#i’ll remember for future reference | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aleksatia · 2 months ago

Text

🍎Caleb – The Tea, the Rice, and Everything Between (NSFW)

🍎 Thank you so much for 100+ reblogs!

As promised — the cut scene is here, and it’s hot. Like multiple-times hot. No angst this time. No tears. Just heat, tension, and everything you’ve been waiting for.

Enjoy, sinners 💋

Original Story: Blind date with your ex-husband. You never expected it to be… Caleb.

CW/TW: explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, squirting, emotionally charged sex, mild dom/sub dynamics, hair pulling, praise, kitchen setting, bath/shower intimacy, established relationship, break-up/reunion themes, references to past emotional conflict

Pairing: Caleb x ex-wife!you Genre: Second-chance romance with heat and history. Exes-to-lovers (again), soft smut built on old ache. Domestic intimacy, emotional vulnerability, tenderness with teeth. Kitchen floor confessions, and sex like remembering. Summary: A blind date gone wrong — or exactly right. What begins as awkward reconnection turns into something slower, deeper: a return not just to each other, but to a shared language of touch, trust, and home. Where sex isn’t just sex — it’s communication. And staying. Word Count: 6.3K AN: This was a cut scene, and honestly, I’m terrified to post something this explicit in English — it’s not my first language. I’ve written smut before, but this time I was genuinely afraid it might ruin the tone of the main story. That’s why I’m relying on your feedback and comments more than ever — to understand how I can make intimate scenes better, and whether you’d want to see this kind of content in future stories, where the sex truly means something.

The kitchen was unfamiliar.

Not because it wasn’t yours — it was. Technically. Legally. But the way he moved in it, casual and precise, made you feel like the guest.

He stood barefoot on the cold tile, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, forearms dusted with fine scars and memory. He opened cabinets like he still remembered where everything was. Like no time had passed. Like his hands hadn’t once learned to forget the shape of your cupboard handles.

“I’ll put the kettle on,” he said, voice low, too steady.

“You make it sound like a peace offering.”

“It’s not,” he replied, not missing a beat. “It’s a ritual. And we need a buffer.”

You didn’t argue.

The kettle clicked into place with a hiss and a red glow. The same model you’d bought when you still lived together. Sleek. Quiet. Fast. He filled it, turned it on, leaned back against the counter like the space belonged to him — or like he’d decided not to care whether it did.

You watched him like you were learning a new species.

There was a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before. Or maybe it had, and now it simply had nowhere to hide. His jaw worked — subtle, steady — as if every moment in this room was a negotiation. With himself. With you.

“You still drink green?” he asked.

“Only if it’s the thyme kind.”

He nodded. Moved to the cabinet.

You saw it before he touched it: the tin. Still there.

Still labeled in your handwriting. Still slightly dented from the time it fell when you were arguing about your night shifts — how he said he missed you, and you said he loved control more than company. You remembered the crash. The silence after. The tea everywhere. You had cried then — not because of the fight, but because the scent reminded you of a week in Kyoto, of a night in a ryokan, of him.

Now, he held it like something sacred. Not romantic — sacred. Like an object recovered from the ruins of something holy.

He didn’t speak as he measured the leaves. The kettle began its low boil, and your breath caught as the room filled with steam and tension and scent.

Caleb glanced at you then — just once. Just enough.

“You always said tea was foreplay for the soul,” he murmured. “Slow. Precise. Intimate.”

You swallowed. The air was too warm. Too full of unsaid things. “And you always made it like you were loading a gun.”

He smiled. Barely. “Still am.”

He poured. No splash. No hesitation. Just a perfect arc of water over leaves, a ritual in slow motion. You watched the steam rise. It curled between you like a phantom limb — reaching, touching, remembering.

Two cups. No sugar. No honey. Just heat and bitterness and memory.

He handed you yours without a word. Your fingers brushed.

Electric.

Your spine straightened like it had heard a command. Your lips parted, but nothing came out. The words you wanted weren’t words at all.

He leaned in, just enough to murmur against the shell of your ear:

“Tell me to stop.”

But you didn’t.

The space between you went taut — a livewire stretched thin.

He didn’t move closer. Not physically. But the way he looked at you — steady, slow, eyes dark and locked — made it feel like the room tilted toward him. Like your body might step forward without your consent.

Your breath shallowed.

He lifted a hand — not reaching, just hovering at his side, like a promise left hanging. The kind you could lean into. Or break.

You didn’t touch it. But your fingers curled.

The distance between you hummed. Your chest rose once — deep, instinctual — and you swore he noticed. Like he felt it.

A beat passed. Then another.

And then — as if some invisible string snapped — you turned away. Not retreating. Just breathing. Moving. Giving yourself an anchor.

You crossed the room, slow and careful, and sat across from him.

Now the table was between you. But it felt like nothing at all.

The sun was low, casting long golden lines across the floor, slicing through the room like truth. You didn’t turn on the lights. Neither of you said it aloud, but it was mutual. Sacred.

Shadows suited you both.

The tea was hot. Thyme, heady and clean. You lifted the cup to your lips, slowly, deliberately — not for the ritual, but for the pause it allowed. A shield. A stall. The steam curled upward, catching the light in fleeting halos.

He mirrored you, his fingers curled around the ceramic just a breath tighter than necessary. You noticed that — the way he always held things as if they might vanish. Or combust.

You took a sip.

Too hot. But you didn’t flinch. You swallowed, slow, and he noticed. You felt it — in the brief silence after, in the way his eyes flicked down to your throat and then back up. It wasn’t a leer. It was worse. It was reverence, edged with hunger.

You felt your breath catch.

He watched you like he was cataloguing reactions. Heat. Shiver. Pulse. The involuntary things. The things you didn’t mean to offer, but did.

“Still drink too fast,” he said softly, voice just this side of amused.

“And you still watch like it’s a crime,” you countered, setting your cup down with a sound softer than your own heartbeat.

That earned a ghost of a smile. The dangerous kind. The one he used when he was testing how far he could push before you snapped.

The room smelled like tea and him.

You hated that you could still pick out his scent from the air. Not cologne — that had faded. But the skin-memory of him. Leather and salt. The way a shirt held heat. The phantom weight of him in a hallway, a room, a bed.

He shifted.

Just enough for his knee to brush yours under the table. Not hard. Not even purposeful. But your breath hitched anyway, and the contact lingered a second too long to be nothing.

Your fingers tightened around the cup.

Caleb didn’t comment. He just leaned back slightly, stretching — a move that pulled his shirt across his chest, arms flexed, body all muscle memory and controlled casualness.

You knew better.

This was performance. Precision. The way predators move when they’re circling.

You exhaled through your nose, slow. Collected.

“Still stretch like you want people to notice.”

He raised a brow. “And yet only you ever did.”

There it was. The shift.

You let it land. Let it sit between you like the steam from the cups, slow and rising.

His eyes caught yours — not sharp, not heated, but slow-burning. The kind of look that traced rather than pierced. Like he was remembering you with his pupils. Carving new versions of you in real time.

“You’re doing it again,” you said, your voice quieter now.

“What?”

“Looking at me like you’re starving.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t deny it.

“I’ve been starving,” he said, simply.

It wasn’t a line. It wasn’t a plea. It was a biological fact, laid bare like bone.

The sun moved lower.

Light sliced across the floor, catching the dust in the air — or maybe ash. Maybe some part of you had already started to burn.

You shifted slightly, and your leg brushed his again — this time unmistakable. This time yours. His jaw twitched.

Outside, a bird cried. Distant. The world, somehow, was still turning.

“You haven’t asked if I want this,” you said, not blinking.

“I don’t have to,” he said, just as soft. “You breathe differently when you do.”

You blinked once. That was all.

Then you picked up your cup again. Sipped. Let the thyme scald your mouth like penance.

The silence swelled. And it was good.

It was weighted and ripe and full of things with teeth. Things that growled low in the chest. Things that waited to be touched.

He reached out — not to you. To your cup. A finger trailing the rim after you set it down, brushing a spot still warm from your lips.

The motion was casual. The meaning wasn’t.

Your mouth went dry.

And still — still — you didn’t move. Didn’t speak. You weren’t ready to break the spell. Not yet.

The air had teeth now. And it was breathing with you.

“Want more tea?” you asked.

You didn’t mean for your voice to sound like that. Too soft. Too deliberate.

But the words were already out, and your body was already halfway to the cabinet, like something inside you had already voted yes.

He didn’t answer.

You moved.

The cabinet clicked open with a familiar sound — that slight hitch in the hinge from years of use. Your fingers weren’t steady. You tried to hide it, but they trembled — just slightly — as you reached inside.

You moved a jar. Then another. Something metal clinked softly. Your hand brushed a tin of loose thyme, nudged a spice grinder. You weren’t really looking — not at first. Just buying yourself seconds. Trying to breathe through the static building under your skin.

Finally, your fingertips found the edge of the tea tin — cool metal, familiar weight — and curled around it.

The weight of the moment settled lightly across your shoulders. But it was growing. And you hadn’t even turned around yet.

Then — you felt him. Behind you.

No sound. No warning. Just the heat of him. The presence.

His chest hovered a breath away from your spine. Not touching — not yet — but so close you could feel the current of his breath ripple the fine hairs at your nape. And then — he moved.

A single hand slid around your waist, gliding low and sure — not possessive, not greedy.

Just anchoring.

His other hand came up beside yours, fingers brushing over yours as they both closed around the tea tin — steady, intentional.

You both held it for a moment. His thumb grazed the side of your hand, and the touch was light, but it hit like a jolt.

Then, without a word, he guided your movements — the rhythm slow, precise, like teaching a forgotten dance.

You opened the lid together. The scent of thyme rose instantly — earthy, dry, sharp in the back of your throat.

His fingers dipped in first, then yours. He didn’t let go — only moved with you, hand over hand, warm against your skin.

Together, you scooped the leaves. Together, you dropped them into the teapot — soft rustle, metal click, heat behind your sternum.

He reached for the kettle, still standing behind you, close. Too close.

He leaned in, his mouth dangerously close to your ear.

“If your hands keep shaking like that,” he murmured, voice like heat sliding down your spine, “you’re gonna drop the whole damn thing.”

His breath skimmed your skin.

“You always did fall apart in the quiet moments.”

You tried to respond. A sound caught in your throat — something between a breath and a whimper — and it stuttered out, betraying you.

That was when his second hand moved.

Up your spine. Slow.

Palm flat, gliding with unbearable care, tracing every vertebra like reading braille — and then curling gently around the back of your neck. Not squeezing. Not yet. Just claiming.

Your body tightened in response. Knees locked. Fingertips trembled.

He pressed in, finally — chest to back, hips aligned, his breath warm at your temple as his hand guided yours to tilt the kettle.

Water flowed. The hiss of the pour filled the room like breath. Steam rose between you

Steady.

But your body — it wasn’t. Your shoulders jerked slightly with each breath, each phantom trail of his mouth near your skin. Your hand twitched, betraying you again. A spasm of want.

A soft clatter overhead.

And then —

crash.

The jar of rice tipped from the top shelf, hit the counter with a sickening grace, and burst — a spray of white scattering across the floor like bones or snow or silence breaking.

You gasped, instinctively.

And that’s when his hand — the one at your nape — clenched.

Not hard. But firm.

The kind of grip that made your lungs freeze mid-inhale. That made your throat work around the air like it was thick with heat. His fingers laced into your hair — not rough, not cruel — just decisive. Unmistakable.

He tilted your head back. Slow. Unrelenting.

And then—

His mouth found your skin.

Not lips. Not a kiss.

Mouth. Open. Hungry.

Along the curve of your cheek. Down to your jaw.

Your pulse jumped beneath his tongue when it hit the hollow of your neck. His breath was wet and warm and anchored, like he was planting a flag with every inch of contact. Claiming space that once was his and never stopped being.

Your hands had no grace left. One flew to the edge of the counter — the other clawed back, found his wrist, fingers digging into his skin. Hard.

Not to stop him.

To feel him. To mark him.

His other hand shifted — lower now — palm pressing flat to your belly, then clenching, dragging you into him, spine to chest, making it absolutely, unforgivably clear just how gone he already was.

You whimpered. This time you didn’t hide it.

It slipped out, molten and trembling, and you felt his grip tighten in response — not enough to bruise, but just enough to make you feel kept.

The room pulsed.

Your breath broke.

And still, he didn’t speak. Because he didn’t have to.

The rice lay scattered on the floor like shattered promises. Your breath fogged the inside of your chest like a storm you’d stopped outrunning. And his mouth — god, his mouth — was still at your throat.

Poised. Lingering. Like he hadn’t even started yet.

He only let go of your neck to turn you around — swift, certain, hands gripping your hips as he pulled you flush against him. You barely had time to gasp before his mouth was on yours, open, hot, demanding.

No teasing now.

His tongue pushed past your lips like he owned the space, like he’d been dying to taste you for years, and you let him — moaning into the kiss, your fingers tangling in his shirt, pulling, clutching, needing.

You wanted him close enough to hurt.

He lifted you, didn’t ask, didn’t warn. Just picked you up by the thighs and laid you down onto the kitchen floor — right where the rice had scattered. Cold tile met your back, shocking at first, but it didn’t matter — not with him above you, between your legs, kneeling, eyes so dark they barely looked human.

He tore your shirt open — buttons flying. No ceremony. Just raw, frantic need.

The leather corset underneath was still on — tight, structured, hugging every breath out of you.

His eyes dragged over it like it was the only thing keeping him sane. And maybe it was.

“No bra?” he rasped, voice wrecked.

You grinned, breathless. “Didn’t expect to come home with company.”

His mouth found your nipple instantly — no hesitation, no teasing prelude, just need.

But once there, he slowed.

His tongue drew slow, deliberate circles around the stiffened peak — not touching it directly at first, just building heat, pressure, anticipation. His breath ghosted over the damp skin between passes, and your back arched, seeking more.

Then he closed his lips around you — warm, wet, and steady — sucking just hard enough to make your breath hitch. Your fingers tangled in his hair, anchoring him there, gasping as his tongue flicked rapidly, then flattened, then flicked again.

You moaned when his teeth grazed you — just a scrape, a warning. Enough to make your hips jerk up against him involuntarily.

And he felt it.

He grunted low in his throat, hand sliding up to cup your other breast, thumb brushing the second nipple with maddening gentleness — then a sudden pinch. Sharp, quick, perfect.

You cried out, biting your lip hard to catch the sound.

He switched sides without a word, mouth latching onto the other nipple like he owned it. This time he bit first — just a nip, followed by a sweep of tongue, a kiss, a suck that made your thighs clench and your breath break into fragments.

You were grinding against him now, fully clothed from the waist down, but soaking through. Desperate.

“Caleb,” you breathed, voice barely holding together.

His mouth didn’t stop. His hands didn’t stop.

He was unraveling you one nipple at a time, with patience, with precision, with a hunger that had waited too long.

“Fuck,” he groaned against your skin, “you still make the same sound when you’re about to come.”

“Keep going,” you panted, “and you’ll hear it again.”

He undid your leather pants with one hand — rough, practiced, fingers tugging at the tight laces, then the zipper. You lifted your hips without being asked, breath catching as the cool air met your skin.

The leather peeled off your thighs slowly, sticking where your sweat had slicked the inside, and he paused, looking down — drinking you in.

Lacy black panties. Damp. Barely holding on.

He let out a low, almost reverent whistle.

“Well, fuck me,” he murmured, voice thick. “Even your underwear wants an audience.”

You laughed, breathless. “You’re one to talk. You look like you just walked off the set of Colonel Kink.”

He smirked. “I was gonna say we looked like a porn parody of Mr. & Mrs. Smith, but hey, I’ll take it.”

Then — the mood shifted. The heat didn’t go anywhere, but it sharpened.

His hands slid up your thighs again — palms flat, slow, thumbs stroking the insides where the skin was most sensitive. He sank to his knees without breaking eye contact, and you felt your breath stall completely.

“Caleb…”

“I’ve missed this,” he said, voice low, honest, almost reverent. “The way you smell when you want me. The way you taste when you’re soaked through your pretty little lace.”

You moaned, hips twitching as his breath hit your core through the damp fabric. He leaned in — pressed his face right against you — and inhaled.

Long. Deep. Like it centered him.

You gasped, one hand flying back to brace on the counter behind you. The other slid into his hair, tight.

Then —

His teeth caught the edge of your panties. He didn’t use his hands. Just his mouth. Slow, deliberate tugs — the lace catching on your hips, your thighs, your knees, until it fell away entirely.

You were shaking.

He didn’t speak.

He kissed the inside of your thigh — once, twice — then let his lips trail up, open, soft, worshipful.

Then his fingers joined in.

Two, sliding through your folds, slow and steady, spreading your slick as his mouth hovered just above you.

You whimpered, hips rolling into his touch.

“Still so responsive,” he murmured, thumb circling your clit with maddening patience. “You always were. Every twitch. Every breath. I could map you blind.”

And then his mouth was on you.

Lips sealing around your clit. Tongue flicking, then flattening, then dragging up through your folds with obscene precision. He moaned against you, the sound vibrating into your skin, and your knees nearly gave out.

His fingers slid inside — two at once — curling just right.

You cried out, legs trembling, gripping his hair like a lifeline as he devoured you with slow, skilled, devastating intent.

Not rushing. Not teasing. Just giving.

Giving you everything.

His tongue moved in rhythm with his fingers — curling inside you, pressing into that spot that made you whimper every time he found it. And he kept finding it. Over and over.

Your thighs started to shake. Your breath turned ragged. Every muscle in your abdomen coiled tighter, tighter, tighter—

“Caleb,” you gasped, voice high and wrecked. “Caleb, I—”

“I know,” he murmured against you. “Don’t fight it.”

And then he flattened his tongue, sucked your clit into his mouth at the exact moment he thrust his fingers deeper — curling, pressing, relentless.

You broke.

Your whole body seized. A strangled cry ripped from your throat as the orgasm tore through you like a wave too big to ride.

And then — you gushed.

Hot, sudden, uncontrollable.

Your release poured over his hand, his wrist, his mouth — and he didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop. He kept licking. Kept sucking. His fingers didn’t let up, coaxing you through every spasm, every twitch, every drop.

You tried to pull away — overwhelmed, oversensitive — but he gripped your hips, holding you there as he swallowed everything you gave him.

When you finally collapsed back against the floor, boneless and shaking, he pulled back just enough to breathe.

His mouth glistened. So did his chin.

And his eyes — fuck, his eyes — were dark. Wild. Unhinged.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then looked up at you.

“You squirted for me,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “You never used to—”

“I couldn’t,” you whispered, chest heaving. “Not like this. Not until now.”

That broke something in him.

He growled — actually growled — and shoved his own pants down, just enough, cock springing free.

Thick. Hard. Already leaking.

You stared — couldn’t help it — and bit your lip.

He didn’t waste time.

He surged up, caught your mouth in a desperate, wet kiss, and growled into it like he’d explode if he didn’t get inside you right fucking now.

One hand on your thigh, the other lining himself up, he ran the head of his cock along your folds — slow, deliberate, reverent — letting the slick heat of your release coat him.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re still dripping for me.” His voice was raw, full of awe and hunger all at once. “You don’t even know what that does to me.”

You moaned, desperate. “Please.”

He didn’t ask again.

He pushed in with one brutal, beautiful thrust — thick stretch, sudden fullness, and your head slammed back against the tile with a moan that echoed off the cabinets.

You were so ready for him — still pulsing from release, still wet and open — and he filled you perfectly. Like he’d been made for this. For you.

“God—” he hissed. “You’re so tight. So fucking tight.”

He pulled out halfway, then slammed in again, harder — and this time, you cried out again. Not from pain. Not from relief.

From the shockwave of it.

From the way his cock hit deeper than his fingers ever could. From the sudden ache of fullness that wasn’t too much — just perfect. Every thrust dragged against oversensitive nerves, still trembling from the last orgasm, and sparked new heat — sharper, lower, hungrier.

Your body clenched around him like it didn’t want to let go. Like it knew this shape. Like it had missed the stretch, the press, the claim of him moving inside.

He felt it.

And you felt him feel it — in the way his hands gripped harder, in the way his breath stuttered, in the way he buried himself deeper, groaning your name like a man being remade from the inside out.

His pace quickened, relentless — no buildup, no mercy — just a driving, desperate rhythm that spoke every word his mouth couldn’t.

He fucked you like he was trying to erase every other man, every ghost, every moment you’d spent apart.

Your back arched. Your heels dug into his ass. Nails raked down his back as he pistoned into you, his dog tags swinging between you with every thrust — cold metal brushing your chest.

You caught them between your lips, sucked them in with a soft moan — and he growled at the sight.

Every thrust slammed your hips into the floor, scattering grains of rice that stuck to your skin like sparks from the fire you’d started.

You were panting, gasping, clawing — but you still wanted more.

“Harder,” you begged. “Fuck — Caleb, harder.”

He snarled, grabbed both your thighs, and bent them up toward your chest, folding you open.

And then he really fucked you. Deep. Rough. Unrelenting.

You felt every inch. Every pulse. His pelvis slammed into your clit with each thrust, sending lightning through your body.

You were close again. So close it hurt.

“I can feel you clenching,” he groaned, eyes locked on yours. “You gonna come on my cock? Right here, on the fucking kitchen floor?”

You nodded — couldn’t speak — hands scrabbling at his shoulders, nails biting deep.

“Say it,” he demanded, breath ragged. “Say who’s fucking you like this.”

“You,” you choked. “You are.”

“Louder.”

“You are! Caleb — fuck, I’m—”

Your orgasm hit like a detonation — white-hot, blinding, body convulsing beneath him as your scream tore from your throat. He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. Just fucked you through it, driving deeper, chasing his own end.

And then — with a low, vicious growl — he spilled into you, hips jerking, cock twitching deep inside as he came with a force that made your thighs shake.

He collapsed over you, panting, body heavy and warm.

The only sound in the room was your breathing. Intertwined. Labored. Wild.

The floor was a mess — scattered rice, your clothes, his pants around his thighs.

But neither of you moved.

His forehead pressed to yours. His hand found your chest — palm over your racing heart — and just stayed there.

You didn’t say a word. There was nothing left to say.

Only this. Only you, full of him, aching and open and alive.

Still drunk on the wreckage of it all.

His breath was still uneven when he moved — slow, deliberate, like your body was made of something breakable. He slipped his arms beneath you, palms warm under your thighs and back, and lifted you off the tile with a quiet grunt.

You didn’t protest.

You curled into him like muscle memory, like gravity, arms looping around his shoulders, forehead pressed to his temple. He was still inside you — thick, warm, softening but not gone — and you gasped as the movement made everything inside shift.

“Jesus,” you muttered, breath catching. “There’s so much... I can’t hold it all.”

He laughed against your cheek — low, hoarse, completely wrecked.

“Well,” he murmured, lips brushing your skin, “you did say you were ready to be filled.”

You groaned, but couldn’t stop smiling. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet you’re clinging to me like I’m the last piece of furniture on a sinking ship.”

“Shut up,” you breathed, nuzzling into his neck. “You feel like home.”

He eased himself back against the cabinets, still holding you, your legs wrapped around his waist, bodies impossibly close. One of his hands came up to cradle your face — fingers tracing your cheekbone, your temple, your jaw — as if checking that you were real. That this was real.

You kissed him softly. Not with urgency this time. Just presence.

It tasted like salt and breath and belonging.

His thumb swept across your bottom lip. Yours followed the line of his collarbone, the dip of his throat, the stubble on his jaw. You both moved like you had all the time in the world — like the world outside didn’t exist.

Only the kitchen. Only the smell of tea. Only the aftershock still pulsing between your thighs.

“You still shake a little after,” he whispered against your lips. “Always loved that.”

You huffed a breath. “I’m trying to have a moment here, not give you a performance review.”

He grinned, forehead pressed to yours. “You passed.”

Then his hips shifted slightly, just enough for his cock to nudge deeper again — still thick, still present — and you shivered.

“…Are you—?”

You leaned back, just enough to glance between your bodies. Then raised a brow.

“Seriously?” you asked. “Already?”

He gave a slow, sheepish smile. “I mean… you’re still wrapped around me. What’d you expect?”

You tilted your head, faux innocent. “Self-control?”

He scoffed. “We’re past that.”

And god — he was right.

Because even now, you could feel him swelling again, twitching back to life inside you, warmth pooling low in your belly as your body responded without permission. You clenched around him — slowly, deliberately — and watched his jaw tighten.

“Don’t start what you can’t finish,” he warned, voice already lower, darker.

You smirked. “I’m not the one starting anything. You’re the one growing like a goddamn resurrection spell.”

He laughed — breathless, wrecked — and kissed you again. Deeper this time. Tongue slow and hungry, hands sliding over your back, your ass, your thighs, like he couldn’t decide what to hold onto first.

You felt the shift again. The air. The way everything started to crackle. Like the storm had only paused. Like it was about to break again — and you were both ready.

You shifted your hips, still seated on him, and he let out a low, strangled breath — head falling back against the cabinet with a quiet thud.

“Fuck, baby…” he groaned. “You’re still so tight.”

You placed your palms on his chest, steadying yourself, and rolled your hips once — slow, languid, letting his cock slide deeper inside you inch by inch. You felt every ridge, every twitch, every pulse.

And he felt everything.

His hands gripped your waist — not rough, but grounding. His eyes locked to yours, pupils blown wide, reverent.

This wasn’t desperation anymore. It was worship.

You started to move. Hips swaying in slow, controlled circles, grinding down on him, letting the heat build again — not like fire this time, but like lava. Deep. Slow. Irresistible.

His hands traveled up your sides, over your ribs, to your breasts — thumbs brushing your nipples with just enough pressure to make your head tilt back, lips part.

“You ride me like you own me,” he murmured.

“I do,” you whispered, breath hitching. “You let me.”

“I’d let you do anything.”

He shifted under you, pulling you closer, burying his face in your neck. His lips grazed your collarbone, your jaw, your throat — slow, tasting, not rushing. His cock throbbed inside you every time you clenched, and you could feel how hard he was trying to hold on.

But you didn’t want him to.

You rolled your hips forward — grinding down just right, pressing your clit against the base of him — and both of you gasped.

“You feel so good,” you moaned, forehead pressing to his. “I missed this. I missed you.”

His hands moved to your ass, squeezing, guiding your rhythm — not controlling it, just keeping pace with your body, your want.

Your mouths met again. Open. Deep. Wet. Tongues sliding, lips sucking, breathing into each other like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room unless you shared it.

“I’m close,” you whispered. “But I don’t want to stop. I want to feel this.”

“Then don’t stop,” he said, voice shaking. “Come on me. Stay on me.”

You did.

You kept moving — long, grinding thrusts, pressure building until it was everywhere — your spine, your chest, your teeth.

Your orgasm came slower this time, but deeper — wave after wave rolling through you as your body shook around him, clenching, holding, welcoming.

You cried out his name, over and over, lips pressed to his mouth, hips jerking with each aftershock.

And he was right there with you.

He gripped your hips hard, fucked up into you twice — deep, sharp thrusts — then groaned deep in his chest as he spilled inside you again, heat blooming between your thighs as his body locked and trembled beneath yours.

But you didn’t let go. Neither of you did.

You stayed wrapped around him — arms tight around his neck, forehead to forehead, bodies still joined, breathing in sync, like something sacred had just been rebuilt between your ribs.

His hands stroked your back. Yours rested over his heart.

No words. Just warmth. Just home.

Then —

A soft crinkle beneath your ankle. Another near your knee. Something tiny, hard.

You both froze.

“…is that rice?” you murmured.

He huffed out a breath, low and amused. “We really fucked right on top of dinner.”

You laughed into his shoulder. “I swear to god, if I find a grain inside me—”

“I’m already praying to Saint Basmati,” he grinned. “Patron of questionable kitchen choices.”

You smacked his arm, still laughing. “Okay, okay. Up. Before the floor gets any ideas.”

He eased you off his lap carefully, his hands lingering as you slid away — and even though he was softening inside you, he groaned like letting go physically cost him something.

You stood, legs a little shaky, wincing as you looked around. The scene was chaos: clothes scattered, skin marked, rice everywhere.

And between your thighs, a slow, unmistakable trickle of cum slid down your inner thigh — warm, sticky, impossible to ignore.

You pressed your legs together out of instinct, but it didn’t help. He’d filled you too much. You were still leaking.

He whistled under his breath. “We might need a priest.”

“We need a vacuum,” you muttered, glancing at the rice field around you.

He chuckled, about to respond — and then his eyes drifted downward.

Paused.

Saw the mess between your thighs. The way it glistened. Trailed down your leg. His expression changed — sharp and slow, heat blooming under the amusement.

He met your eyes again — darker now.

“No,” he said, voice lower. “We need a shower.”

You didn’t argue. Not this time.

He picked you up again — less out of need, more out of want. Because he could. Because you let him. Because, despite everything, it felt good to be carried by someone who knew the shape of you from memory.

The bathroom was warm. Quiet. Your reflection in the mirror looked like another version of you — hair wild, skin flushed, lips kiss-swollen, eyes too full to lie.

The water came first — steam curling like new breath around you both. He reached for the soap, worked it into his hands, and began with your shoulders.

No rush.

His palms slid over your skin slowly — lathering, rinsing, touching. Not to arouse. Not this time.

Just to care.

You returned the favor — ran your hands over his chest, his arms, his back, fingers smoothing over scars you hadn’t seen in months. He watched you. Like he needed to memorize your hands again.

And then —

You felt him.

Hard again. Pressing against your thigh as his hands moved over your stomach.

You looked down. Then back up.

He raised a brow, unashamed.

“You’re ridiculous,” you whispered, biting your lip.

He smirked. “You’re the one rubbing soap all over me. Don’t blame me for biology.”

You chuckled — heart full, body warm — and stepped closer, resting your hand over his chest, right above the beat you trusted more than your own.

“If you’re really ready,” you said quietly, “we can move to the bedroom.”

The implication was clear. And not just about sex.

He saw it. Heard it. Understood.

And didn’t hesitate.

Later —

It was dark. But you didn’t sleep.

You lay tangled together beneath clean sheets, his chest your pillow, his heartbeat your lullaby. One of your hands rested on his stomach, fingers absently playing with his. His other hand threaded through your hair slowly, rhythmically, like he was still washing the day out of it.

The room smelled like skin and steam and thyme. And maybe something new. Or maybe something very, very old.

You didn’t look at him when you asked.

“What does this mean?” your voice was small. Honest. “Are we… together?”

He was silent for a moment. But not because he didn’t have the words.

“I don’t know if we ever weren’t,” he said softly. “Not in my heart. Even when I hated you. Even when I thought I should walk away forever… there was still a thread. Still you.”

You nodded. Bit your lip.

“I get that now,” you whispered. “But I didn’t back then.”

He waited.

You took a breath.

“I think I resented you for how natural it all was. We never really dated. Never had that honeymoon phase. No first kiss under streetlamps or awkward movie nights. No butterflies before a date. Just… us. We grew up together. Shared everything. You saw me cry over my math test, puke with the flu, and have a full-blown breakdown when I didn’t get cast as Juliet in sophomore year.”

You paused, voice thickening.

“I never had to impress you. Never had to put on makeup or play a part. And for a long time, I thought I missed something important. Like I skipped some great adventure.”

He stayed quiet. Let you speak.

“But after you left,” you whispered, “and I tried the whole thing — dating, new people, new experiences — I realized something. None of it mattered. Not without this. Not without you.”

Your fingers tightened slightly in his.

“I don’t need butterflies. I don’t need fireworks. I just need someone who sees me. All of me. And still stays. And god, Caleb, you’re the only man who’s ever done that.”

You finally looked up. Met his eyes in the dark.

“I’m sure now,” you said. “I’m not scared. I don’t need anyone else. You’re it. You’ve always been it.”

He looked at you like you’d just spoken the one truth he’d been waiting his whole life to hear. Then he cupped your face, leaned in, and kissed you — slow, deep, burning.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“I always knew,” he said. “And if all the pain, all the time apart — if all of that was the cost for you to know it too… then it was worth every second.”

You kissed him again, and it wasn’t soft this time. It was full of every promise you hadn’t dared make before.

He rolled you beneath him, slowly, tenderly, and your legs opened for him like instinct. Like welcome. Like forever.

And when he slid into you again — this time in the dark, in the warmth, in the quiet — it didn’t feel like fucking.

It felt like staying. Like choosing.

And when you came, clinging to him, whispering his name into his skin like a prayer — you knew this wasn’t a return.

It was a beginning. And god, it was home.

356 notes · View notes

inupibaldspot · 1 year ago

Text

From you, For him

| Part 2 of At him, For him

Note ₊˚⊹♡ : Normal like no curse and stuff AU where Gojo is in love with Geto’s lover but this time he has the chance to change everything. This contains time travel!

I wrote it in a way you can understand what’s happening even if your don’t read part 1 btw

·:*¨༺ Part 1 ༻¨*:·

Gojo Satoru feels as if he can’t breathe.

He inhales. His chest hurts and he has a horrible attempt at keeping his glazing eyes in check as he fakes a smile and claps his hands together; there was a blur silhouette of Geto and you in a distance in tears ,both wearing matching rings.

“Woah—! Congratulations you two.” Shoko smiles wildly as she brings her hands close to her mouth,cheering. She briefly turns to Gojo and looks back at the couple. “Keep it together,Gojo… you’ve done that for years so why bother showing it now.”

Gojo lets out a laugh. “How cruel…” of course Shoko knows he has had this unrequited love for years. He breathes out. “I’ll head out for a second.”

Shoko nods as she reaches out and puts a cigarette and lighter in his pocket. He mutters a ‘thanks’ as he opens the door, cold breeze immediately greeting him. He breaths in again as his hands search for warmth in his pockets, turning to the alleyway.

Once when he is secluded, he brings out the piece of cigarette Shoko handed him earlier as he places it in between his lips, his hands bringing up the lighter with one on the lighter as the other hand wraps to protect the small flame.

He did not smoke often—more like he didn’t even the last last time he did. Gojo sucks in a breath, his throat feels hot but his chest is lighter, no-he remembers smoking back in high school simply because of Shoko and Geto. His only two friends would leave him for smoke breaks and he didn’t want to be left alone so he simply picked up the habit.

Gojo quit after he met you since he didn’t feel the need to tag along Geto and Shoko anymore.

Somewhere in between college,meeting you and now, he didn’t seem to care anymore.

“Hey kid.”

“Fuck!” Gojo jumps, his teeth biting into the cigarette as his eyes glare sharply in the direction of the sound. A man sits along the far end of the alley way, away from him.

The white haired man contains his jumped heartbeat as he walks over the man who called him over. His eyes trail the dress he wore; it was a traditional dark piece of clothing and beads around his hand. This man was cosplaying as a Priest.

He didn’t say the word ‘cosplay’ lightly because first, to begin with, the man in front had a ‘magic ball’ in front of him as if he was waiting for people to share their future and second, he wasn’t too serious because boy—! That monk had thick hair on his head, not the shaven look you’d normally see.

Gojo met scammers; near the shopping center, outside popular restaurant and tourist attractions, by his house ringing on his doorbell and right now, infront of him.

“What‘cha gonna tell me,old man.” Gojo says as he peers in, with also taking in a puff of smoke. “That I’ll be having a wife and two kids in my 30s… If it’s not that, it means one of you is lying.” By ‘one of you‘ refers to the scammer-I mean fortune teller he let in his house because he was bored.

“Hahaha-! That’s not it.” The man laughs as he faces Gojo directly, it was then when he finally notices a stitch mark which stretches across his forehead. “Just wondering if you’d ever regretted things… ‘things’ which you wished you could go back and change..”

Gojo laughs as he drops the half-piece of cigarette on the ground, stomping on it. No long interested. “Of course. I still wish I could go back in time and not erase my answers because my teacher made all the answers to the MCQ ‘c’ just when I didn’t study.”

Fuck—just why did Yaga REALLY do that? Gojo thinks back at the thought.

“That’s what I like to hear.” Gojo turns when he hears the man speak.

The man stands close—very close to him as his hands were making a V-sign (a peace sign) , fingers pointed near his eyes before the old man was stabbed into his eyes.

“Oh my god— shit! That hurt, old man.” Gojo places his hands on his eyes as he tries to soothe the pain from it. “What are you trying to do—huh…?”

He blinks once.

Twice.

He takes a deep breath. ‘It’s fine.’ He thinks to himself. ‘I’ve just lost my mind a tiny bit because y/n and Suguru are getting married.’

Gojo let out the breath and opened his eyes. Same scene. He was by a tree, near a building; he remembered this place being behind the building for the Class 1-3 who were studying the normal curriculum whereas advanced classes of class 4-5 students were in another building.

“What the actual heck is happening?” Gojo grumbles as he looks at the calendar on his phone. He was back in high school. He was sent back in time by about 7 years. “Fuck… I guess that man wasn’t a quack….”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“That’s why I need you to help.” You wiggled your toes in your shoes as you stand, smiling. The teacher,Yaga Masamichi, was in front of you, sitting on his chair as he continued to talk- maybe complain would be a better word- about a certain boy from the advanced class. “The boy is smart but he lacks discipline! He needs someone as hardworking as you and maybe it’ll rub on to him.”

You’ve heard of Gojo Satoru. You’ve never seen him but he was very infamous in high school . First, for being the son of the Gojo Estate. Two, for being a very tall, conventionally attractive boy. Third, for being a delinquent.

And that last part bothers you a lot, you’ve heard him get into fights, rumors of him smoking along the alleyway, ripping love letters into pieces and recently he skipped over all his tests making him fail his mid-terms.

You gulp. Hope he doesn’t beat you up…

Just then the door to the staff room slides open. You see enter, he was tall with white hair and lashes and the eyes in the most beautiful shade. No way this was Gojo right? He was so— beautiful.

Did he just make eye contact with you?

“Gojo come here.” Yaga calls out as he huffs. Gojo clears his throat as he walks to the teacher. When he was close enough Yaga continued. “This is y/n and I’m assigned to be your teacher. She’ll make sure you get all your works done plus make you study for the reassessment for the exam you skipped on.”

You watch Gojo who was towering beside you raise his hands and brought it up to his face, but from the angle you see the upward turn on the corner of his lips. Why was he smiling?

“Isn’t this -he points at you- from the normal department?” You huff when you were referred to as ‘this’. “You sure she is smart?”

“Don’t mess with y/n just because she isn’t from the advanced class— And also! In the last exam she was placed third overall , right below Suguru.” Yaga shouted back.

Your eyes trail back to him when the boy beside you seemed to still, You’ve heard of Geto Suguru too. Apparently a boy from the advanced class who was also popular for his good looks. But not only that— he had a delicate aura around him which makes people like him and to add on he was very much academically smart.

Gojo lets out a breath, as if it were more of an amazement in your opinion. You watch him take a small step back as he turns around and gives you a smile, god was unfair when he crafted this smile. “Then please take care of me, my tutor.” His face was close to yours.

‘My.’ You face almost burst with heat.

“Gojo stop bothering y/n.”

“Ouch—! That hurt sensei.”

Ever since then, once you hear the bell ring indicating school was over for the day, there would be Gojo poking his head into your class with a boyish grin plastered on his face, he takes your book-filled bag, slings it over his shoulder as you guys would walk to the library.

He sometimes passes by your classroom which is in the opposite building whenever he wants to go to the restroom in between classes—I mean he never did specify which restroom, hoping to catch a glimpse of you.

And when he does, his gaze flickered towards you, taking in the way your gaze reflected the warm sun from outside.It becomes clear to Gojo then that even now, despite everything—in between ever but of confusion, anger and guilt, he doesn't actually want to lose you. To his best friend. To anyone else.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Warm.

The way the curtains fluttered from the gentle wind, letting in a cool breeze and a glow of the evening sun and you. You sitting not even an arm's length away and just like the pace of his heart which picked up, pushing every worry he could still have further and further away because there was no space for those in that moment.

There was just you. And he could feel your presence a lot closer now, her warmth not far away from him.

God, you were beautiful.

So beautiful, he would not mind spending the rest of his life memorizing each feature belonging of yours.

“Stop staring at me.” You let down the pen you were holding, looking away from your homework.

“I can’t stop.” He admitted.

You huff, the smirk on Gojo widened as he could see a faint color rush to your cheeks. “Just do your work…” you wave him off as you grumble.

“I’m already done,love.” He continues his teasing.

You pink as you let out a small shriek at the nickname; you rush close to him as you cover your hands on his mouth. “Shut up—Gojo, I don’t want to be murdered by your fangirls because of this.”

He pecks your hands by pursing his lips forward, into the palm of your hands making you shriek once more pulling away.

“Gojo!” You glare at him as you reach your hands out and comically wipe your hands on his blazer as he laughs at your reaction. He leans forward as he looks at your books. “What’s this?” He asks.

“Ah…” you say as you bring out a book closer to him. “I’m studying for my entrance exam for this university.”

“Already?” But that’s like months away.

“Yeah.” Your voice is laced with a smile, gojo almost sees shining glitters surrounding you. “It’s like… kind of my dream as a kid to go here.”

Gojo laughs at how adorable you sounded. “Why that university though?”

“My parents-“ you turn almost too quickly to face him but then you stop yourself as you clear your throat. “My parents went there and that’s how they met and fell in love.”

“Ah…” Just like you and Geto… His heart pains again as he is reminded.

You bend down as you lean your head on the table, letting out a sigh with your hands on your sides. “I hope I get in though…”

“You will.” He says confidently. He knows you will. “Nerds like you will get in.”

“Gojo, I’m not a nerd.”

“Whatever you say, princess.”

“I’m not princess either!”

“Sure thing, love.”

“Oh— Gojo,stop that!”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“I need you to be serious, Satoru!”

He listens to you shout, even without turning to your direction he could basically sense you ‘huffing and puffing’, a habit you took till adulthood. He reaches out into the bushes, pushing the leaves away. “I am—! Sheesh, let me breathe.” Gojo laughs.

You two were currently near the patch of grass by the football ground; you had lost your key to the music club room—a room which was basically unused but you guys needed a room so you two can continue on with your study lessons.

You bend to look over the bushes while Gojo does around the bushes checking every shrub. “Oh lucky— someone’s cigarette and lighter is hidden here.” His smile widens as he reaches out for the gift, someone had kept here. “Satoru, don’t steal others' stash.” He puts it down upon hearing your words.

“So this where you go after classes,Satoru?”

He knew it was inevitable but he hoped he could extend it for as long as he could.

In front of him, holding a key was Geto Suguru, smiling at him with Shoko, a lollipop in her mouth peers over from beside him. “What you doing?”

Geto throws him the key at him which is catches instantly.He wanted the two of his friends meet you but he selfishly hoped it would be after like maybe, after you and Gojo date. Wow—what an optimistic! Gojo gulps, afterall what would he do if the two of you fall in love again?

“You found it!” You jump, unaware that the two figures were his friends. You turn your head to look at him, at him. Despite Geto Suguru standing near you, you looked at Gojo. The white haired boy’s heart pulsed, the slow and steady pump now erratic and heavy with emotions. Just you looking at him with a smile, at him like he was the only one on the planet m. For the first time.

“Who is this?” Shoko says as walks to to the bush and sticks her hands in. You laugh. “That cigarette was yours?” Shoko nods.

“This… this is y/n.” Gojo grumbles, speaking low. “She is helping me with my reassessment.”

“That’s what you get for skipping assignments and test.” Shoko teases.

Geto laughs.

Gojo eyes at your reaction and sighs in relief when you were still acting the same. Thank god, there was nothing of that ‘love at first sight’ going on. “I don’t need to take those test.Even Yaga knows I’m smart.”

Your roll your eyes. “I guess we won’t have those study sessions of now on, Gojo.”

“Wha— no! I need it.” Gojo jumps, as he comically starts shaking you, as if he got the most shocking news of the century. “No- nope! You can’t do that. I need you—!”

“Geto, let’s get going now.” She turns. Shoko looks over to Gojo, they make eye contact and the brown hair girl smiles.

He knows that smile.

That’s the smile Shoko gives when ever she figures out something. And equipped with a teasing look, Gojo is certain she knows that he is in love with you. “Good luck,Gojo.” With his studies or with you? Geto gives you guys a wave as he also turns around and walks way.

From then onwards, it’s as if the friendship which you guys have in the future,college days were happening now. Hanging out, study sessions, sometimes sneaking into parties and café date; the four of you. Just like right now as you’re in Gojo’s room, a flat rented nearby your future college.

“No way.” Shoko starts. “We’re all going to be attending the same college.” Her smile widens when you cheer and jump into her arms, she quickly looks over and sees a fond smile on Gojo’s face…hilarious!

Geto laughs as he takes a sip on his coffee as the two girls snuggle closer to each other. “Did you know about this?” He peers over to Gojo who finally seemed broken from his trance—you.

Gojo nods. “Yeah… I mean I’ve seen her study for her exams.” He clears his throat. “Have you played the new ‘digimon’ game?” He changes topic, whenever Geto speaks of you or to you, it makes him feel small. This isn’t good. He relishes this yet it was suffocation. Gojo would never hate his best friend—never, but sometimes it’s insecurity and sometimes it’s guilt which swallows him whole. ‘Is this okay?’

Shoko breaks away from the hug and she pulls on your cheeks fondly, she thinks you’re the most adorable human as she turns to Geto. “Smoke break.” Geto smiles and nods, following behind Shoko who led the way.

Gojo turns to you, eyes carefully trying to take in your presence that is before he notices something—your eyes are ‘lingering.’ He follows your gaze, carefully in the direction.

You were looking at Geto.

All emotions are wiped from his face. Gojo knew this could happen, you can fall in love with Geto all over again. He was the one who was messing with fate and time, yet— it hurt.

You turn to Gojo, your face tilts up to meet his gaze as your lips turn into a teasing smile which quickly flatters when you see Gojo’s expression. Your heart settles and softens, you relax and reach over the table to grab one of his hands. “…Satoru?”

He turns to you, and smiles. “Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

“No…just thinking.”

You gulp wondering why it felt as if suddenly there was a huge rift when they were barely centimeters apart; for someone as big as Gojo his voice was so—so small. “…About?” You were almost scared to ask.

“Are you in love with Suguru?” Gojo beats himself for this, he has gone and done it now!

You tilt your head. “where did that come from?”

“Friends don’t give each other love-filled lingering looks.” He scoffs. “So tell me-“ no he was being pushy. Gojo felt so backed into a corner for a moment but when he locked eyes with you, he was hurting you with the way he was acting.

He stands up. “I think I need some fresh air.”

“If I did love him, what would you do?”

Were you testing him?

“Please—please don’t fall for anyone but me…” he mumbles.

You watch as he slumps down on the floor, on his knees, burying his face into his hands, curling up almost as if to protect himself. Gojo is no longer confident egoistic boy you know, right now he seemed so weak; as if he was tired after a long journey. “I have surrendered myself to you for all of time; past, present and future I am yours…”

Your head is dizzy with all this information. You need time, you need clarity. Gojo feels like he is losing himself in his thoughts and also rambles with no coherence to what his mind has to say. “I don’t know what do do with this emotion but if I try to stop them they overflow and-”

His heart seemed to thud to a stop in his chest and then start up again erratically, hands seemed to be incapable of doing anything other than hang close by his sides.

“Satoru, I love you…” you whisper and it is only then when he realizes you were also on your knees in front of him, thumbs wiping tears from his cheeks. “I’m sorry for joking— I don’t love Geto. It’s you I love. Don’t hate me?”

How can he hate you when you were still his everything: you were his everything even when you were intertwining hands with someone else?

“It’s me?” He breathes out. “Did you say you’re in love with me?”

You nod.

“Oh wow.” He says which makes you laugh.

“I love you…” He says, years of these words inside the depth of his heart, was dug out. “From the bottom of my soul, I’m head over heels for you, my love.”

You almost cry at his tone, so gentle.

He caresses your hair, tenderly, running his fingers through the soft, silky strands. When he eventually has his hands on your cheeks; your cheeks flushing as he gazes at you, captivated by your presence. Your eyes sparkle with wonder, your lips plush and rosy.

You are flawless, perfect in this moment and beautiful in his embrace.

Gojo didn’t even realize when he started to get so close to you. His lips pressed against her pulse in a kiss before he nipped the skin.His limbs burned where he touched you, you were warm. So it was cold after all, he realized somewhere along the line. His hands were freezing, clinging to your lower back.

Gojo wants to stay like this, holding you for a minute longer or forever.

A whisper in his head was telling him to let go—that it wasn’t right, but Gojo wouldn't. He was hanging onto a life line, it hurt, but if he let go now, he would drown.

Gojo was vulnerable. And you kiss him back. Kiss him till he is fine. Kiss him until all his worries fly— till he understands, you are equally so stupidly in love with him.

Unbeknownst to you two, Shoko peeks over inside the door, a small crack reveals what’s inside “You think they’re done?”

Geto laughs. “Of course not…but give them more time and they’ll be in bed.”

Shoko laughs lightly making sure she isn’t spotted yet as she then peers over to the taller boy beside her. “What about you? You good?”

“Yeah… it was just a crush.” Geto looked at Shoko from the corner of his eyes and his lips curl into a smile. Shoko was always so observant.

Taglist ˙✧˖° 🫧 ⋆｡—I tagged people who voted for time travel! Hope you guys don’t mind: @uuu55r64z46 @leviswifey-act62 @royaleashlyn @bakananya @bejwls @ritsatoru@washeduphasbeen @satorus-babygirl

Reblogs, like and comment are appreciated! Love this work? Check out other here

1K notes · View notes

gay-dorito-dust · 9 months ago

Note

How would Jason and Dick react to their smol fem!s/o squishing their face into their thick tiddies like that meme* with giggles?

Dick

Would only think that he wasn’t close to you for his own liking and nuzzled his face further into your chest, making noises similar to that of a purring cat.

He just loves being close to you however he can, sexual or not, and values it no matter what as he found physical touch between the two of you rather relaxing, calming and therapeutic as it was a form of affection that required the least amount of words.

Not that he hates talking, no, sometimes he values the quieter moments shared between the two of you and live in the moments where you are existing in the same space and are just happily living.

‘You enjoying yourself there?’ You asked as you ran your fingers through his hair, amused.

‘Suffocation is an acceptable death, anyone who says otherwise are cowards. Write that on my gravestone babe, it’ll be put into debate for the future generations to decipher what it means.’ Dick murmurs as his mind was in a state of pleasurable bliss and a smile spread wide across his face, the warmth of your skin was addicting and he even dared to press some appreciative kisses against your chest.

You chuckled. ‘I’ll try but I’d much rather have you alive to enjoy moments like these in the future.’

‘You��re suffocate me with your chest more often?!’ Dick asked, lifting his head from your chest to look at you with wide eyes, you scoffed and shoved his face back into your chest, only to feel the appreciative kisses being peppered against your skin.

‘Just enjoy the moment dickie bird, enjoy the moment.’ You replied, fingers running through his hair as soon enough drifted into a peaceful slumber.

Jason

He loved any and every chance to be affectionate with you, but for you to push his face into your chest? He’s frozen for a brief moment as his mind tries to catch up as to what he did to deserve this treatment.

He couldn’t and would try to ask you whether it was okay for his face to be in your tiddies, as if you weren’t the one who shoved his face in that specific area in the first place; he wants you to be comfortable with him being shoved in those places as your comfort was more important than his own.

Which you’d contradict and say that his comfort was your priority and more important and that you were more than happy to have his face shoved into your chest; you wouldn’t done so if you weren’t comfortable with him being there.

So Jason will gradually react and hum in content as he closes his eyes, taking in how he could hear your heart beating, feel you breath in and out, how warm you were against him. He finds it grounding and soothing for his mind to feel you alive in such simple ways as these. He’ll lock his arms at your waist and hold you close, his face burrowed into your chest as he breathed you in deeply and feeling deeply comforted.

‘You okay there Jason?’ You asked softly, not wanting to disturb this peace that Jason had made for himself.

‘I love feeling everything that reminds me that you’re alive, that you’re safe.’ Jason replied with sincerity, making your heart melt and a smile blossom across your face.

‘Does it comfort you jay birdie?’ You ask again, wanting Jason to feel nothing but comforted within your embrace, remembering this for future reference should you need to comfort him on the fly.

‘Very, thank you for allowing me into your heart chipmunk.’ Jason says as he kissed the middle of your chest, before resting his forehead there as he once again thanks whatever higher power for granting him you.

885 notes · View notes

genshinluvr · 9 months ago

Text

The Nation of War

Pairings: Various Genshin Men x Isekai'd!Reader

Summary: Upon stepping foot in the Nation of War, Aether and Paimon offers to give you and the men a tour around the beautiful nation. However, during the exploration/tour of the nation, you all meet Aether and Paimon's friends from the Pyro Nation. One friend in particular captures your attention— and it is not human. Also, are you allowed to have... pets (?) at the abode?

Note: Since the little Tepetlisaur Whelp we meet in Genshin doesn't have a specific given name, I decided to name the Saurian "Dakarai" for this fic and any future fics he makes an appearance in. I named my Saurian companion because it's fitting, and I don't have the heart to change it to something else. If you're not a fan of the name I picked for this fic (and future fics if he makes an appearance), then feel free to change it! :> Anyway! I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr), Ko-Fi (also Genshinluvr/Aaliah_exo), and AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: None that I know of 🤔 Natlan characters are probably out of character. Zhongli and Neuvillette being jealous again (hehehe)

Word Count: 5.4k

“Remember to stick close to us so you won’t get lost. We’ve been to Natlan many times and would hate for you to get lost.” Paimon says, looping her arms around yours as you, Paimon, Aether, and the others enter the Nation of War.

Is Paimon referring to the time when you got lost in Fontaine and Wriothesley and Neuvillette were the ones who found you? If so, she didn’t need to call you out like that. Sometimes, your sense of direction is great! Other times… not so much, but not once has it gotten you killed!

You look at your surroundings in awe. Natlan is a beautiful nation— wait, is that a dinosaur? You snap your neck to look at the others, pointing at the tall creature with eyes the size of saucers. Aether chuckles and pats your head. “I had the same reaction when I first saw the long-necked rhino,” Aether says.

“Is there a reason why you brought us to Natlan? Not that I’m complaining, I’m rather curious.” Diluc says, crossing his arms over his chest as he takes a step closer to you in case a Fatui Agent decides to attack.

You rub the back of your neck before raising your hand. “It’s my idea to go to Natlan, actually.” After hearing countless stories about Natlan from Aether and Paimon, it makes you want to visit the nation. A nation that has roaming dragons— also known as Saurians, how can you not want to visit?

“What are we going to do in Natlan aside from exploring?” Gorou mutters, looking at his surroundings curiously, his ears twitching at the littlest unfamiliar sounds around him.

Aether and Paimon shrug while you continue to look at the wild Saurians with excitement. There are so many of them roaming around! And some of them have human companions by their sides! From a distance, a small roar pulls you out of your thoughts. You turn to see a small Rex Lapis-looking creature charging at your group at full speed.

Itto stretches his arm out in front of everyone, glaring at the approaching creature. “Don’t worry, everyone! I’ll protect us all from this tiny menace!” Itto announces.

In the blink of an eye, the creature burrows into the ground, disappearing from sight. Itto blinks and lets his arm fall at his side, confused about where the little creature has disappeared off to. The small creature hops from the ground, roaring almost cutely. It waddles towards Aether and Paimon, bouncing with excitement.

You cover your mouth, suppressing a squeal. “Who is this cutie?!” You coo.

Paimon props her hands on her hips and floats beside the adorable creature. “[Y/N], everyone else, meet Dakarai! He is our,” she gestures to her and Aether, “traveling companion! He’s a Tepetlisaur Whelp.”

Dakarai, the Tepetlisaur Whelp, looks at you curiously, tilting his head to the side. You quietly squeal, taking a few steps toward the Saurian and holding your hand out for him to sniff. Is that what you’re supposed to do when introducing yourself to a creature? Dakarai leans toward your hand, sniffing your hand while gazing at you curiously.

“You’re so cute, Dakarai,” you whisper, continuing to examine the adorable Tepetlisaur Whelp. “Can I bring you home with me?” You pet the adorable Saurian as he excitedly roars.

Your heart feels like it can burst at any second because of how cute Dakarai is. He’s half your size, so you don’t think you can sneak him back to the abode if you did try to bring him back. Are you even allowed to take Saurians out of Natlan? It’s not a crime, is it?

Thoma sighs, crossing his arms over his chest while shaking his head, pouting. “I can’t believe that I’m jealous of a Saurian,” Thoma mutters, chuckling to himself.

Ayato chuckles, watching you and Dakarai interact with each other. The Tepetlisaur Whelp examines you from head to toe curiously, shuffling from side to side to get a 360 view of you. You did the same, cooing over the littlest thing Dakarai does. You’re almost in tears over how cute the Tepetlisaur Welp is, holding back the urge to bring him into a crushing hug and take him back to the abode.

Ayato leans towards Thoma, not taking his eyes off you and Dakarai, whispering, “We should keep an eye on [Y/N] in case they try to Saurian-nap Dakarai.”

Thoma hums, nodding in agreement with the Kamisato Heir. Dakarai turns around, wiggling his tail, when you notice the orange-yellow handkerchief wrapped around it. Paimon and Aether tell you the backstory of the said handkerchief.

After explaining the backstory, the journey to the Stadium of the Sacred Flame continues. Of course, Dakarai tags along. Instead of being by Aether and Paimon’s side, Dakarai sticks by you while you continue to fight the urge to snatch him up.

Kaeya chuckles, shaking his head while he watches you pet the top of Dakarai’s head. “It looks like another dragon has captured [Y/N]’s heart,” Kaeya comments, glancing at Zhongli and Neuvillette from the corner of his eyes (eye?) with a teasing smile.

Zhongli and Neuvillette huff, looking away from Kaeya’s teasing gaze. Dakarai is adorable, yes, but is he powerful enough to protect you from harm's way? Probably, but Zhongli and Neuvillette digress! There’s a dark aura surrounding both Zhongli and Neuvillette as they watch you fawn over Dakarai. You stop in your tracks and snuggle the Tepetlisaur Whelp after getting approval from Dakarai. Dakarai is more than happy to be on the receiving end of your affection, wrapping his arms around your waist while you hug him tightly.

Thunder cracks in the distance as dark, ominous clouds roll in, replacing the once-sunny sky. Everyone freezes while Dakarai tilts his head, trying to process where the sound is coming from.

You slowly release the Tepetlisaur Whelp, looking at your beloved boyfriends worriedly. “I didn’t know it was going to rain today,” you say, propping your hands on your hips as you listen to thunder clapping in the distance.

Rain has yet to pour, thank the Archons, but you and everyone else still have a long way to go. You turn to Neuvillette, who has a stoic look on his face. You two make eye contact, and he quickly diverts his attention elsewhere. You frown and look at Zhongli, who shakes his head with disapproval before walking towards you.

Zhongli sighs, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. “No need to fret, dearest. I came prepared for situations like this,” Zhongli says, pulling out an umbrella.

Dakarai roars softly, staring at the umbrella curiously. Zhongli holds the umbrella towards Dakarai’s direction, watching the Tepetlisaur Whelp sniff and analyze the contraption. After sniffing and analyzing the contraption, Dakarai takes a step back and looks up at Zhongli. Zhongli smiles and presses his hand on Dakarai’s head, gently petting the creature. You squeal, pulling a Kamera out of your satchel, and quickly snap a photo of Zhongli and Dakarai together. Zhongli and Dakarai freeze when the light flashes, blinking at you.

Childe clears his throat, wraps his arms around your waist, and rests his chin on your shoulders. “Snookums~! I understand you love taking pictures of things that make you smile, but I think we should continue our journey to the Stadium of the Sacred Flame, or else we’ll get rained on,” Childe says, gesturing to the even darker sky.

Scaramouche rolls his eyes, muttering, “For once, I agree with this idiot.”

Childe ignores Scaramouche’s comment and proceeds to drag you towards the Stadium of the Sacred Flame. Everyone follows closely behind, and of course, Dakarai is by your side. Occasionally, you will bring your Kamera out to snap pictures of nearby Saurians from a safe distance. As much as you want to run up to one and snatch one up for yourself, seeing the fully grown Tepetlisaurs scares you, and you don’t want to be tossed around in front of your beloveds and the Tepetlisaur Whelps.

“Aether! Paimon! Is that you!?” A girl hollers from a distance.

Aether stops in his tracks and turns to see two girls and a boy barrelling toward him and your group. The two girls stop in front of Aether and Paimon, tackling them into a hug. Aether and Paimon greet the two girls while you and the other men awkwardly stand there.

An obnoxious voice interrupts the sweet reunion, “Aw, how sweet! A reunion between friends from afar! Barf!” You turn to see a small floating creature— what is he exactly?— approaching your group with a bluish-black-haired male following behind.

The man rolls his eyes, giving your group an almost sympathetic look. “Ignore Ajaw. This is how he usually is,” the man says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh? I’m surprised you have this many friends, Aether. Is it hard to tolerate someone as annoying as him?” Ajaw asks, snickering.

Everyone stares at Ajaw, unsure of what to say. You, on the other hand, look at Ajaw from head to toe. For someone as small as him, he sure is bold. You’re not sure how the man beside the small creature tolerates that much annoyance. Noticing your stare, Ajaw flies towards you, floating really close to your face.

“Hey, you! You look interesting out of the bunch— or should I say, you look boring compared to the rest of the group! Ha! What makes you so special, huh?” Ajaw asks, flying around you like an annoying fly. “Everyone has a vision, minus yourself! Heh, I bet you’re not—”

“Alright, that’s enough, Ajaw,” the bluish-black-haired man interrupts the creature.

The creature— Ajaw, gapes at the man before sputtering incoherent nonsense, thrashing his tiny arms around. Without a single word, the man brushes Ajaw away, sending him into the air before disappearing. Everyone shields their eyes, searching for the flying menace, only to no avail.

The man sighs, shaking his head. “I apologize for Ajaw’s behavior. I would say that he wouldn’t do it next time, but…” he trails off, rolling his eyes.

Paimon clears her throat, nervously laughing. “Let me introduce you all to each other! This can take some time.”

Both Aether and Paimon take turns introducing each person to their friends from Natlan. Ajaw definitely doesn’t need an introduction, and thankfully, he’s not present throughout the entire introduction. The introduction itself doesn’t take as long as you thought it would. However, after the introduction, Ajaw did return, much to your dismay.

“We can show you around Natlan if you’d like! Although I’m not sure where you guys are headed to…” Mualani trails off, stroking her chin.

Venti shrugs his shoulders. “We’re okay with going anywhere! We initially plan on going straight to the Stadium of the Sacred Flame! But we’re open to going anywhere since Windblume has been taking a lot of pictures!” Venti says, throwing his arm over your shoulders.

Kachina’s eyes light up, excitedly running up to you. “Oooh! What did you take pictures of? Can I see?” Kachina enthusiastically asks, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

You smile and happily show the collection of images you took while exploring the Pyro Nation. Most of the pictures are of Saurians— Tepetlisaur Whelps, to be more specific. They’re just so cute that you couldn’t resist taking photos of them from a safe distance. One photo that stands out from the rest (your favorite photo) is a selfie of you and Dakarai.

Kinich looks up only to see you attempting to carry the Tepetlisaur Whelp. Dakarai squirms in your arms, looking around quizzically. You place Dakarai on the ground, panting. Archons, it’s like holding a mini boulder.

Mualani giggles and covers her mouth. “It looks like you’re incredibly fond of Tepetlisaurs! If you’d like, I can show you a spot where many of them are usually gathered,” Mualani offers, nudging you lightly with her elbow. “The skies have cleared up, so they should be around!”

Your eyes light up. “Ooh! Can you?” You squeal.

Mualani and Kachina giggle, grabbing hold of your wrist before dragging you in the opposite direction with the others watching. Xiao looks over at Zhongli and Neuvillette from the corner of his eyes; the two men look displeased. The once-gray skies have cleared up, but it looks like the rain clouds will be showing up in a moment.

The group follows you, Mualani, and Kachina to where the Tepetlisaur site is located. Once everyone arrives at the site, there’s a lot of Tepetlisaur and Tepetlisaur Whelps roaming the area, minding their business and not knowing what’s to come.

Mualani turns to you. “You can admire them from a distance! I don’t recommend getting close to them because they can and will attack you if you come any closer,” Mualani instructs.

You nod, pull your Kamera out, and start taking pictures of the Tepetlisaur and their Whelps. Neuvillette watches you take pictures of the Saurians, crossing his arms over his chest with a sigh. The light gray skies gradually become darker as time goes by. Wriothesley clears his throat, patting the Iudex’s shoulders.

“It’s alright, Monsieur Neuvillette. I’m sure [Y/N] doesn’t love the Tepetlisaurs as much as they love you,” Wriothesley reassures the Chief Justice of Fontaine.

Neuvillette ignores Wriothesley’s comment and continues to watch you fawn over the Saurians. Neuvillette glances at Zhongli, who seems content compared to himself. Zhongli looks at the sky, then at Neuvillette. The two of them stare at each other, communicating through body language.

You squat on the ground, taking various images of the Tepetlisaurs. While you’re distracted with capturing images of the adorable Saurians, you fail to notice one Tepetlisaur Whelp approach you from behind. The small creature tilts its head to the side, looking at you from head to toe with curiosity.

The Tepetlisaur Whelp lets out a small roar, startling you. You turn to see the Tepetlisaur Whelp gaze at you, waddling from side to side to get a better look at you. You’re not sure if you should be afraid or coo at the Whelp. The small roar of the Tepetlisaur Whelp catches the attention of other nearby Whelps. They slowly migrate towards you, making you a little anxious. It’s not that you’re afraid of them potentially attacking you, but you’re more worried about the adult Tepetlisaurs charging at you for being in the same vicinity as their babies.

Tighnari’s ears perk up with alertness, looking at the others worriedly. “Oh, dear. We need to get them out of there, or else they’ll become an easy target for the adult Tepetlisaurs,” Tighnari says.

“I think it’s a bit too late for that,” Cyno mutters, gesturing towards your direction.

Everyone’s heads snap in your direction only to see a hoard of Tepetlisaur Whelps surrounding you. Thankfully, none of the Whelps are attacking you or charging at you. They stare at you curiously, some roaring cutely and others shuffling around you. Dakarai waddles toward you, only for you to realize that Dakarai is a bit bigger than the other Whelps.

You squat, holding your hand out. The Tepetlisaur Whelps sniff your hand, blinking at you. One Tepetlisaur Whelp, in particular, nudges its head against your leg. You stare at the Saurian, wondering if it's trying to attack you. It didn’t seem hostile— or, at least to you, it seems harmless.

You randomly pick up one Tepetlisaur Whelp, holding it out in front of you. You and the Whelp stare at each other without saying a word. The Tepetlisaur Whelp blinks at you, tilting its head to the side curiously. You softly squeal, refraining from hugging the adorable Saurian. The Tepetlisaur Whelp tilts its head back and lets out a soft roar.

You turn to look at the others, nearly dropping the Saurian in your hands. Everyone has their weapons drawn, and you realize you have a shield around you— thanks to Zhongli. You place the Tepetlisaur Whelp back on the ground, unsure of what to do next. Do you continue taking pictures of the Tepetlisaur Whelps, or do you run for your life in case the adult Tepetlisaur charges toward you?

Kaveh clears his throat, cupping his hand around his mouth, shouting, “[Y/N], darling, slowly make your way towards us. Try not to draw attention to yourself!”

“Since you decided to become a megaphone, I highly doubt the Tepetlisaurs will be paying attention to [Y/N] after that,” Al Haitham comments, shaking his head.

You slowly walk toward your beloveds and new friends without looking back to see if the Whelps are watching you. Dear Archons above, you sure hope the adult Tepetlisaurs didn’t notice the swarm of Whelps around you. Who knows what will happen if the Whelp’s parents notice their babies being so close to a human?

Once you stand in front of your beloveds, Paimon, and new friends, you notice they’re not looking at you anymore. In fact, they’re looking behind you and at the ground. The shield around you disappears, and you feel something nudge at your legs. Just as you’re about to look down, Mualani launches at you.

“I don’t recommend looking down! While the Saurian is nudging at your legs, it’s completely harmless! However, our time is up! I want to show you another area that has two other types of Saurians! Have you ever heard of Koholasaurs and Yumkasaurs?” Mualani asks, looping her arms around yours as she quickly pulls you in the opposite direction.

You shake your head, allowing Mualani and Kachina to pull you wherever they desire. They both lead you to the top of the mountain, showing you the beautiful landscapes Natlan has to offer. While being able to view almost the entirety of Natlan is a wonderful opportunity, you can’t help but feel nauseous after seeing how high up you all are.

This new area is different from where you were prior. There’s a sizeable body of water where the Koholasaurs and Yumkasaurs are roaming around, living in harmony. There are a couple of Whelps scattered in some areas of the Teticpac Peak, though you hardly see any of the Koholasaur Whelps. The Koholasaurs remind you of sharks but with arms and legs and are oddly muscular.

“Are you sure it’s safe to be in this area?” Baizhu asks, pulling out his first aid kit just in case.

Kachina giggles and nods. “Of course it is, Doctor Baizhu! As long as we keep our distance and don’t come too close to the Whelps, we should be safe here!”

“That doesn’t sound as reassuring as you want to make it,” Heizou laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

Capitano sighs, shaking his head. “I’ll keep watch of [Y/N] as they take pictures of the landscape and creatures.” Capitano doesn’t leave room for protests as you nod, grabbing hold of Capitano’s hands and pulling him to an area where you can take pictures of the Saurians without disturbing them. Capitano stands close to you, scanning the surrounding area.

Kinich eyes Capitano before turning to look at everyone, who seems to also be on edge, while the other three look pretty content with the Harbinger being so close to you. Kinich sighs, eyeing the Harbinger from head to toe.

“You don’t have to worry over anything, boy. With Capitano around, [Y/N] is safe.” Pierro says gruffly.

Kinich analyzes each man in the group— every man has their eyes glued on you and nothing else. Of course, they will check the surroundings to make sure nothing is creeping up on you and Capitano (mainly you), but Kinich can’t put his fingers on it. Kinich clears his throat to grab the group’s attention but to no avail. These men are not taking their eyes off you at all, and seeing how they immediately drew their weapons when the Tepetlisaur Whelps surrounded you says so much without being blatantly obvious.

“What is [Y/N] to all of you?” Kinich asks, finally grabbing everyone’s attention.

Kazuha chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest. “[Y/N] is someone very precious to us all. We love and cherish them and will protect them at all costs,” says Kazuha, the apples of his cheeks turning bright pink.

Kinich raises his eyebrows at Kazuha’s answer. Kinich understands what Kazuha is implying, but he doesn’t want to make an assumption out of an innocent answer. But he is right, though, right?

Noticing the strange look on Kinich’s face, Dainsleif sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “[Y/N] is our partner,” Dainsleif says, almost rolling his eyes.

Ajaw’s jaws drop at Dainsleif’s response, eyes nearly bugging out of his head. It’s almost comical to everyone. Mualani and Kachina glance at each other, shrugging their shoulders. Hey, if it works, it works. Who are they to judge?

Kinich strokes his chin. “How does that work? Aren’t there issues with sharing a partner?” Kinich mutters, raising his eyebrows at the men before him.

Albedo shakes his head in response to Kinich’s question. “We learn to make it work between us all. There are many things to learn and get used to, but it works. We all share something in common aside from our love for [Y/N],” Albedo explains, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What’s so appealing about someone so… bland? There’s nothing special about them at all!” Ajaw snarks.

Pantalone chuckles, smiling at Ajaw. If people look closely, there’s a dark aura surrounding Pantalone as he tries to remain calm and polite. How much longer can he keep up his facade with a little shithead like Ajaw around? The little floating menace to society constantly insulting you just for existing has been getting on everyone’s nerves since the meeting.

“I would keep my comments to myself if I were you, Ajaw. You disrespecting someone important to us will get you nowhere,” Pantalone says, clenching his jaws.

Ajaw bursts out laughing, relishing the fact that he manages to get on every person’s nerves. All he has to do is insult you and question these men’s choices. Kinich sighs and apologizes to the men for Ajaw’s behavior before temporarily banishing Ajaw.

“If you cannot keep your companion’s mouth shut, I think it’s best for you to keep your distance from [Y/N]. We wouldn’t want someone like Ajaw near them,” Xiao states, crossing his arms over his chest while staring at Kinich with disapproval.

The tension is cut by the sound of you gasping. Everyone’s heads snap in your direction to see you and Capitano surrounded by Koholasaur and Yumkasaur Whelps. You look at the others with wide eyes; they can’t tell whether it’s from fear or excitement. You mouth something to them, but they can’t decipher what you’re trying to communicate.

“Can someone tell me if I’m hallucinating? Those creatures behind [Y/N] are Tepetlisaur Whelps, correct?” Lyney asks, turning to the men.

Dottore turns to Mualani and Kachina, raising his eyebrows at the two girls. “I thought Tepetlisaurs aren’t in this particular area,” He says, crossing his arms over his chest.

You and Capitano are surrounded by Tepetlisaur, Koholasaur, and Yumakasaur Whelps— though the Tepetlisaur Whelps outnumbers the other Saurians. The Tepetlisaur Whelps roars around you, waddling and gazing at you curiously. So far, none of them have yet to attack you and Capitano. If they were to try to attack, you know Capitano would not spare any of the Whelps, no matter how cute they are.

Paimon strokes her chin, scrutinizing the Tepetlisaur Whelps. “That’s odd. If this area doesn’t have Tepetlisaurs around, then how did these little guys end up on the Teticpac Peak?” Paimon exclaims, propping her hands on her hips as she bobs up and down in the air.

Capitano looks down at you after feeling you lightly poke his arm. “Yes, what is it, [Y/N]?”

You clear your throat. “You’re not going to attack the Whelps, are you? They’re little babies, and I don’t think they can cause that much bodily harm, right?”

Capitano sighs. “I will not harm them, [Y/N]. However, if they inflict harm on you, I have no other choice but to protect and defend you from any harm heading your way,” Capitano replies.

While you want to protest against hurting the Whelps, you can’t help but feel giddy over the fact that Capitano is devoted to protecting you. Heat rushes to your cheeks as you look away from Capitano, feeling his eyes burn holes into the back of your head. Dakarai roars softly, tugging on your pants while looking up at you with curiosity. Now that you have Dakarai beside you, you realize that he’s a little bit bigger than the other Tepetlisaur Whelps.

Dakarai roars again, almost like he’s asking you if you’re okay. You smile and squat in front of him, gently petting his head. Dakarai nuzzles into your hands, closing his eyes with contentment.

“I’m alright, Dakarai. There’s no need to worry about me, little fella.” You reassure the Tepetlisaur Whelp.

Dakarai roars softly, flapping his arms around. The other Saurian Whelps around you watch the interaction between you and Dakarai curiously. To them, it’s strange to see a species like them interact with a human— one they are not companions with— so effortlessly. A human such as yourself interacting with an overgrown Tepetlisaur Whelp is foreign to them. Usually, a human with no vision or Saurian companions steer clear.

A much smaller Tepetlisaur Whelp waddles up to you and stands beside Dakarai, softly roaring to get your attention. The Whelp tilts its head at you, blinking. You and Dakarai trade looks with each other before you slowly reach forward to pet the Tepetlisaur Whelp. The Saurian closes its eyes and leans into your touch. You lightly scratch behind the ears, watching it start kicking its feet— almost like you found the perfect spot to itch. You hold back a squeal, watching the feet kick become faster before it tips over and stumbles into your arms.

Zhongli hums, stroking his chin. “The Tepetlisaur Whelps must have followed us to the Teticpac Peak by burrowing under the ground the entire way here from the previous location,” Zhongli murmurs, watching you interact with the Whelps that surround you and Capitano.

Kachina giggles, clapping her hands. “That’s correct, Mister Zhongli! And given by the body language and expressions of the Whelps, they seem to really like [Y/N]!” Kachina squeals, grinning from ear to ear.

The Whelps that surrounds you and Capitano ignores the towering figure of the Harbinger. Their focus is on you, staring at you expectantly. You make sure to give each Saurian Whelps attention, not wanting any of them to feel left out. The Yumkasaur Whelp purrs as you pet its head, rubbing its body against your arms, reminding you of kittens. Kittens do that, and so do dogs. As for Yumkasaur Whelps, they remind you of kittens with their mannerisms. They hiss when they see something unfamiliar or try to intimidate something they deem a threat to their safety.

While most are hesitant to be around you (who can blame them?), their worries are quelled when you respect their space after one of them hissed at you. Capitano isn’t too pleased that you’re friendly with the Whelps, but hey, as long as they don’t hurt you, he will tolerate the (admittedly) cute interaction between you and the Whelps.

“Do you guys have any pets by any chance?” Mualani asks, not taking her eyes off you.

Aether shakes his head. “We don’t, but we do have a Paimon,” Aether replies, gesturing to the floating girl beside him.

Paimon gasps and exclaims, “Hey!” She stomps her feet in midair, glaring at her blond companion, “Paimon is not a pet!”

“That’s why he said ‘a Paimon,’” Venti interjects, chuckling at the fuming girl.

Rapid footsteps approach the group, grabbing their attention. You stand before them with one Tepetlisaur Whelp dangling from one arm and a Yumkasaur Whelp on the other, smiling at them eagerly. The Koholasaur Whelp is draping around your neck, resting on your shoulders while gazing at familiar faces with curiosity.

You hold up the Whelps, gazing at your beloveds with sparkles in your eyes. “Can we keep them?”

“Absolutely not,” Neuvillette immediately shoots down your question. Neuvillette stares down at the Whelps in your arms (and around your shoulders), a dark aura surrounding him.

The once blue skies in the Teticpac Peak gradually turn into an ominous dark gray, thunder cracking in the distance. Mualani, Kachina, and Kinich rub the back of their necks as they watch the scene in silence. You pout and hold them close to your face, giving Neuvillette and the other men puppy dog eyes.

Wriothesley chuckles, rubbing your head affectionately. “I don’t know about that, dollface. Do we have the space for Saurians to roam in the abode?” Wriothesley asks, propping his hands on his hips and raising his eyebrows at you.

“But they’re so cute!! Look at their little faces!” You coo, snuggling up against the Saurian Whelps. “How can you say no to them?” You pout.

Childe hums, stroking his chin. While the Saurian Whelps are adorable, letting them reside in the abode isn’t the best idea. It’s not like Childe doesn’t want to deal with dragons— he already has to deal with Zhongli and Neuvillette. What’s the difference?— he doesn’t want those little scaled creatures to steal your attention away from him!

“They are adorable, but…” Childe trails off, reaching forward to pet your head. “If we let them live with us, the other two dragons will become jealous and territorial.” Childe gestures to both Zhongli and Neuvillette behind him.

“If Zhongli represents Tepetlisaurs and Neuvillette represents Koholasaurs, then who represents the Yumkasaurs?” Lyney asks, scanning the crowd of men around him while stroking his chin and tapping his right foot on the ground.

Cyno points at Tighnari. “I believe Tighnari is the perfect representation of Yumkasaurs if you ask me.”

Tighnari sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Tighnari’s not one to play into this shenanigan, but he can see it. Mualani clears her throat, gesturing to Kinich without making it obvious (she failed; Kinich notices her gestures almost immediately). Kinich rolls his eyes, shaking his head. Kinich’s not sure if he wants to get involved after seeing how overprotective these men can become when it comes to you. Besides, he doesn’t see you in the same light as the other.

“A dragon would never explode, but a dino might…” Cyno mutters, pressing his lips into a thin line to suppress the shit-eating grin slowly appearing on his face.

Tighnari groans, shaking his head. “Cyno, please, let’s not joke about this right now,” Tighnari pleads.

You look at Zhongli and Neuvillette, giving them puppy dog eyes as you continue to get the Whelps cling to you. Zhongli and Neuvillette scrutinize the creatures surrounding you, their arms crossing over their chests— their chests puffing out, almost to assert dominance over the Saurians.

“Dearest, as much as I hate to decline your requests, I believe it is not a good idea to take Saurians outside of Natlan,” Zhongli says, hesitantly reaching forward to pet the Tepetlisaur Whelp in your arms.

Your eyes water for a dramatic effect, forcing your bottom lips to quiver. “But Zhongli, look how cute they are! They even followed us here!” You’re not hurt or offended over the fact that you’re not allowed to bring Saurians back to the abode. You’re only sad because the Whelps are incredibly adorable, and you can’t bring them back because they’re wild creatures, and you can’t have them as a companion.

Neuvillette huffs, looking away. “You have us. Why would you need another draconic companion?” Neuvillette mutters.

Dakarai roars, almost agreeing with Neuvillette. You place the Whelps on the ground, making sure to pet Dakarai’s head before turning to Neuvillette and Zhongli— both visibly pouting. You grab both their hands and gently squeeze their hands, giving them a reassuring smile.

“I’ve never seen them this pouty before,” Thoma mutters to Xiao.

Xiao rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “You should see those three alone. It’s almost pathetic.”

Neuvillette and Zhongli glare at Xiao and Thoma, shutting the two up. Zhongli and Neuvillette proceed to drag you away, with Dakarai and the rest of the men trailing after you three. So much for getting a tour around the Nation of War. Maybe next time, the tour won’t be interrupted by Saurian Whelps crowning you as their leader (and you trying to bribe the men to let you bring Saurians to the abode).

Note: Before I typed this fanfic out, I was planning on having the reader be the creator, but I ended up changing my mind. For those who have been asking me in the inbox about Kinich being part of the harem, here is your somewhat answer! He made an appearance! However, I'm not too sure if I'll add him to the harem. As long as he's an adult, then yes, there's a chance he will be added to the harem. The only issue is my portrayal of Ajaw because I don't have Kinich, so there's a possibility of him and Ajaw being out of character. Anywho! To all my new and returning readers, keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr), Ko-Fi (Genshinluvr/Aaliah_exo), and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

I'm doing taglists again! If you don't want to be on the taglist, please let me know so I can remove you from the list :) Taglist: @chirikoheina, @yoru-trash, @kaoyamamegami, @deartoru, @luminarymoonlight, @toobytub, @ins4nebish, @exhaustedcommunist, @jadedist, @rubyninja1, @thelost-in-time, @ventisweetheart, @hispasian-otaku, @juuuuuj101010, @samarill, @lunarapple, @emilymikado, @mabie, @vinnie-w, @n8mareee, @heyimkay, @eliciana, @blesstosuisen, @goldeneclipsedragon, @jjvr4yxc, @vox34, @skyyyyackerman, @undecidingfate, @nightlysunn, @faeryminnyx, @simpcreator, @thelovebuggs, @urlocalheizousimp, @sunlightstarr

Read more of my works on my Masterlist / Masterlist 2 | Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! I might post all of my stories on there too, but who knows. You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like as a way to show support! ^^

938 notes · View notes

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 16 days ago

Text

The Keys Of Heaven [Chapter 7: I Look Forward To The Resurrection]

A/N: Only 1 chapter left, besties!!! Don't forget to answer the poll pinned to my blog once you've finished Chapter 7 😘

Series summary: Three years ago, Father Aemond Targaryen performed a miracle. Now he is a cardinal, a media sensation, and a frontrunner to be elected pope. You are a nun who has been brought to Vatican City to assist with the papal conclave. But when your paths cross by happenstance, you must both reckon with your decision to join the Catholic Church…and what you want from the future.

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), references to abuse and violence, volcanoes, bodily injury, death, peril, scheming, pining, some drugs/alcohol/smoking, Catholic trivia you never asked to learn, kangaroos!

Word count: 4.8k

🦘 A very special thanks to my Aussie slang consultant @bearwithegg and also her mum (any mistakes are mine) 🦘

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @lauraneedstochill @ecstaticactus @neithriddle, more in comments! 🥰

🗝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🗝️

“What happened last night?” Rhaena asks.

You are standing in front of the mirror and affixing your veil with pins. At home in Sydney, your convent has long since done away with habits and veils. When you and Rhaena board your transcontinental flight, you’ll be dressed in ordinary jumpers and skirts and runners, and no one will know you’re nuns unless you choose to tell them. You think as you stare at your reflection, a woman you do not recognize: I’ll wear it today, and I’ll wear it tomorrow. And then I’ll never wear it again. “What do you mean?”

“I waited up for you,” Rhaena says, smiling uncertainly. “Or…I tried to. I made it twenty minutes, maybe.”

“You must have been exhausted.”

“Deadset, mate. I was flat out like a lizard drinking yesterday.” She tilts her head to the side, still smiling but increasingly puzzled. “And then you didn’t wake me when you came back, so I must have been knocked out for a while by then, you know I’m a light sleeper. What took so long?”

“Well…” You pretend to be adjusting your veil as you summon the most cavalier version of yourself. “I changed Aemo’s sheets, and then he needed some more shampoo and conditioner so I ran to fetch that, and then I bumped into Cardinal Almazan in the kitchenette and had a nice long yarn with him while he made leche flan. He said we could have some, it should be in the refrigerator. Should we go cut ourselves pieces?”

“Cardinal Targaryen,” Rhaena corrects.

You blink at her, not knowing what she means. “What?”

“Cardinal Targaryen, not Aemo. Not your friend from the beach. He’s going to be the pope soon, you’ll have to get out of the habit of acting so familiar with him.”

You are a little bewildered. It’s a catastrophically sad thought. “Well, he’ll still be the same person. Part of him will always be that boy from the beach.”

But Rhaena shakes her head. “The pope must be the Holy Father to all, which means he can’t be close friends with some nun, not even if that nun is you. No one who holds the Keys of Heaven has the luxury of being normal. And Cardinal Targaryen will be even higher above the rest of us than the last pope, because everybody knows God works miracles through him.”

You see Aemond vanishing through the doorway and into the humid nightscape of Sydney, indigo and stars and streetlights; you hear the vague disembodied echoes of a song you can’t remember. “Right,” you answer numbly.

“Come on, Mum,” Rhaena says, smiling and smoothing your white veil. “Let’s have a go at that leche flan, yeah?”

~~~~~~~~~~

You frown down at the fish pond, the sky above grey and the breeze chilly as it rocks through the laurel hedges and the stone pines and the lemon trees. There in the dark rippling water is your newest victim, a small white koi with a long wisp of a tail like an angel’s wing. It stares inanely up at you with glassy black eyes, seeing nothing now or ever again, bobbing limply on the gentle currents stirred by the trickling of the fountain in the center of the pond.

You mutter, shaking your head, confounded: “Fucking hell, what is going on?”

“You’re overfeeding them,” a loud man’s voice says, and you whirl to him. He has startled you, though not on purpose. Kazi is puffing on his vape; he uses it to gesture to the cold grey sky. “It’s not warm enough for them to need a lot of food, just a few pellets each. You’re giving them too much, so the extra breaks down and leeches the oxygen out of the water, and then they suffocate to death.”

“Oh, that’s horrible!” you cry, closing the plastic container of fish food in your grasp. “Why didn’t you tell me before? You saw me feeding them.”

Kazi smirks and shrugs, his salt-and-pepper hair ruffled by the wind, his short beard getting untidy. Perhaps he forgot his trimmer at home in Poland. “I didn’t want to embarrass you when there were other people out here. And then I kind of forgot about it. It’s been an eventful week, you know.”

“It has been,” you agree. You peer down into the pond again, repentant. You’ll have to take the white koi out and bury it with the others. “Sorry, little mates.”

Kazi grins. “You’re not very good at this nun thing, huh?”

And suddenly, you know: I’m going to leave. After a moment, you smile back, wide and radiant and warm. “No. I reckon I’m not.”

Kazi holds up his vape, white and red like the flag of his country, half like your habit, half like the cassock of a cardinal. “Would you like a hit, Sister? It’s butterscotch flavored.”

“Yeah nah, I don’t smoke. Thanks though.”

“You should reconsider,” Kazi says. “You might need something to take the edge off tomorrow.” Then he saunters off towards the Domus Sanctae Marthae, where brekkie is about to be served.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the dining hall, you pick up plates of Roman maritozzi and apple crostata and bring them to the tables of chattering cardinals, making the most of their last day of deliberation before the voting resumes. The topic of conversation you overhear most frequently is their travel plans to return home; everyone knows the conclave will soon be over. They miss their friends back in their parishes, their flocks of believers, their communities, their traditions, their gardens, their charity projects, their pets.

Cardinal Gideon Saati is telling his table how each December he bakes thousands of Sudanese kahk for local schools and orphanages. Cardinal Jacob Green is explaining how he arranges for Iranian Catholics to celebrate Christmas safely in secret. The dean Cardinal Seaborn, palpably relieved to be nearing the finish line, is floating around the room beaming and resting his hands on shoulders, saying how thankful he is that they’ll all get to be home for the holidays. For a while there, he wasn’t so sure it would turn out that way.

Home, you think wistfully, and for the first time in fifteen years that doesn’t feel like the convent.

You serve Aemond’s table, but he doesn’t say anything to you. He is conversing with Cardinal Valentino Parmigiano of Italy, who has a lot to say about prison ministry, especially concerning inmates connected to the mafia. Aemond listens, looking very tired. You keep trying to catch his eye. He keeps evading you, like he wasn’t inside you last night, like you aren’t bound together by something that is at once forbidden and corporeal and holy. And you are reminded of a homily you once heard about how the sin of sloth is not just laziness but a failure to do what is necessary, what is right; it is an alienation from God’s love and the spiritual conviction that comes with it.

“Thank you so much, Sister,” Lando says when you pass him his plate, and Kazi and Cam smile at you, and even Lucky gives you a quick nod in greeting. He has no reason to resent you now. He has won; Aemond will be the next pope, and nothing you could give him would ever be enough to change that.

Across the dining hall, Cardinal Jahoda and the occupants of his table are listless, not because they’ve lost but because Aemond has won, and he is young and revered and invincible, and he will steer the course of the Faith for the next half a century, long after they are all in their graves. Cardinal Ferrari is morosely nibbling at a maritozzi, sprinkled with powdered sugar and filled with whipped cream. Cardinal Auclair looks up from his slice of apple crostata just long enough to glare at you. You wonder what gifts he will bring his clandestine family for Christmas: toys for the children, perhaps a gold necklace for the woman who should have been his wife.

When brekkie is over and the cardinals are leaving in a red river to convene their final meetings, you find Lando still at his table gathering up the plates and glasses and silverware so they are easier for the nuns to collect. Sister Helvi playfully scolds him for this. Lando cannot be dissuaded.

You go to help him, and when Sister Helvi has skuttled off and you and Lando are alone, you ask: “Lando, did atheists really kill Cardinal Jahoda’s family?”

Lando hesitates. “It was a little more attenuated than that, I think,” he says. “The father was shot in Prague. And then after that, the mother...” He makes an apologetic gesture: What a shame. “Alcoholism or suicide, or both, they’re not always so different, you know? Then he had a brother who set himself on fire to protest authoritarianism in the Eastern Bloc. And Jahoda was the only one left. So did the Soviets murder his entire family? Perhaps not literally. But in a sense, I suppose they did. I think the effect on him was much the same.”

“That’s so awful,” you murmur as you fill your hands with metal silverware that clangs together like archaic instruments of torture.

“People do the best they can, Sister. Very few of us aspire to be villains. Jahoda, and Auclair, and Ferrari...they still remember what the wars did to Europe. They grew up drowning in the aftermath. How can we expect someone like that to know how to breathe clean air? Their experiences and their fears are legitimate. But so too are Aemo’s experiences, and Lucky’s, and Kazi’s, and Cam’s. We must sew this patchwork together somehow. We must endure as the Church always has.”

You don’t know what to say. I don’t think Aemond should be the pope. I know he doesn’t want it for the right reasons. I know I don’t want to leave him behind when I get on that plane.

Lando smiles at you, sad but kind. “I’m always praying for you, Sister.”

“Good. I defo need it.”

He chuckles, and you help each other finish cleaning up, and he doesn’t leave the dining hall until the work is done.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s after dark, and Aemond is not in the Domus Sanctae Marthae; you know this because you have checked his bedroom, and the kitchenette, and the gym, and even the basement where the nuns do the washing and spiders stare from the corners with their myriad of lidless eyes. He’s not in the gardens either, or in Saint Peter’s Basilica when you traipse through the entire church twice over in your swishing white wool habit and matching runners, passing stone statues of saints that seem to be watching you with cold vexed judgement: You should not be wearing the gown and veil of a bride of Christ. Your passions run in other directions.

“Yeah, yeah, hold your horses,” you mutter with a wave as you pass them. “She’ll be right after tomorrow.” Then you’ll be honest. Then you’ll begin your life over again like Lazarus stumbling out of the tomb still shrouded in his grave clothes, strips of linen hanging from his outstretched arms like flayed skin.

Where is Aemond? Where the bloody hell could he be?

Then you recall the heat of red wax on your cheek and the wine on his tongue when he kissed you for the first time, and you follow that memory to the statue of Saint Andrew, who guards the entrance to the Vatican Grottoes below. He stands holding the X-shaped cross he was crucified on when he went to Greece to spread the gospel there; his blind marble eyes are turned skyward, as if he is gazing up into the dome, stucco, glass windows, mosaics, angels and saints and the faces of the sixteen Holy Fathers interred in the basilica. In a ring around the base, inscribed in Latin in blue letters on a backdrop of gold, are Christ’s words to the first pope: You are Peter and on this rock I will build my church and give you the keys to the Kingdom of Heaven.

You descend into the subterranean maze. And as you try to remember your way to the Clementine Chapel, walking through long corridors with low arched ceilings and florescent lights that are dim and yellow like the pages of old books, you study the paintings and engravings that tell the stories of martyrs, tortured here on earth by blades, flames, arrows, nails, spears, clubs, stones, the hatred of men. Suffering brings us closer to God, the Faith teaches that; and yet perhaps it can also lead us to darker places, the hollows of wounds filled in with pride or wrath or greed or envy, things that leave us hungry no matter how much we’ve devoured.

In the Clementine Chapel, Aemond is gazing at the altar behind which the bones of Saint Peter are buried. You know he’s not praying. He has never prayed, not once in his life; he has only closed his eyes and wished to escape, to climb ever-higher, to touch you as no cardinal ever should. The candles haven’t been lit. The walls and ceiling are coated with gold, setting the air on fire, a glow like the sun but without any warmth.

“I’m leaving whether you are or not,” you say. “But I think you should come with me.”

Aemond turns, a tower of red like the porphyry columns that hold up the altar. His hands are linked behind his back. His voice is sympathetic but immovable. “I can’t go.”

“But you don’t believe in any of this.” You thought you were prepared for his refusal, but you aren’t; already you can feel scalding tears in your eyes, you can feel the grief of losing him all over again, you can see yourself opening up that suitcase to find the seashells you gathered together crushed into dust. “It doesn’t mean anything to you.”

“I don’t know who I am outside of the Church.”

“You’d sort it out,” you insist. “We both would. We could help each other.”

“You’ll be alright. You aren’t like me.”

“Aemo, please listen to—”

“This has been my plan forever,” he says, he hemorrhages, he begs for you to understand. “For as long as I can remember, since, since...” He shakes his head and rakes his fingers through his hair, now blonde, one day grey, one day gone when only his skull is left, interred here with all the other dead Holy Fathers, something between a god and a man. “Since I met you on that beach and you gave me your rosary and I started going to Mass with my mother, since I was twelve years old I have fought to end up here, right here, in Rome, in the Vatican, and every bad thing that ever happened to me could be left behind because I was climbing higher, I was extraordinary, I was going someplace where no one could ever touch me. And I can’t just forget the past twenty-nine years. I can’t start over again. I’m sorry, I wish I could, but I can’t.”

“You don’t think I ever get scared?” you ask, tears flowing down your cheeks like scorching flows of lava. “You don’t think I have moments when I want to wall myself up in the convent and never leave again, not even for a day, not even for an hour, because I know that if I stay there I’ll never be hurt or alone, I’ll be safe until I die in fifty years? Of course I have moments of doubt. Of course I’m fucking scared. But sometimes the right thing to do is scary. You think Christ wasn’t scared when He went to the cross?”

“You’ll be alright out there,” Aemond says again, like he’s trying to convince both of you. “You’re...you’re real, you know? You’re kind, and you’re beautiful, and people will love you.”

“Aemo, you can have the life you want too.”

“In case you haven’t figured this out yet, I’m not a good person. But now I can do good for a lot of people.”

“And what about me?” you ask, your voice fracturing like when Saint Catherine shattered the breaking wheel; but you can’t free yourself from this. You aren’t a saint, you aren’t even a nun anymore; you’re just a woman. “You won’t miss me? You don’t want me?”

“Of course I want you,” Aemond says tenderly, like it’s a bruise that aches when it’s touched. “But my reign will be long, and the future holds so much promise. Every year more people support repealing the celibacy requirement—”

You scoff, astounded. “You’re going to be the pope and have a girlfriend?”

“Things will be possible soon that weren’t before. I’ll make them possible. And to protect my reputation, to preserve the sanctity of the Church...once I am the pope, any controversies will be neatly papered over. They concealed the late Holy Father’s mishandling of abuse allegations. Surely a consensual relationship is less damning.”

“I don’t want to be your secret girlfriend,” you hiss. “I’m not leaving the convent to be anyone’s secret. And you’re insane if you think a modern pope would be able to conceal anything resembling a functional relationship.”

“I would be above suspicion. People think I’m a saint.”

“You’re not even a Catholic.”

“No,” Aemond agrees, flat and cold like marble.

“That’s fraudulent, that’s dishonest—”

“And I am deceitful!” Aemond seethes, striking his own chest, rattling his gold cross on its chain. “I didn’t join the Church because I felt called to it, and I didn’t save those people on Nea Kameni because it was the right thing to do. I saved them because I knew it would get me made a cardinal. And when the earth split open and the lava that should have killed them poured down into the crevice, I let them tell the world it was a miracle.”

“But that’s not why you saved me from the car,” you say. “You didn’t do it to win the election, I know you didn’t. You didn’t have enough time to consider any of that. You were waiting by the gate before the crash ever happened, otherwise you wouldn’t have been able to hear it.”

“I saved you because I love you,” Aemond murmurs, almost to himself, peering vacantly at the gold on the wall. In the metallic sheen, his reflection is a vague dark silhouette like a storm cloud or a plume of ash. “And I think maybe I’ve loved you my whole life. We should have never left that beach, but we did. And now we can’t go back.”

“Yes we can, Aemo,” you plead. “You’re flawed, we all are, we’re human. We’ve all sinned. But you’re not a bad person. You don’t have to spend the rest of your life atoning.”

“I abandoned my kid, who does that?!” And now his eye is glistening like the cold ripples of the koi pond. “And if I leave the Church, what the fuck am I supposed to tell him? That I ran away, and that I kept running, and that even when I heard his mother died I never considered reaching out to him so he could have one parent left? So many people have lost children who they loved desperately, and I couldn’t get far enough away from mine.”

“You’ll tell him the truth,” you say. “That you were so young, and hurt and confused and afraid. But that now you want to make things right. And in time, he will forgive you.”

“He won’t. I wouldn’t, if I was him.”

“So you’ll keep hiding forever?” you ask, staggered, heartbroken. “Here in the marble and the gold, buried in relics, clinging to your armor, retelling the same lies over and over, wearing the name of Saint Thomas Aquinas not because of any of his good deeds but because he was what you want to be, famous, legendary, one of the smartest men who’s ever lived?”

“I’ll help people,” Aemond says, echoing the faith of better men: Lucky, Kazi, Cam, Lando. “No one else will be able to do as much as I can.”

“You think you’re the only hope for the Church?! You don’t even believe in the Church!”

“But people believe in me,” Aemond says; and suddenly in his remaining eye, a crystalline blue window to the soul, you can see only the sins that have consumed him: lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, pride.

What happened to that boy from the beach?

You take a step away from him. “I’ll pray for you.”

He lashes out, fangs and venom: “I don’t need your prayers.”

“I’ll pray harder,” you say, tears shimmering on your face, molten red heat replacing the marrow of your bones. “For your conscience. For your soul.”

He severs whatever is left between you—memory and strings and gravity—and storms out of the chapel. You hear his footsteps fade as he flees from the Vatican Grottoes, their ricochets becoming whispers and then nothing at all.

You go to the altar, take a book of matches from a pocket of your white habit, and light the candles there, white and red and half-burned down by the rituals of the nights before. Then, weeping softly in the firelight, you knit your hands together and pray.

~~~~~~~~~~

He is running but getting nowhere, and he is reminded of those years he spent as an anonymous priest on Santorini, dressed in black and with two eyes that hate what they see in the mirror, a coward, a void, something that gorges itself and yet is never satisfied. He doesn’t want to be this way. Why would anybody? If he could choose to be something pure and soft and human, he would. If he could go back to that beach in Sydney, Australia and be twelve years old again, he’d sign his name on the dotted line in his own blood. But who could offer that kind of contract? There’s no such thing as resurrection.

He hears the door open and sees a shadow spill across the white tile floor of the gym, too large to be her, and the way he feels a sinking inside is sickening. He shouldn’t still want to see her; he should let her go, he should want her to be free and happy like a dove loosed from a cage.

Lucky? Kazi? Seaborn?

But no; when Aemond looks to the doorway, who he sees instead is Cardinal Matej Jahoda.

Aemond hits a button on the treadmill, and he slows from a run to a jog to a walk as the belt decelerates until it stops. His grey crewneck and sweatpants—trackies, she would call them, he thinks randomly—are damp with sweat. Salt trickles down his lips until he can taste it; salt stings in his remaining eye, and that is not the only piece of him that’s missing, it’s just the only one people can see. Now he stands motionless on the treadmill, panting with his hands gripping the foam-padded handrails, his right palm still bandaged from where he split it open to save her from the burning car. Beneath the woven cotton and a gloss of antibiotic ointment, his mending flesh is inflamed and throbbing. He popped several of his stitches last night. Aemond isn’t sure what to say to Cardinal Jahoda. He waits for the man, broad and grey-haired and old enough to be his father, to speak instead.

“There are things beyond my understanding,” Jahoda begins at last. His sturdy hands are snarled tightly together, like he doesn’t know what to do with them. His eyes are weary and downcast. He looks helpless, Aemond realizes, and feels an unexpected pang of pity for him. “Part of believing in God means that I surrender to His design, even if it is unfathomable to me.”

“How can I help you, Cardinal Jahoda?”

“You must be tough on Russia and China, and authoritarianism everywhere,” Jahoda says, and his words are commanding but his tone sounds more like a plea, something fragile, something that could easily shatter if left in the wrong hands. “I fear that in the bargains we’ve made to help the Church expand under these regimes, we have allowed ourselves to become the tools of tyrants. We legitimize them, we conceal their misdeeds.”

Aemond steps down from the treadmill, hiding his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants like he is concealing secrets. I have a responsibility to listen to him now. “Is there something specific you’d like to see done?”

“The 2018 agreement between China and the Vatican should be reassessed, and probably annulled. We are just rubber stamping priests that the Communist Party elevates because they don’t threaten the government, and in the process we have abandoned millions of the true faithful operating in secrecy there. Cardinal John Zen of China, a great champion of human rights and political freedom, has spoken to me many times about the harm this agreement has done to genuine Catholics in his country, and to the Church’s commandment to safeguard human life and liberty.”

Your concern for liberty seems at times to be somewhat selective, Cardinal Jahoda, Aemond almost replies. Instead, he makes a peace offering. If he is to be a living saint, he must learn to act like one. And who is the most saintly person he knows? What would Lando say? “I appreciate you bringing your concerns to me directly. I’ll speak to Cardinal Zen myself and look into this matter thoroughly.”

Jahoda bows his head; it’s a small victory, but it offers some consolation nonetheless. “Thank you, Your Eminence.”

“And I’ll have a committee formed to ascertain the path forward. Would you like to be on it?”

Jahoda looks up, startled. It takes him a moment to get his bearings again. “I would be honored, Cardinal Targaryen.”

Aemond smiles faintly. “We have a very long path to walk together, Brother. We must learn to coexist.”

“I know you don’t have to listen to me,” Jahoda says. “I know you don’t have to listen to anyone now. But I ask you...no, I beg you to be cautious in your progressive ambitions. The Church has endured for two thousand years, what other modern institution can claim that? The Japanese imperial family, perhaps. And who else? Scientists are using the Catholic Church as a model upon which to create an ‘atomic priesthood’ to warn future civilizations about the storage locations of nuclear waste, a threat that will exist until our planet is obliterated by the sun in five billion years. We have outlasted the Egyptians and the Greeks and the Romans, the Mongols, the Byzantines, the Ottomans, the global empires of Russia and Britain and Spain. We survived countless wars. We survived the Black Death. We survived the Nazis and the communist revolutions that killed tens of millions of people. And through all of this we preserved countless lives and artefacts and sources of knowledge. We preserved hope in the possibility of a better world. We did not last this long because we are reckless. We must not change faster than the consequences of our actions can be fully considered. If we make a misstep and crumble as all the other ancient empires did, who will fill the void we leave behind?”

Who will implore the great powers to be compassionate? Who will help rebuild after disasters? Who will provide food, shelter, schools, medicine, guidance, fellowship, hope? “I appreciate your love for the Church and your commitment to its continued longevity. I will pray on all of this, and I assure you that I too—as well as the cardinals I have worked so closely with—are guided by only the purest of intentions.”

Jahoda smirks, exhausted, wry. “Intentions are never pure. But we try not to muddy them too much.” He sighs heavily, touching the gold cross that hangs from the chain around his neck as if to give him strength. “I will see you tomorrow, Your Eminence. It will be our last day spent in the Sistine Chapel. I’ll have to remember to take a long look at Michelangelo’s fresco while I still have the chance.”

Cardinal Jahoda gives Aemond a nod of farewell and then leaves the gym, a red column of slow steps and slumped shoulders. Aemond gets back on the treadmill and resumes his running. As he does, his wounded hand begins bleeding again.

I’m not a saint, he thinks, watching the bloom of crimson spread across his bandaged palm as sweat runs down into his eye. I’m just a man.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x y/n #hotd fic #hotd #hotd fanfic

147 notes · View notes

fishfooddude · 3 months ago

Text

Creme Pie

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader

Part two to one of my Valentine's Day Fluff Fest Blurbs. Kisses

My Directory

The Bear Masterlist

As the day went by, Carmy could only think about the ‘kisses’ you’d given him that morning. It was no secret that he’d been crushing on you since you came on as The Bear’s project manager when Natalie stepped away for maternity leave, but Carmy, being Carmy, wasn’t sure how to approach that topic with you in a way that wouldn’t freak you out. Richie insisted that the crush wasn’t one-sided and that you were into him, but the voice in the back of Carmy’s head insisted that you were too good for him and a person like you would never be into a guy like him. Valentine’s Day was one of the worst days to work in the restaurant industry, people tried too hard to have the ‘perfect’ dinner out and subsequently the kitchens would get clogged up with people sending their orders back or asking for substitutions on prefix menus that didn’t allow substitutions unless it was allergy related. You giving Carmy those chocolates that morning almost made the shift bearable. Everytime he noticed you walk between the office and the bathroom or the coffee machine he felt a tingle in his stomach, he wasn’t sure if it would be qualified as butterflies but he liked it.

The shift was coming to an end and Carmy overheard Richie arguing with one of the waitresses. “What do you mean allergy send back?” Richie huffed as he shuffled through order forms, “Richie, I put it on the slip that she had a lactose allergy. I told her that the strawberry creme pie had milk in it, but she didn’t care.” the waitress stressed as she held the dessert in hand. “Mellie…” Richie sighed, “Okay, take them one of the extra chocolate bundt cakes and apologize for the inconvenience.” he quickly explained to the waitress before taking the original dessert from her. Richie was walking into the back of the kitchen to toss it when a thought popped into Carmy’s head, “Yo cousin.” Carmy called as he walked back to meet Richie before he could toss the dessert.

“What?” Richie asked somewhat frazzled. “I’ll take that off your hand.” Carmy said reaching for the plate, Richie shot him a confused look before plainly stating “Since when do you eat dessert?” Carmy shrugged in response, “Somethin’ about the strawberry creme. Syd said it was missing something.”

Richie was satisfied with the answer and gave Carmy the plate. With the plate in his hand, Carmy mustered up the courage to walk into the office. He held the plate behind his back and waited for you to notice him. “Oh hey, Carmy.” you smiled, looking up from your computer. “Can I help ya with something?”

“Remember when you gave me those kisses this morning?” Carmy tried to sound confident as he asked the question. You smirked at the question, “I pranked ya so hard.” you laughed. Carmy nodded, “Yeah you got me.” he started, “I uh- I have a question for ya…”

You looked up at him curiously; you noticed his cheeks slowly turning pink as he cleared his throat. “You uh- want a… a creme pie?” you noticed how his voice went half an octave up when the words ‘creme pie’ exited his throat. He quickly jutted the plate from behind his back, presenting you with one of the dessert options from the night's menu. You laughed, “For that prank to work, you have to wait for me to say yes, and for future reference, maybe don’t ask your female coworkers if they want you to cum inside of them.” Carmy’s cheeks got redder as you laughed. He sputtered as he placed the plate on the desk, “I- I- I’m-”

You cut Carmy off by getting up and putting your hand on his shoulder, “Carmen, I’m fucking with you. Thank you for the creme pie; Marcus said they were really good.” you saw the stress melt off of Carmy’s face as you clarified you’d been messing with him. “But I do need to tell you, I’m lactose intolerant, but with the proper precautions, I can have a creme pie… both kinds.” you winked.

Carmy swallowed hard at your words and nodded slowly. “Text me about non-work stuff. Maybe we can have creme pies together sometime, " you said softly into his ear before exiting the office.

“Such a tease…” Carmy muttered when he was finally able to breathe normally again.

148 notes · View notes

psiioniicarts · 5 months ago

Text

A quick reference guide to The Mandela Catalogue Alternates in Arms AU

Phew, okay, that took forever. Anyway it’s not really “story” per se but this is the fundamental context to my AU so in the future, anybody can refer back to it. Since I’ve been telling the story in a sort of free form non-linear fashion, I figured this would be helpful for everyone.

Anyone’s welcome to ask me questions about it regardless, and I’ll answer when I can, possibly in an obscure fashion. Oh, and remember-

DO NOT LET THEM MAKE A MURDERER OUT OF YOU. NOTHING IS WORTH THE RISK.

306 notes · View notes

heartswithinreach · 11 months ago

Text

LaDS with an autistic MC

a/n: another one i’m writing for me. but i tried to touch on different symptoms so others can feel included 😊

Xavier

He’s been asked if he’s on the spectrum more than once so he’s aware of what autism is but not much else.

That quickly changes when Xavier finds out you’re autistic. He does as much research as he can, both through books and online articles, and then subtly does his own study with you.

If he’s on his phone, you can bet he’s noting your preferences (food, texture, smells) and your interests for future reference.

Pleasantly surprised by how you start to change as you become more comfortable around him. He’s very glad to be allowed into your inner world.

Xavier never wants you to feel like a burden or you’re broken somehow. You are simply you. And he wouldn’t change a thing about his beloved partner.

Zayne

Autistic!MC 🤝 Autistic!Zayne

Zayne was diagnosed before you but didn’t pay it much attention until you got the same diagnosis in your teenage years. He added autism to his studies for medical school, learning how to care for you and himself at the same time.

When you come back into his life, he surprises you by remembering all the strategies and signals you made to support each other when you were young.

Masking has always been difficult for him. Hiding aspects of himself exhausts him so he makes sure you know you never, ever have to pretend with him. You can be yourself around him.

Zayne is in no rush when it comes to how your relationship evolves. You can both take your time in figuring this out and he’ll always be there.

Rafayel

“Yeah, I knew you were a weirdo from the day we met.”

Rude! But if you were worried telling him would change how Rafayel sees you, you have nothing to worry about. He’s loved you for so long, it’s just something new about you he gets to discover.

He loves how radiant your smile is when you talk about your interests. He could listen to you for hours, just basking in your light.

Rafayel also loves the opportunity to play hero.

“What’s wrong, cutie? You’re anxious and wanna leave early? Eh, this party was boring, anyway. Come on, I’ll get you something sweet on the way home. Don’t worry about offending anyone, I’ll take care of everything — you just breathe, okay?”

Sylus

With how rocky the beginning of your relationship was, it’s not unreasonable to think he would get frustrated with you the same way he did when you couldn’t resonate with him.

But no. Sylus is actually your most fierce and loyal advocate and very protective of your peace of mind.

He takes care of potential issues before you can even think of them and is slowly turning his home into a place of comfort for you — while keeping his aesthetic, of course.

Sylus happily allows you to cling to him in public, taking pride in how you go to him for protection. And if you have to go somewhere alone, you’ll hear Mephisto’s cry following you.

Never touches you without warning and always stops at the first sign of discomfort. Anyone who doesn’t do the same is swiftly handled by Luke and Kieran.

#autistic!zayne #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #love and deepspace xavier #love and deepspace zayne #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace sylus #my writing

606 notes · View notes

ogwintersmind · 4 months ago

Note

hi! i love your bakugo fics 💗 could i request for shoto headcanons? like similar to what you made for katsuki (when you meet, when he gets to know you, etc.)

only if you have time though, thank you! 💞

Shoto Todoroki Headcanons

When you first meet:

He's so awkward it's almost hard to watch… he'll just stand there with his hands stuffed In his pockets, trying his best to (and failing miserably) act as normal as possible but clearly his social skills are terrible.

When aizawa pairs you two together for training he doesn't speak much about off topic discussions, everything he says is purely based on training, though he does awkwardly compliment your quirk and techniques.

When you're talking to his friends he gets really excited, though he doesn't show it he's excited because he sees this as a future opportunity to become friends with you since you’re friends with people In his inner circle.

though when you're around him and his friends he continues the awkwardness and doesn’t speak... Bless his awkward little heart…

After he gets to know you:

He's not as awkward as he was when you first met and can hold pretty strong conversation with you now.

He's the complete opposite of "brain rot" and “chronically online" so when you use TikTok slang or reference a pop culture moment or meme the poor boy is so confuzzled.

He listens to you rant and ramble about any and everything, whether it be training, or why jellyfish don't have brains (i really love jellyfish.).

He's also a great help with homework. Instead of just giving you the answers he works you through the questions so you can know what to do on future homework’s.

Someone has a little crushy crushhh:

All awkwardness is out of the window.

This boy is so clingy and knows nothing about personal space. You'll be sitting down in the common room and he’ll come trailing after you and sit thigh to thigh.

“…Don’t you think this is a little close, Sho?” he looks over at you with a blank expression and simply says "no?" …ok then.

Oh. He talks non-stop now, he's still a great listener of course but when it's his turn to talk he doesn't shat up he's got you beat at the yapping contest (if that’s possible).

After you start dating:

He wasn't sure if he'd be a good boyfriend and was so nervous to ask you out, eventually tho Izuku convinced him and he finally gathered up the courage to do it.

Surprisingly PDA doesn't phase him. He holds your hand in public and doesn't mind exchanging the occasional quick kiss.

He buys you flowers all of the time randomly just because. Remember that bracelet you mentioned briefly last week? It just so happens that it's sitting on your vanity when you get home.

He'll eventually introduce you to his mom and siblings and tell you all about the todo family lore.

After you marry:

It's safe to say enjis wallet hates to see you coming.

Big traditional house on the hill? You got it. 5 new luxury purses? You got it. Enji calls non-stop telling shoto to stop maxing out his cards but he never listens, whatever you want you'll get.

And that wedding??! On my goodness… it was so beautiful. A beautiful mix of both of your cultures combined, very elegant and very expensive. Enji payed for it all.

As for children..

Long story short this guy is a freak so there's plenty of children to go around.

Hi friends! This took so long I'm so sorry to annon who requested!!! I just had 0 motivation to write + no idea how to write for Shoto.. and i hate this.. so rushed and everything else…

Not proof read!!

I’ll study more Shoto so I can write better for him!

but I hope you enjoyed, thanks for reading!

xo- Winter🪼 🤍

#mha x y/n #mha x you #mha x reader #mha fanfiction #mha headcanons #shoto x reader #shoto x you #shoto x y/n #todoroki x reader #todoroki x you #todoroki x y/n #todoroki headcanons #Shoto headcanons #shoto smut #shoto smau #shoto torodoki #todoroki fluff #todoroki fanfic

250 notes · View notes

yoonmetogether · 1 month ago

Text

chapter 2. take it

pairing: bodyguard!Yoongi x CEO!fem reader - brother/mob boss!Seokjin, brother/mob boss!Jeongguk genre: mafia, e2l, sloooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooow burn, age gap summary: jin is gone and it’s up to you and jeongguk to start running the city. d is right behind you. warnings: angst, arranged marriage, drug addiction/rehab, family drama, parental loss, alcohol, smoking, crime, drugs and weapons trading, guns, references to murder, reader’s future-FIL is a d*ck, reader's fiance gets a little touchy, namjoon is judgmental but supportive, boxing, 2seok if you squint, surprise cameo minors pls dni wc: 10.8k oof my bad i'm incapable of keeping shit short apparently @glossdebut my girl aqua ate this banner upppppppppp do yall see this??????? she had a vision and she brought it to lifeeeeeeeeeeee i only gave her a little idea and she just turned it into a work of art!!!! I look at it about 20 times a day 😅 her mind is so sexy for this MWAH and then on top of that she beta’d this chapter (twice!!) she’s really just a queen thank you aquaaaaaa ily!! <3333333333333333333333333 another huuuuuuuuuuuuuugeeeee shoutout to @moochii-daisies for also giving my rough draft a read ughksndn words cannot express how much her enthusiasm and interest in this story means to me thank you my lovely!! <333333333333333333

masterlist

Jin leaves in the middle of the night.

Your breath comes out in thick, white puffs as you tiptoe out of the house at 1am where there’s a black Santa Fe SUV idling in front of the stairs.

The shadow you despise waits for you at the bottom, and not a single word or look is exchanged as he opens the rear door, although faint remnants of his cologne and cigarettes follow as you slide onto the leather seat, opposite of your brother. While you buckle up, a morose ambiance fills the silence between you, Jeongguk’s hand finding yours and giving a gentle squeeze that grounds him.

“So he’s heading out on a fishing boat?” you ask to crack the sullenness after the SUV speeds out onto the road towards the highway.

“Mhmm,” he responds in a dull tone.

“He’ll enjoy that.”

“Yeah.” He turns his head to swallow a bittersweet expression. “A while ago, I caught him looking up his chances of getting into NASA. That was always his dream.” A smile breaks out onto your face, eclipsing the force of intense gravity weighing in your chest.

“He’d make a good astronaut.” A lump in your throat, you look out of the tinted window, frowning at the sky blocked by pollution and the fog of an oncoming snowstorm. “Maybe on the boat, he’ll get to see more stars. Can’t see shit in the city.”

“Remember when we tried to buy him that star for his birthday?”

“Oh, yeah!” You half-laugh, brightening at the memory. “He wouldn’t have been so pissed it was a scam if you hadn’t stolen his card to pay for it.”

“It was your idea!”

“Well, you were the one who spent all the money we both saved up to buy that jacket for-” You close your stupid mouth when Jeongguk’s expression drops and hardens.

“I’m sorry.” Remorse builds in your gut at the way his teeth gnaw at his lip ring, a dent between his brows, and that distant glaze in his eyes takes over. You grab his hand again before he can drift too far away.

“Don’t go there, okay?”

To try and keep him with you, you pull his arm to rest over the console, and start tapping your fingertips over his jacket to a tune you hear in your head, visualizing black and white keys.

“‘Merry go round of life’?” he inquires after you get through the first few phrases of the intro.

You smile, happy that he was able to pick up on it so quickly. “Your favorite.”

“When’s the last time you played?” The shakiness in his voice dissipates.

“It’s been a while. But Jay has a nice Steinway in the living room that I’m pretty sure is just for show, so I’ll play that whenever I have time.”

“Hm.” The car hums in silence for a few moments.

Now that you’re back home, things won’t ever be the same as before but at least you’re on the same side of the world as your brother. You won’t be in the same house, but you’ll be in the same city, doing the same things - in a way.

Most importantly, you’ll be there for each other. And that’s what gives you hope that everything will be okay. Even if Jin won’t be here, at least you have- Oh!

You sit up straight, turning to face Jeongguk fully, suddenly remembering what you’ve been itching to ask him about.

“Do you think something’s going on with Jin and Hope?”

“Huh?” his eyebrows raise as if you caught him off guard, but a small smile follows. “Oh. Yeah.”

You gasp excitedly. “Spill!”

“There’s not much to tell.”

“Then how do you know?”

He shrugs. “Hyung’s not as subtle as he thinks whenever Hope comes around.”

“You never tried asking him?”

“You know he doesn’t talk about anything like that.”

Yeah. Jin has always had a penchant for dismissing or deflecting any talk of his relationships outside of work, instead turning the conversation back on you and Jeongguk. Not once has he mentioned friends beyond the capos in his circle, and it’s always made you sad just how much he’s missed out on because of circumstances out of his control.

“Maybe now he’ll have some more freedom to make connections.”

“He’s on the run, Angel. He won’t get to stay in one place long enough.”

“Mm.” You almost retort that you know very well what that’s like, but decide against it. Jin is going away for a completely different reason. Still. Neither of you were left with a choice.

“I wish we could go with him,” you whisper with a tug in your heart. It’s been ages since you’ve all been together, but now Jin is being ripped away. It’s not fair. You just want your family.

Why is the universe hellbent on keeping that out of reach?

“Me too,” Jeongguk replies quietly. “But we have duties to fulfill.”

“You really think this is what we were born to do?”

Jeongguk’s eyes flit between you and the back of the seat.

“It’s what hyung and I were born to do.”

That’s a small punch to your gut. So just like everyone else, your brothers think you weren’t supposed to be here at all. Which is why your father never paid attention to you. Although that Lee Dongwook prick was right - your brothers were merely pawns in his empire and had no real connection to them otherwise - they were planned.

They weren’t a mistake. They were wanted, if only for business. It stings, that your brothers have been used by your father, even now from the grave. It should be a good thing that you were almost always invisible to him.

So why doesn’t it feel that way?

A faceless woman flashes in your mind. Your mother left before you developed a memory. Like she wanted to make sure you wouldn’t remember how she didn’t want you, either.

Would she want you now?

“Hey,” your brother says, breaking the silence and the dissonance in your head. “It’s good that you’re here.”

“Well, yeah.” You muster a smile, turning back to him. “Can’t let you mess everything up all by yourself.”

He rolls his eyes at your teasing and shoves your shoulder. You snicker and lean back over, holding up your fist.

“Ride or die, remember?”

He tries to maintain his scorn but ultimately sighs and knocks his fist against yours, and you do the handshake you made up when you were kids. It ends with a mutual slap on the side of the neck and finger guns, and you wear matching smiles as you sit back against the leather seats, the air becoming a little lighter between you.

“Y’know, that shit you pulled with Dongwook last night, hyung’s been bragging about it.”

“Really? He’s not… mad?”

“Are you kidding? He’s proud of how you handled that.”

“Oh. I thought you both would be upset that I stirred up trouble.”

Jeongguk shakes his head. “Nah. You just proved to them that you’re one of us.”

You tense. There it is again.

One of us. Cut from the same cloth, capable of spilling blood without consequences. And without getting your hands dirty.

You glance to the front where D’s sitting in the passenger’s seat, back straight as he focuses on the dark road ahead.

He’ll probably be the one to keep your hands clean.

I don’t hurt people who don’t deserve it.

Well. What did you do to deserve it?”

You pick at your nails as you speak with false nonchalance.

“Y’know, I almost came back home a few years ago.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I missed you guys, and I thought Jin would let me come see you, but you weren’t doing well and-“ you stop yourself.

“Anyway, I was at this bar, and I may or may not have played some poker and won a whole bunch of money to get a flight home. It really pissed off a bunch of the men, and this one dude actually ended up following me to my hotel to steal back 500,000 won. Isn’t that pathetic?”

Jeongguk’s head snaps to you, a perturbed expression taking over.

“What? Why didn’t you say something?”

You shrug. “He was just a desperate, low-life, sore loser. He wasn’t worth it.”

Still isn’t, you wish you could say.

“Did you get his name?” He asks ominously enough to make you feel a tad nervous.

So who knows how the man you secretly speak of is feeling.

“Um,” you pretend to think. “It was something insignificant, so I don’t remember.”

“That was dangerous, Angel. If something happened to you…”

“I know. It was a reckless mistake and it won’t ever happen again.”

“Good.”

D has not moved or shifted once and you wonder if he even heard you.

The car finally turns down a road lined with a chain-link fence, enclosing the expansive marina filled with fishing boats. After weaving through a narrow maze of warehouses, Jin suddenly comes into view, standing in front of an empty dock with his arms crossed and upon seeing the SUV, he quickly strides over.

Before the driver has had a chance to brake, Jin grabs the handle, swinging it open with a huge smile on his face. You slide out and into his arms that wrap you up in a tight hug.

You breathe in the smell of him; of homemade makgugksu and bungeoppang after a long day at school; of leaves falling on your evening strolls along the river banks as the autumn sun set on the horizon; of food cooking over a crackling fire while frogs and crickets chirped among the pine trees.

The smell of home.

“Can I get out?” Jeongguk demands behind you, boot nudging the backs of your thighs and you stagger forward still in Jin’s arms, turning around to ram yourself against the door.

Jeongguk is strong, but your will is stronger as he pushes against it, and you snicker at his muffled, “you annoying piece of shit!”

“Yah, language!” Jin exclaims, tugging you away from the door.

“She’s the one trying to trap me in here!”

Your oldest brother rolls his eyes as he pulls you to the side so Jeongguk can step out.

“You two can’t go 5 seconds without fighting?”

“We’ve gotta make up for all these years!” You defend.

Jeongguk glares at you as he straightens and slams the door behind him and you just hide yourself in Jin’s embrace.

Seconds later, another door opens and shuts, and Jin’s muffled voice rumbles above your head.

“Hey, D. Thanks for bringing them to me safe.”

You don’t hear a response and assume he just silently acknowledged your brother, his swift footsteps against the gravel growing farther away. You peek away from Jin’s chest to watch him join the other guards across the yard.

Upon observing all of them surrounding the perimeter, you’re a little heart-stricken that you can’t spend these final moments with your brother alone.

“We’re good out here,” Jin assures you, taking your scanning of the docks as paranoia. “Cops are on the other side of town. Hope made sure of it.”

You can’t stop the teasing quirk of your lips as you tilt your head up at him. “Hope, huh?”

“What?” he asks, looking between you and Jeongguk as you sneak a glance at each other.

“Nothing.”

By the slight uptick in his brow, it’s obvious that he’s curious about what you know, but time is limited, and you figure he doesn’t want to waste time finding out when this is about just the three of you.

“Oh my god, is that a hoodie?” you ask in a teasing manner, changing the subject as you fully look at your brother’s casual, comfy outfit under his big coat. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in one since I was nine. And that was because bro threw up on you after going on that roller coaster twelve times in a row.”

Jeongguk shoves you roughly to the side and you laugh, the sound echoing in the old harbor. “At least I was tall enough to even get on the roller coaster. Or any of the rides for that matter that weren’t for little kids.”

“You surpassed the height requirement by the time you were 5, you extra large kangaroo!”

His eyes narrow and he holds up his fists, bending his knees in a typical fight stance. “Come at me, bro.”

You mirror him and circle each other while pretending to spar, neither of you flinching when your fake punches get close to being real.

“Oh, lord,” Jin laughs, running a hand down his face as he stares between you again with a soft gaze when usually he would be telling you off for bickering and play-fighting. “You made it past a minute this time.”

You jut a thumb back at your brother, ignoring his air punch to your shoulder. “He’s gonna bully me way worse now that you’re leaving.”

“No, he won’t,” Jin says, fixing Jeongguk with a semi-stern stare until he holds his hands up in mock defense.

“Sure. As long as she’s not a pain in my ass,” he harmlessly spits, mocking the way you stick your tongue out at him.

“You two are the most dangerous people in the city now, you know that, right?” Jin muses.

A lull breezes past as that reality winds around this small bubble cradling you and your brothers, tightening until it pops with the truth that there is no time for fun and games anymore. Not outside, not where people can see.

Now you notice the bags that sit in a small pile just paces away from where you stand with your brothers. A couple of medium-sized suitcases, three duffels, and two totes. All of Jin’s worldly belongings, all that he can bring, are packed up in those bags.

Fuck. This is torture. To have to watch him carry his life on board but leave you behind.

Noticing that you’ve been staring, Jin turns back to grab the totes, and you and Jeongguk walk up to accept them.

“Here’s some food, it should last a few weeks,” he says, the heavy insulated bags containing various packed containers. “And I left all the recipes in there for whenever you get around to missing my cooking.”

“It won’t be the same,” Jeongguk pouts.

“It’s better than nothing,” you point out.

Jin smiles at you appreciatively, then reaches into the pockets of his big coat and pulls out two square white velvet boxes, passing one to each of you.

“And this is something a little extra special.”

You both open them at the same time, eyes widening when stunning Hermès rose-gold and steel watches that match the one on Jin’s wrist twinkle under the yellow light from the scattered lampposts.

“I’ll keep mine set to your time, so no matter where I am, I’ll know when to call.”

You gawk at it as tears cloud your vision, so much so that you can’t blink or move lest the dam breaks. Jin’s feet step into view and you don’t look up as he takes out the watch, gently lifts your arm, and clasps it comfortably on your wrist.

“There,” he murmurs. “Pretty.”

He moves on to do the same with Jeongguk, and you can only watch the second hand tick around the expensive silver face and white-gold numbers.

Jin grasps your arm again, holding it next to Jeongguk’s, simply staring down at all of your matching watches. The bands are not too big for your wrist, but not too small for your brothers’. Just right. And it doesn’t hide the tattoo of Jeongguk’s initials sitting next to yours on the inside of Jin’s forearm.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t do better, that I couldn’t prevent this,” Jin whispers, broken crack in his voice. He squeezes your wrist and your heart crumples. “You know that if it was up to me, both of you would be out there doing whatever you want, without worrying about anything. I promise that when all of this blows over, I’ll come back so that you can go out and live your best lives.”

“It’s not your fault,” you croak. “I don’t blame you, I’m sorry if I made you think I do. The only person I’ve ever blamed for any of this is him. He’s a bitch for forcing this onto us.”

You pray Jeongguk knows you’re not talking about him.

As you gaze up at Jin, you see the features he shares with the man partially responsible for your existence. The similar face shape, nose, strong chin, height and broad shoulders.

But his eyes are what set him apart. Jin has so much warmth and kindness and love in his beautiful brown eyes, things he holds for you and Jeongguk, things you’ve never seen from your father.

The dam breaks and you cry for Jin. For the burdens he carries, not just for your father’s syndicate but for you and Jeongguk. For the responsibility he assumed to be your protector, your caretaker, when he should’ve just been your big brother, your best friend.

You’re soon engulfed by his tender hugs so you can bury puddles of tears into his sweater.

“Birdie, don’t cry. You’re gonna make it harder to leave.”

“I don’t want you to leave. I just got back.”

“I know,” he whispers, rubbing between your shoulders. “But it’s not forever. We’ll be a family again someday.”

“We didn’t even get to have a girls’ night,” you pout sadly.

When Jeongguk entered his teen years and suddenly became “too cool” to hang out with his little sister all the time, Jin started setting aside days on the weekend for just you, sending cool guy off with his friends.

He took you shopping, treated you to boba and takeout, and then back home, brought out his own expensive face masks and did your hair while you watched your favorite movies. As you got a little older, he sometimes let you have a sip of his whiskey sour, and coached you on different poker strategies after you told him it was your goal to win against Jeongguk. And thanks to Jin, you did.

“Maybe you two can start having girls’ nights.”

“Ew,” you and Jeongguk say at the same time, in the same inflection. Jin just rolls his eyes.

“C’mon, you can’t just pretend you like each other in front of me?”

“Why would we do that?” Jeongguk quips, earning him a death glare from you.

“Yah, you little-” Jin scolds and lunges to give him a harmless swat but Jeongguk just jumps out of reach, already expecting it.

“Come here!” Tears drying, you laugh as Jin breaks away to chase him around, and it becomes their turn to wrestle, much to your delight seeing Jeongguk get put in a headlock for a change.

Eventually, Jeongguk taps Jin’s elbow, calling for a truce, and they’re both slightly out of breath. You stare as they straighten and face each other, and something gentle floats down on them that has Jeongguk hugging him tightly. Jin starts rubbing his back and you duck your head when you hear him warble,

“I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you, hyung.”

“Hey, look at me,” Jin demands, pulling back to dip fingers under Jeongguk’s chin and lift his head up.

“The only way you could disappoint me is if you run away or don’t let yourself get better. You’re here now, three months sober, and that’s all that matters.”

“But I-” Jin waves his free hand frantically in the air.

“I don’t want to hear it! You just need to focus on tomorrow and every day ahead of that. The past is the past and you’ll learn to let it go.”

Jeongguk hangs his head again but Jin brings it right back up.

“I have the utmost confidence in you,” your oldest brother declares, setting firm yet comforting hands on Jeongguk’s cheeks. “I know it’s been hard, but you’ve come so far. You are nothing like him, okay? Just stay off the stuff and everything will be fine.”

Jeongguk nods solemnly and Jin engulfs him, whispering more affirmations that he needs to hear as he holds him.

“I believe in you, bun. Don’t forget that.”

After a few minutes of watching your brothers’ moment in the dark freezing cold, Jin pulls back again, smoothing down Jeongguk’s mussed bangs.

“Look out for her, will you?” Jin asks him, nodding back to you.

“Do I have to?” he jokingly complains, finally accepting the noogie to the top of his head. Jin laughs when Jeongguk pushes him away to fix his mussed hair and then looks past him at you.

“And you,” he calls. As you step forward, Jeongguk steps back, giving you and your oldest, dearest brother space.

“My beautiful little sister,” Jin coos, brushing your cheek. “I am so incredibly proud of the woman you’ve become. I’ve always admired how you stuck it out all these years, and even though you were building a life for yourself, you came back for us.” He smiles through a shaky breath.

“You don’t know how much that means to me. This business won’t be easy, but I know how strong and capable and resilient you are that you’ll be able to handle it.”

“I got it from you.” A diamond drop plummets down his cheek.

“Oh, birdie,” he murmurs, wrapping you up in the warmest bear hug. “I’m gonna miss you.”

“No one could’ve raised us better than you, Jinnie,” you whisper into his neck, and he hugs you tighter.

“But I’m sorry I snapped at you the other night.”

“It’s okay,” he says, smiling down at you softly as he adjusts your scarf to fit more snugly around the collar of your coat. “It just showed me you’re not gonna take anyone’s shit without a fight.”

“Duh, I grew up with Megatron over there.”

He chuckles, shoots a brief glance over your head and then pulls you a little closer, speaking a lot quieter.

“He won’t be able to help you at the casino, so no one will be nice,” he reminds you seriously. “But don’t let any of them scare you. Give them hell, you hear me?”

You nod your promise which eases his tense expression.

“Like I did with Dongwook? I heard you’ve been bragging about me.” His frown flips into a grin, and he reaches up to adjust your beanie further down your forehead.

“Of course! I’ve always bragged about you. Not just when you stand up for yourself and your brother by stabbing a crazy drunk dude with a lit cigar. Cute little badass,” he coos, pinching your cheek and you scowl, whacking him away.

“No, but really,” he continues, raising his voice a bit. “You’ve always been a tough cookie, and not just because of that domesticated T-rex I raised.”

“I’m standing right here, y’know!” Jeongguk hollers and you giggle when Jin acts like he didn’t hear.

“And I know the situation with D isn’t practical, little miss independent.” He boops your nose. Smile faltering, you do your best to keep disdain off of your face.

“But I don’t want anything to happen to you and I trust him the most to keep you safe. So if you have a problem with anyone, go to him and he’ll deal with it, okay?”

You can’t doubt or question your brother. And that means you have to trust D.

(But the last time you did that, you woke up alone with some of your money gone. You remind yourself that this is D. Not Yoongi.

Min Yoongi is dead to you.)

“I shouldn’t have dropped that on you like I did, though, and I’m sorry.”

You hum. “We’re all throwing a lot of apologies around tonight. I think that’s a record.”

“That won’t be beaten again.” Your laughs harmonize in the frigid breeze.

“What are you guys laughing about?” Jeongguk asks as he walks up to join you.

“How funny your face looks,” you crack, causing Jeongguk to plop his hand on the center of your face, tipping your head back in a muffled cackle.

Before you can start another squabble, Jin tugs you both into him in a family hug, one that you and Jeongguk have always pretended to complain about but give up your childish tendencies for the sake of the moment. Who knows when you’ll get to hug Jin like this again.

“You two are my entire world. Take care of each other for me, okay? I love you so much.”

A horn blows loudly over the water - a signal that time is up.

“Fuck,” he whispers. Jin isn’t one to curse. “I have to go.” Many tears slip between the three of you and he squeezes you before letting go.

“Help me with my bags?”

You and Jeongguk each pick up two and carry them to the dock where a man wordlessly takes them on deck of the large, old fishing boat.

Jin turns to you once again, lingers kisses on your foreheads, envelopes you in one last firm hug, and you cling onto each other like that’ll keep Jin rooted in place so he can never leave.

“If either of you get hurt, I’ll burn this entire fucking city down.”

And then he lets go.

Jeongguk throws an arm around your neck as you watch your brother board the boat that will take him too far away, both of you laughing when he turns around once he reaches the deck and dramatically blows a kiss in your direction.

Head plopped on Jeongguk’s shoulder, you stare and stare as Jin bustles around, helping the crew launch off the dock. Once the boat starts drifting away, Jin rushes to the stern, standing there with his arm held up in an endless wave that you and Jeongguk return with a variation of hearts.

Neither of you moves from the edge until the boat becomes nothing but a dot of light on the dark sea.

The ride home is quiet, except for sniffles and swiping of tears from cheeks. When the SUV pulls back up to your house and D gets out to open your door, Jeongguk hugs you, holding on for longer than you expect.

“I couldn’t do this without you,” he whispers with an undertone of sincerity. But you catch fear in there too.

“I know,” you whisper back, smiling at his small huff as he pulls back. “But you got this, bro. Like Jin said.”

A smile lifts the corner of his lips when you hold out your fist and you do the brief version of your handshake. Just a gentler tap on the side of the neck and finger guns.

“Night.”

“Night,” he murmurs as you grab the handle but the door opens for you.

You don’t give D the same farewell as you get out of the car. Neither does he as he shuts the door behind you.

The sky is grey with heavy flakes of snow as you step out onto the porch. D is standing by the car like he did the first night he picked you up. Hands clasped, glasses and long coat on. Except this time, he’s waiting by the back door.

“Good afternoon, Miss Jeon,” he greets as he opens the door before tipping forward in a subtle bow. Your only reply is a cursory glance his way.

D drives you into the city, and you’re relieved when Jeongguk texts you because it distills some of the anxiety unfurling in your pores.

Kick ass today

received from ‘megatron🤖’ 13:39

Gotta practice so i can kick yours on friday!

sent to ‘megatron🤖’ 13:39

🙄 yeah good luck with that

received from ‘megatron🤖’ 13:43

You grin at your brother’s sarcasm and find a gif of Rocky boxing, pleased with the fact that the theme song will be stuck in his head all day because of it. The middle finger emoji he shoots back confirms your theory.

Stay Gold casino isn’t massive like your brother said. It’s colossal. Foreboding. As you stare up at it in all its glory and lights and noise and glamorous patrons, you feel as if at any moment it could collapse and crush you to pieces.

“Ah, my future daughter-in-law, welcome!” A booming voice startles you out of your slow descent into unmanageable stress, belonging to Jay's father as he stands at the top of the stairs, Namjoon beside him wearing a comforting smile. “I was expecting you a bit sooner.”

You pause in the midst of taking a step into his handshake.

“Am I not on time?”

“You are, but since it’s your first day, I thought you might show some initiative and arrive earlier. You know, make a good impression.” He says this in a sincere tone, but his smile is anything but.

Fuck, you haven’t even set one foot inside the building, but already you’ve messed up? You just fucking got here, why is being so hard on you? You glance over at Namjoon who’s staring at Jay’s father with a small frown and slightly quirked brow.

“She had another appointment prior to this, so she wouldn’t have been able to come any earlier,” Namjoon announces evenly. You say nothing as he lies since you’d only been at home staring at the wall for a few hours.

The older man turns to Namjoon. “Oh, have you been brought on as the assistant?”

“No, sir,” your savior politely shakes his head. “I’m here to help until she finds one, so you can come to me about any issues with her schedule.”

“Ah,” is all Namjoon gets in response before you’re gestured to enter the place that will one day be under your name. Well, the name you’ll be claimed by.

Jay’s father takes you to your office first, all of you squeezing into the employee elevator with D situated himself in the corner behind you. The doors rumble open on the fourth floor, and it’s only one turn around a short corner before a large oak door comes into view with a small desk sitting to the right of it.

“The main office is up a few floors, but that’s mine. You’ll use this one for now.”

It’s small, to say the least. And the wood panelling looks as if you time traveled back into the ‘80s. The entire room even smells as if the carpet hasn’t been cleaned since then, embedded with the stench of stale cigars.

The one redeeming quality is that behind the desk is a glass opening in the floor that allows you to peer over the blackjack and roulette tables, all the money that passes from the hands of tourists and locals with nothing to lose, that will end up in the casino’s safes and your brother’s pockets.

The tour continues all around the casino, Jay’s father showing you every room on every floor like this is your one and only chance to get familiar with the environment.

From here on out, you’ll be here pretty much every day of the week, so you don’t know why he’s rushing through this tour on your first night. It’s almost hard to keep up. And you feel bad for Namjoon who’s matching the pace alongside you, diligently taking notes as your FFIL rattles off all of your potential duties. All of which Namjoon has briefed you on already.

It’s a lot to absorb.

Monitoring games and slots and the revenue that follows. Overseeing the floor at the beginning of the night. Engaging with important guests and board members.

You’re introduced to managers, dealers, and various members of the staff, and despite the polite greetings you give them, followed by promises that you’ll work hard alongside them, they eye you with uncertainty.

Doubt creeps in.

As he guides you through more slot games on the other side of the casino, a presence suddenly steps up between you and Namjoon, forcing the latter to move aside, and your heart sinks when you turn to Jay beaming at you, his hand lightly brushing the small of your back.

“Oh, what are you doing here?” you ask, recovering a stutter. He leans in to kiss you on the cheek, and tamping down nausea, you feign a smile and remind yourself that this is just for show.

“Came to support you on your first day. How’s it going so far?”

“She still has a lot to learn,” his father answers for you. Jay just nods and smiles at you, clearly not detecting the condescension.

“She’ll get the hang of it.”

Jay never leaves your side as his father goes on with the tour, fingers lightly but noticeably touching over the small of your back, the center of your shoulders, your elbow, and it’s the most he’s touched you thus far. It’s just like the kiss. He’s showing people (and you) that he’s the reason for the heavy rock on your ring finger. He’s claiming you. And it makes your nerves bristle.

His father goes on to tell you about the private gambling rooms, but doesn't take you in.

“I’m not expecting you to know how to gamble or play poker, but it might be a good idea to at least get familiar with the games.”

Namjoon leans forward, opening his mouth to no doubt inform him of your acute abilities, but you shake your head, quietly stopping him.

“That’s a good idea, I’ll get right on that.” It’s hard to keep the sarcasm out of your voice, but Jay’s father doesn’t seem to notice as he’s too busy smugly leering at you.

“I can teach you,” Jay says close to your ear. Next to him, Namjoon is side-eyeing the interaction like he just ate something sour and it helps to put a smile on your face as you give your fiancé a confirming nod.

“Okay.”

As you continue on, you glance back to Namjoon cracking his neck and subtly shaking his head, and you have to press your lips together to contain a laugh.

“Ask about the counters,” Namjoon then reminds you in a whisper.

Crossing your arms, you face your patronizing supervisor. “I want to meet the counters.”

“Ah, that’s not something you have to worry about.”

“That’s exactly what I have to worry about,” you state firmly. “I want to know who’s counting my money.”

“Your money?” He scoffs. “I know my son put that pretty ring on your finger, but I’m afraid that until you tie the knot, nothing in here is yours.”

“I think my brothers would disagree.”

“The alliance isn’t secure yet, young lady. This is a trial run, remember?”

You take a deep breath, calming your building rage, and speak as evenly as you can.

“I’m here to take care of my brother’s side of the business, and the counters are part of that. Take me to them now.”

He shares a silent exchange with his son but you sense that they will have some words about you later and they won’t be upholding. In a reluctant spin, he takes you back the way you came and you ask Namjoon a random question about his notes so Jay can’t comment on how you just spoke to his father.

He leads you to a stairwell on the west side and you skid to a stop, stomach dropping.

The stairwell. You don’t know if it was this one, so you want to avoid any of them at all cost.

You jut a thumb over your shoulder. “I’m gonna take the elevator.”

Jay and his father look at you questioningly. Namjoon bows his head, hiding his minute frown.

“But it’s just one flight down.”

You shake your head, wearing a discomfited smile. “I’ll meet you there.”

Not giving either of them a chance to argue further, you turn for the elevator. And for one brief second, you’re relieved that the only person following you is D. Because he won’t say a word or ask a question, which is the last thing you need in this moment.

The three men are waiting in the hall once you exit the elevator, Jay and his father whipping themselves out of a whispered conversation once your heels click on the floor.

The room they bring you to is small and brightly lit, with 5 or so men in white button-downs sorting through lockboxes of money, counting it, exchanging it with bills from silver briefcases, and placing them in drawers that slide into a large safe on wheels for transport.

This is where the cash from the businesses protected by your brother will be laundered, that you’re in charge of collecting. The cash that will make you complicit in the Crow family crime syndicate.

Nausea lays down with the doubt.

Still, you press forward.

On your way to where the vaults are that Jay’s father seems reluctant to show you, you pass by a room where staff donning red blazer, black ties, and wires behind their ears are filtering in and out. Your fiance’s father doesn’t apologize to a staff member he bumps into as he pauses and turns around, looking past you, Jay, and Namjoon.

“D, is it?” Stilling, you glance back to D who’s focused on Jay’s father through those dark glasses as he nods. “You’ll be in charge of the security team?”

“I already am, sir.”

“Excuse me?”

“They all know that they will report to me.”

The older man looks appalled and, frankly, so are you. D’s apparently twelve steps ahead of you, having already established himself and his role here as the chief of security.

“Alright,” Jay says, sitting his hand on your waist and you force your muscles not to tense too much. “I’m gonna get going, so I’ll see you at home.” He places another kiss on your cheek and Namjoon looks away, but behind you, there’s a pair of hidden eyes on your back that won’t leave.

After Jay’s father gives you room to breathe by escorting his son to the garage, Namjoon joins you and D in returning to your office, phone out texting who you assume to be his girlfriend as he walks.

“Did they talk shit about me?” you disrupt the somewhat comfortable silence.

“No,” he shakes his head without breaking attention from his phone. Man can multitask. “I’m sure they would’ve if I wasn’t there. The silence was loud.”

You hum, a bitter taste in your mouth, and Namjoon shuts his phone off and pockets it.

“But don’t pay him any mind, you’re doing fine. I would call him a name, but he’s about to be your father-in-law.”

“I want to call him a few names,” you mumble, and Namjoon lets out a comforting laugh. This is a reason why you think you could get through everything with Namjoon by your side. He’s so easygoing and real with the ability to make you feel better through his playful nature. But this is only temporary because his actual role is to take care of your brother’s affairs. You’ll just be stuck with D and whatever assistant he finds.

“Why didn’t you tell them you can play poker?” he asks after you step into the elevator and D presses the button for the 3rd floor.

You shrug. “They want to keep underestimating me, who am I to stop them?”

“So you’re gonna act like you don’t know how to play and then completely wipe the floor with their asses?”

Grinning, you flicker an impulsive glance at your bodyguard, who’s standing so still he could be a wax figurine.

“I’ve done it before, it’s really fun.”

“Can I please be there? I’d love to see that.”

“Yeah, I’ll pencil it in on your schedule.”

“Sweet!”

Back in your office, Namjoon follows you inside while D stays in the hall, next to the door as you shut it. His phone is back out as you sit down at the desk, inspecting the worn corners and stained surface with repulsion.

“So, Meg’s on her way to pick me up, are you good?”

“Yeah, I think so,” you nod, lugging your bag onto the desk so you can start organizing your books and papers. “Hot date tonight?”

“Always.” He winks, and you laugh at his cheesy grin.

“Alright, well, seriously, you’re doing great so far and I think you’re going to continue to do great.”

“Moon, all I’ve done is walk around and shake hands.”

“And put up with his condescending attitude!” Namjoon exclaims, dramatically throwing up an arm. “You showed him you’re not here to play games and that you’re capable of everything he’s going to expect out of you. That’s a damn good start.”

“Thank you, Moon.”

“You’re welcome,” he says in a huff, like he thinks you should’ve already known that. You chuckle at his expression as you get out your laptop.

“And just by the way, D was watching that dude Jay like a hawk because he kept touching up on you.”

Your fingers freeze over the keyboard, and Namjoon misses the way you thickly swallow as he checks a message on his phone.

“So if he ever tries anything fresh, D will, y’know, deal with him.”

You clasp your cold hands. “I know. That’s his job.”

“Yeah, no one will get in your way with him around. Your brothers made a good choice in him.”

So you’ve gathered.

If only they knew.

“You know what, speaking of D, I was looking through the files again and I didn’t see one for him.”

Namjoon glances up to the ceiling in thought.

“I don’t think there is one since he was vetted by your brothers.”

“Well, I’m his boss now and I’d like to see his background.”

He nods. “I think I can come up with something.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“No problem, I’ll have it ready later this week. By the way, any word on your assistant?”

“Not yet,” you sigh. “I guess D’s having a little trouble finding one who’s not a guy.”

Namjoon nods. “Well, in the meantime, I’m happy to help out.”

“I appreciate it. Actually, there was something else…”

You dig through the mess in your bag until you find your black journal that has names of businesses and their owners within the city, monetary numbers and dates lined next to them. You flip to the page you marked because some of the information is unclear.

“I noticed this clinic up north is on the books, but there’s no payment expected?”

Namjoon looks it over and nods. “I think your family owes them a favor, so they don’t have to pay for protection.”

Huh. Interesting.

He pulls out his phone as you search through the rest of the book for any other notes you made to mention to Namjoon. But he announces that his girlfriend just pulled up.

“Thanks for your help tonight. Tell Meg I said hi!” He beams at you and waves as he heads for the door.

“Will do, boss. See you tomorrow!”

The rest of the week consists of your future father-in-law micromanaging you, hotly breathing down your neck as you get yourself familiar with the inner-workings of the casino.

When you finally get some of your own furniture moved into your “office” (you couldn’t stand that tired ass couch and scratched up, cigarette burned desk!) Jay's father laughed off your request to get a drawing desk in there so you can work on some renovation ideas.

“I think you should hold off on doing your little designs until I feel that you’re ready to oversee things without my supervision.”

Despite that, you make tons of mental notes of all the places you find need improvement.

The casino carpets will be the first to go. They’re purposely designed to be ugly - a psychological trick to keep eyes on the tables - but the one you’re walking over now is far too outdated and gaudy for your tastes.

The tacky red uniforms that staff and security wear will be next, and because the majority of clientele that the casino attracts are men, you think you’ll make the outfits the waitresses and female bartenders wear a little less revealing.

You’re not looking forward to finding out how much of a fight Jay’s father will put up against that. You have a feeling that he’s going to be very resistant to your ideas, stubborn brute that he is. Oh well. You can be just as stubborn, if not more, and you promised Jin you would give them hell.

You will make your mark around here, whether they like it or not.

Starting with those ugly ass carpets.

Towards the final stretch of your hours on Thursday night, Namjoon meets you in your office where you’re on your laptop reviewing the company’s budget and making calculations for the upcoming monthly report (per the request of Jay’s father), he places a manila folder on the edge of your desk.

“D’s record,” he tells you quietly, even though the man in question is on the other side of the door. You flip open the folder, bracing yourself.

There’s no picture, just one sheet of paper outlining his skills and qualifications for the job, and at the very bottom is a line that reads:

Spent 3 years in Seoul Detention Center.

Crime: Miscellaneous charges

“‘Miscellaneous’ is kind of vague.”

“I know. He’s pretty secretive-“ Namjoon continues. Yeah, no shit. “And Atlas is the one in charge of background checks, so that’s all there is. If you want more details, I think you’d have to ask D.”

Like hell.

All you know is his full name, birthday, and blood type. And that was only because you had the fleeting chance to look at his dog tags. Are your brothers privy to that? Namjoon clearly isn’t, and he knows Jin and Jeongguk almost better than they know themselves.

“Thanks for putting this together,” you say, hiding the folder in a drawer.

“No problem. If you want, I can talk to D for you.”

You wave at him dismissively. If anyone’s going to have that conversation, it’s going to be you.

Friday is when you wake up to a text from Namjoon saying Hope wants to meet up for a quick chat and it’s honestly a breath of relief, but you’re not really sure why. You’re not too hyped in meeting with another one of your brother’s men so he can check up on you, making you feel like he believes you can’t handle yourself. But maybe Hope will be like Namjoon. You could use more of that.

You relay the information to D, and he drives you to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant uptown. Since you’re working out with your brother, Namjoon scheduled you for a later shift, so you meet Hope just after lunch, the customers scarce and scattered. He's already there sitting in a booth, a half-eaten plate in front of him, and as you pass D holding open the door, the bell ringing overhead, he says lowly,

“Sit in the booth next to him so you’re back-to-back.”

“And you’ll be at the counter?” Because he’d better not sit across from you.

Hope lifts his phone to his ear once you casually slip into the booth, and as you pretend to look over the menu while D sits on a barstool across from you at the counter, he begins talking to you as if answering a call.

“How’s your first week been?”

Kind. His voice is kind and it eases you. You sit back against your chair, exhaling a bit of stress.

“It went as well as it could’ve, I guess,” you reply neutrally. You’re not about to turn this into a therapy session.

“But I don’t have anything to report. This feels like a waste of your time.”

“Not at all, Miss Jeon. I’m happy to hear any updates; good or bad. Well, hopefully less of the bad.”

“Yeah, we’ll see.”

A lapse in conversation occurs as the server comes over to take your order of a drip coffee to go, giving you time to mull over how you want to word the question you’ve been debating these past few days.

“I know you work for my brothers, but I was wondering-”

He gently interrupts you. “I work for you too, Miss Jeon.”

You need to get used to that.

“This might be a long shot but…” you nervously pick at your cuticles. “I wanted to look for my mother. Do you think you can help me?”

“I’ll do what I can.”

His soft tone indicates that he means it. He really lives up to his name.

“I appreciate it.”

As the server sets down your coffee and you exchange it for cash from your clutch, you spare a glance over your shoulder to see Hope dig out a notepad and pen from his briefcase.

“Is there anything you can tell me about her?”

“Um, all I know is her name and that she used to own a coffee shop downtown. I don’t know which one though.”

He nods as he scribbles some notes.

“And she left when I was two,” you say quietly. Pained. “That’s it.”

“I can’t promise you anything, but I’ll do my best.”

“Okay. I really appreciate that but, um, could you please not tell my brother about this?”

“Of course, Miss Jeon.”

You smile. “Angel is fine.”

“Is there anything else?”

“No, but I wanted to thank you for all you’ve done to help us. Especially my brother, I know he cares a lot for you. I hope you two got to say goodbye.”

He stays silent as you slip out of the booth, grabbing your coffee along the way. But when you pass him, the tips of his ears are extremely red, and you have to suppress a smile as you exit, D not too far behind.

Omw to beat ur ass!!

sent to ‘megatron🤖’ 14:09

Don't bet on it

Ur toast

received from ‘megatron🤖’ 14:11

By the time you stride into the gym, D in tow, your brother is already there, warming up with a trainer in the ring. You call his name and he takes a few seconds to pull himself out of the zone, doe eyes lighting up upon seeing you.

He dismisses the trainer and walks over to the side where you’re standing, leaning on the ropes with a smile, panting heavily, bangs stringy with sweat.

“Bout time you showed up,” he says, catching the water bottle a gym attendant throws from below. “Why aren’t you changed?”

Rolling your eyes, you lift up your small duffle that carries your workout clothes.

“I just came from a meeting. Y’know, work?”

He raises his eyebrows in acknowledgment, taking a long swig of water before dropping the bottle with a satisfied gasp, and turns his attention to the man you wish wasn’t standing behind you.

“Sup, D. You gonna box me in your suit?”

“I could, and look cool as fuck knocking your ass out.” Jeongguk laughs and your eyes twitch as you try not to join him.

“Alright, I’m gonna hit the treadmill. Am I allowed to work out by myself? Or does D have to supervise that too?” you ask your brother in a slightly sarcastic tone, ignoring D’s side eye.

“You’re fine. Just stay in the room next door.” It takes a lot not to childishly mock him as you hoist your bag on your shoulder.

You turn around to where D’s removing his coat, revealing a glimpse of his holster. Something puts an uneasy whirlpool in your gut, forcing you to look away. You know it’s a necessity for the guards to have guns on their person at all times, yet you can’t help feeling uncomfortable.

“Oh, it needs to be cleared before you go in there,” Jeongguk says before you can start to walk away.

You lock eyes with D for a second as you realize that D is, yet again, going to follow you.

The workout equipment room is occupied by 7 or so men who immediately drop what they’re doing and scurry to exit into another part of the building when D bellows in that dark, gruff voice, “Everyone out!”

The AC is what sends a shiver down your spine.

Once they’re all out and D locks the door behind them, he turns to tell you in a much quieter tone, “I’ll be right here.”

“Don’t care,” you mutter, promptly turning away to head for the empty women’s shower room, positive that you’re the first one to use it.

His eyes stay on your back until you disappear.

Every movement of yours echoes in the empty bathroom, including the plunk of your bag on a wooden bench that stands in front of a wall of lockers.

The tote with his sweater and chain sits stuffed in the bottom of your duffle. Staring at it for a moment, pensively, you consider how you should return it to him. You refuse to hand it over directly because you can’t predict what his reaction will be and that scares you.

You have to be sneaky. But how can you do that with a man who can show up and disappear and not make a sound?

When you come back to the ring, you falter in your tracks upon catching the sight of your brother sparring with D who’s dressed down to a white tee, black joggers, and a grey baseball cap on backwards.

But the casual outfit isn’t what makes you stiffen.

It’s the light dancing over his face. The light that comes from a hint of a smile as he throws punches with Jeongguk, ducking and dodging and returning every one of his swings.

They haven’t stopped moving since you re-entered, so you take the opportunity to set your duffle next to D’s, and as long as Jeongguk’s back is to you, coolly transfer the tote from your bag into his, zipping it up as if nothing happened. You perch on the end of the bench and check your phone. Other than an email from Namjoon about tonight’s itinerary, your messages are dry as hell. You scroll on social media to distract you from the fact that you miss your friends but you can’t do anything about it.

“Hey, you want a turn?” Jeongguk pants after 10 minutes or so. You smile, leaving your phone on top of your bag, and stand.

“Yeah, I’ve been looking forward to beating you up all week.”

“Well, then you should’ve come earlier. I’m past my limit.”

He does look exhausted; meanwhile, D looks as if he’s barely broken a sweat.

“You just don’t want your boys to see you take hits from your little sister.”

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t deny it.

“Just work with D, I need to sit down for a sec.”

A heavy feeling in your stomach sinks all the way down to your feet, rooting you to the floor as you fight not to show how very much not okay you are with that.

The universe must really be out to get you.

You glance involuntarily over to D standing in the middle of the ring, staring down at the floor with gloved hands on his hips.

“Go on,” Jeongguk goads, holding up the ropes for you to step under and into the ring.

“Sounds like you’re getting old, bro,” you casually comment as you pass him. He lands a punch on your shoulder and you grin devilishly.

“Don’t go easy on her just ‘cuz she’s a girl, D,” Jeongguk calls over his shoulder as he steps down on the floor, cackling when you flinch at him with your glove.

Your heart is running a damn marathon as you turn and face the man whose eyes are now locked on you, all that light he had in them with your brother completely fizzled out. Just blank. Soulless.

What will it take to bring anything palpable in his eyes when he looks at you? You’ll be damned if you don’t try and find out.

“Yeah, don’t go easy on me, D,” you say mockingly as you turn back to him, gloves held up shielding your mouth from everyone but the sinister man in front of you.

“I can take it.” Tilting your head, you bat your eyelashes, hoping to incite something out of his blank expression. “You should know that.”

But there’s nothing. Not even darkness appears. It doesn’t phase him.

So you lunge forward with a retaliating, vengeful punch but his gloves raise in a split second to block.

Every strike, every punch translates into the anger, betrayal, fucking heartbreak this man left you with 3 years ago. And now he’s doing it all over again by acting like he has goddamn amnesia. You hope he can tell you want to do so much more than throw hits at him with some boxing gloves. But he doesn’t let you back him into a corner. He moves like he did with your brother, just without the smile. Without the light. And it makes your hatred for him fester and spread like a poison.

The poison pricks tears to the corners of your eyes. You drop your gloves and pull yourself out of your self-inflicted torment, twisting around with a raise of your arm to feign dabbing sweat from your forehead so they can’t see the tears clouding your vision.

Fuck, you have to stop!

Tears are weakness. You can’t be weak.

Don’t let him make you weak.

“Damn, sis,” your brother exclaims as he stands to approach the ring, grabbing your bottle of water from the bench. “Tough week, huh?”

Your labored breathing prevents you from answering, so you opt to lift your eyebrows and nod as you catch the bottle he tosses you. Tilting your head up to drink and will the tears away, Jeongguk leans against the ropes and starts rattling out pointers, mainly focusing on your footwork.

But you’re not in the mood to refine your technique. You just shake your head and move to climb out of the ring.

“Wait, didn’t you wanna-“

“Nah, I’m done,” you say as you grab your phone and bag again. “I should probably get going anyway.”

You can feel Jeongguk’s confused gaze follow as you head back out towards the bathroom. The shower camouflages the tears you can’t fight off, and if your brother asks, the steam is what made your eyes red.

The heat on your skin and under it turn your anguish into anger.

Your throat is tight as you pass by D in the doorway to return to the ring, now dressed for work, and you try to relax because your brother is watching and you don’t want him to be concerned about your abrupt departure.

When you glance back, D is nowhere in sight.

“I thought you wanted to beat my ass,” Jeongguk says in a playful tone as he walks up to you.

“I do, but I didn’t realize how old you’re getting and it wouldn’t be fair to beat up on the elderly- Jeongguk, stop! I just showered!” You shriek and hold up your hands as he lunges for you with sweaty biceps and a soaked tee.

Instead of ignoring your plea and head-locking you anyway, he angles you with narrowed eyes and you realize your mistake.

“I mean Sol. Sorry.”

He waves you off just like Jin did the other night and sits down on the bench, elbows on his knees as he unwraps the white protective fabric around his knuckles.

“Before you go, I want to tell you about this diamond trader you’re gonna have to meet with in the next couple of weeks.”

“Why me?”

“Because he’s in your vicinity, and he and I don’t exactly get along.”

“You don’t get along with anybody.”

“Shut up.” You shrug because did you lie?

“Anyway, he’s at that club ‘Halazia’ downtown and he goes by Captain. D will set everything up.”

You cross your arms as the prospect of this new responsibility puts another weight on your shoulders. Jeongguk seems to notice this because his manner towards you softens.

“Hey, this’ll be a good way to assert yourself, y’know? Show him who’s boss.”

“Isn’t that you?” Your eyebrow raises as he shakes his head.

“You’re in charge in this case, sis. And if he has trouble accepting it, D’s there to back you up.”

As if on cue, D strides back in wearing the suit he had on before, glasses shielding his eyes.

“You think I need him to be taken seriously?” D slows to a stop but you don’t look his way.

“You need him to make sure people respect you because they won’t at first. You know that.”

Then why hasn’t he said a damn thing to Jay’s father this entire week? Will he only act if you prompt him to? How far will he let things go before stepping in? A bull-headed part of you wants to put that to the test.

You sigh. “Fine. Can I go now?”

“It was nice seeing you, sis,” he says sarcastically since you’re annoyed.

“Whatever,” you wave at him, swinging on your coat. “Bye. You stink by the way.”

Jeongguk’s laugh rings in the gym as you make a beeline for the exit.

“See ya, D,” is the last thing you hear from your brother before you hastily open the door, not bothering to hold it for your guard.

Snow is falling again when you make it outside. D handed the car off to a valet earlier and now you have to wait on the curb with him standing next to you.

“Still smoke?” you blurt because you could really use some fucking nicotine.

He nods shortly and, without facing him, you hold out your hand.

“I know I owe you a cigarette, but I think my 500,000 won you took should’ve covered that, right?”

He briefly side-eyes you and hesitates before reaching into the inside of his breast pocket, pulling out a lighter and a carton. He flicks open the top, revealing only one cigarette.

“Last one again, huh?” You observe, pulling out the final stick. "Oh, but you owe me for some plan b, so maybe that cancels it all out.”

Staring out at the white dusting the sidewalk across the street, you prop your elbow on your wrist and let your fingers holding the cigarette tip in his direction. You’ve counted a total of 17 steadily falling snowflakes when the lighter clicks and a flame pricks your periphery to emblaze the end of your cigarette.

He drops the lighter and you take a drag, blowing smoke up into the darkening, snowy sky.

“What were you in prison for?” you finally ponder aloud the question that’s been buzzing in your mind since Namjoon handed you that folder.

“I looked at your file, and it said you were there for 3 years.” He doesn’t reply. You huff out air that mimics the white wisps of smoke.

“I mean, since you’re working for me, I deserve to know. And don’t lie to me, I’ve had enough of that.”

Still not a word. You turn to him again, tilting your head because you really want a fucking answer.

“Was it for stealing?”

Several beats pass before he finally, darkly, mutters, “Murder.”

Your breath freezes in your lungs. So. You didn’t just fuck a convicted felon. You fucked a murderer.

That doesn’t scare you like it should.

“How’d you do it?” you find yourself asking out of morbid curiosity.

If you thought there was a wall around him before…

“How, D?”

“I stabbed him.”

“What, with chopsticks? Is that your go-to method? Kinda sloppy, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t answer your questions as if they’re rhetorical. The Elantra approaches, and with a final drag, you drop the cigarette and dig it into the snowy curb with your heel. The valet steps out and passes D the keys, and you don’t wait for him to open the door but his hand on the side and the entrenchment of his cologne suspends you from getting in.

“Have you killed before, Miss Jeon?”

Your heart stops, completely flatlining when that question forces you to look at him. He’s looking right back from behind those glasses.

“No,” you say shortly, taken aback. Who does he think you are? “But if you didn’t mean something to my brother, you would’ve been my first.”

You keep your eyes locked on him for a beat so your words sink into his bones. And then you get in the car, slamming the door shut and pulling out your phone as if you didn’t just threaten his life.

For the entire night, you act as if he is nothing but a shadow.

You don’t get home until 2 in the morning, and as you unpack your gym duffle to do laundry (because if you don’t do it now, it won’t get done), you find a finely rolled wad of new, crisp bills tucked under your gym clothes.

500,000 won.

Bastard. It’s too late for that.

it's finally heeeeeere thank you for waiting!!! shoutout to the kdrama "bloodhounds" (on netflix starring my man woo dohwan) bc without it i would've never known that in korea, locals aren't allowed in any casinos except for one. so in this story we're going to pretend that Stay Gold casino is the exception lol. to get inspo, i've been watching a lot of movies about casinos and casino with robert de niro is where i got the idea for the scene with the counters. i just wanted to make the disclaimer that i did not come up with that on my own lol. there are other movies that i've pulled scene ideas from so i will make sure to point those out in the future.

thanks for being here!! please let me know what you think now that things are really getting started!!

chapter 3 is already in the works

xxx - claret

<<<previous chapter * next chapter>>>

taglist: hmu if you want to be added/removed

@viankiss @polarnightmyg @taegijns @rinkud @ktownshizzle @busanbby-jjk @wonh0oe @mar-lo-pap @kiki-zb @futuristicenemychaos

141 notes · View notes