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#verse: girl of steel

pluckyredhead · 7 months

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hi! i'm new to comics and i got in through reading your fics and wayne family adventures. i've since started reading more of the mainstream verse and i realized that most comic fans consider wfa to be totally fanon. you're one of the few i saw that disagrees. would you mind elaborating a lil on why? i'm too new to really form an opinion either way but i'd like to know your's!

(also yes i really did stalk your blog back years worth of posts i'm sorry! 😭😭)

Aw I love this! Welcome!

So I think it's really important to be clear on definitions here:

Canon means it's part of an official text. It's literally in a comic (or book or movie or other property) published or licensed by DC.

Fanon means it's made up by fans. That doesn't mean bad or good, it just means that it comes from fandom and is not part of the official text.

Wayne Family Adventures is an official licensed comic by DC, so by definition, it cannot be fanon. That doesn't mean everyone has to like it, but it's not a fan comic. It's an official DC product. It's not fanon.

Now, WFA isn't part of the main DCU canon. It takes place in a separate universe. The Jason in Batman #138 and the Jason in WFA are not the same and they are having very different experiences. (And I'm sure the Jason in WFA would be grateful if he knew.)

But that's no different than a comic that takes place in an alternate universe, like Dark Knights of Steel or DCeased, or a movie like Blue Beetle or a show like My Adventures with Superman. They all take place in their own universes, but all of those universes are canon. None of them are fanon.

What I think most people mean when they say WFA is fanon is that WFA draws on tropes and characterizations that are popular in fandom. Which...yes, absolutely. This is on purpose, and honestly, it pisses me off when people complain about it. (Not you, anon! Your question was lovely, you just triggered my unskippable cut scene of dialogue. Sorry lol.)

Wayne Family Adventures is probably the single best idea DC has had in the 20 years I've been reading comics. (The second best was the kids and YA graphic novel lines.)

I just checked, and WFA has 1.3 MILLION subscribers. That's more than every floppy comic starring Batman sells in a month, combined. It's more than literally any superhero comic has sold in decades - in this century! The combined strips have over A HUNDRED MILLION VIEWS. That is bonkerstown. That is a readership like DC hasn't seen since the 1970s. That is unparalleled success, and it's introducing characters like Kate Kane and Duke Thomas to a whole new audience.

Now, WFA was clearly designed to appeal to Batfans who were active on social media and fanfic sites like AO3 and Wattpad, and Webtoon readers. The readership of Webtoon is mostly young and female. Fandom as a whole is mostly female. The writer of WFA is female.

And maybe I'm not being fair here, but when I see people dismiss WFA as "just fanon," I always catch a whiff of "It's not a real Batman comic. It's a girl comic for girls."

I have spent the past 20 years begging DC (and Marvel, DC is not alone in this) to see women as a viable audience - as their largest potential growth audience! I have watched in dumbfounded frustration as they ignored the juggernaut success of Raina Telgemeier and Ngozi Ukazu and Alice Oseman running rings around the NY Times bestseller list and counted a 50k shipment here and there as a resounding triumph. I have literally seen them throw out survey responses from women because "those women had an agenda." (This is a true story. 2011 was rough, y'all.)

And all of a sudden, they gave us a comic actually catering to women and young people and fandom, and they put it on the most popular, current, modern platform for comics availably - and it's brilliant. It's smart and funny and stunningly drawn and every episode makes clever, inventive use of the scrolling format. They FINALLY gave us a girl comic for girls, and it's a masterpiece.

And yes, it riffs on fanon concepts. It also has its roots firmly in mainstream DCU canon. It references deep cuts. CRC Payne and StarBite know their shit. Jason Todd being a bookworm may be a fanon staple, but he does plenty of reading - including Jane Austen - in the 100% canon mainstream DCU comics.

It's not going to be for everything, because nothing is. It's completely fine if you don't like WFA. No one has to read it or enjoy it. If you're into Batman for the darkness and the crime and the ongoing plotlines and the angst, WFA won't be for you, and that's totally fine!

But to finally, finally be valued as a reader by DC, to have them do something smart and innovative and so, so well executed, and have the exact people they made it for dismiss it out of hand because Bruce has a "World's Okayest Dad" mug or whatever? Yeah, that chafes.

#wayne family adventures #this one's gonna get me in trouble

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 1 year

Text

ñuhus prūmӯs (my heart) │Chapter 6: Retribution (NSFW!)

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 │Chapter 11 │Chapter 12 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Childbirth is the duty and dismay of all highborn women. Together, you and Daemon experience the trials, tribulations and triumphs of expectant parenthood. Your husband seeks justice.

(Set post-episode 7, though Daemon never married Laena or Rhaenyra.)

Thank you to @angelqueen04 for beta-ing! Thank you also to @evisnotok, @ewanmitchellcrumbs and @ajthefujoshi for holding my hand throughout the drafting, teehee!

Triggers: incest, age gap, purity culture, detailed depictions of pregnancy, graphic violence, graphic depictions of blood and torture, graphic depictions of murder, erectile dysfunction.

He can hear you screaming the moment he alights upon the top of the stairs.

“Guards! Guards!” he roars, already running.

Bolting down the corridor, his mind whirls with terror. What will he find when he gets to your rooms? He braces himself, thoughts whirling uncontrollably. Thoughts of stained sheets and the scent of copper and death upon the air, your tear-stricken face wild and wretched with the anguish of being ripped apart by babes too small to survive, the still forms of infants in miniature, slick with blood and already greying upon the ground below you—

What he discovers is infinitely worse.

The Mallery knight is engaged in a tussle with an unknown assailant, the clash of steel ringing in his ears and reminding him of battles past. You lay on the stone floor beside a body, one of two, your face and hair and gown wet with gore. A man straddles your legs, brandishing a knife that inches its way toward your belly. Toward his heirs. You’re giving him a good showing, kicking your legs and shoving at his weight with all your might and shrieking—but you are not strong enough to sway the encroaching threat of the blade in his hand.

“Shut up, girl!” The malefactor grapples against your stubborn hands preventing the knife from reaching its target, holding it at bay. “Not ‘ere for you… just them babies in you. Hold still!”

“No!” you yell, spitting in his face. The man snarls, backhanding you. You yelp.

Daemon moves instantly, unsheathing Dark Sister and striding toward the fray with barely a second thought. The Valyrian steel slides through flesh like butter, piercing straight through the assailant’s back and up through his ribs while being careful to miss his heart.

Non-lethal, painful. I want him to feel this.

The man shouts, dropping the knife. He yanks the sword out and kicks him away from you, sneering as he watches his prey scramble through the ooze of his own life essence. He’s still alive. Daemon casts aside his sword and falls upon your attacker, taking up the other man’s blade and slicing cleanly across the jugular, just enough pressure to release a gruesome spray that wets his face and tunic. He wants this creature to die bloody.

“Daemon—”

He presses his thumbs into the cut, smiling darkly as the man thrashes and gurgles. Ichor stains his skin and fills his nostrils with the stink of metallic warmth, humanity reduced to its basest form and lashing about in its final throes—

“My Prince—ah!”

In his periphery, he catches a figure scrambling from the room through the narrow server’s passageway, Mallery falling to the ground and clutching his leg. The man below him is still twitching. He cannot let him go until he is certain he’s dead, until he has paid the price for daring to lay his hands on you.

The guards burst into the room from the main entrance, taking in the scene with shock. Fucking useless.

“What the fuck took you so long?” he growls, releasing his hold on the man below him. He’s dead. The knowledge that he has taken care of this immediate threat to your safety soothes him somewhat. And yet, not all have been vanquished. Jerking his head in the direction of the opening in the far wall, he says, “One of the attackers escaped. After them!”

They nod hastily, sprinting away with a clang. Daemon readies for the influx of more people; the Kingsguard, the servants, the nobles, his fucking brother—

“Daemon…”

Your weeping reaches his ears, little fingers brushing tentatively against his shoulder. The gentleness of the motion breaks him from his violent spiral. His gaze jerks to yours, the burning rage cooling to a simmering ember as he takes in your terrified demeanour: wide eyes and quivering lip and tears tracking through spattered crimson akin to grisly warpaint.

You swallow. “He—he—”

He is momentarily struck by fear. What if you’ve been wounded? What if your pains have started? That old urge to run at the first sign of strife rears its ugly head, but he tamps it down viciously. I am not that man anymore.

“Sh.” Pulling you bodily to him, he feels the weight of you solid in his arms and on his lap, a reminder that he has not yet lost what is most important to him.

She is safe. She is safe. The rest can wait.

He runs his bloodied hand along your jaw, down your spine, across your belly, cataloguing every iota of you as though it is the first time he has ever held you. It might have been the last. He cannot help that the movements are rougher than he’d like, frantic and desperate.

“Are you alright?” he asks, trying to keep his voice gentle so as not to plunge you further into hysterics. “The babes?”

You nod shakily, tugging his hand back to your swollen middle. And oh, what a moment to feel the thudding motions of his children, the first time he has been able to lay a palm there and experience the sensation himself. They are active within your womb, small thumps and jabs that are more delicate than he had expected—but they are alive.

Tears burn in his eyes, angry, boiling things that he cannot, will not let loose. Not now.

He bands an arm beneath your knees and lifts you from the ground—the cold stone is no place for his little niece, his sweet baby wife—reassured by the heaviness of you and his heirs all. Conveying you swiftly to the bed with hardly a care given to the large stains smearing across the covers, he supposes you shall need an entirely new set of chambers, what with the mess soaking the stone ground.

Several arrivals occur in quick succession. Four of the Kingsguard enter and move immediately to secure the perimeter, one breaking off to aid Mallery across the room by tamping the ichor oozing steadily from his leg. Good man. He’d have hated to have to slay your sworn shield for incompetence, but his performance had been admirable in the face of the odds laid before him. It looks likely that he will not be able to use the limb again, though.

The healer woman is the next to toddle in, exclaiming in dismay at the sight. Your lady-in-waiting—and oh, fuck, the body that had been beside you is the other, he realises—follows swiftly on her heels, immediately bursting into tears when she absorbs the carnage.

Ūlla picks her way around the debris in a manner that is almost comical. “Princess! Princess! Are you safe?”

One of the Cargylls—he can never fucking tell them apart—steps before her, blade pointed in her direction.

She scoffs. “Move, boy! Pah—are you ‘Princess’, then? Go away!”

As much as he’d love to see the ensuing standoff, now is not the time. It’d be best to have the physician verify that you and his heirs are well. No doubt the shrew will bring you a measure of matronly comfort that he cannot.

“Let her through,” he commands.

The knight steps aside reluctantly, allowing her to proceed onwards. Daemon moves away for the woman to begin fussing over you, for your attendant to step into place so as to comfort you. He is wrenched by the sound of your plaintive whimper when he has gone too far for you to reach.

But needs must—this is not over.

He rolls over each of the attackers lying dead on the ground with a foot, examining them with pursed lips. There’s a blotch on each of their cheeks. At first, he assumes it is no more than a discolouration of the skin, perhaps a curious disease or a sign of familial relation—but leaning closer and wiping some of the blood away reveals that they are in fact identical stars carved and scarred over. Seven points.

Mellos makes his way inside, no doubt summoned for Mallery. It is a rare occasion indeed to see him act decisively; he dithers in overdramatic fright but for a moment before moving along to his task.

Lord Cunttower himself appears then, accompanied by his bitch of a daughter with the King in tow.

Daemon sees red.

“You,” he whispers, or maybe he shouts it. He can barely hear anything over the pounding in his ears as he shoves his brother’s prized lackey against the wall, cursing his lack of a blade. “You’ll die for this.”

“Daemon!”

“Look at her!” he snarls.

Hands wrapped around the man’s throat, Daemon revels in the distressed gasps and choking gags as the lord’s face slowly turns purple. The snake tries to pull at his grip, but a pompous fuck from the Reach is no match for a seasoned Targaryen warrior. Viserys is at his back, pulling at his shoulder with his one remaining hand. No doubt that is the Hightower whore crying out from further away.

“Look at my fucking wife, Otto! Mark my words”—he hounds ever closer to see the panic and the fear in the eyes of a man so usually unshakeable—“if this is your doing, not even the King or the gods themselves will stop me from taking your head—”

“Guards!”

“Kepus!”

He is dragged back by the nearest of his brother’s soldiers, forced to release his punitive grip. Otto sags with a guttural heave, water streaming from his eyes and clutching at his neck. Alicent rushes to her sire, staring between him and Daemon with sheer distress painting her features. Her hands flutter uselessly over the bruise already blooming across the flesh, though her overtures are quickly batted away.

“What is the meaning of this?” Viserys asks, even greyer as he looks about the scene of your attack; the blood, the bodies, your sworn shield emitting a muffled howl through a strap of leather between his teeth as the Grand Maester cauterises the wound. “What—”

“They ca—came for the babes.” Your speech is slack and monotone now that the shock has properly set in.

I can’t fucking do this, Daemon thinks.

He nudges the healer out of the way and ignores her grumble to sit beside you on the bed, to clutch at you once again and remind himself that you’re here. You grip his hand for support, heedless of the dried gore flaking off between joined palms.

“Three of them,” you say, numb. “They—oh, gods. They killed Miriam. They killed her.”

“Sh.” He presses his lips to your head, the smell of the rose oil apparent even through all the blood. She’s safe. She’s safe. He turns to your present company, to the figures of the King and Queen and Hand, arranged in various poses of horror. “This was not an accident. These—these scum knew what they were doing. They made their way into your Keep. They meant to slaughter your daughter’s babes, and in doing so, murder my wife. This is treason, Your Grace, of the highest order.”

Viserys looks as though his spirit is about to part from his body, pallid and desolate in the face of this hidden menace. “But why?” he asks, a child at prayer.

Daemon scoffs at the naivete. Is his failure to acknowledge the wound he has let fester for so long really so great? Of all the people in this room, the King ought to know best that all choices have consequences.

“My daughter’s never caused harm to a single man, woman or child,” the King continues. “Who would do this?”

“Ask him.” Daemon glowers at Hightower, who is still covering the line of his neck with his own hand.

The man makes a noise of incredulity. “I have been ever loyal to your King and your House these many years, Prince Daemon,” he says, or tries to. His voice is gravelly, raspy in the way that belies a considerable trauma inflicted upon the area. He affects a moue of outrage, though the alarm lingers. “To accuse me of such a—grievous crime—as to engineer the slaying of the Princess’s babes is simply preposterous!”

“And to what cause?” his daughter asks, forcing an aura of regality. It does not suit her. She’s far too common to view as anything more than a descendant of wildling savages. “Where is the benefit to doing such a thing?”

This time, Daemon cannot help but snort aloud. He stands, passing you back into the care of the healer, who has gathered a basin of water and some rags with which to start shedding you of the layers of congealed blood upon your face. You do not need to hear this part, and so he strides closer to the trespassing forms before him.

This time, he directs his poisonous inquiry to the Hightower woman, finally laying the truth of the matter bare.

“Have you yourself not openly alleged that the Princess Rhaenyra’s sons are bastards, my Queen?” He keeps his tone deliberately light, though it is clear all can sense the danger lurking beneath each intonation. “It stands to reason that, to those who might be persuaded to believe such falsehoods, my wife would be her heir by right of precedence. And if my wife should bear a son? Well, that makes your son’s claim rather difficult to advance, doesn’t it?”

“How dare you accuse me—”

“Enough!” his brother say, hushing himself when he notices he has caught your attention across the room. His next words are spoken far softer. “Did I not say that such rumours would incur a stay in the Black Cells? I do not wish to hear speculation as to the legitimacy of my grandsons!”

“Your Grace.” Daemon genuflects.

His rage is a seething, smouldering thing, but he needs Viserys on side if he is to tear the capital apart to find this cunt and rend him into pieces. There are plenty who believe him to be an unreasonable beast when the fire burns through his veins, but he is more than just an unmoored conflagration; he’s a fucking Prince, and he knows how to play the game when the occasion calls for it.

Assuming a countenance as servile as he can manage, he appeals directly to his brother. “Close the city gates,” he begs quietly. “Give me the City Watch. Let me root out the last of these cu—these reprobates, street by street, door by door. Let me gift my wife the justice she is owed.” He steps aside so that Viserys can see straight to you, to the way you have begun to tremor despite the huddled warmth of the women who are tending to you, to your face streaked scarlet with the blood of others, to your hands clasped tightly against your belly in protection of your children. “Please. If not for me… then for her.”

Viserys may be a wretch, but he loves Aemma’s girls.

“This affront must not be allowed to go unpunished,” the King says, suddenly weary. “I give you leave to find this assassin, brother, so that we may learn who has placed a price on my daughter’s life.”

Daemon is one step closer to meting out punishment. He can already taste the death and destruction that awaits. Staring down the Hightowers, he says, “I will find the perpetrators, Your Grace. And there will be no mercy for those responsible.”

Let this be a warning to all who believe the Rogue Prince to be a tamed man. He is a fucking dragon, and this city will soon feel the flames of his wrath.

He gives Rollingford the orders to start the search without him.

“Thin build, dark hair, has a star cut into his right cheek. An old wound.” He rattles off all he has gleaned from his observations and yours and Mallery’s testimonies to the Commander of the gold cloaks. “Likely to be bleeding, probably limping on his left leg. I want him located. I want him surrounded until I arrive. No one is to touch him. This one is mine. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Ser,” the solemn soldier says, snapping to attention jerkily before striding off with his captains in tow. He is already issuing directives as he rounds the corner.

Ser. It is easy to sink into the role of combatant, doing away with titles and courtesies to embrace the mortality and mayhem of battle—but he cannot allow the bloodlust to consume him just yet.

Though you insist in a small whisper that it is not necessary, he carries you from your (old, spoiled, defiled) chambers to the King’s rooms himself. It is a temporary respite for you and your staff until the final attacker has been caught. He chafes at relinquishing you to your father’s care—it tastes strangely of defeat—but even he cannot deny that these apartments are the safest in the city, if not the Realm.

There is a self-indulgent joy that seeps through the cracks of his fury at the sight of Viserys so flummoxed by your insistence that he remain as you are bathed and dressed in nightwear, finally free of the wash of thick crimson that had crusted in your silver hair and stained your blossom-soft skin. His brother’s own bed has been stripped and redressed for your use, a surprising concession—or perhaps not. You are one of two pieces left of Aemma, after all.

Daeron had been brought to you for comfort, and you hold him as tightly to you as you had held your dolls in gummy fists as a tot, meek and withdrawn. It makes his chest ache to see you so terrified.

He uses the very last of his patience to help the healer woman coax watered dreamwine to your lips, to bundle you in tight in the bed beside your brother, to stroke at your hair and your belly and hum some half-recollected lullaby from your childhood or his until your eyes droop, exhausted and overcome.

As he rises to depart from the room—to seek his retribution—he shares a glance with the King, one that is mayhaps a beat too long to lack meaning. In it, he tries to convey what he cannot say aloud. ‘Protect her for me. Keep her safe while I cannot. Do this for me, brother.’

It is the first time in many a year that he is united in common cause with this man. A single nod, and then he exits, the Kingsguard closing ranks and barring the door from all who may seek entry.

The air is sharp with the chill of night and the stifle of smoke wafting from lit torches, the dim orange smoulder a gloomy spotlight throwing the shadows of soldiers into stark relief. Daemon can hear the cries near and far of alarmed citizens and distressed patrons as the City Watch raids homes and taverns and storefronts. The sound is intoxicating, a pulse of vicious pleasure loosening the strain in his shoulders and the tightness of his breath.

This is what he does best—bringing chaos and cruelty to his enemies’ doorstep. It’s a reminder of the fate that awaits those who dare to cross the House of the Dragon. Until this man is found, the entire city is his enemy.

“My Prince.” Rollingford falls into step beside his horse as he crosses into the Great Square, seemingly appearing from the shadows. An impressive skill. He slides down from the saddle, absently patting the mount’s flank when he chuffs at the motion. With an arched brow, he wordlessly prompts the Commander to continue. “We have guards manning all seven gates, as well as postings along the Blackwater. The harbour has been closed and the ships at dock searched, and the men are working their way through the city.”

“Good. What of the High Septon? I want him questioned. Make use of Largent.”

“The—the High Septon?” Rollingford asks. He does his best to sound carefully blank, but Daemon can hear the underlying pitch of nervousness.

“Yes, the fucking High Septon,” he snaps. “He’s here, isn’t he? Some business with the King. Tell him that the Prince wants to know why three assassins bearing the Seven-Pointed Star attempted to murder my wife and heirs earlier tonight. If he resists—bring him to me. I care not for the wrath of his gods.”

“Ye—yes, Ser.”

He doesn’t actually believe the Faith to be responsible for the attack. Those petty worshippers have become unmanned since the days of Jaehaerys, and the High Septon is far too gutless a creature to conjure up such a scheme. He also doubts any of the man’s underlings have the capacity to act without first being thoroughly vetted by the circuitous bureaucracy of the Most Devout. But it will send a message that none are safe from his wrath, one he hopes will lure forth the real culprits.

It nears dawn when the search bears fruition. One of the soldiers—Cressey, he thinks, or perhaps Hayford—brings forth a location.

“We’ve got ‘im surrounded, milord,” he says, “so ‘e’s not likely to escape. But those nearabouts all say they saw a bloodied man with a star on ‘is cheek limp inside and not come out. That was some time ago.”

It might just be a form of irony that the answers I seek are to be found once more in the whorehouses of King’s Landing, he thinks to himself.

He retraces the familiar route to the Street of Silk—straight down the Street of Sisters, left onto the Street of Flour, right along Copper Street—the sound of hoofbeats against cobblestone overloud in the early morning. It is easy to tell which of these establishments houses his quarry, the glimmer of the gold cloaks easily recognisable even in weak light.

The men part for him as he stalks along the way directly to the heavy oak door. Curious. Run-down, moth-eaten and hosting some of the most common girls in the Realm, this particular brothel had been one of the cheaper bastions of debauchery in his youth. A fuck was a fuck no matter which way it was dressed, though, so it is not as though he had refused their attempts to solicit his coin. A good Prince is a fair one, after all. The door is new, and already he can see signs of refurbishment in the scrubbed-clean stone and the pale thatching of the roof.

Daemon barges directly inside, immediately being struck by the thick clogging scent of incense and sweat and bodily fluids. Gone are the thready chaises and faded portraits and the half-destroyed staircase. Instead, the space is dark and richly furnished in deep reds and blacks, the walls inlaid with lacquered wood and gleaming with the flicker of burning braziers.

Several whores squeal at the suddenness of his importunity, turning wide kohl-lined eyes to his form from where they sit in the laps of strangers in various stages of undress about the open foyer. He scans each of the patrons critically, seeking out one who matches the description of his target.

Bald, pot-bellied, pockmarked, old, young, yellow hair, black hair… A veritable array of men soused on drink and desperation, and yet there is no sign of your assailant.

A woman moves from the shadows, her speech carrying above the sighs and moans despite the soft, lilting cadence. “Welcome to the Gilded Doll, good Ser. What pleasures do you seek this day?”

I know that voice.

“Mysaria.” His long-time paramour smiles teasingly at his shock, flicking her dark hair over her shoulders at the recognition. Little about her has changed since their separation. “I thought you’d be in Pentos.”

He had left her there in the Prince’s palace what seems like so long ago now. It is strange to think upon the version of himself who had been so afflicted by desire for Rhaenyra. Sometimes, he forgets you have only been wedded to him for a comparatively short period. There is a settled comfort in his life with you, a conviction and dependence that still surprises him. Peace is not a feeling he thought he’d ever find in marriage.

“My place is in Westeros, My Prince,” she says. She steps closer—too close. His tense demeanour does not go unnoticed, for she wisely elects to drop the carefully cultivated mask of temptation to speak honestly. “You are not the only one who has been called back to these shores by those in need.”

He scoffs. Ah, yes—I’d forgotten about her delusions of grandeur. “And you’re doing your great philanthropic work as the madam of a brothel? I suppose it’s not a terrible advancement for a common whore.”

“Not so common, perhaps.” Her crimson lips twist, the old insult stinging still. She will accept a great many indignities, but never has she abided being regarded as someone unexceptional. “My women are well-cared-for, which is more than I can say for most of the brothels along the Street of Silk.”

He rolls his eyes, already growing bored by the conversation. He’s not here for a reunion. “Such a noble cause. Effigies ought to be built for you, I’m sure.”

“What brings you here, Daemon?” she asks.

“A trio of assailants tried to murder my wife earlier this evening,” he says, afforded some measure of privacy by the collection of sounds filling the room. Though his blood is up by the promise of violence, there is none left to fill his cock—and truthfully, he does not know if the sight of whores’ tits or the wet squelch of overused cunts or the shrill performances echoing from the second floor are even enough to elicit such a reaction now. He’d much rather stare at your tits and hear your moans and fuck your cunt. “Two have been dispatched, and the last has been tracked to your establishment. You’d do well to tell me where he is.”

She stares up at him but for a moment, something unreadable in the set of her features.

“I have a great many customers walk through these doors, My Prince,” she says, brow arching challengingly. That veiled insolence had been what had drawn him to her in the first place, when she was just an exotic dancer from Lys baring her body for him and his lackeys in the Blue Pearl. So few dared to test his famed temper, fewer still who’d let him fuck them whichever way he pleased. It rings hollow now. He wonders if her defiance had always been so trite. “You will have to describe the man to me.”

He rattles off the description in a short tone, a warning that she ought not to tarry much longer lest his malice seek out the nearest recipient. Her answer is prompt, wary: “Second floor, fourth door on the right.”

He pulls Dark Sister from its sheath in a pre-emptive motion, again startling those nearby, and makes to climb the steps.

“Daemon.” She lays her hand on his arm, stopping him briefly. “Try not to destroy the furnishings. It costs a pretty coin to maintain such luxury.”

She knows me well. He nods, and then pulls away.

The surprise of Mysaria’s return is one he discards to the recesses of his mind for the time being, allowing the ire to scald in his veins as he trudges to the far quieter upper landing. The sounds of groaning and rustling are muted, almost far-off, a mere backdrop to the thunder of his heart in his ears.

So close. I’m so close.

The fourth door does not open on first attempt. He tries again. Locked. Once more. He takes a few steps back and slams his full weight into the barricade, bursting the wood clean off the hinges.

The whore inside screams in fright, clutching her shawl to her chest. ‘Tis strange to see a clothed whore in a private room, he thinks, surveying the mousy-haired woman and her dull brown eyes and too-thin lips. How drab. That she is still dressed is a promising sign, one that suggests that mayhaps she is not alone. He looks around the room for another; there is no evidence of any company.

Then, he spots the wardrobe ajar, a slight wobble to its frame—as though a heavy being has flung themselves inside. There.

“Get the fuck out,” he growls, levelling the whore with the most vicious look he can muster. She squeaks and darts out into the hallway, vanishing from sight.

His focus affixes itself once more to that sliver of darkness, within which he is certain his mark has tried to hide. He tarries, waiting to see if the other will make the first move; he cannot help the incredulity that arises when he encounters nothing but silence.

Does he honestly believe he has successfully concealed himself from retribution?

With a baring of teeth that is more a grimace than a smile, Daemon strikes, darting forward to fling the door wide and grasp onto whatever part of the man he can reach.

“Lemme go!” your assailant yells, crying out as he is dragged free from discarded gowns and thrust onto the floor.

How… disappointing. He’s already pissed himself, and Daemon hasn’t even had the opportunity to make him regret ever stepping foot in this world yet.

“I didn’ do nuffink, good ser—”

He cuffs the man across the face, a return upon the strike so callously landed across your sweet little face. It knocks more than one tooth loose, leaving him dazed and groaning on the ground, the fight abruptly beaten out of him.

“You were in the Red Keep earlier,” Daemon says, pulling the commoner upright by the hair and dealing another wallop to the nose. An audible crunch sounds out as the bone gives way beneath his knuckles, and the man moans weakly, stunned and bleeding from his leg and his face. “Your co-conspirators are dead. Tell me what I want to know, and your end will be quick.”

He matches your account exactly—dark hair, thin, and that fucking star emblazoned in scar tissue across his cheek. There is a curious pin on his lapel, an insect of some sort rendered in metal.

“I dunno what you mean,” the wretch moans, caterwauling when Daemon steps down on his fingers and grinds them into the ground. Each digit gives way with small pops, pulverising into jagged puzzle pieces no healer is skilled enough to patch together. “I wos here visitin’ my sister, and I ain’t done nuffink in no Keep, Ser!”

I’m almost glad for the resistance.

“A pity,” Daemon says. The man relaxes at the affected resignation in his tone. His mistake. “We’ll do this the hard way, then.”

He shoves the man against the wardrobe and drives Dark Sister cleanly through the meat of his shoulder, pinning him to its surface like a butterfly on canvas. His screams are piercing, surely disrupting the business taking place throughout the brothel. The scarred star stretches grotesquely as he vocalises his agony.

“Who sent you to murder the Princess? Who?!” Daemon snarls, twisting the blade for good measure. Scarlet trickles from the wound, blooming dark down the fabric of the man’s shirt. The howl that releases itself from his throat is nearly inhuman, a drawn-out choking heave that tingles in his extremities. “Talk!”

“I—I—I’m sorry, we wos offered coin—there ain’t none to be had wif the Order—”

Pathetic. Daemon had hardly needed to incentivise him overmuch and yet the scum is already spilling everything. No wonder he had run. Cowards never change their stripes, after all.

“A Poor Fellow, are you?” he asks, angling the blade up slightly and pushing in just a little further.

Daemon had suspected as much. The Seven-Pointed Star is a sure indicator that the attackers are sworn to the Faith Militant, though it is obvious that the evening’s trials had not been the work of those particular sycophants. It seems that an attempt has been made to lay the plot at the High Septon’s door—which means the architect is intelligent.

He continues his line of questioning, manipulating the hilt of his sword to widen the wound, each press shredding fresh slices into overwrought tissue. He basks in the squalling and weeping below him, the singular sound of flesh rending apart, the rich heady aroma of fear and gore. The desire to split open his guts and feed him his own entrails is tempting, but this is not the time. He needs information.

“What price was enough to make you abandon your precious Faith and risk eternal damnation, hm? Three stags? Four? A gold coin?”

The man gasps, spasming with each shift of the blade. “Three! Three, Ser—”

Three gold coins. A wealthy mastermind, then. It narrows the field considerably. Only the nobles at court would have that kind of coin to spend on a plot with a variable chance of success.

Daemon brings his foot down on the Fellow’s knee, crunching the joint beneath his steel-capped boot. With an almighty crack, the bone gives way, its owner leaning to the side to vomit. The acrid stench of sourness permeates the air, tangling with the scents of blood and piss.

He sneers, kicking the man’s leg for good measure. It splays at a misshapen angle, bent back upon itself on the ground. The jagged edge of his shinbone has pierced clean through the back of his knee, a macabre lance of pearl-white tearing through skin and muscle.

“A measly three coins to murder a girl heavy with child,” Daemon mocks. “A Princess. Your gods must be so proud.”

“Please!” The craven weeps, spitting blood and bile from his mouth. “Please.”

“Tell me what I want to know. Tell me who ordered the attack.”

“I—I—I dunno his name, Ser. He wears a hood. Calls himself the Firefly.”

Daemon nods absently in acknowledgement, his mind ruminating over this discovery. It is not an epithet he recognises. Firefly. He’ll have to conduct a careful search to find the owner of this sobriquet.

He refocuses his gaze upon the last of your assailants, the remaining member of the trio who had so callously threatened your life and the lives of his children. As pathetic as this creature is, he has been rather valuable in providing enough intelligence to further his own search. But the man has outlived his usefulness. Daemon cannot afford for his benefactor to learn of his loose tongue.

“In the name of the Princess, I—Daemon of House Targaryen—sentence you to die.”

In a single swift motion, he wrenches Dark Sister from the place where it is embedded and basks in the vile satisfaction of hearing the man release an unearthly squall. He swings the sword in a high arc, the momentum slicing cleanly through flesh and sinew and bone and cutting the shriek off at its full. Blood sprays over his armour and across his face, the wayward Fellow’s head rolling across the floor.

Daemon removes the pin from the man’s shirt and stows it away for later examination, using one of the whore’s ruined dresses to wipe his blade clean of gore. He surveys the scene. The door is splintered upon the ground, the wardrobe soiled and defiled, the room itself a painting of crimson upon lumber and metalwork, silks and leathers.

Fuck. He’s made rather a mess of things. Restitution will have to be made.

He leaves the body where it lay, having little care for the remains now he is dead. For now, the job is done. It is with a sense of relief that he retraces his steps back to the lower level of the brothel. The whores and patrons stare at him with mingled shock and fright, taking in his red-soaked armour and ichor-stained face. At the sight of him, the whore from earlier darts up the stairs. She will find her brother dead in her rooms, his life essence puddling out upon the floor and seeping into the wood.

He turns to Mysaria, fishing out a handful of coin and holding it out to her. She takes the proffered gold with an arched brow, surveying his dirtied form with an unimpressed expression.

“For the damage,” is his gruff explanation, tipping his head in the direction of the upper landing. “Unavoidable.”

The whore starts to wail her lamentations from above.

“I see.” Her feline eyes glitter dark and mysterious, lips tipped up ever-so-slightly. She had always found his aggression captivating, and it seems such a sentiment remains unchanged. He shifts in discomfort. She leans further into his space, laying a careful hand upon the line of his arm. “I hope you found the justice you had sought.”

He grunts, making no move to encourage her.

“It is good to see you again, Daemon,” she adds, looking up at him through sooty lashes. Her body presses closer, just shy of touching. He doesn’t know if she holds back to avoid sullying her gown or if she intends to tempt him into closing the space. “You would be welcome here if you should want the company of one of my girls. Or mine.”

Her breath, wine-tart and candied, puffs against his jaw.

“I don’t,” he says stiffly. He is poised, rigid, barely restraining himself from the urge to throw her bodily from him, to backhand her for daring to touch what is not hers by right. “Take your damn hands off me.”

She is as beautiful and sensuous as ever, but she does not arouse desire in him the way she had once done. How the mighty have fallen, he thinks.

Should a version of Daemon from his youth encounter him now, he would make of himself a laughingstock for the single-minded veracity of his ardour for his own niece, a girl half his age. But how could one return to consuming boiled mutton after partaking in roast venison for the first time? Mysaria had been a companion and nothing more. You are his—niece, confidant, wife, lover, mother to his heirs. There can be no other now. That she thinks she might persuade him to wet his cock in lesser cunt is insulting.

At once, her seduction ceases, the veil of allure dropping and resettling into feigned amiability. He has insulted her—but why should it matter? Dragons do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep.

She smiles dryly, stepping aside to clear a path to the exit. “Then I wish you farewell,” she says.

There is nothing left for him here but the ghosts of a former life. It is easier than breathing to turn from her gaze, to cast her aside as a memory from long ago, to stride past her and leave her in the past where she belongs.

He departs the Gilded Doll without another word, mind already settling on returning to you.

You are still asleep when he enters his brother’s rooms.

“Gods be good,” Viserys mutters, hobbling over from his chair as he takes in the sight of Daemon covered in blood. What did he expect, he thinks in irritation, that I would sit down for a civilised meal with her attacker? “I can only assume you found him.”

“The last one is dead,” he says, unbuckling his baldric and setting Dark Sister, scabbard and all, upon the table as quietly as he can. Through the gauzy drapes, he spies your still form ensconced in the bed. “I got the information I needed.”

“Must I ask for it, or shall you tell me?” the King asks.

Daemon glances over at him. Dark circles bloom purple-grey under his eyes, the contrast to his blemished skin so severe it is as though he is looking at a human skull instead of a living man.

“Not now.” He suppresses a shudder at the malformed creature his brother has become. “I’d like to get this shit off me.”

The bath is warm, but he takes no joy in it. Now that his enterprise is concluded, he is left with naught but his own thoughts. If I had been there, she wouldn’t have been risked so dearly. If I’d refused to leave, she’d be safe and happy instead of fearful and desolate.

He tries to tamp down the maelstrom, scrubbing vigorously at his flesh and his hair as though to physically force the notion from his mind. By the time he is done, the water is pink, flecks of dried blood forming a ghastly film upon the surface.

All he wishes to do now is sit by you. He bypasses Viserys, treading barefoot through the sheer curtains and settling himself gently upon the mattress beside you. In repose, your expression holds none of the fright or devastation that had marred it so many hours ago. You are young, sweet, mouth slack with sleep and cheeks plump and rosy from the heat of the coverings over you.

His eyes burn again. I’ve failed to protect her. Stroking your wild silver hair back from your temple, he trails his fingers along the line of your jaw, over the curve of your lower lip, your throat.

“She has not awakened,” the King says softly behind him. “The boy’s gone to his lessons, but—well, I thought it best not to rouse her.”

“Good,” he murmurs, hand wandering below the sheets to feel the swell of your belly. There is faint movement, and relief blooms anew at the liveliness of the babes within your womb. Tap. Tap. Tap. He had almost convinced himself that it had been a delusion conjured up in his maddened state. “She needs to rest.”

You stir faintly, and he brings his palm to your face once more. You lip insensately at his thumb, easing back down into unconsciousness. A creak to his left makes him think that Viserys has sunk into the chair beside the bed. He can feel the stare boring into him, though he has little desire to entertain whatever it is that has his brother so absorbed.

“When you sought my daughter’s hand,” the King begins, “I assumed the worst.” He knows that. “You are not the sort of man capable of providing the care she needs: patience, attentiveness, placidity… devotion. Someone who would regard her as the treasure she is. Yes, when you asked for her, I thought all manner of abhorrent things, even if you were the one she chose for herself. I was so certain you would destroy her.”

So little trust in me, as always. There is a point to this spiel, a mellow timbre that suggests the aim is not to remonstrate—but to hear how lowly his brother thinks of him is nonetheless cutting.

The King huffs a laugh. “Imagine my surprise, then, to see her so… happy with you.” Daemon stills for a moment, then carefully resumes caressing your cheek, smoothing over the contour of your chin. “She is a new person to me now, and I regret that I was not able to grant what it is she needed to best thrive. I have many regrets… but I do not regret conferring her upon you,” Viserys says. “I was wrong, Daemon. You make a fine husband to my girl. And I am glad she can give to you what I never did.”

Oh, brother.

There was a time when he wanted nothing more than to earn his brother’s approval; when the attainment of such was a far-off dream, one that would have required him to unmake and reforge himself anew so that he might finally earn what ought to have been his all along. The denial of it had made him bitter and angry, a hot-tempered rake of a being that had terrorised nobles and commoners alike with debauchery and hostility and brutality. It is ironic that having the man finally—finally—proclaim that longed-for praise carries none of the weight he once imagined it would have.

His worth is no longer shackled to the whims of an ailing King. Perhaps it is unhealthy or even unfair to place the care of it in your hands—but for all his poisonous ambition, he knows his is not a nature meant for standing alone. The second son of a second son, he has been bred and built to seek purpose from those designed for a higher calling than he. How he had railed against his fate, once! And how very poetic it is that he has found himself so beholden to you.

He does not need Viserys anymore. But he nods and thanks his brother nonetheless, pays little mind to him as he departs from the room, and waits for you to rouse.

It normally takes time for your faculties to return to you after your eyes first open, but it comes to no surprise that consciousness strikes you with full force after the evening’s events. Your eyes snap open and you jolt, casting about for a half-moment before alighting on the form of your husband. He adjusts himself so that he reclines against the headboard, allowing you to easily wiggle your way onto his lap.

Fretful and fragile, a baby princess seeking protection in the arms of her big, strong uncle. Moisture wets his clean shirt, your face buried against his chest and little fingers clutched to his sides like you are afraid he’ll vanish. He pets over your spine and breathes you in.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, breaking the silence.

You shake your head, voiceless. He’ll not press you yet, not now—but there will come a time in the near future where you’ll have no choice but to recount the attack. He needs as much intelligence from as many involved as he can seek out if he is to determine the identity of the Firefly.

You are small and quiet and slow-moving as the day passes, wanting little else than to cling to him and doze. He doesn’t know what to do with this version of you. He is helpless to conceive of a way to break you from this strange trance. Guilt and fury and exasperation mingle like noxious fumes inside his body, pressing against his chest cavity and constricting around the organ there like a bloodied fist. Each hushed whisper, each tenuous tremble, each lamenting little-girl rebuff of all save him only serves to spur the tumult within.

“Is… Are they all gone?”

You finally string more than two or three words together, sat upon the edge of the bed in your new chambers. They are nice enough, he supposes, though he’s not particularly enthused by the prospect of being so close to Viserys and the Hightowers. For a moment, he thinks you are speaking of the attendants that had flitted in and out of your presence throughout the afternoon, but the uncertainty of your countenance suggests otherwise. His stomach drops.

“Those—those men?” you clarify, voice cracking.

Daemon lays Dark Sister back upon the desk and tosses down the cloth he’d been using to work away at the stray crusts of ichor, returning to you.

“Yes,” he says, sinking down upon the mattress.

You lean into him, warm and real and alive. Alive. “I was so… frightened. I thought I was going to di—”

“Don’t.” He shakes his head. I cannot hear it, cannot abide even the thought of it. “Don’t say it.”

You pause, staring up at him, nodding when you take in whatever expression has affixed itself on the planes of his face. He jerks slightly when you push yourself up on your knees and bring your lips to his, hot and wet and sweet. It is ingrained into the foundations of his very self to press into the kiss, to cradle your jaw in his hand and feel the throb of your pulse feed into his skin, his cock twitching in his breeches. There is no pleasure to it, but instead a disconcerting agony that prickles along his shaft and cools the fire that ought to stoke itself.

He draws away, suppressing the tremor that threatens. “What are you doing?” It comes out more abrasive than he’d like.

“Please?” you ask, mouthing at his lower lip, desperate and frenzied. “I—I just want to feel something good again.”

He understands that need. Hells, it’s a feeling that has fuelled many of his own debauched eves across the brothels in King’s Landing and the Realm beyond. Though he cannot fault you for the urge to drive away the memory of those who had nearly carved your babes from your belly (I wasn’t there, why wasn’t I there), his body is refusing to heed your wishes and rise to the occasion.

It tears at him to tilt back into you, to crowd against you and take your mouth with his own, to press his tongue to yours and pull the hem of your shift up. He drives you down into the sheets, nipping at your throat and shoving a finger then two into your grasping cunt, feeling the way the silky walls catch and ripple eagerly as he hooks into the high soft sponge of you, listening to you gasp. You writhe and moan below him, tugging at his pants and taking hold of his cock, and it begins to burst to life in your capable hand. He looks down at you and his mind flashes to the way you’d looked beneath that man, red-stained and terrified and scrabbling to save your own life, and he cannot—

He lurches away from you, from the memory of what had nearly happened. I wasn’t there. You try to pull him back down, but he shakes off your touch. “No. Stop, sweetling.”

“Why?” You pout, reaching for his shaft and making a soft noise of confusion.

Oh. Whatever blood had fought to stiffen him up has dissipated, leaving him limp despite your best attempts to coax it to rise.

“I said—” He bats your hands away, suddenly wrathful. Stumbling off the bed, he stows himself away and fumbles with the laces, whirling on you. “You almost died, and you want to fuck?” he asks, grinding his teeth and snarling at you. “What in the hells is wrong with you?”

He regrets it as soon as he’s said it—even more so when he sees the bewildered tears begin to collect along your lower lashes, lip quivering and looking so, so small. Why wasn’t I there to protect her, she could have di—

The room feels like a cage, like iron bars squeezing tight against his flesh, he has to get out, he has to get out—

“Daemon. Daemon!”

He flees the trappings of your apartments, past the Kingsguard manning the doors to the bedchamber, the hall, Maegor’s Holdfast, leaving you there upon the bed alone.

Scarcely even realising he’s left his blade behind, he moves with purpose throughout the Keep. He knows not where he’s headed, only that he must find a safe haven where he might begin to pull together the edges of himself that are fraying to bits, threatening to send him crumbling.

It hurts. It hurts unlike anything he’s ever felt. The anguish only serves to wind him tighter, a maimed creature lashing out at the world for its suffering.

His steps lead him aimlessly around his childhood home, and he indulges the wanderlust. He avoids the main thoroughfares, not wishing to encounter the absurdity of courtly gossip on his day. The journey takes him past the Great Hall and the Small Council chambers and through the servants’ passages, down to the scullery and the royal cellars. He pilfers a carafe of wine from the kitchens, imbibing periodically as he trudges through hallways and up flights of stairs. Eventually, he makes his way to an old sanctuary from his youth, a lone balcony in an abandoned portion of the Holdfast overlooking the courtyard and, beyond, the Dragonpit.

Daemon leans against the edge and stares blankly at the horizon, taking steady draughts from the jug and letting the drink numb the sharp stabbing pains of his thoughts. The wine loosens him, slows the racing of his heart, and time finally starts to run leisurely again.

She might have—She nearly—

“Princess said you ran from her.”

Fuck. He ignores the healer woman as she shuffles forward, joining him in the dimming light. Her eyes bore into his side profile, but he won’t give her the satisfaction of acknowledging her.

“Said you were angry,” she croaks.

It is the truth, but it is still unpleasant to hear.

“How is she?” he asks. It is relatively easy to assume she’s ventured forth in search of him after making her customary rounds to her sole charge.

He hopes she can hear the words he does not say. Are my children well? Will they survive this?

“Good. Babe both good, too.” He despises how unlike herself she is being, how gentle and kind her tone is. It is not the way she speaks to him usually, and he wants at least one thing to remain normal and logical and sane around here. “You are very, very lucky,” she adds.

He grunts. He doesn’t feel it.

She sighs, thumping him on the back. “You are rude boy. But you are good to her. She need you now—no more hiding.”

“How?” It takes him a moment to realise it is he who has spoken, a rustle upon the breeze. That damned wine. He can no longer control the torrent that he has kept tamped down and locked away, the dogged attempt of a man long accustomed to outrunning all weakness. “How can I just—pretend?”

“Pretend?”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he tries to put into words the venom that is eating away at his insides. “That I’m not fucking—terrified.” Daemon hisses the term as though it has personally offended him.

To finally say it aloud is both a bizarre release and an epiphany of sorts. He’s overcome with the curious urge to laugh at the realisation.

Fear. How common of him. But it rings true nonetheless, and the rightness of the admission settles in his bones. How can he not be afraid? There’s an ever-present threat to your life somewhere in this place, a place that should be safe and happy and home for you. Someone has marked his children for death before they are even allowed the chance to breathe air on their own, to open their eyes and see what exists outside the safety of their mother’s womb.

And you are a Targaryen woman. In any other context, this makes you superior, a diamond nestled in amongst the coal. But he cannot help but recall those names once more, the names of your forebears who had undergone the toilsome task of childbirth and met their end there.

Alyssa. Daella. Gael. Aemma. Laena.

He will not survive your death, should it come. With the ever-expanding heft of the babes inside you, the possibility that he might have to face such a dreaded reality looms closer by the day. There is not a fucking thing he can do about it, either. There’s no physician or liniment or spell or prayer that he can avail himself of to keep you alive, to keep you with him should your body fall to the conquering force of childbed.

The woman—Ūlla—hums consideringly. “Fear is… natural. Human,”

He finally turns to look at her. Her countenance is warm, sympathetic, a tilt to the head that belies something other than the deep-seated vexation he had been sure was all she’d felt for him. She takes his hand, and he lets her. All at once, he is a boy again, clutching onto his lady grandmother as his mother’s pyre burns gold in the morning light.

“We all fear something,” she says. “It is stupid to try and push it away like it never happen. Do not waste time to master your fear, or you will forget to live. To fear is to love, boy—and you love her, yes?”

He nods. Gods help him, he does.

She smiles, squeezing his grip. “Then the rest is for later. Go to her—love. And let yourself fear. It is okay.”

The sky is darkening to deep amber by the time he is ready to return to you. He takes the long route back to your new chambers, concealing himself from public view as much as he can, for he does not wish to incite the rumour mill of King’s Landing to pass judgement on his dishevelled state.

You are almost exactly where he left you, though you’ve settled back against the pillows with a book, appearing for all the world as though it is an evening like any other. It isn’t. When you see him standing at the door, he fully expects you to rail at him, perhaps to cry or even avoid him.

Instead, your lips twist compassionately, eyes impossibly soft, and you put the tome aside. “Come,” you say, patting the space beside him.

And how can he refuse?

Daemon clambers onto the mattress, shuffling into the open space of your arms and collapsing there in your embrace. The hard bulge of your belly pushes against his chest, a reminder of everything pure and real and necessary, everything he has fought for. What I would die for.

He cannot speak his apology aloud. It sticks to the roof of his mouth, coagulating in the liminality between his body and the air. Cursing himself for his inability to perform something so simple, he buries his face into your breasts, breathing in the smell of you, the feel of you, safe and whole and alive. His eyes burn.

“It is alright, kepus. Sh.” Your palm strokes the back of his head, trailing between his shoulder blades and up again in soothing rhythm.

My darling, forgiving girl. You are everything to him, and you are here.

The tears finally fall.

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its-actually-minicika · 1 year

Note

so, feel free totally ignore this if it makes you feel uncomfortable, but I can't stop thinking about a jace x reader fic where reader is sort of dealing with the aftermath of the battle of the gullet.

her and jacerys were involved romantically and when he dies, reader goes berserk and out for blood with the greens: she gets captured eventually and is left to rot in a cell in harrenhall or something, where she talks smack to aemond and reminisces about her time spent with jace...

idk maybe she breaks out and aemond falls in love with her in a reverse-stockholmly way?? it's more like he becomes obsessed and starts taunting her with Vhagar like he did with luke.

or maybe she ends up dying in the cell from exhaustion and all her untreated wounds (because there's no way canon book aemond would ever help the lover of an enemy lmao) and meets jace again in their weird version of westerosi heaven

idk i just need them both so bad lol

The Harshest Winters (!18+!)

Pairing(s): Jacaerys x Reader, somewhat implied Aemond x Reader ??? it's just really fucked up, man;

Warnings: major character death, strong language, mentions of SA, some spoilers for Fire&Blood, book canon Aemond, blood and gore, psychological horror, manipulation, manhandling, mentions and descriptions of sex;

Author's Note: whiew, this was definitely something! Thank you so much for the request, Nonny - I loved diving into this one :") I hope that this is to your liking!!

Part 2 is out now!

She was sentenced to forever remember him by name only - Jacaerys' face would dim with time across her memory, leaving only a distant face in the back of her mind.

As she rots in the coldest pits of Harrenhal, (Y/N) remembers him, day after day and night after night.

"Promise me you'll come back alive." The girl hushed into the quiet war room. Her eyes scanned over the firelit table, traveling to Jace's sprawled out hands and broad form.

His eyes lit up. Brilliant brown hues, filled with so much love for her. His calloused fingers, still trailing over the waters of the Steptstones, that versed well into the Gullet.

"I promise." Jacaerys spoke to her, tone serious and somewhat strained. "My love..." He mused at the notice of her furrowed brows, and took three wide steps towards her.

As his hands reached for her, she leaned into his warm touch, so palpable and real.

The two hugged for what felt like an eternity. The Prince of Dragonstone kissed the crown of her head tenderly, his heart beating in a calming tune, that could have once lulled the woman into the deepest of sleeps.

"You've never lied to me before." She sniffed into his wide chest, pressing herself against him with renowed ferocity. "Do not let this be the first time."

Jace only smiled and cupped her jaw soothingly.

The nights without him were the toughest.

(Y/N) was irritated, on the verge of frenezy - the ghosts of her past played cruel jokes on her health of mind, making her see red before her - his face, whenever she closed her eyes to sleep.

In the three weeks that she spent in the prison cell, after having been captured and enslaved by Aemond, not once had she seen his face apart from their first fated meeting.

How stupid she was, drawing her sword to him, engaging him in a field of falling men.

How could she not see his flock of Green Loyalists, who suddenly came behind her back?

The heavy wound in her lower abdomen and the numbness of her left foot were all her fault. The puss that was dripping from her daft fingers, as well.

At least she had beat the shivers, she told herself insistently. But how long will it be, until she meets the Stranger due to her horrid wounds?

Left all alone, trapped well within those four walls of damp stone, the girl could do nothing but mumble and think to herself:

Aemond Targaryen had fought bravely, she had to at least give him that. Although she too would have had balls of steel atop a dragon - and one not even close to Vhagar's size.

He had granted her the courtesy of letting her die in the pains of cold and hunger - flesh eaten away by the ghastly infection, rotting to a point that had one's stomach churn and wail.

A small tear rolled from her shut eyes, and her jaw clenched tight - no one would come to rescue her, and it was clear as day that even the soldiers who came to guard her cell at night stopped bothering to show up. Perhaps the reek of death proved to be too much for them.

Perhaps they preferred to sit outside, and bask themselves in the fine light and smell of putrid ash.

Perhaps.

Slowly, yet surely, (Y/N) tried to sit up straight, but a blinding pain sent her right on her exposed back again. She hissed from the pressure that her inexperienced bandage applied on her closing wound, but relentlessly tired to get up again and again.

Eventually, she stilled as she got up on her right foot, and leaned into the wall for help in supporting her raw weight.

"Fucking shit, fucking assholes, fucking Greens, nasty cock-suckers, fucking die...!" She sobbed into the breached wall, gripping the stone edges with all her might and heaving out one pained breath after the other.

"I didn't know I was keeping a whore alive, in the stead of a respected Lady." A croaky, albeit mellow voice rang out.

(Y/N) could feel her knee wobble in fear.

She bit her tongue in an attempt to stop her snarl, and steadied herself with her hands still clinging to the wall.

"Kinslayer." She spoke in a brittle voice, and cursed herself for the undeniable softness that was laced in her tone - she was far too weakened to talk to him. And much less to fight once more.

Aemond's nostrils flared, in a weird concucsion of both anger and grief. His jaw tightened as his hand curled into a fist.

"Traitor." He grates out in retaliation, but lets a bemused expression to curl up his lips. His face narrows, and a flicker, a spark of fury dances in his remaining eye.

"You grace me with your presence, Prince Aemond. You really shouldn't have." (Y/N)'s eyes trail to the sword that rests upon his hip, and she can feel her blood turn cold once his feet carry him so awfully close to her defenseless form.

Her chest rises and falls in pent up frustration. Even if she tried to, she couldn't kill him now. But maybe she could gouge out his good eye.

Before her thoughts can come to a close, Aemond cruelly smirks to himself, and unsheats his sword to lower it to (Y/N)'s face. "It's a pity. You've never been a beauty, but now you're rendered to almost completely useless." He tuts lightly, turning her face with each languid movement of his sharp blade.

"I had in mind to let my men fuck you." He remarks dryly, but lets out a disappointed sigh. "But I don't think any of them would get it up to your whorish face."

His words startle the woman, and her eyes widen in disgust, as her throat tightens in and over itself.

"No... A look so wild and a grisly body such as this are better suited for dogs than men."

(Y/N) is shaking with fear and rage alike. She takes in a deep breath, and closes her eyes to listen.

He's bluffing. This is a test. This is a challenge. And either way, he has a sword. He could cut you up in a thousand little red ribbons of flesh if you uttered the wrong word.

The girl repeats the same mantra in her head, and swallows thickly. Soon, very soon he will get bored of taunting her.

But why? Why, why come now? Why pay her a visit after weeks of captivity?

He wants you to do something for him, in exchange for fresh air and a clean set of clothes, a small voice inside her head whispers to her.

Aemond hums wistfully and brings a hand to play with her house's crest, that rests atop her caved chest in a twisted necklace.

"You are Elmo Tully's only daughter." He asserts calmly, and reaches to twirl around her darkened strands of hair. "The Lord of Riverrun pledged his banners to that withered cunt because of you."

His eyebrows raised in mock surprise, and his sword came to a halt below her jaw. Attentively, he grazed her skin with the hilt of it, paying attention not to break in a single cut.

"But now... there's no reason for them to fight on her side, is it? You're ours to spare or kill, and your bastard lover boy is rotting in the sea."

His words sparked a fire inside the girl's soul. Without thinking, she took a step forward, and gripped her hand atop his over the hilt of the sword. In just a second, her free hand had found a way to his pale face.

The aftermath of the loud slap echoed throughout the dark room, and Aemond grabbed the lady by the hair, bringing her to her knees with a strong, downward pull.

"I will put a muzzle on you if you don't behave, tie you down and feed you to Vhagar, but not before I berate you in front of everyone still alive from the Twins to Harrenhal."

A small whimper escapes her lips, and the One Eyed prince gives her one last harsh tug, before freeing her dirty locks.

"Look at the mess you've made." He chastises with a click of his tongue, bringing his grimy hand to her face again. "You dirty fucking whore, I should make you lick me clean."

His furious stare melts into an amused one, and Aemond the Kinslayer laughs.

"I bet you would love that, wouldn't you?" He cooed while glancing down at her, forcing a finger into her resisting mouth. "You've been Jacaerys' slut for so long, haven't you? Wouldn't you like to be fucked by a real man, too?"

Aggravated by his running mouth and exherted by all her remaining patience, (Y/N) bit down on his fingers, hard, drawing a metallic taste in her mouth and a guttural groan from Aemond.

"I thank you for your gentle offer. But I heard you're already busy enough with that - fucking a bastard of your own in the darkness of these cursed halls."

The Targaryen prince clasped her by the arms tightly, pulling the girl up on her feet and snarling in her face.

"For that, I will give you your brothers' heads."

"Mayhaps they will give me yours."

Aemond's hands would leave her bruised. Of that much, she was certain.

Another permanent reminder of his abuse on her, she mused, letting out a pained sigh.

She grazed the bottom of her lower lip, immersed in deep thought.

Aemond wouldn't kill her. At least, not until the last of her purpose ran up. He might have had Harrenhal secured, but that meant little to his usurper brother and the capital, especially when the Reach provided them with no other allies.

Aegon's cause needed her. They desperately needed her alive, to strike up a deal with her sickly grandfather, and convert both houses Frey and Tully to their side.

Family.

Duty.

Honour.

Her grandfather would do anything to ensure her safety - that much was, again, for certain.

And if Aemond wanted to win this thing, he wouldn't touch a single hair on her delicate head - he couldn't afford to set off the Riverlords.

Having said that, (Y/N) wasn't surprised when the maesters came flooding in, or when her clothes were changed and her bed replaced.

What did surprise her were Aemond's visits - after their initial clash, he came by her cell more and more often.

Sometimes he would speak to her. Ask her about the gravity of her wounds, if she found the lack of light scary. If any soldier made to guard her had talked to her or made her uncomfortable.

Those were what (Y/N) grew to call his "good days".

Most of the time, Aemond would come to her well into the dead of night, scaring her and making her lose sleep for days at a time.

He would apologize with a small quirk of his head, and simply stare at her. Stare for what felt like hours, until he would hum, satisfied, and make his leave.

It was during one of those latter visits that (Y/N) finally spoke:

"Has my grandfather turned his banners? Did he send any lease for me?"

Her question, although innocent enough, angered Aemond. He rose to his feet, eyes wide in ire, and he punched the wall of the prison cell - hard.

"From this day onward, you'll sleep in a chamber more fit for a Lady." He hoarsely muttered over his shoulder, as he made his way up the twisted set of stairs. "Soldiers will escort you tonight. Tomorrow, a maid will bathe you."

Although hid from her field of vision, the Tully girl heard how his footsteps came to a halt. The One Eyed Prince clasped his fists painfully, and gritted lowly:

"If you try to escape, you'll meet your end by the way of my blade, My Lady."

The night Lady Tully stepped outside of her prison cell was supposed to be one of the happiest of her entire life.

At the very least, the girl found the night sky to be of a comforting beauty - and the lack of sunrays would be good for her eyes, that got so used to the engulfing darkness of the Dungeons.

Still, she couldn't wait to see the sun.

... Her contentment was short lived - as soon as the smell of ash and blood had hit her nose, the girl almost collapsed.

No matter where she looked, she saw only the bites of fire. Where it spread - over the fertile lands she loved so well -, it left dust and cinder in it's wake.

Her home was ruined.

The fields she used to play in... gone.

The grief and anger replaced the sadness and despair. (Y/N) felt herself shake to the core, and, as she was dragged to the highest tower in the Harrenhal Keep, she swore to kill Aemond for what he'd done.

Yet, a much merrier resolve was going on back and forth in Aemond's chamber, who, after his interaction with (Y/N), was left very wanting and more than frustrated.

Alys was writhing beneath him, mewling in pleasure at his rough touch and merciless pace. Her dark hair was sprawled all over the goose feather pillows, covering her face and lustful stare.

"Mmhh, faster... faster!" She urged him with a breathless moan, moving her hips in unison with his, meeting his thrusts half-way.

Aemond groaned, holding her firmly by the nape of her neck, and closing his lilac eye tightly. His loins were begging for release - a release that was coming very hard to him.

Thoughts that disassociated him from what was happening at present surged through his mind: what he would have to do tomorrow, where he would have to take Vhagar.

Did (Y/N) reach her room yet?

The latter of them sent a pleasant shiver down his spine - with renewed vigour, Aemond pounded into the woman under him. He had found the lead towards his release, and he was not about to let it go.

Images of (y/h/c) replace the dark whisks of hair on Alys' head - her soft skin, her beautiful (y/e/c).

(Y/N), (Y/N), (Y/N)...

His member twitches urgently inside of Alys, and Aemond continues to defile the Tully girl in his mind, imagining how her face would twist in pleasure as he slowly entered her.

He would be gentle. So, so gentle - he would make her into a babbling mess, so numb from bliss, that her legs would shake around him. He could be selfless with her, find his high only after he was satisfied with the orgasms he pulled from her.

Aemond moaned loudly once he felt Alys tighten around him, and soon spilled out his seed, panting wildly.

Finally, he opened up his eye, and felt the disgust and dissatisfaction that came after his mind-blowing release.

How could he, the Prince Protector of the Realm, think of his nephiew's lover during sex? That ugly, headstrong and frogish looking girl - making the Crown Prince lose his mind in want and lust.

Shit.

He had to see her.

He had to touch her.

He had to have her.

He craved to feel her - even if she were to slap him as she did months ago; he would take anything she gave him. And he would enjoy it tremendously.

Aemond sighed, still planted deep above Alys - he peeled himself from her lean arms, and rolled his shirt back and over his head. Next were his trousers, shoes and leather tunic.

"Where are you going, my love...?" Alys whispered, pressing her naked body on his working back.

Aemond hums expectantly, and turns his body to trap the woman in between the cold wall and his budging arms. He brings his hand out to caress her skin, toying with one of her breasts, until he pushes her roughly against the wall and pulls her by the hair.

"I told you not to call me that" He muses coldly, letting go of the fistful he grabbed mere seconds ago. "We talked about our arrangement, Alys." He tuts lightly, grazing her jaw with his long index finger.

Aemond sighs and lets go of the caged woman, as he straightens his back and begins walking towards the door.

"I want you on the bed, with your legs spread waiting for me. I won't be too long."

Curse Aemond and his meticulosity, the young lady chastised inside her head. The tower in which she was supposed to spend the rest of the war - or however long Aemond wished her to, really - was at the highest level possible. There was no way for her to jump out the window and survive the fall.

But, should there be a need for it... death by falling wasn't the worst of fates. If you managed to break your neck, that is.

A shuddering thought, (Y/N) scorned herself, and not one she could afford at the moment.

Jacaerys was dead - and part of her would be lost with him forever. Above all else, she wanted to feel his soft kiss again, his strong arms protecting her, his gentle caress that never failed to give her butterflies.

One day, she would find him again. One day, they'll reunite, and be back together - as the Gods intended to.

But that day was still far away.

She prayed her grandfather hadn't turned his banners against Rhaenyra's cause. She hoped that her family was safe, and that Riverrun didn't suffer the same fate the fields near Harrenhall had.

Jacaerys was dead. But above all else, she had to stay alive. Fulfil his wish, take care of both their families, until she could allow herself to rest.

Her shaky hand reached for her eyes. She had been crying.

The dirt on her cheeks must have washed away, leaving streaks of her paling skin to poke behind.

She would avenge him. She would avenge them all. Even if that was the last thing she ever did.

The brisk opening of her chamber door made the girl jump in place and turn rapidly on her heel.

Behind the oak aperture, a head of shoulder-lenght silver hair could be seen, followed by a pair of untrusting violet eyes.

"Didn't your mother teach you never to enter a lady's room without knocking first?"

The reprimantion left her lips before (Y/N) could catch herself.

She had to remember that no matter how much Aemond needed her, he was still quick to anger - a true prince of the Blood of the Dragon. Brazen, relentless, cruel.

She was a first daughter, yes. But a third child, coming after two strong boys, that hence secured the Tully line from before she was even born.

He was a man. She was a weakened woman. They were near a window at a plenty ample height, and even she had heard what happened to Queen Helaena.

His footsteps approached her slowly, like a predator would it's prey. It took everything inside the girl to stay put in place, fighting his empty stare with her own.

"It's cold outside." Is all Aemond said, before he strutted towards the open window and closed it back up again.

A myrriad of questions were on her mind. But 'Why are you here?' was replaying the most.

Her back was turned on Aemond. (Y/N) was frozen in place and, although she knew how dangerous it was not to look at him, she feared that a singular look of the man who played a part in killing the love of her life would be far too much.

Seconds turned to minutes. And minutes felt like they were turning to hours.

Before long, Aemond let out a low hum and grabbed a piece of her modest gown with two of his fingers.

"I'll have a nightgown be made for you tomorrow." The Targaryen prince concluded, gingerly letting go of her sleeve.

Without another word, he turned his body stiffly, and walked towards the doors that separated her from the outside world. As they closed and clicked with the turning of a key, the girl let out a relieved sigh, and quickly glanced upon the floor.

"Fuck you, you fucking piece of shit, you Gods' damned fucking asshole." She hissed in utter resentment, snarling at the place the one eyed prince once stood.

At least the promise of the morrow could bring forth a better day.

If she ever wanted freedom, she had to make Aemond trust her. But that was easier said than done. And it would take time.

So far, he had taken her outside twice - both times, during nighttime. To not be seen by anyone, and to be able to walk with the Prince without being perturbed or interrupted by keen eyes and weary mouths.

They walked in silence: neither knowledgeable enough in the other to know what to converse about.

And as they made their third and final round of the garden, the girl took in a deep breath, and whisked her skirts gently to one side.

Aemond, like all the other nights before that, escorted her himself back to her secluded chambers, but stopped abruptly at her door.

"Where is your bretheren?" Aemond demanded to the knight assigned to watch over (Y/N) coldly.

His body stiffened momentarily, until a muffled voice could be heard past his helmet. "He went outside to take a piss." Sensing Aemond's stillness at his words, he added hurriedly, "Your Grace."

Unconvinced, yet unwilling to press the matter further, Aemond hummed, and opened the door, to allow the woman to step inside.

Like all the other nights before that, he stepped inside as well, to stare at her and later leave himself to rest in his own right.

(Y/N)'s hands were tightened in fists, and the woman strutted to her bed to play with the silk bedding.

"Thank you for bringing me here. You're... so very kind." She forced herself to say the words that left such a bitter taste in her parted mouth.

For a while, Aemond seemed stunned. He felt his jaw clench in anticipation for her next words. His eyes trailed over her, mesmerised by her tempting form, so meek and small and perfect.

Had she always been so beautiful?

"Hmm." He purrs from deep inside his throat, unable to form any other sentence. His lilac orb being glossed over with something akin to fear and lust - how could such a lowly girl spark such a consuming feeling within him?

The tightness inside his trousers becomes unbearable, and Aemond can feel his palms gripping over his thighs.

"Well..." (Y/N) finally turns to face him, biting her inner cheek. "G... Good night, Prince Aemond."

He takes in a sudden breath, and has to restrain everything inside him not to walk towards her and take her over the mattress.

But she was still a Lady. And he had to be patient. There will be more than enough time for that, he told himself pleasingly.

Still, his cock twitched into the confining space, and the girl had to stop herself from gagging at the sight.

Men were really just mindless beasts, after all. Yet she had to at least be thankful - she now knew for certain she wasn't indifferent to him. There were worse things to be working with than lust.

Lust was better than ire. Lust was better than... nothing.

"Good night, Lady (Y/N)." Aemond's groggy voice echoed through the empty room.

Seemingly satisfied with what he told her, the Targaryen Prince shot her body one last hungry gaze, before leaving to hold her under lock and key.

A minute, maybe two pass, until the girl's body can relax into the soft bed. Her eyes go over the ceiling, and she starts recounting her steps.

A sudden click of armour alerts her of what is going on outside - she shifts and turns, eyes fully on the door.

Had Aemond come to her again?

Dread seeped into her veins. Had he come to rape her? Use her? Or perhaps he grew tired of playing host, and was ready to kill her.

Not sparing another second, she swiftly jumped back on her feet, and reached for a candle holder, clasping it tightly within her hand.

Her breathing accelerated, until... the shining helmet of the knight outside greeted her tentatively, instead of the terrifying white hair she'd grown accustomed to.

"My Lady!" He breathed out, relieved, and hurriedly showed her his face.

Her eyes widened in surprise, and hot drops of tears suddenly threatened to escape them.

"Ser... Ser Cain? Is that really you?"

"Aye, my Lady, in the flesh." He remarked happily, closing the door, before (Y/N) surprised him by running towards her sworn protector, with an embrace that could shatter stone.

"I thought you dead after the battle at Tumbletown...!" She hushed into his chest, swaying him from side to side.

"It should take them more than usurping bastards to kill me!" Cain Waters assured her. His body pulled away from hers, and he spoke back in a more serious tone. "I'm here on order of your father. I'll take you to a safe place. But we must leave now."

"How...?" The girl questioned hopelessly, "The Kinslayer is ruthless, and he keeps a close watch on every corner of the keep at all times."

"Not all the time." Cain offered her a reassuring squeeze, smirking slightly. "I have reason to believe he's occupied in his chambers right now."

His attitude turns somber, and he reveals a hood tucked in his breastplate. "Wear this, my Lady. I'll keep guard outside until you're ready - but be quick about it. We'll have plenty of time to talk after we're out of this horrid place."

(Y/N) didn't need to be told that twice - she made great haste dressing up, and, before she could realise it, she was running down the stairs with her heart hammering out of her chest.

She felt as though she was in a trance. Ser Cain knew the castle like the back of his hand - no doubt, her father had been planning her escape for a very long time -, and, by the will of the Gods, the two traveled unspotted to the burnt forest behind the Gates of Harrenhall.

"Our horses are tied here." Cain huffed at the heaviness of his armour. "My Lady, give me your hand."

He mounted the woman on a tiny black horse, and secured her belts in place. He then turned to his own mare, and ensured to tie their bridles together. Before long, both horses broke into a dizzying gallop.

Thus (Y/N) Tully and Cain Waters managed to get lost into the night, right from under Aemond's nose.

The rays of sunlight shone over Aemond's bare form, still entangled with the one of Alys Rivers.

His limbs felt heavy - though none of match to the uneasiness he felt in his heart.

Wordlessly, he peeled himself off the warm body that laid next to him, and dressed up to pay his cherished captive a morning visit.

His dull footsteps bounced in the echo of the war keep, as Aemond's marching came to an abrupt end.

Nothing looked out of the ordinary.

Nothing, save to say for the unguarded door to the girl's chamber.

His blood ran cold, and his hand jerked open the entry to her resting place, only to find it... empty.

There is a scream from deep within that forces it's way from out of his chest. An anger so blinding, that it threatened to burn and extinguish any and all who would dare come his way.

Anger isn't a good look an anyone. But on Aemond One Eye, it looked downright terrifying.

A punch is thrown on the nearest wall to his trembling form. Then another. And another. And another.

Vhagar's mighty roar all but breaks the sky in two - and those who lived to tell the tale swore it echoed throughout all the Seven Kingdoms.

An exaggeration, no doubt, though not the most far fetched one in their bloody story.

The tearing skin of his knuckles lets a numbing feeling wash over Aemond. With his eyes upon the rattled fields, he lets out a low chuckle.

"I'll find her. I'll find her if I have to burn down all of the Riverlands."

They say that everytime a Targaryen is born, the Gods flip a coin.

#jacaerys strong #jacaerys valaryon #jacaerys x reader #yandere aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond imagine #dark aemond #this one is really fucked up lolz #the harshest winters

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btswrckd · 24 days

Text

Secrets and Lies

Mafia member!Namjoon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Part of the War of Hearts universe! You've spent the last 10 years not really knowing just who your best and only friend actually is or just obsessed he is with you, but when an unexpected threat emerges from your mother's past, he's given an opportunity that he just can't pass up.

Warnings: mentions of violence, mentions of guns and other weapons, mention of death, mention of obsessive behavior, Namjoon's kind of a prick to an old one-night stand

A/N: Ta-da!! It's here!! I'm sure there's more warnings I missed and I'm sorry!! As you guys may know, I've been working on 3 separate fics for the War of Hearts verse and I'm still working on them, but I wasn't sure whose story I wanted to put out first. As I'm bouncing back and forth between the stories, I've finally figured out the order in which I want to put them out. Please enjoy guys!

“Are you going to tell me what, exactly, we’re doing here?” Hoseok yawns from the passenger seat of Namjoon’s sleek black Hyundai. Why Namjoon thought of such a car as “inconspicuous”, Hoseok will never know. Honestly, he was pretty pissed that Namjoon had dragged him out of the house at 4 o’clock in the morning to watch random people come and go from some 24 hour diner that sits just before entering city limits. But when the door opens for the hundredth time and a pile of messy hair sitting in a bun atop the head of a beautiful girl comes bouncing out, he rolls his eyes. Now he knows what the hell they were waiting around for.

“Seriously, Namjoon,” Hoseok groans and burrows into the heated seat. “Can’t you stalk your girlfriend without me?”

“Shut up,” Namjoon hisses at him. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“But you are stalking her, correct?”

“Hobi,” Namjoon warns again, “shut the fuck up.”

He doesn’t hear whatever it is that Hoseok mumbles under his breath, simply shaking his head and turning his attention back to the waitress who’d just finished a 12 hour shift. Without the top of a messy bun flouncing about, he’d have lost you in the mass of cars you were weaving through. You look tired, he notes, exhausted as you slump against the driver door of the beat up old car that you’d been saving up for. He never liked when you took the bus; too many strange men would look your way far too long for his liking. But he didn’t think a car like that would suffice either, even though it meant tracking you was a little easier.

Your head thumps against the steel door of the small car you’d salvaged from a junkyard. “Still,” you remind yourself, “a junker car is better than no car at all. Definitely smells better than the bus.” It was the third 12 hour shift you’ve worked in a row and still had another 3 to go. To say you were exhausted would be putting it lightly. You’re worn out, both physically and mentally, but you have to keep going. Have to keep making money. Have to pay off the medical bills that only seem to keep racking up. The sound of an obnoxious ringtone blares in the dark parking lot and you jump in place as you recognize it as your own.

“Shit,” you hiss, fumbling for your cell phone only to find the caller I.D. belonging to none other than your ex-boyfriend. It’s not that you’re ungrateful for him taking on the task of being your mother’s caretaker, it’s that you wish he’d stop trying to use her dwindling health as an excuse to try and get back together. “Minseok,” you answer, vexed. “What is it?”

“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” Minseok snaps back, taking a deep breath to steady himself. After all, catching an attitude with you when he’s trying so hard to get you back is not going to earn him any brownie points. “Hey, so, you just got off work right? Why don’t you stop by and we can have breakfast? Your mom’s been asking to see you.”

“In time,” is all you can say. It’s all you’ve been saying since you were a teenager. Your mother is all you have left and to keep blowing off chances to visit her breaks your heart a little more each time. You love her so much, but the thought of seeing the frail body in place of what once was a strong and healthy woman makes you want to cry. You don’t know how long she has left or why you keep avoiding her, knowing damn well that she’ll be gone soon. You only know that distracting yourself with work doesn’t make you feel as helpless as sitting at home waiting for the inevitable phone call. Minseok is babbling about something, but you don’t catch what it is when the sound of approaching footsteps has you reaching for the pepper spray attached to your key ring.

Namjoon is amused when you whirl around, pepper spray at the ready even if it is with a shaking grip. He laughs as your shocked face morphs to one of anger and embarrassment. Clearly, you hadn’t expected to be snuck up on in the middle of the parking lot of your job, and that makes him uneasy. You should always be aware of your surroundings. “What are you doing with that, you nut case?”

“Shut the hell up, Joon!” You kick at the loose rocks on the pavement, sending them flying in his direction. “You scared the crap out of me, asshole. What are you doing lurking around a dark parking lot anyways?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” He tilts his head playfully, though there’s no hint of amusement in his tone anymore. You should have gotten in your car and left a long time ago, yet something or someone, namely Minseok, kept you from doing so. He recognized the look on your face when you’d looked at the phone screen. Even from across the lot, he knew who was stupid enough to bother you after a long week of working. With a roll of his eyes, he takes the phone from your hand and ignores your protests.

“Minseok,” he says into the phone, skillfully dodging your attempts to pry it away from him. “How are you?”

“I’m uh,” Minseok sputters, “good. I’m good, I guess. What are you um, what are you doing with Y/N?”

“Me? Oh, nothing really. Just came to pick her up from work. Yeah, she finally scrapped that heap of junk and decided to ride in style. With me. Goodbye, Minseok.” Namjoon ends the call, carelessly tossing the phone back into your waiting hands. Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his slacks, he nods down at you. “Heading home?”

“Trying to.” You prop a hand on your hip and he groans because he knows exactly what’s about to come. “You know I hate it when you do that. Getting under Minseok’s skin does absolutely nothing for you, so why do you do it? And you know he’s the primary caretaker for my mom. Stop trying to piss him off.”

“You never get after him when he pisses me off,” he points out. It was never a secret how much he despised Minseok, especially when you dated that little prick. Nothing makes Namjoon’s blood boil more than the image of Minseok taking you on dates, holding your hand, kissing your skin, touching you wherever he pleased and you allowed. “Anyways, I wasn’t trying to get under his skin. If he feels threatened by me then it’s not really my fault. And what the hell is he still doing taking care of your mom? Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”

“Not everyone at the rehab center knows we dated,” you explain, missing the flash of anger in his eyes. “He’s the only one that mom trusts.”

“You know I can take care of her too.” He braces his large palms against the car door, trapping you between the metal and his body. “I’ve offered a thousand times, Y/N, you always say no.”

“I’ve burdened you enough.”

Namjoon sees the brief downward tilt of your lips, a frown you try so hard to hide from him. He won’t have it. Tucking his finger beneath your chin, he tilts it up to look you in the eye. “You’re not a burden. Neither is your mother. I’ve told you before that all you have to do is ask and I’ll give you anything you want, Y/N.”

“I just want her to be better,” you whisper, casting your eyes to the floor as they flood with tears. There’s no doubt in your mind that if you were to ask Namjoon for private care, he would gladly take care of it without expecting anything in return. That’s how it’s always been with him though. Always giving but never taking. According to his close friend, Hoseok, that’s how Namjoon’s grown up. You’re not entirely sure what his home life was like when he was a child, but his parents seemed to have done a wonderful job raising him. You can’t honestly say you’ve ever met anyone like him in all your 28 years of life.

Namjoon’s finger becomes firm in making your eyes meet his once more. His mouth tightens into a thin line and you know he’s trying to hold back his frustration. When he met you in the hallway at the hospital nearly 10 years ago, you’d just learned of your mother’s diagnosis. To say you were distraught would be sugarcoating it. You were absolutely devastated. He remembers how 18-year-old you had slid down the wall with body wracking sobs, but you’d tried to hide it as your mother was just a few feet behind a closed door. You had wailed into your knees after drawing them as close to your body as possible. He had just rounded the corner of the hall, hissing into his phone about the absolute fucking disaster that was Hoseok’s assignment, when he’d seen you and he felt like time had slowed. Something about you, about the heart wrenching way your body curled up that made him feel…protective. It was his job to protect Taehyung, sure, but you were an entirely different story. You had nothing to offer him. No kind of incentive for his comfort. And yet, when he’d walked over and reached out his hand, you’d taken it. Taken it so damn easily and allowed yourself to be comforted by a complete stranger. It was always a mystery to him, how you’d melted into his body without noticing the blood staining his white dress shirt.

“Joon?” your voice cuts through the hazy fog that was his trip down memory lane. Blinking back your tears, you cup his face to bring him back to reality. It hadn’t taken you long to figure out that when Namjoon spaced out, it took a great deal to bring him back. But not with you. Never with you. Because, somehow, your voice and touch, and yours alone could bring him back in a matter of seconds. When his brown eyes finally clear, you smile softly at him.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” he says, taking your wrists in his large hands and running his thumbs along the veins of them. A smirk plays on his lips when he notices you shiver. Not from the cold, but from him. “I’m supposed to be the one comforting you. Not the other way around. What was it that Minseok wanted anyway?”

“To have dinner. Or breakfast. Or, I don’t really know, but I know it had to do with eating in the same vicinity as each other,” you sigh and slump against the cool metal of your car. “I’m not exactly up for it, but I guess I should go. He says mom’s been asking for me, but I–.”

“What an asshole,” comes a familiar voice. One you aren’t exactly expecting, so when you jump, Hoseok’s deep chuckle cuts through the parking lot. You always wondered how he managed to stalk around without making a single noise. You feel Namjoon tense and tighten his hold on your wrists.

The taller man turns to his friend with a snarl on his face. “A little warning next time, jackass.”

Hoseok shrugs and purses his lips in an innocent way that makes you giggle. A grin splits his face as Namjoon scowls at him for being able to make you laugh when he himself couldn’t. “It’s late. Or early. Or fucking…whatever. Can we just go now? We kind of have someplace to be, you know.”

And by someplace, Hoseok means waiting outside of Choi Hyunwoo’s apartment to grab his ass and get back to Taehyung. He quirks his brow up at Namjoon, rolling his eyes when Namjoon ignores him to face you. He turns his back to give you guys some privacy, but fuck if he’ll stand there all day watching Namjoon make goo goo eyes at you.

“Don’t let Minseok guilt you into seeing him,” Namjoon says, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “I understand that you feel it over not seeing your mother as often as you think you should. It’s why I’m more than happy to set her up with private home care. That way you can also cut down on your part time jobs. They’re wearing you down.”

“Real charming, Joon,” you snort and shove him away. “But you know I can’t take you up on that offer. It wouldn’t feel right if I couldn’t at least help you pay for her care.”

“Then, for the time being,” he says through grit teeth, “at least let me stave off Minseok.” He’s quick to wrap his arms around your waist and haul your chest to his. Your squeak of surprise makes him chuckle and you blush. “Hobi, do me a favor. Take a picture of this.”

You don’t have time to question what the hell he was talking about because he winds his fingers through your hair, tilts your face up, and pretends to slants his lips against yours. You inhale sharply at the contact, fingers digging into his jacket in a death grip, and oddly, found it far too easy to lean into his faux kiss. Your eyes meet the intensity of his brown orbs, bouncing back and forth as if searching for something. Reason, perhaps? Or signs of insanity. Because why the hell else would Namjoon go to such lengths just to get Minseok off your back?

Namjoon’s gaze deepens, his pupils dilating from the proximity. He can’t seem to remember that it was meant to be fake. He was meant to look like he was kissing you, not actually doing it. But he’d be lying if he told himself he didn’t want to know what your chapstick tastes like. If it’s the usual, nauseating taste. Or if this is one of the rare times you’d reached for the strawberry flavored lip balm. He almost chuckles as he imagines you rummaging through your bedside drawer and plucking your least favorite flavor in your haste to get to work on time. He always tells you to toss the hated flavor in the trash, but you, for whatever reason, never do. Apparently, you only keep it in “just in case” situations. Situations such as running late for work and not having the time to turn your apartment upside down in search of the usual, worn down tube of chapstick.

Distantly, you recognize the faint sound of a cell phone camera going off, but when Namjoon sweeps the pad of his thumb along your bottom lip, your thighs clench together as the feel of the roughly callused finger sets your body on fire. It’s such a simple gesture and yet, you find yourself unable to catch your breath. When he pulls on your lip as he traces a path down to grip your chin, you rise to the tips of your toes in anticipation. You’re far too ready to kiss him, and a part of you panics when a deep chuckle rumbles in his chest. You flush, embarrassed to have been caught leaning into his touch so shamelessly. You consider punching him as you usually do when he manages to fluster you, but then he presses in further, his own plump lips skimming across your mouth in an almost kiss that has you panting with need. Your eyelids become heavy and they close as pure, unadulterated desire pounds deep in your bones and your fingers card through his soft hair. You feel him shiver against the feel of your nails gently scratching the hair at the nape of his neck.

Namjoon knows he has to gain control of the situation soon. It was spiraling, and quickly, and he was more than willing to allow it to happen. But he doesn’t want the first of many kisses to come, be one that stems from him trying to piss off your ex-boyfriend. Because there will be more to come. He will taste you properly and he will continue to do so until you say otherwise. You, and only you, have the kind of control over him that no one ever has. Not even Taehyung.

“Namjoon,” you whisper and you swear an actual groan leaves his mouth because your lips bump against his as you speak. “Please,” you beg even though you’re sure this is an entirely bad idea. Heat pools in your lower belly as you press up against him, his thigh slotting between the apex of your legs, a noise of excitement leaving your throat as he leans in.

“I’m only going to stand here for so long to watch you guys pretend to swap spit,” Hoseok comments in irritation. “It’s hot, sure, but we’ve got more important things to do, Namjoon.”

When Namjoon parts from you, the both of you are panting, breaths mingling in the cold night air. His hand moves from the nape of your neck to slide down along the line of your jaw. His thumb sweeps across your cheek softly and he takes his time to look over your flushed face and heaving chest. Your eyes are still closed, making his chest swell with pride when one shift of his body makes your fingers tighten in his hair.

You don’t even notice you’ve done it, not until you finally open your eyes to find that you are the one keeping him in place. Quickly, you release him and try to create some distance, but you only bump into your car door. You want to be angry with him. You want to question what the hell he was thinking. But most of all, you want to understand why it didn’t bother you nearly as much as you thought it would. You’d known him since you were 18 and never once had it crossed your mind that he’d ever find you attractive. The same couldn’t be said for you, though, because you’d always harbored a small crush on him. You’d thought dating Minseok would quell that ache for Namjoon’s attention, but it really didn’t and you kind of felt bad when a small part of you wondered what Namjoon’s hand would feel like in place of Minseok’s on your skin.

“Send this to him,” Namjoon’s deep voice startles you while he holds out Hoseok’s phone. He watches, amused, as you stare at the picture on the phone. He can see your mind working in overtime as you process the seemingly loving embrace Hoseok managed to capture. “Minseok’s always thought you and I were together at some point, or even hooked up, so it’s not that odd to see us like this.”

“No, you can’t!” you squeak and try to snatch the phone from his hand. That attempt fails as he easily maneuvers out of reach. “Don’t send that, Namjoon!”

Hoseok snatches the phone from Namjoon’s hand and stalks off back to the car. He’s mumbling something under his breath that you can’t make sense of and slams the car door once he’s inside. Sinking down into the seat, he leans his head against the window to rest comfortably in hopes of getting some sleep.

“I have to go.” Namjoon sounds reluctant to leave as he steps away. He knows Hoseok already sent the picture to Minseok so there was no backing out now. In fact, Minseok should be calling you any second and he wishes he could stick around for that conversation, but Hoseok was right. If he didn’t leave now, then they’d miss Hyunwoo and the last thing they need is Taehyung tearing into them for screwing up. “Minseok will be calling soon. Ignore it, go home, get some sleep. I’ll check on you later.”

“But, I–.” you try to protest as he walks off and right on cue, your phone rings with irritating familiarity. “Damn it.”

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“Why are you fucking with your own feelings just to piss off Minseok?” Hoseok questions Namjoon on the ride back home. He pays no mind to the muffled groaning coming from Hyunwoo lying on the floor of the van they’d swapped into later that morning. “It’s only going to get worse from here now. You know that, right?”

“Shut up,” Namjoon grumbles from the driver seat. He can’t say Hoseok’s wrong, he hardly ever is, but Namjoon isn’t willing to admit that. His grip on the steering wheel tightens as the memory of your lips and your touch, it all comes to the forefront of his mind and makes his chest tight. He had hoped that you did as he said and went home to get some sleep, but one quick peek at your Snapchat story revealed a breakfast plate filled with eggs and toast smothered in strawberry jam. Your mother’s favorite.

“You’re still pissed off that she went to breakfast with Minseok?”

“She didn’t go with Minseok. She went to see her mom.”

“Right,” Hoseok hums delightedly, “her mother. Who is currently being taken care of by who, again? Oh, right. Minseok.”

Namjoon uses the rearview mirror to glance back at his friend with a scowl. He knew he should have left his dumb ass back at home with Yoongi after he helped them pull the van from one of his family’s many junk yards. “You can join Hyunwoo in his misery, or you can shut the fuck up.”

Hoseok tosses his head back in howling laughter as Namjoon pulls through the security gates of Taehyung’s home. Pulling up to the front of the house, he gets out of the car to meet Taehyung and Yoongi at the passenger side door. He draws open the side door to reveal Hyunwoo bound, gagged, and covered in bruises. “Hoseok went a little…overboard.”

Yoongi’s low toned whistle makes him wince because he knows that Yoongi knows his lie was complete bullshit. “Damn, RM, you really did a number on this guy.”

“He tried to run,” Namjoon says as if it’s that simple of an explanation. When Yoongi shoots him a knowing look, he rolls his eyes towards the sky. That was, in fact, not what had happened and he had used it as a not so believable excuse to beat the shit out of Hyunwoo. It was a means to vent his frustration and Hoseok had let it happen without complaint. Then again, Hoseok never really complained about any kind of violence. Save for the few domestic ones he’d seen over the years. Oh, he’d always let his knife or gun do the talking then.

Taehyung climbs into the passenger seat and taps on the window as a sign for them to hurry the hell up before his wife comes storming outside. His phone rings while Yoongi jumps in the back with Hoseok and Hyunwoo. He answers it with a smirk on his face while Namjoon reclaims his seat behind the wheel.

Namjoon isn’t entirely sure what the conversation is about but it was pretty amusing to watch Hyunwoo lose his shit. When Taehyung throws out an innuendo that clearly has his wife panicking, he tries to hide his smile as Taehyung pulls the phone from his ear and stares at it.

“She hung up on me,” Taehyung comments in disbelief. He really shouldn’t be surprised that Nabi would hang up on him after his little quip, or the fact that she hadn’t entirely forgiven him for their fight last night. But if there’s one thing Namjoon’s come to learn in the decades of friendship with his six brothers, it’s that they’re all the smartest people he knows…and the dumbest. It’s a good balance of brains and stupidity, it keeps things fresh.

“I’m shocked she didn’t do more than yell at you last night,” Namjoon laughs. “Or that you didn’t kill Yoongi for being an instigator.”

“What good would it do me to be rid of him?” Taehyung catches Yoongi’s eye in the mirror. “But he is lucky I didn’t at least shoot him for it.”

“Jimin was the one who made it worse by giving you the spare key to your guys’ room,” Yoongi defends himself with a roll of his eyes. “Did it not get worse after you opened that door and Nabi nearly tore your head off?”

“Jimin’s not out of the woods either.” Taehyung scrolls through his phone, swiping through picture after picture that Hoseok had sent him earlier. Each of them include Hyunwoo stalking down various streets in his attempt to follow one of Nabi’s best friends. He thumbs through each one until…

“Is this a picture of you kissing Y/N, Namjoon?” Taehyung’s eyebrows shoot so far up that they nearly disappear into his hairline.

“Hoseok!” Namjoon barks back at his friend. “I said send it to Minseok, not broadcast it to everyone we know.”

Hoseok shrugs from his spot in the back. “As I recall, I said I wasn’t going to stand around all day while you guys made out. But you made me wait anyway. So, that’s on you.”

“My god, Namjoon, you really didn’t hold back, did you?” Yoongi is too busy peeking over Taehyung’s shoulder to notice Namjoon holding up his middle finger.

“Clearly, she didn’t either,” Taehyung notes, turning slightly so Yoongi can get a better look.

“Stop it,” Namjoon hisses, reaching out to take the phone from Taehyung. “You guys are like fucking children. It’s a wonder how Nabi can stand the two of you.”

“You’re awfully angry for someone who kissed the girl he’s been pining after for 10 years,” comes Yoongi’s voice.

“I didn’t really kiss her,” Namjoon growls low in his throat and contemplates shoving Yoongi out of the moving van. “And I haven’t been fucking pining, you prick.��

“Someone’s pretty fucking testy this morning,” his senior hisses back, having had enough of Namjoon’s pissy attitude.

“He’s just pissed that she spent the morning with Minsoek,” Hoseok not so helpfully supplies. “Apparently the picture didn’t do much to deter the poor bastard from asking her out again. Remind me why it ended between them again?”

Namjoon grips the wheel so tight that his arm shakes with barely restrained anger. Your relationship with Minseok ended on a relatively civil note. Something that always bothered Namjoon because it would have been easier for you to let go of him, or for Minseok to let go of you if things had just ended badly. But that hadn’t been the case. At least not from what you’d told him. You’d called him one night and, in an eerily calm voice, explained that Minseok had broken up with you. All of the time spent apart because of your part time jobs and having to tend to your mother had finally made him snap. You’d gone on to say that you weren’t really sure why you’d been so surprised. After all, Namjoon had been hinting at it for months but you’d never taken it seriously. It hadn’t bothered you that Minseok chose to part ways, maybe that’s why it angered Minseok when you didn’t want to reconcile. Maybe a part of him thought and still thinks that you didn’t care for him as much as he was led to believe.

Good, Namjoon thinks to himself. Good, because fuck Minseok and fuck his selfishness for leaving you at your most vulnerable, and then turning around and hoping to get back together. Namjoon will be damned before that ever happens.

He tunes back into the conversation when it steers to Nabi’s best friend, Soyoung, whom Hyunwoo had been tailing. They inform him that Soyoung can be just as cruel as Nabi if not more, and Hyunwoo seems caught off guard. Namjoon finds it easy to fall into the cruel amusement his boss and friends have at Hyunwoo’s expense. That is, until Yoongi brings up the subject of what you and Minseok could have possibly been up to if you weren’t answering Namjoon’s calls or texts. Namjoon quickly shuts down once more, sneering at Yoongi’s reflection in the mirror.

“Damn,” Hoseok sighs and pockets his switchblade as they come up on Taehyung’s father’s building. “Now you guys have done it. He’ll be pissy the rest of the day now.”

“Us?” Yoongi hisses, pushing Hoseok’s shoulder roughly as they scramble out of the van. “You’re the one who brought it up first, dumbass.”

“You didn’t have to mention that she hasn’t responded, dipshit.”

“Enough,” Taehyung hushes them as they walk through the back doors of his father’s building. He doesn’t often use them, but given how they’re still holding Hyunwoo hostage, he doesn’t really have a choice now. “We’ll talk about this later,” he addresses Namjoon after stepping into the elevator.

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

Namjoon thanks whatever higher power that keeps Taehyung occupied with the Seong brothers at lunch so he can thumb through his phone once more. He’s been waiting all fucking day for you to answer his call, which is yet to happen. He knows he said you needed to get sleep, but damn it, he wishes he could go and check on you. That, and the fact that he and Taehyung are still reeling from their earlier argument is on his mind. Taehyung’s plan to put Nabi and Hyunwoo in the same room as each other while giving Hyunwoo the freedom to move about honestly scares Namjoon. It’s clear that Nabi is capable of handling herself against any normal person, but Hyunwoo has grown up in the center of the mafia, being spoiled and coddled so much by his father that he believed he was entitled to anything he wanted. This included Nabi. It makes Namjoon’s stomach turn sour at the thought of putting Nabi in a situation that could potentially destroy her strong mindset. But Taehyung has all the faith in the world in his wife and Namjoon can’t blame him. Nabi is the furthest thing from timid and weak.

Thunder crashes in the sky above and lightning follows, leaving their entire party to rush inside the cafe Nabi’s chosen to eat at. As they filter inside, Yoongi is hissing underneath his breath about getting caught in the rain while he shucks his jacket off to lay across an empty table. Jungkook and Jimin don’t miss the opportunity to piss him off further by shaking their hair about and spraying water everywhere.

“Damn it,” Hoseok seethes at the two youngest, resisting the urge to slap one or both of them upside the head. “Can you two be any less civilized?”

“Jungkook!” Namjoon slaps his shoulder after the youngest wrings out his jacket over top of Hoseok’s head. As if Hoseok wasn’t one of the most dangerous men in the city. “Behave.”

Jungkook snorts in response and sets his jacket flat over the same table Yoongi has his splayed about. He’s the only one of them to not notice Taehyung drag Nabi off towards the bathrooms and Namjoon’s eye twitches when the Seong brothers do notice and 4 out of the 5 men move to stop them from following Taehyung and Nabi. It would be alot easier if Jungkook would pull his head out of his ass and get it together.

“You can’t really expect us to stand here and do nothing?” Joongki, the oldest Seong brother and Nabi’s cousin, tries to shove past Namjoon.

“Unless you want to walk in on a very intimate moment,” Hoseok warns him while wrangling Jeonghan, Nabi’s other cousin, to an empty booth. “I suggest you sit the hell down and leave them be.”

“Nabi will be embarrassed enough without the two of you storming in there.” Yoongi grips Joongki’s shoulder and helps Namjoon shove him into the other side of the booth. “Know and understand this, Taehyung cherishes your cousin more than any of us here. There’s not a damn thing in this world that could stop him from giving her anything and everything she wants and needs. He will not hurt her, he will not coerce her into what’s happening, and he for damn sure will absolutely not touch her without her express permission.”

“Joongki,” Namjoon catches his attention, “I know you’re smarter than this. I know you would not have let Taehyung put Nabi under our roof if you thought we couldn’t keep her safe. None of us would let Taehyung hurt her. Jungkook nearly got himself killed multiple times just for stepping in between their arguments. Don’t lose your cool because you can’t handle that Nabi’s a grown woman.”

Finally, the Seong brothers seem to accept the words Yoongi and Namjoon speak, and Namjoon sighs in relief now that he can check his phone again. Still, nothing from you and it makes his blood boil. “Son of a bitch,” he grumbles, dialing your phone number and pressing it to his ear. “I swear to God, if you don’t fucking pick up…”

“Yeah?” Your breathless voice hits his ears like a symphony and all of the blood rushes to his groin. You’re met with absolute silence and pull the phone back to check if Namjoon had hung up. “Joon? You there?”

He coughs as his throat dries up and attempts to clear it in hopes of not sounding so gruff when he answers, “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

“Just a little,” you huff out another breathless laugh. “It’s okay though. I had to get up and get some grocery shopping done before my shift at the diner tonight.”

“You should have done that after your breakfast with Minseok,” he growls, letting his temper get the best of him. “Then you could have slept longer.”

“I slept long enough.” You know he can practically hear your eye roll. “Joon, I didn’t have breakfast with Minseok. I went to visit my mother and he was there. He does happen to work there, you know.”

“Didn’t seeing my tongue down your throat scare him off?” he snaps back in response. “Didn’t it piss him off the way it pisses me off that he really thinks he has a chance after I sent you to him wet and ready for me?”

“Namjoon!” you gasp, clenching your thighs together as you had earlier that morning. What had gotten into him? He’s never spoken to you this way and while it did get you a little hot and bothered, it also reminds you of the almost kiss you’d shared. Something that most definitely should not have happened. It left you wanting much more and knowing you can’t have it. It’s a line you swore you’d never cross with Namjoon, not when he was your oldest and only friend. It would complicate things and you couldn’t handle losing him if it tore the friendship apart.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” his voice cuts through your thoughts, making your heartbeat skyrocket. “I’m so sorry, Y/N, that wasn’t okay for me to say. I’m just—.”

“It’s fine,” you cut him off, not wanting to hear whatever explanation he has for momentarily forgetting you were his best friend, not one of the usual girls he sleeps with. “Look, Namjoon, I have to go. It’s going to get late and I won’t be able to get everything done that I need to.”

“Y/N, wait. I—.”

“And don’t stop by the diner tonight.” You’re adamant in this because a few of your co-workers had spotted him this morning and texted you to ask if you’d been dating again. You don’t need them to think you’re attached to anyone, especially not Namjoon of all people. It would only make things awkward when he inevitably got a long time girlfriend and you were stuck having to explain everything.

“Why the fuck not?” Namjoon tries his best to keep his voice down, but he’s not doing a very good job as Mr. and Mrs. Kim’s heads whip his way. “The area around the diner is dangerous, Y/N, I’ll be damned if anything happens to you.” He’s seething and it shows in his voice after hearing his full name from your lips. He’d learned long ago that if he made you angry enough, you would forgo his nickname in favor of his full name, and he never realized how much he hated hearing you say it until right this moment. “Where is this coming from?”

“People will talk, Namjoon,” you mumble, scooting to the edge of your bed in search of your pajama shorts. Your air conditioner has been on the fritz lately and it picks and chooses when to work. Today, it decided it did not want to work. Though it was still nice and cool outside, your apartment was like a damn furnace since the window latch had been broken. Admittedly, you don’t live in the greatest building with the greatest landlord. Or the greatest part of town. But it’s a roof over your head, so you can’t really complain. Namjoon had lost his shit time and time again when it came to your apartment so you decided to stop telling him all of its issues entirely.

“So, let them talk,” he growls, turning away from Yoongi’s questioning gaze. His stare, in turn, had the rest of the guys and Taehyung’s parents staring as well. It makes Namjoon tense up when they notice he’s losing this argument. “Don’t take that chance just because I pissed you off, Y/N. Don’t push me away and shut me out because I’m being an asshole. That’s my fault and I’m sorry. But don’t…” he sighs heavily and pinches the bridge of his nose. He can hear the rustling of your sheets as you move about your bed. His throat bobs at the thought of what the hell you could be doing to make that much noise. “Just don’t, baby, please.”

Baby.

He called you baby and a part of you softens at the pet name. The other part of you gets angry that he would try to manipulate you by saying it. You’ve watched him charm girl after girl when he got bored enough and every single time, they fell for it. You hated it. Hated how they got to see a part of him he would never show you because of your friendship. Hated that he was using those same tactics now to manipulate you into forgiving him. Your chest feels tight and there’s a hitch in your breath when you tell him, “I don’t want people to think we’re together. It’s bad enough Minseok bought into the picture Hobi sent him. I don’t need my coworkers thinking I’m ready to date again. Especially not you.”

He takes offense to that. So much so that his knuckles curl into a fist, one that’s two seconds away from meeting the wall in front of him until Jimin taps his shoulder. It’s enough to make him look up and find that everyone was ready to go after the rain finally settled. Poor Nabi looks ready to combust, her entire face as red as a tomato, and Taehyung looks too fucking smug for Namjoon’s liking. He hangs up without bidding you goodbye because if he opens his mouth to say anything at all, it’ll only upset you even more. Especially not him? What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

His life was never meant for someone permanent or special to be invited into. Not with the constant danger lurking around every corner, or the men he regularly spends time around because of Taehyung and his own family ties into the mafia. While his father treats his mother like a goddess, and Taehyung does the same with Nabi, Namjoon couldn’t see himself treating anyone with that kind of respect while you were around. You occupy too many of his thoughts. He’s aware that all of this falls on him. His unyielding thought process of never fully committing to someone because of you, is entirely his own fucking fault, and he knows it. His parents would be ashamed of him if he were to ever marry and be unfaithful. Then again, who would he be unfaithful with if not you? You’d never allow it. You have too much self respect to ever be the other woman. It’s one of the things Namjoon respects the most about you. Some women didn’t care if they were some man’s side piece in the mob. It meant expensive gifts, expensive trips, hell, some men even bought their mistresses homes in order to keep them happy. It wasn’t odd for it to happen, but Namjoon had taken great care to surround himself with people fully devoted to treating women as more than just play things. He never thought he’d ever actually find friends like that, until he’d met Taehyung, and then Yoongi, and Hoseok, and so on.

He’s never told you what he does for “work” and you’ve never really asked. He can never truly tell you the truth unless he was willing to drag you into his life completely. Obviously, he really is ready, but you’d never plunge into this life head first without thinking of the consequences. It’s a dangerous line to toe and he knows he shouldn’t push, but clearly Minseok had said something to make you doubt him. Minseok had always made you second guess the things Namjoon did and said, and you’d cave under the guilty weight of taking Namjoon’s side over your boyfriends. Minseok had been able to weasel his way into your life and shove Namjoon out to the brink of Namjoon nearly storming to Minseok’s house with Hoseok and Jimin in tow.

Damn. He has to get you away from Minseok. And soon. Because if he wormed his way underneath your skin, Namjoon would well and truly kill him this time.

Parting ways with Mrs. Kim’s car filled with Nabi, her cousins, Jimin, and Jungkook, Namjoon plopped into the driver's side of the van they’d arrived in. Taehyung, Yoongi, and Hoseok follow suit, all silently climbing into the car in a much more gingerly manner than Namjoon himself had. Taehyung, while still sexed out of his mind, still had the decency to ask if his friend was alright.

“Sounded pretty intense,” Hoseok said from the back seat, eyeing Namjoon’s rigid form. “What did Y/N say to piss you off so much? Because the last time I saw that look in your eye, we nearly wiped out the entire Lee family. They still haven’t forgiven us, by the way. Mr. Kim’s got them nearly beating down his door to get to you, Namjoon.”

The tall man pretends not to hear a word Hoseok says because of course he remembers. He’d gotten into a fight with you then too. He vividly remembers how you’d questioned his lengthy absence when you never had before. You’d always figured his business was his alone and you shouldn’t butt in. But that time, Minseok had managed to convince you that Namjoon simply didn’t want to be around because of Minseok’s presence. While that rang true, Namjoon couldn’t exactly tell you that he’d been sent on an assignment to the Maldives with Hoseok to deal with a shipment the Lee family was in control of. He’d been gone for almost an entire month when you finally called, only to ask if he’d tired of you. He could remember the sound of your voice cracking as you tried to hold back tears. He had tried to explain, tried to tell you that it was for work, but he could hear Minseok’s mousy fucking voice in the background, taunting you in a sickeningly sweet way that only he could. You’d said your goodbyes to Namjoon, almost sounding final, and Namjoon. Had. Gone. Feral. Absolutely apeshit and cut down a good portion of the Lee men because he’d been pissed. Later, he’d told Taehyung that the family was indeed skimming some of the product, which was why he’d been sent to the Maldives in the first place. He’d silently cursed Taehyung back then, well and truly hated the man that had become his brother, and for what? A stupid argument that Minseok had incited?

Taehyung clocks Namjoon’s grip on the wheel and winces at how his friend is about to lose all self control and possibly kill what little is left of the Choi family. For Namjoon to completely lose himself again, means that whatever is bothering him has to do with you. Taehyung almost feels bad for him, and he would offer some advice if he didn’t have bigger problems at hand. What he can do is try to free up some time for Namjoon to work things out however he needs to. Though, if this is anything like the situation with the Lee family, Taehyung can’t imagine the hell Namjoon will rain down on the poor sucker stupid enough to even so much as slightly push the wrong button. It would be a bloodbath of epic proportions and Taehyung runs a hand down his face at the thought. They can’t afford for Namjoon to be distracted right now, but it was inevitable. Every so often, Namjoon loses focus and becomes completely and utterly consumed by you. Even if you don’t know it.

Yoongi watches Hyunwoo raise a curious brow at Namjoon’s behavior and the tense silence compared to the friendly banter earlier. When he turns to meet Yoongi’s stare, Yoongi sneers at him so viciously that it makes Hyunwoo visibly recoil. He smirks and looks out the front windshield, watching the buildings pass by in a blur. He can see the cogs in the machine that is Namjoon’s genius brain turn and turn. Something had to have gone completely wrong with you if it’s gotten this bad again. He can see Namjoon’s pupils dilate with the rush of adrenaline he’s sure to unleash on Hyunwoo if he makes one wrong move. He’s quite sure that Namjoon almost hopes the Choi family fucks up so it’ll give him a reason to go nuts. Namjoon lives on fear and chaos, it’s one of the things that made him so frightening and dangerous. It’s one of the many things Taehyung had sought him out for as teenagers. By that age, Namjoon had quite the body count and truthfully, if he and Hoseok had to go toe to toe, everyone knows it would be pretty damn close. What makes him even more scary is that no one would ever be able to tell how much blood stains his hands because of his cool and calm demeanor.

Hoseok almost pays no mind to Namjoon’s disheveled state as he plays with his switchblade, every so often leaning over to knick Hyunwoo’s skin. It was almost torture and Hoseok knows if anyone could appreciate it, it’s Namjoon. However, with Namjoon’s lack of self awareness, Hoseok finds that he must enjoy this by himself. Really, he’s worried that Namjoon’s going to go on a rampage again. It took them forever to clean up the mess in the Maldives. Not to mention the complete shitshow that followed and Mr. Kim had to sort out enough for there to be some sense of civility. Goddamn it, he really doesn’t need another disaster on his hands. The Choi family better pray for themselves because God only knows what Namjoon is cooking up in his head.

Namjoon’s phone rings in the silence and actually makes Taehyung jump a little. He glances down to find the name “Hana” in bold letters taking up the screen. Namjoon lets it go to voicemail because Taehyung’s sure that it isn’t exactly the name he wants to pop up on his phone right now. He doesn’t know who the girl is, but if you catch wind of it, then it won’t be good. The phone rings again and Namjoon picks it up with some bite in his tone.

“What?” Namjoon snaps.

“Oh, hey,” Hana purrs back, giggling even though she can tell how mad he is. “Are you busy? I’m kind of bored and thought—.”

“We fucked once, Hana,” he sneers, “and it wasn’t exactly memorable for me, so find a different dick to suck.”

“Fuck you, Namjoon!” she screeches at his audacity. “You know, I don’t exactly remember you complaining when I sucked your dick, you asshole! Here’s a tip, Namjoon, maybe don’t be a complete prick the next time a woman reaches out to satisfy you. There won’t be many left if you continue on like that.”

“You’re a placeholder, Hana.” Namjoon smirks and the guys in the van inwardly groan because now some poor girl is about to get the brunt of his wrath. “I don’t want anyone else, just one girl, and she’s not you. Maybe some small, pathetic part of you had hoped you were special but you’re really not. I was drunk and bored and you were willing to spread your legs for me, so fuck off.”

Taehyung winces as Namjoon slams his phone back on the center console. Jesus fucking Christ, that was brutal. Namjoon’s not exactly a saint but he’s very rarely crude to a girl. Whatever you’d argued about must have messed him up good if he was speaking that way to someone. They reach the house just after Nabi’s car gets there and Taehyung basically leaps out of the van to usher his wife from the car.

Namjoon locks eyes with Nabi for a second before he turns his glare to Taehyung because not only does he have to deal with the Choi family, he’s still steaming from his conversation with you. He doesn’t see Nabi frown, only concentrating on getting Hyunwoo into the house without her seeing. He shoves Hyunwoo harder than necessary when Yoongi has to prod him forward with a gun. God, he can only hope this was enough to release some of the tension simmering beneath his skin.

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You’re almost halfway through grocery shopping when a sense of dread settles in your chest. You don’t know what it is or how it was even brought on, but you know there’s something not right. You round the corner of the canned food aisle, determined to get away from whatever it was when you bump into a firm chest. Strong hands reach out to steady you while your breath catches. You look up to find a handsome stranger with the oddest smile on his face. It’s not menacing but it certainly isn’t friendly either. “Sorry,” you mumble, taking a step back to create some much needed distance.

He only smiles wider, raking a hand through his dark hair and waving his hand dismissively. “Oh, it’s not a problem at all. It’s my fault, actually. I wasn’t watching where I was going. Are you alright?”

“Um, yeah, I’m fine.” You blink up at him, unsure of whether or not you should even keep talking to him. Namjoon always hated the way you’d become friendly with anyone, especially strangers. You’d called him out on it once, insisting that he was just being paranoid, but he didn’t budge. He always says no one can be trusted, but then you wonder what exactly makes him so trustworthy, or why he trusts you at all. The thought of your best friend sends a pang through your heart and you frown. Maybe you shouldn’t have been so harsh with him earlier. He was only trying to help, but you let your insecurities shine through and lashed out at him.

“Kang Chunghee,” he says, offering his hand in greeting. He can see the apprehension on your face even as you take his hand in yours and shake it. Taking a step too close, he towers over you in a way that almost makes you cower away. His eyes roam down your body from head to toe, but you’re so busy looking everywhere but him that you don’t notice. Your hair, he notes, and face look so much like your mother’s that it’s a wonder why you hadn’t been spotted before now. Then again, his father wasn’t exactly looking to make trouble with the Kim family, but he’d found out about your mother’s illness and insisted on seeking you out. His hand tightens briefly, making you wince, as the memories of his own mother begging his father to leave “that woman” be and come back home to her. He never did, of course, and soon sent Chunghee’s mother spiraling into a world of drugs and alcohol. Both of which killed her not long after your birth.

“Cho Y/N,” you reply with a hiss, trying to pull your hand from his. It takes a moment for him to realize he’d been holding on too tight and quickly drops your hand. You take this chance to scan his face and realize he looks vaguely familiar but you can’t quite place it anywhere. He could just be one of the many patrons that have come and gone from the diner. You meet so many people at your job that it’s not entirely out of the ordinary to run into someone while out and about. As if on cue, your phone rings and you scramble for it in hopes that it’s Namjoon and you can apologize, but you’re disappointed to find that it’s your manager instead. You give Chunghee a polite smile before stepping away to answer the call. She only asks if you can come in a bit early as one of the other waitresses has called in sick. You sigh and check your watch to ask for some extra time to go home and get ready. Throughout the entire conversation, you notice that Chunghee hasn’t left your side at all, and you tense up when he steps closer once more after ending your phone call.

“Ah, I have to apologize,” he says and takes a step back to give you some space. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Um.” You shift on the balls of your feet, clutching your phone tight in your hand and contemplating calling Namjoon. You shake your head. No. His paranoia is simply rubbing off on you and this guy hasn’t really done anything to offend or scare you other than being a little too interested. You remind yourself that at one point, Minseok had been the same way before he finally worked up the courage to ask you out on a date. “I really should get going.”

“Oh, of course.” Chunghee gestures for you to go ahead and walk on, bidding you goodbye with a simple wave. Once you round the corner to the registers, his smile slowly fades into a grimace. If your mother is as beautiful as you are, then he can see why his father was tempted by her. His chest grows tight and bile rises in his throat that he has to swallow down. As a child he’d always wondered why his father could so easily cast him and his mother aside. Looking at you now, he sees exactly why. He’s only ever seen photos of your mother and none of you, but his father had told him it’s because he didn’t even know you existed. Not until your mother had grown sick and you’d somehow gotten tangled up in one of the notorious Kim family’s webs. Fool, he thinks of you. If only you had never come up on the Kim family’s radar then you never would have come up on his father’s. Or, he supposes, he’s your father as well.

He gives you all of 2 minutes to get ahead of him before he stalks out of the grocery store to see you climb into a junker car that he can’t even fathom why it would even still exist. He slips into his own car, a much nicer one, and peels out of the parking lot just a little after you do. He takes turn after turn and a muscle in his jaw ticks when it dawns on him that you don’t even notice you’re being followed, and even worse, his eye visibly twitches after parking down the street from a rundown building that you seem to be living in. “For fuck’s sake,” he sighs to himself, running a hand down his face. He’s meant to hate you, to loathe your mother for stealing away his father’s attention and causing his mother to lose her damn mind. But a twinge of guilt eats away at him. His father was never the greatest man, but Chunghee’s certainly lived a much more lavish life than you have. His father may have laid his hands on him quite a few times during his childhood, but you’re so carefree that he’s actually envious, and even still, he feels bad that you’ve had to go nights hungry while he was gifted with so much food that he didn’t know what to do with it. He was 28 when he’d learned of your existence and by then you were already 18, living paycheck to paycheck and working yourself to the bone to afford your mother’s medical costs. Until that point, he and his father had always wondered where your mother had disappeared to. According to his father, she’d up and left one day, leaving behind most of her belongings for the obvious reason that she never wanted to be found again. She’d even changed her name and lived 18 blissful long years in the shadows.

Chunghee can only wonder how she’d never figured out who his father was until it was too late. If he’s correct in his math, she’d already been pregnant with you when she skipped town. Which means she had to have found out that his father was both married and a dangerous man. He can commend her for wanting to protect you, which was far more than his father was willing to do for him. If you weren’t somehow tied to the Kim family, then Kang Himchan would have swooped in and stolen you away long ago. But with Kim Namjoon hovering around so often, the older Kang could only grit his teeth and turn a blind eye if he didn’t want to overstep and start problems.

He’s pulled from his thoughts when you emerge from the building, basically running, and jump in your car to speed off. He looks at the clock on his dashboard, guessing that you took far longer than you thought you would to get ready. He gives you a few extra miles before he starts down the same road you’d gone, following along until he reaches the diner just before exiting the city. It’s far, he realizes as another glance at the clock shows that it took almost an hour to get there. He’d paid no mind to the time when he’d scouted out the diner last night. He’d come out on a whim, wondering if you were well and truly under the Kim family protection, and snorted when you’d gone the entire night without so much as a hint of the Kims around. When you’d left for the night, he’d gotten out of his car to confront you, but then Namjoon had shown up, and Chunghee had frozen in place. He’d been wrong because not only had the Kims been hidden in the literal dark, Jung Hoseok had been lying in wait as well. Anyone in this line of work knows who Hoseok is, and if he’s hovering around you, then this is going to be far more complicated than he first thought. He’s tempted to go sit in the diner, but after the disaster that was the interaction in the grocery store, he doesn’t want to give you a reason to contact Namjoon. So he waits. For hours. 14, to be exact, and he finds himself shifting in his seat every 10 minutes. Why the hell he feels so inclined to sit around for your entire shift, he doesn’t know, but you have to be tired out by now. How the hell would it look if he’s the one that’s exhausted when you’re the one who’s been running around on your feet all day?

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You can feel it. You don’t know what it is or where it’s coming from, but you know you’re being watched. It’s unnerving, and while you’re trying your best to get through your shift, you also want to find out who could be watching. Not wanting to let them know you’re on to them, you keep plowing through orders and customers, running hot plates from the kitchen, cleaning off tables and kitchen utensils, and itching to reach for your phone to text Namjoon. But he hasn’t reached out to you either, making a small part of you actually want to cry because you’ve upset him. It’s not often that he gets angry with you, but when he does, it never takes very long for you to apologize or for him to check on you even if he is mad. So for him to go the entire day without contacting you is terrifying. Especially when you know something is wrong. When your shift is finally over, you say your goodbyes to your coworkers and check your phone as you head to your car. Your shoulders deflate with disappointment, thoughts swirling in your head, so much so that they drown out the sound of approaching feet. Fingers tap on your shoulder, and you whirl around with an ear piercing scream, only to have someone slap their hand over your mouth.

Hoseok looks at you with a raised brow, a little concerned with your pale face and the sweat beading down by your temples. You’re scared and he doesn’t like that. He removes his hand from your mouth, watching as your bottom lip wobbles in an attempt to hold back a sob. He grips your arms tighter than he means to. “What happened?”

You heave out a sigh of relief, shaking your head to clear your thoughts. “Oh, Hobi. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scream like that.”

“You obviously had a reason to, so help me out here, and tell me what could have scared you so much.”

“It’s nothing,” you promise even though you know you shouldn’t lie. Hoseok’s always been good at telling when someone’s lying and you’re not entirely sure why you even tried. You watch him scan the dark parking lot anyways, fingers nearly bruising your skin with the force of his grip. You wince out loud, regaining his attention and he lets go of you.

“I’m sorry.” He frowns, reaching up to pat down your messy hair. “I came to check on you. Namjoon’s been out of it all day and I know you guys fought.”

“It was stupid,” you whisper, casting your eyes to the ground in shame. Hoseok showing up on Namjoon’s behalf means that your best friend isn’t anywhere near ready to speak to you again. You really screwed up this time if he sent Hoseok all the way out here when he could have just called you himself. You feel awful that Hoseok even drove all the way out here in person just because you’re having a difficult time processing everything from the day before. The way Namjoon held you and looked at you, it was far better than you ever imagined, and you let your insecurities get the best of you. You’re doing what you’ve always done when someone gets too close. You’re pushing him away like you used to when you were dating Minseok. The two of you had fought more than usual while you were with Minseok, and this fight reminds you of those times.

“It can’t be that stupid if you guys are this messed up over it.” Hoseok keeps petting your hair with affection, but he’s not fooled. Something else is going on here and you’re not being honest with him. He’s scared you before, albeit playfully, but even when he’d done it in earnest, you’ve never reacted that way. He’ll have to bring it up with Namjoon and hopefully it’ll be enough to pull his head out of his ass. After the disastrous confrontation between Nabi, the Choi family, and Taehyung, Namjoon had been even more on edge and left the house. Hoseok had assumed he’d come to tail you, but he wasn’t picking up his phone, so Hoseok drove out here to check. He’d grown worried when he got to the diner and didn’t see Namjoon’s car anywhere, so he’d gotten out to come ask you when his phone pinged with a message from Namjoon. He’d told Hoseok that he just needed air to clear his head and he was on his way back to the house. Hoseok was ready to leave it alone and go back himself, but his instincts had kicked in, and rightfully so. He considers memorizing the license plates currently in the parking lot to have Yoongi run when he gets back, but decides against it when he hears your car door open.

“It is,” you remind him. “It’s a stupid fight over a stupid thing and Namjoon wouldn’t get it, and I said some things I shouldn’t have. I just want some space, Hobi, is that too much?”

“Yes,” he growls, holding out the car door for you to climb in. “It’s too much for Namjoon and you know that, Y/N. He doesn’t like space when it comes to you and this fight is affecting all of us. We’re his friends too, Y/N, and it’s out of the ordinary for us to see him this way.”

“Then space is exactly what we need.” You slam the door shut, leaving Hoseok pleasantly surprised by your outburst. You’ve never taken that much attitude with him and he’s a little amused by it. You’re careful not to run over his feet as you back out of the parking space, giving him a small wave before driving away. Peering in the rearview mirror, you watch him fade into the background and miss the way his body locks up.

Hoseok turns slightly, meeting the eyes of someone he’s not quite familiar with, before the person rolls up their car window. There, he thinks. That’s what, or rather who, was bothering you. He glares at his reflection in the window as the car drives away, pulling his phone from his pocket to dial Namjoon’s number.

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Namjoon sits in one of the lounge chairs in his small library at the house, his hair sticking up in every direction after running his hands through it. After the confrontation earlier with Nabi and the Choi family, he’d gone out for a long drive. He was tempted to drive up to your apartment, or even stake out the diner, but he wasn’t sure he could handle seeing you without forcing a conversation. The last thing he wants is to disrespect your boundaries, but his skin prickles at the thought of not checking up on you. He could never forgive himself if something were to happen to you. A light knock on the doorframe gets his attention and he looks up to find Nabi leaning against it.

She gives him a soft smile when he gestures to the empty chair across from him, striding across the room to sit. “Are you alright?” “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?” he snorts in response, pinching the bridge of his nose as the tension in his neck travels up to the base of his skull. “It was a hard day for you.”

She nods slightly. “Namjoon, can I…” she trails off, fiddling with her thumbs anxiously but he doesn’t push, only giving her the time she needs to gather her thoughts. “What I did today, with Hyunwoo, and the gun. How did it look to you guys?”

“What do you mean?” He’s obviously confused because she can’t really mean to think his opinion of her has changed to a bad one.

“Did it look like I was hiding something from you guys?”

“No,” he answers immediately. “Nabi, Hoseok told us that he suspected you weren’t exactly timid a long time ago. None of us really thought you were to begin with. Taehyung didn’t scare you, Jungkook and Jimin didn’t scare you. Hell, even Hoseok couldn’t scare you off even when you know the kinds of things we do.”

She inhales sharply, taking his hand when he offers it in support. “Growing up in this life definitely hardens a person, but sometimes I think I take it too far.”

“We’ve all had to do some unforgivable things to survive this life.” Namjoon’s thumb skims across her knuckles. “I think the way you kept that part of yourself closed off was just a way to protect yourself. There’s nothing wrong with that, even if Taehyung was angry about it. I’m glad you opened up, Nabi, it means you trust us enough to be comfortable.”

“Comfortable enough to ask what’s going on with you,” Nabi quickly changes the subject, jumping right into what she came to the library for in the first place.

“It’s Y/N,” he sighs, dropping her hand and sinking back into the chair. “I may have had Hoseok send a picture to her ex that made us look like more than friends, and she got angry with me. She said she didn’t want me hanging around the diner for awhile to avoid her coworkers asking questions. For whatever reason, she doesn’t want them to think she’s in a relationship with anyone, but before we could really get into it, I had to focus on the situation here and I haven’t called her since.”

“Namjoon,” Nabi admonishes him, slapping his arm lightly. “First of all, as much help as you think the picture was, I can promise you, it wasn’t. Secondly, how do you think she’ll feel if you start showing up around her coworkers and she has to explain that you’re just friends even though they’ve seen more? Honestly, Kim Namjoon, did you even fully think of the consequences that picture could bring?”

Namjoon opens his mouth to argue when his phone starts to ring and Nabi takes that as her victory before slinking out of the room. He shakes his head, amused but doesn’t want to admit it, before answering Hoseok’s call. “What is it?”

“Y/N’s being followed,” Hoseok wastes no time getting to the point. He’s already in his car, speeding after you and your stalker, but he was too far behind to begin with. His palms begin to sweat with what he can only describe as fear when he has to slam on the brakes at a nearby intersection. “Fuck!” he curses, slamming his hands against the steering wheel, losing sight of your car. “I lost them.” “Where?” Namjoon is up and in the garage, car keys in his shaking hands as dread fills his entire body.

“Not far. If you leave now, you should meet her just as she’s getting home.”

Shit, Namjoon seethes to himself. His hands tighten on the wheel as he speeds down street after street. Shit, shit, shit! He tries calling you, but you don’t answer, and he doesn’t want to panic. You’ve just worked another double, he reasons, you always forget to take a phone charger with you so your phone had to have died. That has to be it. For the sake of whoever is stupid enough to follow you, that had better be what happened. The automatic voice echoes in the car as he gets your voicemail one more time. “Baby,” he says after the beep, “I know you’re angry with me, but I need you to pick up the phone.”

Three more unanswered calls later, his body is wound tight as he pulls up to your apartment building, not seeing your car anywhere in sight. He jumps out the driver’s seat and bolts up the stairs to your apartment, pounding on the door, but he’s met with more silence. He has to call his father, has to get their men out there in search of you, he has to. Has to. Has to. Has to.

“Joon?” your voice reaches his ears, but you’re not sure he actually hears you. You take in his heaving shoulders and chest, the shaking of his hands, and lay your palm on his shoulder to get his attention. You gasp in pain when he rounds on you, shoving your back into the wall with his long fingers wrapped around your neck. Your hand wraps around his wrist to try and pry it away, looking into his eyes to find them nearly black with rage. “Joon! Namjoon, it’s me!”

Namjoon’s eyes finally clear, blood still roaring in his ears as he seems to recognize you. He glances down to find his hand around your throat, quickly releasing you. “Oh fuck, Y/N, I’m so sorry!” He holds on to your shoulders as you cough violently, trying to take in all the air you’ve lost, sliding down the wall as if to ground yourself. He falls to his knees in order to maintain eye contact, spearing his fingers through your hair to keep it out of your face, touching his forehead to yours. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby. Are you okay?”

The hold you have on his wrists never loosened, and you use it now in support as the spots in your vision begin to disappear. You’re gasping as you brace your free hand against his chest, unsure if you want to push him away yet. “Jesus fuck, Namjoon. What the hell?”

“I’m sorry! I thought…”

“What could you possibly have thought?” You finally shove him away and stand up, fishing the apartment keys out of your pocket. You shove them in the keyhole, unlock the door, and throw it open as Namjoon follows you inside. Reaching up to your neck, your hand shakes as it feels around your sore throat. “As if Hoseok popping up wasn’t scary enough.”

“Hoseok scared you?” Namjoon’s body grows tense all over again, turning to close the apartment door.

“He didn’t mean to.” You shake your head, shucking off your jacket and tossing it onto the kitchen counter. “I was just a little off tonight, that’s all. Hoseok snuck up on me after work.” Making your way to the cabinets overhead, you pluck out a cup to fill with water. You stand facing away from him to gulp down the water. All day you’ve been wondering what you could say to him, but now that he’s here in front of you, all words are lost. It’s not just because you’re angry with what just happened, it’s that you don’t know how to even process it.

“How many times can I say I’m sorry?” His chest presses to your back, the deep rumbling of his voice vibrates against it, your treacherous body leaning into him. He braces his hands on the counter, trapping you in place, and presses his forehead to your shoulder. “You didn’t answer your phone.”

“I put it on silent,” you whisper, turning your head so your lips skim his ear. The tips of his ears turn red even though you didn’t mean to be directly in his ear, you smile. “I forgot to put the ringer back on after Hobi scared me in the parking lot.”

He hums in reply, one arm sliding across your belly to hook around your waist completely, pulling you against him. The sun peeks through the window, having risen in the time he’s spent in your apartment. “Another late shift, then?”

“Mhm,” you confirm with a nod of your head. You meet his eyes when he raises his head to look at you. You glance down at his lips, tipping your head back just slightly and you swear he groans as he lowers his mouth to yours.

There’s nothing stopping him from kissing you this time. Not a damn thing stands in his way. That is, until there’s a knock on your door that has you jumping out of his embrace before he can actually do anything. He curses whoever is at the door, taking the cup you set on the counter to take a sip of water. His ears pick up the grating sound of Minseok’s voice, and he’s slamming the glass down on the counter before he can stop himself from getting even more pissed off. Striding to the front door, he reaches it just in time to watch you crumble to your knees, but he’s quick to stop you from hitting the floor. “Y/N?! What happened? What’s wrong?”

“She’s go–,” you sob out, tears streaming down your face endlessly. “She’s gone, Joon. She’s gone!” you shriek, gripping onto his forearms as your wails fill the apartment. Your throat is raw from screaming but you can’t seem to stop yourself. You knew it was coming, had always known, but you were never actually prepared for it.

Namjoon’s heart breaks with every body wracking sob you let out, and it hits him then just why Minseok was there. He holds you close, rocks you back and forth in hopes of soothing you, but it isn’t working. From the corner of his eye, he sees Minseok’s fingers twitch, trying to keep himself from reaching out to you, but Namjoon pulls you closer, refusing to allow Minseok to touch you.

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Sometimes you think the skies know when to be gloomy. The gray clouds that loom over the funeral procession feel as though they’re mocking you. Your mother loved rainy days, something you couldn’t come to enjoy as you grew older. You thought they were depressing, always lending a hand in her dwindling health, but she flourished in the rain. She came alive when the downpour would drench her to the bone, and as a child, you would giggle and dance in the rain with her. You remember kicking up puddles, getting your feet dirty and clothes wet, and it was everything to her. Growing older, though, you found that with the rain came runny noses, horrid coughs, sore throats, and missed days of school. You came to detest them until she got sick, and it was all she’d ask for; to see the rain.

People, mostly Namjoon’s parents and friends, and some of your coworkers, gathered around you in comfort. They only want to help, you know this, but they’re not. Most people welcome the condolences and the sympathy, but you can’t seem to. You feel overcrowded, lost in a sea of people that you don’t want to see you break down. So you hold it in. Sometimes your breathing grows ragged as you try to hold back, but you manage to compose yourself before they can gather what’s happening. Namjoon is by your side the entire time, along with his parents, and they’re the only comfort you can find. The only ones you can stand to be around right now. They truly are your only family. Hoseok, Jimin, Jungkook, Yoongi, Seokjin, Taehyung, and Nabi take their turns to cradle you close. They aren’t just Namjoon’s friends, they’re yours too even though Hoseok was really the only one you’d spent an extensive amount of time with. Recently though, they’ve been coming around to the apartment when Namjoon was busy, all of them doing their best to keep you distracted.

You’re sat in front of your mother’s picture with your head resting on Namjoon’s shoulder while everyone else is lined up against the wall, giving you and Namjoon the space you didn’t have to ask for, they just know you need it. Namjoon grips your hand tight, linking your fingers together and bringing up your joined hands to kiss the back of your knuckles. You peek up at him through tear filled lashes, breathing easily when he drops his forehead to your own, but that serenity doesn’t last long. A commotion breaks out at the entrance of the funeral hall, people whispering and darting about in a hurry. Namjoon’s father grits his teeth and demands to know what could be going on, when your breath hitches at the next person who steps foot in the room.

Chunghee has the decency to look apologetic as he catches your eye, taking a moment to dip his chin in greeting before stepping aside to reveal his father, Kang Himchan. He sees Namjoon tense, standing to his full height immediately to back his own father. Chunghee steps towards them in hopes of gaining control of the situation, but Kim Taehyung is quick to meet him. “Taehyung,” he simply says as if this were at all normal.

“Kang,” Taehyung says through clenched teeth, tipping his head in your direction. Jungkook and Jimin are the first to reach you, followed by Seokjin and Nabi. Hoseok and Yoongi take their place on either side of Taehyung.

“What the hell is this?” Namjoon’s father levels Himchan with a look that would send most men running. “How dare you come here and disturb this girl’s grieving. Have you no sense of decorum, Kang?”

“I am here to offer my condolences, obviously,” Himchan keeps his voice steady. Your mother was unknowingly his mistress, but he had loved her dearly, and wants nothing more than to know and understand you. His eyes search the room, finally landing on you, and they soften. You are the spitting image of your mother and it makes him breathless for a moment. He forgets who you’re surrounded by, taking a step in your direction, only to be met by Namjoon’s hard glare. His hackles raise, face turning red with anger. “You dare keep me from my own daughter, Kim?”

All of the air rushes out of your lungs as you struggle to breathe. Your body begins to tremble, view being blocked by Jungkook’s body, but you catch his hand sliding into the back waistband of his pants. A gun, you realize, and look around to find that he’s not the only person hiding one. Hoseok’s hand rests on his hip, the holster becoming visible as his suit jacket moves with him. Jimin and Yoongi exchange a knowing look before they too reach for their hidden weapons.

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want when it comes to her,” Namjoon snaps back at Himchan, causing the older man to step toe-to-toe with him. He smirks at the older Kang. “That’s not a smart move.”

Before anyone can blink, weapons are drawn, all aimed at different people around the room as more men come barreling in behind Himchan. They surround their boss, standing in front of raised guns without a second thought. You scramble back towards the wall, as if pressing against it enough will make you invisible. Nabi is at your side, shushing you and squeezing your hand tight.

“Enough,” Namjoon’s father bellows, throwing his hand up to stop anyone from actually firing. Putting his hand on his son’s shoulder, he pulls Namjoon back. “This isn’t the time or place, Namjoon. Go to Y/N. We’ve frightened her on an already stressful day.”

“Y/N,” Himchan repeats as though unused to saying your name, a smile playing on his lips at the sound. It was so like your mother to have picked something equally as beautiful as you are. His smile fades as he straightens himself up to look Namjoon’s father in the eye once more. “I’m well aware of her ties to you, Kim, but that is no more. She is my kin. My flesh and blood. It’s time she lives as such.”

“I don’t know you,” your voice cuts through the room, shaky and trembling. “I don’t know what the hell is even going on right now.”

“Y/N,” Chunghee finally pipes up. If he had known this would turn out to be such a shit show, he’d have never told his father about your mother’s passing. Ah hell, he knew it was going to be bad, he just didn’t really want to believe it. “Please, you have to believe us.”

“She doesn’t have to do a damn thing,” Namjoon roars and his friends tense, unsure of what he may do next. “You come here, Kang, declare her your daughter, and expect her to up and accept it? You’re out of your fucking mind. Even if we did believe this bullshit, I wouldn’t let her go anywhere with you.”

“You?” Himchan sneers. “You think you get any say in this? She’s my daughter, Kim. I’ve bit my tongue and kept my distance long enough, but now she needs us. Her mother is gone, her family is nowhere to be found, she is alone. But not with us.”

“She’s mine.”

You let out a small gasp at Namjoon’s tone. You’d only ever heard him use it against Minseok when he was mad enough. You’re not sure what the outcome of this entire standoff will be, but you know you wouldn’t be able to stomach it if anyone got hurt. You’re able to wrestle out of Nabi’s hold enough to slowly approach Namjoon’s side, tangling your fingers with his. “Joon, let’s not do this, okay? Not here and not today. Please?”

Himchan’s surprise is visible on his face when Namjoon heeds your words, backing down almost instantly. He knew you were close to the Kim family and, up until recently, he was under the impression that you and Namjoon were just friends. Everyone else in the room seems to be used to this, and so he has to wonder when the change came about. Hope blooms in his chest as the gears in his mind begin to whirl.

“We should go home for now,” Taehyung suggests, though as Nabi stands at his side, he’s pretty sure everyone knows it’s not his idea, but hers. He tries to hold in a sigh when Namjoon shoots him a glare. “Y/N will come home with us, Namjoon, don’t worry.”

“But I—,” you try to object, unable to accept anything more Taehyung has to offer. Not when he’d already done so much for you as is.

“Hoseok and the guys will move your things in,” Namjoon interrupts, leaving no room for argument. He tugs on your hand and leads you out of the funeral hall, bumping his shoulder against one of Himchan’s goons. He can feel the reluctant pull of your arm, but he refuses to let go, not until the two of you reach his car where he buckles you in safely before sliding into the driver’s seat.

The ride home is tense, the car filled with nothing but silence and what you suspect is grumbling coming from Namjoon even though he thinks you can’t hear it. He’s angry. More like pissed. This isn’t something any of them were prepared for. Hell, it wasn’t something any of them would have ever thought possible. Of all the people on this planet to be related to, the Kangs were the last ones anyone would have figured were your relatives. Not only that, but Himchan had forced Namjoon to show his hand, to show you a world he never should have dragged you into. He never thought he could come to regret befriending you in that hall so many years ago, but now he does. If only because he doesn’t really believe he could protect you from the power the Kang family holds. His own family is rather powerful, there’s no doubt about that, but if anyone could hold a candle to them, it’s the Kangs.

“Namjoon,” you try to get his attention, “you’re angry.”

“I’m worried, baby, it’s different.”

“Because you think it’s true?”

“Because if it is true, then I don’t know if I can protect you,” he begrudgingly admits.

You’re confused as you take in his words. What could you possibly need protection from? Even as you question it, the memory of everyone in there, guns drawn, comes to the forefront of your mind, and you know. You know Namjoon is hiding something. You’ve always known, but you could never have guessed it was to this extent. “Tell me,” you demand quietly and he strains to hear you. “Tell me, Namjoon, what all of that was about. What you’re hiding from me and what you’re afraid of because if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that if you’re scared, then I have to be too. So, please, tell me.”

So he does. Namjoon tells you everything, from beginning to end. What his life was like growing up in the mafia, what he’d had to learn in order to protect himself and those closest to him, and more importantly, why he had to distance himself during the 10 years of your friendship. The only thing he left out was how utterly obsessed with you he’d become. He sounded crazy enough as is, no need to tack on that he basically stalked you from the day you met him. You’re quiet after he’s finished, spending the rest of the ride home staring out of the window. Even as he pulls into the driveway, you only stare up at the giant house Taehyung had built for Nabi a few years ago. Once in the garage, you unbuckle yourself at an alarmingly normal speed, as if you hadn’t just been told that your best friend was in the goddamn mafia of all things. What’s more, all of his friends and family are part of it too, and he’s afraid you might fear Hoseok now, but when you step into the house and Hoseok is the first to sweep you up into his arms, you cling to him as you always have.

“You’re not part of them,” Hoseok insists, mainly because from what little of his childhood he remembers, the Kangs were the driving force behind him becoming an orphan. “Even if you were, blood doesn’t make them family, Y/N. Himchan is wrong. We’re your family.”

“Do I have to go with them?” you ask honestly, pulling back to look up at Hoseok. He may not have been truthful with you, but he never lied or coddled you either. “If they come for me, Hobi, do I have to go?”

“Over my dead fucking body,” comes Namjoon’s deep voice and you gasp at the stark difference. How you were never able to differentiate his tones before is beyond you. Then again, you think you may have purposefully ignored the signs, wanting to believe he could do no harm. He snatches you out of Hoseok’s arms, pulling your chest flush against his own and raking a hand through your hair. “There’s nothing on this planet that can take you from me, Y/N, not even Kang Himchan or his son.”

“Chunghee,” you hum. Despite all of the commotion, the only thing he’d had to say was that you had to believe what his father had been saying. You could hear the plea in his voice, wondering why he hadn’t brought any of this up the day he’d run into you at the store. Then it hits you, the realization that he’d done it on purpose. Was he why Namjoon had been so scared that day after your fight? Did Chunghee threaten you somehow?

“Speaking of the Kangs,” Taehyung says as he strides into the living room, dropping himself on the couch while Nabi gives him a stern look. “Princess, I’m tired, and I can bet everyone else here is too. Can I just sit for a second?”

Nabi rolls her eyes, cheeks turning a faint shade of pink at the pet name he’s given her since they’ve been married. She lets out a small squeal when he pulls her onto his lap. “You’re an idiot, Tae. But you’re right.” Turning to face you and Namjoon, she explains, “The Kangs are well known in our circle. Even my grandfather made a deal or two with them, and while they’d given us no reason to not trust them, they’ve made it clear that they’re not out to make friends. They’ve built themselves a solid reputation starting all the way down from Himchan’s great grandfather. They’re a prestigious family, Namjoon, not easy to break through, not like the Choi’s. If you want to fight them, it’ll have to be with some heavy artillery. I can ask my cousins for their support and they’ll grant it, but it’ll take more than that.”

“That’s hot,” Taehyung attempts to whisper in his wife’s ear but everyone still hears it and Jungkook audibly gags. He’s always loved how smart his wife is and he’s not ashamed to show it.

“Stop it.” Nabi swats at his hand, climbing off his lap to walk up to you. “Y/N, you have to understand what could happen if we go to war with Kang Himchan. I don’t want to scare you, but it’ll get bloody and it’ll get deadly, but you have to believe that if anyone can protect you from them, it’s Namjoon. I’m not saying you have to go with the Kangs if they come to collect you, but” –She raises her hand to stop Namjoon from butting in–, “you also don’t have to stay here. If you want to get to know your father and brother, that’s your decision. We won’t stop you from doing it and we most certainly won’t isolate you for their actions and wrongdoings.”

“War?” is all you can say. It’s the only thing that had really caught your attention. That and the blood and death.

“War,” Namjoon confirms, tightening his hold on your waist. “The Kangs won’t let you go so easily, but neither will I. Give Hoseok your apartment keys. He’s taking Jimin and Jungkook to get your things. I don’t trust that they’ll pull some shit if they know you live alone.”

“I can’t just take up a room here, Joon,” you insist even as you hand off your keys to Hoseok.

“Oh, you’re not taking up a room,” Hoseok chuckles, taking the keys from your outstretched hand. “You’re sharing Namjoon’s room.”

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

“This isn’t happening.” You gawk at Jungkook and Jimin moving your things about Namjoon’s room a few hours later. They lug in a suitcase with a good portion of your clothes, most of which is jeans, t-shirts, and a bunch of pajama pants and shorts. Nabi had insisted on going with them to rifle through your clothes, throwing out the tattered pieces you’d shoved to the back of your closet and forgotten about. You turn to Namjoon lounging on his bed, looking as though a bomb hadn’t just been dropped on both of you. “You can’t be serious about this, Joon. I mean, this is your personal space, you can’t be happy about me invading it. The house is practically on full lock down, I’m sure there’s a spare room I can use.”

“No,” is all he says, reaching out to grab your arm and tugging you into the space next to him. “Taehyung’s taken every precaution to protect Nabi and I’ll do the same for you.” He looks as though he wants to say more but decides against it, getting up from the bed to slap Jungkook upside the head when he notices the younger man mocking him.

“Nabi said Taheyung didn’t allow her out unless Jungkook and Jimin were with her.”

Namjoon freezes at your words. Of course you’d ask Nabi what it was like living here, and of course Nabi wouldn’t spare any details. Jimin and Jungkook stare at him, waiting to take his lead and willing to downplay their roles as Nabi’s guards if necessary. He sighs and figures he’s done enough lying to you. He turns to see you with crossed arms and a look that says you already knew what to expect. “The same rules apply to you, Y/N. Until this situation is settled, you can’t go anywhere unless Hoseok and Jimin are with you, or I’m with you, or all three of us are escorting you somewhere. I’m not going to lie to you and say you’ll have everything you need here, but you’ll never be bored. I was going to have Seokjin or Yoongi assigned to you, but Jin’s helping Yoongi with something important and it’s taking all of their focus. Also,” he hesitates as you raise your brows, waiting for him to continue. “You can’t contact Minseok.” It’s entirely selfish of him to forbid any contact with Minseok, but it’s an opportunity he’ll take.

With a roll of your eyes, you sink further into the bed, leaning back into his pillows. “Not that I want to talk to Minseok, but he did take care of my mom, Namjoon. I at least owe him a thank you.”

“Not right now,” he seethes, curling his hand into a fist, and Jungkook and Jimin take that as their cue to leave. Storming up to the bed, he grips your ankles and pulls you down to the edge. He smirks when you squeal in surprise, slotting himself between your thighs. When your squeal turns into a gasp, he knows it’s because you can feel how hard he’s gotten since you’ve been in the room. He plants his palms against the mattress, watching your eyes dart to the veins in his forearms, sliding forward until he’s nose to nose with you. “You can thank Minseok another time, sweetheart, but right now it’s best to keep your distance. If Kang thinks he can use Minseok to get to you, he’ll do it.”

Your brows draw together, regret settling in the pit of your stomach as you play with the collar of his black dress shirt. “My very existence is dangerous, isn’t it?”

“Not to me.” One of his hands comes up to brush the stray hairs from your face. “None of this is your fault. You didn’t even know who your father was until now.”

A light knock on his bedroom door lets him know that it’s Nabi and she’s going to give him about 10 seconds to be ready. He scrambles away from you just as she plows through the door, smiling sweetly before breaking the news. “Taehyung has accepted Kang’s request to meet with you, Y/N. I know we should have talked to you first, but I don’t want your decision to be based on emotion rather than rationale. Is that okay?”

You nod, grateful that she’s on your side and to have her as a friend. Sitting up as she approaches the bed, you note that she fusses over you like a mother would, righting your clothes and smoothing your hair down. You want to laugh, but then you remember that when you were little, your mother would have to step in to make you presentable when you’d been too rough on the playground. Your smile fades. “He’s here now, isn’t he?”

“Goddamn it,” Namjoon hisses, barreling for the door. “You could have given us a bigger heads up, Nabi.”

“That wasn’t my decision,” she barks back at him, and you blink at her in surprise. It’s not very often people can talk back to Namjoon and he’ll just let it happen. “Taehyung surprised me too when he said Kang would be here soon.”

“Let’s just go,” you sigh, getting up from the bed to follow Namjoon to the living room, Nabi not far behind. Your nerves shoot sky high as you get closer and closer to the deep voices of who you now know is your father speaking to Namjoon’s father. Two weeks ago, you’d been wiping down tables at one of your part time jobs, living off ramen noodles and sandwiches, and one more speed bump away from possibly losing the bumper to your junker car, but it had been worth it. You’d do all of it over again to take care of the most precious person to you. How your life got turned so ass backwards, you don’t know, and you’re not entirely sure you want to figure it out.

“She hasn’t had to live up to traditions and customs,” Namjoon’s father sounds as if he’s on the verge of losing his temper. “You cannot throw this on her after she’s just learned of you!”

“That's why she should be moved under my roof!” Himchan snaps back at Mr. Kim and you pause at the entryway of the living room, neither of them even see you yet. “She can learn of those customs and traditions.”

“So you can pawn her off to some low life thug undeserving of her?” Mr. Kim scoffs. “I don’t think so. Y/N is as much a part of our family as she is of yours. Even more so since we’re the ones who have been there for her.”

“I didn’t even know she existed until Harin got sick,” Himchan mumbles, dragging his hand down his face as you finally come into view.

You sit next to Mr. Kim while Namjoon stands beside the couch and Hoseok parks himself behind it. You’re not sure where to begin or what you can even say given his position. If he’s as high up on the chain of command as Mr. Kim, then you’re pretty sure telling him to go fuck himself is off the table. You look around as if searching for something or someone, only to realize he isn’t there. “Where’s Chunghee?”

Himchan sits up straight as you finally address him, offering a polite smile in response. “Chunghee had some business to attend to overseas. As time goes on, I’m hoping your relationship will become less strained.” He frowns when you grow stiff, having misunderstood, though he’s sure the truth won’t be any better. “When I met your mother, Y/N, I fell in love with her at first sight. She didn’t know who I was or even that I was…married. My marriage had been arranged by my father, as his marriage was, and his father before him. In our life, it is rare to find and marry someone we’re in love with. We’re paired with someone we believe can carry a strong bloodline. Your brother is a product of a marriage neither I nor his mother had a true say in. He was only 10 when you were born, even younger when I started an affair with your mother. She didn’t know what kind of life I had and one day she was just gone. Somehow, she’d found out, and left town without telling me she was pregnant.”

“So, Chunghee hates me,” you gather from everything he’s said. “Because of you.”

“Yes,” Himchan admits, shame burning his throat.

Namjoon steps in front of you protectively, effectively cutting off any more access Himchan had. “Are you saying your own son is a threat? You want me to give her to you when your own son could hurt her?”

“I would never allow that,” Himchan insists, but it lands on deaf ears as Namjoon turns to take your hand, ready to drag you back to his room. “I only want a good life for her, Namjoon. I’ve only recently learned of her struggles, ones that you’ve allowed her to go through.”

“Allowed?” you question at the sheer audacity both of them have to treat you like an object rather than a person.

“I didn’t allow a fucking thing,” Namjoon interrupts and Nabi rubs at her temples in exasperation. “She wouldn’t let me help. She’s stubborn that way, but it’s what makes her so strong, Kang. Don’t think for a second I don’t know why you really want her under your roof. You already have someone lined up for her to marry, but that’s not fucking happening.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Nabi throws her hands in the air, stalking to the middle of the living room and commanding attention in a way that makes you envious. “Unless we’re all forgetting that Y/N’s here, I think maybe we should ask her what she wants. Mr. Kang, I understand tradition better than anyone here, but given that she hasn’t grown up in your care or home, you can’t implement traditional values without her knowledge of it. That’s dangerous and you know it.”

“Who is it?” your voice cuts through the room, stepping around Namjoon to face your father.

Namjoon looks at you as if you’ve grown a second head, mouth gaping open in shock. “You can’t seriously be considering this.”

“I don’t know what else to even do, Namjoon!” You throw your arms up in frustration, turning away from him with tears in your eyes. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to deal with all of this.”

“Not by entertaining this stupid bullshit.” Namjoon’s hands curl into fists and Hoseok quickly takes up the space at your side in case his friend’s temper gets the best of him.

“That’s what I was hoping to talk to Mr. Kim about today.” Himchan faces Namjoon’s father again, taking a deep, steadying breath. “I learned about my daughter 10 years ago, Kim, when she was 18 and forced into working job after job until her fingers bled, and through all of it, your son was there. From my understanding, my father and yours had meant to work together quite some time ago and those plans fell through.”

Namjoon inhales sharply. Is Kang suggesting what Namjoon thinks he is? Could he really be handed everything he’s ever wanted right here, right now? Would you even be okay with that?

“I want him to vet Han Youngjae in exchange for discussing a new business venture that could benefit us both,” Himchan continues, sending Namjoon’s world crashing down. “You know as well as I do that the Han family has been around far longer than either of our families. Youngjae seems to be a good man, but I trust your son’s judgment, especially when it comes to Y/N. I’ve worked with the Han family for awhile now and the arrangement for my son to marry their eldest daughter is being finalized soon.”

“Then why the fuck do you need more ties into that family?” Namjoon’s tone has gone dangerously low, sending a chill down your spine, but rather than fear it’s bordering on something else entirely. “You come into her life, our lives, after she loses her mother and you want to marry her off to a family like the Hans?”

“I want to give her time to adjust to the idea,” Himchan clarifies, searching for some kind of hope that you’ll just think about it. “I truly believe—.”

“I will not entertain this idea,” Namjoon’s father stops Himchan before he can explain any further. “Besides the fact that it’s entirely absurd, Y/N has already been promised to my son.”

“I’m so fucking confused,” you say aloud without meaning to, and Nabi giggles while looping her arm through yours.

Himchan winces at your colorful language, sighing in disappointment. “Y/N, truly, you shouldn’t speak with such foul language, it’s unbecoming.”

“How my fiancée chooses to speak is none of your business,” Namjoon defends you, quickly growing used to the idea of calling you his fiancée. It makes his chest warm and body hum with need.

You startle, bumping against Nabi’s embrace. Namjoon’s casual use of the word “fiancee” makes your throat dry. You rather like the way it sounds, but you have to remind yourself that it’s just to get your father off your back. But then, if that were true, what was all of that back in his room? Namjoon’s been acting rather odd lately, invading your space, holding your hand, kissing your cheek. It’s enough to convince even you that he might actually have feelings for you. You let out a heavy sigh while shaking the thoughts from your head. No, Namjoon was well aware of how much you cherished your mother. He was simply helping you through the grieving process, and now with the looming threat of your father, he’s doing what’s necessary to keep you safe.

“It’s been quite the day,” Nabi’s smooth and commanding voice cuts through the men’s argument, effectively silencing them as they all turn to stare at her. “It’s late Mr. Kang, and while we understand your concerns for tradition and the need to keep up with them, we’ve taken your proposal into consideration and have deemed it unnecessary. As Mr. Kim has already stated, Namjoon and Y/N have been promised to each other. There is no need for her to marry into the Han family.”

“Now just wait a minute,” Kang says through gritted teeth. “Custom states that the engagement requires my approval, which I’m yet to give.”

“You’ve kept tabs on us all this time,” Namjoon reminds him with a wicked smile. “Surely you’re not so naive as to misunderstand just what we’ve been up to in the night’s I’ve stayed at her home.”

“Namjoon,” you hiss, cheeks flushing at his implication. True as it may be that Namjoon has spent a considerable amount of nights at your apartment, he really only slept on the couch and the one time he nearly slept in your bed, he’d conceded and left the room. “Stop it.”

“I’m stating facts, sweetheart, nothing more.” Namjoon turns to wrap his fingers around your free arm and tug you close to his chest. His arm snakes around your waist to keep you trapped against him. Your squeak of surprise makes him chuckle low and deep, making you shiver as he skims his lips across your cheek.

Kang curls his fingers into fists at the display. While yes, he was well aware of Namjoon’s overnight stays, he’d never seen any open displays of affection. He’s not sure if it’s because Namjoon is truly a private person, or if this entire charade is a lie. Either way, he cannot allow the opportunity to tie more of his lineage to the Han family to pass him by. He breathes in deep and exhales slowly to calm himself. “Fine,” he says while straightening the lapels of his suit jacket. “I will let this rest for now, Kim. But be warned, should I find anything false about this ‘engagement’ of yours, Y/N will live under my roof and she will marry Han.”

“You can’t—,” you begin to argue, but Taehyung beats you to it by instructing Jungkook and Jimin to escort Kang to his waiting vehicle.

“Understand this, Kang,” Taehyung seethes while he still has Kang’s attention, “I will not tolerate your persistence of taking Y/N from underneath my roof. If, and only if, she chooses to part ways with Namjoon, I will make sure she gets far away from us and you. Trust when I say this is not a war you want with me.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Take it as you wish,” Taehyung stands tall, sliding his hands into the pockets of his slacks as if to show your father that Kang isn’t nearly as in control as he believes. “But, much like Namjoon, I’m only stating facts. However, I will take into consideration another meeting with you and your son.”

“What?” Namjoon snaps, and becomes pissed when Taehyung holds his hand up to stop him from speaking further.

“I know that customs and tradition are being called into question, and while I don’t agree to forcing a marriage between the Han family and Y/N, it is my duty to consider it should any arrangements between her and Namjoon fall apart.” Taehyung frowns in your direction, knowing that all he can truly do is help Namjoon keep up appearances until this entire mess is sorted out. He can’t step in and completely dissolve whatever deal Kang has made with the Han family, but he can delay it until Namjoon can talk you into a real marriage. He hates it, and is well aware that keeping you from the Han family by forcing you into Namjoon’s family instead is rather hypocritical. He turns back to Kang and sighs in defeat, “I swear to you that I will consider it seriously. In the meantime, don’t hold your breath, Kang.”

Your jaw nearly drops to the floor with the way Taehyung dismissed your father like a child, and the fact that your father actually leaves after being waved away is even more shocking. You look to Nabi for some guidance, but she only shakes your head with a reassuring smile, leaving you to believe that things might actually turn out okay in the end.

#kim namjoon fic #secrets and lies fic #war of hearts universe #bts fic #bts smut #kim namjoon smut

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theguildawards · 1 month

Text

Hello guildmates!

The Nomination Period is now closed! Below the cut you will find a complete list of all the fanfiction nominations received for The Guild Awards this term! The mobile-friendly version can also be found in a Google Doc here that has the complete list!

You can find the list of all the fanart nominations here!

If you do not see your nomination, or you find issues with the links, please reach out to us as soon as possible!

We are going to give you 2 weeks time to enjoy all of the pieces nominated for this term! We strongly encourage that when you view a work of art or read a fanfiction, please reblog or leave a comment to let the creators know how much their work and talent is appreciated!

The voting period will begin April 15th and end April 29th at midnight PST!

In order to be able to vote, you will need to login. We will be posting the link to the voting form on the first day of the voting session.

Got a question? Check out our FAQ Google Doc or send us an ask!

Message one of the mods directly: @classysassy9791 @phoenix-before-the-flame @kiliinstinct @ratretro @phoneboxfairy

Thank you to everyone who nominated for making this term absolutely wonderful and happy voting!

[please reblog to help spread the love of these amazing creators!]

FANFICTION

Best Action/Adventure

“Molten Steel” by @mavikiu (tumblr/AO3)

“Branded” by @hawkofnavarre (tumblr/FFN)

Best AU/AR

“A Girl’s Mind is a Dangerous Place” by @clenastia (tumblr/AO3)

“My Little Space Oddity” by Beingwithaskillet (AO3)

“Bull In a Crystal Shop” by Buniibebe (FFN)

Best Canon

“Taming the Beast: Living Nightmare” by @dawnwynters (tumblr/AO3)

“How I Snagged Your Father” by MyFictionalFantasy (AO3)

Best Angst

“Forever” by @teleiapotami (tumblr) / Teleia_Potami (AO3)

“heartbeat on the high line” by @notsofluffyunicorn (tumblr/AO3)

“Finding Hope” by @creaticare (tumblr) / ChaoticKori (AO3)

“Waiting For the Dawn’ by Stopbeingrude12 (AO3)

"Dragon Season: Rejection" by @aki-natsuko (tumblr) / Akiko_Natsuko (AO3)

Best Dark

‘A Future Set Like Stone’ by Clenastia (AO3)

“Power of the Underworld” by @genavere (tumblr/AO3)

‘Her Touch” by LissyArt101 (AO3)

"If you asked me i would lose it all" by ObsessiveExplosion (AO3)

Best Drama

“Even the Dragon King Has Feelings” by Don_Cheadle (AO3)

"The Celestial Princess" by @subject-layla (tumblr/AO3)

Best Humor/Parody

‘Faustian Bargain’ by PoisonDragonSlayer (AO3)

“Gotta match ‘em all” by AngryGoldenMonster (AO3)

"Fairy Tail Text Fics" by @multi-verse-mania (tumblr) / Multiverse_Mania (AO3)

"The Jam Problem" by @acacia-may (tumblr) / Acacia_May (AO3)

Best Oneshot

"Storybook" by Ilito15 (AO3)

“Once Upon a Time, Five” by @ostensiblyfunctional (tumblr/AO3)

"Reminiscing on the Hard Road" by @fairydares (tumblr/AO3)

"What Does It All Come Down To? (Love? Love)" by @forwantofacalling (tumblr) / Fireflower34 (AO3)

Best Character Portrayal

"Storybook" (Mavis) by Ilito15 (AO3)

"Inner Thoughts" (Natsu) by Halbarath (FFN)

"Doubt Truth to be a Liar" (Gray) by SilverSnowBlossom (AO3)

"Making Friends" (Gajeel) by FairyDell (AO3)

Best Romance

‘On Nights Like These’ by @Tokkias (tumblr/AO3)

‘Wanna Make a Bet?’ by Ssukidesu (AO3)

“Finding Forgiveness” by @teleiapotami (tumblr) / Teleia_Potami (AO3)

"All Treats, No Tricks" by Be_dazzled06 (AO3)

Best LGBTQ+ Romance

“Every Good Thing in Life (Leads Back to You)” by allayrose (AO3)

“Groomzilla” by @sandwitchstories (tumblr/AO3)

Best Serial

"Heart Shaped World" by Myahud (AO3)

Best Ficlet

“Untitled” by @caissa-scribbles (tumblr)

Best Friendship Portrayal

“Once Upon a Time, Five” (Team Shadowgear + Gajeel) by @ostensiblyfunctional (tumblr/AO3)

“You, Me, A Fish & The Sky” (Natsu and Happy) by @therosefrontier (tumblr) / BlossomingRosebud (AO3)

“A Worried Best Friend’ (Gajeel & Juvia) by GruviaSilver (FFN)

"Your Crush Is My Love Rival" (Gray & Levy, Juvia & Gajeel) by Cathelerein (AO3) & InkuEko (AO3)

Best Completed

“The Era of Shadows and Sunshine” by RomanticHawthorn (AO3)

“FairyTale of Doom” by CrimsonStarbird (AO3)

#fairy tail #theguildawards #ft awards #tgat12024 #fairy tail fanfiction

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sofasoap · 1 year

Text

Zero Distance

Pairing : John Price x F!reader (aka OC Mini MacTavish) Summary: he is never going to let you go. Epilogue to Five Times series. Straight after One Chance

Warning: Mature themes. Smut time. Alcohol use. if you don’t like the idea of age gap story, turn around NOW. My first ever smut. Please don't judge. I tried. it burnt my brain cells off.

Thanks to mother of my Mini MacTavish @saltofmercury for lending me the character “Mini” from her story. Go read her “The Favorite MacTavish” !

“masterlist” for Mini MacTavish expanded verse.

“Stay for the night?”

Looking up, through your hooded eyes. Asking him with a hint of need in your voice. Licking your lip, tilting your head as you blinked a few times, waiting for his answer. You can see Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows, trying to restrain himself.

“You are making this very difficult love.”

“You don’t want me?” you asked with a cheeky smile. He growled and pulled you in, pressing tight against his body. You can feel his hardness even through the thick layer of his pants.

“Oh trust me.I have been waiting for years, “ leaning in and nuzzling your cheek gently with his beard, whispering into your ears, sending shivers down your back, “you have no idea how hard it is for me not to take you right here and now. But.” pulling back slightly, he looked into your eyes, the lust is still there, but the gentleness as he cups your face and cheek with his big callous hand, swiping your lip with his thumb, “You are still recovering from your injury. I don’t want to hurt you.”

You mentally rolled your eyes. This man really has the will of steel. Change of tactic.

“Help me to undress then?” tugging him towards your bedroom.

“How did you manage by yourself before?”

“With a lot of difficulties, pain and determination.” You were telling the truth. It is extremely hard for you to get dressed and clean yourself since you got discharged from hospital after your injury. You declined any help from your family or friend, the stubbornness in you refuses to bother and be a hassle to them. You shrug off your coat, using your good arm, hanging it onto the little rack behind your bedroom door. You proceed to slide the sling off, wincing a bit as you drop the arm to the side.

Feel Price coming up behind you, you pointed to the zip behind your dress, silently asking him to unzip it.

Slowly he slides the dress off you, carefully as you slide your arm through the sleeves of the dress. You shiver a bit as his hand moves down the side of your arm, intentionally, before moving back to unhook your bras.

With your skin exposed, he can see the extent of your injuries. Bruises covering your arm, along with scars. His hand hovers over the bandage, brows furrowed. “How did this happen?”

“Blame König, he was knocked out and I had to run in and drag him out. Got shot in the process. Luckily Horangi was there to cover us.’ You convey the story as if it was a walk in the park. Price shook his head. He needs to have a good talk with you about your choice of job later on.

You sit down on your bed and proceed to finish undressing, pulling your hosiery and underwear off, you look at him, crooking an eyebrow as you see him starting to undress himself. “You can’t shower yourself like that. I’ll help you.” Your heart starts to race as you see his bare chest. He is well built, firm defined muscles, your eye shifts towards his abs, noticing a little trail of hair around his navel area. You bit inside your cheek trying to resist a moan. You can already feel your core heating up. As he pulls his pants off, you let out a gasp as you see his very well endowed manhood. You feel like a teenage girl, seeing a naked man for the first time.Covering your face with embarrassment you heard him chuckled.

“Never seen a naked man before?” “ No. yes, YES OF COURSE I HAVE.” Never one that is so big. He gently pulls you up from bed, carefully not shifting your right arm too much. You lean closer to him as he leads you into the bathroom, enjoying the closeness and the warmth radiating off him. Making sure the water is hot enough, he guides you into the shower. You let out a sigh and body starts to relax as the warm water hits your body,

“Are the bandages going to be Ok?” “I have spares. I can just change them to a fresh one after.”

Putting the shower head back onto the hook, he proceeds to lather you up with soap. Slowly and deliberately making circular motions as he clean around your breast,

“Stop teasing me.” you pouted.

“ I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Says the person that he is going to wait…!!! “ your breath hitches as he moves down towards your slit. Sliding his fingers back and forth as he leans forward and captures your mouth, silencing your moan. Parting your lips, he sees it as an invitation to slide his tongue into yours, deepening the kiss.

His fingers never stopped pleasuring you in the process, you moved your hand towards his now very hardened manhood, teasing the tip of it with your thumb as you tried to grip around it. You heard a moan and growl as you started pumping your hand slowly.

“ You little minx.” You smiled into his mouth as he whispered with a rasp. “Just to pay back.” he inserted more fingers into you, speeding up as he started rubbing your clit. You throw your head back as he leans forward, nipping your neck. You can feel your climax coming as he encourages you with his sweet words,

“That’s it, love. Just let it go, be a good girl and come for me.” you shut your eyes and let out a whimper, feeling your wall clamping around his fingers. Your head spins as your orgasm hits. Gosh, it never felt so good before with your own fingers. His hand slows down as you ride out the rest of orgasm. Your leg feels like they have lost their strength, and the only thing that is holding you up is his other hand, gripping onto the back of your neck. Remembering you are still holding onto his hardened cock, you part your legs slightly and guide it between it, rocking your hip back and forth, trying to ignore the overstimulated sensation from your clit from the high you just came down seconds ago. Price tightens his grip onto you, you can feel his whole body tensing up. He can hear his breathing quickens. With your good arm you grab onto his bicep for support as he moves his other arm to your grasp onto your butt, speeding up his pace. Moments later you can hear his suppressed groan as you feel his hot cum coating your thigh and slit.

Leaning his forehead against yours, eyes closed. The only sound in the bathroom was the water splashing and both of you panting, trying to catch up with breath.

Giving you a few gentle kisses, Price turns the water off before stepping out of the shower, grabbing the towel off the rack. Gently patting you dry and wrapping the towel around your body, he sat you down on top of the toilet. “Where are your fresh bandages?” Pointing to the med kit on the bathroom shelf, he kneels beside you and proceeds to change the now wet and soggy bandages around your arm. “There’s some fresh towel on the bottom of that shelf too, you better wrap yourself up before you get too cold.” “Sick of me swinging this thing in front of you already?”

“Stop it.” lightly smack him on the shoulder, face heating up.

You never know he can be so gentle under his gruff and stiff exterior. He insists on drying your hair before gently brushing it, like it's the most delicate thing in the world.

“I’m not pulling too hard I hope?” Shaking your head lightly, “ you are doing way better than Johnny. The amount of times I asked him to help me with my hair when I was young...I am surprised I still got any scalp and hair left.”

He chuckled. He can just imagine you as a little girl, sitting on a stool, complaining non stop while Soap has no idea where he is going wrong.

“Come on, let’s get you in bed.”

“.. you not staying?” the panic surfacing and twists in your stomach as you notice him starting to put his clothes back on.

Price felt a pang of sadness as he saw the fear in your eyes.

“I’ll come back in a few minutes sweetheart. Don’t think you or your landlord will appreciate me smoking inside the house.” Giving you a little ruffle on the head and a kiss, making sure you have enough cushion and pillow to prop up your injured arm, he headed out to the balcony by the living room.

Lighting up his cigar, as he takes his time to think back to all the things that happened this evening, the accidental meet up ( although he is sure Ghost and Gaz have something to do with it ), the confession and reconciliation, and finally to get the first taste of you. He’s not going to let you go ever again. He made that mistake years ago, the regret and the pain both of you have suffered through. He would have thought you would have moved on by now. Find someone that is younger than him, someone that will always be by your side, will be there for you when needed, someone who doesn’t disappear on you. Someone who isn’t in the military and might be dead the next moment. Someone who deserves you more than he does.

He felt slight relief and selfishness when he overheard the occasional conversation from the boys about how you are still single, or the flare of jealousy when Soap mumbles about the dates you've been going on and those men are never good enough for you. “But I don’t want anyone else. I want you John…”

Those words gave him so much relief and comfort, his world became a whole again after hearing it, his heart sours knowing he still has a chance.

After finishing his cigar,making sure everything is locked, he quietly slips back into your room. You have already fallen asleep, with your face scrunched up. Taking his shirt off before sliding into bed with you, carefully not to jostle you awake. You subconsciously wiggle yourself closer to him. “..John?” “Go back to sleep love. Sorry.” You mumbled something before fluttering your eyes close again, but this time you have a smile on your face. My beautiful smile.

He swears he is not going to turn that smile into a frown ever again.

“So, You are fucking my sister.” You cover your face up, burning like a furnace, with embarrassment. You should have known your brother wouldn’t go light with Price, especially after what happened in the last few years. “JOHNNY! YOU BLOODY BAMPOT SHUT IT!” you hissed, “ Don’t let Ma and Da hear it!” “Well, that’s what he is here for anyway isn’t it? To let Ma and Da know what he is doing to you.” “Or maybe I was aiming for all the whisky in the cellar.” You gave your fiancé a death glare. DON’T. You warned.

How you wish you can just push your brother off the cliff in Orkney, to shut him up for ever. But you suspect your parents and your sister in law wouldn’t appreciate that. “Well, he isn’t wrong.” Ghost suddenly piped up from behind the couch, where he and Gaz are currently playing with Soap’s kids. It is actually quite a hilarious sight, two men who are nearly as tall as the tall frame, one built like a massive fridge, are sitting on the floor, playing with cars and little construction bricks with toddlers.

That shit stirrer. You cursed. If it wasn’t for the fact there are children present, you would have given all the boys a good lecture in a very colourful choice of words on how to behave like an adult. Well, apart from Gaz, he has been smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

“I knew I should have listened to König … should have just eloped.”

You ended up keeping your job at Kortac, to Price’s and the TF141 boy’s dismay. “I would love to join you boys if I could. But I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be in the same workplace.” You try to placid them, with promises of trying to stay off the frontline. You have seen Price having very stern words with König and Horangi once when SpecGru and Kortac had a joint operation once. And strangely after that you have noticed the two rival companies and also SAS having more joint operations than ever. “...more people the better, to get the mission done.” Price said to you when you question the frequency of joint missions. You suspect him and Laswell had something to do with this. An excuse for him to see you more, to protect you.

He quietly proposed to you one night, after a particular hard mission. You had to patch all the boys up, berating them for their recklessness. It was only you and Price left in the medical tent. Most of the boys had gone to bed, you and Price were the only two left, he insisted to be the last one to be looked at, only after all the other members had been looked after. Before all the men left the tent, they gave Price a very encouraging look, patted on his shoulder before filing out the tent. “I seriously can’t believe the risk your team has taken.” you haven’t noticed your hand had started shaking as you patch him up. “I.. I could have lost all of you in one go.” tears started to roll down your cheek.

Price calls out your name softly. “Look at me.” you lower your hand and head, refuse to look. Grasping your face gently with both hands, forcing your face up. The sadness in his eyes. “I am sorry to make you worry love. This is why I am here, as the captain, to try and guide them out of danger, we had no other choice. We had to take that risk, otherwise…” lower his head, resting it against yours. He doesn’t want to think about what would have happened. He has already tried to push the image of you, distraught, hearing the news of them not returning forever, out of his head.

Reaching into his shirt, he pulled out his dog tag, pressing it into your hand. You look up at him with confusion. “I have a spare one. Don't worry.” Shaking his head, as you try to pass it back into his hand. “ Besides,” he cleared his throat a bit, voice slightly wavering.

“So a piece of me is always with you when I am gone.”

“... Are you trying to propose to me?” Slight blush on his cheek says it all. Both of you ended up having one of each other’s dog tags.

“How romantic!!” Both your sister in law and Ma sighed as you recall the proposal story to them. The men are sitting around the couch, in front of the fireplace, enjoying the drinks. Bit of adult time after the kids went to bed. “Well, I am happy you are getting married, and more people are joining the family. The boys are welcome here anytime.” You are happy after years of turmoil, all the broken pieces have finally come back together, you just hope it will stay this way. “Well, the one Mini stole from the cellar has a bit more depth than this one.” “I TOLD YOU I DIDN'T STEAL IT FROM THE CELLAR! I BORROWED IT!!” “I knew she always steals stuff from there…”

Well, maybe it will stay that way if the boys survive your wrath……

thanks @floral-force and @kaplerrr for giving me encouragement to finish writing the smutty part * cry * I did it!!!! @tapioca-marzipan this is for you too. :)

#captain john price #john price x you #john price x reader #john price imagine #john price #captain price x reader #captain price #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #captain john price x female reader #call of duty

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jasontoddssuper · 6 months

Text

Summer Kent title release dates and issue numbers

(Will also include his animateds and video games as i don't want to make a whole seperate post for that since it would feel too similar)

Sparks:Secret Origins-1983,ran for 66

The Last day Of Summer-1989,it's own special

Ember's Ashes-1989,ran for 156

Death of Superman-1992,it's own special

Reign of the Supermen-1993,it's own special

Steel and Superboy-1994,52 and 100 and he's an mc as John's protege and Kon's eldest sibling,mentor and mom figure

Robin,Batgirl(Cass' run)and Young Justice-1993,2000 and 1994,ran for 185,72 and 51 and is important to read the ones with him in them for context on his sisterly bonds with Stephanie,Cass and Cassie

Supergirls-2002,ran for 27

Ember/Red Hood-2006,ran for 33

We Are Robin-2007,ran for 12 issues and Duke becomes the 5th Robin at the end thanks to him

Batgirl(Stephanie's run)-2009,ran for 60 and appears enough to count as an mc

The Bird and The Dragon-2010,ran for 13

Red Hood and The Outlaws-2011,ran for 92

All New Teen Titans-2019,running for 55

New Ember Days-2024,will run for 64

Dead Sidekicks Force-2016,ran for 42

Wayne Family Adventures-2021,ongoing and he's major recurring character

Superman:The Animated Series-1996,was in various crossovers to Batman:The Animated series to show his friendship and eventual romance with Dick(Note:I specifically choose a verse where Jason dosen't exist and Summer is in Dick's generation to avoid creepiness)

Teen Titans(og cartoon)-2003,had 6 seasons and Dragon Rose and Pink Arrows are both canon to this verse,ending in a vee relathionship

Batman:Under The Red Hood-2010,movie adaption where he's the tritagonist like in the original comic

Injustice series-2013,two games and has him as The Eradicator on Clark's side and the sequel gives us Jaysumm as doomed soulmates

Lego DC Super Villains-2018,his legoverse debut

Lego Batman/Superman:Family Matters-2019,a mix between family sitcom and romcom(Jaysumm is the rom part ofc)

DC Superhero Girls reboot-2019,undetirmend number of seasons(but deserves at least 7)and has his Ember incarnation with a Black Lantern alter ego and Stephanie and Jason are the Batgirl and Robin here because they fit better than Babs and Dick(and Clark,Lois and Bruce get age lifts)

Red Hood and The Outlaws(Cartoon adaption)-2019,9 seasons,rated tv-14 in the same sense Fionna and Cake is and one of the weirdest cartoon's ever that's also praised as DC's best show.Has a chibi spinoff called Pocket Outlaws as of 2023

Lego DC:Ember-2020,a game of him as the protagonist and mashup of his various stories

Deaths in the summer-2020,movie adaption fusion of Ditf and Tlos that co-stars him and Jason

Summer Kent and His Spectacular Friends-2022,5 seasons and Summer is in his high school superhero cartoon protagonist era with a girlfantasy twist!The show puts a heavy focus on his girlhood(while still respecting his bigender transmascness)and relathionships with the other Superfam girls and other female Outlaws and has vibes and lore to it that you'd find in MLP and W.i.t.c.h.The only male characters who get consistant screentime are Clark,Jason,Eddie,Mathew(@theautisticcentre ),Thad and Lex

(I won't make this post even longer than it already is but he's also a major character in all the other Superkids' and Batkids' runs i created such as Kon's Power Boy,Mia's Supergirl,Duke's Signal and Cass' Batman and also Thad's Kid Flash!!)

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mama-qwerty · 20 days

Note

for the wip ask game I am quite curious about “Chasing the sun”

Chasing the Sun is basically my Eclipse origin story for my verse. At the moment Callie has just rescued him from dying from an infected injury on his arm, and he's thinking he'll simply play the secret agent to get the goods on humans for his father. (Even though he's not quite sure why he's on Earth to begin with.)

Got a bit of the next chapter started.

“Mom?” Silver’s voice wavered a bit as he called her, and she turned to find him peeking out the front window closest to the door. Callie moved closer, giving his bristling forehead fan a quick brush flat. “What’s up, Bug?” A quick check made her frown. The Pearl Clutchers were here. A group of xenophobes who had paid her a visit after she’d taken in Silver, touting the utter tripe of “Earth for humans!” and generally making it very clear that the alien children who’ve come to call Green Hills home were decidedly and completely unwelcome. She uttered a soft grunt, before looking down at the hedgehog with a little smile. “Why don’t you head into the kitchen for a snack, huh?” she said, giving him a little stroke on the muzzle. His eyes flicked to the window. He wasn’t stupid—he knew these people. And he knew why they were here. “Go in the kitchen, Silver,” Callie said, her voice a little quieter and more serious. She didn’t want him anywhere near these people, or overhearing anything they had to say. “Take your friend with you. Go on.” The boy hesitated for a moment, before nodding and heading back. With a breath to calm herself, Callie opened the door and offered the group on her porch a tight lipped stare. “I was expecting you people at some point. I imagine you’ve got a book burning to get to later, so let’s get this over with.” Her comment was met with disgusted noises, and a few of them exchanged glances. There were six total, and while she recognized them from around town, none were any she would call friends. Or even acquaintances, really. One of the group stepped forward. Callie couldn't immediately place her name, but had seen her and her twin around town. Had a run in with them, in fact, as she and Silver had been shopping one day. They were both in their late 60s, at least, and wore identical frowns, their mouths pulled down and deepening the lines at the edges. “We understand you’re keeping a dangerous creature in there.” Callie cocked an eyebrow. “That’s an odd way to say ‘a hurt and lost child’, but in the interest of moving this along and getting you people the hell off my porch, let’s cut to the chase, shall we?” That drew another few glances, when a younger lady spoke next. “Is he in there or not?” Her brows furrowed, a look of annoyance on her face. “I think we have a right to know when there’s a monster in town.” Callie turned and pegged her with a cold stare. “He’s a child, and if you must know, yes, I’m looking after him. I fail to see why that’s any concern of yours.” “The safety of our children is our concern,” she replied, her eyes flicking down to the bandage on Callie’s arm. “He injured you. What’s to stop him from going after any of us? Our children?” “He bit me because he was delirious with fever and an infection that nearly cost him his life,” Callie said, and kept from speaking through gritted teeth by sheer will. These people really got her ire up. “He has done nothing threatening since.” “He’s a danger!” the woman said, and Callie finally placed her as the mother to one of the brats who came to the library every week. “He should be muzzled, at the very least! For all our safety!” There was a murmur of agreement behind her, and Callie took a small step forward, ready to bite steel and spit nails. “Your precious little Jacob bit me three times last month,” she said, her voice tight and sharp. “I assume his muzzle is on order?”

My girl has no time or patience for this bullshit.

#ask me #night's stuff #eclipse the darkling #callie macpherson #silver the hedgehog

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lesbianboyfriend · 2 months

Note

can i ask for lesbian book recommendations 🥹🕺

yeassss ofc my love <3

erm and obligatory disclaimer for any who might read that i don’t think “queer” or “lesbian” is a necessarily coherent category of books or adequate descriptor for a novel which is why i’ve also provided the actual genres here (sorted into which ever one i felt best fit) and descriptions. and these books have much more going on than just being about lesbians. however all books are undeniably awesomer with lesbians so yayyyyy

FANTASY:

-the salt grows heavy by cassandra khaw: fantasy horror; murderous mermaid and plague doctor come across a cult of children (could be read as not lesbians bc one character is nonbinary but i choose to read as. lesbians)

-the empress of salt and fortune by nghi vo: political fantasy; monk unravels the tale of exiled empress’ rise to power

-when the the tigers came down the mountain by nghi vo: political fantasy; monk unwinds the tale of a tiger and her scholar lover to prevent other tigers from eating them (stand alone sequel to empress of salt and fortune)

-ship of smoke and steel by django wexler: ya fantasy; girl has to steal a ghost ship to save her sister’s life

-the mermaid, the witch, and the sea by maggie tokuda-hall: ya fantasy; pirate falls in love with one of the ship’s hostages, a girl being sent to an arranged marriage against her will

-tremontaine created by ellen kushner: political fantasy; there’s a lot going on in this one okay just trust me that it’s really good esp if you love political intrigue (this was released serially and is easiest to acquire an electronic version)

-the deep by rivers solomon: fantasy/spec fic; African slave women thrown overboard gave birth to mermaid-esque descendants. one holds these traumatic memories for her whole people and must grapple with that pressure

-wild beauty by anna-marie mclemore: ya magical realism/fantasy; a family of women who can create flowers and whose lovers always tragically vanish fight to keep their land and to unravel the mystery of a strange boy who appeared

-siren queen by nghi vo: historical magical realism/fantasy; girl’s rise to stardom amidst the monsters of hollywood back in the days of the studio system

-gideon the ninth by tamsyn muir: sff; um. how to explain briefly. gideon wants nothing more than to leave the ninth house, but her nemesis harrowhark needs her sword skills to pass the emperors trial and become immortal. sure. (caleb i know you’ve read this just adding for any other viewers yayyy)

HORROR:

-white is for witching by helen oyeyemi: horror fantasy/magical realism; a house with women in its walls calls to miranda silver while the people she leaves behind struggle to make sense of what happened to her

-plain bad heroines by emily a. danforth: historical horror; when filming a movie about the macabre history of a boarding school, its past starts to become the reality for the stars and author of the novel it’s based on

LITFIC:

-girl woman other: contemporary litfic; the intersecting stories of Black british women told in verse

-nightwood: classic literary; i feel like i can’t describe this one well but nora and jenny are obsessed with robin, whose penchant for wandering and inability to commit drives them crazy. toxic dyke drama at its best

-the thirty names of night: lit fic; transmasc syrian american unravels the history of artist laila z who encountered the same rare bird his mother saw right before her death and realizes their pasts are intertwined

-under the udala trees: historical lit fic; coming of age set against the backdrop of civil war in Nigeria, two girls from different ethnic communities fall in love

-everyone in this room will someday be dead: contemporary lit fic; that moment when your ocd lands you a job at the catholic church even though you’re an atheist and also your relationship is falling apart

-stone butch blues: historical lit fic; butch lesbian realizing and grappling with her identity throughout the 40s-70s

-the color purple: classic lit fic; story of two sisters separated in their youth—one is forced into an abusive marriage and falls in love with her husbands mistress, wondering what became of her sister

-oranges are not the only fruit: semi-autobiography with slight fantasy elements; exploring growing up lesbian in a deeply religious pentecostal sect

SCI-FI:

-the weight of the stars: ya sf romance; aspiring astronaut is forced into friendship with a girl who waits on the roof every night for radio signals from her mother in space

-the seep: sci-fi/spec fic; what if aliens invaded and formed a hive mind of everyone and also your girlfriend turned into a baby again. wouldn’t that be fucked up

-the stars are legion: political science fiction; an awakes with no memory amid a group of people calling themself her family who claim she is the only one who can save their world

-not your sidekick: ya sci-fi; superheroes are real and they fucking suck

SHORT STORIES:

-sarahland: contemporary/spec fic short story collection; various stories about people named sarah

#jules.txt #asks #bookshelf

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aegor-bamfsteel · 1 year

Note

"All?" he mocked. "Tell me, little bird, what kind of god makes a monster like the Imp, or a halfwit like Lady Tanda's daughter? If there are gods, they made sheep so wolves could eat mutton, and they made the weak for the strong to play with."- Sansa(ACOK IV). How on earth Hound considered a hero?

If I remember correctly, that’s not one of the quotes people use when talking about how heroic the Hound is (although tbh he doesn’t say many positive things). Sansa a few chapters later shows him (politely, fearfully) where he can shove his nihilistic strongman philosophy:

She had forgotten the other verses. When her voice trailed off, she feared he might kill her, but after a moment the Hound took the blade from her throat, never speaking.

Some instinct made her lift her hand and cup his cheek with her fingers. The room was too dark for her to see him, but she could feel the stickiness of the blood, and a wetness that was not blood. "Little bird," he said once more, hisvoice raw and harsh as steel on stone. Then he rose from the bed. Sansa heard cloth ripping, followed by the softer sound of retreating footsteps.When she crawled out of bed, long moments later, she was alone. She found his cloak on the floor, twisted up tight, the white wool stained by blood and fire. —ACOK Sansa VII

So let’s get this straight: strong bitter Hound who says the weak are there to serve the strong holds a knife to a girl’s throat for a song…and she sings for mercy, holds his face, and he’s so shamed by what he was going to do he leaves her alone to never see her again. Hound has been mocking Sansa’s “soft” “bird” songs since she met him, and she, afraid for her life, proves to him and everyone reading that yes, those “weak” qualities are stronger than hatred and brute force. This is actually one of the best pieces of evidence that GRRM isn’t grimdark…not that a grown man broke into a girl’s bedroom and threatened her with a knife to sing (that’s sadly expected), but that girl, in a “voice that sounded small and tremulous to her own ears”, sang about mercy and peace…and she wins, he doesn’t hurt her anymore. It’s not so much Beauty and the Beast as it is Snow White and the Huntsman, in which Snow’s innocence means the Huntsman can’t bring himself to kill her; except Sansa singing and putting a hand on his face takes a more active role. She asked the Mother earlier to ease the rage inside him, and she (or She?) did.

No, the Hound isn’t a hero, but more importantly, his entire mindset in that quote is wrong. And Sansa—one of the series’ main heroes—shows us in the same book why. I can’t imagine reading Sansa’s Blackwater chapters and how she represents a core theme of the novels—that compassion, peace, and mercy are actually stronger than hatred, war, and revenge—and not understand she’s going to be one of Westeros’ future leaders by the end.

#ask #sansa stark #anti sansan #asoiaf #opinion

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 1 year

Note

What if Bella was Fae and didn't know it? The parameters for this are broad, so let's just say shortly after Bella was born, Renée took a trip to Ireland and left Bella in a stroller by the woods. Bella gets switched with a changeling and Renée never finds out.

Assuming Bella makes it to Forks, how does Twilight go down? (Feel free to give Bella whatever powers you think she should have/shouldn't have.)

I mean, first off, even if we get to Twilight, things are going to be very different.

Bella Loves Forks

Forks, a rural town with relatively little iron and steel compared to large American cities, feels great for Bella who's in constant pain in places like Phoenix with her mother.

Renee really hates on Forks, and Bella wants to hate it for a long time, but good god it's like getting medication.

However, we'll say that Renee got weird on Bella liking Forks too much so Bella awkwardly stopped going because it was clear shit would go down at home if she kept going. Bella and Charlie's relationship becomes strained then non-existent because of this.

So she only ends up in Forks in 2005 but uh... very clearly jumps on the excuse to go. Oh, you're married, Renee? Well gee shucks I've got to go live in Forks now, byeeeee.

This is made awkward as Bella can't lie (even more so than in canon, she physically cannot lie) so she has to dance around the topic whenever Renee asks her why she wants to move.

Bella's in Forks Now

Bella's determined to be a normal teenager. She fucked up at her last school by being weird all the time, but now is her time to shine. She will be a normal person, with normal friends, and nobody will think she's strange!

Bella fucks this up by speaking in verse at lunch about getting drunk on wine under the full moon's light.

"FUCK" - Bella Swan

Well, she's hot enough that this doesn't matter to the guys and Jessica... stares a bit but goes with it. So Bella's a huge nerd, she can date Eric and they can go to Comicon together dressed as hobbits or whatever.

Across the lunchroom, the Cullens stare and ask for dirt on the new girl. As before, Edward finds her overrated but finds he can't read her thoughts. He concludes she's uppity and has a desperate need for attention based on her constantly talking in verse.

They get to Biology where...

Edward doesn't smell the smell. Bella's one of the fair folk now, she's not human, she's going to smell weird but not delicious. Edward gives her a very funny look and concludes, eventually, she's not like Ephraim was (as Edward also thinks the shifter line died out).

He and Bella spend the lecture giving each other the side eye. Bella's spidey senses are tingling with this one and she tries to ignore it because nothing good comes from her spidey senses, it always leads to weird.

She decides it's just because he's hot and she must like him.

Yes.

That's what normal girls do.

Bella is a normal girl.

And Then?

See, the thing is, I doubt Bella can or will drive because too much fashioned metal. Bella tells Charlie, for reasons she will not explain, that she must walk to school. Charlie at this point doesn't question this, Bella's hated cars since birth.

As a result, she does not nearly get crushed by Tylor's van and is not carted off to the hospital where Carlisle would certainly no she's not human.

So, nothing happens.

Bella and Edward sit next to each other, but he just thinks she's weird and boring. Bella, for her own part, continues to tell herself she's hopelessly in love with Edward Cullen (because look how hot he is) and that these aren't the spidey sense tingles.

Weird stuff happens, I imagine, like Bella accidentally turning things into trees, being unable to cross lines of salt, being unable to cross running water, but everyone ignores this as the Cullens don't care and everyone else is too weirded out.

Twilight never happens.

#twilight #twilight meta #twilight headcanon #twilight renaissance #bella swan #edward cullen #meta #headcanon #opinion

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11queensupreme11 · 6 months

Note

I get that Percy isn't the most powerful character in RoR universe.

Going against ancient dieties that are millions or billions of years old of you - you get the point - and Percy is lucky for having her Achilles heel.

But let's appreciate the fact that Percy is the bravest character in RoR universe.

My gal just used her water powers against Poseidon and retaliated when she was being bad mouthed by her father.

None of the other gods would do that!

My girl got nerves of steel...

That of she doesn't thinks of the consequences of her actions. Which she does not... Sometimes.

not only did she attack poseidon, but she did it in his own DOMAIN AND IN HIS OWN FUCKING PALACE

she also spat on the face of two other gods (loki and beelzebub) 😂 i don't even think she's ever done something so disrespectful and suicidal to the gods back in the pjo verse, most of the times where she pissed them off it was indirectly and not directly 😂

#👸🏻| asks #👸🏻| arsenic blues

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creative-kny-fics · 10 months

Note

OMGG YOU SHOULD DO LEE!OBANAI AND LER!MITSURI!!!! THEY ARE MY FAVORITE AND I RARELY SEE TKL FICS OF THEM ALSO YOUR SANEGIYUU FIC???? I FELL IN LOVEEE

ALSO IF MY REQUESTS ARE TOO MUCH FOR YOY I WILL BACK OFF LMAO

We think the same! Their relationship is very cute! Although in the manga or in the anime they didn't have many moments, it doesn't mean that it's my favorite ship! So sure! (Thanks)

Warning: This fanfic contains tickles. Also remind them that I don't speak English, so if they find any errors, let me know to correct it. I hope you like it!

Ler: Mitsuri Kanroji and kinda Kaburamaru

Lee: Iguro Obanai

'You look distressed, Obanai. Is there something that gives you a complex?', fuck, Iguro wanted to go unnoticed, but he couldn't do anything. He turned to meet the master, who was accompanied by Gyomei, but... Maybe...

'You promise... not to say anything...?', he whispered, Kagaya smiled and pointed to a place next to him to sit down.

Despite being embarrassed, he steeled himself, fuck that shame, the more time passed, the more opportunities he missed

Kagaya waited patiently, he wanted Iguro to gather his courage and comment that he was overwhelmed.

'I'm... In love...' 'Kanroji, right?', Iguro looked up, Gyomei knew?!. 'H-how did you know?'

'Sure, I may be blind, but I can sense and feel people's emotions. When you talk to her everything in you is different. Your tone of voice, your look, your aura, your behavior. Everything changes, it's evident and it's almost impossible not to notice it' 'That's very sweet Obanai, I couldn't expect less from a boy as good as you, but then tell me, if you're in love, why haven't you shown it to her?'

Iguro sighed, but when he looked away he saw Kaburamaru. Well, he guess what should he tell them about, he needed urgent advice and support

'It's because I don't feel like I'm enough for her. I know almost everything about her but she doesn't know anything about me, I haven't told her for fear that she'll panic and hate me or stop talking to me. I want Kanroji to be happy, I want to give her that happiness, but I don't think I can... I'm not enough'

Gyomei cried, reciting his verse and Kagaya's smile diminished a bit, it was not possible for one of her children to feel bad Unless I thought it was insufficient, I couldn't tolerate this.

'Iguro, I'll tell you this and I want you to think my words well. The past does not affect the present, from your words I can realize that your past was sad and complicated, but despite having the option to be cruel, you didn't. You decided to improve and I'm proud of you. I don't think Kanroji cares about that, she's a good-hearted girl and you're a boy who always strives to meet my expectations. And well, with what Gyomei has said, I'm sure that you and she are soul mates. Go ahead, don't be afraid of the answer, trust that you will find happiness', Kagaya gently caressed Obanai's head, he was completely sure that everything would be fine for the couple.

'Oyakata - Sama... Himejima - San... Arigato', Iguro thanked, so he got down to business.

He planned everything, the place, the time, the activities, the food, everything was perfect. Iguro was gaining confidence, those words made him think and reconsider, there was no time to waste, it was now or never

'Okay, today is the day. Finally I will tell her everything I think and feel for her' 'Iguro - San!', she arrived, Iguro kept him calm.

'Tell me, what was so important that you needed to tell me? Or well, show me' 'I was sent on a mission a few days ago, while I was walking I found a tree with beautiful flowers that reminded me of you. I wanted to invite you to have lunch under its fruits', Kanroji blushed and became extremely nervous.

'EH?! Iguro - San and me?! On a date?! I can't believe it!!', Kanroji was excited, it was too much for her, it was so much that Obanai had to move her to wake her up from her trance

The answer was obvious, that's how they both went to the place.

Iguro sometimes looked at Mitsuri out of the corner of his eyes, she smiled as she saw everything, admiring and thanking him for taking her to that place.

'This place is so pretty Iguro-San!' 'I knew you'd like it, now, close your eyes, we're about to arrive and I'd like it to be a surprise' 'E-eh! O-Ok-Okay!', Mitsuri closed her eyes, Iguro took her hands and I carefully led her to the picnic she had planned for so long.

'Are you ready?' 'Of course! Don't make me wait any longer!' 'Then open your eyes', Mitsuri opened her eyes slowly, beginning to water, everything was so beautiful.

It was a picnic under a tree that matched the color of her hair and from which beautiful flowers sprouted that fell on the blanket and the baskets with food, but something was missing, Obanai extended a bouquet of roses towards her, she couldn't take it anymore and began to cry

'Ka-Kanroji-! Why are you crying?! Didn't you like it?!' 'No, I didn't like it...', Iguro's eyes widened, expecting the worst.

'I LOVED!! THANKS A LOT!! IT'S THE BEST THING THEY'VE DONE FOR ME SO FAR!!', Mitsui hugged Obanai, who blushed and felt somewhat uncomfortable, he wasn't used to physical contact, but because it was her, he put up with it

'Kyaaa! This is delicious Iguro-San! Thank you very much again!' 'There's no problem, okay? Huh?', Mitsuri pushed some food to Iguro's mouth, but Iguro immediately shook his head and refused.

'Iguro - San, come on, open your mouth! Eat with me!' 'No thank you I am fine'

Kaburamaru hissed. Iguro hadn't even eaten at home, he must have been hungry, so if he didn't eat something Kanroji offered him, he himself would force it.

For a whole minute, Mitsuri was trying to get Obanai to eat something, but he wouldn't. He knew what was under his bandages would displease him. No matter what his stomach growled at, he wouldn't eat anything.

'Iguro - San...' 'Kanroji-!', Iguro covered his mouth, looked at Kaburamaru, he wasn't on his neck, where was he? A tingling in his back made him jump. 'Damn Kaburamaru, not now! Not in front of her!', Iguro thought, trying to shake his snake out like that, to no avail-

'Iguro - San, everything alright...? Are you getting a fever? Your cheeks are red' 'I-I'm fine-! D-don't w-worry!', Mitsuri put down her food and approached Iguro, noticing that his haori was acting strange, as if something was moving in it.

'Kaburamaru-Kun? Is it inside your uniform?' 'Ye-Yes! O-Okay!', Mitsuri got closer, she could see that under his bandages, Obanai was struggling to hide a smile, Kanroji then understood

'Iguro - San...YOU'RE TICKLISH!', she exclaimed excitedly.

Iguro shook his head, saying that he just felt weird because Kaburamaru was biting him. 'Oh yeah? Then it won't matter if I do this~', Iguro's eyes widened, seeing how Kanroji was coming closer moving his fingers, he tried to get away from her, he only managed to do it a few inches, before Kanroji caught him, hugging him so he wouldn't run away.

'Kanroji, let's talk about this...' 'It's not good to lie Iguro - San, do you know what liars get? Tickles!', Mitsuri squeezed his sides, there was no reaction, maybe he wasn't ticklish there? Wait a second...

Kaburamaru! Mitsuri took a closer look, Kaburamaru was... on his back? Mitsuri blushed and laughed, it was the first time she had seen someone with a ticklish back.

'How about here?', Mitsuri gently ran her fingers along him back, the reaction was immediate, Iguro arched his back and covered his mouth and face with him haori in embarrassment.

'Ka-Kanroji-! I swe-! Gah! I'm-!' 'Again lying Iguro-San? I think you need a little lesson. 'Kaburamaru, could you come out for a moment? I don't want him to hurt you', Kaburamaru came out almost immediately and wrapped himself around Kanroji's neck, well Iguro, it seems that there will be no reason for Kanroji to leave you anymore

Mitsuri gently slid her nails into Obanai's lower back, who in response fell onto her chest, trying as hard as he could not to laugh, it was humiliating. They were alone, but it did not take away humiliating

'Come on Iggy! Laugh for me!' Mitsuri didn't stop, she knew he wouldn't run away, he was trapped in her hug.

'Kahahahanroji-! Grr! MPHM!!!', Mitsuri whispered in his ear. 'Cute~...'

It was enough, Obanai was unable to hold on and began to laugh, trying not to hit Mitsuri with his kicks.

'KAHAHAHANROJI!! STAHAHAHAP!! NOT THE BAHAHACK!! GEAHAHAHA!!' 'Awww~ Iguro-San, you're so cute~! Listen to that giggle! It's the cutest I've ever heard! Not your back? For what reason? Is it too ticklish? Can't stand a few tickles? But everyone needs to be tickled sometimes, don't you think?', damn, Iguro felt his ears burning, the childish tone with which Mitsuri spoke, regardless of the way he tickled,

3 words: Obanai was screwed-

'Besides, today you did a lot for me. You bought me food, you brought me to this beautiful place, I'm sure you must be tired! Come on, relax a bit!' 'WAHAHIT!! I CAHAHAN'T!!' 'Why can't you~?' 'BECAHAHAUSE-...!! I WAHAHANT TO TEHEHEHLL YOU SOMEHEHETHIHIHING!!', Mitsuri stopped, looking at him curiously.

'You wanna tell me something? What's wrong?', Iguro caught his breath, it was only a few seconds but, hell, he didn't think that Kanroji would make him scream in such a short time.

'Iguro-San...?', Mitsuri placed her head on his shoulder, waiting for the answer.

Iguro sighed and took her hands, staring into her eyes...

'Kanroji, do you remember the first time we met?' 'Yes, I remember, it was at Oyakata-Sama's residence, I was lost... But, Iguro-San saved me'

'...I must confess, ever since I saw you, I was planning to ignore you or walk past you and leave you with that problem. But, as time progressed, I was able to get to know you better, you were able to touch my heart. Your charisma, your way of treating others, your kindness and heart really captivated me and I fell in love with you, but I was unable to tell you because I wanted to get to know you better first so I could know everything about you and start a nice relationship. Although it was also because I was afraid, afraid that you wouldn't reciprocate me and get away from me. I'll totally understand if you don't feel the same, I just wanted you to know'

Iguro opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was Kanroji crying. I knew... She didn't...

'I love you too Iguro-San!!', Mitsuri came over and hugged him.

'Your words were the most beautiful that a man has ever said to me! I love you! I am so happy! Every day what happened with you, I forgot my insecurities because you saw me with those eyes of love, my days were brighter and my meals tasted sweeter when I ate with you! I love you so much!', Mitsuri tried to lower Obanai's bandages but he wouldn't let it.

'Perhaps your opinion will change... After seeing this...', Mitsuri didn't care and lowered his bandages, seeing Obanai's scar.

'I know, it's disgusting and disgusting... You don't have to...' 'You don't care about my strange hair color, why should I care about that?', Mitsuri leaned in and kissed him.

'Isn't love pretty?' 'Mhm! Yes it is!' 'Ara~ I thought he wouldn't dare' 'They are made for each other, that's final', commented the hashiras seeing Mitsuri and Obanai return happily holding hands

#demon slayer tickle #demon slayer tickling #ler!mitsuri #lee!iguro #contains obamitsu #mitsuri x obanai #obamitsu

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edogawa-division · 7 months

Text

ヒプノシスマイク -Rhyme Anima- (Fatal Four Ver.)

In honor of Season 2 premiering soon here's this!

Bring the Beat!

[Wicked Requiem:]

Wicked Requiem!

[Yuriko:]

I'll only say this once to any enemies who appear

Dare threaten my family, and the only thing left of you will be a bloody smear

[Kaoru:]

Think you can hide your secrets from me?

Oh, please! Nothing can be hidden from my sight!

[Kanra:]

With the face of an angel and the rage of a devil

Try your luck, I’m just itching for a fight

[Silent Tragedy:]

Silent Tragedy!

[Kanon:]

How amusing, scurrying around my lab like rats

You won't get very far, I can assure you of that

[Reika:]

A girl can get used to this, you know?

The feeling of having the world in the palm of your hands

[Sakura:]

A blood-stained crown rests on my brow

Who are you to give me a command?

[Death Row Block:]

Death Row Block!

[Akihisa:]

Call it a desire for vengeance and strife

But I still have more to do before heading to the afterlife

[Touya:]

Think you can leave me all alone?

Just for that, I’ll make sure to give your throat a slash

[Rintaro:]

What a pretty picture-perfect life you live

Makes me want to burn it all to ash!

[Valor Guard:]

Valor Guard!

[Seiji:]

Tough as steel and stronger than any shield

Even against the entire world, I will never yield!

[Lyall:]

For those who commit the worst of crimes

I’ll see you judged by Anubis the Jackal!

[Ayumu:]

The life of a medic isn't for the faint of heart

You’ll find that it's a constant uphill battle!

[Fatal Four:]

Hypnosis action ends corruption

Lyrics that kick away verses

Nautilus diving into your mind

Attacking by surprise, ignition!

Beyond this endless game

Even if the world ends

We'll continue to fight

At the Division Rap Battle!

[Wicked Requiem:]

Deadly song!

[Yuriko:]

I can see it in your eyes that you’re afraid

Fear not I’ll sing your final serenade

[Kaoru:]

Even if I pray to the Muses for guidance

It's to the goddess Athena whom I dedicate my win

[Kanra:]

Inhumanly born from the deepest pits of hell

The masses would call my existence a sin

[Silent Tragedy:]

Fierce blade!

[Kanon:]

Begging for mercy from a maniac?

Fool, my heart has long since turned pitch black

[Reika:]

How can you say I'm horrible for being evil?

At least I do it with stone-cold style

[Sakura:]

Locked and loaded with my finger on the trigger

I'll gladly put a bullet in your head with a smile

[Death Row Block:]

Execution!

[Akihisa:]

Opposing us is the quickest way to die

Perhaps you ought to say your final goodbyes

[Touya:]

Just the sight of you gets me all hot and bothered

Come on, let's go a few rounds

[Rintaro:]

Think you can run the fuck away?

I’m hot on your heels like a hellhound!

[Valor Guard:]

Duty bound!

[Seiji:]

A warning for all there is very little I fear

Especially when dealing with threats to all I hold dear

[Lyall:]

With eyes that see everything like an owl

I’ll catch you even during the darkest nights

[Ayumu:]

Even when everyone else has long given up

I'll keep on going with all my might

[Fatal Four:]

Hypnosis action ends corruption

Gimmicks that burn synapses

Nobody can stop this now

Ignition!

Now we invite you to catharsis

Rhyming all over the place

Carving into history

With this Division Rap Battle!

[Kaoru:]

Mind racing faster than you can comprehend

Even now it's plotting your bitter end!

[Reika:]

Even decked out head to toe in jewels

I’ll destroy anyone who tries to overthrow my rule!

[Touya:]

Seems like you’re someone no one will miss

How about I seal your fate with a kiss?

[Lyall:]

Hidden like the dark side of the moon

Your doom approaches soon!

[Kanra:]

I’m quick to anger and, with my strength enough said

So careful, or else you’ll end up dead!

[Sakura:]

Don't even think about trying to be brave

You'll only just dig your own grave!

[Rintaro:]

A battle between divisions, call it a nuclear winter!

Leaving nothing but ash and cinder!

[Ayumu:]

I might be here to heal

But that doesn't mean I'll kneel!

[Yuriko:]

That's it I’m done playing nice

It's time I leave you in agonizing pain!

[Kanon:]

A verbal barrage rains upon the psyche

Let's see you undo the damage to your brain!

[Akihisa:]

This is our reality now

One where words have all the power!

[Seiji:]

Opponents stand all around

The Division Rap Battles are no place to cower!

[Fatal Four:]

Hypnosis action ends corruption

Lyrics that kick away verses

The Nautilus dives, invading the brain

Ignition!

Even if what results from this endless game

Is the end of the world

We'll keep resisting

With this Division Rap Battle!

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punkeropercyjackson · 3 months

Text

All of Summer Kent's titles

Sparks(Sidekick)

Ember(Hero)

Va-El(Kryptonian name given to him by Clark)

Ignite(Outlaw)

Black Lantern(briefly had a ring during Rhato)

Superman(Took up the mantle when Clark was in a coma from saving Jon from Ultraman)

Superpunk(Nickname given to him by the Metropolis media when he was Sparks and the only reason he didn't love it was that they meant it as an insult)

Eradicator(Injustice)

Power Girl(Earth M,where Jason never dies ever happened and due to the ripple effects that come with)

Hunter(Earth 5.1,where he's an Arrowfam member,though in the same sense Stephanie is Batfam since Oliver adopting him would make it weird that him and Roy are eachother's love interests in it)

Cora('Mentorship' by Slade-The fact that it's one of Persephone's name's tells you all you need to know)

Superghost(What Dead Sidekicks Force fans call him)

Supermom(replaces Superpunk as his most popular in-universe nickname by New Ember Days)

Princess of Krypton/Queen of Krypton(Earth 118,Knights of Steel instead of the canon run for Superfam focus)

Spiderweb(Earth 1610 but moreso the one i came up with where Jason is Rio and Jefferson's bio kid because Miles and him are brothers in every universe regardless of relation than the standard one with my actual Spidersona)

Potential ones that i don't have interest in developing but that could easily change:Wonder Kid/Drakon(Wonderfam member version),Streak(Speedster verse)and Claws(Selina sidekick variant)

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