#ii drama mask
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₊˚ପ⊹ Chose a pile: PACs that I never ended ༻¨*:·.
In this Pick A Pile, I bring different piles of various tarot readings that I never ended/ write more than one pile each.
It's random piles that focus on various areas, none of them are +18. I hope all of you enjoy it!
Not all those who wander are lost.
PILE 1: What will your future spouse find beautiful about you?
They like how intensely you are you. They are at aw that no matter how many styles and physical changes you go trough, there’s something unchangeable.
They ardently enjoy the look on your eyes, they think that they are always recognisable. Firmly, on the quote “the eyes are the window of the soul”.
They do also enjoy the touch of your hands, they like how soft they feel and how they can engulf your hands with theis. They like how, sometimes naughtily , you trace their skin with the tip of your fingers.
There’s also a freckle, for some, close to the eye or upper lip, that they enjoy kissing.
With the moon card, they enjoy the part of you no one can see, yes, emotionally and physically-wise. Emphasis on the chest zone. Your future spouse is always eager to see you naked. They deeply enjoy seeing you in the “purest” way, naked, with no make-up, no clothes nor masks that can hide who you are.
They are fond of your curves, the softness and the reaction of your skin, they could enjoy hugging you so hard that they leave some redness on you. You are just too cute not to annoy a little bit.
They also see behaviours on you that they find beautiful. You are strong and mature. They will feel safe around you. They could see you and think you are the perfect person to build a family with.
“There is nothing more beautiful than seeing a person being themselves. Imagine going through your day being unapologetically you.” (Steve Maraboli)
(4oP - The Chariot - The Moon - 10oP - King of Shells - Queen of Gems)
PILE 2: Your life as a fairytale
i.-Your “new” self: skills, magic.
In a fairy-tale you would wake up in the middle of the night to be the underdog.
You would live in a big city, surrounded by commerce and loud noises, probably, a coastal city. Technology has no place in this city and you constantly hear stories of dangerous sea pirates and magicians. You like to watch through your window how people make business and speak to each other… to understand the real self of all of them… to not suffer the fate of being betrayed. Your skin holds a golden tone due to the sunlight and your cheeks are always sun-kissed. You dress with flowy clothes and leather boots.
You walk through people as a ghost, comfortable on seeing and on not being seen and when you found yourself involved in any drama you unroll the drama enough to end in the position that you want.
In dangerous situations you would be forced to use your cleverness and intelligence to survive the obstacles of your adventure. You would have to decide what you want and which option to choose even when both options are dangerous and unfavourable. There wouldn’t be time to smell the salty air of the shores nor to pay attention to the sand between your toes. Self-reflections and risking decisions are your thing. “For the skin of your teeth” would define your path and personality.
Surviving, barely, everything.
Your skills would involve: wittiness, the observation of details no one else sees, always being two steps in front of everyone and in general: finding the answers no one could have found. When someone asks for the answer to the riddle, you will be the only one answering.
“ What goes on four legs in the morning, on two legs at noon, and on three legs in the evening?”
When everything’s lost, you save them.
ii.-Your group of friends:
You have lost friends along the way in this fairy-tale. Some adventures ended and you had to return to your normal life and your daily projects. You do not keep contact with them on the regular, but sometimes at night you stay under the moon’s gaze and think of them. To the ones you can see and the one you are not able to reach.
At least two of them are fine and you can see them from time to time. Once you saw him in the market corner, convincing someone to make an unfavourable business, you smiled and thought about how they have not changed.
Then, you saw her, dancing heavily and breathless in the bar with a little child, hair messy and a smile that reached her eyes. Her skirt flowed graciously at the sound of the music and the cracks of the fire. She saw you looking and asked you to dance with her but you were tired, so you just sat down in a chair drinking a soft drink.
To the ones you have lost, you think about them at night, thinking about if you could have saved them if you had done things differently. You know you need to stop this self-pitying, but you are not ready yet to let them go.
iii.-Your lover/companion of life:
Your lover was a breath of fresh air, he was the beginning that you needed to leave all the pain and sadness behind. He is happiness and a reason to drink… to cheer for the Gods that have put both of you together and have made your cups full of love.
He is a warrior, always ready to defend you and to take care of you. Reckless and unafraid, your lover stole your heart without doubts. In the same way he charges for battle, he charged for you… You love the warmness of waking up in his arms and the coldness that leave your body when he hugs you at night. He cleans your cheeks with affections when you get dirty and is not afraid to argue with you if it is for your well-being.
You have found stability and the person you do not need to convince to stay, he has chosen you.
2 of swords //The moon + 5 of Cups// Ace of cups + knight of wands.
PILE 3: Shufflemancy:romantic messages
۵♡۵ Let’s forget about the problems, worries and economical issues. I just want to party and enjoy this beautiful night with you. Let’s forget about anything else that’s just not us. (Time of our lives- Pitbull).
۵♡۵ I want to have a date with you at the beach, next to the water, let’s have the perfect summer date. (Water-Brad Paisley)
۵♡۵ I just want you to be mine, but I know we are not together. That’s why I hate when you keep secrets from me. I worry about every guy you set your eyes on. (Secrets-The weekend).
۵♡۵ I am going to try my best to earn your trust as it seems that you have trust issues, but I cannot do it if you give up and start going after every guy you want because you get bored of the routine. I am also getting tired. (Emergency -Paramore).
۵♡۵ If maybe…I stoped chasing you, would you come to me? Would you lay next to me? Just like butterflies… (Chasing cars - Snow Patrol).
۵♡۵ I don’t want to be friends, I want the all or nothing. I don’t know how to make it more obvious to you, please understand. ۵♡۵ I wonder why you let me get to close to you if you were just going to push me back. I do wonder too if all your words and what you said was a lie. (Fingers crossed - Lauren Spencer Smith).
In general there is someone kind of disappointed about the fact that you decided to break up with them or just stop talking to them; this person is definitly still into you but it’s unable to handle all of your trust issues. This person still thinks about you daily.
#Tarot#tarot reading#future spouse#pac#pick a pile#pick a card#pac tarot#free psychic reading#tarotblr#tarot pac#love reading#pearl
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Part 1 - Play Nice
pairing: bodyguard!Yoongi x CEO!fem reader - brother/mob boss!Jin, brother/mob boss!Jungkook genre: mafia, e2l, sloooooow burn, age gap summary: As you and your brothers finalize the plans for the next chapter in the family business, you end up discovering things that you didn't expect. And upon meeting the man assigned to guard your life, you think the universe must really have it out for you. And you don't like it. Not one bit. warnings: angst, arranged marriage, drug addiction/rehab, family drama, parental loss, age gap, alcohol, smoking, mentions of speed racing, crime, drugs and weapons trading, night terrors, ptsd, guns, reader has a knife (and an attitude), character death minors pls dni wc: 19k buckle up, folks!!!
teaser l prologue l part i. play nice I interlude: strangers l part ii. I
You make a mocking face at your phone, specifically the social media app that shoves pictures in your face of your university friends opening up their architecture firm that you were meant to be a part of. Good for them, you think sourly to yourself. You would be happier if you were there with them, before your dreams and plans to settle down in one place were foiled.
It’s been almost a year since they were, right before you finished up your second to last semester of grad school when your brother called to tell you that your father had died.
Your father, who never looked you in the eye. Your father, who you spent too much of your childhood vying for his attention, especially as a teenager, around the time he started to pay more attention to Jungkook. Like when you purposely flunked classes, hoping he’d care enough to yell at you to do better, only for Jin to show up to teacher meetings in sunglasses and a mask but the disappointment wasn’t hidden underneath. Or when you went around shoplifting with your friends and got caught by mall security, wishing he’d be the one to show up and get you out of trouble. But yet again, Jin came in another disguise, and the disappointment was the same. He knew what you were doing, but didn’t have the heart to tell you it wasn’t worth it, because your father would never care. He barely acknowledged your existence.
So, at the news of his passing, you felt nothing. That was until you realized that it meant everything would fall on your brothers’ shoulders. And suddenly, you became a part of the very thing Jin worked so hard to keep you away from. Your duty and prospects became that of carrying out your father’s legacy. Before you knew it, you were set to be engaged to the son of a casino owner, so that you would take over the casino in the city your brothers ran, streets filled with crime and money fueled by Crow blood.
Kim blood. Dirty blood. Your blood.
Over the summer, you finished up your last semester, rushed through six classes in order to complete all of your credits. You honestly don’t know how you pulled it off. Three weeks before you were scheduled to graduate, Jin called, bearing the bad news that Jungkook had relapsed and was back in rehab, so you needed to come home right away. You didn’t get to walk the stage. And you certainly couldn’t give the school an address to send your diploma to. So everything was lost in the wind.
Jungkook was still in rehab by the time you got a ring shoved on your finger. None of your friends know about the engagement. Granted, none of them can even be invited to the wedding. You can’t even tell them where you’re living now.
You probably will never speak to them again.
Locking your phone and dropping it in your lap, you sigh dramatically as you look out the window at the cloudy weather, the rain that pours on the windshield, the thunder that rumbles from above. It’s been cloudy a lot lately. Or maybe the gloom that’s been sitting in your chest ever since you got married has made everything around you seem dull and gray. Even your house is decorated without color, thanks to your minimalist husband who has no taste for style. He thinks as long as things are expensive, they’re worth having even if it’s all fucking ugly. Your husband didn’t care for your opinion when he picked out the house and furniture, despite the fact that you just graduated with a minor in architecture.
You’re just glad he picked a spot in the woods, right outside of the city.
You’ve always had a talent for decorating, handing it off to the fact that you’ve moved so many times throughout your life, having to buy new furniture since you couldn’t drag it everywhere you went. You became the queen of thrifting. As long as you had your keyboard, favorite posters and plushies, you were good. You took care to make your place your home, a reflection of you and your interests in order to keep you grounded, help you feel like you belonged somewhere, even though you never stayed in one place for too long. Jin preferred it that way, felt it was safer. But it meant you couldn’t have normal friendships or relationships because they wouldn’t keep in touch if you dropped out halfway through the year to transfer to a university in an entirely different place, sometimes a country. It was very destabilizing, and it made things equally lonely, and your brother tried to make up for it by wiring you substantial amounts of money for you to use freely, but responsibly.
You never touched that money. Because how could you as a college student, who worked part-time, low wage jobs, explain the luxuries that your brother’s money could afford? The money that could pay for a few hundred thousand parking lots of the most expensive and rare cars, at least five cities worth of houses, maybe even feed a small country, much less your tuition and rent. No, you would get by on your own. Sometimes you found yourself at a poker table, often dabbling in an underground gambling ring because that’s where you could make the most of your money. (You couldn’t bring yourself to go to a casino. It would make you think of Jungkook and how much he was struggling). Who would expect a young girl who looked like she got lost on her way to a club to be any good at placing bets? It’s not your fault you grew up around brothers and friends who taught you how to play cards, molding you to have phenomenal skills in seeing through people and their tells, that they gave themselves away through their eyes. You learned how to pull off the perfect poker face, faking being naive and innocent, got them to fall in your trap and leaving them in shock when you walked away with fat wads of cash in your pocket. You guess that made you a hypocrite.
But there were times when you ran out of money and had to choose between paying a light bill or buying groceries, and you found yourself considering withdrawing from those offshore bank accounts, but you knew once you started, you wouldn’t stop. So, you would end up eating the best meals of your life in a dark and cold apartment, sitting alone with the guilt of knowing your brothers would be hurt to think you were ashamed of them.
That guilt still lingers, especially now that you’re riding in a tinted SUV, lavish seats and custom interiors, materials and technology not found in cars of the average citizen. You're well out of the bounds of average by now. You don’t feel like you belong even though your brothers are in the exact same boat.
“Is everything alright?” Mr. Han asks from the driver’s seat.
“Yeah, just..." you sigh, each breath you take doing the opposite of calming the anxiety racing in your veins. "I was supposed to be managing this architecture firm with my uni friends by now, working on biophilic design that connects spaces with nature and all that.”
You hope you're hiding your bitterness better than you think, remembering how excited you’d been to finally do something you were passionate about and how quickly the ball was dropped on that.
"That sounds interesting. Maybe you can incorporate some of that at the casino when you’re doing the renovations."
"Mm. But I don't know if my future father-in-law would be down to have a bunch of plants all over the place." Mr. Han laughs. "Well, if you're the one in charge once you’re married, I don't see why not."
You smile, grateful for his support, but you know as a female CEO among a board of directors and investors that are majority men, you will only get so much leeway. But you'll have to make do with what you have. You’re an expert at this point.
"You've done a good thing by coming back to your brothers now that things are complicated." "I just... I don’t know if I can do it. Y’know. The other part."
That part being the real reason you're getting involved at the Stay Gold casino: to take care of business that belongs to your family. Not just supervising the renovations, or overseeing the slot games, blackjack and roulette tables, but keeping a tight chokehold on the money that flows in and out of all that gambling. Money that serves as a front to what you'll be taking care of behind the scenes. Essentially, you'll be a loan shark. And that's what's been keeping you up at night, knowing what comes with ensuring certain associates make their payments in timely fashions, especially if they're buying protection. At least you’ll be putting your business degree to use. "You are just as smart and tough as your brothers, if not more. You'll be able to handle it, I have no doubts, Miss Jeon."
But I’m not like them, is what you want to say, but shouldn’t because it would be a lie.
"Thanks, Mr. Han. And you know you can call me Angel.”
"Of course. I'm always here if you need anything."
And you know he means it but it's a small comfort. Mr. Han has been your brothers’ driver for as long as you can remember, always so kind and considerate, making you wonder how a man like him ended up in a job like this. When you found out you were going to have to be chauffeured around, you weren’t exactly ecstatic because you love to drive, love the freedom that comes with it, but you figured with Mr. Han, it wouldn’t be so bad.
The SUV drives through an underground tunnel, leading into a narrow road surrounded by a forest that takes you to the gated driveway of your brothers’ extravagant mansion. Mr. Han cracks open the window to speak with the armed guard who then waves to someone you can’t see and the iron-gates buzz open. The tires slowly rumble over the cobblestone, past the grand and meticulously landscaped lawn with many guards littering the property, up to the roundabout in front of the house where there's a tall, sharp-jawed, and suited guard waiting for you. Yeong, the (devastatingly handsome) man who’s been assigned to escort you whenever you show up to meet with your brothers. He opens the door and greets you politely as another guard appears from the back of the car. This one doesn’t say anything as you get out, and you’re glad because you’ve never seen him before and you don’t like interacting with any of your brothers’ men whom you haven’t met. You remind yourself and your constricting throat that these men work for your family, and you’re safer with them around than not. But still. You hate being followed and made to feel like you can’t go anywhere by yourself.
Before you can make it to the porch, your brother enthusiastically swings open one of the large double doors, quickly beckoning you in and shutting the door. As you step in and shuck off your shoes, you notice the indiscreet way he gives your outfit a onceover, like he’s never seen you in sweats before.
“Well, you didn’t have to get all dressed up just for us.” You glare at him, lifting your middle finger.
“Shut up, Jin. Just because you sleep in your suits.”
“That’s Jinnie to you,” he says through puckered lips, squishing your cheeks. “C’mere.”
He pulls you into a strong embrace that you weakly pretend to fight off.
“Missed ya, kiddo.” Taking your coat, he kisses the top of your head, and you mumble similar sentiments into his chest with a small smile that quickly turns into a scowl when he roughly rubs his knuckles into your hair.
You push him away and scurry towards the dining room, stomach growling at the wonderful smells emanating from the kitchen. If there’s one thing you’ve missed now that you’ve moved out (again), it’s Jin’s cooking. Your brothers too of course, but that’s a given.
Jungkook is there sitting in his spot, to the left of the head of the table, already eating. It looks like today is one of his good days, and you find yourself smiling. He's eating his food and not just picking at it, the bags under his eyes aren't as prominent, and his hands are steadier than usual.
"Hey, loser. You couldn’t wait for me?" you say to Jungkook as you sit across from him.
“You’re late,” he mumbles, mouth full of food, glancing at you as he chews. “Is that why you look like shit?”
“Funny, ‘cuz I dressed up like you today.” You stick your tongue out at his glare, becoming distracted when you notice something at the corner of his bottom lip.
“What is- oh that’s a stud. I thought it was a big ass zit.”
“Piss off.” He waves your hand away when you tease poking at the metal ball.
You live for bullying your brother, even though he’s two years older than you. He was pretty mean to you as a kid, so this is just payback. Sure you were annoying, but what are little sisters for? At the end of the day, you know he’s your ride or die, just like you are for him.
“It’s cute. What’s next, a tongue piercing?”
“I draw the line at tongue piercings,” Jin intervenes, calling out from the kitchen. Him and his supersonic hearing. You snicker and Jungkook just rolls his eyes.
“Any new tats?”
He shows you the additions to his full sleeve and you marvel over the designs that he created, asking the inspiration or story behind each one, always fascinated by his talent. You have a knack for drawing yourself - you wouldn’t have the passion for architecture without it - but it’s never been on the same level as Jungkook’s. Dude can paint museum-worthy landscapes and portraits within an hour. He’s annoying like that.
When you’re done examining his arm, you sit back in your chair, snatching a morsel of his food on the way and he grabs your wrist in an attempt to stop you but instead stares at your sleeve.
“Wait, this is my jersey,” he says, ignoring the way you fight to wrestle out of his grip. “I’ve been looking for this!”
“So what? It looks better on me.” You rip your arm away and you’re already halfway out of your chair just as your brother lunges over the table to grab at the jacket. You spring up and out of the dining room, a shrill laugh escaping when you look back to see Jungkook dashing after you.
You may have grown up with him, done taekwondo and thrown loads of rounds in boxing gloves with him, even gotten him into a headlock once or twice, but now he’s built like a bus, and he could bulldoze you down in two seconds flat with no regrets. And it makes you want to scream your head off.
Sprinting into the living room, you clamber over the back of the couch, knowing Jin would kill you if he saw you with both feet on the cushions, but you’re much more worried about Jungkook closing in on you.
“Go away!” you shriek when he leaps over the couch with ease, like he’s a damn gold medalist in Living Room Olympics.
“Give me my jacket!”
“I’ve had this for like three months, how are you just now missing it?” You point out as you attempt to use the coffee table as a barricade.
“I told you to stop stealing my clothes.”
“It’s only because you have such a cool style.”
He pauses to look at you like he won’t fall for your bullshit compliment. You take this lapse as an opportunity to make a run for it into the kitchen where Jin is filling a carafe of water with fresh-cut berries, rushing to hide behind him at the counter like you used to do as a kid. Jin acts unbothered, barely noticing the way you’re gripping the back of his sweater like a lifeline, only looking over his shoulder when you make a noise as Jungkook jogs towards you.
“Cheater.”
"Yah, come on, you two," Jin admonishes as Jungkook tries to grab you, making you hurry to Jin’s right, grabbing his bicep as if his big guns will protect you.
"He started it."
"Did not!" Jungkook exclaims, and you childishly stick your tongue out at him.
“Give your brother his jacket,” Jin says in a parental tone. “But I like it.” Turning around, your oldest brother levels you with a look that mirrors the one Jungkook gave you a few minutes ago and you know not to argue anymore, begrudgingly shrugging off the jersey and throwing it at your brother who catches it with a victorious smile.
“Come on, kids, let’s go eat,” Jin says as he picks up the carafe and three glasses.
Both hands on your back, Jungkook pushes you and you stumble forward.
“Ow, don’t push me. Jinnie!”
“Big baby," Jungkook mumbles through his teeth.
“Big bitch," you fire back.
Jin clicks his tongue and mutters something under his breath, something about how is it that he has two siblings in their mid-20s who still act like children. And it is pretty interesting, considering you and Jungkook are about to assume control of the fucking mafia. But it’s been years since you’ve played around with your brother, and now that he’s about to take over for Jin, who knows if you’ll ever be able to do this again. The thought creates a bit of a hole in your heart, like digging a grave for something that isn’t gone yet.
Once Jin turns his back, leading the way into the dining room, you and Jungkook exchange various gestures that all silently mean “fuck you.” Jin shoots a knowing glare over his shoulder that makes you both hide your offensive hands behind your backs, forcing yourselves not to laugh.
“Are you two ever going to grow up?”
“No,” you both answer simultaneously. Jin huffs and looks between you two with a shake of his head.
“Sit down and eat before the food that I put my blood, sweat, and tears into gets cold.”
You and Jungkook share an eyeroll at Jin’s drama, digging in so he won’t try some dramatic monologue about cooking.
"So, how are you doing?" Jin asks you a few minutes into the meal. "Fine," you shrug, too focused on the food to give a more complex answer.
"You’re all settled in at the house?"
“Mhmm,” you hum indifferently, feeling your appetite slowly start to slip away. You were hoping you could have a nice, normal night with your brothers, pretending that you aren’t dreading going back to the house, to a fiancé you know next to nothing about and all of the work and unpacked boxes you have waiting in your wing of that big ass, bland ass house.
“How are you two getting along?” Internally sighing, your shoulders deflate.
“He’s not horrible, I guess. But he’s just… I don’t know. Boring. And lame. He thinks his tattoos make him look cool.” You glance at Jungkook and gesture to his sleeve.
“Which is something the two of you have in common.” Jungkook’s lip curls and he points his chopsticks at you and flinches. You blow him a kiss in return that you change to a middle finger.
“He also acts like he’s never been to the grocery store. And I very seriously doubt he can tie his own shoes. His butler does pretty much everything for him.” Just the word ‘butler’ makes you want to throw up, not to mention the fact that you’re about to marry a guy who needs one.
“But things are going okay?” Jin asks just as you shove more food in your mouth. Can’t a girl just eat?
“What is this, twenty questions?”
“I’m just checking in.”
“Okay, but can we not do this right now? Please.” You ignore the way your brothers share a look.
“If things aren’t going well, you need to tell us.”
“Things are going as well as they can for an arranged marriage. We might live on opposite ends of the house, but we’re cordial. You’re not really expecting me to actually like this whole situation, right?” Jin regards you carefully.
“No, but you do need to make sure it all works out.”
Suddenly, you've completely lost your appetite. You scowl and drop your silverware, sitting back in your chair with your arms crossed, refusing to look at them both staring at you.
“God, Jin. I agreed to marry him, didn’t I? Picked up my entire fucking life to come back here and help out even though you promised-” You point harshly at Jin who looks at you with a small frown as his fingers rub on the edge of a napkin. You know it’s not his fault but damn, it hurts that he couldn’t do anything to stop it.
“That I would never have to do that. What more do you want? An heir or something?”
They both wince. “No, of course not.”
“Then lay off my ass about it. I’m fine, okay? Don’t be a helicopter.” “Honey, I just want to make sure he’s treating you right.”
“What does it matter? I’m stuck with him either way. Besides, I can take care of myself.”
“Of course you can. I’m only-” But you don’t want to hear anymore. With a grimace, you pick up your plate of unfinished food, scoot back your chair and stand up to head into the kitchen.
Jin leans forward with a heavy sigh, steepling his fingers, resting his forehead against them and closing his eyes.
"Way to go, hyung," you hear Jungkook mumble as you storm out of the dining room.
Stewing, you put away your leftovers and start to clean up the counters, knowing you’re the one being dramatic now but you can’t help it. This is supposed to be your safeplace, here with your brothers, especially since time with all three of you together is running out. Right now, you want to forget about all your responsibilities, all the things you have to step up to that you never imagined doing, and you wish your brothers would just go along with it. But they’re more realistic than you, it seems.
You hear dishes clink in the dining room, and soon you’re joined by your brothers, all silently working to clean up the kitchen. You pay no mind to their attempts at getting you to lighten up by nudging your shoulders, flicking water in your direction, and taking over the dish scrubbing, and it isn’t until Jin shoves a glass of sparkling cider in your hands just as you try to make an escape to the living room do you lose your resolve.
“I’m sorry, kiddo. I didn’t mean to upset you,” Jin says as he and Jungkook corral you towards the couch.
You huff, fingers rolling on the stem of the glass, swirling the red content inside, and sit on the plush cushion, your brothers on either side of you.
“I’m not. Just- I can’t remember the last time all three of us have been in one place and I didn’t want to talk about any outside stuff. I just wanted to pretend that things are how they used to be. Because what if-” A lump forms in your throat.
“What if this is actually the last time?” Jin reaches forward and grabs your hand, a serious line knitted through his eyebrows.
“It won’t be. I promise.” “You’ve always told us to never make promises.”
“Well, I made the rules so I can change them. I am going to come back,” he says, squeezing your hand. “I don’t know when and I don’t know how, but-”
“You know something’s starting right now? Okay, Ariel,” Jungkook cuts in, grinning when you snort and Jin shoots him a scowl, leaning over to roughly ruffle his hair. You laugh at Jungkook’s dirty look when he thinks Jin just messed up his hair and Jin tries to fix it but ends up making it worse and a small hand-slapping fight ensues. This is what you’ll miss. This dynamic, where no matter how hard you all try, you can never be serious.
“Do you think we can go on a trip?” you ask out of the blue, casted by a nostalgic wave longing for memories that make you feel normal.
“Y'know, to the cabin? Just for a couple of days.” Jin smiles, but it’s small. Jungkook doesn’t look at either of you.
Ever since you can remember, any spare time Jin had, he whisked you and Jungkook away to a cabin somewhere in the mountains, never going to the same spot twice. You waited for the days that Jin would show up at the boarding school, make up some excuse to get you both out and drive up to a cabin where he would let you both run wild. In the woods was where you learned how to ride your bike and climb a tree, legs swinging from a branch with Jin standing underneath you, arms held out like you’d fall any second. You were too busy yelling at Jungkook to stop throwing sticks and leaves at you from a few branches above. A cool summer sunset by a river was where you caught your first fish that Jungkook ended up chasing you around with for a good five minutes. You screamed at the top of your lungs, Jungkook cackled maniacally, and Jin did his best not to laugh, only grabbing the fish out of his brother’s hands once you began to run around him like a maypole. Later, you got your revenge by shoving the chopped fish head in his face after Jin started cooking. Jungkook cried all throughout dinner and, in your stubbornness, you refused to apologize so Jin made you hold hands for the remainder of the night until one of you caved.
As you got older and Jin got busier, he would allow you to make plans with your friends to go to a cabin in a discreet location, whether that was in the woods or by the beach. You loved your friends, but you always found yourself missing Jin, wishing he was there to cook and make lame dad jokes, play guitar by a fire he started and act out ridiculous stories until you and Jungkook were rolling on the ground with stomachs that ached from laughing so much.
It wasn’t until you were much older that you realized those trips to the cabin were the only times the three of you spent together where Jin wasn’t constantly looking over his shoulder. Sometimes though, he wouldn’t speak for a while, a blank yet morose energy surrounding him that he could only shake himself out of if you and Jungkook poked and prodded him enough. In the woods, he never wore a mask or sunglasses or a variety of hats like he did when he came to pick you up from school. Later down the line, Jungkook had to do that too and that’s when everything started to change. You could no longer see each other unless the location and meeting times were planned in advance, and there were always some men in suits, sunglasses, and dark coats with wires hanging out of their ears accompanying you.
A year after Jungkook graduated from secondary school was when things fell apart. Jin made you promise to never speak about either of them to anyone, and helped you come up with a pseudonym. By the time he shipped you off to study abroad once you started university, you never used your real name and neither did they. From then on, you only spoke to your brothers on the phone, one that you had to pick up at a convenience store and dispose of once you were done. The calls were typically short - Jin asking if you were doing well in school, if you ate enough, had enough money. You rarely spoke with Jungkook, as he spent a lot of time going in and out of rehab, and when he wasn’t doing that, he was learning the family business with Jin. You missed him, your partner in crime, and you wished you could take him with you, keep him away from your father so maybe he could have a chance at healing, but that wasn’t in the cards. Jin explained time and time again, that this was how things had to be. He may have raised both of you, been the reason you were alive and thriving, but he had no control over the circumstances at home. You couldn’t go back, he wouldn’t let you, and for a while, you thought you’d never see your brothers again.
(There was a time when you did go back, but they never knew about it. When you were feeling homesick, you took a ferry to Jeju to visit the beach where you spent a few summers with your brother and your friends. You spent a few days reminiscing about old times, old friends. It was nice to get away, to feel something familiar for a moment, hang on to memories that you would give anything to relive. But you don’t like to think about that trip anymore. And sometimes you wish you’d never gone back.)
Now you just want to go to the cabin to cling onto the past, of how things used to be, because you know nothing will ever again be the same.
"We can't, Angel. I'm sorry. I have to leave in a few days." And just like that, the wave crashes onto the shores of despair.
“What? You said you had until next month.” Your brothers share another look, another tell that they’ve been keeping you out of the loop of something.
“I do, but I think it’s best to leave earlier so it won’t be glaringly obvious that I got tipped on my arrest warrant.”
“Yeah, probably,” you agree dejectedly. “It was just hard not being home all this time, so I wanted us to hang out. I guess I like you guys or something. Weird, right?” “Totally. ‘Cause we hate you,” Jungkook teases. You scoff and grab a pillow to whack him with over Jin’s head. Jin laughs and lets you get in a few hits before tugging the throw out of your hand, whacking the side of your head, and tossing it on the other end of the couch out of reach.
Silence sits between you for a few moments until Jungkook stands, tugs you up on your feet, and shoves his phone into your hands.
He tries to teach you dance moves from Tik Tok trends, laughing a little too hard when you mess up, and Jin ultimately has to break up a small wrestling match. After you finish filming one video that will forever sit in drafts, Jin gets out the game console and wipes the floor with you and Jungkook on Super Mario. He brags loudly, enticing you both to tackle him, but despite your conjoined efforts, he somehow gets you and Jungkook into simultaneous headlocks, not letting go until you profess that he’s the unmatched master of Mario.
Jungkook then puts on his favorite movie, to which you and Jin stifle groans as you’re made to watch Iron Man for what has to be the millionth time. Jungkook just claps giddily when the Avengers theme song blares through the speakers and neither of you can deny this small happiness. It’s good to see him smile. But throughout the movie, you shoot him small glances out of your periphery when you notice him biting his nails and you know he’s zoned out, and that it’s not a good place where his mind wandered off to. You gently grab his hand and push it down, and he goes to cross his arms like he’s ashamed, but you keep hold of his hand, folding them together and resting them between you. Giving your hand a squeeze, he offers you a tiny smile and goes back to fully engage with the movie.
When the credits roll, you tease Jin for immediately yawning and stretching as he announces he’s turning in. You ask Jungkook if he’s up for a game of Overwatch that he starts up without a word and passes you a console.
After a few minutes of playing, Jin emerges from the kitchen with a couple bowls of snacks and bottles of your favorite drinks that he sets down in front of you on the carpet. You both thank him in unison without taking your attention off the game and he huffs an endeared laugh.
“Don’t stay up too late,” Jin murmurs from behind you both, ruffling your hair. “Crazy kids.”
“Night, grandpa,” you smirk, laughing when Jin pushes your head.
He goes upstairs and leaves you to play the game. But every now and then, you glance over to Jungkook, wanting to check in on him. It’s been a minute since you've had a one-on-one.
“You look like you’re doing good.”
“I’m trying,” he mumbles a bit stiffly, eyes unmoving from the screen, and you take in his tense expression.
“That’s all that matters, bro.” You lightly punch his bicep, and he playfully tips sideways. “You know you can talk to me anytime.”
“Yeah.” It doesn’t seem like he wants to, at least not about certain things, but you need him to know that of all the things that are changing, the fact that you’re his kid sister who he can lean on will stay the same.
“I wish I had been home more often,” you say tentatively. “I know Jin couldn’t always be around.”
He shrugs, nose scrunching. “S’alright, I wasn’t alone. D was there.”
You’ve heard about D. How he had Jungkook’s back in a jail fight a few years ago when Jungkook had a habit of lashing out and starting fights to prove he was tough. Which he was but that didn’t matter if he was outnumbered. When he was booked for a DUI (riding on his motorcycle half-drunk like a dummy) and forced to go through withdrawal, it increased his violent tendencies. After accusing a burly man twice his size for looking at him the wrong way, he found himself getting beat up on by three grown felons in the middle of the yard. He would’ve ended up with a cracked skull if it wasn’t for D. And from then on, he became your brother’s guardian angel of sorts and eventually began working for them.
“You’ll meet him tomorrow at dinner.” You hum, mildly disinterested.
Joy. Spending an evening with your brothers’ capos and guards is just how you wanted to enjoy your last weekend with the both of them. Not.
“And, um, we workout at the boxing club every Friday. Maybe you could join us.”
You look over at him incredulously. There was a time when your brother acted like you tagging along with his friends was a punishment worse than hell.
“You mean you want me to box with you?” He shrugs.
“Gotta make sure you can still fight.”
You roll your eyes. Of course you can still fight. You’ve just been able to get out of precarious situations before you had the need to throw hands. For the most part. That’s the difference between you and your brother - he goes looking for trouble while you do your best to avoid it. But neither of you will be backed into a corner and made to stay there. You won’t go down easy.
“So you down?”
“I won’t be getting in the way of boy time with D?” Smiling, he shakes his head.
“Nah. But you could stand to learn a thing or two from him; he’s a damn good fighter.”
“Better than you?”
“No one’s better than me,” he smirks.
“I guess I’ll have to see for myself.” He chuckles and fakes a slow punch on the side of your head.
“You still have that knife I gave you a few years ago?” You think for a moment. Right before you went abroad for college, Jungkook gave you the blade he carried with him everywhere, one that was sheathed in your favorite color and had a strap attached to it. You cherish it, but you’ve never had to use it. But you figure that’s about to change.
“Oh, yeah, it’s somewhere. I didn’t have a lot of time to really organize when I was packing. Why?”
“You should keep it on you from now on. Just in case.”
“You mean you’re not gonna be around to protect me, big brother?” you tease. He shoots you a little smile but when his eyes focus back on the screen, you notice him squint and nibble on his bottom lip for a second. You can’t help the feeling that he’s keeping something to himself.
“Not always.”
You frown. There was a small comfort in thinking that you could rely on him when for years you’ve been apart, but now as new circumstances arise, you don’t know if you’ll be able to see each other as much as you want to. Definitely not enough to make up for lost time.
Just as you’re about to tell him not to worry because you’re a big girl, more of an assurance to yourself, he clears his throat to change the subject again.
“D is really cool, I think you’ll like him.” You offer a mostly sincere smile, thinking to yourself that it sounds as if your brother is trying to sell you on D’s character. You don’t think you’ll care much for it, since he’s Jungkook’s security and all and you won’t be interacting with him much. But you’ll try if it means something to your brother.
“If he’s anything like you, then I doubt it.” His head snaps in your direction and in a fraction of a second, his arm hooks around your neck and pulls you into him, forcing your face into his shoulder so you can’t see a thing.
You fight your way out of his headlock, exclaiming when you notice that he’s beating your ass on the game, and lean on your elbow to press your foot on his cheek in an attempt to distract him, but he only laughs. You complain and cuss him out as he starts winning and reach over to wrestle the controller out of his hands. As you tussle loudly, Jin’s upstairs bedroom door opens and he calls down the hall,
“Keep it down! I need my beauty sleep!”
“You sure do!” Jungkook shouts back, sending you both in a fit of giggles when you hear his door slam shut loudly in response. You come to a truce, if only to save yourselves from facing a grumpy Jin in the morning.
You play and talk into the wee hours of the sunrise, until you slump next to each other and pass out, bellies full and faces covered with evidence of Jin’s snacks that you demolished.
The sky is a gray-blue hue when you’re stirred by your brother talking in his sleep and his incoherent mumbling makes you coo. But just as you go to cover him up with a blanket, he yells out nonsensically, leg kicking over a near empty bottle and sending the rest of the contents into the carpet. His arm shoots up into the air and panic begins to set in when he thrashes around on the floor. After getting the dishes and consoles out of the way, you run up the stairs to Jin’s room, barging in without knocking so you can quickly wake him up. Shaking his shoulder, you stutter out his name and he groans upon being disturbed.
“God, what-” “He’s having a night terror.” Without a second missed, Jin flings himself out of bed and races out of his room and down the stairs, with you following close behind.
Once back in the living room, Jin rushes to Jungkook’s side, who’s now flailing his limbs and shouting but still fast asleep. You watch as your oldest brother gets on his knees, not hesitating to grab Jungkook’s arms, pin them to his abdomen so he can pull him up and against his chest, all while calling his name to try and wake him. Jungkook’s eyes fly open with a gasp and his body reacts violently against Jin’s who almost ends up with an elbow in the chin. But Jin is an expert at handling Jungkook’s episodes, and he knows just what to do to keep them both safe while he gets him to calm down.
“Shh, bunny,” Jin hushes as Jungkook’s body fights him, rubbing his chest and shoulders to soothe. “It’s okay. I’m here, your sister’s here, you’re alright.”
There are visible tears streaming down your brother’s face and you have to sit on the step and cover your mouth with your hand to stop yourself from crying. It hurts so fucking bad to see him this way. It’s been years since the last time you’ve witnessed this, but you know he’s had many in between that Jin has been around for.
“Honey,” Jin calls to you softly above Jungkook’s sobs. “Go up to my bathroom and get out the lock box that’s under the sink. His medicine’s in there. Grab my wallet too, on the dresser.”
With a solemn nod, you stand and turn around as Jungkook slings an arm over Jin’s shoulder to hide in his neck, and your foot freezes mid-step when you hear him loudly wail again and Jin hushes him, rubs his back, and you hurry up the stairs again to grab what you hope will let Jungkook get some rest, some escape, some peace. You come back down with the lockbox and wallet to find Jin sitting on the couch, Jungkook curled up under a blanket with his head in Jin’s lap, chest heaving as he lays on his side. You approach them slowly, and Jin quietly instructs you to get out a small key from his wallet to open the lockbox, which carries Jungkook’s medicine that helps with his anxiety and parasomnia. You head into the kitchen to grab a glass of water while Jin encourages Jungkook to sit up and by the time you return, he seems to be breathing a little easier. After he drinks down a pill, he lays back down and you hope he’ll be able to sleep without another disruption.
You and Jin watch him for a few moments, and when it finally seems that he’s settled, you share a collective sigh of relief. But still, you’re worried. It scares you to see him that way.
“When was the last time this happened?” Jin looks so tired as he tries not to frown.
“More frequently now that you’re back home. Usually he does better when you’re around but. He feels bad that you’re doing this. He thinks if it weren’t for him and everything that happened, you could’ve stayed abroad and made a life for yourself.”
It’s true. You would never say it to their faces, but it is the truth.
“But… then I would never see you guys again.” Your throat tightens.
“And now that you’re leaving,” you sniff, tears threatening to prick your waterline. “I don’t want him to be alone.”
In the dim light, Jin beckons you over, soft affection in his eyes, and you squeeze in between him and the end of the couch. He wraps an arm around your shoulder and kisses the top of your head.
“You’re a good kid, honey. Even though I never wanted this for you, for either of you, I feel better knowing that you’re going to look out for each other.”
“Me too, Jinnie.”
He pats your arm and you sit quietly for a few minutes with your head on his shoulder, starting to feel sleepy again, safe and assured by Jin’s embrace. Jungkook is snoring now, the meds must’ve kicked in. He won’t talk about this in the morning, and neither of you will ask him to.
"And, about Jay,” your eyes blink open at his gentle tone. “I was thinking maybe what we can do is send him out on business trips so he's not around as much.”
You smile, arm curling around his thick bicep. “Thanks, Jinnie.”
“Just play nice, okay? It’ll all work out.”
You nod, too tired to let that potential burden add to your stress. Pretending to be completely fine with the engagement is the least of your worries right now.
The venue that Jin chose to host the small get-together of you and his men sits on the private top floor of one of the many skyscrapers he owns that you’ve had dreams of designing. Yeong walks at a comfortable distance behind you, quiet but gentlemanly. Stoic, which seems to be a uniform demeanor among your brothers’ men, one Jin expects you to replicate. You know that’s really your father’s expectation, but he’s gone. You would find it difficult to respect him anyway.
Striding into the dining hall, you pay no mind to all of his henchmen in the room, only giving focus to the one who stands out among them all, and not just because of his looming height and broad shoulders. Nor are you intimidated by the commandeering authority that follows him wherever he goes.
“Jin!” you call, making all heads turn to you but you act as if no one but your brother is here. He twists to face you with that shining smile of his that you know is reserved for a select few.
When you walk over to the table, air hazy with cigar smoke, liquor, and low conversation, you keep your expression polite despite the heat that spreads through you when all eyes fall on you. Yeong is close behind and reaches out for a chair once you approach the head of the table, greeting your brother who stands up from his proverbial throne to welcome you.
“Hey, sis. You look nice,” he says warmly, leaning in to welcome you into your seat and you smile, thanking Yeong who pushes in your chair once you sit. Just as you do, Jin leans in to whisper in your ear,
“You’ve got to get used to not using real names here, Angel.” Pulling away, you cringe and mouth your apology that he dismisses with a singular nod.
“Uh, where’s bro? He always gives me shit for being late.” Jin smiles as he sits back down.
“He’s on his way. He was at the gym with D.”
You nod and take a look around the room, noticing that you’re the only woman. Since your brother is here, you’re not worried, but it does feel suffocating. Is this how it’s always going to be from now on?
“How you doin’, Angel,” a deep voice says on your right, and your demeanor brightens when you glance over to see Namjoon pulling out the chair next to you.
“Oh, hey, Moon! Aren’t you sick of me by now?” You tease as he sits down, heart blipping at the beautiful smile on his face. You’ve been working with him these past couple of months, Namjoon preparing and training you for your role at the casino. Extremely intelligent and well-versed, he’s not your brother’s right-hand man for no reason. He knows all of the Crow’s business dealings like the back of his hand, and you feel confident having someone like him to guide you. That paired with his easy-going and wholesome persona, and the fact that you could chat with him about books and music for hours, you can’t deny your itty bitty crush on him. If only you weren’t engaged and he didn’t have a girlfriend. At least one of you is in a happy relationship.
“Of you? Never.” You ignore the mild warmth in your cheeks and playfully nudge him with your elbow. Damn him and his natural charisma.
“So, are you ready for next week?” Ugh. You don’t like the anchor of dread that sinks in your gut at the thought of finally becoming an official member of the family business.
“No,” you mumble because there’s no reason to lie to Namjoon.
“Oh, come on. Yes, you are.” Your palms start to sweat and you put the menu down so as to not ruin it.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready,” you say quietly, stealing a glance at Jin to make sure he’s not listening, glad he’s too busy accepting a top-off on his drink.
“You have a mentor as amazing and smart as me, you’re more than ready.” You roll your eyes at his cheeky grin.
“You’ve been hanging around Jin too much,” you mutter and he laughs.
“Well, just know that no matter what, I’ll be right there with you so you don’t have to worry.” That fact makes you breathe a little easier, but there’s still a layer of anxiety underneath your skin. Just then, a slender, vaguely familiar man walks in and heads straight for Jin who does a double take, immediately holding out a welcoming handshake that lingers a little too long once the man accepts.
“Who’s that?”
“Jung,” Namjoon answers with a single glance. You hold up your menu to hide your face as you whisper,
“Agent Jung?” He nods and turns his cheek to utter another reminder.
“Just be careful where you say that.”
Right. You never know who could be listening, so it’s probably not a good idea to mention the man’s real identity in all this. The CIA agent posing as an informant, but really he’s in cahoots with your brothers, covering up their dirty tracks with the occasional bribe of public officials.
“He goes by Hope, but close friends call him Hobi. You could probably get away with calling him that.”
“What’s he doing here?” You can’t help but watch closely the way your brother engages with Hope. His body language is rigid and fidgety, like he’s nervous, but his eyes are soft and wide. Small indications that there’s definitely something going on between the two of them and you’re excited to gossip about it with Jungkook. Because you know all too well how good Jin is at lying.
“Well, your brother wanted you both to be acquainted because the feds might take an interest in you once you take over the casino. He’ll come back to work undercover again if that happens.”
You still as realization takes over, muscles in your face hardening as your heart does a somersault.
“Is that the big secret?”
“What?”
“They’ve been keeping something from me.”
“Um, I’m- I don’t know,” he says in an uneven cadence, and, looking over at him, you notice a slight purse of his lips and realize he’s a terrible liar.
You just got here, but you already need a breather. The cigar smoke isn’t helping either, so you excuse yourself to the bathroom to get some fresh air.
As you rise, Yeong habitually appears next to you, but you place a soft hand on his shoulder, shaking your head to tell him it’s not necessary to escort you out. You internally scream when he looks over at your brother, as if needing his permission to let you go without accompaniment. Jin waves two fingers with a nod, silently dismissing Yeong’s duty and you try not to let that small interaction visibly bother you as you turn away from the table.
The bathroom is empty, thank god, but now you just feel isolated. Especially when you pull out your phone, eager to call up one of your friends and vent, but even if they might pick up despite being on another part of the hemisphere, there’s no way you could tell them anything.
You blink and a face you haven’t seen in a long time spawns in the forefront of your mind, heart sinking when you know he would be the one to call at a time like this but you haven’t spoken to him in years. Not since he had a falling out with your brother and left town shortly after without a word, cutting you deep because you thought you were more important to him than that. Even though it broke your heart, you understood why he left the way he did. You just sometimes wish he could’ve taken you with him.
With no one to call and nowhere else to go, you finish up in the bathroom with a deep breath and a practiced smile in the mirror, rolling your eyes at yourself and heading for the door with a huff at how fake you look.
When you emerge, your attention is buried in your phone, and you end up bumping into someone in the hallway.
“Oh, sorry,” you blurt, feeling two hands hover on your shoulders when you stumble back from being caught off guard. You don’t look up right away, gauging from the black fitted suit and long trench coat that this is one of your brother’s men.
“No, my fault,” he says and the gravelly timbre in his voice tickles a part of your brain. Normally you’re good at reading people, sometimes from just their aura, but there’s something about him that you can’t quite place. So you keep your head down.
“Excuse me, ma’am.”
Ma’am? Yeah, he definitely works for your brothers. Everyone who knows who they are, calls them ‘boss’ or ‘sir’ and as their sister, you deserve the same title and respect that comes with it. Another thing you’ll have to get used to. But it still fills you with an odd feeling that you don’t really like, and you excuse yourself, not waiting for him to step out of the way so you can head back to the dining room. As you pass him, you catch the earthy musk of his cologne mixed with underlying traces of mint and something woody and it makes you involuntarily look over your shoulder to see what kind of man wears such a scent, only to find that he’s not there. He disappeared just as quietly as he’d approached.
Back in the room, you smile upon seeing Jungkook sitting to the right of your brother, and you can’t help but go up behind him, playfully smack the back of his head with your clutch, and sit beside him like nothing happened.
“You took my seat,” you say, feeling his glare on you.
“Children,” Jin grits through a smile just as Jungkook opens his mouth to argue. “Let’s not do this in front of company.”
Jungkook huffs in annoyance and opts to pinch your leg under the table, and you hold back a squeal, not daring to retaliate when Jin glares at the two of you over the brim of his glass.
As you turn your attention to the menu, you notice in your periphery Jungkook looking over his left shoulder, lifting his hand to someone behind him. When you look back as well, your heart palpitates at the sight of a tall, lithe man with black hair that reaches his neck, slicked behind his ears, and eyes hidden by tinted shades striding towards the table.
“Hey, D,” Jin says to the man as he steps up next to him. “Good to see you.”
So, this is the infamous D.
“Boss,” he acknowledges, and turns to Jungkook to tap his bicep with the back of his hand. “Sorry I brought him late.”
“No worries, you’re just in time to order. Take a seat.” D nods and you watch him slightly lift his chin over Jungkook’s head, no doubt taking a glance at you that lasts a mere second before moving to walk behind your brother and consequently you. Time seems to freeze as he starts to pass you, and although you can’t see his eyes, you feel them lock on you, and your heart does gymnastics before stopping completely.
No way. No fucking way. The man who stands above you can’t be the same man who you shared a night with, years ago. A night that creeps back into your memory after you think you’ve forgotten. And a face that haunts your dreams and makes you miss something you never really had. At least, not long enough to count for something.
As he passes, you catch the smell of the cologne that matches exactly to the scent of the man you bumped into in the hallway. Nausea creeps up from the pit of your stomach and you quickly look away, but to your absolute horror, your brother stops him in his tracks right beside you.
“Oh, D. Meet our sister, Angel.” On your right, he swivels on his heel and your breath catches in your throat when he tips towards you in a respectful bow.
“Good to meet you.” He holds out his hand to offer a kind greeting, but it only makes you sick. You swallow thickly, wanting nothing more than to ignore his offering, but you know you can’t purposely be rude, especially not in front of Jin. You have to be polite to him, no matter how much it might kill you, because you can’t let your brothers catch onto something that shouldn’t be there. And after years of playing poker, you’ve learned how to perfect hiding how you really feel. For the most part.
So, swallowing your rage, you muster the courage to turn in your seat to face him, plastering on the fakest smile you can manage and reach out to roughly grab his hand, breath catching in your lungs at the lightning you feel at his warm, soft but slightly calloused touch because you remember them so, so well.
Sometimes in your loneliest, darkest moments, you close your eyes and conjure up the memories of the way those hands once ran over every inch of your body, just like those lips, those eyes, and other parts of him that graced you and lit up your skin, sunk into your bones in a way that made you ache. And that ache lasted, in your heart, in your gut, in between your legs ever since that morning when you woke up expecting to see him next to you, only to find cold and empty sheets. Like he was never there. And you found yourself wishing you could rip out the ghost of his touch from beneath your skin, but it was practically etched into your soul, like it was meant to be there forever.
“Pleasure,” you say through a sickly-sweet smile, wishing you could see beyond his shades for any sign that he knows who you are, or if he’s just forgotten you. It has been three years after all. You catch a light, but noticeable scar slashed vertically on his right eye, partially hidden by his dark glasses. Your heart pangs when you don’t remember that being there the last time you saw him, but he hurt you, intensely, and now he’s acting like he doesn’t know you so fuck him. The sight of that scar compels you to look down at his hand clasped in yours and, in a flash, turn it sideways so you can see the diagonal gash that starts at his knuckles and ends by his wrist, which you do remember. You let go of his hand as if it scalded you and turn your attention back to the table, your mind and pulse racing at this feeling of yet another situation being out of your control. You want to tell your brothers right now about everything, get him off your back and out of your life, but knowing what consequences he would face stops you. He’s lucky Jungkook considers him a friend. Because otherwise, you’d have him thrown into the bottom of the Han river.
Jin calls for rounds of wine and whiskey as the group of men engage in small talk, and you appreciate your brothers who include you as much as possible. You hear conversations of Jin asking Namjoon how it’s going with your onboarding for the casino, and you do your best to contribute, but it’s hard to do it through the static going on in your head that you can’t quell, brought on by the man sitting across the table a few seats down, next to Hope who’s chatting his ear off. He has not looked your way once despite your many stolen and partially involuntary glances, only adding fire to the flame.
Two hours pass for everyone to finish off their meal, drinks, and conversation about work and other things that you tune out. Eventually, Jin starts to hint that he’s ready for the dinner to come to an end, and you sit quietly as he thanks his friends for coming. They all bid their goodbyes and most offer handshakes and arm taps as they wish him well. When they turn to go, Jin’s eyes linger on their backs until the next friend comes up.
As you wait for your brother to end the night for you as well, all who’s left is D, Namjoon and Hope, and they move closer to the head of the table once the rest of the room files out. A pit settles in your gut when D sits directly across from you.
Those goddamn shades. You can’t even tell if he’s looking at you.
“Thank you all for staying after,” Jin says after he returns to his chair, knocking back the last of his drink. He gestures to the table. But you speak before he can continue, pretending to check your manicure when Jin looks over, so he doesn't catch the way you were just staring down the man across from you.
“Isn’t it rude to wear sunglasses inside?” You ask your brother. “I thought you were all about respect.”
Jungkook nudges you and whispers behind his hand, “Why are you being a dick?”
You don’t respond, acting as if you didn’t hear him. Because you can’t answer that. Jin sighs and there’s a subtle squint of his eyes at you before he gestures to the man beside him.
“D, if you wouldn’t mind.”
D says nothing (you want to scream that’s not his real name but you’re not sure if your brothers even know that) and raises his hands to remove the sunglasses, expression remaining blank. Once they’re folded and slipped into the inside pocket of his blazer, he finally lifts his bare gaze to you, scar on full display, and your heart slams in your chest. Because those eyes that seem to look right through you, are far too cold and vacant, void of everything that made you once believe you had a shot at something real.
“So, since you’re starting at the casino next week, I want to discuss security. I’m assigning you new detail.” You look at him with a puzzled expression.
“What's wrong with the team there?”
“I'm talking about your personal guard." Your eyebrows furrow. So this is what your brothers have actually been hiding from you.
“Isn’t that Yeong’s job?”
“He doesn’t have enough experience to handle your protection around the clock.” “Around the clock? You’re joking.”
“I’m not."
You huff and cross your arms. “And if I don’t agree?”
“That’s not an option.”
“Fine. Who did you hire to basically stalk me?”
“D will take on as your guard and driver.”
Ha. Haha. This isn’t real. What kind of joke is the universe playing on you? And why are you the punchline?
You turn to Jungkook. “Isn’t he your security?”
“Yes,” Jin answers. “But since you’re going to be dealing with the public and crews and potential feds at the casino, D has the knowledge and experience to help with everything, so he’s being reassigned to you.”
How can it be this fucking coincidental for the man who dug a crack into your soul, filled it with light, and crushed it when he left with no warning become the new head of your security? Complete and utter bullshit.
"Angel,” Jin mutters, urging you to say something.
“Fuck this,” you spit, eyes darting to the man you speak of to see if your words affect him but when he doesn’t give anything away it only makes you angrier.
“I’m not doing it.” You stand up to head for the door, but your brother's loud, bellowing voice puts a halt to your escape.
“Yes, you are. This is not a game; you don’t have a choice.”
Your head spins. This is too much too fast. All of your control and independence is being ripped out right from under you, and you already feel weighed down by it. Seething, you glance between him and his men, and you don’t want it to look like you’re throwing a temper tantrum. You wonder if this is why your brothers chose to tell you here, in front of everyone, testing you to see if you’ll control yourself.
“I already can’t drive myself anymore, and your guards have to be up my ass when I come here. Yeong has to check in with you to make sure I’m allowed to go to the fucking bathroom alone, your dirty cop is gonna pretty much spy on me at work, and now you want this goon to follow me around everywhere?”
“Look, I know you don’t like this, but-” “No, I don’t.”
“But,” he continues sternly, glare on you growing harsher. “I don’t think you realize the calamity of the situation you’re about to be in and I have to take all the necessary precautions to ensure your safety.” “Meaning I have to be fucking babysat?” you spit with vitriol, and Jungkook puts a hand on your elbow in an attempt to pull you down a notch now that Jin’s expression is contorting into one that shows he will not entertain this conversation for much longer as your brother. Being the boss in front of you has never been something he’s wanted you to see, but right now you’re pushing the limits. You don’t care, however, so you rip your arm out of Jungkook’s grip who resigns with a sigh while you keep your fiery stare on your oldest brother where there’s a likeness in his own.
“Don’t speak to me that way, Angel.”
“Don’t treat me like I’m a little kid, Jinnie,” you sneer, using his nickname un-endearingly.
“I told you about not using real names,” he booms, fist falling on the table. You don’t flinch.
“You’re one of us now, you need to start acting like it. And you’re going to start by listening to what I say and showing some respect. Otherwise, we’ll have to have an entirely different conversation, and I really don’t want us to go there.”
You’re not sure what he means by that, but you’d be stupid to fuck around and find out.
“As a woman in this business, you are much more vulnerable and at risk and it’s my job to protect you. That’s just reality. So you need to have security in place, especially by tomorrow. Am I being clear?”
You grind your teeth. “Yes.”
“Thank you.”
“Can I go home now?”
“I’m about to go over the plans for tomorrow. Sit down.”
“Please, I want to go home; I have a lot of things to do. You know I haven’t even unpacked everything yet? I’m practically sleeping in that office.”
You do your best to keep out any expletives, even though you have many to fire off, so you don’t show more disrespect, but your mild lack of control has you muttering under your breath, “No thanks to you.”
Beside you, Jungkook presses his hands together in front of his face like a prayer while Jin shakes his head, eyes closing, and rubs a hand over his forehead like you’re giving him a migraine.
“I’ll get you some help, I’ll get whatever you need. But right now, I need you to stay so we can talk everything out because shit is about to get real. Please sit down.”
You do so with extreme reluctance, the concoction of conflicted emotions swirling in your chest making it increasingly difficult to pay attention to any of what he says. As parts of your mind and body drift in and out of your subconscious, you’re startled out of a staring contest with the edge of the table by Jungkook nudging your shoulder. Relaxing your jaw that was painfully clenched, you lift your head to notice that all eyes are on you, minus one particular pair.
“Sorry, what?”
Jin sighs and gestures to the other side of the table. “Hope was asking if you’d be willing to meet with him in a couple of weeks to check if you have any problems to report.”
“Sure, whatever. I mean, I don’t have a choice either way, right?” you mutter, throwing your brother's words back in his face. You feel Jin’s eyes burning a hole in the side of your face and you know you’ll get an earful from him later.
You glance over to see Hope looking at you with a half-smile and there’s a bit of guilt at how you just came across. You really want to disappear.
“Is that all? May I be excused now?” you ask Jin tersely. He rubs a hand over his mouth like he’s preventing himself from further calling you out. Keeping his stare locked with yours, he raises a dismissive hand.
“D, can you escort her down to the garage? Mr. Han will drive her home.” You close your eyes in relief. “And exchange information on the way; you’ll be picking her up tomorrow evening.”
“Yes, boss.”
You turn around before he stands up, making a beeline for the door because you’re boiling up like a tea kettle. The room seems to be chasing you, closing in on you, like a hand around your throat that you can’t fight off. By the hairs raised on the back of your neck, you can tell he’s coming up behind you so you pick up the pace, jamming your finger into the down button on the elevator. You silently thank it when it only takes a few seconds to arrive, the one thing on your side tonight, so that you can step in before he reaches you. You rapidly press the close button, your eyes narrowed in the harshest glare at his face as he sticks out his hand but he’s too late, the doors rumble shut, sealing him out.
Alone in the elevator, there’s so much going through your mind that it hurts to think. So many emotions and feelings are swirling in your chest that you have no idea where to start to pick apart and process. All you know is that you want to get as far away from him as possible. How the tables have turned.
It’s freezing down in the garage, and Mr. Han has yet to arrive, much to your chagrin. The bubbling beneath the surface of your skin grows to a rage when you hear leather shoes pad onto the concrete.
“Angel-”
Oh, hell no! He doesn’t get to be casual. He doesn’t get to say your name. It’s not your real one, but it was real to him.
You twist around. “Don’t be informal."
Expression unchanged, he apologizes and corrects himself then steps forward with a hand held out, carrying your coat that you forgot upstairs.
You give it a side glance and snatch it away, tucking it under your crossed arms, because you prefer to be stubborn and cold. You refuse to face him, even when he clears his throat and takes another step towards you.
“Let me give you my number,” he says, reaching into his inside pocket to pull out his phone. An indignant laugh bubbles in your throat, too painful to let out.
Now… Now you get his number?? This is the universe laughing at you right in your face. You say nothing, not even acknowledging what he said, as if you didn’t hear him at all.
You just stare at the curb, desperately waiting for Mr. Han to pull up and take you away. In this moment, he’s your only friend in the world.
Seconds go by, and the man beside you reaches back into his jacket, trading his phone for… a pen? He then plucks out the white handkerchief folded neatly in his chest pocket, spreads it on his palm, and flicks the pen over it before passing it to you.
You stare at the handkerchief, at the numbers messily stained on the fabric, and crumple it in your hand, balling it into a tight fist.
Acting on autopilot with a question that’s been spinning around your mind since you shook his hand at dinner, you whip around to face him, faltering slightly when he’s closer than you realized.
“Did you know?” you snap. “This whole time. Did you know about me?”
His face remains emotionless and even though he’s not wearing his shades, you can't see any kind of reaction in his eyes.
“What do you mean?”
Oh. So he wants to play games. And he’s a fucking coward.
"Then let’s get one thing clear,” you grit, holding up your pointer finger. “If you think I'm gonna be nice to you, think again. And since you couldn’t give a shit about me, don't pretend to be nice either."
You get right in his face, but he doesn’t react or move away, and you wonder what it would take for him to stand down.
“Cross me in any way, I’ll tell my brothers who you really are.”
You stare, unblinkingly, in his eyes, searching, waiting for any sign that he’s the least bit intimidated by your threat. But there’s nothing. Just blank, soulless eyes. And to think they once set your heart on fire. Now they’ve turned it to ash.
How you ever fell for them, you’ll never know.
Clearly, you’re a fool.
“We’ll see how long you last, Min Yoongi.”
When you get home, you decline all calls from your brothers and march into your room, not bothering to change, and dig through all of your unpacked boxes searching for an old plastic bag containing a hoodie and a chain that you’ve been carrying around with you for years but you don’t know why. You find Jungkook’s knife, but not the bag and now you’re left with the aftermath of a tornado on your bedroom floor. You spend all night putting everything in its place until the sun rises and your mind is numb, anything to ignore the swarm of angry wasps buzzing in your head because the man you’ve been trying so long to forget just somehow stuck himself in your life, like a knife in your chest.
For the rest of the day, you throw yourself back into the plethora of files you’ve poured over with Namjoon for what seems like hundreds of times. You go through all the budgets, contracts, blueprints, and black books until time bleeds into the late afternoon. But you can’t rest, for those harsh, dark eyes will come back to haunt you in your dreams. You’ll have flashbacks of that night, of him and it will only cause your chest to collapse into a black hole and swallow every last drop of color in your soul.
Jay saunters into the foyer, wolf-whistling upon seeing you and an unsettling feeling takes over when he walks up to you.
“Well, aren’t you just a dream come true?” he muses, shamelessly checking you out and you shoot him a fake smile.
“Thank you,” you say politely, borderline sarcastic, and focus your attention on your reflection in the mirror as you fix your hair and earrings, putting your best poker face on now that your fiancé is standing a few feet away.
“You’re having dinner with your brothers again?” “No, we’re meeting with the commission tonight.”
“Ah. Scary,” he says, a teasing smile on his face. You have a feeling that he actually thinks that, hence why he hasn’t offered up an opportunity to show you off, even though the commission consists entirely of men.
“Will you be alright?”
You don’t know how many times you’ve internally rolled your eyes since you’ve met him. Do you have ‘I’m helpless’ tattooed on your forehead or something?
“Yep. I shouldn’t be out too late.”
“Then I won’t wait up for you.” His tone is light like he’s still making jokes but you are in no joking mood so you bite your tongue. You weren’t expecting him to, nor would you want him to do that. Your phone pings and a rush of heat floods you when you know who it is, announcing his arrival.
“Okay. I think my ride’s here, so I’m gonna head out.”
“Let me walk you.” You want to argue that it’s not necessary, the less time spent interacting with him, the better.
Play nice, Angel, Jin's voice rings in your head. Play nice.
So, you let him accompany you down the hall, help you on with your coat, and open the door for you that you politely thank him for.
In the driveway, a waxed black palisade with tinted windows is parked parallel to the main entrance, exhaust running, and your nostrils flare when you see Min Yoongi - oh, excuse you, D - standing next to the passenger's side, waiting for you with his hands clasped.
“Who’s that?”
“The security my brothers hired,” you say nonchalantly, even though there’s a burning rage in your chest.
“Huh. I thought you had an older driver.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t have any security experience, so.” You notice that your fiancé seems to be somehow bothered by that information, but you don’t press it because you really don’t fucking care.
“Well, have a good-” But he interrupts you, tearing his attention away from the car you’re dreading having to ride in.
“So, my dad wants us to have dinner with them. Maybe you can make some time next weekend? He’ll want to know how things are going at the casino.”
Oh, god. That is the last thing you want to do. Jay’s parents are extremely conservative and traditional, and you can’t imagine what they’ll have to say to you now that you’re living with their son. But again, you have to play nice.
“Sure, I’ll let you know my schedule.”
“Sounds good,” he nods and just as you start to turn, he grabs your hand, the one with the oversized diamond sitting on your ring finger, his head quickly moving from the driveway to lean in and kiss right on the jewel and it makes you feel a bit icky.
“I’ll see you later,” he says from your knuckles with a noticeable grin. You plaster on a tight smile and subtly retract your hand.
“Have a good night.” He nods and lets you go, watching as you make your way down the marble stairs. You think to yourself this would be the time you might appreciate his help, considering you’re in heels and it’s freezing outside. But you don’t really want him to touch you again so you rely on the railing.
“Take care of my fiancée for me!” Jay calls out as you make it off the porch. Your eyes roll back so far in your head you have to close them and walk blindly for a few seconds. As you approach the car, you keep your head down, refusing to see how D responds to that. Although you don’t think he would, since he’s given you no indication that he even has emotions anymore as of yet.
From one man that pisses you off to the next. To say you're fuming would be an understatement.
Wearing a sleek black suit, a long winter coat to match, and, since it’s still light out, those dark sunglasses, he bows to you in greeting before opening the door, gesturing for you to get in.
"Good evening," he says as you approach, and you don’t reply, don't even look at him. You hate him, you really do, so why is it that his dark, quiet yet thunderous voice makes your heart skip a beat?
You feel his gaze on you as you reach for the back door, completely ignoring him, and slide into the warm car, slamming the door shut before scooting to sit behind the driver's side. You don’t want to be tempted to look at him in the rear-view mirror.
The passenger door closes and you whip out your phone, refusing to stare at the man swiftly striding around the front of the car. As he does, you wonder why the fuck he thought you would want to sit next to him. You’ve never felt comfortable treating your drivers like chauffeurs but this driver is a special case and you hope that he’s gotten the message.
When he gets in and shuts out the cold, you're suddenly overwhelmed by the loud, attractive scent of his cologne and aftershave, a certain musk and mint to it that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head for a split second. Fuck, he smells good, even with a hint of a cigarette. And expensive. You can only imagine the type of salary your brothers smuggle into his wallet, especially now that your safety is his sole responsibility. Protection like that doesn’t come cheap.
You dare him to say anything else, so you get out your case of earbuds with the intention to blast music and drown him out. But before you can shove them in, a stack of manila folders hangs in front of your face, held by long, thin fingers decorated by chunky silver rings, and for a second you want to ask him what the fuck he’s doing, triggered by the fact that you’re so fucking over looking through files, even more so for him to be dumping more on you.
“What’s this?” you grumble, teeth clenching as you reluctantly accept the folders and draw them into your lap.
“Your brother wanted me to find you an assistant, so these are five candidates,” he explains, voice slightly muffled by the engine and from speaking to the windshield. “Take your pick and I’ll set up an interview.”
You can’t help your genuine surprise as you look over the spread he handed you, each file neatly organized with resumes, backgrounds, references and head shots. You wish he fucked something up so you'd have an excuse to call him incompetent, but he did his homework. And if he got all of this together since last night, then he’s more diligent than you want to give him credit for.
You swallow a scoff. "I'm allowed to choose? I didn't think I got a say.”
"If you didn't, I wouldn't be giving you options."
"Are you sure?” You snark, face buried in the files. “I know you answer to my brother, and you wouldn't want to get in any trouble."
A beat passes. "He's not my boss. You are."
Well. That is... the last thing you thought he would say. And you never would've considered yourself his boss.
Oh. You're going to have fun with this.
“These are all men,” you scowl after you flip through all of the resumes.
Yeah, just what you need.
You lean forward to toss the files on the passenger's seat, papers scattering onto the floor. Your instincts urge you to apologize and offer to clean up the mess, but your pride has you sitting back with your arms crossed, looking out of the tinted window indifferently.
“You could’ve saved yourself a lot of trouble if you’d just asked me what I was looking for. But I guess you don’t really care what I want, do you?”
You spare a glance into the rearview mirror, the top half of his face clearly visible, but… you still can’t tell if he’s looking at you. You don’t wait for a response, not thinking there’s anything he could say anyway, and let your earbuds do the job of shutting him out.
It isn’t until you’re halfway to your destination that you realize you didn’t text him at all until an hour before you had to leave, so how could he have contacted you before that? That’s beside the point.
He should know what you’re really throwing in his face.
The car barely pulls to a stop in front of the warehouse when a small group of guards swarm around to flank the doors. Taking out your earbuds, you stare out of the tinted windows at the suited men looking all around to make sure you’re in the clear. You feel anything but assured.
One guard is standing right in front of the door, essentially blocking you inside, and D gets out, apparently needing to be the one to open it for you and assist in your exit.
The air is crisp and cold when your heels hit the gravel, and you don’t miss the way D’s palm flips up as you start to stand, playing it off when you intentionally ignore the gesture by lifting his wrist to his mouth to speak into the mic connected to his earpiece that runs under his sleeve.
You shiver when you step out and D shuts the door, holding an arm out to signal you to walk forward, pressing a finger into his earpiece. The guards fall into formation around you, one in front, one on either side, and D right behind you. This level of protection feels a bit too much as they escort you into the maze of shipping containers, you aren’t the president or some A-list celebrity, but you’re about to walk into a den of wolves, so you can’t go without a pack of your own.
They lead you through the arid warehouse, filled with shelves of boxes ready to ship out on the harbor, some legal, most illicit. In the very back is a steel door, and the leading guard opens it, takes a look down in the stairwell, and beckons you forward. You step into the hallway and catch a glimpse of the emergency exit, door wedged open by a… silver cigarette case? That looks very much like the one you saw your brother slip out of his coat the other morning and sneak outside before Jin came down for breakfast. You head for it and a guard puts a hand out to stop you, but you push past him, D calls for you, but you pay no attention and pop open the door, hesitating when Jungkook flinches and whips back his jacket, hand reaching for something in his waistband.
“Jesus, Angel,” he grumbles, letting go of his jacket to cover the handle of his gun, and takes a heavy drag of the cigarette. You bend down to pick up his silver case and the door doesn’t close and you don’t doubt that D is the one holding it open.
“Relax, it’s just lil ole me,” you say, eyebrow raising when he shoots a glare your way. "What's up, bro?"
“What was last night about?" he asks, a hot start. He leans over to snatch the case out of your hands.
“Hey!”
"Are you done being an asshole? You were pretty rude to hyung last night. And D and Hope.” His tone is testy as smoke pours from his lips.
Crossing your arms, you prop yourself on the wall with a huff and an eyeroll.
“Well, that depends. Are you done keeping things from me?” He sighs and scratches the wrinkle between his brows with his thumbnail.
“We knew you wouldn’t like it, so that’s why we waited to tell you.” “What about any of this do you think that I like?” You blurt in a raised voice that gets lost in the frigid breeze. He stares at you for a moment before looking away to take a drag, a tick in his jaw. You aren’t being fair, you know. Your brother is in the exact same boat. Neither of you signed up for this, but at least he wasn’t thrown into the fire at the last minute with little to no time to process anything. And his life isn't being guarded by someone who broke his heart.
"You can't be that way in there."
“I know. I'm sorry,” you try to recover. “It’s just-” As you stare out at the run-down docks, you can’t think of a way to explain what you’re sorry for. Instead, you swivel to face him and step up with a beckoning hand in the air.
“Can I have one?” Flicking ash on the brick, his expression changes to level you with a hesitant look.
“Since when do you smoke?” You don’t really anymore as you’ve come to hate the taste and the smell, but the kind of cigarettes that your brother buys isn’t as pungent and disgusting. Sometimes a little nicotine helps to take the edge off. And you’re very much on edge lately.
“Since I found out I’m about to become a criminal.”
He rolls his eyes. “What do you mean ‘about to’? Haven’t you been arrested before?”
“Not recently!” you exclaim. He’s one to talk! “And besides, that was for petty theft and I wasn’t even charged.”
“Don’t forget the time you spent a night in jail when you got caught speed racing. Hyung was so pissed he had to fly all the way out there to bail your dumb ass out.” Jungkook tilts forward, crossing his ankles as he chuckles out a puff of smoke.
“Well, it’s your fault I even know how to race.” He opens his mouth to argue but you shut him down. “Do you want me to go ahead and list out your rap sheet too? We would be here all night.”
“Go to hell.” You laugh at his disgruntled scowl.
“I’ll meet you there. Give me your lighter or I’ll tell Jin you started smoking again.”
He shakes his head, both of you knowing damn well that Jin would not approve of the two of you chain smoking.
“Don’t be a tattletale.”
“Don’t be a hypocrite.”
“No,” he grumbles. “You shouldn’t be smoking.”
“You shouldn’t either!”
“I know. I’m quitting soon and I'm not about to let you start.”
With a reluctant huff, you lean back against the wall, watching smoke billow out into the night sky. The both of you shiver in silence. It’s quiet out here, save for the sounds of a ship horn blaring in the distance, and the wind whistling into the alley from the docks that carries the smells of bay water and the old rotting wood of the piers. Scents like these usually bring a sense of calm into your soul, but tonight, anxiety overrides them all. You doubt even nicotine could do anything to ease the disquietude in your head.
“I’m scared,” you confess. You glance over to see him staring down at nothing in particular, not blinking as he smokes and you want him to tell you that he is too, but he’s in no position to be. Not anymore. It used to show in his jaw, in between his brows, the rapid blinking of his eyes, but there’s none of that now. Looking at him now, gone is the boy you grew up with. And you know that’s because of how hard he worked to rid himself of all that fear, just like Jin, and what you have to do too.
“There’s no reason to be.” You look away with a frown, clearly not what you needed to hear, but his hand on your shoulder forces you to turn back.
“Listen. No one can do anything to us once they find out who we are.” You shrug off his hand. He takes a drag and blows it away from your face.
“Who’s to say they won’t?”
“Me. After tonight, I own this city and everything that belongs to us. That includes you, Angel. We’re not the ones who should be afraid.”
“Boss, it’s time to go.” You glance over your shoulder where a single, flickering light above the door shines down on D’s head as he holds it open with a flattened hand. You turn back to your brother as he sucks in a final drag before dropping the butt and squishing it under his heel. Exhaling smoke up to the sky, he hooks an arm around your shoulder and begins walking you to the door, not letting you fight your way out of his hold.
“We got this, sis.” You roughly push him and he finally lets go, clicking your tongue when he laughs at your glare.
“You do,” you mutter, straightening out your coat and smoothing down your shirt. Nervous habits. He stops and grabs your elbow.
“It’s us now. We’re in this together, okay?”
“Okay,” you breathe through a scared smile.
You keep your head up as you walk past D who slides against the door to put distance between you, yet still close enough to catch another whiff of his cologne. One breath and you’re aggravated that it’s him, another breath and the scent filters into your senses, leaving an undeniable calm.
Back inside, Jungkook claps a hand on D’s shoulder as the guards return to their formation to lead you down the stairs and into the den. Before you enter, you can tell just how crowded it is from the sounds of chatter and laughter that drips exorbitant wealth, and the accompanying stench of thick illegal cigars that makes your nose itch.
Jungkook walks around you to be the first one in the room and a wave of anxiety skids your heels to a stop. A presence that you’re coming to know all too well looms behind you, like he’s your shadow. More like a demon. Your eyes close to quell the drum pounding in your chest.
“After you,” he mutters, the sinful thunder in his voice mere inches away from your ear sending a shiver down your spine. Your eyes fly open and feet move on their own accord to get away from it.
Fuck. That.
The ringing in your ears that stems from his voice and low-spoken words rumbling in a loop through your mind aids you in your ability to shut out the room and the way it quiets down as you walk to the head of the table where your brothers stand in wait for you. The rest of the men are also already standing and it just makes their intense, collective stare on you that much more stifling.
You remove your coat and a hand stretches out beside you that you silently allow to take it. Jin gestures for you to sit on his right, across from Jungkook, and waves for the commission to take their seats as well. Behind you, the doors close and one glance to the side shows D getting into place with your brothers guards by the adjacent wall, holding your coat.
With a polite, reserved expression, you take a sweep of the room and observe that these men are an assortment of strange faces and ones you’ve seen in Namjoon’s files. They’re all young and old. Father and son. Leaving you as the outlier. And that causes a lump in your throat.
Jin launches into introducing you and Jungkook, and all you can do is keep your back straight and hands on the table, respectfully paying attention as he explains how now that he’s going on the lam, the family heads will defer to Jungkook, and their crews and associates will report to you for any and all financial endeavors at the casino. As Jin speaks these plans into reality, you finally begin to feel the full pressure and burden of your impending responsibilities.
And this time your brother won't be there to bail you out.
The members offer your end of the table diplomatic nods of acknowledgement and subtle darting eyes between you and Jungkook.
But just as Jin gives Jungkook the floor, a deep, condescending laugh resounds from across the table, belonging to a smug, rugged man wearing thick chains and even thicker rings. All attention snaps to his interruption and your skin crawls when he fixes Jungkook with a leering, patronizing stare.
“I’m sorry, but with all due respect, do you really think your junkie brother can handle being in charge?”
Your eyebrows cross at the audacity. He’s speaking as if Jin is not the reigning top boss of this entire room and Jungkook is not about to step in and fill his shoes. There’s a slur to his words and the near empty decanter next to his glass indicates that he’s imbibed and probably incognizant. Because who in their right mind would dare to provoke the kingpin of the city’s mob syndicate like this.
You look over to Jin, expecting him to call out the man’s blatant disrespect, but both him and Jungkook are staring the man down with darkness and anger that you’ve never seen before. Perhaps they’re just giving him the chance to dig himself into a hole so deep he’ll have to stay there.
“And what about her?” the man with a greasy mustache points at you. You recognize him. “I don’t know if I can trust her capabilities with dealing business at the casino. I mean, what does she know?”
He’s underestimating you and you’re sure he’s not alone in that. Everyone else is just smart enough to keep their mouths shut. You feel the urge to pull your hands into your lap to frown at, but you just lean back in your chair, maintaining a cool expression as you wait for him to spew more of his bullshit.
“Yeah, sure they were born with the purpose of serving your father, but we all know they weren’t raised like you. So how can they possibly be prepared to take over in your place?”
“Because they’re my blood,” Jin finally says, voice steady and reasonable. But his narrowed eyes and blown out pupils tells you he’s anything but.
“Only by half,” he sneers. “Wasn’t their mother some low-life maid?” You feel choked by the mention of your mother and wonder just how much this man and the rest of the commission know about you beyond what they’re entitled to. Your chest squeezes when you catch eyes with Jungkook as he furiously picks at his fingers, probably not realizing he’s even doing it.
“See, that’s where the don went wrong. Choosing a peasant to procreate his back-up heirs with. Their blood doesn’t really count, at least not in my book.” Lee looks around as if to see who else is on his side, but no one takes their attention off of Jin as he rises and digs a hand onto Jungkook’s shoulder.
“He is the don now.”
Lee scoffs. “He’s a junkie! Just like your father.” Your fingers clench into a tight fist, the urge to stand up for your brother sending a violent rush through your veins.
“Watch your fucking mouth, Lee,” Jin growls in a malicious tone. “You’re forgetting your place. Don’t make me remind you.”
“My place,” Lee chuckles bitterly, shaking his head. He picks up his glass and bangs it on the table with a thud. “My place should be at the head of that fucking table with my son, not these little children. We should be the next in line now that you’re resigning!” “I’m not resigning,” Jin barks, fixing the entire room with a dead serious glare. “I’m leaving to avoid prison. Because if I go down, I’m taking everyone with me. Do I make myself fucking clear?”
Jin’s power reverberates off of the walls and it carves away some of your anxiety. He points a stern finger at Lee.
“They are the rightful heirs, just as I am, and I won’t throw away all of what I’ve built just because you don’t accept that.”
“What your father built,” Lee spits in contempt. Jin bends down with a heavy slam of his hands on the wood surface. “What my family built. And what my brother and sister will continue to build because it’s theirs now.” “Do they know that’s the only reason why they were born? Well, him at least.” Your face contorts in confusion when he points at Jungkook. Jin lifts his hands from the table and the tension in the room grows thicker as he stands tall. “Excuse me?” “It’s a fair question. Does she know that when there were rumors that Don Kim had a daughter, he adamantly denied it?”
Your fingernails dig into your sweaty palms when Lee slides his beady eyes to you.
“You were a mistake, sweetheart,” he lilts with an ugly, crooked grin. “What use would he have with a girl? All you’re good for now is playing trophy wife to appease the son of your father’s biggest investor. You’re just a pawn in his business plan, you have no real value.”
“Lee, that’s enough-” Jin snarls.
“Lee Dong-wook, right?” you starkly interject, staring unwaveringly at him and his rising eyebrow. “Didn’t you lose your business in the east harbors when you failed to keep quota and you couldn’t control disputes between the local gangs? I can’t remember exactly how much money and how many men you cost my brothers but I know it was a lot.”
Lee’s jaw drops, rendered speechless. A raging vein begins to bulge on the side of his forehead, turning his face beet red now that you’re doing the job of tearing him down from his high horse.
“But at least you still have this side of the harbor so you can trade paraphernalia with other parts of the coast. Like these.” You reach forward for a box of cigars in front of Jungkook, only to find it empty. To your surprise and everyone else's, you stand and move to pass behind your brothers, ignoring Jin’s hushed, “What are you doing?” as you walk over to Lee, hoping to exert some intimidation by standing your ground over him. You try to disregard the fact that he is twice your size and far more muscular but Jungkook’s words from earlier remind you that no one can hurt you now. The shadow that follows you will ensure that.
You spot another cigar box next to Lee and another older man, and no one says anything as you lean in between them to take one out, snatching up one of the lighters as well. Holding up the cigar beneath your nose, you inhale the strong flavored mix of coffee and leather.
“Hmm, not bad,” you reflect, analyzing the stamped label before you unravel the plastic. “Kind of cheap, but I guess the tobacco isn’t what your customers are actually after. It’s smart, smuggling amphetamines in these. Just ironic that you move rock for a living but have the nerve to call my brother a junkie. I don't doubt you take samples.”
The wrapper you crumple and the lighter you flick open to fire up the cigar become the only sounds in the room. After disposing of the metal and plastic on the table, you place the wrapped leaf between your teeth and brace yourself as you take a smooth drag.
“And you must be stupid if you think I don’t know that my father didn’t want me,” you say, blowing smoke up to the ceiling while you do your best to pretend that the strong hit isn’t scratching the hell out of your throat. You glance back down to Lee whose eyes are on the brink of bulging right out of their sockets.
“But you see, I’m not here for him. I’m here for them,” you point the cigar over your shoulder at Jin and Jungkook.
“You sure they’re not forcing you?” Lee challenges, tongue thick with rage causing specks of saliva to catch on his mustache. Gross. “No one can force me to do anything,” you reply calmly. “I’ll do whatever it takes for my brothers.” A moment passes, and then another, with no response and you think you’ve made your case. But just as you’re about to give up the facade that you’re enjoying this piss-awful cigar, Lee harshly spits out, “Would you kill for them, little girl?”
Tilting your head, your mind races as you imagine all the ways you could show him how far you’re willing to go for both of them. A small smile creeps onto the corner of your lips around the cigar.
“Do you want to find out?” His mustache twitches. You blow smoke in its direction. “Are you threatening me?” “You tell me,” you shrug. “If anything, I’d be doing you a favor.”
“Pardon?” You lazily tap the cigar, unphased when the ash falls to the floor, some of it on Lee’s lap, earning a menacing glower.
“It sounds like you have a death wish. Coming in here and disrespecting my brothers even though you can’t do a goddamn thing without their say so. They own you and, now, so do I.”
Lee doesn’t break your stare but by the curl of his fist on the arm of the chair and his cheeks that tinge an even darker red, you’ve severely pissed him off. “You don’t have what it takes to kill me.” Taking that as a challenge, you reach down, lift the hem of your slacks, and snatch out the knife nestled in the strap around your calf. In a flash, you bring your sharp silver blade to the vein on his thick neck, smoke from the cigar dangerously close to his sideburns. “Wanna bet?”
A commotion erupts around you as one of Lee’s men move to defend him at a moment’s notice, weapon threatening to withdraw and your pulse glitches for a second at the potential danger. That is until a figure behind you pushes away Lee’s guard and you know without looking that it’s Jungkook coming to your aid. And next to him is that dark and menacing man smelling of mint and musk and intimidation.
“Well, I bet you’d hate to get killed by a girl. So I’ll save you your dignity.”
Lowering your knife, you lean away but pause when a goading sneer grows on his ugly mug.
“You’re weak. Just like your brother who can’t even man up and take responsibility for the casino because of what happened to his little-” Before he can finish that sentence that would have Jungkook flying off the handle, you stab the burning end of your cigar on the back of his hand, twisting a sear into his skin until he leaps up with a shriek.
“You bitch!” The cigar plants itself on the side of his neck, until your wrist is grabbed and ripped away, tobacco falling to the floor, just like the man who dared to put hands on you. As you’re pulled back by your brother, off to the side is D manhandling Lee’s guard into submission, face pressed into the wall with a gun shoved into the side of his head. Your brothers’ guards surround you and there’s a standoff with Lee’s men, the rest of the room watching on in shock, no one else daring to move lest they get caught in impending crossfire.
“Weapons down, now,” Jin’s terse voice booms. The guns slowly lower but the fierce glares remain pinned on opposite sides.
“Lee. You’re dismissed.” You think that’s code for, I’m not going to kill you in front of my sister. You’re positive if you weren’t present, this night would’ve ended in bloodshed.
“Have fun getting whacked,” you grin devilishly at Lee who can’t decide which burn hurts worse. “I hope your last thought is of my pretty face.”
In brazen stupidity, Lee steps forward but before his foot can even touch the ground, he’s sent flying back with your brother’s fists in his collar. A hand on your elbow tugs you away from the chaos you created, but you can’t look away from it, like it’s a car crash. But D steps in front of you just as you’re dragged to the front of the room by your brother. Your coat is swung around your shoulders and suddenly you’re facing Jin who guides you to the door. D appears right by your side.
“I knew you had it in you, kiddo,” Jin says with a proud glint in his eyes. On the other side of the room, your brother’s guards are doing their best to keep Jungkook and Lee apart as they usher him to the exit.
“D, take her home.”
The backseat of the car is warm on the ride home. Your hands are shaking, surely from the adrenaline. That’s when it hits you, what you just did. Fuck. You’ve never acted that way before, never purposely hurt someone because you didn’t like what they said.
But you liked it. The power you had, the confidence it gave you. And that scares you.
“Are you okay?” D asks tentatively. It’s then that you realize you’ve been crying. You flick a defiant tear from your cheek and wrap your arms tighter around yourself.
“What do you care?” you mumble bitterly. The rest of the drive is spent in silence. If you were sitting up front, you would’ve seen the way his fingers flexed on the steering wheel.
When he pulls up to your house, you quickly get out even though he starts to say something, desperate to be inside, away from him and the cold and everything that happened.
You don’t know why your office has become your safe haven, but you return there and collapse into one of the armchairs, weighed down by tonight, and what’s in store. Not to mention the extra weight added on your chest because of D.
So you cry. You cry until you run out of tears, but you don't think that could stop you with how much you're hurting. That is until you hear a knock on your office door. It startles you, you’ve never expected anyone to check on you, especially not your fiancé. Were you crying so loud that he could hear you all the way across the house? You don't think that much of it, too busy getting a hold of yourself to look presentable before cracking open the door.
His face is overshadowed by the hallway light, and you can't see his eyes that well. You try to hide your swollen, tear-streaked cheeks from him, but he peers over the door with a small yet gentle smile.
"What's wrong? Did things not go well with the commission?”
You quickly wipe away any stray tears, putting on a brave face as you open the door a little further.
"Ah, well. It was just a lot, y’know?” You scramble, because you can't actually tell him what's wrong. Obviously. You don't think you'll ever be able to tell anyone. And you definitely don’t want to admit that you’re being weak.
"I do. Everything will be okay. It'll all take some adjustment." Huh. That's... comforting, coming from him. Like he understands.
"So, I was just in the kitchen, raiding the pantries for some snacks. Would you care to join?"
“Sure. You, uh,” you tug your sleeves over your hands, clenching them with cold fingers. “You couldn’t hear me from all the way out there, right?”
He turns his back to you with a laugh, leading you down the hallway.
“No, but I noticed you came home late and, well, I just wanted to see how things went. But I wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk to me.”
“You said you wouldn’t wait up.” “I was joking, but I guess it didn’t land well. You might have to get used to my sense of humor.” That was humor?
Damn. When did you get so mean?
On the island counters in the expansive kitchen, he sets out some bowls and fills them with snacks as you take a seat on one of the tall stools.
“Do you like any of these?” “Sure,” you shrug, reaching for one of the bowls.
“If there’s anything you want, put it on a list and I can send it off to be picked up.”
“Oh, that’s okay. I can do my own shopping. Thanks, though.” You’ll have to text your brothers later to tell them how right you are about him.
“Alright, well let me know if you change your mind. I’m just trying to help out.”
You nod, chewing pensively, and he shakes his head to change the subject.
“Anyway, can you tell me what happened tonight? That made you so upset.”
You carefully retell bits and pieces of the meeting, leaving out the part when you stabbed an old man twice with a cigar. You give him the gist of how the family heads don’t entirely back the idea of you and Jungkook gaining control of the syndicate, to which Jay tells you they’ll have to get over it because you’re just doing your family duty.
For a while, you chat, finding that conversation with your fiance comes a little easier than you thought. You guess you just had to give it a chance. He gives you his support for some of the plans you have for the casino renovations and even offers to take a look at the blueprints. He cracks corny jokes every now and then that you have to force a bit of laughter because sometimes they don’t make sense, but you don’t entirely loathe this whole interaction.
He is very charming; you'll give him that. But you still have a prickly feeling that it’s all just an act to be good to you in order to impress your brothers and get on their good side. And once they’re out of sight, no longer around to look out for you, he’ll show his true colors. Maybe you’re just jaded and bitter.
But you don’t think you should let your guard down just yet.
You won’t make the same mistake again.
.
.
.
lmaoooo originally i was aiming for a 12-14k word count. whoops. but it's finally here! this has been a whirlwind. I've been wanting to get this out for a while but i've been kind of nervous about it. honestly im glad i waited because so many things came together for this part that i didn't have before. sorry for the wait.
xxx - claret
thank you for reading 😊
let me know what you think!!! <333
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taglist:
@viankiss @taegijns @polarnightmyg @rinkud @futuristicenemychaos
#yoongi bodyguard#yoongi mafia#yoongi angst#yoongi x reader#yoongi fluff#yoongi fanfic#yoongi smut#min yoongi#yoongi#yoongi bodyguard au#bts suga#suga angst#yoongi haegeum#min yoongi x reader#min yoongi x you#min yoongi x y/n#min yoongi x oc#yoongi imagine#yoongi fic#bts smut#bts fanfiction#bts x reader#bts x fem!reader#bts x you#bts x y/n#bts x oc
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Latibule Season 2: III
Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader (Mafia/Detective AU)
Summary: In which he lost his latibule.
Warnings: Secret Identity, Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, Disability, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.
A/N: As promised :) Leave a comment or reblog if you enjoy!
GIF by urmingirl
Masterlist, Latibule 2.II
Taehyung looked up from his cellphone to his eldest hyung that was currently cooking their dinner. He pouted when he was not given the appropriate amount of attention he should be given. Honestly, he deserved it! After a moment when he still did not get what he wanted, he finally asked the question he had been dying to know the answer to.
“Hyung, is it always like that?”
“Hmm? Like what, Tae?” he asked while chopping diligently the vegetables the renowned doctor was preparing for a certain psychologist and his brothers that insisted they were hungry as well.
“When it ends…does it always hurt like that?”
Seokjin blinked at Taehyung’s unprompted question. He paused before he finally brought his eyes to the actor. He knew that the younger man had always been eccentric. His clinical condition definitely explained his behavior, but not this. He was never curious about the emotions he couldn’t feel, nor did he ever show any interest on understanding emotions. As the years passed by, Kim Taehyung got better at masking and pretending by learning the root causes of the emotions he could see. The brothers had always thought that this was precisely why he chose to be an actor. Everytime they watched him cried, laughed, or acted furious for his movies and dramas, they thought he was a different person.
Jin thought it was just understandable why he dropped the knife he was holding.
“What brought this on?”
“He-“ he lifted his mobile phone to show Jin the picture Jimin snapped of their Yoongi hyung looking like he had lost all his will to live. Taehyung found it so ridiculous that Jimin even made a collage of him and a cat that depicted their hyung. “-looks like breathing is a chore and is only fighting to live so he can end his enemies.”
Jin would have laughed had this happened before he met his sunshine. But now, the mere thought of her leaving set him on edge, and he knew he would be similar to Yoongi if not worse. Slowly, he picked up his knife as he carefully chose his words. He was always like this with Taehyung ever since he knew that something was not quite right in his mind, well…more than any of them, to be honest. The younger man took things at face value, and all the brothers knew to talk in a straightforward manner so there wouldn’t be any confusion on Taehyung’s part.
He kidded you not, once when they were still teenagers, they asked him to go ahead and get them a table in a restaurant. He left without any qualms only to return not an hour later carrying a big ass table from a restaurant. That was a horrifying memory, Jin thought, and that was when they all decided to change the way they talked. It was Namjoon that took it too far and enrolled the man in a body language class to better cope with society. However, it was Jungkook that forced him to take psychology classes with him for fun.
“I think it’s different,” Jin started, busying himself once again with cooking. “Yoongi never has love like that, I guess. It’s understandable that he acts like a sad lonely cat.”
Seokjin could still clearly remember how Yoongi looked at you. It was like you were all he ever wanted and more, like you were his reprieve from the darkness in his life. You were, as he called you, an angel to him. And then he lost you.
“Why?”
“Well…she’s his personal slice of heaven,” he answered, his voice contemplative and understanding of what Yoongi was going through. Jin paused in his chopping, a thoughtful expression crossing his features as he carefully considered his words. “And he’s been living in hell the very moment he was born. What do you think would happen if he was given a taste of heaven and then lost it?”
“Just like Hoseok hyung,” Taehyung nodded, slightly understanding the downfall of these strong men.
“Seriously, you are all worse than the ahjummas who love to talk about other people’s lives. Be better than that, guys,” Kim Namjoon observed with his deadpanned voice as soon as he walked in the kitchen. He took in the scene of the two men conversing and the other man quietly eating the snack Jin prepared him.
Jin scoffed as he rolled his eyes at Namjoon. “As if you wouldn’t react like that when your secretary finally resigns.”
To which, Namjoon only smirked. “Who says she can leave?”
“How will you stop her and her son if the father finally shows up?”
Namjoon, with his hand in his pocket, calmly uttered words that no normal people would believe to have any other meaning. “Well, as you said, the dead don’t exactly come back to life, do they?”
Jin chuckled at Namjoon. Of course, he did something about that man. It was apparent, he thought. He could still vividly remember the look in Namjoon’s eyes when he told him that his secretary was pregnant and that the asshole of a father even put his hands on her. Suffice to say, it was the most unhinged Namjoon ever was.
“I think Namjoon will be the worst among us if he ever loses the love of his life,” Jin noted with lightness in his voice.
“Nah,” Jungkook finally lifted his head from his bowl. “I sincerely think it’ll be Taehyung.”
The conversation never left Jeon Jungkook’s mind. Anyway, he didn’t need anyone to tell him to do this. He did this out of the bond he shared with his brothers. Had this happened to any among them, he would have done the same.
He thought that it was cruel to let them experience the same hell he had been living every single day.
And so, he worked tirelessly and utilized every available technology and connection he had just to look for Yoongi’s angel. When he said she was alive, when he said he felt in his heart that you could have not gone where he couldn’t follow, then he’d believed him. He wouldn’t lose anything by looking for you, Jungkook rationalized. But he didn’t want to unnecessarily get his brother’s hopes up until he had evidence that you were indeed alive.
One morning, it finally happened. There you were.
Jungkook’s eyes could not have gone any bigger as he watched the CCTV of a far province in his office.
That was you, he was sure.
Without a moment's hesitation, he reached for his phone and dialed the person he knew he could trust. "Hyung, can you come to my office?" he requested urgently, the excitement and disbelief evident in his voice.
“That’s her,” Kim Namjoon validated after a moment. He was standing beside Jungkook’s seated form as he leaned in the monitor. He was ever the image of calmness with his hand in his pocket, his suit immaculate and not a crease in sight.
Seokjin raised his brows as he sat in a relaxed manner on the couch. Jungkook didn’t even call him, yet he was here because he was, per his words, bored and that a certain sunshine was not where she should be. “So the dead can indeed come back to life,” he noted with a tone the two men couldn’t understand. “Pray tell, Namjoon-ah. Should we tell Yoongi?”
Jungkook blinked at the rising tension between the two men. Whereas Jin merely looked curious, Namjoon looked like he was looking at the end of the sword with the way his jaw was clenched. He stood up straight and took a second to answer Seokjin.
“Of course, hyung. This is a great news, after all.”
“Hmm,” Seokjin smirked, his legs crossed as though nothing could have fazed him. It was moment like this when Jungkook could see the mafia prince in his usually playful hyung. Everybody knew not to cross this man despite him appearing goofy and motherlike to them.
Jungkook thought that it would only take one momentous catastrophe for him to return to his dark persona. He didn’t want to see that, though.
“He’s suffered enough, right?” Jin asked the room with a light tone, yet his eyes pierced through Namjoon’s. “Right, Namjoon-ah?”
Seven Mississippis passed before he answered. Jungkook knew because he counted, and he hated the tension he didn’t know why was present.
“Jungkook, tell Yoongi hyung,” Namjoon ordered.
—-
Min Yoongi’s brows were pulled together as he walked in a bustling street of a faraway province. He had to drive almost four hours just because their maknae told him to be here at this exact hour, claiming that he desperately needed him to be there. However, Jungkook was not answering his phone despite numerous calls from him.
Where was even that little shit, Yoongi asked himself as he surveyed the whole place.
Despite barely getting any sleep, he found himself in a situation where he might have to scold his youngest brother for the first time. He should have been in Seoul right now, but he couldn’t exactly say no to him. He had shit ton of things to do and yet he was indulging the youngest brother.
Maybe this was exactly why he was spoiled? Ah, but anyway, he was a good kid.
So where was he?!
He walked further into the thick of the plaza, his phone plastered in his ear as he listened to the annoying and incessant ringback tone of Jungkook. Seriously, at this day and age? His eyes roamed the area of happy locals, at which he rolled his eyes.
He was on the verge of deciding whether he should just go ahead and kill Jungkook when he finally answered.
“Where the fuck are you?” he growled over the other line, his patience running thin when the man just answered innocently.
“At Seoul, hyung-“
“Then why am I here?! I swear to heavens, if you made me drive here just to buy you a weird snack then I’ll really kill you!”
“Seokjin hyung will be mad!”
Right. The eldest was protective of the youngest. What a nuisance, he thought. “Then I’ll do it in secret.”
Jungkook chuckled nervously. He couldn’t place whether he was joking or not. His money was that if his hyung could get away with it, he’d be floating in the river at this very moment. “I asked you to go there because I have a surprise for you, hyung.”
“I don’t particularly enjoy surprises-” he began, but was swiftly interrupted.
“I know, I know. But this one, I’m sure you’ll like. This is the most beautiful, most precious, most amazing surprise ever. You’ll stop sulking and looking like a sad cat and Jimin hyung will finally stop taking badly captured and cropped photos of you and make it into a collage. Taehyung hyung will stop observing your miserable demeanor for his next movie. You’ll finally stop living like it’s such a chore and-“
His back was bumped by a force. Turning around, he prepared to glare at the perpetrator only to stop because there it was.
There was you.
It was as if the universe finally said that he had enough and stopped punishing him because he saw you when he was not even looking for you. Your mouth hanged agape, your hand going to your forehead as you murmured apologies to him.
He was stunted. No, he was bewildered.
Was this real? Or was this one of his cruel dreams again, a figment of his mind playing tricks on him?
But no.
He had been living in hell, yet moment he heard your voice, all the sufferings disappeared. This was really you. You were truly alive. He was frozen as his wildest dream was brought into life. His whole body went into a state of shock, something that he never thought could ever happen.
It didn’t really matter the years he spent without you because one touch, one word- these were all it took for him to forget the bitterness your separation brought him.
With a trembling voice, Yoongi dared to call for you. “Ange-”
But before he could say another word, you interrupted, your voice light and apologetic.
“I’m really sorry, mister. I didn’t see you,” you chuckled, slightly lifting your walking stick to explain the small accident. You bowed down at the man before going your way.
And he stood there, watching as the love of his life walked away from him, unseeing. He thought he could no longer hurt. He thought that nothing could have fazed him any longer. But he was wrong. Watching you walked, unseeing as you traversed the plaza with only your walking stick pained him.
How did this happen to you?
Was it because of the incident?
Was that why you couldn’t return to him? Because you weren’t able to?
Or did he miss all the glaring signs?
Slowly, he lifted the old phone you gifted him years ago to his ear. “You didn’t stop looking for her?”
Jungkook was quiet for a moment. “Well…I would never wish this hell on anyone, much less my brother,” he stated, his voice carrying a certain tone of sadness they often heard from him. “Go get her, hyung.”
The bustling city streets faded into a blur around you as you walked, your steps slow and deliberate despite the cacophony of noise that surrounded you. Your sight may have been almost gone, but your other senses seemed to have sharpened in response, each sound and scent painting a vivid picture in his mind.
You remembered that when you were younger, you read a passage from a book entitled, ‘The Song of Achilles’. You thought it was a well-written book, a love that transcended even death. There was a line your college friends always thought to be a masterpiece. But you never understood it. The line so many people loved never really touched you.
Until it did.
Until you understood each word written in that book.
“I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.”
Because right now, the words made sense. You could recognize him despite your deteriorating eyesight. You knew him. He was here. And he was following you…to what exactly? Was he here to end you? Was he here to make sure that you wouldn’t tell the world of his secret identity?
Regardless of the reason, you tried to remain calm as Hoseok always ordered you to. You had no choice but to lead him back home, otherwise you were sure that he would be suspicious. The man that you used to love was perceptive, and any suspicious movements could alert him. From the moment you opened the front door to the time you closed it, you knew you only had a couple of seconds.
You fished the phone Hoseok gave you, one with tactile buttons and controls that made it easier for you to use it. You knew you couldn’t use the speech-to-text feature, otherwise he’d hear. And so, with a tense movement, you sent a message to him.
He’s here. Don’t come home. Leave with my son.
Part IV
#bts fic#yandere bts#bts fanfic#bts yandere#min yoongi x you#min yoongi x reader#min yoongi fic#min yoongi x y/n#mafia bts fic#yandere min yoongi#suga x y/n
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LIMERENCE (part I)
Gojo Satoru x gn!reader
"I can't stop loving you, no matter how hard I try."
summary: Your long-time friend stirs feelings inside you that you never realized existed. Of course they bubble up in your chest while he’s in the midst of ignoring you and discovering his own possible romance. Your mutual friend thinks she has it all figured out—or does she?
pairing: gojo satoru x gn! reader
fandom: jujutsu kaisen
genre: hanahaki sickness au, angst, hurt/comfort, drama, slow burn!
warnings: mentions of feeling sick, being stonewalled kinda, usage of the word (Y/N) bc Gojo is too fed up for nicknames (in reality idk what else to use 😶), Gojo being an ass (common theme in my fics oops)
word count: 3.6k
a/n: This is the first part to my hanahaki au! I’ve had this in my drafts for the longest time, but never committed to writing it all out until now. This first bit is kinda slow and maybe confusing BUT hopefully I’ll be able to clear it up next chapter. Not proof read very thoroughly; will probably regret later 🫥
part ii part iii
“DON’T YOU THINK you could be a bit nicer to me?” You try, clasping your hands together as you look up at him with an odd smile—a cross between apologetic and playful. You’re joking, or at least half joking. It’s too difficult to be serious with Gojo; his habit of masking emotion with jest must be rubbing off on you.
Only one corner of his mouth raises. “Good one, (Y/N)-chan. As if I didn’t use to pay your bills.”
He doesn’t look at you when he speaks, and he walks away from you without a single glance. You frown and lightly jog a few steps to catch up to him.
“Ah, and I’m forever thankful for that!” You say, cringing at how overly peppy your tone is. “But that’s not exactly what I meant.”
“Hmm,” Is all he says. His hands are in his pockets, but he doesn’t carry himself with as much ease as usual—his posture is closed off, angular and tense.
“What I meant was–” You prompt your own answer, as he doesn’t make any move to. “We haven’t seen each other in a while. I know you’ve been really busy lately, so I don’t blame you, but I think we should go out and do something. Could help relieve some work stress too, don’t you think so?”
“Maybe,” He says, the word short yet effective in its delivery. The word was sharp in his mouth, clear annoyance shaping his tongue enough for the word to have a bite to it.
You wince. He never used to be like this. Gojo has been in a state of perpetual mirth—and one could argue levity—for the entirety of your friendship, never taking anything seriously and always looking for opportunities to poke fun at you to half-jokingly glorify himself. His expression has always been infectiously positive—never molded into anything hard or serious.
But, lately, everything you thought you knew about Gojo Satoru has faded away into your memories. He never seeks out your presence anymore, which is polar opposite from your high school days, when he would follow you around and pester you until you’d hang out with him. You actually used to get annoyed at this behavior, but you’re sorely missing it now.
You feel like you know nothing about him these days, only hearing tidbits here and there from your mutual friend Shoko. It stings to know that he obviously talks to her, and quite often at that, seeing she always has new details to spill every other day.
It doesn’t make sense to you: him and Shoko were never particularly close, definitely not nearly as close as you and Gojo were. In fact, she thought of him as particularly annoying in high school, and often swore to you that she would cut all contact with him once they graduated.
Back then, you had rolled your eyes at her antics, never believing that anybody could cut Gojo out of their life, seeing as he simply wouldn’t let them. But how else could you describe what he seems to be doing to you?
You bite your lip nervously. “Satoru? Is there something wrong?”
“Not particularly,” He says with a forced smile that’s screaming for you to shut up. You pretend like it’s not the most disingenuous smile you’ve ever seen smeared on his face.
“Are you sure?” You probe. “I mean…what’s been going on with you these days? We haven’t seen each other in forever, and you don’t seem yourself.”
“Are you sure?”
His lips are quirked up, as they perpetually are, but it’s different this time. It’s mocking. A mocking smirk that’s telling you to face reality. Do you really know him anymore?
You pause in your steps, studying his expression. You can’t see his eyes, but you wish you could. He’s hard to read with that blindfold concealing those powerful eyes of his, but it never used to be a problem. It hurts that you’re now struggling to gauge him when your emotions used to feel like one.
Evidently, you can’t answer his question. Not that he seems to care.
“I’ve really got to get going. Students to teach, curses to kill, all that,” He announces, tone low and apathetic. Bored. “See ya.”
Your breath flutters in your throat as you try to bid him goodbye. You choke on your words and only end up tentatively raising a hand. Before you can wave, his form disappears. A gust of wind greets you in lieu of a proper goodbye.
You stay where you are for a few shocked moments, not even registering the hot tears that leak from the eyes he avoided.
You wander aimlessly around campus for a while, the whole interaction replaying in your head several times over. His “Are you sure?” needles its way into your brain even when you push it away, the words hitting where it hurts every time.
Your feet find themselves taking you to an empty break room – ah, this is the one that has your favorite flavor of tea. You turn the kettle on, then eagerly dig through the tea stash. You file through the individual packets quickly and thoroughly, but to no avail. It’s gone.
With a sigh, you grab a random tea bag and throw it into your mug. Frustrated, you roughly begin pouring the now-boiled water into the mug, but it doesn’t seem that was a good idea. Your hand slips for just a split second, but a sizable splash of boiling water still manages to singe your non-dominant hand. A stream of expletives leaves your mouth, and you instantly cradle your hand to your heart.
More tears appear. At least you have an excuse this time—it fucking hurts.
You trudge to the clinic, feeling quite silly, but also seeking some much-needed relief. And you’re not exactly imagining painkillers or an ice pack—no, there’s something else. Someone else.
You hesitantly knock on the door. You feel stupid, but you really have to see her.
You crack a smile at the creak of the door. Your friend and co-worker Shoko strides out with an air of confidence you wish you held.
“What happened?” She asks calmly, eyes lazily taking in your form.
“Spilled some water from the kettle,” You say lamely. “It hurts.”
That doesn’t really constitute a visit to one of the only reverse-cursed technique users in the school, and you know it. So does she.
“Mmhm,” She raises her eyebrows. “Well, come on in.”
You shuffle in a little sheepishly, not able to meet Shoko’s eyes. Now that you’re here, you start to feel unsure about your own motive—do you really want to discuss this? Won’t it just be embarrassing more than anything else?
You stall a little in your steps as the negative thoughts invade your head. You’re startled to attention by a poke to your side—when you look up, Shoko’s playful smirk fills your vision.
“Come on over to the sink and we’ll put that under some cool running water,” She says, gesturing to your reddened arm.
You cock your head, looking between her and the sink skeptically, “No ice?”
She shakes her head, sticking her tongue out at you a bit, “Nope! Running water for burns.”
You hold up your hands in defeat, smiling, “Whatever Doctor Shoko says.”
“And I do,” She says cheekily. “So get under that water!”
“Aye-aye,” You say with a salute.
She groans, “Ugh. You guys are so annoyingly similar. Hang on a sec, I gotta grab something.”
She turns away before she can see the way your expression drops. The smile is stolen from your face, leaving behind saddened eyes and a slight frown. There’s only one possible person she could be talking about.
You sigh and turn on the faucet—your disheartened sigh morphs into one of great relief as the cold water soothes your burn.
“That better?” Shoko asks upon her return.
You nod, a small smile coming back, “Yeah, thanks Shoko.”
“Is there something else wrong?” She asks, then shakes her head. “No, scratch that. What’s actually wrong?”
You take a deep breath. How are you going to broach this subject? You wait several moments, pondering your exact next words.
“Do you think Gojo is okay?” You finally ask your long-time friend, words coming out almost cautiously.
She eyes you funnily, “Why are you asking me? As if he doesn’t chase you around the school to blab on about himself.”
You smile, but it’s tainted by bitterness.
“Shoko…Gojo hasn’t talked to me for two months,” You admit quietly. “I don’t know what’s going on.”
She stops.
“What?”
You hate hearing the confusion in her voice. You hate the pity that soon fills her eyes.
“He seriously hasn’t,” You affirm, sighing. “I don’t know what I did, or if I did anything, or…or what. I just, I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Have you tried talking to him about it?”
You sigh. “Of course I have, but he didn’t seem to take my concerns seriously. Or consider them at all. It just seemed like he wanted me to shut up and leave him alone.”
Shoko looks at you curiously, lips quirking as if she has something to say, but no words come out. Is she holding something back?
You take a deep breath, willing the horrible emotion that squeezes your throat away. You look out the window to distract yourself, watching the branches of a sakura sapling swaying in the wind. It looks alone and lost, battered by the relentless wind.
“What’s he been like recently with you?” You finally ask, your gaze still on the tree.
“Normal,” Shoko says. “Annoying as ever. Noisy as ever.”
A cluster of pink petals is ripped from a branch, swirling hopelessly to the ground. When they settle on the ground, you look back to your friend.
“He’s really the same?” You ask weakly.
“Unfortunately,” She says wryly. “Besides, why do you care? We’ve both been trying to get him off our backs since waaay long ago. Sounds like a blessing in disguise.”
“Ah, that’s true,” You admit with a weak chuckle, trying to ignore the way your heart throbs painfully. “But he’s also our friend.”
“Since when? More like a thorn in my side. Maybe he finally got the message,” Shoko smirks. “You should give me instructions for that. I’d have a lot better quality of life, you know.”
You know she’s just joking around with you, but she’s truly just rubbing salt in your wound. Not very ethical for a doctor, even if unintentional.
“Yeah,” You laugh, but it’s an empty sound. “Well, I guess I’ll get going then. Hopefully your next patient gives you an easier time.”
Shoko jokes, “Yeah, this has been my toughest job all week. You fiend.”
Your head is filled with so many questions, all of them growing louder as you walk away from your friend. Your friend who you thought would sympathize with you, but only ended up making you feel worse in the end is acting suspicious. It’s not like you’ve ever wanted to actually cut ties with Gojo, even when he used to pull pranks on you in high school. You craved for a strong friendship with him throughout all his shenanigans.
Why is Shoko acting like you hate Gojo, and what isn’t she telling you?
Before you reach the door, you decide you need to know. You stop abruptly in your tracks.
“Ieiri, you’re not telling me something,” You say softly, not looking back. “Why?”
Shoko sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, “You don’t miss anything, do you?”
You say nothing. The door in front of you is tempting—it’s your way out of knowing the truth. Do you really want to know?
You wait tensely for a few seconds, the silence causing nerves to bubble up in your stomach. But when Shoko begins to speak, they go don’t go away.
“He hasn’t really been acting strange around me, but he’s constantly on his phone. Like always. Whenever he comes to chat, he immediately tunes me out and starts texting or loudly takes a call,” She snorts, huffing out an exasperated sigh. “I thought he was just bored and trying to make me feel disrespected as a sort of cruel joke, but I think it’s something else. I think…I think Gojo is interested in someone.”
Your head whips around, disbelief clear in your features. Interested in someone?
“Maybe that’s why he’s been acting weird. I always thought he was crazy for you, so it didn’t cross my mind until now.”
“Crazy for me?” You immediately echo back, voice hollow and confused.
Shoko shakes her head at you, “C’mon, you can’t be that oblivious. He always followed you around like a lost puppy in high school. He never said anything to me about it, but I really thought he would confess any day for years.”
“He did that to everyone…” You shake your head. “You say yourself he bugged you so much.”
She rolls her eyes. “Trust me, it was different.”
Your heart pounds in your chest. Your vision becomes foggy at the edges, reality fizzling out.
“Why didn’t you want to tell me?” You ask. “It’s not like that matters.”
You try to appear uncaring, yet it was a fight to get those words out.
“You’re a sensitive person. ‘Didn’t know how you’d react since Gojo always seemed to chase after your attention, exclusively. But it’s not like it was the other way around—should have known it wasn’t a big deal. It’s not. Guess he’s just growing up.”
“Yeah,” You agree faintly, voice devoid of emotion. Reality is slipping through your numb fingers, the information turning your world into a nightmare. You should have opened the door and ran when you had the chance.
“It’s not,” You say with a saccharine smile, one so sickly sweet that Shoko gets chills. That’s not your usual smile—not one that Shoko has ever seen you wear. “Of course it’s not.”
When you turn on your heel and rush out of her infirmary, Shoko reaches out a hand and her lips part to call after you. It’s uncharacteristic for her—the cold doctor is rarely sentimental or emotionally affected, but she saw something ghastly in that smile of yours.
The slam of the door answers her call. The truth, now imparted, comes to bite her in the ass.
It’s been a few days. You’ve been moping around the school, around your students—trying to cope with the information that you don’t even know is true. You see him across campus sometimes; he’s so easily spotted with his translucent hair and tall frame. Every time, he’s facing away from you, and your eyes fall on the back of his head. Your chest always tightens and you end up turning away, too.
You have ignored the feelings stirring in your chest, not willing to admit something that clearly isn’t reciprocated. It has been working, you suppose, since you haven’t cracked under the mental weight of possibly being in lo—
No, you can’t even think that.
Everything has been as okay as it can. It’s not until you attempt to visit Shoko again to try sort out your feelings, however, that things take a turn for the worse.
Your hand is raised as you prepare to knock on the infirmary door, but you hesitate once you hear muffled voices.
“I don’t know…I didn’t expect it at all.”
That’s Gojo’s voice. That low but self-assured tone is undeniably his.
“Expect what?” Shoko asks, sounding bored.
His reply is so soft that it passes by as just a hiss of air, so quiet that you physically startle at Shoko’s loud reaction.
“No! What? I can’t believe that!” She shouts, laughter quickly following her exclamation.
You shouldn’t be listening—you hadn’t planned to eavesdrop on your two best friends, but for some reason your ear seeks out the wall, as if magnetized.
The next three words uttered still your heart.
“Utahime kissed me,” Gojo admits quietly.
You feel like you can’t breathe. Utahime, who has always despised Gojo even beyond Shoko’s extent. Utahime, who once cried into your chest after Gojo was harsh with her at an exchange event. Utahime, who always persisted that you and Gojo were into each other during high school.
Shoko’s unbelieving chuckle cuts through your thoughts.
Shoko laughs, “Oh, yeah, okay, as if I’d ever believe that.”
There’s silence. Your heart drops at the lack of response—no teasing refute, no playful faux playboy attitude.
Shoko absorbs his unusual silence, finally interpreting his words for what they are.
She gasps loudly, spluttering, “Oh my God, you’re being serious. What?! There’s no way…”
Gojo’s voice is even and deep. “I didn’t lie. She just did it out of nowhere. I didn’t even know how to react, to be honest.”
“So you just stood there?” Shoko snorts, trying to keep up her usual sarcastic persona. “God, you’re insufferable all the way around.”
“I kissed her back,” He breathes out, voice almost weak.
Another long moment of silence ensues. You hold your breath, terrified that your panicked pants will alert them of your presence.
Shoko recovers quickly this time.
“Still insufferable,” She sighs, and you can imagine her shaking her head. “So what now? You like her or something? This is so random.”
“I…I don’t know,” He admits quietly. “I never thought she’d do that, it took me by surprise. I…I think I liked it?”
Your heart shatters. You clutch a hand to your mouth, gagging yourself, forcing back the pained gasp that’s threatening to leave your lips.
“Oh, is that so?” Shoko says drily, but the usual edge to her voice is absent. You can only imagine her expression: contorted with pity and pain, desperately trying to maintain her poker face.
“Yeah,” Gojo reaffirms. “It was nice.”
There’s silence for a few seconds as Shoko takes it all in. Then, “Is she who you’ve always been calling and texting when I’m talking to you? You’re an ass for that, by the way.”
Gojo exhales out a sardonic sniff, “You’re spot on.”
Why are you still listening? You should leave. You shouldn’t be hearing this. Pain blooms in your chest, as if thorns became lodged between your ribs.
“What about (Y/N)?”
You freeze, eyes bulging out of your head.
Gojo sighs, sounding annoyed, “What do you mean?”
“I’m not dumb, Satoru. There was something going on during high school and frankly in the past few years as well. Are you going to deny it?”
He scoffs, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Shoko. It was never like that.”
You feel like you’re going to be sick. You shouldn’t—there’s no possible way you’re actually in love with Gojo Satoru, is there?
Fuck. The thought you’ve been trying to avoid all this time has finally firmly inserted itself into your head.
You take off swiftly and immediately, and your footfalls are as light as you can possibly manage. If either of them knew you were here, you wouldn’t be able to handle the shame.
Gojo and Shoko are none the wiser to the immoral action that took place just beyond the door—so when Shoko is ready to clock out and opens the door, the presence of a school ID on the ground is nearly missed. She feels something strange crunch underneath her foot and steps away and glances at the foreign object.
You left in such a hurry that your ID flopped out of your pocket. It lays on the ground, your smiling face staring up at Shoko, who looks on in horror. She immediately knows that you heard everything. She quickly steps back onto your ID, concealing your identity with her foot.
With all the sight of his six eyes, Gojo somehow completely missed Shoko’s strategic maneuvers to erase traces of your presence. He whistles nonchalantly, not having a care in the world, apparently.
In contrast, Shoko’s mind is racing. Her eyes roam around the courtyard, searching for your form. She feels rooted to the spot—will she reveal you if she steps away? She almost forgets that she’s not alone.
“You looking for someone?” Gojo asks.
Shoko stiffens, but forces herself to relax and appear nonchalant. “Ah, I was just wondering if…if (Y/N) would still be around.”
Gojo frowns. “Hm. Not sure. Don’t they usually go home right after they get off?”
“Lately, they’ve been staying back to do paperwork,” She sighs. “Masamichi has really giving them too many missions…How come you don’t know that?”
“Haven’t had the chance to catch up, I guess,” Gojo says evasively, then quickly changes the subject. “Besides, aren’t you the same way? You coming or not? I’ve got better things to do.”
He waves his cell phone around playfully, a smirk widening across his features.
Shoko rolls her eyes, “Go ahead. I’m just going to wait here a bit and see if I can text them and get them over here.”
She hesitates for a second before adding, “Actually, why don’t you wait a sec? We haven’t all seen each other in a bit.”
Gojo immediately stiffens. He scratches the back of his head and says, “Ah, I’m actually sort of on a time crunch. Maybe next time.”
What a lie. Shoko thinks, eyes narrowing subconsciously. What is he up to?
As he trails off into the distance, the gears in Shoko’s head continue to turn. He always, always teleports home after work finishes. So why is he slowly walking around campus, head turning this way and that way as if searching?
And you! Why were you there? Why were you so affected? What is going on in your head—or rather, your heart?
Something strange is going on with her two friends and Shoko is determined to find out what.
next part
credit 🩷:
@kiyaedits - baby pink dividers, @sweetxmelody - cherry blossom divider
*note: taglist open!! comment to be tagged in part 2 :)
#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x reader#gojo behavior#hurt/comfort#gojo hurt/comfort#angst#jjk#best buddie shoko#sad bc utahime and shoko aren’t together in this one 😤#Gojo is a hater
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Perzys se ānogar II
Summary:
In the aftemath of Rooks Rest, Aemond arrives on Dragonstone to bend the knee but tensions soon erupt when Vaeda stands against her family to defend her husbands life.
Warnings - Angst, Drama, Langauage, Disagreements, Vulnerability, Confessions, Death Threats, Imprisonment, Physical Violence, Uncle/Niece Incest, Kissing, Smut, Oral Sex (M & F Recieving), P in V, Breeding Kink, Referenced Character Death,
AEMOND TARGARYEN x O.C NIECE
Perzys se ānogar - Fire and Blood.
Word Count: 7800
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.
Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8
"Aemond Targaryen, you stand before me charged with high treason and murder. How do you plead?" said Rhaenyra, her voice firm and commanding.
Aemond lifted his head, meeting Rhaenyra's gaze. "Guilty, Your Grace-" he replied, his voice steady but laced with sorrow.
Rhaenyra's eyes narrowed slightly as she leaned forward. "Do you have anything to say in your defence?"
Aemond took a deep breath, his eyes flickering to Vaeda for a moment before returning to Rhaenyra. "There is nothing I can say to excuse my treason. I helped to steal our father’s throne-as for what happened to Luke-” His voice broke slightly, but he continued, "-It was an accident. I never meant to kill him, I lost control and I-I’m sorry."
“Lost control?” asked Rhaenyra.
“All I wanted was his eye-in payment for the one that he took from me, but he refused. After he left, I chased after him. I just wanted to scare him, to make him feel as helpless as he made me feel that night on Driftmark. I lost sight of him and was about to turn back when Arrax attacked Vhagar, I could hear Luke shouting, but Arrax wouldn’t listen. Vhagar was angry and she lashed out-I tried to stop her but she wouldn’t listen”
The room fell silent, the weight of his confession hanging heavy in the air. Vaeda's eyes were filled with a mixture of sorrow and hope, her hands clenched at her sides. Jace's face was a mask of barely controlled anger, while Baela, Rhaenys, and Corlys watched with guarded expressions.
Rhaenyra's gaze bore into Aemond, assessing him. "You claim it was an accident," she said slowly, "-Yet my son is dead, and your actions have plunged this realm into chaos and war."
Aemond nodded, his expression pained. "I know that, and I am prepared to face the consequences of my actions. But I ask, Your Grace, to consider my regret and my willingness to stand here before you, confessing my guilt."
Rhaenyra's eyes flickered to Vaeda, who stepped forward, her voice steady. "Mother, Aemond is willing to bend the knee, to swear his loyalty to you and to your cause. He came here knowing the risk, but he did so because he wanted to make things right."
Rhaenyra's gaze softened slightly as she looked at her daughter, then back at Aemond. The tension in the room was palpable as everyone awaited her decision.
Finally, she spoke. "-You have confessed to your crimes and expressed your regret and while I cannot bring back my son, I can choose to show mercy. Your fate will be decided by myself and my counsel, until then you will be held as my prisoner-take him to the cells."
As the guards moved to take Aemond away, Vaeda watched, her heart heavy. The sound of the chains echoed around the throne room, a haunting melody of loss and regret. Aemond's eye found hers one last time, and he whispered, "Avy jorrāelan ābrazȳrys" (I love you, wife).
Once Aemond had disappeared and the doors were firmly shut, Rhaenyra turned her attention to Vaeda. "What exactly happened at Rook's Rest?" she demanded, her eyes narrowing.
Vaeda took a deep breath, steadying herself. "Lord Staunton was under siege by the Greens' forces, led by Criston Cole. I had Cannibal burn as many of them as I could. But then Aegon arrived with Sunfyre, and we engaged each other in aerial combat."
The council members exchanged concerned glances, the tension in the room palpable.
Vaeda continued, "Then Aemond arrived with Vhagar, and he directed her towards Aegon and attacked him."
Gasps of shock rippled through the council. Rhaenyra's eyes widened in disbelief. "Aemond attacked his own brother?"
Vaeda nodded. "Yes, Sunfyre fell from the sky and whilst I could have fled, I knew that getting rid of Vhagar was a chance I could not pass up. So, I had Cannibal attack. The two dragons fought and were evenly matched. They crashed into the ground, and I was thrown from the saddle."
Rhaenyra, still seated on her rock-carved throne, leaned forward. "Then what happened?" she asked, her voice firm but laced with curiosity.
Vaeda took a deep breath before continuing. "I regained consciousness and discovered Aemond injured. I could have left him to die, but I didn't."
Jace scoffed loudly, "You should have left him to die."
Rhaenyra shot him a silencing glare. "Continue-"
"I saved Aemond's life," Vaeda said. "We talked—he told me what happened that night in the skies above Storm's End, and why he attacked Aegon. He also killed Cole to protect me."
Jace's eyes narrowed. "That's not all he did, given the love bite on your neck."
Vaeda blushed deeply, but she held her ground. She turned back to her mother, who shook her head in disbelief. Jace wasn't finished, though, his anger bubbling over. "So Aemond tries to kill his own brother, then sets his dragon upon his own wife, and she not only saves his life but fucks him in the forest like some animal."
"It wasn't like that," Vaeda protested, her voice rising. "Aemond thought that by coming here, he would be executed. We thought it might be the last time-”
“Vaeda-” muttered Rhaenyra, her voice soft yet firm.
“Muña kostilus, ziry emagon issa prūmia, ziry iksos issa idañnykeā perzys” (Mother please, he has my heart, he is my twin flame).
“Jāhor bona lua zirȳla pazavor?” asked Rhaenyra (Will that keep him loyal).
“Ziry jāhor, nyke kivio” exclaimed Vaeda (It will, I promise).
Jace sniggered angrily, but Baela elbowed him in the ribs, silencing him.
Rhaenyra looked at her daughter with a mix of emotions. "Vaeda, your loyalty to Aemond complicates things. His actions have caused great pain to our family, and yet you speak on his behalf."
Vaeda's eyes welled with tears. "Mother, I know what he has done is unforgivable, but he is still my husband and the father of my child. He came here to make things right. He deserves a chance to atone."
Rhaenyra sighed deeply, the weight of her crown pressing heavily on her. "Vaeda, this war has torn us apart, and every decision we make carries immense consequences. Aemond must remain in the cells until we decide his fate. But I will consider what you’ve said”
Vaeda nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Thank you, Mother."
Rhaenyra looked to her council. "We will meet in the council chambers on the morrow to discuss our next steps. Vaeda, you may return to your chambers and bathe-I will send Maester Gerardys to check on your injuries”
Freshly bathed, Vaeda sat quietly in her chambers as Maester Gerardys examined her injuries. Rhaegar sat on a blanket at her feet, playing with his toys.
Gerardys’ experienced hands moved carefully over her bruised ribs, noting the few minor scrapes.
"You've a small but deep wound on your forehead, Princess," Gerardys said gently, his fingers probing the area with care. "It will require stitches; I can prescribe milk of-"
"-No" replied Vaeda, her voice steady despite the pain.
"As you wish." Gerardys prepared his needle and thread, his movements precise and practiced. He began stitching the wound, his touch delicate yet firm. Vaeda winced but bore the pain silently, her gaze fixed on a distant point, the sounds of Rhaegar happily playing filtered through the air.
As he worked, Gerardys noticed the love bites on her neck. He paused briefly, then continued stitching. "Princess, do you require moon tea?" he asked, his tone respectful.
"No, thank you," Vaeda replied softly as she placed a hand on her stomach.
After a moment of silence, Vaeda's thoughts spilled forth. "Do you think I'm crazy for defending Aemond after everything he's done?"
Gerardys paused in his work, meeting her eyes with a kind and thoughtful expression. "Princess, I have known you since you were a small child. Not once have I ever thought you were crazy. Stubborn, yes, but never crazy."
His words brought a small, grateful smile to her lips. He finished stitching the wound and carefully tied off the thread, ensuring the stitches were secure. "There, all done," he said, stepping back to admire his work. "Do you require anything else?"
Vaeda shook her head. "No, thank you".
He nodded and gathered his supplies. "Rest well, Princess. Call on me if you need anything."
As Gerardys left the room, Vaeda leaned back in her chair watching as Rhaegar still played contentedly with his toys on the floor, his silver hair shimmering in the candlelight.
Suddenly, a distant, deep grumbling roar echoed through the air, causing Rhaegar to look up, his bright eyes wide with recognition. "Vhagar," he said, pointing towards the window.
Vaeda nodded, her smile bittersweet. "Yes, darling."
Rhaegar's face lit up with excitement. "Daddy here?" he asked eagerly.
Vaeda took a deep breath, her heart heavy. "Yes, he is."
"I want see daddy," Rhaegar said, pulling himself to his feet. He toddled towards the door; his small hands outstretched. "Daddy!"
“Rhaegar-we can’t” whispered Vaeda as she quickly scooped him up, holding him close as he buried his face in her neck.
"Pease, mummy—want see daddy," pleaded Rhaegar, his voice muffled and tearful.
Vaeda stroked his silver hair, her resolve wavering. "Alright, my sweet. I will take you to see your daddy, but you must be very quiet. Can you do that for me?"
Rhaegar sniffled but nodded, his tiny hands clutching his stuffed dragon teddy tightly. "Yes, mummy. Quiet."
With a deep breath, Vaeda adjusted Rhaegar in her arms and headed out the door. She moved silently through the dimly lit corridors of Dragonstone, her heart pounding with each step. The castle was eerily quiet, the shadows long and foreboding.
Vaeda held Rhaegar close as she descended the winding staircase towards the cells. The stone walls emitting a soft warmth as she passed.
Rhaegar clung to her, his small fingers gripping the fabric of her dress. His amethyst eyes looked around curiously, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings with a mix of wonder and apprehension.
As they approached the cell, Vaeda saw two guards standing watch. She walked towards them, her heart pounding. The guards stepped forward, blocking her path.
"You are not allowed to be here by order of the Queen," one of them said sternly.
Vaeda took a deep breath, her eyes pleading. "Please, just for a few minutes. Rhaegar wants to see his father."
The guards exchanged uncertain glances, clearly torn between their orders and the heartfelt request. After a moment, one of them spoke. "You have five minutes. No more."
Vaeda thanked them with a relieved nod as they unlocked the heavy door and moved aside. She stepped into the dimly lit cell, her heart aching at the sight before her.
Aemond was chained to the wall, his face turned towards the small window, the faint light casting shadows across his sharp features.
"Daddy!" Rhaegar's voice broke the silence, filled with pure joy.
Aemond turned at the sound, a smile breaking across his weary face. "Byka zaldrīzes" he breathed; his voice choked with emotion (Little dragon).
Vaeda set Rhaegar down, and the little boy ran to his father, throwing his small arms around Aemond's neck as best as he could.
"Miss you, Daddy," he said, his voice muffled against Aemond's tunic.
Aemond struggled against the chains, the metal clinking as he tried to move his arms. But the chains were too short, preventing him from fully embracing his son.
"I miss you too" he said, his voice thick with emotion. He managed to lower his head and press a kiss to Rhaegar's hair, his eye shining with unshed tears.
Vaeda stood by the door, watching the scene with a heavy heart. She knew their time was limited, and every second felt precious. Rhaegar looked up at his father, his small face full of concern. "Daddy, why you here?"
Aemond sighed, his gaze shifting to Vaeda for a moment before returning to his son. "Daddy made some bad choices-”
Rhaegar nodded solemnly, not fully understanding. He nestled closer to Aemond, his little hands clutching at his father's tunic.
Vaeda stepped forward, her voice soft. "We have to go soon, Rhaegar."
Rhaegar looked up, his eyes pleading. "No, mummy. Stay with daddy."
Vaeda's heart broke a little more at his words. She knelt beside them, placing a gentle hand on Rhaegar's back. "We can't stay, but we'll see daddy again soon”.
Rhaegar nodded and then quickly pressed his stuffed dragon teddy into Aemond’s hands, the soft fabric contrasting sharply with the cold metal of the chains.
“Keep, daddy. Safe,” said Rhaegar.
Aemond’s eye widened, as he clutched the stuffed dragon close a single tear slid down his cheek, glistening in the dim light.
Rhaegar reached up and wiped the tear away with his tiny hand. “No cry, Daddy,” he said softly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Aemond’s cheek.
Aemond looked at Vaeda, his eye filled with gratitude and sorrow. "Thank you," he whispered.
Vaeda nodded, her own eyes glistening with tears. She stood and lifted Rhaegar into her arms, the little boy protesting weakly. "We have to go now, my love."
As they turned to leave, Aemond's voice stopped them. "Rhaegar, be a good boy for your mother? I love you both so very much."
Rhaegar nodded; his face buried in Vaeda's shoulder. “Love you daddy”
Vaeda carried Rhaegar out of the cell, the door closing behind them with a heavy thud.
Later that night, Vaeda woke with a start. She could have sworn she heard Aemond's voice calling out to her in the darkness. As she sat up, straining to listen, her attention was captured by the sound of Vhagar roaring in the distance, followed by the unmistakable high-pitched whistle of her father's dragon, Caraxes. A cold dread settled in her chest. Something was wrong.
Pulling on a robe, Vaeda ran down the halls towards the cells. As she approached, she noticed the guards were conspicuously absent, replaced by the sounds of pained groans. Her heart pounded as she flung open the door to Aemond's cell.
Inside, she found her father, Daemon, his fist connecting brutally with Aemond's face. Blood spattered the cold stone floor.
"Stop!" Vaeda screamed, rushing between them. She placed herself protectively in front of Aemond, who was slumped against the wall, blood trickling from his nose and mouth.
Daemon's eyes blazed with fury. "Move, Vaeda. Let me deal with the kinslayer. This boy killed your brother. He deserves to pay for his crimes."
Vaeda stood her ground, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and determination. "If that is the case, then you should pay for yours. You may not have taken the blade to young Jaehaerys' neck, but you paid the men who did."
Daemon's face contorted with rage. "That was a mistake"
"Leave Aemond alone," Vaeda insisted, her voice steadying. "It is for the Queen to decide his fate."
Daemon snarled, his eyes narrowing at his daughter. After a tense moment, he stormed out of the cell, his heavy footsteps echoing in the corridor. Vaeda exhaled shakily, turning to see the guards had returned, their expressions conflicted.
"Unlock his chains," she demanded. When they hesitated, she added, "By order of the princess, or I will have you fed to Cannibal."
The threat worked. The guards moved quickly, freeing Aemond from his bonds. He slumped forward, barely able to stand. Vaeda reached out, helping him to his feet.
"Lean on me," she whispered, her voice soft but firm. "I'm taking you to my chambers."
Aemond nodded weakly, his body trembling with pain and exhaustion. As they made their way out of the cell, Vaeda cast a final, defiant glance at the guards, who quickly averted their eyes. If they wouldn’t do their job and guard Aemond then she would do it for them.
They moved slowly through the darkened corridors, Aemond leaning heavily on Vaeda. She could feel the tension in his muscles, the unspoken gratitude and vulnerability. When they finally reached her chambers, Vaeda helped him to the bed, gently easing him down.
"Thank you," Aemond whispered, his voice rough.
Vaeda sat beside him, her hand resting on his. "You're safe now," she said softly. "I won't let anyone hurt you."
The next day, Vaeda left Aemond in her chambers, having summoned Maester Gerardys to assess his injuries. The maester had cleaned and dressed the previously cauterized wound on Aemond's stomach and reset his broken nose, whilst administering a dose of milk of the poppy to ease his pain.
Now, Aemond slept soundly, his breathing even and steady. Vaeda took a deep breath, steeling herself for the council meeting that would decide Aemond's fate.
As she entered the council chamber, the room fell silent. Rhaenyra sat at the head of the table, her face stern and regal. Daemon, Jace, Baela, Rhaenys, Corlys, and the other lords were present, their expressions a mix of concern and determination.
Rhaenyra's eyes softened for a moment as she gazed upon her daughter "Vaeda, I have talked extensively with my council, and we all agree that it's too much of a risk to allow Aemond to live”
“Are you being serious?” exclaimed Vaeda.
“I’m sorry-but his past actions have proven that he can't be trusted” explained Rhaenyra.
Vaeda scoffed, her frustration boiling over. "Like you can stand there and talk about trust after all the lies you've told. The consequences of which stand before you, in the form of your children."
A shocked silence fell over the room. Rhaenyra's eyes widened in disbelief. Daemon's face darkened as he commanded, "Be mindful of how you speak to your Queen"
“Or else what?” challenged Vaeda.
“I shall have you punished” threatened Daemon.
“Wonderful-” mocked Vaeda clapping her hands together.
“Carry on and you will suffer the consequences-or your kinslayer husband will” snarled Daemon.
Vaeda's eyes flashed with defiance. "You dare after all the trouble you've caused over the years, and yet you dare to label Aemond a kinslayer when you're guilty of the exact same thing?"
Daemon slammed his fist down on the table, rising from his seat with fury. He charged toward Vaeda, his hand wrapping around her throat. "You know nothing of what I'm truly capable of” he hissed.
Vaeda smirked, her voice steady despite the pressure on her throat. "Oh, I know exactly what you're capable of."
Daemon felt a pinching sensation in his side, and he looked down to see the dagger Vaeda had pressed into his side.
“A bold move daughter-” said Daemon smiling, almost as if he was impressed.
"Stand down, both of you. NOW!" Rhaenyra's voice cut through the tension, commanding and firm.
Vaeda put the dagger back inside her sleeve as she stood before her mother, the anger still seething within her. "-This is all your fault," she began, her voice shaking with emotion. "Maybe if you had remained in King's Landing and actually spent time solidifying your position as heir instead of hiding away on Dragonstone, it wouldn't have been so easy to usurp you and maybe if you had bonded with your siblings instead of scorning them, our house wouldn't be so divided."
Rhaenyra's eyes widened in shock, but Vaeda didn't stop there. "And maybe if you had made Luke apologize for slashing out Aemond's eye, he might still be alive. You’ve helped to sow the seeds of discord, and now we’re the one’s dealing the consequences. But I will not stand by and let you sentence Aemond to death-"
"Vaeda," Rhaenyra started, her voice strained, but Vaeda cut her off.
"No! There has to be another way”
The room fell silent, the tension palpable. Rhaenyra's face was a mask of pain and regret. "Vaeda, I never wanted any of this," she said softly. "But we have to think of the realm. Aemond's actions have threatened our cause and the lives of our people."
Vaeda's eyes filled with tears, but she stood firm. "And what about my family? What about Rhaegar growing up without his father? What about me, losing the man I love? There has to be another way. Because if you give that order, then I swear you will never see me or Rhaegar again"
“You are heir to the Iron Throne” muttered Jace.
“FUCK THE IRON THRONE!” declared Vaeda savagely.
Rhaenyra looked at her daughter, the weight of her words sinking in. She saw the determination and pain in Vaeda's eyes, and it broke her heart. "I don't want to lose you," she whispered.
"Then don't make me choose-because it will be him. It will always be him" Vaeda replied, her voice trembling.
Rhaenyra took a deep breath, her expression firm yet sorrowful. "I cannot trust Aemond, this you know" she began, her voice steady. "But I will not lose my only daughter." She paused, searching Vaeda's eyes for understanding. “Aemond may keep his life, but he is to remain on Dragonstone for the rest of his days."
Vaeda's breath caught in her throat, but she said nothing, waiting for her mother to continue.
"And when the time comes for you to be crowned Queen," Rhaenyra continued, her tone resolute, "Aemond will not sit beside you as your Consort King. You will rule the Seven Kingdoms on your own, until your son ascends the throne after your natural passing"
Vaeda stood before her mother, heart pounding. She knew how much was at stake. The fate of her husband and the future of her family rested on her next words. She took a deep, shuddering breath, her decision weighing heavily on her.
"Alright," she said, her voice barely above a whisper at first, but then she found her strength. "I agree to your conditions”
Rhaenyra nodded, her eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and relief. "I know this isn't easy, but it's the only way."
Vaeda's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts as she made her way back to her chambers. How would Aemond react? Would he understand the necessity of this compromise? Her heart ached at the thought of telling him, but she knew it was either this or see him executed and she couldn't bear the latter.
Entering her chambers, she found Aemond still resting, his face peaceful in sleep. She approached quietly, not wanting to startle him. Sitting beside him, she gently took his hand in hers, waiting for him to wake.
Aemond stirred, his eye fluttering open. He looked up at her, confusion and concern evident in his gaze. "Vaeda?" he murmured.
"Aemond," she said softly, squeezing his hand.
He sat up slowly, wincing slightly at the pain from his injuries. "What is it?"
Vaeda took another deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation. "My mother has made her decision-”
“Am I to meet the stranger?” asked Aemond quietly.
“That was to be your fate, but I managed to convince my mother otherwise-” replied Vaeda as she reached forward and tucked a lose strand of Aemond’s long silver hair behind his ear.
“How?”
“I told her that if she ordered your execution then she would never see me or Rhaegar ever again. Plus, I may have told her a few home truths whilst I was at it, and I might have gone slightly overboard-” said Vaeda smiling sheepishly.
“Hmmm”
“A compromise was reached. You will be allowed to live, but you must stay on Dragonstone for the remainder of your days and when I become Queen, you will not be my Consort King. I will rule alone."
Aemond's eye widened slightly, processing her words. Silence stretched between them as he absorbed the news.
Finally, he nodded, his expression a mixture of relief and resignation. "I understand," he said quietly. "If it means that I can stay with you and Rhaegar, then it doesn’t matter”
“No matter what-you will always be Issa dārys” (My King).
“Issa dāria-” muttered Aemond (My Queen).
"Sounds like someone is hungry," teased Vaeda at the sound of Aemond’s stomach growling.
“Little bit” replied Aemond.
“I'll go request some food for you” said Vaeda as she started to move from the bed.
But before she could get far, Aemond's hand shot out, gently taking hold of her wrist. "I'm not hungry for food," he said, his voice low and filled with intent.
Vaeda's cheeks flushed a delicate pink as she realized what he meant. Her heartbeat quickened, as she allowed Aemond to pull her back onto the bed.
"Aemond," she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and affection.
He moved closer, his eye locking onto hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. "Vaeda," he murmured, his voice soft but filled with longing. "I need you."
She nodded, feeling a wave of love and desire wash over her as Aemond's hand moved to cup her cheek, his thumb gently brushing over her skin. "I love you," he said, his voice rough with emotion.
"I love you too," Vaeda replied, her voice filled with sincerity. She leaned in, capturing his lips in a quick tender kiss.
Aemond watched with a hooded gaze as Vaeda moved off the bed and began to untie the laces of her gown, letting it fall to the floor, with the material pooling at her feet.
Whilst she removed her shift, Aemond hastily pulled off his breeches and small clothes, he sighed in relief as his already hard cock was free from its confines.
Vaeda smiled slightly as she hooked her fingers around her own small clothes and slowly pulled them down, Aemond could feel himself salivating as he stared at her cunny.
“Come here-” growled Aemond, as he reached out and tugged Vaeda back on the bed.
“Let me take care of you” muttered Vaeda as she placed kisses along Aemond jaw and then down his neck, making sure to gently nip and suck his skin as she went.
She carried on moving down, pausing as she reached his chest, she grinned as she took one of his nipples into her mouth, her tongue teasing it before she bit down gently.
“FUCK” moaned Aemond.
“Does issa dārys like that?” asked Vaeda as she moved across and gave his other nipple the same attention, (My King).
“Oh. Gods” whimpered Aemond as she moved further down his body, her tongue and teeth grazing his pale skin.
When she reached the trail of hair from his belly button down to his cock, she pressed her nose against him and giggled when she felt the hair tickle her skin.
“Kostilus issa jorrāelagon” begged Aemond (Please my love).
“Ao līs umbagon issa zaldrīzes” replied Vaeda (You must wait, my dragon).
Aemond stared down at his naughty wife, his mouth hanging open as Vaeda’s warm, wet mouth quickly wrapped around the head of his cock.
Her tongue gently moving around the tip – tracing the ridges and licking off that drops of pre-cum that had started to leak out.
“Fuck, Vaeda!” groaned Aemond as he threaded his fingers through his wife’s silver hair.
Vaeda ran the flat of her tongue along Aemond’s length, tracing every hard inch of him.
Aemond’s heart almost stopped when she sucked his stones into her mouth, one at a time.
Her hand moving slowly over the hard length of him.
When Vaeda moved and engulfed Aemond’s cock in her mouth again, he squeezed his eye shut. She was driving him crazy.
But Aemond forced himself to open his eye, he needed to watch as his wife sucked his cock.
“Your taking me so well. Such a good girl” moaned Aemond.
Aemond knew it would push the limits of his control, but he did not care. He just had to watch his cock disappear into Vaeda’s mouth and see it come back out, shining with her spit.
Her head moving back and forth, her perfect pink lips stretched around him.
“I’m not going to last if you carry on” Aemond admitted, though it pained him to do so.
Vaeda smiled slightly and began moving faster, also using one of her hands in rhythm with her mouth.
“It feels so good-that’s it” groaned Aemond.
Vaeda responded to his statement by relaxing the back of her throat, and swallowing as much of her husband’s cock as she could, whilst her other hand cupped his stones.
“Shit-Vaeda. I’m going to come. Oh, fuck, I’m coming!” shouted Aemond as he exploded.
His wife took every last drop, swallowing his warm seed and licking him clean.
When he recovered, Aemond saw Vaeda’s self-satisfied smile.
“Was that to your liking husband?” asked Vaeda.
“Y-Yes. Now get up here and ride my face until I’m ready again” gasped Aemond.
“But your nose” whispered Vaeda concerned.
“I don’t care-get up here and sit on my fucking face” ordered Aemond, his cock already twitching with interest.
Vaeda hovered above Aemond’s face; her knees splayed on either side of his head.
“Such a pretty cock sleeve" breathed Aemond as he ran the flat of his tongue along Vaeda’s soaked slit, from bottom to the top, tasting her.
“Oh, my god” moaned Vaeda her eyes rolling into the back of her head.
“That’s it Issa dōna. Let me hear you” (My sweet).
“YES. It feels so good. Don’t stop. Aemond. Please” begged Vaeda.
“FUCK” growled Aemond.
“Ooooh A-Aemond” shrieked Vaeda.
"Delicious" purred Aemond as he began lapping at Vaeda, running his tongue along every fold.
"More" panted Vaeda "Please. I need more”.
Aemond inserted two fingers, sliding them in and out of her slick wet folds.
“Oh" whimpered Vaeda; her chest heaving as she began to gently roll her hips against him.
“That’s it baby, ride my fucking face” groaned Aemond, his cock was so hard that it was boarding on painful.
Vaeda was giving off a slew of loud swear words, moans, and pleas, that anyone passing her chambers would surely hear.
Aemond’s fingers were soaking wet as they continued to pump in and out of her tight heat.
“I can’t wait to get my cock inside you. I don’t want to wait any longer, come for me baby, come for daddy” moaned Aemond.
Finally, he felt Vaeda’s inner walls start to flutter around his fingers, squeezing them. Vaeda’s back arched taut as a bow and she screamed her release.
Aemond pumped slowly and lapped at his wife’s centre as she came.
After a few minutes, Aemond gently urged his wife to move down, so she was hovering above his cock.
Her hand wrapped around him, running the head of his cock along her warm wet folds.
“Your such a tease” moaned Aemond as his hips jerked involuntarily.
But it feels so good” replied Vaeda as she slowly sunk down on his cock, so only the tip of him was inside her.
“P-Please” whimpered Aemond.
“Uh-uh” said Vaeda shaking her head from side to side.
After a few torturous minutes Aemond couldn’t take it anymore and seized his wife’s hips, before surging up and ploughing his hard cock into her soaked cunt.
"AEMOND!" screamed Vaeda.
"Gods. You feel so good" rasped Aemond.
"Fuck me, Aemond" urged Vaeda, her tone bordering on desperate as she rolled her hips against his.
Aemond started to thrust slowly, trying to prolong the feel of his wife squeezing his cock.
“P-Please. Husband” whined Vaeda as Aemond began teasing her pearl with his thumb.
“That’s it-take all of me”
“OH-MY-“ shrieked Vaeda Aemond began to move.
"Faster, please" begged Vaeda.
“Like this?” replied Aemond as he gave a quick deep thrust.
“Yes, Aemond, just like that-" panted Vaeda.
Her hands ran along his arms, over his shoulders and down his chest, digging her nails into his pale skin.
“Gods, Vaeda" grunted Aemond, speeding up slightly.
"Fuck me, Aemond" whispered Vaeda "Fuck me with that big, cock of yours. You feel so good inside me, filling me up. Give me what I need. Give me your seed. I want it”.
Aemond knew exactly what Vaeda was doing, and he couldn’t help himself.
Vaeda wanted faster and he was going much faster now, his feet planted on the bed to give him more leverage and his pace increased with every filthy word that dropped from his wife’s luscious lips as he pounded into her.
“Aemond-I’m going to come. Oh, fuck!” screamed Vaeda; not caring if anyone could hear them.
Vaeda always looked amazing when she came. Her head thrown back in pleasure, her amethyst eyes alive with lust, and her pale skin shining with sweat.
“I’m going to put another babe in you-See you full of milk-”
“Y-Yes A-Aemond-I want another. Give it to me” whined Vaeda as she clamped down around his cock so hard he could hardly move.
That, combined with how glorious Vaeda looked, pushed Aemond over the edge, the heat shooting across his abdomen.
“God. Vaeda” groaned Aemond as he exploded. His cock throbbing and twitching as he spilled his seed inside his wife’s wet heat.
Afterwards, as they lay together, tangled in each other’s arms, the door to Vaeda’s chambers suddenly opened.
Aemond instinctively moved to cover himself and Vaeda with a sheet, but the sudden movement caused a sharp pain to shoot through his stomach, and he hissed in discomfort.
"Easy," Vaeda murmured, her fingers brushing against his cheek, concern etched in her eyes.
Jace stood in the doorway, his gaze fixed on his sister and Aemond, watching as Vaeda fussed over Aemond, the tenderness in her actions surprising him.
He had always known his sister to be fierce and unyielding, and seeing her reduced to a cock struck woman made his stomach churn. He hated the hold Aemond had over her.
Aemond caught Jace staring at Vaeda, and his lips curled into a slight sneer. "It is not appropriate to covet another man's wife, especially in the presence of her husband," he said, his voice dripping with condescension.
Jace's face reddened, and he looked at the floor, muttering, "The Queen has asked that you both attend dinner." Without waiting for a response, he hastily left the room, shutting the door behind him.
Aemond scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "She expects me to break bread with—"
Vaeda placed a gentle finger over his lips, silencing him. "She has allowed you to keep your life. Let's not give her cause to change her mind," she said softly, her eyes pleading with him to understand.
Aemond sighed, his hand covering hers. "Very well," he relented, though the resentment in his voice was unmistakable. "For you, I will endure this."
Vaeda smiled, pressing a tender kiss to his forehead. "Thank you,"
Vaeda and Aemond walked into the dining room, with Rhaegar nestled securely in his father’s arms. The air was thick with tension as they took their seats at the long table. The faces around it—Rhaenyra, Daemon, Jace, Baela, Rhaenys, and Corlys—were a mix of curiosity, suspicion, and barely concealed animosity.
Even though he was hungry Aemond hesitated to eat, his eye flicking to each dish with apprehension.
Daemon noticed and couldn’t resist a jab. “Fear not, nephew. It would not serve to poison you now, not after your wife fought so valiantly for your life.”
Vaeda’s eyes flashed with anger as she scowled at her father. “Enough,” she said through gritted teeth.
Aemond reached for Vaeda’s hand under the table and gave it a gentle squeeze before he reached for some bread and meat.
The entire table of guests were silent, the only noise was the sound of cutlery on the plates, and as the awkwardness progressed, Rhaenyra found herself watching Aemond as he interacted with Rhaegar. Despite the tension, he appeared to be a very attentive and loving father.
Rhaegar openly vied for his father’s attention, and even when the boy threw a tantrum and refused to eat his peas, Aemond remained patient and calm, and Rhaegar eventually gave in and ate his food, much to the quiet amazement of those watching.
Daemon, never one to let an opportunity for a snide remark pass, said, “Surprised to see that you’re actually a decent father.”
Aemond’s expression hardened. “I simply wish for my son to know he is loved, something Viserys never managed to show all of his children. That right was exclusively reserved for his favourite child”
Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed, but before she could respond, Daemon openly declared, “We set out for King’s Landing on the morrow. Do you wish to beg for the lives of your traitorous kin?”
Vaeda’s patience snapped. “Father, stop.”
Aemond’s voice was steady but filled with restrained anger. “Aegon will pose no threat, as he will more than likely succumb to his injuries, Daeron is but a boy in Oldtown. As for my mother and Helaena, they are innocent of any wrongdoing. Perhaps that’s something you should’ve remembered when you ordered the execution of Jaehaerys.”
Vaeda slammed her hands down on the table, her frustration boiling over. “ENOUGH!”
She took Rhaegar from Aemond’s arms and stormed out of the dining room, her movements swift and determined.
Aemond rose to follow, his eye burning with a mix of anger and sorrow as Daemon sniggered into his cup of wine, clearly enjoying the chaos he had sown.
The next evening, Aemond was pacing around Vaeda's chambers, his steps echoing in the dimly lit room. The heavy burden of uncertainty pressed down on him as he thought of Rhaenyra and Daemon taking King’s Landing.
Vaeda had been reluctant to take Cannibal, as he was still tired from the battle at Rook’s Rest, but her mother’s insistence that she needed her daughter by her side had ultimately swayed her, and Vaeda had spent many hours making sure Cannibal gorged himself on as much food as he could in preparation for the journey to Kings Landing.
Aemond had asked to accompany them, but Rhaenyra had refused.
Now, he found himself left on Dragonstone with Rhaegar under heavy guard. Throughout the day, he made sure his son was fed and entertained.
They played dragons, and he read to him, but no distraction could keep his mind from wandering back to thoughts of his mother, Helaena, and the children. He had faith in Vaeda’s advocacy for their safety, but Daemon was such an unpredictable wildcard that not even the gods would know of his plans.
He did not mourn his grandsire or the others on the council—the seeds of their treason had been sown long before he ever existed. Yet, the uncertainty of their fates gnawed at him.
As night fell, Aemond found himself unwilling to part from Rhaegar. He lay in bed with his son cuddled up to him, the child’s soft breaths a soothing rhythm in the dark room.
Watching Rhaegar sleep, Aemond couldn’t help but notice how much he resembled Vaeda. A fond smile touched his lips as he remembered how she drooled in her sleep too, a detail he would never dare to mention to her of course.
The moonlight filtered through the window, casting a gentle glow over the room. Aemond’s thoughts drifted to the precarious future ahead. He whispered a silent prayer for Vaeda’s safety, hoping that her presence would be enough to sway any harsh decisions made against his family.
Aemond stirred awake, the feeling of a soft touch on his face bringing him out of his slumber. He opened his eye and saw Vaeda sitting on the bed, her hair windswept and falling free from its braid. She looked weary but determined.
"Are you okay?" he asked, concern lacing his voice.
Vaeda nodded quietly, then whispered, "Follow me."
Gently detaching himself from Rhaegar, he carefully rose from the bed. Elana, the handmaid had entered the room to look after the still-sleeping boy.
Aemond followed Vaeda through the dimly lit corridors, his heart pounding with every step.
"Is everything okay? What about my mother? Helaena and the children?" he asked repeatedly, but Vaeda remained silent, her expression unreadable.
They reached the throne room, its vast space cloaked in darkness. Vaeda led him to the centre of the room and stopped.
Aemond looked around, confused and anxious, when he heard a voice that made his heart skip a beat.
"Brother."
He turned swiftly to see Helaena standing there, her face illuminated by the faint moonlight filtering through the windows. Overwhelmed, he walked toward her, his voice trembling.
"May I?"
Helaena nodded, and they embraced, the weight of their separation melting away in that moment. Tears welled up in his eye as he held her close.
"Uncle!" came a chorus of little voices.
Aemond looked up to see Jaehaera and Maelor running toward him, their faces lit with joy. He knelt down, opening his arms wide to gather them in a tight embrace.
He looked over their heads at Vaeda, stunned and grateful. She stood watching them, a tender smile on her lips.
"Thank you," whispered Aemond, his voice thick with emotion.
Vaeda walked over to join them, her hand gently resting on his shoulder. "They are to reside here with us-I hope this is pleasing to you husband"
Aemond, still holding his niece and nephew close, looked at Vaeda with an intense gaze. "What happened in King's Landing?"
Vaeda took a deep breath. "My mother has successfully claimed the Iron Throne. The traitors have been culled, with much enthusiasm from my father and your mother has been confined to her chambers, but she is safe."
Aemond's jaw tightened, and he nodded slowly, processing the information. "And Aegon?" he asked, his voice strained.
Vaeda hesitated, glancing at Helaena. Aemond noticed the exchange and felt a knot form in his stomach. Helaena stepped forward; her eyes filled with sorrow.
"Aegon is dead," she said quietly. "He was in much pain. It was kinder to let him slip away while he was sleeping."
Aemond's eye widened, and he looked at his sister in shock. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"The feathers in the cotton took his breath” whispered Helaena.
Aemond’s breath caught in his throat as he realized what she meant. He stared at her, as the weight of her words began to sink in.
He didn't say anything. Because he had no right. Aegon's injuries had been his fault, and now his brother was dead. The realization left him hollow, a deep ache settling in his chest.
“The seed will bear many fruits-the dragon’s line is long; the unburnt mother will fight the ice and fire song” muttered Helaena softly.
“What?” asked Aemond.
“The stories’ in the steel” uttered Helaena as she reached into her long overcoat and pulled out the Valyrian steel dagger that once belonged to Viserys and then Aegon.
“Helaena, how did you-” exclaimed Aemond his singular eye widening.
“The heir knows, passed down from one to the other” said Helaena as she handed the dagger to Vaeda.
“What do you mean?” asked Aemond.
"I'm quite tired. It’s been a long day. Might I go to bed?" asked Helaena, her voice soft and almost childlike.
Vaeda nodded. She turned to a nearby guard. "Please escort Princess Helaena and the children to the guest chambers," she instructed.
“I do not fear my dreams this night-”
As a guard appeared and gestured for Helaena to follow. She picked up Maelor, his small arms wrapping around her neck, and took Jaehaera's hand.
Aemond watched them go, a mixture of curiosity and relief washing over him. He turned back to Vaeda, his expression softening.
“What was all that about?”
“As me again sometime and I will tell you” replied Vaeda.
Aemond simply smiled as he pulled her close and kissed her, pouring every ounce of love and gratitude he felt into that kiss.
Vaeda melted into his embrace, her own emotions swirling. When they finally broke apart, “I love you," Aemond whispered, his voice full of resolve.
"I love you too," Vaeda replied softly, her fingers gently tracing his scarred cheek.
Many moons had passed since Rhaenyra had reclaimed the Iron Throne and establishing her rule as Queen was not an easy task. While she had her supporters, others still rallied behind Aegon. Rumours of his demise had sparked calls for Aemond to press his own claim, but he steadfastly refused.
Confined to Dragonstone, Aemond found solace in the ancestral seat of House Targaryen. The vast library, filled with ancient scrolls and Valyrian texts, captivated his mind, satisfying his thirst for the knowledge of his forebears.
His days were filled with training and sparring with the guards of Dragonstone, honing his skills. He also took to teaching Rhaegar High Valyrian, cherishing every moment spent with his son.
Helaena, Jaehaera, and Maelor were thriving on Dragonstone, and to Vaeda’s horror so was the spider colony that Helaena had cheerfully installed in her chambers.
Vaeda of course made sure to actively avoid that part of the castle, fearful of what she might encounter.
Another thing that was flourishing was the babe currently nestled within Vaeda. Aemond had been ecstatic when she informed him that his seed had taken root once more and he was by her side as she birthed their daughter, a tiny little dragon who lungs were well in working order as she announced her arrival into the world very loudly.
As he cradled his sweet Elaena in his arms, any doubts over the decisions he had made in the past just melted away, for he knew this was where he was supposed to be.
Especially when Vaeda gave him the news not even eight moons later, she was carrying another child, that pregnancy was quite hard on her and she spend many weeks abed with aches and sickness, but in the end, they were blessed with another son named Aerys.
Given Vaeda had suffered during her term, Aemond vowed not to get her child again, at least not for a while, but the gods obviously had other ideas as when Aerys was but a child of one name day old, she gave him the news of another expected babe.
Helaena found the whole thing hilarious and was quick to remind Aemond that ‘the seed would bear many fruits’.
And well she wasn’t wrong, as in the end Vaeda and Aemond were blessed with six sons and six daughters.
It was just as well that Dragonstone was big enough to accommodate such a large family, but in the chaos of squabbling children and the endless headaches that came with convincing them that their lessons were useful for the future, he knew he wouldn’t change it for the world.
All his children were treated equally, and as often as his sons trained with the sword so did his daughters.
He wanted things to be different, he wanted to be different.
The children, would always know of his love, his attention and they would know how wanted they were.
As would Vaeda, she was his heart, his soul and his greatest love, and everyday he made sure to tell her that he loved her.
Aemond had everything he had ever wanted, he was happy and more importantly he was loved.
And if Vaeda changed the previous Queen’s ruling and installed Aemond as her consort King the moment she was crowned in the Dragon pit well that was just fine with him.
#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen#hotd aemond#aemond fanfiction#hotd fanfic#aemond fic#aemond x oc#hotd fic#aemond one eye#aemond x original female character#aemond#prince aemond#aemond smut#aemond targaryen smut#prince aemond targaryen
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Steve had spent his entire life trying to be perfect. He tried to be the perfect son with sports and popularity, he even tried his best with his grades which was evident until his first major concussion. He tried to be the perfect friend to Carol and Tommy H., even the basketball teams and other jocks, by providing free rides, parties in his house, and being a listening ear for their teenage drama. He even tried to be the best Steve he could be after the popularity faded and the demons from the shadows of Hawkins emerged. Nothing was ever enough.
He wasn’t a good enough son that deserved not to be ignored or neglected by his parents. He wasn’t a good enough student to be allowed to get into a good college or even a local community one. He wasn’t a good enough friend to the people in High School and that’s why they left him.
Through everything though, he thought he was a good person afterwards. He helped the kids the best he could, he protected them with his life, and he would do anything to ensure the survival of everyone in the Party. He knew he was good at that.
Or he thought so until he saw Eddie wasting away in a hospital bed with handcuffs on his wrists and blood soaking through the bandages on the mauled skin of his chest. He tried his best to be a good friend that could support the Party until Dustin broke his heart into splinters for something he couldn’t predict.
“You were so jealous of Eddie that you gave him the most dangerous job?! You knew how harmful the demobats were and you sent him there for a reason! That’s why you didn’t let him go with you, you wanted Eddie to die!”
After all he’d done to be good, to be the person people could count on, to be perfect; he still wasn’t enough. The kids still looked at him as the mean boy of the town and if the kids did, what did the others think?
Did Mrs. Byers still see him as the teenage dirtbag that got into a fight with her son and got him arrested?
Did Hopper still see him as the scoundrel that drank underage and threw parties that upset the neighbors in Loch Nora?
How did Nancy see him? She was the person who actually saw him at his worst, the one who opened his eyes to his failures. Did she still see him as the guy that he never wanted to be?
Steve had worked so hard his entire life to be what everyone else always wanted him to be. He hid so deeply beneath fake masks and facades that he didn’t even know who he truly was anymore, he didn’t know if he ever had.
All he knew was that after their latest run-in with the Upside Down, he went home to an empty house. He ignored the broken glass and the damage caused by the earthquake. He only focused on the fact that everyone else was currently with their families. His parents were who knows where doing who knows what but they were together, the only family they had ever wanted.
Robin was at her place with her family, her parents probably doting on her after worrying for so many days. They’d let Steve in but he didn’t want to intrude more than he’d already had. Nancy and Mike were with their parents, Jonathan, Will, and El were with Joyce and Hopper, Lucas and Erica were with the Sinclairs and Max, and Dustin was with Mrs. Henderson and Mews II. Even Eddie in a pain-induced state of unconsciousness was with Mr. Munson.
Despite all of his efforts to be perfect, to be deserving of love and pride, Steve was still alone. He’d worked for years to be someone worth loving, hell, someone worth tolerating, and it still wasn’t enough. All he had were his friends in the Party and after his talk, nay the lecture, from Dustin, he wasn’t even sure he had them. If he didn’t have them, what did he have?
Depression, PTSD, chronic debilitating migraines, night terrors, and scars?
What was the point of anything if that’s all he had? Did he really want to stick around to find out just for things to worsen like they always did?
After years and years of trying to be perfect, Steve realized he never truly would be. The night he got back to his house after watching the rest of his friends reconnect with their families, he packed up the Beemer and left Hawkins in the rear view.
He was sick of the expectations, the disappointments, and trying to reach a standard he could never sustain.
He left his heart behind wrought with guilt at leaving the Party without any notice and leaving before he knew Munson would be alright but he had no choice. If he didn’t have the kids, he had nothing and that was something he couldn’t face.
#Steve hasn’t had an existential crisis in awhile#stranger things#might as well have one today#fanfic#steve harrington#eddie munson#robin buckley#dustin henderson
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Private Landing (Lewis Hamilton) (12/15) - Part II
SUMMARY: In the high-speed world of Formula One, Lewis Hamilton subtly introduces a mysterious partner via Instagram after a slight mishap during an interview. Sparking media intrigue, everyone wants to know: who is the enigmatic figure that calls herself Mrs. Hamilton?
INSPO: this post
PAIRINGS: Sir Lewis Hamilton x Aurora "Rorie" Phillips-Hamilton (faceclaim is Justine Skye)
WARNINGS: drama, angst, sexual content, formula one b.s., pre-established relationship (with flashbacks). RATED M (18+)
TAGLIST: @queenshikongo3 @cocobutterqwueen @mauvecherie-writes @a-moment-captured @yeea-nah @lovebittenbyevans @alika-4466 @saintslewis @cherry2stems @liamundi @trinitoldyouso @scorpiobleue @certifiedlesbianbaddie @httpsserene @motheroffae @perfecttrashface @xoscar03 @saturnville @weetjy @pinkcatcus @lewlewlemon44 @cranberryjulce @chaoticcoffeequeen @vile-harlot @periodjosh @melanin-queen369 @destinyg237 @niahxo @purplelewlew @tremendousstarlighttragedy @henneseyhoe @serpenttines-library @f1-football-fiend
A/N: Please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the taglist. The headers/dividers are by @inklore
The warehouse stood inconspicuous amidst the arid Palm Springs landscape, its weathered exterior masking the creative pulse within. Inside, the vast space was a stark contrast - state-of-the-art sound equipment lined the walls, and a professional-grade stage dominated one end of the room. Soft, ambient lighting created an atmosphere conducive to artistic expression, while the air conditioning fought a constant battle against the desert heat.
Rorie stood center stage, her voice resonating through the cavernous space as she ran through the chorus of "The Zone."
"I never meant to make you feel alone, a non-chivalrous tone you've used since I got home..."
Ms. Tee, her vocal coach, nodded approvingly from the side, occasionally calling out suggestions. "Remember to support from your diaphragm on that high note, honey!"
Van, the choreographer, moved in sync with Rorie, demonstrating the fluid movements that would accompany the lyrics.
Rorie nodded, sweat beading on her forehead as she repeated the sequence. The knowledge that Beyoncé had once rehearsed in this very space for her legendary Beychella performance added an extra layer of pressure.
From his seat not far from the stage, Lyric's voice piped up. "Go, Mama!" he cheered, his little hands clapping enthusiastically.
Ms. Tee chuckled, shaking her head. "That baby is too cute!"
"And he knows it," Rorie quipped, shooting a wink at her son.
As they moved into the next song, Rorie's mind briefly wandered to the mysterious text she'd received weeks ago. The sender hadn't responded when she'd asked who it was, leaving her with an unsettling sense of curiosity.
After running through the set twice more, Yael called for a lunch break. The team dispersed, grateful for the respite from the intense rehearsal.
Rorie scooped up Lyric, making her way to a table laden with an array of healthy options. As she settled in next to Yael, balancing Lyric on her lap, she couldn't help but marvel at how surreal this all felt.
"So," Yael began, taking a bite of her salad, "have you given any thought to the Mercedes event? They're really pushing for you to be there for the G Wagon unveiling."
Rorie nodded, helping Lyric with his lunch. "Yeah, I think we can make it work. It's after Coachella, right?"
"Car!" Lyric exclaimed, pointing at Yael's phone which displayed an image of the new G Wagon.
Rorie laughed, ruffling his hair. "That's right, baby. It's a big car."
"He's growing up so fast," Yael remarked, smiling at Lyric. "Seems like just yesterday he was saying his first words."
Rorie nodded, a mix of pride and nostalgia washing over her. "I know. It's crazy how quickly they develop. He's stringing two or three words together now. The other day he said 'Mama sing pretty.' Nearly made me cry right there in the kitchen."
Yael chuckled. "Well, he's not wrong. Speaking of which, how are you feeling about the performance? Three songs is a lot, especially with the choreography."
Rorie took a sip of water, considering. "Honestly? I'm nervous as hell. But also excited. I've never been on a stage that big."
"You've got this," Yael assured her. "The rehearsals are going great, and the crowd is going to love you."
As they continued to discuss the logistics of the upcoming events, Rorie felt a familiar mix of excitement and nervousness. Coachella was a big stage, one that could make or break careers. She absentmindedly stroked Lyric's hair as she listened to Yael outline the schedule for the next few days.
"We've got two more full rehearsals here, then we move to the actual festival grounds for a tech run," Yael explained, scrolling through her tablet. "Lil Yachty's team will join us for the final run-through."
Rorie nodded, her mind already racing with all the details she needed to perfect. "What about wardrobe? Have we finalized the looks?"
"Almost," Yael replied. "The stylist wants to do one more fitting tomorrow. She's got some ideas for a quick change between songs."
As they delved into the intricacies of the performance, Lyric began to fidget in Rorie's lap. "Mama, play," he said, pointing towards the small play area they'd set up in the corner of the warehouse.
"Okay, baby. Just for a little bit," Rorie smiled, setting him down. She watched as he toddled off, his little legs carrying him with determined enthusiasm.
"He's handling all this travel and chaos like a champ," Yael observed, following Rorie's gaze.
Rorie sighed, a mix of pride and guilt washing over her. "Yeah, he is. Sometimes I worry it's too much, you know? But he seems to thrive on it."
"He's resilient, just like his parents," Yael reassured her. "Speaking of which, have you heard from Lewis? How's he feeling about the DNF in Australia?"
Rorie's expression softened at the mention of her husband. "He's frustrated, of course. But he's channeling it into preparation for the next race. You know Lewis, always looking forward."
Yael nodded, then added with a hint of sympathy, "It's a shame he'll miss your performance at Coachella though. The scheduling conflict is unfortunate."
"Yeah, it is," Rorie agreed, a touch of disappointment in her voice. "But he's got the GQ Global Creative Awards in New York that weekend. It's a big honor, and I wouldn't want him to miss that." She brightened a bit as she continued, "Besides, the Biebers will be there, and my sister's coming too. They'll make sure Lyric has plenty of support in the crowd."
"That's great," Yael smiled. "It's good to have your people there. And I'm sure Lewis will be watching the livestream, cheering you on from New York."
Rorie nodded, grateful for the support system she had. "Absolutely. We've always made it work, no matter the distance. This is just another one of those times."
Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of Lyric's delighted laughter. He had discovered a small ball and was attempting to bounce it, his coordination not quite matching his enthusiasm.
"Should we get back to it?" Rorie asked, her eyes still on Lyric.
Yael nodded, standing up. "Absolutely. Let's run through the transitions one more time before we call it a day."
As they made their way back to the stage, Rorie felt a renewed sense of purpose. The nerves were still there, but they were overshadowed by excitement and determination. This performance wasn't just about her; it was about showing Lyric that dreams were worth pursuing, no matter the challenges.
With one last glance at her son, happily playing in his own world, Rorie stepped onto the stage. The music began to play, and she lost herself in the rhythm, ready to give it her all. Coachella was waiting, and she was going to make every moment count.
_____________________________________________
Rorie cruised down the Palm Springs street, the desert sun casting long shadows as evening approached. From the backseat, Lyric's voice joined hers in a sweet, if slightly off-key, rendition of Daniel Caesar's "Get You."
As the song faded out, Lyric piped up, "Bwent!"
Rorie chuckled, shaking her head. "Being toxic isn't cute, sonshine." She skipped to Brent Faiyaz's "Clouded," the smooth R&B filling the car as they pulled up to their rental.
Waving to the security guard at the front gate, Rorie parked and unstrapped Lyric from his car seat. She held his hand as they made their way inside, Lyric gleefully jumping up each step to the front door.
Roscoe greeted them enthusiastically, and Rorie let Lyric play with the dog while she headed to the kitchen. After washing her hands, she pulled out pre-made cookie dough from the fridge.
"You want cookies, baby?" she called out.
"Yes, Mama!" came the eager reply.
Rorie scoffed, muttering, "Of course you do," as she arranged the dough on a cookie sheet.
Struck by a sudden craving, she grabbed a popsicle from the freezer. Then, following an odd impulse, she dug into the cabinet for chunky peanut butter. Scooping some onto the popsicle, she savored the unexpected combination of salty and sweet on her tongue as she slid the cookies into the oven, setting it to 380 degrees.
Just then, her phone rang. Seeing Martin's name on the screen, she hesitated before answering.
"Hello?" she said, her voice cautious.
"Rorie, hi," Martin's voice came through, a mix of nervousness and hope. "How are you?"
"I'm fine," she replied, her tone neutral. "What's this about, Martin?"
"I... I wanted to talk to you. About Athena, about everything. How's Lyric doing?"
Rorie paused, conflicted. "He's good," she finally said. "Growing fast."
"That's great," Martin said, his voice softening. "Listen, Rorie, I was hoping we could meet. I know things are complicated, but-"
"I don't know, Martin," Rorie cut in, glancing at the oven timer. "Things are pretty busy right now."
"Please," he pressed. "I want to make things right. I want to be part of your life, of Lyric's life."
Rorie sighed, the weight of the situation settling on her shoulders. "I need time, Martin. This isn't something I can decide on a whim."
"I understand," he said, a note of disappointment in his voice. "But will you at least think about it? For real this time?"
"I'll think about it," Rorie conceded. "But I can't promise anything."
As she hung up, Rorie leaned against the counter, her mind swirling with conflicting emotions. The timer dinged, jolting her back to the present. She pulled out the cookies, the sweet aroma filling the kitchen.
"Cookie, Mama?" Lyric's voice called from the living room.
"Almost, baby," Rorie replied, forcing a smile into her voice. "They need to cool first."
As she set the tray on the counter, Rorie took a deep breath. Coachella, Martin, the constant juggle of family and career - it was a lot to handle. But as Lyric's excited chatter drifted in from the other room, she knew she'd find a way to navigate it all. She always did.
The desert night hummed with anticipation as Rorie stood in the wings of the Coachella stage, her heart hammering against her ribs. The bass from the previous set reverberated through her body, but the nausea rolling through her stomach had nothing to do with the vibrations.
"Five minutes, Mrs. Hamilton," a stage manager called out, then paused, studying her face. "Hey, you're looking a bit pale. You okay?"
Rorie nodded, though her complexion said otherwise. "I'm good," she managed, willing her stomach to settle. Somewhere in the VIP section, she knew Lyric was watching with Aaliyah, the Biebers keeping them company.
"You sure?" The stage manager pressed. "You look like you might puke...."
"I said I'm good," Rorie cut in, more sharply than intended. She softened her tone. "Just pre-show jitters."
The opening notes of "The Zone" filled the air, and Lil Yachty's voice boomed across the festival grounds: "Y'all make some noise for my girl, Rorie!"
Taking one final deep breath, Rorie stepped into the lights. The crowd's roar washed over her as she emerged, and suddenly, the nausea didn't matter anymore. This was what she was born to do.
Her voice, clear and strong, cut through the night air. The choreography she'd practiced countless times flowed naturally, her body moving in perfect sync with the music. Each transition, each note, each movement came together in a performance that felt both carefully rehearsed and effortlessly spontaneous.
But as the adrenaline of the first song began to fade, that unsettling queasiness returned, stronger than before. Rorie pushed through, determined not to let it show. She had two more songs to go, and she was going to give this crowd everything she had.
The crowd surged with energy as Rorie finished her planned set, their cheers echoing across the festival grounds. Sweat glistened on her skin under the stage lights.
"One more! One more!" The chant built like a wave.
Rorie exchanged a glance with her band, a slight nod passing between them. As the opening notes of another song filled the air, the crowd's roar grew even louder.
But it was the second encore that would become the night's most talked-about moment. Rorie stepped to the microphone, her breath slightly catching as she spoke.
"Y'all have been amazing tonight," she said, her voice carrying across the field. "I want to share something special with you. A few years ago, my husband and I wrote this song together. Some of you might know him as XNDA…"
The crowd erupted at the mention of Lewis's musical alter ego. A smile played on Rorie's lips as she remembered the late nights in their home studio, the two of them writing and rewriting lyrics, finding the perfect melody to express their love story.
The stage darkened, and then a recorded voicemail played through the speakers: "Hey baby, just wanted to hear your voice…" Lewis's distinctive accent filled the space, intimate and warm.
The soft melody began to build, and Rorie's voice floated over the instrumental, telling their story of love found in the fast lane of life. When Lewis's pre-recorded vocals joined in for the chorus, their voices intertwined in perfect harmony, the chemistry evident even through the playback.
"When the world's moving too fast You're the one thing that lasts Through the curves and the breaks You're the risk I'll always take…"
The crowd swayed, phone lights dotting the darkness like stars. Somewhere in the VIP section, Rorie caught sight of Lyric on Aaliyah's shoulders, his little hands waving in the air.
As their voices rose together for the final chorus, Rorie felt tears prick at her eyes. This song, this moment, was everything - their love, their family, their journey, all wrapped up in melody and rhythm.
The final note hung in the air, and for a moment, there was complete silence. Then the crowd exploded, the cheers almost deafening. Rorie took a final bow, her heart full to bursting.
Walking off stage, she quickly checked her phone. A text from Lewis was waiting:
Killed it, baby. Wish I could've been there. So proud of you.
Rorie smiled, the nausea from earlier completely forgotten in the glow of the night's success. This performance would definitely be one for the books.
Following her triumphant performance, Rorie took a long drink of water before her bodyguards escorted her to the VIP section. Aaliyah immediately engulfed her in a tight embrace, tears streaming down her face.
"You were incredible!" Aaliyah sobbed, overcome with pride for her sister.
Rorie's own eyes welled up as Lyric toddled over, clutching a piece of paper in his tiny hands. "Mama!" he exclaimed, holding up his drawing of her on stage. "I love you, Mama," he said, his toddler pronunciation making the words even more precious.
Rorie dropped to her knees, gathering him close as tears spilled down her cheeks. The Biebers joined the group hug, everyone congratulating her on the spectacular show.
After a while, Justin excused himself to prepare for his set with Tems and WizKid. Rorie and Hailey settled into comfortable chairs, falling into easy conversation and shared laughter.
When a waiter approached, Rorie ordered vodka, water, and lime. "What about you, Hails?"
"Just water is fine," Hailey replied.
Rorie shot her friend a questioning look. "When do you ever say no to a drink?" she teased.
Hailey grew bashful, shrugging. "I'm fine with water."
"What's going on, Hails?" Rorie pressed.
Hailey opened her mouth to respond but closed it as the waiter returned with their drinks. Once he left, she gave Rorie a sympathetic look.
"I don't want to talk about it, Ror, especially with what's going on with you and Lew," Hailey explained.
"What do you mean?" Rorie asked, setting down her drink.
Hailey shrugged again. "With you guys going through IVF again… I don't think..."
"It's fine, Hailey. We're fine," Rorie assured her, taking her friend's hands. "It's okay."
"Honestly?" Hailey questioned.
"Yes, Hailey. It's fine."
They stared at each other in silence before Hailey opened her oversized leather jacket slightly, revealing a small rounded belly. "Justin and I are pregnant," she confessed, tears running down her face.
Rorie felt a complex mix of emotions - genuine joy for her friend tinged with a hint of sadness for her own situation. But happiness won out as she pulled Hailey into a tight hug.
"It's still early, though," Hailey said after they separated. "I'm barely ten weeks, but I'm showing really soon for some reason."
"It's a boy," Rorie said instinctively.
"How can you tell?"
"I was showing early with Lyric. It's definitely a boy and he probably has a big head," Rorie joked.
Hailey laughed. "Just like his father."
As their laughter subsided, Hailey grew serious. "I want you to be a godmother. You're an amazing friend and Justin and I love you so much."
"I would love to be the godmother, Hailey. Thank you," Rorie replied, wiping away fresh tears. "Damn, tonight is making me such a sap!" Hailey's smile widened. "But thank you. Seriously. Not only for asking me to be a godmother but sharing this and taking note of everything. I love you so much."
The two friends embraced again, the desert night wrapping around them like a warm blanket, full of joy, hope, and the promise of new beginnings.
The week after Coachella felt like a whirlwind. Rorie scrolled through her phone, taking in the flood of coverage about her performance.
@/MusicInsider: "Rorie's surprise performance of XNDA collab brought Coachella to its knees. The chemistry is undeniable, even through a recording. #PowerCouple"
@/ChartData: "Rorie's Coachella performance garnered over 2M livestream views, highest for a guest appearance this year."
Of course, there were also the less favorable takes:
@/PopCultureTakes: "Sure, she can sing. But is anyone else tired of the Hamilton PR machine? #Coachella"
Rorie rolled her eyes at the last one. Her nausea had finally subsided, and she was grateful to chalk it up to pre-Coachella nerves. With Lewis in Shanghai for his race, she missed him, but they had a packed schedule ahead - the WhatsApp collaboration in New York, Miami Grand Prix, and then the Met Gala. The thought of reuniting made her smile.
Stepping out of her G Wagon onto the black carpet at the Mercedes-Benz G-Class premiere, Rorie was immediately engulfed in camera flashes.
"Mrs. Mercedes! Over here!" "To your left, Rorie!" "Give us that smile, Mrs. Mercedes!"
She couldn't help but laugh at the nickname - an extension of what they called Lewis. As she posed for photos, a familiar figure caught her eye. Miles was making his way down the carpet, pointing at her with an exaggerated gesture. She returned the gesture, and he came bounding over. They posed for several shots together before heading inside, arm in arm.
"I didn't know you were going to be here!" she said as they stopped at the bar.
"Sort of last minute, honestly," Miles revealed. "But look at you, Miss Superstar - that Coachella performance though…"
"How was it?" Rorie asked, genuinely curious.
"Off the fuckin' chain, lil' sis. You did that."
"Thank you," she smiled, taking a sip of her drink.
As Miles and Rorie made their way through the event, they were stopped every few feet by familiar faces. Kendall Jenner pulled Rorie into a warm embrace, gushing about the Coachella performance.
"You absolutely killed it," Kendall beamed. "And that song with Lewis? Everyone's still talking about it."
Before Rorie could respond, Ciara joined them, her megawatt smile lighting up the space. "Girl, when were you going to tell me you were performing again? That was incredible!"
The conversations flowed easily, punctuated by genuine laughter and warm exchanges. Tracee Ellis Ross swept by, wrapping an arm around Rorie's waist as they posed for photos, while Snoh Aalegra complimented her vocal arrangements.
The evening progressed with typical Hollywood glamour - Travis Scott's performance had the crowd energized, the bass reverberating through the space as he commanded the stage. During dinner, Rorie found herself engaged in easy conversation with those around her, the kind of mindless chatter that filled these events.
As the night wound down, Rorie decided to head home early, missing Lyric and feeling the weight of the day settling in her bones. The drive started peacefully enough, the lights of LA streaming past her window as she thought about the upcoming reunion with Lewis.
Then her phone lit up with an unknown number.
Rorie hesitated before answering, but something compelled her to pick up. The moment she heard the voice on the other end, her blood ran cold.
"Rorie—"
"You must have a fucking death wish," Rorie cut in, her voice sharp with anger.
"Please, just hear me out—"
"I'm calling my lawyer," Rorie snapped.
"Wait!" Deja's voice was urgent. "I want to meet in Miami. We need to talk face to face."
"You've lost your rabbit ass mind!" Rorie couldn't believe her ears. After everything - the lawsuit, the leaked information, the media circus - Deja really thought they could just meet? The audacity was mind-blowing. Rorie clenched her jaw, her hand gripping her phone so tightly her knuckles went white. She could almost picture Deja on the other end, probably desperate, maybe even smug, as if she’d thought Rorie would just give in to this little stunt.
Deja doubled down. "I'm not settling until we talk. Face to face."
"I don't give a fuck what you want. We're going to win anyway - you violated my privacy, remember?"
They went back and forth, Deja pleading her case while Rorie's anger mounted. Finally, Deja suggested Rorie bring her lawyer if it made her feel better, but insisted they needed to meet.
"I'll think about it, bitch," Rorie spat before hanging up.
Suddenly, a wave of nausea hit her hard. "Pull over," she managed to tell her driver, who immediately complied.
Rorie barely made it out of the car before emptying the contents of her stomach, her hands braced on her knees.
"Are you okay, Mrs. Hamilton?" the driver asked, concern evident in his voice.
Another wave hit her, and she groaned as a headache began to pulse behind her eyes. "Call my husband, please."
The driver quickly dialed Lewis, putting the phone on speaker just as Rorie retched again.
"Baby, are you okay? You're scaring me!" Lewis's voice rang out.
"It's Deja…" Rorie managed after a moment.
"What about her?"
"I'm going to kill that bitch, Lewis."
Lewis let out an exhausted "Fuck," followed by, "Let me call Julian."
Rorie stayed bent over, the cool night air doing little to settle her churning stomach. This night had definitely taken an unexpected turn, and somehow she knew it was just the beginning of whatever Deja had planned.
The Miami Grand Prix was a spectacle of color, sound, and energy—a vibrant mix of fans, press, and celebrities, all eager to catch a glimpse of the action on the track. Rorie moved through the paddock with an effortless confidence, dressed in a chic Tommy Hilfiger ensemble—a red mini dress paired with a tailored jacket that bore the iconic brand’s colors. As a Tommy Hilfiger ambassador, she was there to represent, but her mind was constantly pulled to her family, to Lyric, who was wide-eyed and curious, soaking in everything around him.
Julian, their lawyer, had been adamant about his involvement from the start. He wasn’t thrilled about the meeting, and honestly, neither was she—but at least they’d agreed that Julian would be there too, ensuring Deja wouldn’t pull any more stunts. When Julian had looked her in the eye and said, "We’re not letting her turn this into another circus," Rorie had felt an odd sense of relief. Knowing he’d be present gave her the peace of mind to enjoy the weekend with Lewis and Lyric.
Rorie’s attention snapped back to the present as she felt a tiny hand tug at her fingers. Lyric was pointing excitedly to the rows of cars lined up, his face lit with pure awe. She bent down to his level, taking in his excitement with a soft smile.
"Vroom! Vroom!"
"Yeah, baby," she murmured, brushing a soft kiss over his braids. "Those are Daddy’s friends’ cars."
"Where Dada?"
Rorie grinned. "He’s around here somewhere."
Just then, as if on cue, she spotted Lewis, looking impossibly focused and handsome in his race suit, his head bent as he spoke with one of his team members. When he looked up and saw them, his face transformed, a wide grin spreading across his features. He lifted a hand in greeting, then broke into an easy jog to close the distance between them.
"There’s Daddy," Rorie murmured to Lyric, moving aside so he could see his father approaching. "Look, sweetheart."
Lewis bent down, scooping Lyric up and spinning him around, making their son laugh with pure joy. Then, Lewis turned to her, his eyes softening as they met hers. "You’re a vision today," he murmured, his voice low and warm.
Rorie smiled, feeling her cheeks flush a little. "All part of the ambassador duty," she teased, tugging lightly on the lapel of her jacket.
The three of them shared a quiet moment, standing close amid the bustling paddock. For a while, it was easy to forget about Deja, about the upcoming meeting, about everything that threatened to intrude on this moment. But she could still feel the tension, a low hum of anxiety that sat just below the surface.
Julian’s text from earlier that morning flashed in her mind: Remember, we’re handling this our way. She doesn’t get to make the rules.
It was a reminder she clung to, something that kept her grounded even as she stole another glance at Lewis and Lyric. This weekend, she’d focus on them, on supporting Lewis and creating memories with Lyric. Whatever Deja had to say could wait—she wasn’t about to let that woman spoil the joy of watching her husband race, of seeing her son’s eyes light up in wonder.
But just as she settled into the moment, she heard a familiar voice calling her name. Turning around, she was greeted by the sight of KiKi, striding over with her typical swagger, dressed in a sharp, stylish outfit that turned heads as she passed.
Rorie raised her brows, genuinely surprised. "KiKi? What are you doing here?"
KiKi grinned, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "Lewis called me in for backup," she said with a shrug, flashing Lewis a knowing smile.
Lewis, still holding Lyric, gave a small, guilty grin. "Figured it wouldn’t hurt to have some extra support this weekend," he said, adjusting Lyric on his hip. "Especially with everything going on."
Rorie couldn’t help but feel a rush of relief. Having KiKi around meant an added layer of support, someone who understood the intricacies of their situation with Deja and who would have her back if things got tense. But she was also wary; KiKi wasn’t exactly known for her subtlety, and Rorie wanted this meeting to be as low-key as possible.
"I don’t know if having you there is the best idea, though," Rorie said, keeping her tone light but firm. "You know how things can get."
KiKi put a hand on her hip, feigning offense. "Girl, please. I can be chill when I need to be," she replied, but the glint in her eyes suggested otherwise.
Rorie sighed, giving her friend a look. "I mean it, Ki. The last thing I want is for this to turn into a showdown."
KiKi held up her hands in a placating gesture. "Promise, I'll keep it cool. I’m just here to have your back. Besides, I’m curious to see what Deja’s got to say for herself."
Rorie gave a reluctant nod, knowing KiKi meant well. She’d always been fiercely protective, and Rorie knew that no matter what, KiKi wouldn’t let anyone disrespect her or her family. Still, she wasn’t entirely sure how Deja would react to seeing KiKi there.
"So, what’s the plan with her anyway?" KiKi asked, lowering her voice slightly. "You really think she’s trying to play nice?"
Rorie bit her lip, glancing over at Lewis, who was now trying to entertain Lyric with exaggerated car sounds. "I don’t know. She claims she wants to talk about boundaries, but I’m not sure I buy it. It feels like another setup."
KiKi snorted. "Wouldn’t put it past her. But hey, at least you’ve got Julian there to keep things on track. And me, if she tries any funny business."
Rorie managed a small smile, grateful for KiKi’s support even if she was apprehensive about the meeting. "Yeah. Julian’s already set some strict ground rules. We’re meeting in a neutral space, and he’s keeping it professional. He won’t let her turn this into another circus."
"Good," KiKi replied, crossing her arms as her gaze turned serious. "Just remember, she doesn’t get to call the shots here. You’re in control."
Rorie took a deep breath, nodding. "Right. I just don’t want her stirring up drama when all I want is to focus on this weekend with my family."
KiKi gave her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. "You’ve got this, Ro. And if she steps out of line? Well, I’ll be there, chillin'... but keeping an eye out."
Rorie laughed, the tension easing slightly as she glanced back at Lewis, who had Lyric balanced on his shoulders now, the little boy giggling as he held onto his father’s head.
"Thanks, Ki. I appreciate you being here," Rorie said softly.
KiKi smirked. "Girl, you know I’d be here even if you didn’t want me to. Now, let’s enjoy the day and not let her mess with our vibe. Besides, your little one looks like he’s having the time of his life."
After watching Lewis' Free Practice, Rorie found herself alongside Mick Schumacher at the Tommy Hilfiger pop-up store in the paddock. Their easy rapport made the ambassador duties feel less like work and more like hanging out with a friend.
"The new collection's fire," Mick said, adjusting the collar of his Tommy polo. "But I think Lyric's stealing the show."
He wasn't wrong. Lyric, now dressed in a miniature version of the collection, was charming everyone who passed by.
After wrapping up the promotional duties, Rorie made her way to watch the F1 Academy practice sessions with Susie Wolff. The sight of female drivers commanding their machines around the track filled her with pride.
"It's amazing to see how far we've come," Susie remarked, her Scottish accent warm with emotion. "These girls are the future."
Lyric, perched on Rorie's hip, pointed excitedly at the cars. "Fast! Mama, fast!"
"That's right, baby. They're very fast," Rorie agreed, pressing a kiss to his temple.
Later, they ran into Kevin Magnussen near the garages. Lyric immediately perked up, looking around expectantly.
"L'waura?" he asked, his little face scrunching up in confusion when he didn't spot his friend.
Kevin laughed warmly. "She's with Mommy today, but we can FaceTime her later. Would you like that?"
"Yes!" Lyric clapped his hands excitedly.
The lightness of the afternoon stood in stark contrast to what awaited Rorie that evening with Deja. She wanted nothing more than to end whatever bullshit Deja was on, but she knew that not everything will be easy coming from her.
____________________________________________________
Later that evening, away from the excitement of the track, Rorie arrived at the offices of Ocasio & Associates, one of Julian's trusted colleagues in Miami. The sleek high-rise office space felt appropriately neutral and formal for what was about to unfold.
Julian was already there, reviewing documents when Rorie walked in with KiKi. They settled into the conference room, its floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of the Miami skyline at dusk.
When Deja walked in with her lawyer, her face immediately darkened at the sight of KiKi. "What is she doing here?"
"I'm here for moral support, honey," KiKi drawled, her tone deceptively sweet.
Julian cleared his throat. "Let's focus on why we're here."
What followed was an hour of increasingly tense discussion. Deja insisted on rehashing her version of events from All-Star Weekend 2017, her voice growing more animated as she described what she claimed was a meaningful connection with Lewis.
"We had something real," Deja insisted, leaning forward in her chair. "Before she came along—"
"You're delusional," Rorie cut in, her patience finally snapping. "You had a drunken hookup - if that even happened - and now you're trying to rewrite history."
"You don't know what—"
"No, you don't know what you're talking about," Rorie stood up, her voice firm and final. "Julian, we're done here. No more settlement talks. Take her ass to court and drag her to fucking filth."
As they left the office building, KiKi fell into step beside her. "You good?"
Rorie nodded, her jaw set with determination. "I'm done playing nice. She wants to live in her fantasy world? Fine. But she's about to learn what reality feels like."
As they walked down the quiet Miami street, the humid evening air thick around them, Rorie suddenly felt her stomach lurch. Without warning, she lurched toward a nearby trash can, barely making it before emptying the contents of her stomach.
"Rorie!" Julian rushed out after them, producing a clean handkerchief from his pocket. He handed it to her as she straightened up, her hand trembling slightly as she wiped her mouth.
KiKi was at her side instantly, one hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. "Girl, are you okay? What's going on?"
Rorie took a deep breath, trying to settle her churning stomach. "I'm fine," she managed. "Just stress, I think. This whole situation with Deja…"
"Nah, you need to calm down," KiKi said firmly, keeping her hand on Rorie's back. "This isn't worth getting sick over. Remember that wine bar we used to hit up when I lived down here? The one with the amazing cheese plates?"
Despite her queasy stomach, Rorie felt a small smile tugging at her lips. "God, that sounds perfect right now."
"Then let's go," KiKi decided, already steering Rorie toward the street to hail a car. "Julian, you good?"
Julian nodded, still looking concerned. "Call me if you need anything. And Rorie? Try not to worry about Deja. We've got this handled."
As they climbed into the car, Rorie leaned back against the cool leather seats, grateful for KiKi's steady presence beside her. Maybe what she needed right now wasn't more strategy sessions or legal talks. Maybe what she needed was just this - a night with her best friend, some good wine, and a chance to remember who she was beyond all the drama.
"Thanks, Ki," she said softly as the car pulled away from the curb.
KiKi squeezed her hand. "Always got your back, girl. Always."
TO BE CONTINUED....
#emjayewrites#lewis hamilton#sir lewis hamilton#lewis hamilton fanfic#sir lewis hamilton x black!reader#private landing#f1 x reader#lewis hamilton x oc#lewis hamilton x black reader#f1 driver x reader
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Generative AI II
Thought I'd share a few more images I've created for forthcoming stories.
"Harnessing"
This was inspired by the TNT Drama "Falling Skies". Unfortunately the writers decided to give the multi-season series a typical "Hollywood" end and the humans won. In my version the alien invaders would have been the victors and humans would all be compliant servants of our new alien masters.
"Harnessing" at scale.
You might want to think twice before you go running through the forest.
I'm not sure how he'll react when he regains conciousness.
When they've finished with him, it will be a compliant humanoid drone.
Part of an invading army, stripped of their "humanity"
The next set were inspired by @skinheadmal
With the courts and prison system creaking, radical action has been taken.
Anyone found to have committed a misdemeanor is now sent to one of those huge warehouses by the motorways. They're not distribution centres - they're processing centres for the penal system.
Instead of being placed in cells, they are placed in phone box like cubicles. It is here that they will be "repurposed" into useful members of society.
Another batch being processed.
When it comes to rubber and gas masks Copilot seems to have throw a "hissy fit", but with a few tweaks to the prompts you can get some decent images.
Waiting for the next bus.
A rubber themed night in town.
Rubbermen on the prowl.
That's it for now!
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𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐏𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐳𝐚, 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐰𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐄𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧
Part I, Part II (NSFW), Part III, Part IV (NSFW)
...Because nothing says 'Home Sweet Home' like domestic drama and chaos brought to you by Yours Truly.
You reason that there's a method to your madness but, um... yeah, that may have gone out the window long ago. There's no method. Not really. You all are just mad and it works. Somehow.
Speaking of domestic life, it turns out that König's quite the jack of all trades in the kitchen. You and Simon later find out that he took up various hobbies growing up because he was so damn restless as a teenager (like hell that's changed) and he fell in love with cooking; apparently, that is one of the very few things that help calm his anxious energy. That and maybe pissing Ghost off. Maybe (read: ABSOLUTELY). Just know that König's hands always have to be busy. As such, he's the resident cook of you three.
König also finds comfort in walking Lola/Königin/Pup (your precious Doberman puppy that has three names because you three can't agree on one). When he walks her, König takes her on pretty lengthy treks. It really helps because she's pretty energetic.
Ghost is quite the handyman. He's actually really good at putting together furniture or making small repairs. Of course he is. He learned from the absolute fucking best... didn't he, pa?
You and König are banned from this because shit either a.) doesn't even get put together because of reasons or b.) falls apart because you two are horrible at reading the directions.
You bought them both aprons as a gag present. A gag present that König took seriously and wears every time he cooks. You're still trying to get Simon to wear his. Preferably naked. And yes, come hell or high water, he WILL wear it, goddamnit!
You're absolutely amazing at holding the fort down and keeping the house tidy. More often than not, you're the one who knows where the boys keep their stuff.
You also have an affinity for candles and/or incense and as such, the house ALWAYS smells heavenly. König and Simon have since equated this to safety and it's usually the marker for them to de-stress.
If Simon arrives home late at night from an assignment, he makes himself home on the couch so as not to wake you. If König arrives home late at night, he will very much sploot on the both of you in bed. Simon never fails to respond with an annoyed (and lowkey grateful) grunt.
Simon keeps track of the house's necessities. He's the one who makes the shopping lists and they are very organized.
Funnily enough, he's also the reason why Lola has an abundance of toys because he fucking spoils her even though he denies it. ("Denial's not only a river in Egypt, Simon." "....")
The numerous toys also take her attention away from his and König's masks and gloves.
Ghost's Pillow Princess status also ensures that every pillow on the bed is nice, soft, plump, and fluffy. He also likes making the bed every morning when he's home. König once again joked about his nickname and Simon smacked him with a pillow. And shot you a glare when you laughed.
König has a tendency to practically sleep under you or Simon. What this really means is that come morning, you're likely to wake up under a slumbering mass of muscles.
#cutie 𝓠.#request fill.#simon ghost riley#konig#könig#simon riley x reader#konig x reader#könig x reader#call of duty#call of duty x reader#call of duty modern warfare#konig x reader x ghost#task force 141#just 141 things.#just ghostly things.#just kingly things.#poly palooza.
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ALAN WAKE II SENTENCE STARTERS
potential spoilers ahead.
sometimes, it would be better to live with that hope, without ever knowing the full story.
the trick is not to end up as either.
the devil on your back, it's in you.
I bear the torch of knowledge.
not a bad place to get murdered.
I liked how dangerous the work was.
you're not the only one deciding these things anymore.
something about morgues, they always cheer me up.
I'd love to blame this on a mass hallucination caused by inhaling volcanic gas, but we both know that's bullshit.
this was supernatural.
I've only been lost once in my life... the years I spent with my ex.
you're not gonna get what you want.
you're gonna get what's coming to you.
is it over?
you keep opening doors. peeking in. reaching through to get what you want, and that puts you in my path.
the next time we meet, the circumstances will be very different.
we are one.
we belong together.
welcome me back home.
don't be the story; make the story.
now that is drama.
the word's a mouthful, so you know it's serious.
earth is a cyclical song.
it's fucking awesome!
you know what happens to cops who say this is their last case.
where did you come from?
I should be taking notes here, this is great stuff!
there's a lot I don't understand.
I'm never getting out of here, am I?
that is by your own choice.
I'm in control now.
the second you try anything, I will shoot you in the head.
I wouldn't go that far.
I don't think you even know who's under your mask.
show me the terror.
who the fuck puts a tree in the middle of the road?
fuck the government!
you're a clown in a mask.
the tough part is hiding the bodies.
you're blocking out your traumatic memories.
you're in my story.
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Work For It (Chapter 2: Final)
PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen x fem!Reader
WORDS: 1,330.
WARNINGS: swearing, angst, fluff.
A/N - This is Part II and the final chapter of the request made by @actualhawkesworld. Hope I haven't disappointed ya’ll. I live for the drama in this family though.
The link for Part 1 is here.
TAGLIST (for this mini series) - @bibli0thecary
A few nights had passed since your brutal confrontation with Aemond. He remained distant from you, as likewise you avoided him at all possible costs.
Much to your annoyance, the castle was not big enough to hide from him forever.
At times you’d catch him in the distance, a fleeting moment of eye contact exchanged before you’d wander off into the opposite direction. At times, you thought you’d notice him attempting to call out your name, although no voice called for you.
Dinners were a pain. You’d managed to excuse your absences for the first two evenings, stating you felt somewhat unwell, a “dull headache” or a “bad stomach ache” and no one questioned it.
Alicent did come to see you the following day, and she seemed skeptical though did not presume to question. She knew that Aemond and yourself had differences from time to time, although she’d entrusted that you both dealt with it maturely. She knew Aemond grew to become a dignified man, and was certain her son could handle such pressures unlike her eldest.
So she remained neutral, not wanting to meddle if not absolutely necessary.
Aegon on the other hand, had noticed the tension. Although most people underestimated Aegon’s capabilities, the rare times he found himself sober, he was quite observant of people and shifts in their behaviors or attitudes. He realized how introverted you’d become, often you’d have a familiar, warm smile on your face, and now hardly at all or a half attempt of one. He noticed his younger brother struggled to mask the sadness in his face, and how little words were exchanged between you two.
He knew Aemond would not disclose whatever adversity had befallen between you two, so he saw no point in trying to seek the truth with his younger brother. Although, perhaps with you there may have been a chance.
Aegon found himself seated next to you, where Aemond usually sat himself. Although, since the fallout, he found himself sitting next to Heleana and his grandsire, towards the end of the dining table. He masked the attempt, keeping himself busy with discussions with his grandsire, Otto Hightower, who remained unphased.
“So what wedge is plunged between yourself and my poor excuse of a brother?” His hand stretched out over towards your chair, as you’d swallowed a mouthful of the red wine.
“Nothing that concerns you, Aegon,” You utter, a faint smile on your face as you return your attention from Aegon back to your plate.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed, how glum you’ve become, Y/N. If he’s done something to upset you-”
“And what does it matter to you, Aegon? I need not say it again, this does not concern you.” You cut him off, your gaze piercing into his, as he remained silent. His stretched out hand returned to his lap, as he shifted himself in his seat.
“So be it dearest, but you know my door is always open for you, especially. You know if you need a shoulder to cry on.”
You could feel Aegon’s sly smirk just in your peripheral vision, and it made your blood boil.
In an instant you heard a loud, dull bang against the wooden table, the cutlery and plates clinging in response.
Aemond stood up, his fists clenched tightly against the rough oak board of the table, his head bowed before looking up intensely towards your direction. His gaze shifted from yours to Aegon, who looked dumbfoundedly at his younger brother, as if unaware of any boundary he may have crossed.
“Aemond, my dear-” Alicent attempted to interrupt the tense silence.
But before she could reach out for Aemond, he’d left the table, storming out into the hallway before disappearing.
A part of you wished to follow him, although you found yourself continuing to remain seated. It was as though your body denied you the ability to move, your mind and body separate entities at this point. You caught Alicent’s fleeting gaze towards you, before sighing and looking down at her untouched plate of food.
And not for long, you found yourself again, excusing yourself from the dinner. No one dared to stop you, not even Aegon himself.
Although, as you wandered into the corridor, you were in no chasing mood to find Aemond.
The last time you’d confronted the man after he found himself heated, it left you in a state of anguish, brutal words exchanged which still remained unforgiven.
And again, you found yourself lonesome in your chambers, much to your own thoughts, before a loud knock interrupted.
“Who is it?” You questioned, desperately hoping Aegon hadn’t followed you out.
Although a mere seconds of silence followed, before a deep voice summoned ‘Aemond.’
Much to your surprise, you opened the door to him, not completely, keeping him remaining right outside.
“What is it, have you come to torment me more?”
He remained glaring at you intently, you were unable to decipher the emotion of his face.
“Can I come in or shall I remain a stranger to my own bed chambers?”
With a roll of your eyes, you widened the entrance, gesturing him to enter.
He closed the door behind you gently, as you made your way back to the seat you’d made yourself comfortable in just a few moments ago.
“What did Aegon say? What did he want from you?”
“Oh so, this is all it took for you to pursue me?”
His lips pursed, angered that this was not the response he’d wanted to hear so eagerly.
“Y/N, what did Aegon want?”
His words felt more like a command than a question, his tone definitive and low.
“He just noticed how distant we’d become, wanted to know why that was.”
“Hmm.” He nodded, as he propped himself in the seat opposite of yours, his elbows kneeling down against his knees.
“And what did you say?” He urged.
“I told him that he need not concern himself with private matters.”
Your attention spanned from Aemond and back to the fire yearning in the hearth.
You could just make out a faint smirk on his lips, as he looked down again at his hands.
You yet again, found yourself immersed in silence, before Aemond found the courage to talk.
“I-I have missed you… So very much. We see each other, remain by each other’s proximity and yet I feel like a complete stranger, watching you from the outside, and it’s tearing me up from the inside. You don’t understand, Y/N, this guilt-”
“Aemond, please-”
“No, wait.”
He abruptly interrupted you, his gaze hadn’t left yours, a look of longing in his eye, a hint of grief as struck across his face, as though terrible news had befallen his ears.
“I am truly sorry, for what I said and how I acted. You were the only one that would listen, and when Aegon's name left your lips, I-I blacked out.”
Instinctively, he knelt himself before you, his hands grasping over yours as he pulled them in for a kiss.
“Ooh, these hands, how I’ve missed your touch-”
A half-hearted smile grew on your face, although this time, it felt genuine. Your eyes softened, as you watched him, a tear swelling in the corner of his eye, as he rubbed the skin of your hands against his cheek.
“Aemond, I-I am sorry for how I-”
“You have no reason to apologize for my love. I was the fool that fucked up, you were only trying to help me, when I was blinded by rage. And instead, I attacked you, the only thing worth living for.”
You could feel the small tears streaming down your face, as you lunged yourself closer to Aemond’s face, before kissing him down passionately. You felt his hands reach over to your waist, as he pulled you and himself up to stand, lips remaining crushed against each other.
“You-” He uttered, his hand caressing your cheek.
“Are what is worth living for.”
#aemond targaryen#ewan mitchell#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen imagines#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen angst#aegon ii targaryen#aegon ii fanfic#aegon ii targaryen imagines#hotd#house of the dragon#hotd fanfic#alicent hightower#heleana targaryen
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antics; (ii.)
pairing: simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader
wordcount: 700+
warnings: fluff
note: if simon is a cat he’d be orange (also on AO3)
summary: simon pranks reader back
part i. | part ii. | part iii.
Meese yowled in one long continuous tone, waking you up in a panic. You grabbed your phone to take a quick look at the clock before rushing outside to see what’s happening to your little spoiled cat. The last time he yowled like this he brought home a big leaf and the wind blew it away and he won't stop crying for a whole day, lamenting the loss of his leaf under the couch.
The little bastard meowed quieter—like the true drama queen he is—as you walked closer. You see him pawing at the front door, persistently meowing until you get close enough, before making figure eights around your legs with his tail up.
“Calm the fuck down, Meese.” You heard your neighbour on the other side of the door. You grab your kitty and hold him in your arms before opening the door.
You were greeted with a sight of your neighbour in a dark hoodie with a matching dark facemask, holding a stack of two tupperwares in one hand
“Uh.. Hi?” You offered.
He held the containers up higher, “Cooked something for you and the boy.” He said in favour of a hello. The concern in your face must have shown because he continued, “I looked up online what cats are not supposed to eat, and left some herbs out. Didn’t even salt his portion.”
You were surprised at the generosity and thoughtfulness of your neighbour. He was practically a stranger, and yet here he is, cooked salmon in hand. Thanking him profusely, with an offer to come in that he rejected, he gave Meese a little pet on the head and scritches under his chin before leaving.
When you opened your tupperware, you saw he had cooked herbed salmon with roasted baby potatoes, drizzled on top was some kind of fragrant oil—you had guessed it was truffle—and two little quartered pieces of lemon. He’s very fancy.
Opening Meese’s container however, you see a gigantic piece of salmon, like twice the size of the one in your container.
Wait, did he put the wrong fish in the wrong box?
Knocking on his door with both boxes in hand, he opened the door without his mask on, and this would be the first time you see the lower half of his face without a mask. You were taken aback for a little while before he spoke up, snapping you out of your momentary pause.
“Yeah?” He looked down at you and then at the containers. If you didn’t know any better you’d think he was waiting for you, considering how quickly he answered the door.
Pushing the tupperwares higher so he could see the clear sides of it, you asked if he had accidentally mixed the fishes up.
He terribly hid a shit eating grin, “Nah. I didn’t. Made sure of it.”
“You’re smirking!” You point an accusatory finger at him, laughing when he does. His smile lines compliments his crows feet and you couldn’t help but to match his wide grin.
He moved to the side, “Come in. Get you some more salmon.”
This time it's your turn to refuse an invite to come inside. “Oh, no. I’m not here to ask for more food or anything, just wanted to make sure it wasn’t a mix-up.”
“Wanted to get you back for the whole meese situation.” He confessed.
“Pardon?”
“When you told me his name. You said Meese is plural for Moose. Told my boss that and embarrassed myself.”
This is what you had actually wanted to happen in the first place, for someone to fall for that trick, but damn you felt guilty that he probably got laughed at by his boss and co-workers.
“Sorry.."
He waved you off, gesturing at the tupperware with a smile. “Got you back, didn’t I?”
“Umm…?” You blink slowly at him. “I embarrassed you in front of your boss… so you… cooked… a delicious meal for me and my cat..?”
His face turned bright red, “Well, since you put it that way it does sound like you got me both times.”
It’s almost endearing how he thought he got you back, seeing the time and effort he put on cooking those dishes.
You repaid his kind revenge by bringing Meese over to his place more often.
#call of duty#call of duty imagines#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#scuffed writing#meese universe
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(this is going off 💥 anon’s rant about taco and how the reality show mindset molds people,) i’m very glad someone is finally mentioning this. I wish people saw this more through the lenses that we’re supposed to take: inanimate insanity is a reality show with a framing built for reality shows. drama, betrayal, alliances, hurt, arcs -- this is a SHOW. Some of these characters aren’t “irredeemable assholes”, they’re here to win. This is the question that i think ii2 (and some of III, altho this isnt their focus) puts on table: how far are you willing to go to achieve victory? How much of yourself are you willing to lose for the name of a show?
The TV breaks people. It breaks relationships, facades, alliances, it makes you something else. But it also makes you strategize. And some of these characters were, at heart, strategists met in a world where most of the other contestants wanted to play “true to themselves”. you can pick up any 1:1 reality competition show and you’ll see how so many people put up a mask, a persona to be more likable by the public or to make things go their way, to go farther.
And yet, more often than not, those aren’t rewarded if they dont have at least some slither of genuity in their bonds. Authenticity.
I think of the show “The Circle” often when I’m analyzing II. In a world where being your true self can be rewarded and has a higher chance of making you loved, why must you put up a mask? Or, on the other side of the coin-- is it really worth it to burn someone’s name to ashes over a screen’s framing of their actions?
Maybe I’m just rambling by this point, but I’d just like to thank 💥 for bringing this up.
.
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my lovely liittle feed deciides to put a post from JULY up on my dash from you so ii thought iit was closed untiill wednesday. iinsert facepalm
could i possibly get a mask objectkiin iidpack and maybe a phone wallpaper? (ii kiin any mask that only shows the eyes, liike thiis one -> https://pin.it/4MwSRuIe3 )
(wallpaper iis optiional iif you just don't feel liike doiing iit)
here you go, I hope you enjoy! yayy, my first official id pack (also sorry I’m super tired so no wallpaper :c)
Names/nicknames
Blank
Mask
Persona
Domino
Blanche/blanch
Thalia
Melpomene
Silhouette
Drama
Veil
Grima
Usernames
TheMaskedShadow
ComedicallyTragic
MaskedByTheVeil
Drama King/Queen/Liege
StageFolk
Muse of Tragedy/Comedy
Vibrant Vizard
MistyMasquerader
TotallyNotAGuise
Pronouns
Mask/mask/masks/masks/maskself
Masque/masque/masques/masques/masqueself
Veil/veil/veils/veils/veilself
Cloak/cloak/cloaks/cloaks/cloakself
Come (pronounced like the first two syllables of comedy)/comedy/comedy/comedies/comedies/comeself
Trage (pronounced like the first two syllables of tragedy)/tragedy/tragedies/tragedies/trageself
Silhou/silhouette/silhouettes/silhouettes/silhouself
Hide/hidden/hiddens/hiddens/hideself
Guise/guise/guises/guides/guiseself
#alterhuman#nonhuman#otherkin#therian#objectkin#masks#blank masks#id pack#names#usernames#pronouns#kin stuff#kin request#open requests
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Honey Cakes (Shino x Reader) Chapter V
Synopsis: You were stupid. You made a stupid choice; it left you with the first real heartache of your life, and you could safely admit that you deserved it. But then the war came. And as quickly as it came, it was over. So what about you and Shino? Sequel to Honey Stand.
Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V
Word Count: 2.7k
Warnings/Tags: Gender Neutral Reader, Post War, Slow Burn, Slight Canon Divergence, Fake Tech Talk, Aged Up Characters, Angst
Notes: *beats idea with a broom* I’ve had the outline for Honey Cakes in my head for a year and I need it out I need it out out out I’m sick of looking at it *hits with broom*
“What’s not fair?”
You snapped back to reality, not even realizing that you had zoned out into your salad.
Shino sat across from you, a single elbow on the table as his lips steadily drooped back into a scowl. The little moment you thought the two of you had disappeared in an instant. The silence in the air was about as palpable as the tension. The lights blared down on your head as the clock ticked by slowly.
You sat still, avoiding Shino’s gaze as you wondered if it would be worth fighting about in the first place. The whole drama was beginning to feel so childish. You confronted him about your mutual past twice now, only to be met with unwarranted hostility. You wondered if you weren’t as much of the problem as you always assumed. In the silence, you only grew more sure of yourself.
You cast your gaze down to the floor, half of you unsure of yourself while the other seethed with annoyance.
“Let’s just get through this mission. I want to prepare for the wedding as much as you do.” You quickly packed up the food container, pushing it gently back towards Shino as you suddenly lost your appetite. “Thank you for dinner. It was unnecessary.” You stood from your seat. You turned, hardly noticing Shino also rise from his chair.
“What’s not fair?”
You shook your head, not wanting to engage.
“I’m too tired to get into this. I have a report to write.” You pushed in your chair with your foot, still reeling from your interaction with Shou. Shino swiveled his head in frustration as he made curt gestures with his hands.
“Get into what?” He gritted your name, stalking after you as you began to make for the door. He reached for you. “Dammit, what are you talking about?” You turned suddenly, slapping his hand away from you. The sound reverberated throughout the room.
You faced him with a pointed glare and a clenched jaw. Tension furrowed your brow.
“Stop acting like you care about me, Aburame!” The words poured from your lips like liquid poison. Your eyes widened as if the tension of keeping your comments in physically weighed down your features. Your vision began to blur, and you shook your head to dismiss the mounting tears. “I hate this. I hate this… this ignoring me for ten years like I never existed. I hate this disdain you’ve held for me all these years… Like the shit on your shoe… Then you have the nerve—”
You took a step back as you swiped a hand across your face.
“You did the same thing with that Sasuke stuff,” you exasperatedly noted. “And you think you have the right to act like you’ve been saving me? From the river? From the squad leader— who I now have to document, by the way, thanks a lot—” He scoffed, shoving his hands in his pockets as he hulked.
“Just drop the goddamn report shit—” You stomped your right foot, fists clutched straight at your sides as you stepped closer. You shook your head as you gaped to yourself.
“I can’t, Shino! I’m trying to get transferred!”
The room fell silent again. The ticking of the clock continued. So did the whirring of machinery. Shino recoiled an inch, unable to mask that your admission caught him off guard. His brow knitted as he wrinkled his nose.
“Here?” he asked with what sounded like a scoff.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“You want to get transferred here?” Something about his tone made you feel a pang of shame. Your imagination filled in his unspoken judgment. A judgment that you were cowardly for leaving. A judgment that you were sacrificing your dignity to work with men like Shou. A judgment that you were better than this place. He spoke a part of it. His voice was about as quiet and level as usual, but Shino couldn’t help the bite of disbelief that laced his tone. “Out here, away from your friends, in the middle of nowhere to be left to the likes of that creep—”
“Everyone’s moving on, Aburame! I know that’s not your strong suit—”
“Please.”
—“But I need to move on too. Being stuck in teenage drama is so… so… shit! We’re adults, goddammit!” You fought back the urge to scream, clutching a tuff of your hair and just holding your scalp under your fingertips. Your foot made swift contact with a nearby trashcan. With another shake of your head, you turned to leave. “Everyone has moved on. I at least need to try.”
Your name spilled from Shino’s lips in a low grumble, and as he reached for you once more, you turned in an instant and landed a firm smack across his cheek. His glasses flew from his face, hitting the floor and spinning off somewhere in the room. Before you could blink, the lights in the room went out completely.
Your hand stayed suspended between you as you stared into honey-colored eyes. Shino’s hand caged the light switch. The moonlight from outside did little to illuminate the room, but some reflected off of Shino’s bright irises. You had always expected them to be darker. You traced what little you could see into your mind, finally able to read Shino’s eyes after all these years.
Your left hand shot out, and before he could stop you, you tugged off Shino’s hood. His hitai-ate clattered to the floor. He caught your wrist, and as you attempted to hit the light switch, he caught your other.
You stood together in the darkness, trapped in Shino’s grip. You tried to jerk your arms away, but Shino held firm, studying you in the dimness.
You couldn’t help but stare. You couldn’t help but search for answers in Shino’s newly revealed face. When you tried to tear yourself away again, your movements lacked violence. Slowly, Shino let you go.
“You can’t keep doing things for me, Shino.”
“What things?” He was quick to respond, but other than his urgency, he gave nothing away. You stared back at his face, the answers you hoped to find nonexistent.
“Bringing me what I used to make you back then,” you said bitterly. You caught the small purse of Shino’s lip as his jaw clenched.
“I brought what I knew you’d like, that’s all,” he deflected with his usual frown. His hands returned to his pockets. He took a half-step backward into a shadow cast by a piece of machinery. You stood in the dim moonlight as he retreated.
“No, Shino. It’s your favorite. That’s why I brought it to you,” you snapped, although the admission came out softer than you intended. You cast your gaze off to the side as you played with the cuff of your sleeve. “I remembered. You told Kiba… that one time in Iruka-sensei’s class.” A moment passed you by, brought on by your brief reminiscence.
“Ah,” Shino hummed in a way that almost sounded deflated.
Another pause.
Another tick of the clock.
More machine whirring.
“You were working all night.”
“Shino—”
“You’re reading into things.”
“Shino,” you spoke his name in defeat. He didn’t answer, adjusting his jacket with a jerk of his shoulders. You crossed your arms. “You can’t just pick out aspects of a relationship and separate them into parts you want to ignore and parts you don’t.” Your nose jutted out as you accented your words.
“I’m not.”
“It’s selfish, Shino.”
Yet another pause passed. Somehow, the silence had become even more palpable than it had been before. You couldn’t help but notice how shut down Shino looked, eyes dead with lips curled into a complacent pout. He almost looked indifferent. His thumbs poked out the tops of his pockets.
“I just want to get to the next base tomorrow and go home.” The words stumbled out of your mouth clumsily. You squeezed your eyes shut, running your hands over your face. “Let’s just… Let’s pretend we don’t know each other or something… Or something like that.” You turned to leave the room for the third time, and this time, Shino let you.
***
You departed later the next morning.
Shino leaned against a railing outside of the eastern base. Through one of the windows, he could see you walk out into the hallway with the base commander. The two of you chatted. The conversation appeared formal but otherwise as if it was going well. You nodded your head. The base commander stroked the sides of his mustache. Shino’s eyes flickered up. Shou sat on a balcony used for sniping. His legs dangled over the ladder as he glared at Shino silently, scathingly.
When you emerged from the base, you came out alone. You paused for a moment outside the door, letting it close behind you. You said nothing to Shino, inhaling deeply and steadily as you squared your shoulders and marched forward. Shino followed after you, thinking about your admission from the night before. Wordlessly, you began your journey.
***
The trek was made in silence, only to be broken when the sun began to set.
“It’s getting dark,” was the extent to which Shino spoke over the rushing wind in your ears. He stopped on a nearby tree. The light of the sunset reflected off of his glasses. You landed on an adjacent branch just a bit ahead of him and didn’t spare him a glance. You expected a snarky comment to follow, but none came.
“We’re going to keep moving,” you ordered. As de facto captain, you held the right to push into the dark. With your simple decision, you departed with Shino not too far behind you. He scattered another part of his swarm into the forest as the dimness grew. Neither of you said another word. If it weren’t for the tension between the two of you, it would’ve already felt like a normal mission.
You could hardly see.
You maintained your speed as Shino continued to scout. He always had better senses than you. More used to operating in the dark than you were, Shino seemed to have no problem keeping up your punishing pace.
A branch narrowly missed your head, your visual radius severely shortened by the lack of light. It must’ve been a new moon. Another bundle of leaves appeared in your vision, and as you instinctively ducked, your foot missed the branch.
You fell in the darkness, twisting in the air as you dropped five meters down. The fall into the night made you dizzy and discombobulated as you swiftly calculated where up was. You threw together a random, instinctual calculation of chakra.
The branch you landed on shook in the dark. A piece of it snapped, falling onto the ground below. Shino appeared by your side, silent and barely detectable, even just an arm’s length away.
You kneeled for a moment on that branch, feeling the curve of it beneath your feet and the slow shake of it in the air. You remembered your very first squad leader telling you not to think about how high up you were when it came to canopy travel. He told you that shinobi work was about balancing thought with instinct. The crash below sounded soft. It told you exactly how high up you were.
You stood, your knees shaking just the slightest bit. Shino’s presence loomed over you, silent and watchful. He didn’t dare say a word to his benefit. You moved forward until the lights of the base came into view in the distance.
The southeastern base was surprised to receive you at the hour you arrived. With the velocity you approached, you and Shino had given them quite the scare. You blazed through the initial greeting with an almost recklessness. If the base’s leadership had been more trigger-happy, things might have gone differently.
The base was illuminated with lamps that cast harsh shadows upon your commanding figure as you made your way up the steps. Shino watched the symbol on the back of your uniform as you strode ahead. You moved with a determination and coldness he had never seen on you before.
Maybe this is what you were actually like on other missions, a stark difference from your energetic demeanor in your early years. The way you used to burst onto the battlefield, Shino always thought you liked mission work, or at the very least, a chance to show off your excellent mastery of the lightning nature. What Shino always thought was naive self-assuredness was all but vaporized by your blazing determination.
You introduced yourself to the base’s nighttime leadership as you had done with the eastern base. Shino continued to trail behind. He, after all, wasn’t the brilliant engineer they needed to speak with. The two of you were ushered inside. Shino was led to his quarters by a cadet as you stayed to discuss your assignment. He spared a glance back as he couldn’t help but note how well you fit in surrounded by other captains and leadership.
Shino hardly slept as his hive swarmed within his chest. He laid on top of the sheets, hands behind his head as he listened to you tinkering away well into the night. He turned his head on his pillow to stare into the reflection of lamplight in his glasses that were folded neatly on his side table.
You’d end up falling asleep at the installation site.
***
For as quickly as it started, it ended.
Shino wanted the mission over even before it started, but now, as the two of you began your departure from the southeastern base, he couldn’t help but feel a hint of apprehension. You exchanged a few words with the base commander before you were off. Shino didn’t even have to ask to know what you requested. With a shake of the commander’s hand, it was just like the day before.
Home was only a few hours away.
Shino didn’t often consider the passage of time. He was introspective but not to an existentialist extent. He, at least, liked to think so. But as the air hit his face and the orientation of the trees grew more familiar, Shino felt a stir within him.
He wondered if you even noticed the visible electricity radiating off of you as you raced ahead. The image of you served as a blatant metaphor as he thought back to what you said about moving on. With the prospect of Team 8 disbanding after Hinata’s marriage, he had been thinking a lot about things you’ve said as of late.
Shino felt blatantly aware of the humidity in the air and the hardness of the tree bark through his boots. The fact he should probably request new ones and that he had been thinking about replacing his boots for quite some time and never had.
It was barely mid-afternoon by the time the two of you arrived at the village gates.
Shino blinked, and the two of you entered. He blinked again, and you had arrived at the Hokage building. Time seemed to pile up behind him while the present hammered at him from the front, leaving him pinned and defenseless as only his own thoughts kept him company.
The two of you passed Shikamaru on the way to Kakashi’s office. He came from an adjacent hallway, stopping short in surprise as your paths missed a collision. As you continued, Shino wondered if you saw him. He locked gazes with Shikamaru, who tried not to let his concern show. Shikamaru gave Shino a firm pat on the shoulder before the two headed their separate ways.
Even Kakashi eyed Shino warily as the two of you gave your report. The sixth Hokage stared squarely at Shino as if to silently inquire about the undertones of your mission.
“I’ll submit full documentation by tomorrow,” you finished. Kakashi hadn’t said a word: not about the success of the installations and not about your incident with Squad Leader Shou. He hummed to himself, arms crossed.
“I see.” Your eyes flickered to his, studying his posture for the words he left unspoken. “Very well.” He said little else as he dismissed you. You turned, ready to finally return home. Shino followed. Kakashi cleared his throat.
“Shino.” The both of you turned your attention back toward Kakashi. He beckoned Shino forward with a finger. “A word.” Instinctively, you and Shino glanced at each other.
“Of course,” Shino muttered, and you closed the door behind yourself.
Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and otherwise supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.
Notes: Whelp, that's the end of Honey Cakes. I hope you all enjoyed the sequal to haha lmao just kidding imagine if I did that I'm so sick of looking at this work I was thinking about it hahahahahaha I've gone mad
Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V
#Shino x reader#shino aburame x reader#Shino aburame#naruto x reader#naruto fanfic#naruto reader insert#naruto x you#naruto x y/n#Shino fanfic#Shino aburame fanfiction#naruto scenario#naruto scenarios#naruto fanfiction#honey cakes#shino#x you#x reader#reader insert
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get to know you meme
Tagged by @serenity-fails, thank you 💜
three ships - dorian/iron bull (dragon age) is the ship of dreams, all of my favorite things in one, the ship that pushed me to try new things in writing and brought some of my dearest friends into my life - deacon/maccready (fallout) is the ship that hit me so hard I had to write two novels about it. it has antagonism, it has unexpected common ground, it has tension and teasing and so much potential left wide open to play with. - hawke/fenris (dragon age) is the ship that got me seriously writing. it's one of the most compelling, carefully crafted, and honest romances in the series. the struggle, the pining, the patience and care and badass battle couple-ness of it all... I've never successfully played another romance in DA2, fenris is it for me
first ship - i guess sailor moon/tuxedo mask? it's the first ship that made me seek out fan work.
last song - "starburned and unkissed" by caroline polachek from the i saw the tv glow soundtrack
last movie - in theaters, trap. i'm not usually a big shyamalan fan but it was entertaining, best use of instagram live in a thriller for sure. - at home, wicked little letters. a lot of fun, a small town england drama set just after world war ii about mysterious swear-laden letters getting sent around town. olivia coleman is a treasure in everything she does.
currently reading - honestly just re-reading all my favorite dorian/iron bull fanfic classics as I replay dragon age: inquisition
currently watching - i'm visiting family right now and they have a channel that shows nothing but old unsolved mysteries episodes and it's so comfortingly nostalgic I just keep it on any time I'm in the room I'm staying in
tagging: @bardic-inspo, @galaxy-starheart, @amanita-jack, @mercurymiscellany (just if you'd like to!)
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