sense of nostalgia to seep in. “After moving out to New York, the one thing I missed the most was my room.” You look up at him, your smile deepening. “So... I really just... wanted to show it to you.”

Jungkook seems struck by your words, his curiosity piqued, but you don’t elaborate further. You can tell he’s fascinated by the house... he’s seen enough of it already to know it’s not just a regular mansion, but you’re careful not to make him feel overwhelmed.

You don’t want him to think you’re bragging or showing off, not when it comes to your family’s history or the house that’s been passed down for generations. It’s always been a part of you, but you’ve always hated the idea of people seeing you through the lens of privilege.

You’ve never been the type to flaunt it, but the quiet discomfort always lingers. The fear that people will think you’re trying to distance yourself from others or act like you’re somehow above them. It’s why you’ve never told Jungkook much about your background, not in the way some people might expect. You didn’t want him to misunderstand.

As you round a corner and approach your door, Jungkook glances at you, sensing that there’s something more beneath the surface of your words. He opens his mouth to ask, but you cut him off gently with a soft smile, knowing he’ll get to know everything in time.

For now, all that matters is this moment, and as you unlock the door to your room, you can’t help but feel an odd sense of calm. You’ve never shared this part of yourself with anyone before... not like this. But with him, it feels like you’re finally letting him see all of you.

As you switch the lights on, a soft glow fills the room, instantly giving it a warm, inviting ambiance. Jungkook takes a step inside, his gaze sweeping over the delicate details that make up the space. The walls are painted in a blush pink hue, accentuated by crown molding in a creamy white tone.

The furniture matches the aesthetic, with an elegant white queen sized bed and a quilted headboard adorned with tiny, pearl-like studs.

There’s a fluffy cream rug sprawled across the polished wooden floor, and a cozy armchair tucked into the corner beside a tall bookshelf that’s overflowing with colorful novels, fashion magazines and trinkets.

The vanity table by the window catches his attention, its surface sprinkled with makeup items, a small vase of fresh flowers, and neatly arranged bottles of perfume. Above it, a mirror framed with soft golden lights reflects the subtle shimmer of the space.

The walls are brought to life with framed posters of iconic bands and celebrities, each placed thoughtfully, as though telling a story. A string of Polaroid pictures hangs on the wall near the bed, giving the room a personal, nostalgic touch.

He notices little figurines of 'Hello Kitty' on a floating shelf and a small collection of plush toys sitting in a basket near the window seat. The room feels youthful and dreamy, like stepping into a snapshot of your childhood.

Jungkook takes it all in, pausing as his eyes land on the posters and the subtle quirks that reveal glimpses of your younger self. He can’t help but imagine you here as a teenager... probably sprawled out on the bed, reading or listening to music, daydreaming about the future. The thought makes him smile, a warm fondness settling in his chest.

His thoughts are interrupted as you walk over to the vanity and pick up a picture frame, holding it up with a soft smile. “That’s me...” you say, pointing to a baby in the photo. Jungkook steps closer, curious, and his eyes fall on a little version of you, chubby-cheeked and wide-eyed. “And that... is Tae.” you continue, pointing to a young toddler that's securely holding you in his tiny arms.

Jungkook chuckles softly, leaning in to get a better look. “You still look the same.” he chuckles, his gaze shifting between the picture and you. "And Taehyung looks like he’s already ready to fight anyone who gets near you." he adds.

You laugh, gently setting the frame back down. You glance at the photo one last time, feeling a small tug of nostalgia before turning to Jungkook, who’s still looking around, clearly charmed by this intimate glimpse into your past.

"Your room is beautiful." he finally says, his voice soft with admiration as his gaze takes in the delicate details surrounding him. He can't believe he's being shown this deeply personal part of your life, and it makes him feel incredibly special.

You step forward, wrapping your arms around his neck with a tender smile. "Thank you, baby. I'm so glad I could show it to you." you say, pressing a gentle kiss on his cheek.

Just as the moment seems perfect, your expression shifts like you've suddenly remembered something crucial. "Oh my god! wait... no way... I totally forgot!!" you exclaim, breaking away from him.

Jungkook is bewildered for what feels like the hundredth time today as you grab his hand and practically drag him out of the room and down the long corridor. He's still trying to process what’s happening when you lead him back downstairs. His eyes dart around, noticing the guests still lost in their conversations, oblivious to the two of you passing by.

"I told my mom I'd introduce you to her the minute you'd arrive but… I totally forgot!" you admit hurriedly, your voice tinged with a mix of excitement and guilt as you weave through the crowd.

The words hit Jungkook like a bolt of lightning, and his eyes widen in panic. Your mom? He was going to meet your mom? Right now? No warning, no preparation? He feels a surge of anxiety bubbling up in his chest.

"Wait... wait!" he halts abruptly, tugging your hand so you’re forced to turn around and look at him in confusion. "Babe, a warning would have been nice. I need to prepare myself for this moment... this is your mom we're talking about." he breathes out, clutching his chest dramatically.

You chuckle, brushing off his concerns with ease. "Oh, come on, Kook. She's just my mom. You'll be fine, I promise." you assure, gently tugging his hand again, urging him to follow you.

Reluctantly, Jungkook lets himself be led through a side door and into what appears to be the kitchen. As soon as he steps inside, he’s overwhelmed by the bustling atmosphere. The space is alive with activity... chefs moving in synchrony, slicing, plating, and perfecting dishes with meticulous attention to the tiniest details.

The scent of freshly baked bread mingles with the aroma of roasted meat and delicate spices, creating a sensory overload.

Jungkook’s gaze darts from one end of the kitchen to the other, trying to absorb everything at once. A massive spread of colorful dishes is being prepared on a long marble countertop, and he doesn’t even know where to focus. For a moment, he forgets his nerves as he marvels at the organized chaos around him.

"Stay with me." you murmur, squeezing his hand reassuringly. But Jungkook can’t help but think about how this might be the most intimidating moment of his life... meeting your mom in the middle of what feels like a five-star culinary operation.

You glance around the bustling kitchen, scanning the scene for your mom. It doesn’t take long before you spot her back as she leans slightly towards one of the chefs, gesturing animatedly while the chef nods thoughtfully, hanging on her every word.

There’s a commanding yet sophisticated presence about her, and the sight makes a smile creep onto your lips. Without hesitation, you tug Jungkook along, your excitement bubbling over. “Mama!!” you call out, your voice cutting through the hum of the kitchen.

At first, she doesn’t respond, too engrossed in giving precise instructions about something to the chef. You don’t mind, though because you know how focused she can get when she’s in her element.

As you approach her, you release Jungkook’s hand, letting him stand beside you as he instinctively straightens his coat, smoothing the fabric nervously.

Now only a few steps away, you finally stop, waiting patiently for her to finish her instructions. Jungkook stands a little stiffly next to you, his hands clasped in front of him as he watches the exchange, silently psyching himself up for what’s coming next.

Once she finishes instructing the chef, she finally turns around, her soft features lighting up with a smile when her eyes land on you. “Y/N.” she says warmly, acknowledging you.

Her appearance is effortlessly chic, exuding an aura of power and sophistication. Dressed in a sleek, wine colored dress paired with a delicate pearl necklace and stud earrings, she looks into your eyes.

Her posture is immaculate, shoulders back, chin high, and she carries herself with an air of unshakable authority. Her eyes... sharp and piercing, hold a fierceness that can make anyone squirm under her gaze.

She’s never been the one to smile easily, and even now, her expression holds a seriousness that makes Jungkook feel like he’s being sized up before he’s even said a word.

But when her eyes shift to Jungkook, her demeanor subtly changes. The faint smile that played on her lips moments ago falters, replaced by a look of mild disapproval.

One of her eyebrows arches as she takes in the man standing beside you, and Jungkook immediately feels the weight of her scrutiny. It’s clear from the way her gaze lingers that she’s not the least bit pleased to meet him.

“Mama, this is Jungkook.” you begin sweetly, your voice light and cheerful, as if trying to bridge the gap of tension. “I told you I was bringing him.” You smile at her, radiating warmth, but it’s met with a polite but distant smile from her, one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Jungkook isn’t blind to it, he can see the coldness lurking behind her expression.

“Hello.” she finally says, her tone neutral, devoid of warmth. Her words are carefully measured, making Jungkook feel like she’s already testing him.

He feels his heart rate spike, but he doesn’t let it show. With a deep breath, he bows at a perfect right angle, his voice steady as he speaks. “Hello, ma’am. I’m Jeon Jungkook.” He straightens up, his posture confident despite the nervous energy coursing through him.

He meets her fierce gaze head-on, determined to make a good impression, though her icy stare makes him feel like he’s being dissected.

You glance at Jungkook, noticing his effort, and squeeze his hand briefly before stepping closer to your mother, hoping to ease the tension.

She nods curtly as Jungkook introduces himself, her sharp eyes trailing over him from head to toe, as though she’s analyzing every detail.

"So, you're from New York?" she asks suddenly, her voice carrying an edge that makes Jungkook straighten his posture. The question catches him slightly off guard, but he quickly nods in acknowledgment.

"Yes, ma’am." he answers politely, his voice steady.

Your mother narrows her eyes slightly, a calculating look flashing across her face. "I'm sure you've noticed how different things are around here... in Korea." she says, her tone almost conversational, though there's an unmistakable undercurrent of something more. "Very different from your... western culture." she adds, the words laced with what feels like a taunt.

You shift uncomfortably, sensing the rising tension. Jungkook hesitates, unsure of how to respond, and you decide to step in. "Mama, he lived in Korea before he moved to New York..." you explain gently, trying to diffuse the situation. "I'm sure he knows how things are around here."

But your mother doesn't acknowledge your reassurance. Her piercing gaze stays fixed on Jungkook. "Your parents?" she asks next, one eyebrow raised, her expression unyielding.

Jungkook’s throat tightens as he answers, his tone polite but guarded. "My mom... she owns a café in New York." he replies, hoping to keep the answer straightforward.

Your mother’s expression barely changes, but Jungkook notices the faintest flicker of disapproval in her eyes. It’s subtle, but it cuts deep. "Ah... so it's only your mother, then?" she probes further, her voice calm but pointed.

You feel your stomach drop at her words, the implicit judgment in her tone impossible to miss. Your protective instincts kick in immediately, and before she can say anything more, you interject.

"Okay, Mama, that's enough interrogation for now..." you say, your voice cheerful but firm as you grab Jungkook’s hand. "We need to get going. Grandma is going to be here any minute now... and the party is going to start soon." you add.

Jungkook notices the way her eyes flick down to your intertwined hands, and her jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. She doesn’t say anything, though, merely nodding stiffly as she steps back.

Before the situation can escalate further, you tug Jungkook out of the kitchen and into the hallway. As soon as you’re out of your mother's sight, you stop and turn to him, your expression apologetic.

"I am so so so sorry for that." you say quickly, your eyes scanning his face. You can see how pale he looks, the color drained from his cheeks. The conversation clearly rattled him, and it breaks your heart.

"I don’t know why she was acting like that." you continue, your voice softening as you place a comforting hand on his cheek. "I’m really sorry, baby. That wasn’t fair to you."

Jungkook exhales slowly, feeling the warmth of your palm against his skin. He hates how unsettled he feels, the subtle but unmistakable judgment in your mother’s eyes still gnawing at him.

He’s not naive, he knows exactly what her words and looks implied. But he doesn’t want to burden you with his feelings, so he forces a small smile and shrugs.

"Please... don’t apologize." he says gently, his voice calm but distant. "She’s your mother. I get why she’d question me like that... I’m dating her daughter, after all." he reasons.

His attempt to brush it off doesn’t fool you, but you decide not to push him. Instead, you give his cheek a small caress, hoping to soothe him.

Sensing the heaviness lingering between you, Jungkook shifts the conversation. "Anyways... don’t we have a tea party to get to?" he asks with a soft laugh, trying to lighten the mood despite the war in his mind.

You know he’s deflecting, choosing not to dwell on the interaction with your mother. So you let him, offering him a gentle smile in return. "We do." you reply softly, squeezing his hand. "Come on, let’s go."

As Jungkook trails behind you, the weight in his chest feels almost suffocating, each step amplifying the unease swirling in his mind.

Three weeks... that’s how long he’s going to be here for. The thought echoes in his head, heavier with every repetition.

He doesn’t know how he’s going to endure it, not when your mother’s piercing gaze feels like it sees right through him, layered with unspoken judgments that cut deeper than words ever could.

The very idea looms ahead, an uphill battle he isn’t sure he’s equipped to fight, yet one he knows he cannot avoid.

<- part 1

taglist: @mirinaeii @taetaecatboy (lmk if u want to be added <3)

[daughterofscotland]

Decisions and Bubble Baths

After months and months I finally managed to write a little snippet of a BuckTommy fix it fic recently... and today I finished it at almost 2k.

Go me! AO3 Link: Decisions and Bubble Baths

Pairing: BuckTommy

Tags: Light NON-SEXUAL BDSM, hopeful ending

Summary: After their break up, both Buck and Tommy realize that their dynamic outside of the bedroom has some long-term consequences. Eddie realizes they need some help to fix it.

***

Buck didn't know what to wear. He was supposed to get dressed for a dinner with the team - not like their old cook outs, since Bobby and Athena still hadn't found a new place (or build a new one, he wasn't sure), but at a restaurant. Eddie was going to pick him up, saying he didn't want to drink anyway, and Buck... Buck didn't know what to wear.

***

It's not like they had planned it, this dynamic between them. But on their sixth date Buck couldn't decide what to wear, almost making them late, and Tommy had confidently grabbed a pair of jeans, a shirt, and over-shirt, handed it to Buck, and said. "You're going to wear these." Buck hadn't argued, his head suddenly silent, as the decision was taken from him, and gotten dressed. They hadn't talked about it. But then it happened again, when Buck couldn't decide on what to order at a new ice cream shop. Tommy had simply turned to the girl behind the counter, ordered for them both, and Buck hadn't argued. And it happened again in the grocery store, when Buck couldn't decide on a wine. Then they talked about it. Tommy insisted on research (Buck might have had to blow him about it) about clear communication and boundaries. They had already played around in bed, had discovered early on that their kinks matched well. But "daddy" and "baby boy" were for sex. Neither of them wanted to move it out of the bedroom.

So Tommy became "sir" whenever Buck needed help to make a decision. A firm, grounding hand on his neck when he spiraled or got so excited about whatever he was talking about, he became faster and faster and couldn't stop himself. Buck was "sweetheart" whenever Tommy needed calm, needed to be worshiped, needed to be treated like he was precious. Buck always wanted Tommy to feel that way, but Tommy had trouble allowing himself the comfort. At some point, Tommy had created a virtual wardrobe for Buck, with clothes made from his actual wardrobe, for days he wasn't on shift. He planned outfits a month in advance, so Buck wouldn't be paralyzed by a decision while Tommy wasn't there. In return, Buck had put at least one moment of "treatment" a week into Tommy's calendar: a bubble bath, a massage, a special meal. It worked for them and made them happy.

But now it had been a month since Tommy had walked out of Buck's life, with no word since. He'd spent a month baking to try to not think about Tommy, to keep from calling him, had ignored the way he'd started to get jittery and always felt cold and restless, how he kept looking to his side to share a joke or a fact he learned, just to find the space next to him empty. And now the virtual wardrobe was empty. Buck had used the last pre-coordinated clothes and now he sat before his actual wardrobe, unable to choose a simple outfit.

This was how Eddie found him.

Eddie didn't know what kind of dynamic Buck and Tommy had going on - neither did he want to - but he knew there was something. Buck was... calmer. More thoughtful, less impulsive. He still talked a lot, but when they were out together, Eddie saw the way Tommy put his hand on Buck's neck when he got lost in his spirals, how he squeezed, and calmed Buck down that way. The first time Hen noticed Buck's clothing style had changed and Buck blushed and said "Tommy picked it out for me", Eddie knew he didn't just mean something like Tommy buying him clothes.

So after the breakup, when nothing changed too much - except the excessive baking - Eddie thought: Okay, it's fine, he'll be alright. Should he have played keep-away with his phone with Hen? Probably not. But he also didn't want Buck to get hurt again, and he thought not contacting Tommy would make it easier for him. But then something changed. Buck became more restless. A bit more unkempt. He kept looking to the side when he was talking and then he just trailed off, looking lost. It was like he was always somehow out of sync with himself. And then there was Tommy. Eddie messaged him after the break up, telling him he was an idiot, but he would still be Eddie's friend and better show up to their next basketball game. Eddie didn't mention the break up then. They didn't talk about Buck at all, actually. He noticed Tommy looked like he didn't sleep well, of course, and he didn't talk much - but Tommy was always a bit more quiet, so it wasn't too much of a change. But the few times Eddie visited him to work on the car, he noticed the garage getting kind of... cluttered. Dirty. And that was certainly unusual. So was Tommy shying away from every touch, and looking increasingly tense. And now here Buck was, sitting on his bed, staring at his wardrobe, a lost look in his eyes. Unable to choose clothing for himself.

Clearly, Eddie had underestimated something about their dynamic, and it needed to be fixed. He went to the balcony and even shut the door for good measure, before he called Tommy. Not that he expected Buck to hear anything from him even if he were to stand right next to him, but still.

"'lo?" "Shit, man, were you asleep? Sorry, I didn't think you'd be on shift." "No, no, it's fine," came Tommy's voice, gravely, and accompanied by a yawn. "I wasn't... just taking a nap..." "Okay, good, because this is important, and I need you to be awake." "What? What's going on?" Tommy sounded more alert immediately. "Look, man, I don't know what kind of stuff you and Buck got up to, but clearly your breakup has some long-lasting ramifications." Eddie listened to the way Tommy's breathing sped up, clearly worried if not panicked. "We're supposed to go to a restaurant with the team but he's up there, in his loft, almost catatonic, because he doesn't know what to wear. He literally can't choose his own clothes, man. How the fuck did that happen?" There was silence on the other end and Eddie felt himself getting angry. "I swear to god, Tommy, if you hang up on me -" "I am not," Tommy assured him, a slight wobble in his voice. "I'm not... I... god, I fucked up so badly." "Yeah, well, we all know that, mostly due to the pounds we have put on eating all of Buck's "I am not allowed to call him so I am baking" loaves. I know you aren't doing any better, either. So, whatever reason you had to break up, fine, you figure that out on your own time. But clearly this is about more than just your romantic relationship." "Yeah... yeah it's... it is," Tommy agreed, swallowing hard. "I don't... okay. I can... I think I can help, but you'll need to give Ev- Buck the phone, alright?" "Don't call him that, Tommy," Eddie said quietly. "I am pretty sure that makes it worse." "Yeah. Yeah, okay." "I'll put you on speaker and next to him on the bed. Then I will go back outside to the balcony, so give me a minute before you do whatever you want to do. I don't want to hear it."

***

"Evan? Evan, can you hear me?" Tommy. That was Tommy's voice, sounding tinny and far away. Buck blinked and looked around, his eyes falling on the phone next to him. "Tommy?" he asked, coughed and cleared his throat. Picking up the phone, he tried again. "Tommy?" "Not quite. Eddie told me you need some help?" And just like that, something in Buck calmed down. But at the same time he could feel his eyes starting to hurt from unshed tears. "I... Sir. Please. I, I don't... what do I wear?" There was a sharp intake of breath from the other end of the line but Tommy's voice was completely calm as he answered. "That's okay, Evan. I'll help you. Where are you going tonight?" Buck thought for a moment. "Uhm, a restaurant, with the team. Mongolian, I think." "Okay, that's good, Evan. Do you have those dark-washed jeans you bought in Anaheim?" Buck looked around and found them on the ground in front of his clothes. "Yeah, I do." "Alright. Those, with that royal blue shirt you bought two months ago. It's probably gonna be warm at the restaurant, so no need for an over-shirt, but wear your black jacket for the trip. And the black boots. Okay?" "Yeah. Yes, sir. I got it. Thank you." Buck was already getting dressed, having put the phone on the bed again. "Of course, I am glad I could help, Evan."

Buck swallowed. He... he was glad Tommy didn't call him Buck again, but his voice still sounded off. Not quite like himself. Buck took a deep breath. He never had switched this fast, but he needed to do this right now. "You really did help," he assured the other man. "But what about you? Do you need help, too, Tommy?" There was silence on the other end and Buck worried he had gone too far, that Tommy had hung up. But then there was a slightly wobbly sounding breath, a cracked voice answering him. "I... yes, I... I think I do, sweetheart." "Okay, Tommy," Buck said, sitting back down and putting the phone to his ear. "That's okay. Do you... do you still have my key?" "Yeah. Yes, I do. Sorry, I wanted to give it to Eddie, but I just couldn't -" "Hey, hey, don't worry about that, it's okay," Buck assured him. Tommy sounded a bit frantic, definitely not as calm as he'd been before. He was just as lost as Buck had been. "Why don't you come over here, hm? I still have those bath salts you like, and your bubble bath. Come here, take a nice long bath, and then take a nap in my bed until I come back. Okay? I won't be out too long. Or, if you want, I will stay home and wait for you." Another silence that was broken by an almost sob. "No, you... you go. Enjoy your dinner. I'll... I'll do what you said, sweetheart." "Yeah?" Buck asked, a small smile on his face. "You will be here when I come home, Tommy? And I can see what else you need?" "Yes, I will," Tommy assured him, his voice more steady now. "You won't be long?" "Three hours, tops," Buck promised him, already mapping the route in his head, how much time he would have to eat before he had to leave the restaurant again. "You'll be okay, baby." "Yeah. You, too, sweetheart. I promise."

Buck swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment. This wasn't a solution, just a temporary band-aid for both their pain. They would have to talk, really talk, to see where to go from here. But for now, he hung up the phone, shoved all his clothes in the closet, and went downstairs to prepare a few cookies and a piece of lemon loaf on a covered plate, with a glass of water, putting it in his bathroom for Tommy to enjoy during his bath. Eddie didn't interrupt him and only squeezed his shoulder once before they left, Buck leaving the light on before locking the door behind himself, so Tommy would be reminded that he was expected. That he was wanted. It would have to be enough for now.

[heavenlyraindrops]

The Devil Made Me Do It | Arcane | Silco x Reader | Chapter Twelve

available on AO3 and Quotev | visit the first tag for other chapters | warnings: brief mention of alcohol, smoking, profanity

summary:

In the midst of an unfortunate run-in with the enforcers, you meet the young revolutionary Silco, and by extension, his friends Vander and Felicia. Growing close friends, you get through life in the undercity together, determined to make Zaun a better place. Until tragedy strikes, and betrayal and carelessness stabs hard enough to turn you bitter. Years later as time solidifies the scars, Silco proves to be a thorn in your side. You, in his. Hatred festers. And your world cracks further open.

Chapter Twelve:

You turned up the dark collar of your coat to shield you from the cold winds of the undercity as you and a gaggle of people briskly walked towards the Last Drop. The rain pattered onto the ground, small droplets rippling through the puddles, distorting your own reflection.

You reached the door of the bar, and for a moment you could almost see your younger self standing in that very spot.

You pulled your coat tighter around yourself, shivering lightly, and fumbled with the lighter- it wouldn’t work, despite your clicking. The door creaked but you paid it no mind.

“Struggling?”

You turned to see Silco looking at you, hand outstretched.

You pushed the thoughts away before the nausea could get the best of you and make you throw up all over your henchmen. 

The windows were flashing with light and you could hear the bustle of the night crowd from inside the building. Water rolled off of the sign and down the pipes as you looked at your men, placing a firm hand on the doorknob- then pushed the door open, stepping into the heart of the beast.

You straightened your back, going straight to the counter like it was muscle memory. You flicked your head at the bartender. “Give me something not too strong,” you said. “To calm my nerves.”

At your cold expression he nodded hastily and scrambled to get your drink ready. A presence loomed over your shoulder; you didn’t even bother to turn your head.

“Sevika,” you said smoothly. The woman put a large hand on your shoulder.

“The back,” she said flatly.

You stood up, and caught your men’s eye from across the bar. They all sauntered towards you, eyeing up Sevika. You jammed your hands in the pockets of your coat and nodded at them.

She flicked her head at you, then turned, her cloak swishing about her. You planted your feet firmly on the ground, having to raise your voice over the din.

“Where exactly are we going?” You almost-yelled. She turned. 

“There’s an office at the back.”

You froze. She raised a dark eyebrow. “Not Silco’s,” she clarified, and you relaxed, shoving past her.

“I don’t care if it’s his or not,” you sneered. She crossed her arms. 

“You sure about that?”

“One hundred percent,” you said coldly. She laughed.

“We’ll see about that.”

Now it was her turn to shove past you. You stared after her.

What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

You turned and looked at your men, jerking your head in Sevika’s direction. And then you followed her through the door.

By the time the bartender set down your drink onto the counter you were already gone. 

-

The office was gloomy, to say the least. And dark. A desk at the top, with a large window. A sofa on one side, a table on the other. Sevika flopped down on the sofa, and you crossed your arms, shifting your weight onto one leg. 

The chair at the front desk was turned around, so you could only see the back of it. Sevika looked at you. There were about three other men in the corner- Silco’s, no doubt. You sniffed disdainfully. Your own employees- the three guilty ones- were exchanging uneasy looks, glancing around shiftily. 

The office smelled of tobacco, and you noticed an ashtray on the desk. No sign of the man himself. You relaxed a little. Scowling, you went to stand in front of Sevika. 

“I’ll sit there,” you said. “You drag a chair over here.” And to mark the spot you tapped your foot.

She stared at you disbelievingly but did as you said. You leaned back, slinging an arm around the back of the couch. You needed a cigarette, you thought, and pulled one out, putting it in between your teeth. You turned your head back to look expectantly at one of your men.

He fumbled with the light before holding it beneath your roll-up. As it snapped shut you pulled the cigarette from your lips, blowing out a slow curl of smoke. You then nodded at him.

He and his friend stepped forward, grabbing the three men by the shoulders. One list and they were forced to their knees. Cries of protest arose.

“Madam-“

“-what are you-“

Silco’s men stepped forward to help but you flashed them a glare so terrifying they stepped back. You moved your eyes back to Sevika and addressed your own men.

“Fight back, and you’ll regret it,” you said lazily, eyes fixed on the woman sat in front of you. You jerked your head at Silco’s men. “I want them out.”

“But the trade-“

“It won’t be necessary.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, but she didn’t say anything- simply turned to the men and nodded. They filed out obediently. She turned back to you.

“Now get on with it,” you said, lips twitching with distaste. Sevika scowled, intertwining her fingers.

“You said you take in innocent people who need a fresh start, [name],” she said steadily. Then tilted her head. “Feel free to correct me if I’m wrong.”

“Stop speaking so eloquently.” You took a drag of your cigarette. “It doesn’t suit you. Hurry up and get to the point.”

Sevika sat back, scowling, and then jabbed a finger in the general direction where your three men stood. The other two stepped away from them, to stand at your left. You frowned, cigarette dangling from your lips as you twisted around to take the papers one of your men were offering you.

The men in the corner exchanged looks, panic slowly rising. You flicked through the papers, humming. Called out a name.

“You. You said you were running from a gang that was targeting you despite your innocence.” You scrutinised the sheet, then looked up to Sevika for conformation. She rolled her eyes.

“He blew up one of our cargo ships,” she said flatly. You moved onto the next guy.

“Needed a fresh start,” you said simply.

“Stole in bulk from a shimmer factory,” Sevika said. You sniffed distastefully, and she added: “While he was with you.”

You nodded silently, moving to the last paper. “And you… you said you were saving money to pay for your sister's illness treatment but couldn’t afford rent at the same time.”

Sevika shrugged. “Cargo. Explosion. He was involved.”

The first guy, a rather scrawny looking fellow, looked at you with panic. “Madam, you won’t- what are you-“ he looked at Sevika in panic. You raised a finger to your lips, eyes glittering dangerously, and he pressed his own together, eyes wide with fear.

Sevika rolled one of her shoulders back, eyes closing as her muscles stretched deliciously. “One would think you’d keep better tabs on your employees.” She looked down at you, a clear disdain in her eyes.

You raised an eyebrow as she continued. “You just take in anyone these days? What if they take advantage of you?” She jerked her head at the men. “Like these idiots?”

“Most of the people coming to me are women and children,” you said, struggling to keep your voice at a reasonable level. “And you think I just take them in for free? They pay rent and they work.”

“You need to look into people before you take them in,” she stressed. “And you definitely need to watch what they’re doing while under your employ.”

You took a long drag of your cigarette, watching her unflinchingly. She shifted uncomfortably under your scrutiny.

“What they do outside of work is none of my business,” you said boredly.

“It comes back around to you.”

“I’ll make sure it stays their problem.” You looked at the three men and smiled sweetly. They gulped.

“Some people won’t let it be just their problem,” Sevika protested. You raised a hand, stopping her mid-lecture, and tilted your head.

“Why do you care?” Your face was perpetually unimpressed as you watched her lean back and cross her arms. “What happens to me isn’t any of your problem.”

Sevika sighed slowly. “Right, well… I suggest looking into the credibility of your employees’ stories regardless.”

“Like I said. Big words don’t suit you.” You smirked, inhaling the smoke of your fag and blowing it out slowly. “Go back to talking like an idiot.” Sevika bristled. 

“[name].”

Suddenly, you scoffed. Stubbing the cigarette out on the armrest, the fabric sizzling, you tossed the papers to the floor. A good number of people flinched.

“What makes you think I don’t look into them?” You hissed, voice dripping with venom. “What makes you think I didn’t know? You’re stupid if you think I wouldn’t take the chance to take in your adversaries. The fact that a couple of scrawny, chicken-legged boys could blow up one of your shipments is already sad enough.” You took a shaky drag of your cigarette, your leg bouncing up and down agitatedly. “And now you’re scrabbling at my feet for me to hand them over? Pathetic.” The last word was like a bullet. 

With the storm brewing in her expression you expected her to stand up and lunge at you. But then she seemed to catch something in her vision, and froze. The entire room fell silent.

Clapping.

“Bravo.” The voice was smooth, steady. Cold. A shiver ran down your spine. “That was quite the speech.”

You turned to look at the desk. The high-backed chair turned slowly.

The first thing that met your gaze was the sea-blue you’d grown so accustomed to staring at in your past. And then the chair turned fully.

You stared straight into Silco’s mismatched eyes, horrified.

Furious.

[doctortv]

for the first time since i've met you, i see you as genuinely inhuman, in every sense of the word

[id: dialtown fanart of phonegingi sitting and looking at the narrator sock on its right foot. they are drawn with bright colors and sketchy lines. the background is a red tinted image of vultures descending, the heads of two obscured by gingi's legs and the head of the other obscured by gingi's head. end id]

[impostorsshow]

I'm actually so obsessed with him it's not even funny if i'm not listening to a TikTok or music directly related to him I can't focus free me free me

This is @/cherubpuppet's OC for a object show [au? pitch? wip show? How do I categorize this] and I've been destroyed by the fact that ruler art is infinitely superior [and 10x longer] and i don't have a good enough grasp on lip gloss's personality to make fanfiction so I am frozen in "want make fanart but fanart takes effort :["

[foolish-took]

Hi to the dimension 20 tumblr people PLEASE is there anyone out there who has seen and thoroughly enjoy a court of fey and flowers I would like to be directed to whatever fan content exists out there. And also to talk about it if anyone would be willing

[easterlystars]

[dailykugisaki]

Day fourty-one | id in alt

Kugisaki looks so wack Everytime she's not paying attention, she's thinking of shopping, meaning a friend or a third more sinister and bad thing.

[hinderr]

Said this before will say it again Ragnar Vizsla is a SICK name

[icewindandboringhorror]

misc photo diary stuff.. also this unintentionally all matches sort of lol.. warm toned photos?

[rubythecrimsonwriter]

As someone who has lived in the south where the water trough is anywhere from mildly annoying to actively terrifying, who has lived on a fairly decently sized island where it is indeed absolutely terrifying to be cut off from the mainland suddenly with little to no help from the government for an extended period of time--

After No Man's Land and all the issues that arose then, I'd like to propose the new way of interring their dead would be mausoleums. Possibly especially with Gotham canonically existing on a system of caves. An island made of caves on the East Coast that gets battered by hurricanes almost every year is just asking to get sunk a la Atlantis but its fucking Gotham and i think the Gothamites would raise it from the sea floor again out of sheer spite.

But with mausoleums you:

Dont have your son crawling six feet through packed dirt after inexplicably coming back to life

Dont have long buried coffins and corpses getting flooded/shaken/otherwise disturbed and shunted into the water system/streets/underground reservoirs (or Lazarus Pits, since there's one of those down there too, as if Gotham didn't have enough things wrong with it)

Continues the Gotham aesthetic

Have more places for various characters to have a private mental breakdown in

Have more places for various characters to find ominous warnings etched or graffiti'd on the walls

Have more places for things much older than the mausoleums have been En Vogue™ for to inexplicably appear and send shivers down the spine

The Gothamites are very firm about not really being part of the US. The US kind of looks at the South like we're really fucking strange, and the South looks at New Orleans like they've taken the South and concentrated it, carbonated it, and shook it really hard.

I want the same vibes for Gotham. This is their home. They are weird and stubborn to a fault and everything is on fire and the government is corrupt and the people aren't always good but nobody else understands. No one else ever could. Who else has seen the lights for rescue appear on the horizon only to see the light of death on the waters, ensuring no help would ever come? They are resourceful and violent and resentful but the gods won't help you if you cross one of their own.

[teka-chat]

Redraw from a ye olde 2017 wip