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bucketgetter535 · 1 month ago

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No Margin for Error: Chapter Seven

CW: Mild/moderate sexual content

WC: 9.3k

Notes: if Azzi fudd shoved me I’d fold. Not that that’s relevant to the chapter or anything…

The cabin Paige had picked out was halfway up a mountain, surrounded by thick evergreens and wide open stretches of sky. The air was thin and cool even in July, sharp and clean enough that every breath made her feel lighter. It wasn’t some drafty old shack either — Paige had put her twelve million dollar Ferrari contract to good use, renting a sprawling modern place with big glass windows, a stone fireplace, and an outdoor patio that practically poured into the forest.

Right now, though, she wasn’t thinking about any of that.

She and Azzi were slouched together on the wide leather couch, a WNBA game playing low on the huge flatscreen in front of them. A bowl of popcorn sat forgotten between them. Paige had one socked foot kicked up against the coffee table, her hair loose and messy, a sweatshirt hanging too big off her frame. Azzi wasn’t much neater — sweats, a tank top, her hair braided back to keep it out of her face. They looked more like college roommates than two of the most talked-about drivers in the world.

Paige tossed a piece of popcorn into her mouth and chewed slowly, pretending she wasn’t thinking too hard before asking,

“So… what’s going on with your contract?”

Azzi blinked, glancing away from the TV to look at her. “What do you mean?”

“You’re in the last year, right? Eighteen million?” Paige asked casually, like she hadn’t looked that up weeks ago.

Azzi shrugged, totally relaxed. “Yeah. It’s up after this season.”

Paige sat up a little. “So what are you gonna ask for next year?”

Azzi leaned her head back against the couch, looking thoughtful. “I dunno. Probably twenty-three.”

Paige immediately made a face, wrinkling her nose. “What? Why?”

Azzi laughed a little at her expression. “Because that’s a lot of money?”

Paige shook her head, scoffing. “You’re a two-time world champion, Azzi. Red Bull’s paying their number one guy sixty-five. Sixty-five. You can ask for thirty. Easy.”

Azzi gave her a skeptical look, smiling faintly. “Oh yeah? And what about you, moneybags?”

Paige kicked her lightly with her foot. “If I win the championship this year,” she said confidently, “I’ll ask for twenty-seven.”

“And if you don’t?”

Paige shrugged. “Nineteen, maybe twenty.”

Azzi snorted, amused. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous for asking for less than you’re worth,” Paige shot back, grabbing a handful of popcorn and tossing it into her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully for a second, then added, “How much are you making this year?”

Azzi raised an eyebrow at her. “Eighteen, like we just said?”

“Yeah, but with bonuses,” Paige said, grinning now. “You obviously hit your performance bonuses. You’ve got, like, what? Three wins?”

Azzi tilted her head, considering. “Four, actually.”

Paige grinned wider. “Exactly. So how much are you really pulling?”

Azzi smirked. “You first.”

Paige leaned back, folding her arms across her chest. “Fine. Twelve million base salary this year. Plus performance bonuses for podiums, wins, points finishes…” She trailed off, doing rough mental math. “Probably around eighteen right now? Nineteen, maybe?”

Azzi let out a low whistle. “Not bad for a rookie.”

Paige grinned proudly. “Not a rookie.”

Azzi smiled at her — a small, real smile that Paige felt all the way in her chest. She didn’t always show it, but Azzi was proud of her. Not just as a teammate, but as… whatever they were outside the track.

Paige picked up the remote and muted the TV, letting the background noise drop away. The sun was sinking lower outside, turning the sky pale gold. The forest outside the wide windows seemed to glow.

Paige looked at Azzi again, a little more serious this time.

“You should ask for thirty,” she said quietly. “You’re worth it. Don’t let them lowball you.”

Azzi studied her for a moment, then leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

“You really think I can get that much?”

Paige snorted. “I think if they don’t pay you that much, someone else will.”

Azzi smiled again, slow and thoughtful. “Maybe I’ll have you negotiate for me.”

Paige grinned back, a little proud, a little shy. “Maybe you should.”

They sat there for a moment, the game forgotten, the popcorn cold, the whole world narrowing down to the warm little bubble they’d built between them in that cabin in the woods.

It wasn’t much. Just a conversation about money. But for once, it wasn’t about pressure or contracts or media stories. It was just them. Paige and Azzi.

And for the first time in a long time, Paige let herself believe that maybe — just maybe — that was enough.

–

They didn’t share a bed that night.

Neither of them said anything about it — it just sort of happened. The cabin had four bedrooms, and while most of them sat untouched, it still felt easier to retreat to separate spaces. Maybe it was because the season had been so long already, and Belgium had only made it longer. Or maybe it was because some things still felt undefined between them, unspoken in the cracks of their closeness.

Paige didn’t mind. Or at least she told herself she didn’t.

Her bed was soft and warm, sheets tucked military-tight, and for the first time in months she didn’t fall asleep to the sound of hotel traffic, airplanes, or the mechanical whir of an engineering debrief. Instead, it was pine trees and wind. No engines, no PR. Just high-altitude silence.

She woke the next morning to the bright slice of sun cutting through the blinds and the dull ache blooming behind her eyes — that familiar post-crash headache still pulsing through her temples like a lazy metronome. She sat up slowly, pressing a palm to her forehead, and grabbed the half-empty bottle of ibuprofen from the nightstand. Two pills, a quick swallow, and she let herself breathe through the sting.

When she padded into the kitchen, Azzi was already there — hair still damp from a shower, wearing a hoodie over leggings, barefoot and scrolling something on her phone while leaning against the counter. She looked up when she heard Paige move and saw the bottle still in her hand.

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Still?”

Paige shrugged like it was nothing and opened the fridge. “Comes and goes.”

Azzi didn’t push, but the way her eyes narrowed said she clocked it. Said she knew. Paige grabbed a bottle of water and shut the fridge with her hip.

“I was thinking,” Azzi said casually, “we should go get breakfast somewhere. You hungry?”

Paige twisted the cap off and took a drink. “Yeah. Sure.”

She didn’t even ask where — she just followed Azzi out of the cabin, down the gravel drive, and into the rental SUV parked in front. Azzi drove (despite Paige’s argument) with one hand on the wheel, window cracked just enough to let in the mountain air. They went down winding forest roads until they hit a little town about fifteen minutes from the cabin — the kind of place with a population under a thousand and a diner that looked like it hadn’t been redecorated since the 60s.

The waitress seated them near a window that overlooked the tree line, handed them thick laminated menus, and filled their mugs with burnt coffee that somehow still tasted perfect up here.

Azzi stretched out in the booth, long legs tucked under the table, reading the menu like it was a race strategy brief. Paige leaned into the corner of the booth, her hoodie sleeves pushed up, chin resting in her hand as she watched the waitress refill the coffee at the next table.

“You’re weirdly relaxed right now,” Azzi said, not looking up.

Paige blinked. “What?”

“You. This.” Azzi waved a hand around vaguely. “You’ve said maybe ten words since we left the house. And you’re just… chill.”

Paige smiled slightly, eyes flicking out the window. “It’s nice knowing I don’t have to do anything real for a while.”

Azzi nodded slowly, like she understood that all too well.

When their food came — some gross omelete for Azzi, eggs and toast for Paige — they ate in a kind of easy silence, broken up only by the occasional clink of cutlery and the slow hum of conversation from the rest of the diner.

After a while, Azzi spoke again. “We should go out to Denver today.”

Paige looked up. “Denver?”

“Yeah. I dunno. Just go do something. A museum, a movie, maybe dinner. Not talk about cars for once.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the edge of her mouth. “And how exactly are we getting to Denver and back?”

Azzi shrugged, totally unfazed. “I’ve got a guy. We’ll get a driver.”

Paige blinked. “You’ve got a guy?”

Azzi gave her a pointed look. “You’re so new to being a millionaire.”

“I’m sorry I don’t have an entire concierge of guys yet,” Paige said, mock-offended.

“You will,” Azzi said, sipping her coffee. “You’re gonna start flying private next. You’ll see.”

Paige laughed, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Right. Because nothing screams grounded like flying private to go see the Denver Art Museum.”

Azzi grinned. “Grounded is overrated.”

“Oh, is it now? Says the woman who’s lived in Monaco and a penthouse in New York and owns three watches more expensive than my car.”

“I only own two,” Azzi corrected. “The third one was a gift.”

Paige tilted her head. “From a sponsor or a girlfriend?”

Azzi raised a brow. “I’d really hope I didn’t have a girlfriend right now.”

Paige just smirked, biting into her toast.

The banter came easy. That was the thing about Azzi — for all her intensity behind the wheel, she had a lightness to her when she wanted to. When it was just them, away from cameras, sponsors, race engineers… she was sharp and funny and dry, but never mean. And Paige could relax around that.

They lingered at the table long after they were done eating, refilling their coffee a few times, watching the town wake up around them. It was easy in a way that most things in Paige’s life weren’t. She liked that.

She liked this.

When the bill came, Paige snatched it up before Azzi could even reach for it.

“You drove. I’m paying,” she said.

“Oh, that’s the rule now?” Azzi grinned.

“It is in my world.”

And just like that, breakfast was over. But the ease of it lingered, carrying them out the door and into the rest of the day, into Denver, into something that wasn’t quite work but wasn’t quite just friendship either.

And Paige — headache or not — felt a little more like herself than she had in weeks.

–

Denver was better than she expected.

It started light — wandering through streets dotted with summer crowds, grabbing overpriced iced coffees from a place Azzi had seen on some list, dipping into a museum exhibit that Paige only half cared about but still liked, because Azzi was so into it. There was something nice about seeing her like that — interested, curious, less like a world champion and more like a normal person who actually knew what to do on a day off.

They ended up at Coors Field almost on accident. Azzi saw the crowd in Rockies hats on the street, checked the schedule, and turned to Paige like it was already decided. “We’re going.”

Paige hadn’t been to a baseball game since high school. She forgot how much she liked the atmosphere — the smell of food, the rhythm of the innings, the way everyone cheered for something simple. It wasn’t like Formula 1. No political storm behind every strategy call, no media fire waiting in the paddock. Just home runs and foam fingers.

They ate nachos out of a helmet-shaped bowl and split a soda. Azzi refused to wear team merch, claiming she wasn’t loyal to anyone in the MLB, but still stood up and clapped for a double in the sixth inning like she’d been a Rockies fan her whole life. Paige just laughed and went along with it. She liked seeing Azzi like that — not serious, not calculating. Just happy.

By the time they made it back to the cabin, the sky had long faded to dusk. The pines outside the windows had gone dark, shadows stretching out into the night. Paige kicked off her shoes at the door and sank into the couch without really thinking. She was tired, but not in the usual way. This was a good tired. A full day, nothing on her calendar, and the altitude giving everything a slow, comfortable haze.

Azzi turned on the TV — something dumb, one of those shows with too much color and nothing to follow. She curled up on the other end of the couch, remote in hand, barefoot and quiet.

Paige’s head was starting to throb again.

It wasn’t sharp. Just that dull, pulsing reminder that something still wasn’t right. She winced and touched her temple, like that might help. It didn’t.

Azzi glanced over and saw the motion. Said nothing at first. Then she opened her arms slightly and tilted her head.

“Come here.”

Paige looked over, brow furrowed.

“Seriously,” Azzi said softly. “Just — head in my lap. C’mon.”

Paige hesitated, then slowly shifted across the couch and lay down, cheek resting against the softness of Azzi’s thigh. The world quieted a little. Azzi’s fingers found her hair without ceremony, combing through it gently, and Paige let her eyes fall shut.

They sat like that for a while, saying nothing. The TV babbled on, ignored. Azzi’s touch stayed light, never too much.

Then, without being asked, Paige said, “Spa didn’t even look that bad, right? From the outside?”

Azzi paused her motion. “You mean the crash?”

“Yeah.”

Her voice was quiet. The kind of voice she didn’t use in media rooms or team meetings. She didn’t sound like the girl who’d taken pole at Hungary, or the kid whose name was all over every motorsport podcast now. She just sounded twenty-two.

“It didn’t look small either,” Azzi said gently.

Paige nodded. “I’ve never… I never wrecked before. Not once. Not in F3. Not in F2. Not with Sauber. Not even in the sim that often.”

Azzi didn’t say anything. Her fingers kept moving, slow and steady.

“I saw it coming,” Paige said. “And I couldn’t do anything. I hit the brakes and I knew I was too late, and it just — the wall came up fast. I thought I’d bounced, but apparently the car spun after. I… I don’t remember it too well honestly..”

She swallowed. Her voice didn’t shake, but something else was trembling. Something inside her that she hadn’t let out before now.

“I wasn’t scared until after. Like, once I knew I was okay. Once the medics were there and I could breathe again. Then it hit me. How easy it could’ve been worse. If the angle was different. If the car rolled. If someone was behind me and didn’t slow down in time.”

Azzi’s hand stilled for just a moment, then resumed.

“Spa’s fast,” she said softly. “You go off there and it’s never small.”

Paige nodded, not opening her eyes.

“I haven’t said that out loud,” she added, more to herself than anything. “Not even to Liao.”

“You don’t have to talk to anyone you don’t want to,” Azzi said. “But if you ever do… this is fine too.”

There was a pause. Then Azzi added, “The headaches go away eventually. At least until you crash again.”

Paige smiled faintly at that. “Great. Super comforting.”

Azzi chuckled, low and dry. “I’ve crashed three times. I still get twitchy in the wet.”

“You?”

Azzi shrugged, her fingers never stopping. “Austria ’22, Monza last year, Suzuka my rookie year in the rain. You don’t forget the ones that hurt.”

Another long silence stretched between them, but it didn’t feel heavy. It felt… honest. Like they were both holding something in the air, careful not to drop it.

“Is it dumb,” Paige murmured, “that I didn’t feel like a real driver until it happened?”

Azzi looked down at her. “No. That’s real.”

Paige shifted a little, eyes still closed, pressing her forehead against Azzi’s leg like it made her feel steadier. It did.

“Thanks,” she said, barely audible.

Azzi didn’t answer right away. Just brushed a thumb lightly against Paige’s temple.

“You’re gonna be fine,” she said. “You already are.”

And somehow — headache still humming low, mind still sorting through the wreckage of Spa — Paige believed her.

–

Paige didn’t want to move.

The couch was warm. Azzi’s lap was warm. Her headache, dull and low-grade now, made everything feel slower, heavier, like she was underwater but didn’t really mind. She might’ve fallen asleep right there if Azzi hadn’t shifted slightly and tapped her shoulder.

“Come on,” Azzi said, voice soft but leaving no room for debate.

Paige blinked up at her. “What?”

Azzi was already standing, stretching a little, offering her hand. Paige took it out of instinct — she always did — and let herself get pulled to her feet. She wobbled slightly with how fast she was upright, but Azzi caught her with a steadying grip on her hip.

“You should shower,” Azzi said simply. “It’ll help your headache.”

Paige yawned, already half convinced. “Yeah, okay, whatever.”

But Azzi didn’t let go of her. She just started steering her through the cabin, up the stairs, like this was something that had been decided hours ago. Paige stumbled along, still heavy-limbed and slow to catch on.

It wasn’t until they crossed into Azzi’s room that Paige hesitated.

“Uh,” Paige said, glancing around, realizing. “This is your room.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, unbothered. “Good job, P.”

Paige opened her mouth, unsure what she was supposed to say to that, but Azzi just kept tugging her gently toward the en suite bathroom.

And then, when they reached the door, Azzi turned, gave her a look — one of those looks, the kind that always short-circuited Paige’s brain — and said, “P.”

Paige blinked at her, caught off guard. “What?”

Azzi smiled — slow, a little dangerous — and dropped her voice. “I didn’t bring you in here to use my shower by yourself.”

Paige’s brain stalled so hard she actually felt it happen.

She opened her mouth again — to say what, she had no idea — but no sound came out. Instead she just kind of stood there, floundering, as Azzi shook her head fondly like she always did. With a hand firm on the back of Paige’s neck, Azzi guided her into the bathroom.

The lights were low, the big walk-in shower already misty from earlier. The room smelled like Azzi — clean, expensive, just a little bit sharp like something citrusy in her shampoo. Paige’s heart was suddenly hammering behind her ribs, not in a bad way, just in a very aware way.

It wasn’t like Paige had never seen Azzi naked. They changed in front of each other every race weekend — motorhomes, locker rooms, ice baths. It wasn’t new.

But it was new. Here, now, outside of the context of work. Outside of the frantic schedules and sports bras and ice packs. There was no rush. No excuses. No barriers.

Azzi reached for the hem of her t-shirt, pulling it up over her head in one smooth motion. Her sports bra followed — casual, like she was shedding armor — and she dropped them both into a hamper by the wall.

Paige stared, because what else was she supposed to do, because Azzi looked — well. She looked like Azzi. Strong and soft all at once, angles and curves and that effortless kind of beauty that Paige had always noticed and never, ever said out loud.

She realized she was staring too long when Azzi cocked her head and said, amused, “Eyes up here, babe.”

Paige snapped her gaze up so fast her neck twinged.

“Sorry,” she blurted, mortified, like she was thirteen again.

Azzi just laughed, low and affectionate. She stepped closer, letting her fingertips trail lightly along Paige’s arm, nothing pushy, just enough to make every nerve ending on Paige’s skin light up.

“You’re cute.,” Azzi murmured, like it was a private joke.

Paige opened her mouth again — again, no words. Just a hot rush of blood to her face.

Azzi shook her head and reached for the band of Paige’s hoodie. “Come on. Headache’s not gonna fix itself.”

Paige lifted her arms in a daze, letting Azzi pull the hoodie off. She shivered a little at the loss of warmth, but Azzi’s hands were already sliding lower, tugging gently at the hem of her t-shirt next.

It was slow, almost reverent. Not like earlier that year where the alcohol made everything a blur. Not like the locker rooms where nobody cared because it was all just routine. This was… different.

Intimate.

Paige let her head tip forward a little, letting Azzi work. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror across the room — flushed cheeks, wide eyes, the nervous way her hands twisted together at her stomach.

Azzi caught that too, apparently, because she kissed Paige’s forehead, gentle and grounding.

“It’s just me, P.”

Paige exhaled shakily, trying to steady herself.

Yeah. It was just Azzi.

Azzi who looked at her like she was someone worth taking care of. Azzi who had pulled her through more days than she could count this year. Azzi who was now guiding her, quietly and confidently, into the steam of the shower.

It was just Azzi.

And somehow, that made it all a little less terrifying — and a whole lot more inevitable.

The steam filled the bathroom quickly, making the edges of the mirror blur out until it was just soft light and warm, damp air. Paige stepped into the shower first, blinking through the mist, feeling the instant prick of heat against her skin. She leaned into it instinctively, letting the water cascade over her shoulders, washing away some of the tension that had been coiled there for months.

Azzi stepped in after her — confident, unhurried, like this wasn’t even a thing to be nervous about. Like they took showers together every day.

Paige snorted quietly under her breath.

Yeah. Definitely not normal.

She leaned against the cool tile wall and closed her eyes for a second, just letting the water drum against her scalp, against her back. It felt good — better than she wanted to admit. Her headache was still there, a low simmer, but it had eased just a little, like the water was massaging it away.

Still, after a moment, she cracked one eye open and glanced over at Azzi.

“I don’t really know how this is supposed to fix my headache,” Paige said, voice roughened by the humidity.

Azzi just hummed under her breath — that maddening little noise she always made when she was thinking something she wasn’t going to share. She didn’t answer, just moved closer, standing so close now that Paige could see the rivulets of water sliding down her skin.

Paige dragged her gaze upward sharply, catching herself before she got caught again staring at the wrong things.

Azzi noticed anyway. She always noticed.

The smirk that bloomed across her face was infuriatingly smug.

Paige squinted at her. “Bruh,” she said, deadpan. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Azzi tilted her head, like she was considering whether or not to be merciful.

She wasn’t.

“Why not, P?” she said, low and amused, stepping in even closer. “You don’t like it?”

Paige’s jaw tensed, trying to hold onto her cool, but it was crumbling by the second.

Because the truth was, she did like it. She liked it way too much. Her body was betraying her entirely — heart thudding under her ribs, stomach flipping, hands itching to touch but frozen in place like if she moved first, she’d lose whatever fake control she had left.

Paige straightened a little, forcing herself into the role she knew how to play — cool, unbothered, in charge. It was fake, but it was the only thing she had right now.

“You’re lucky I’m nice,” Paige said, managing to get the words out steady even if her heart was doing somersaults.

Azzi just smiled again, slow and knowing. Like she knew exactly how much Paige was lying to herself.

Water beaded on Azzi’s eyelashes, made her look almost unreal. Paige hated how pretty she was — hated how much it scrambled her brain.

“You’re lucky I’m patient,” Azzi murmured back.

The water roared around them, filling up the silence, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the electric crackle of tension in the tiny space between their bodies.

Azzi’s hands — slow, unthreatening — came up to Paige’s waist, fingertips featherlight at first. Like she was giving Paige every chance to pull away.

Paige didn’t move.

Couldn’t have moved even if she wanted to.

Her breath hitched, caught painfully in her throat, but she stayed right there — leaning back against the wall, letting Azzi crowd into her space, pretending she wasn’t losing her entire mind.

Azzi leaned up, close enough to brush her mouth lightly along the line of Paige’s jaw — not quite a kiss, just a promise — and Paige had to shut her eyes again, had to tilt her head back to keep from just grabbing her right there.

It was funny, in a terrible kind of way.

On the track, Paige could hold her nerve through anything — rain, crashes, restarts, side-by-sides at 200 miles an hour.

But here, under the hot pounding water, under Azzi’s steady gaze, she was unraveling at the seams.

And Azzi — Azzi knew it.

“You’re shaking,” Azzi whispered, mouth still at her jaw.

“I’m fine,” Paige said automatically, because she was stubborn, because she had an image to protect even if nobody but Azzi was there to see it.

Azzi pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, searching, serious now in a way that made Paige’s stomach twist even harder.

“You don’t have to be,” Azzi said, soft but firm. “Not with me.”

Paige bit the inside of her cheek, trying to hold it together.

She didn’t trust herself to speak, so instead she finally, finally reached out — sliding her hands up Azzi’s sides, slow and tentative at first, then firmer when she felt Azzi lean into her touch. Azzi let out a small sound, something between a sigh and a hum, and it went straight through Paige’s chest like a spark to dry wood.

She was supposed to be the top here — that was their silent dynamic, their unspoken understanding — but God, Azzi made it so hard. She made Paige want in a way that was dangerous, consuming.

Still — Paige tightened her grip a little, pushed Azzi back a step so she was the one leading, reclaiming some illusion of control.

Azzi smiled against her mouth as Paige finally kissed her — not messy, not desperate yet, but deep enough that Paige could feel herself start to slip into it.

And for once, she let herself.

Because yeah, maybe her head was pounding and her heart was sprinting and she had no idea how she was supposed to survive this night —but it was Azzi.

And that meant she was safe, even if she wasn’t anywhere close to calm.

–

The bedroom was mostly dark except for the soft blue glow of the television screen across from the bed — some late-night sitcom rerun playing on mute, the laugh track flickering silently behind them. The Colorado night pressed cool and crisp against the windows, but under the heavy blankets, it was warm. Comfortable. The kind of quiet that didn’t feel heavy or awkward, but earned — like an exhale after too many months of holding her breath.

Paige was stretched out flat on her back, one arm behind her head, staring up at the wood-paneled ceiling. Her hair was still damp from the shower, curling a little at the ends against the pillow. Her body felt loose in a way it hadn’t in a long time — not since before Belgium, if she was being honest with herself.

Next to her, Azzi was curled up under the blankets, wearing one of Paige’s hoodies that was about three sizes too big on her, sleeves swallowed up past her hands. Paige wasn’t even sure when Azzi had snagged it — she just looked over at some point and there she was, wearing it like it was hers.

Paige didn’t mind.

She liked the way it looked on her.

Azzi turned her head, resting her cheek against the pillow to look at Paige more easily. Her eyes were soft in the dark, less sharp than usual, the tough edges worn down by the same heavy exhaustion that Paige felt in her own bones.

“You feel better now?” Azzi asked, voice low and a little rough from sleep creeping up on them.

Paige let her mouth tug into a small, lazy smile. “Mhm.”

She meant it, too. The headache that had been gnawing at her for days was dulled to a distant ache, like a bruise more than a wound. Manageable. Something she could finally breathe around.

They lapsed into a loose conversation, the kind that spilled out easy when your bodies were warm and tired and there wasn’t anything else demanding your attention.

They talked about their early days — about F3, when every race felt like life and death, when nobody knew their names yet except for the real freaks who memorized junior circuit stats. They laughed about the miserable little hotels they used to stay in, the 3 a.m. flights, the terrible track food that made you sick if you so much as looked at it wrong.

“You remember Hungary?” Azzi said, grinning against the pillow. “You ate that gas station sushi like a complete dumbass and then qualified second anyway.”

Paige groaned. “Oh my God. I forgot about that. I thought I was gonna die.”

“You looked green in the paddock,” Azzi teased, poking her gently in the side.

Paige swatted at her hand, smiling despite herself. “Still beat your ass that weekend though.”

Azzi rolled her eyes dramatically. “By like half a second.”

“A win’s a win,” Paige said, smirking.

They laughed again, the kind of laughter that loosened the last stubborn knots inside Paige’s chest.

Eventually, the conversation drifted to more recent things. They talked about how absolutely terrible the Canadian Grand Prix had been earlier that season — how they’d both finished out of the points, how everything that could go wrong had gone wrong.

“I think that was the first time I’ve genuinely thought about just walking off the track and disappearing into the woods,” Paige admitted, stretching a little under the covers.

“Same,” Azzi said. “If I never see Montreal again, it’ll be too soon.”

Paige smiled faintly. “We were due for a bad one.”

“Yeah,” Azzi agreed, voice softening. “Still sucked though.”

Another silence, but not uncomfortable. Just full — heavy with memories, with things unsaid but understood.

Paige closed her eyes for a second, letting herself drift a little. She was so tired she could feel it pulling at her like a current. But she didn’t want to fall asleep yet. Not while this was happening. Not while Azzi was here, warm and real next to her, talking to her like this was just… normal.

Eventually, Azzi shifted again, propping herself up slightly on one elbow, looking down at Paige with a thoughtful expression.

“Hey,” she said, nudging Paige gently. “Can I ask you something?”

Paige cracked one eye open. “You’re gonna ask even if I say no.”

Azzi grinned a little. “True.”

Paige made a lazy ‘go ahead’ gesture with her free hand.

Azzi traced a light line across Paige’s side, just brushing over the curve of her ribcage where the ink peeked out from under the hem of her sleep shirt. It was a small tattoo — easy to miss unless you were looking. Thin black lines, elegant and understated.

“I’ve seen it a hundred times, but I’ve never asked,” Azzi said. “What’s the tattoo for?”

Paige glanced down at it, at the delicate script running along the cage of her ribs.

It read: “Be you. Be great.”

For a second, she thought about brushing it off — making some dumb joke. She was good at that. She was a professional at that.

But the look in Azzi’s eyes wasn’t teasing. It was open. Real.

Paige took a breath, turning her head to look back up at the ceiling.

“It’s something my dad would text me before every race.,” she said quietly. “I got it my first year in F3. After everything.”

Azzi didn’t say anything, just waited.

Paige swallowed, feeling the old ghosts stir a little in her chest.

“I didn’t know if I could do it back then,” she said. “Like… really didn’t know. I thought about quitting. A lot. More than I told anyone.”

Azzi’s hand was still resting lightly against her side, not pushing, not asking for more — just there.

“I felt like I was getting my ass kicked every weekend,” Paige admitted. “And not even just on track. Everything around it, too. The pressure. The travel. The expectations. It was… a lot. And I didn’t think I was built for it.”

Azzi’s thumb brushed gently against her skin, slow and grounding.

“But you didn’t quit,” Azzi said, soft.

Paige shook her head. “No. I didn’t.”

She smiled a little, wry and tired and proud all at once.

“Got the tattoo the day after the season ended.,” she said. “Just… to remind myself of what’s important.”

Azzi didn’t say anything right away. She just looked at her, something deep and fierce flickering in her eyes.

Then, quietly, she said, “I’m glad you stayed.”

The words hit Paige harder than she expected — sinking into some soft, unguarded part of her she didn’t even realize she’d left open tonight.

She blinked up at the ceiling for a second, trying to find something funny or cool to say back — but nothing came.

So instead, she just rolled onto her side, facing Azzi properly, and bumped their foreheads together lightly, a silent thank you.

Azzi smiled against her.

The television flickered in the background. The world outside the cabin kept turning.

But inside this tiny slice of it, wrapped up in each other’s warmth, everything felt still. Safe.

For the first time in a long time, Paige let herself believe that maybe she wasn’t just surviving anymore.

Maybe — finally — she was living.

–

It was rare — almost unheard of — but Paige woke up first.

For a second she just lay there, confused, expecting Azzi to be the one already half-dressed and smirking down at her. But no — the other side of the bed was warm, the blankets still tangled around a deeply asleep Azzi, her dark hair a mess against the pillow.

Paige smiled a little to herself, slipped out of bed as quietly as she could, and headed downstairs.

The kitchen was still heavy with early morning quiet, the kind of silence Paige never got to enjoy during race weeks. She found a pan, cracked a few eggs into a bowl, whisked them lazily. The stove clicked to life with a small burst of blue flame. She wasn’t a world-class chef or anything — and God knew she’d had her fair share of microwave dinners — but living alone had taught her the basics. Eggs were easy enough.

She was plating them up when Azzi finally appeared, padding into the kitchen like something half-awake and mildly suspicious. She leaned against the counter, blinking at Paige.

“I’m shocked you can cook,” Azzi said, voice still hoarse with sleep.

Paige grinned and slid a plate across the counter toward her. “Yeah, well. I do live by myself,” she said. “Kinda had to figure it out.”

Azzi yawned and sat down on one of the barstools, eyeing the food suspiciously before taking a cautious bite. Then another. “Not bad,” she admitted, mouth half-full.

“High praise,” Paige said, deadpan.

They ate in companionable quiet for a little while, the sun rising higher over the trees outside. Paige leaned back in her chair, stretching her legs out under the table.

“So,” Azzi said, pushing her plate away once she was finished, “what should we do today? You know. If anything.”

Paige shrugged, thinking. “I don’t know. Kinda nice not having anything I have to do.”

Azzi tilted her head, studying her. “Your head feel okay?”

Paige thought about it, gave a small nod. “Yeah. Better this morning.”

Azzi didn’t look completely convinced, but she let it go. For now.

“You got any weird pre-race rituals I don’t know about?” Azzi asked, grinning, propping her chin on her hand.

Paige snorted. “Define weird.”

“Like… I don’t know. Lucky socks? Some weird handshake with your engineer? Secretly listening to Celine Dion to hype yourself up?”

Paige laughed, shaking her head. “Nah. I’m pretty normal, I think. I always put my left glove on before my right one. And I always tap the outside of the car with my hand before I get in. Just… a habit.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Cute.”

“What about you?” Paige asked, elbowing her playfully. “I bet you have a whole list.”

Azzi leaned back in her seat, smirking. “Mm. You’ll have to guess.”

Paige narrowed her eyes. “You definitely have something dumb, like wearing the same sports bra every race weekend.”

Azzi shrugged, unbothered. “Superstition’s part of the sport, babe. You’d be surprised how many world champions have a lucky sock or something even dumber.”

Paige grinned, finishing off her coffee. “Fair enough.”

There was a pause, easy and loose, before Azzi leaned forward again. “We should go shopping today.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “Shopping?”

Azzi nodded seriously. “Yeah. It’ll be fun.”

“Why,” Paige said, deadpan. “What do you even want to buy?”

Azzi shrugged, unbothered. “I don’t know. Stuff. Maybe a new hoodie since you’re clearly trying to steal all of mine.”

Paige laughed, shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

Azzi grinned lazily across the table, sunlight catching the messy curls falling into her face. “You love it.”

Paige rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth tugged up in a smile she couldn’t quite hide. “Fine. Shopping. But if you make me carry your bags, I’m charging you a personal assistant fee.”

“Deal,” Azzi said, already pushing her chair back like it was settled. “You take cash, card, or direct wire transfer?”

Paige just laughed again, standing up and gathering the dishes. It was stupid how easy it was with Azzi sometimes — how the world could be loud and overwhelming and everything at once, but right now, here in this cabin kitchen with eggs and dumb plans, it felt like nothing outside mattered at all.

And maybe, for once, that was exactly the point.

–

The drive into Denver was easy enough, a slow crawl through the green, rising hills until the city started to fold open in front of them. Paige had the windows down, one hand draped over the door, sunglasses sliding a little down her nose. It was warm — the kind of sticky Colorado summer day where you regretted even thinking about jeans — so she’d thrown on a long-sleeve T-shirt and a pair of black athletic shorts.

Azzi, naturally, looked like a damn model. Crop top, tiny shorts, sneakers laced up like she might sprint away at any second. She was chewing a piece of gum lazily, scrolling through something on her phone as they cruised into the city.

It was sort of a miracle they hadn’t been recognized yet. Then again, two young women dressed like that in Denver? They just looked like half the college kids wandering around on summer break. No one was expecting two Ferrari drivers — let alone a two-time world champion and the Rookie of the Year — to be shopping for dumb stuff downtown.

Paige tugged the sleeves of her shirt down as they found parking, feeling the sun hot on the backs of her legs. She didn’t complain though — it felt good to be out, to be, instead of having to constantly do.

They wandered through a few shops, Azzi clearly on a mission even if Paige couldn’t tell what it was. Paige mostly followed, hands stuffed into her pockets, trailing Azzi like some reluctant little shadow.

And yeah, maybe — maybe — she let her eyes wander once or twice. Maybe Azzi’s shorts were riding real high up her thighs. Maybe she had a strut that was just naturally infuriating. Paige caught herself looking and looked away just as fast, but not fast enough.

Azzi glanced over her shoulder with a smirk that could’ve melted concrete. “Careful, P. You’re gonna burn a hole through my ass if you keep staring like that.”

Paige made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a cough, pretending to examine a nearby rack of overpriced sunglasses. “I was not.”

“You so were,” Azzi said, laughing. She bumped her shoulder against Paige’s as she passed. “It’s okay. I’d look too if I were you.”

Paige shook her head, cheeks warming behind her sunglasses. “You’re a menace.”

Azzi just grinned like she’d won a prize.

By the time they were two hours in, Paige had somehow become Azzi’s personal shopping assistant, carrying three different branded bags looped over her arms. Not that she minded. It was almost funny, really — world-class athlete, trained to handle G-forces and hundred-degree cockpits, now hauling around luxury bags like an unpaid intern.

“Man,” Paige said, adjusting the weight of the bags, “I’m probably scaring all your hoes away.”

Azzi snorted. “Please. They probably aren’t even as good in bed as you are anyway.”

Paige froze, mid-step, mid-breath, like her brain blue-screened for a full second. She turned, wide-eyed behind her shades, and stared at Azzi like she couldn’t possibly have just said that out loud in the middle of a crowded sidewalk.

Azzi just smiled sweetly, like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

“You—” Paige started.

“What? You were good last night,” Azzi said, bumping her hip against Paige’s again before sauntering ahead toward the next store like nothing had happened.

Paige dragged a hand down her face, muttering under her breath. “Menace.”

She caught up a second later, because she didn’t really have a choice, but every so often Azzi would glance back at her with this glint in her eye — this dangerous, deliberate glint — and Paige would feel her brain short-circuit all over again.

Azzi was on one today. Full-blown menace mode, flipping through racks of clothes, holding up random things to Paige’s chest and pretending to seriously debate whether she could “pull it off.”

Paige took it like a champ. Mostly. She kept a running tally in her head of all the times she was going to make Azzi pay for this later, and the list was getting long.

By the time they finally wandered into a little café for a break, Paige was carrying so many bags that the barista actually laughed when he saw her struggling through the door. Azzi just winked at him and ordered them iced coffees like she hadn’t just been emotionally terrorizing her afternoon.

Paige sat down heavily, dropping the bags with a dramatic thud.

“You owe me so bad for this,” Paige said, stretching her legs out under the table.

Azzi took a slow, smug sip of her coffee. “Oh, babe. I plan to.”

And the worst — or maybe the best — part was Paige absolutely believed her.

–

The sun was starting to slip down behind the city skyline when they finally called it a day. Paige was stretched out on a bench outside the little boutique Azzi had insisted on hitting last, sipping the last of her iced coffee and trying not to feel like her legs were about to fall off.

She was about two seconds from asking if they could just Uber back to the cabin when Azzi appeared out of nowhere, flipping her sunglasses onto her head and grinning.

“So what do you want for the drive back?” Azzi asked casually. “Snacks? Water?”

Paige rubbed her thumb over her temple, pretending to think hard. “Milkshake.”

Azzi blinked. For a second — a real second — she looked genuinely surprised.

“You?” she said, like Paige had just announced she wanted to rob a bank. “A milkshake?”

Paige shrugged. “Yeah. Problem?”

“No, no,” Azzi said, hands up. “I’m just… shocked. You’re usually the ‘water and sadness’ type.”

Paige rolled her eyes but couldn’t help laughing. “I’m allowed to want a milkshake sometimes.”

“You are,” Azzi said, still looking at her like she was witnessing some rare animal in the wild. “It’s just… cute.”

Paige pointed a stern finger at her. “Don’t make it weird.”

Azzi only grinned wider.

They hit a drive-thru a few minutes later — Paige ordered a vanilla milkshake, simple and classic, while Azzi predictably went for some monstrosity involving peanut butter, chocolate, and possibly diabetes in a cup.

Paige had just taken her first blissful sip when she noticed the car waiting for them. Sleek, black, windows tinted almost opaque. And when they climbed inside, Paige realized with mild horror — it was nice.

Partition between them and the driver, soundproofed, plush leather seats that you could probably take a nap on if you weren’t so busy feeling vaguely intimidated.

Azzi caught the look on Paige’s face and laughed under her breath. “Told you I had a guy.”

Paige shook her head, settling back against the seat, letting her head tip back against the headrest. Her cheeks felt warm — and not just from the sun she’d soaked up all afternoon. She could see the faint pink across the bridge of her nose and the tops of her shoulders, and she knew Azzi could too.

They hadn’t even been on the highway for five minutes when Paige felt it.

A hand. Sliding lazy and slow onto her thigh.

She cracked one eye open, turning her head slightly to glance down — and yep, there it was. Azzi’s hand, warm and casual like it belonged there.

Paige shifted a little, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t.”

Azzi hummed innocently, barely glancing at her. “I’m not even doing anything. Relax.”

Paige narrowed her eyes, suspicious.

Azzi gave her this look — the look — the one that made it very, very clear that if anyone needed to relax, it wasn’t her. She took another slow sip of her milkshake like she had no idea what kind of chaos she was causing, and Paige wanted to throttle her and kiss her all at once.

“This is payback,” Azzi said sweetly, “for last night.”

Paige groaned under her breath, slouching lower in her seat. “You’re so annoying.”

Azzi only smiled wider.

They sat like that for a few minutes — Paige determinedly focusing on her milkshake and the blurred highway sliding by outside the window, Azzi being a quiet little menace with her hand resting just so on Paige’s thigh, thumb brushing tiny, mindless patterns against her skin.

And then — then Azzi got bold.

She let her fingers drift higher. Barely an inch. Just enough for Paige to stiffen slightly, her breath catching in her throat before she could stop it.

“Azzi,” Paige said, voice low, a warning that didn’t sound nearly as firm as she wanted it to.

Azzi turned her head lazily, all fake innocence. “What? I’m just sitting here.”

Her fingers crept higher again, slow and deliberate, and Paige felt her whole body tighten — like a live wire strung too tight.

She squeezed her thighs together instinctively, trapping Azzi’s hand for a second, but Azzi only grinned, smug and unbothered, letting Paige feel every inch of her palm pressed against her.

Paige closed her eyes for a second, willing herself not to react.

“You’re evil,” she muttered, voice raspier than she intended.

Azzi just leaned in a little closer, her breath ghosting across Paige’s ear. “You love it.”

And — god help her — Paige did.

She cracked her eyes open again, shooting a sharp look at Azzi, but her glare lacked any real heat. Azzi knew it. Smirking, she shifted her hand just a fraction higher, fingertips skating dangerously close to the hem of Paige’s shorts.

Paige sucked in a shallow breath, jaw locking tight.

“You’re such a brat,” she said under her breath.

Azzi’s smile turned lazy. “You gonna do something about it, P?”

Paige gritted her teeth, trying to focus on anything else — the road, the mountains in the distance, the milkshake rapidly melting in her hand — but Azzi’s hand was all she could feel.

A gentle pressure. A teasing touch. Like she wasn’t even trying but still had Paige unraveling inch by inch.

Every shift of Azzi’s fingers was torture. Deliberate, patient, maddening.

Paige pressed her head back harder against the seat, swallowing thickly. She wanted to shove Azzi’s hand away — or maybe she just wanted to grab it and drag her closer and kiss her until they both forgot where they were.

The partition felt too thin. The car too quiet. Her heartbeat too loud.

“You’re so annoying,” Paige said, voice low and rough.

Azzi only hummed, pretending to be fascinated by the passing scenery. “Just evening the score, babe.”

Her hand slipped higher again, fingertips dancing over the edge of Paige’s shorts — feather-light, maddening, and so careful, never crossing the line but coming close enough that Paige was practically vibrating with tension.

Paige tightened her hand around her milkshake, using it as a lifeline.

“You’re lucky I like you,” Paige muttered.

Azzi finally looked at her, tilting her head slightly, a wicked glint in her eyes. “I know.”

They sat like that the rest of the drive — Paige trying not to combust, Azzi pretending she was the picture of innocence, her hand burning a slow, deliberate imprint into Paige’s skin.

By the time they pulled up to the cabin, Paige wasn’t sure whether she wanted to kiss Azzi or kill her.

Maybe both.

Probably both.

–

By the time they got back to the cabin, Paige had a plan.

Simple. Effective. She was going to flip the script right back on Azzi — pay her back for every second of torture in that car, for every smug little smirk and the way her hand had crept just a little too high on Paige’s thigh, knowing exactly what it was doing.

Paige was more than ready. She was practically itching for it.

But when they stumbled through the front door, shopping bags slung over their arms, laughing a little too loud from some dumb inside joke, Azzi just tossed her keys on the counter, glanced at Paige, and said, with a slow smile, “Nah.”

Paige blinked. “Nah?” she echoed, incredulous.

Azzi shrugged, already peeling off her sneakers like she hadn’t just shattered every expectation Paige had for the evening. “You had your fun last night. Let a girl breathe.”

Paige narrowed her eyes, suspicious. “What, you scared?”

Azzi shot her a look over her shoulder — something amused and dark. “Hardly.”

Paige crossed her arms, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “What are you gonna do, then?”

Azzi let the question hang between them for a beat, long enough that Paige almost thought she wasn’t going to answer. Then, with a little huff of a laugh, Azzi stalked forward, grabbed Paige by the wrist, and started dragging her down the hall.

“You’re so fucking cocky,” Azzi muttered as they went.

Paige grinned, letting herself be pulled along easily. “Nah,” she said, all faux-casual. “Just confident.”

Azzi didn’t say anything else, just hauled her all the way into Paige’s room and kicked the door closed behind them.

Paige leaned back against it, arms crossed, watching Azzi with a lazy smirk. “Come on, Az. What you gonna do?”

Azzi stared at her for a second — and then something shifted.

It was subtle, the way her posture straightened, the way her mouth twitched into a grin that was a little meaner, a little more sure. Like she’d finally decided something.

Paige’s stomach flipped.

Without warning, Azzi stepped in, crowding her against the door, hands landing on either side of Paige’s head. She didn’t touch — not really — but she was close enough that Paige felt the heat of her body, the tension radiating off her in waves.

Paige’s smirk faltered slightly.

Azzi noticed. Of course she did.

“Funny,” Azzi murmured, tilting her head. “You talk all that shit, but now you’re real quiet.”

Paige huffed a laugh, forcing herself to keep it light. “Please. You’re not scaring me.”

Azzi smiled — slow, dangerous. “Not yet.”

And then she moved. One hand slid down, fingers curling around the front of Paige’s shirt, yanking her away from the door and pushing her backward toward the bed with easy force.

Paige stumbled but caught herself, grinning again despite the way her heart was hammering.

She let herself fall back onto the mattress, propped up on her elbows, watching Azzi stalk closer like she owned the whole damn room.

“You really think you’re still in control?” Azzi asked, voice low.

Paige opened her mouth to fire back something smart — but then Azzi was on her, straddling her hips, pinning her in place without even trying.

And maybe it was because Paige was still a little pink from the sun, maybe it was the long day, the way she was still loose and a little tired from everything — but it took shockingly little for Azzi to take the upper hand.

Paige realized it the second Azzi leaned down, her weight pressing Paige into the mattress just enough, her breath warm against Paige’s throat.

Yeah. She wasn’t fooling anyone anymore.

Azzi leaned in closer, lips brushing Paige’s ear. “God,” she murmured, almost laughing. “It took, like, nothing to get you to fold.”

Paige scowled, cheeks flushing despite herself. “Shut up.”

Azzi pulled back just enough to look at her, grinning wickedly. “Seriously. One little shove and you’re all soft.”

Paige groaned and covered her face with one hand. “Azzi.”

Azzi laughed, low and pleased. “It’s cute.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“And you’re so easy.”

Paige peeked out from between her fingers, half-glowering, half-embarrassed. “You’re lucky you’re hot.”

Azzi leaned down again, nipping at the side of Paige’s jaw in response. “You already said that, P.”

Paige grumbled under her breath, but she didn’t exactly push her off.

Azzi stayed there for a second, just looking at her — that kind of long, lingering look that made Paige feel seen in a way she didn’t always like.

Then, almost casually, Azzi asked, “Do you like it?”

Paige froze.

“Like what?” she asked, too quickly.

Azzi smiled knowingly. “When I push you around.”

Paige opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked away, suddenly very interested in the ceiling.

Azzi laughed softly, tucking a piece of hair behind Paige’s ear. “Come on, P. I’m not gonna make fun of you.”

Paige shifted under her, awkward. She hated talking about shit like this — hated giving it words. But something about the way Azzi was looking at her — patient, steady, waiting — made her want to try.

“No…Yes…I don’t know,” Paige muttered finally. “It’s… easier sometimes. Not having to think. Just… letting you.”

Azzi’s face softened instantly. The teasing vanished, replaced with something quieter, more serious.

“Yeah?” she said, almost gently.

Paige nodded, staring at the ceiling.

Azzi leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. “That’s not weird, P.”

Paige let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“I mean,” Azzi said, grinning again, “it is a little funny how fast you gave up. But it’s not weird.”

Paige groaned and dragged a pillow over her face. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Paige grumbled something incoherent, but she didn’t move away when Azzi pulled the pillow off her face and kissed her properly this time — slow and easy, no pressure, no games.

They stayed like that for a while, tangled up on the bed, Azzi’s weight warm and solid over her, the afternoon sun slanting through the windows and painting everything gold.

For once, Paige didn’t feel the need to be anything but what she was — a little messy, a little unguarded, totally in love with the girl pinning her down.

And maybe — just maybe — that was the real reason she let Azzi win sometimes.

Because it wasn’t losing. Not really. Not when it was her.

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #pazzi #uconn wbb #uconnwbb #pazzi fics #dallas wings

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ihatesmiggles · 2 months ago

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the zodiac killer.

Who was the zodiac killer? The thing is that we do not know his true identity but we do know that he is at least connected to five victims, though some sources say 7. This was placed in California’s Bay Area in the late 60s, specifically in 1968 and 1969. He is known for sending taunting, cryptic letters to the police also to area newspapers and did make his threats, he did this in 1969 to 1974. This is where he claimed to have kill 37.

17 year old David Faraday and his 16 year old girlfriend, Betty Jensen. In 1968, in the middle of the night, the teenage couple were shot to death near their car at a remote spot on Lake Herman Road, on the outskirts of Vallejo, California.

Darlene Ferrin, age 22, and her boyfriend Mike Mageau, age 19. In the early morning of July 5th, 1969, the two were sitting peacefully in their car, in a similar area of a remote Vallejo location. The two were suddenly interrupted, a man with a flashlight had approached them, where the figure suddenly shot at them, killing Darlene with a few shots, seriously injuring Mike, who had managed to survive the attack. Within an hour, a mysterious man had called the Vallejo police department, claiming to be guilty for the attack, where he said he wished "report a murder – no, a double murder" confirming his guiltiness to each murder, giving them the locations of each couple. They were not able to track him down from this point, not even when they had deciphered the letters. Not with evidence either.

Bryan Calvin Hartnell, age 20 and his girlfriend Cecelia Ann Shepard, age 22. On the evening of September 27, 1969, the zodiac had attacked once again, the young couple were relaxing on the isolated part of the shore of Lake Berryessa in Napa County. This is where we get to know about what the figure was wearing, he was wearing a hood and a shirt, where it showed a circle-cross symbol, with clip on sunglasses. He also had a gun.

Vallejo 12-20-68 7-4-69 Sept 27–69–6:30 by knife He tied up the young couple, brutally stabbing them, Bryan suffered six wounds, whilst Cecelia had suffered ten wounds, writing a message just for the police on their car, that's when he left the scene. He once again called the police to claim responsibility, instead at the Napa police department. The two were rushed to the hospital, they were alive, but in critical condition, unfortunately Cecelia succumbed to her injuries, with the unlucky Bryan loosing his lover but surviving.

Paul Stine, age 29. Two weeks later on October 11th, 1969, the Zodiac claimed the life of the young taxi driver Paul in San Francisco’s Presidio Heights neighborhood, he had been shot. The crime hadn't matched up to the Zodiac originally, due to the pattern he had been following being broken, it was deemed a robbery, till San Francisco Chronicle received a letter claiming he had done the crime, he had mailed a bloody piece of Paul Stine's shirt.

This is where we finally got our first full, confirmed sketch of the Zodiac by a teenage witness and some other witnesses, But despite so much evidence and the investigation of numerous suspects, the Zodiac remained at large. This sketch is above. The zodiac had four coded letters. Of the four ciphers, two were decrypted in 1969 and 2020, and two are generally considered to be unsolved. The last letter the zodiac had sent was the one that confirmed that he had supposedly killed 37.

Some suspected victims were:

Raymond Davis, 1962, a cab driver who was found shot dead.

Robert Domingo and Linda Edwards, a young couple from 1963 who had also been shot dead. Johnny Ray Swindle and Joyce Ann Swindle, another couple this time from 1964, who had been shot to death by a rifle five times by a nearby cliff. Cheri Jo Bates, a young lady in 1966 who had been found brutally beaten and was pronounced dead also from her injuries that had been caused from being stabbed on repeat. John Franklin Hood and Sandra Garcia, a couple from 1970, who's bodies had been found under a blanket, John had been stabbed from the back mainly, whilst Sandra had been beaten so badly she was left unrecognizable. A knife had been found beside them. Kathleen Johns, 1970, she had been kidnapped and dropped off after 1.5 hours, apparently or it could of been two, only a few hundred feet from where she was, where she was fully convinced the man was the Zodiac. She was being tormented, told she could of been killed. Richard Radetich, 1970, he had been shot three times, and this is a suspicion because the Zodiac wrote a letter familiar to the crime. Donna Lass, 1970, had gone missing, her boss and landlord both got mysterious calls from a man claiming that she had been ill and went would not be returning, her car was parked by her apartment, undisturbed. When they had done another investigation, they found her skull in 2023. There was a letter related to her, supposedly. Were there suspects?

There many suspects, thousands of men actually. The one man the police had named was Arthur Leigh Allen, though did not match the partial DNA fingerprint developed from bona fide Zodiac letter. Ross Sullivan, was one zodiac suspect, who was also the primary suspect of the Cheri Jo bates murder. Earl Van Best jr, was one, who was suspected to be him by his own son. Richard Gaikowski was also one suspect, one who they thought could of been sending the letters, though they had little evidence, A co-worker also identified his voice to match that of the Zodiac killer. Lawrence kane was also a very strong suspect, Kathleen pointed to his photo and suspected it was him who was the zodiac. Gary Francis Poste, had strong evidence against him and had several connections with him, he is the biggest suspect after Arthur. Louis Joseph Myers, though this was clear by police evidence he was not the zodiac at all. Richard Marshall, he was near during the murders, though the evidence against him is also weak.

#tcc fandom #tcc tumblr #tc infopost #true crume #teeceecee #mass killers #tccblr #true cringe community #source material #the zodiac killer #zodiac

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miley1442111 · 11 months ago

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reams and reactions (part 1)- r.cameron

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a/n: HELLO! welcome to my new obx series, don't worry, if you follow me for cm or anything else I'll still be posting that, but i've just been on a obx binge recently so i cooked this story up in my head.

tropes: childhood bestfriends to lovers, enemies to lovers

pairing: rafe cameron x fem! reader (use of Y/n, and the nickname Bunny/ bun (but i promise not in a weird way there's a story to it i swear it's not just one of those weird smut things))

summary: how you and rafe fell apart, then finally meet again.

warnings: drugs, drug use, drinking, parental and sibling death, kissing, crying, violence, fighting, cursing, guys being creepy, misogyny, asshole dude. (i think that's it?)

not entirely proofread

2k+ words

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When Rafe was 5 years old, he ran with you in the garden of Tannyhill, chasing you in a game of tag. When he finally caught up to you, you both fell to the ground, limbs tangled in the way only friends did, giggling the way only friends do, and he pressed the sweetest kiss to your cheek.

When Rafe was 8, he came sobbing at your doorstep, on the verge of throwing up. He’d run all the way there. His mom was dead. He didn’t know what else to do. Besides his mother, you were the only person you’d ever been there for him like that, showing him that emotions were ok, and normal. When he felt you hugging him, and crying with him, he knew he would be with you forever. That he would stick with you through anything.

When Rafe was 10, he came back to your house after a particularly long day (aka you had no classes together) and you two sat on your couch with your family surrounding you, Romeo and Juliet on the screen. He felt himself blush when your sister made the joke that he was like your Romeo, since your dads didn’t get on. Though you both adamantly denied it, a few minutes later he felt your hand holding his under the blanket, your matching friendship bracelet brushing off each other's skin. He was smitten. A smile landed swiftly on both of your faces.

When Rafe was 13, he watched as you walked down the aisle of his father’s second marriage, a bunch of flowers in hand. He thought you looked beautiful, you were so beautiful. The pale blue dress Rose had picked and, of course, white roses in your hand. You shot him a small smile, one he responded to by blowing you a kiss. You laughed it off and went to stand where you were meant to. Rafe’s eyes were glued to you through the entire ceremony, almost forgetting to give his dad the rings. After the ceremony, you two ran off, away from Tannyhill. You went to your ‘little cove’ as you’d call it. It was a tiny beach just beside your house, but it led into the most magnificent field full of wildflowers, insects, and tall grass. It was beautiful. You and Rafe spent the whole night there, joking and talking. Then he finally mustered up the courage to kiss you. You kissed him back, but you’d both never speak about it again, too scared to mess up your incredible decade of friendship.

When Rafe was 15, he saw you for the last time. Three months earlier you had come to him, sobbing about the fact that you were moving to California of all places. More than a day's drive away. 42 hour drive. He promised you, no, swore to you that you’d keep in touch, that you’d be there for each other even with the distance.

He was wrong. After a few months, he’d stopped texting back, stopped calling back, stopped being there for you. And he never saw you again.

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

Rafe woke up with a banging headache and an uncontrollable urge to vomit but swallowed it back and took the glass of water that remained on his bedside table for days at a time. Today was going to be shit. It was the 28th of July, the day you left him, and the day his world got turned upside down. This day was always hard. He was reminded of everything he’d messed up in life. What was he now? A drug addicted, drunk, piece of shit. He was barely getting by in college and he’d already had to repeat a year twice. Often, he’d go to your little cove and sit, thinking about what you were doing now. Were you a teacher, like you’d wanted to be as a kid? Were you an artist? He remembered how good you were at sketching. Were you even alive and he’d missed the funeral? What did you look like? What colour was your hair? Did you think about him?

Everything was too loud in his mind. He grabbed a beer, and set on his way. The cove was in full bloom, a sea of colours under the boiling sun. He sat in his usual spot, the spot where you two had kissed. You two had these small chairs that Rafe barely fit in then, and definitely didn’t fit in now, so he sat beside them. What time was it? Was the sun going down? He searched in his pocket for his phone, only to find it dead.

“Excuse me?” He turned to see a girl shouting from across the field.

“Yeah?” he called back, feeling rather inconvenienced by the whole ordeal.

“Do the Cameron’s still live in Tannyhill?” She asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“Just an old friend, thanks!”

And she walked off. He tried to remember her physical features as best he could, but ultimately forgot them in his pursuit of washing his troubles away with the beer in his hand.

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

“Y/n? Is that you?!” Sarah squealed as she leant out the window of the Twinkie.

“Sarah?” You practically ran into the road to meet her. The car was stopped at a stop-light, and she pulled you in to properly greet you.

“Oh my god! It is so good to see you!” She smiled. Despite you and Rafe’s falling out, you’d stayed in touch with Sarah, even though you were a little older than her. You even followed Wheezie on instagram and texted back and forth sometimes. But Rafe… static. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I’m here to teach, I just finished my 2nd year of college and I’m doing my work experience here!” You explained, as she pulled away from the hug.

“So you’re going to be here, like for the whole year?”

“Not just the whole year, I’m moving back once I'm done with my exams,” you explained. “I’m doing this programme that means I can work from here and do college from here, I’m so fucking sick of California.”

Both Sarah and Kiara squealed with excitement, and the three boys cheered. You’d been friends with the pogues, being a sort of pogue-kook hybrid.

Kiara pulled you in for a hug, then Pope, then Jj, then John B gave your hand a squeeze instead, since he was busy driving.

“So you’re back for good?” Kie asked.

“I’m back for as long as you’ll have me,” you smiled.

“We have to celebrate tonight!” Jj cheered.

“There’s a party down at Figure 8, I’m sure Y/n’s kook heritage will get us in,” Pope shrugged and you all agreed.

You spent the rest of the afternoon hanging around the pogues and Sarah and got ready at Kiara’s place for the party. Her parents welcomed you back with open arms, and then asked the dreaded question of ‘how are your parents?’

Your parents had been dead for 3 years. They’d died in an accident, and you’d been alone since then.

“They’re good,” you lied. “Working hard back in California.”

That satisfied them, and they stopped asking.

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

The Figure 8 party was just how you remembered them to be. Loud, drunk, and almost too much. Even though you had been 14 at the time, Rafe had convinced you to come to one, since he was friends with some older kooks who wanted him there. Halfway through you told him you were going home, and instead of just waving you off, he brought you to your little cove, and sat with you for a couple hours. After that he brought you back to his house, and you had a sleepover.

When you’d asked him why he did that, he’d just shrugged and said ‘I prefer being around you.’

God, you could’ve married that man. You were supposed to, if your diary ‘ideal life’ had gone to plan.

Step One: Start dating Rafe

Step Two: Become highschool sweethearts and make it through college (even if it's long distance) and become a teacher!

Step Three: Work as a teacher and live on the mainland for a few years, have Rafe propose in the little cove, say yes, obviously and start wedding planning.

Step Four: Have the wedding at Tannyhill, move into a house on Figure 8 and start having kids, we’ll have 4 or 5 (Rafe wants 7 kids????? 4 or 5 is pushing it buddy), and live a long happy life as a teacher with Rafe and our family.

Step Five: Die happy.

Ok, it wasn’t exactly inspired, but come on, you were 13.

You noticed what looked like a grown version of Topper in the crowd and when he turned and saw you, a smile grew on his face. He ran over and scooped you up in a hug.

“Bun! You’re back!”

Bun was the nickname you were given as a kid because well, you liked bunnies. You had two as a kid, and for a year, you wouldn’t respond to someone unless they called you bun. It was ridiculous, but people obliged all the same. You'd never regretted anything more in your life in that moment.

“Hey Topper,” you smiled.

“Have you seen Rafe yet?” he asked.

“No, not yet,” you smiled slightly faltered, but you kept the smile up for good appearances. When you’d gone to Tannyhill yesterday, only Ward, Rose, and Wheezie were in, so your anxiety around seeing Rafe had grown. One day, he’d just stopped replying. Not one reason, not one apology. Nothing. One part of you wanted to say he didn’t even deserve to see you, and another missed her best friend/ supposed love of her life. “Is he around?”

“He is, but he’s high as shit,” Topper laughed. Rafe Cameron? Rafe Cameron was getting high?

“Rafe is high?”

“Oh yeah, he’s totally into all that shit now,” he laughed and you noticed the dilated pupils, the white residue on his nose, the red, irritated skin of his nose. He was high too. “It’s good shit too, you want some?”

“I’m good, just point me in Rafe’s direction,” you nodded, deeply uncomfortable with the drugs around. You’d grown up with a brother who did drugs, who’d died from drugs at the young age of 17. You didn’t want anything to do with drugs, but here you were, being led into one of the Figure 8 mansions to be led to Rafe Cameron, selling, and doing drugs.

“Gentleman, I present to you, the Princess of Figure 8, making her great return, Bunny!” he cheered as all eyes turned to you. The group of boys cheered, getting up to give you a group hug. Rafe stayed seated.

“How’s life on the mainland Bun?How was Cali?” Kelce asked, sitting down beside you as you joined the circle, trying to ignore the cocaine on the table.

“It’s fine, but I’m back in the Outer Banks for good now,” you smiled as another round of cheers rippled through the group.

“We’re finally good enough for you again?” Topper joked. “What’s brought you back home huh? Aside from the strapping young men?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m teaching here Top, I'm in my third year of college.”

“Shit no way, you’re a teacher?” Ryan, a sleeze you remembered from school. He was always the creepy guy, trying to look up girls' skirts and play kiss-tag at the ripe old age of 12. “You're way too sexy to be a teacher. You should be a pornstar or something.”

You felt bile rise in your stomach as a handful of the boys laughed at the joke.

“That’s not funny,” Kelce defended. “Fuck off asshole.”

“What? You and I both have eyes and we can both see her tits. Too bad Cameron has dibs.”

You froze and looked to Rafe who was looking at you through hooded eyes.

The silence was awkward, and you knew it was time to take your leave, even though you hadn’t said a word to Rafe, so you said your goodbyes and left in search of the pogues.

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

“Gentleman, I present to you, the Princess of Figure 8, making her great return, Bunny!” Topper announced as all eyes turned to you.

Holy fucking shit. You were gorgeous, and it was you. Rafe’s Y/n. Rafe’s Bun. He was shocked to see you in the Outer Banks again, let alone in person again. You were here. In front of him. Then he realised, you were here. Here, where there was cocaine on the table, and he was the one selling it. Here, where there were about three guys looking at you like you were a piece of meat. Here, where he sat at the top of the table, stoned out of his mind.

“How’s life on the mainland Bun? How was Cali?” Kelce asked, sitting down beside you as you joined the circle. Rafe could see you trying to ignore the table, staring directly at Kelce, all your attention on him. He couldn’t help but feel jealous. You were his best friend before you were anyone else’s friend. He’d known you better than anyone. And here he was, silent as he watched you talk to everyone else.

“It’s fine, but I’m back in the Outer Banks for good now.”

His heart almost stopped. Back in the Outer Banks, for good.

“We’re finally good enough for you again?” Topper joked. “What’s brought you back home huh? Aside from the strapping young men?”

You rolled your eyes at him, but Rafe could tell it was playful. God, his life was so fun when you had been in it. Impromptu boat rides and trips to the mainland, spending hours just talking and laughing about nothing and everything all at the same time. He missed it. He missed you.“I’m teaching here Top, I'm in my third year of college.”

“Shit no way, you’re a teacher?” Ryan. Rafe often wondered why he even kept him around. He could feel the awful comment coming, but he knew he couldn’t stop it. “You're way too sexy to be a teacher. You should be a pornstar or something.”

Rafe felt the anger boil in his blood the second he said it. Ryan should’ve known better than to talk about you like that.

“That’s not funny,” Kelce defended, beating Rafe to it. “Fuck off asshole.”

“What? You and I both have eyes and we can both see her tits. Too bad Cameron has dibs.”

Rafe stared back at you as you truly looked at him for the first time that night. He couldn’t tell how you felt, something he didn’t like. Ever since you two were kids, he could always tell how you were feeling, what you were thinking. He could always anticipate what you needed. He didn’t know now and it scared him. He just looked back into your beautiful eyes, allowing himself to be lost in the fact that you were here in front of him.

The silence was awkward and he knew it, so he didn’t protest when you took your leave, even if he wanted to. He spoke when he knew you were out of ear and eyeshot, he didn't need you know what he was about to do.

“Ryan?” he scoffed. “You have ten seconds.”

“Until what?” Ryan chuckled.

Rafe counted down the seconds in his head, Topper and Kelce became more and more uneasy as the seconds went by.

Rafe didn’t even give warning, he just got up, grabbed a nearby beer bottle, and smashed it over his head. Nobody dared to stop him, not even when he started punching Ryan, promising to kill him if he ever spoke about you like that again.

People knew not to fuck with Rafe and, even after all these years, you were an extension of Rafe. Too bad Ryan forgot that.

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

obx masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games, challengers :)

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron one shot #rafe obx #rafe cameron x reader fluff #rafe imagine #rafe cameron x reader angst #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader

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bluberryfields · 2 years ago

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This is what happens when you're raised by TV and trained in literary analysis

Beyond the crushing heartbreak of that finale, one thing in particular has stuck with me when I look at it in the context of S2 as a whole.

He lays out their relationship, "We're a team, a group. A group of the two of us. And we've spent our existence pretending that we aren't."

He then turns his head away and says, "I mean, the last few years, not really."

He pauses here, facing the interior of the bookshop. Really looks it up and down.

Turns back, "And I would like to spend" before choking on his words and looks toward the window. He can't finish saying something like "And I would like to spend eternity with you" because that's too much, too fast, for both of them.

But it's that "last few years" bit that has firmly lodged itself in my very broken brain.

According to Gaiman, it's been "a few years" since the end of Season 1. Armageddon has been averted. Heaven and Hell have reluctantly retreated. Crowley and Aziraphale have been effectively cut loose from their "sides," leaving them to form their own side.

So at the start of Season 2, we get a glimpse of the “fragile existence” they have carved out for themselves. To me, the biggest difference that we see is how they exist together in front of others. Going to the coffee shop, the pub, and the other shops along the street that Aziraphale has lived on for over 200 years. And don’t forget how they act in front of Nina, Maggie, and sweet, dim Muriel.

At the coffee shop, Aziraphale stammers a bit when Nina asks who Crowley is, but he still seems to have affection in his voice when he says, "We go back a long time."

Compared to Shakespearian "He's not my friend! We've never met before. We don't know each other!" panic, this is an incredible difference.

Of course, each time, Crowley is cool and cheeky and does nothing to indicate that they aren't a pair. Though, of course, he does deny it when Nina asks about Aziraphale being his side piece. “He’s not my bit on the side! He’s far too pure of heart to be anyone’s bit on the side.” And refers to him as an “Angel [swallows]I know.”

When they go the pub, Crowley's joy at doing something together in public that they do not normally do is super cute, including his cheeky order for Aziraphale's sherry. Then, when bringing the drinks over to the socially trapped Aziraphale, he greets Mr. Brown with a truly adorable, "Hello" and a signature DT smile. Then upon hearing how “excited” Mr. Fell is to host the meeting, he looks down and says, “Oh? You astonish me.” while Aziraphale sips his sherry and squirms.

We also watch as Crowley follows Aziraphale as he goes to each shop and talks to the owners about the meeting/secret ball. In theory, Crowley has no reason to tag along, and he certainly doesn’t help sway anyone who doesn’t want to/can’t go. He goofs around at the magic shop. He splays out on the bench, chin on hand, looking for all the world a husband waiting for his wife to pick out a dress at the department store. They are so married it’s ridiculous.

Finally, their behavior in front of Muriel while inside their sanctuary. Crowley sits on the arm of Aziraphale’s chair, somehow looking supremely comfortable on the old-fashioned furniture. He folds up those gloriously long limbs and presses himself as close as possible.

He smiles and plays along with Aziraphale’s coaching of Muriel in her disguise. Calls him Angel and asks to speak in private. And at the end, during the awful wait while Aziraphale talks with The Metatron, Crowley cleans up the shop and tells Muriel that he and Aziraphale will need some “us” time after all this. No beating around the bush.

Without oversight, they can be openly together and happy. But Heaven just can’t let that happen.

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thisismeracing · 1 year ago

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The one | CS55

― Pairing: Carlos Sainz x fem!reader (she/her) ― Warnings: mentions of break up and food; typos. ― Summary: Yn is doing well a few months after her break up with Carlos, and so is he. Everyone thinks that this paragraph of their lives is over, but as it happens they may be a chapter to each other, and Yn makes sure everyone knows he was her great love, the one - through her new song. ― A/n: None of the pictures used are mine, they are all from Pinterest and other apps, but the work is, and I do not allow it to be published on a different platform. I would appreciate it if those things could be taken into consideration 💛

▸ my masterlist | my taglist | patreon guide ▸ support my writing by reblogging, leaving a comment (don’t forget to follow me if you like the piece), or buying me a coffee

February, 2023

February, 2024

realyn

liked by charles_leclerc, sza, and others

realyn "The One" has just come out on all streaming platforms. I hope this piece of my heart reaches yours. Tune in and dive into the feels 💐🤍

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saintsainz "for old time's sake" HELLO?????

ynsummer omg another bop!!! I wish I could write songs when I'm sad, the few breakups I had I could only cry and try not to choke on my own phlegm

⤷ fan2000 ewwww LOL

hammert1m3 charles on the likes 👀

leclowns1655 in my head they're not over yet

⤷ mercmickey you need therapy, bestie

lewishamilton great music as usual 💜

francisca.cgomes 😍😍

szadirection I love how the grid's still here supporting here even a year after she and carlos broke up 🥺

popyn WE WERE SOMETHING DON'T YOU THINK SOOO ROSÉ FLOWING WITH YOUR CHOSEN FAMILY 🎤🎤🎤🎤

ferraristrangers I have so many theories for the lyrics and the cover and kksjksdj aaaaaaaa

Old posts

March, 2018

realyn

liked by lewishamilton, ynfan, and others

realyn eat pasta, run fasta, they said 😋😂

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bieberf1 they my new fav couple now 💋

raintyresainz thank you for feeding us that last carlos pic

hurricaneyn welp now I wanna eat pasta but its like the middle of the night

⤷ alonsochamp eat pasta, sleep fasta 😙😂

carlossainz55 ❤️❤️

amarelorenault her glasses are so cool!!!!! her style is always on point

carlossainz55

liked by yourfriend, fernandoalo_oficial, and others

carlossainz55 we tried homemade, it worked 😋

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realyn we didn't run fasta this time though :(

⤷ carlossainz55 there wasn't any race this Sunday, cariño

⤷ realyn shhhh, let me be funny

harrystylistee I want what they have!

April, 2018

realyn

liked by hulkhulkenberg, renaultf1team, and others

realyn enjoyed April with my fav spaniard, wrote a few songs for you guys - new album dropping soon!!!!! 🥳

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aussiegrid howd you like Australia, Yn?

⤷ realyn I loved it, def gonna come back soon 🥰

ynfan 💙💙💙💙💙💙

carlosfullname1 where’s your jacket from?

⤷ realyn website.com 😘

fab2000 can’t wait for the new song and espec the new album!!!!!

July, 2018

carlossainz55

liked by pierregasly, realyn, and others

carlossainz55 Yn's new album "I used to know her" is out now and you guys should run to listen to it 💙💙 she did an amazing job as usual. I'm very proud of you, cariño @ realyn

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lewishamilton congrats, Yn!

hulkhulkenberg everyone here loved the new album, well done, Yn!

renaultf1team its our garage soundtrack 😎💛

March, 2019

realyn

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realyn the past few months wearing papaya have been amazing! 🧡 and yes, last concert clothes were orange bc of the team

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landonorris looks like the concert clothes gave us some luck, make sure to wear orange again next time!

⤷ realyn I love you guys but I can't be wearing orange all the time

⤷ yourmanager yes, you can

⤷ realyn shut up, I'm gonna fire your ass

⤷ yourmanager no, you won't

⤷ carlossainz55 jajajaja

tifosinha I love how lando looks like their kid 😂

spaincarlos_ not yn and carlos adopting lando lol

ynfan4 her music taste is *chef kiss* 🤌🏾

ynandsainz yn, your album still on repeat on my apple music!

mclaren 🧡🧡

December, 2019

carlossainz55

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carlossainz55 ¡Feliz Navidad! 🎄❤️

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saturnracer FELIZ NAVIDAD TAN TAN TAN PROSPERO AÑO Y FELICIDAD 🎤

szalover 😭😍 its the way she loves pasta

⤷ cowboyvettel @ realyn pasta or carlos? choose one

⤷ realyn carlos cooking pasta 😙😋😜

July, 2020

realyn

liked by lewishamilton, fernandoalo_oficial, and others

realyn compilation of some of the flowers Carlos gave me and pics he took 💖 Te amo, cariño 💐🌷🌹🌸🌺🌼🌻

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fonedirection God I see what youve done for others

carlossainz55 you’re my favorite flower, love 🌸💖

⤷ fernandoalo_official you guys know how to be sicklengly cute huh 🙄

piastripastry see? carlos gets flowers regularly to yn and yall out there crying over an ugly ass man who gives you the bare minimum 🫵

March, 2021

realyn

liked by carlossainz, scuderiaferrari, and others

realyn new character unlocked hehe ❤️💛🏎️

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ynfrance We want a new album, queen!!! save us!

swiftverstappen the way they went through everything togerher 🤧

⤷ russellsainz I want what they have

monegasque16 another day another yn post to make me cry in single and alone

carlossainz55 thank you for the endless support, cariño 💛 you’re my everything

tifosisunshine you’re 😭 my 😭 everything 😭

August, 2022

carlossainz55

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carlossainz55 my kind of free-weekends 🩵

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sunnyyn yn looks so good 😍😍

yourbestie ❤️ aweee

realyn te amo! 😘

January, 2023

realyn

liked by lewishamilton, francisca.cgomes, and others

realyn happy new year 🙃

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charlsmonaco where's carlos? 😟

mylightyn I don't like this vibe…

ynwardrobe what is she reading?

lewishamilton 💙

⤷ mclatinha lew do you happen to know something we don’t?

carlossainz55

liked by landonorris, fernandoalo_oficial, and others

carlossainz55 ¡Feliz Año Nuevo! 🎉

view all comments

brocedes2010 where's Yn??????

schumini_ at least they seem to be on the same place 🙏🏾🙏🏾

redsainz he looks so good it hurts

back to 2024 💬📩

────── ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi! I hope you guys liked this piece! I'm set on publishing my drafts but I need time to work on them, this one was saved for a while now, and it's finally here heheh let me know your thoughts!

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theoldgvard · 21 days ago

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The Old Guard 2 trailer analysis!

I’ve watched it so much already and I can’t quiet my mind, so here are all my thoughts!

• Andy and Nile banter to open the trailer is wonderful, I’m so glad it seems like their relationship will continue to be a focus. Also Andy generally seems a bit more full of life since last time which is equally amazing to see. The two of them at the table mirrors Nile’s first dinner scene, which really gives the opening that found family feel.

• Nile jumping through the window - finally getting her São Paulo ‘34 moment!

• There are six motorbikes in the field - assumedly this is Andy, Nile, Nicky, Joe, Booker and Henry Golding’s character Tuah.

• Nile seems to be leading ahead of Andy and Booker - does this mean their formation has shifted since we last saw them and Andy has actually let her go first?

• Discord related flashbacks including her being present at Quynh’s drowning, which begs the question of what other moments we may get to see through her eyes.

• Cutting to Nicky and Joe when Tuah says ‘your relationships’ - there were rumours their relationship would be toned down in the sequel, however it doesn’t seem to be the case which is wonderful!

• ‘You and your friends don’t have much time left.’ Does this mean Andy doesn’t have much time left with them, or are they ALL at risk??

• Andy vs Quynh - the trailer doesn’t hint at their connection so it’s understandable that we’re apprehensive about how they will be handled. On the bright side, Nicky and Joe’s relationship wasn’t explicit in the original film’s trailer either, so hopefully they’re just keeping it a surprise for non-comic fans!

• ‘Do you think she knows that I’ve lost my immortality?’ assuming ��she’ here is Quynh

• ‘Nothing that lives lives forever’ repeated in a sad voice could be some dangerous foreshadowing… also Booker is so full of regret the whole time bless.

• Nicky, this is what happens when you don’t wear a seatbelt. (I’m very stressed)

• Who is being stabbed by Discord in the close up? Judging by skin tone/arm build I’m guessing either Tuah or Joe?? The hand also has a ring on the same finger that Joe wore a ring on in the first film … (you can see the ring clearly by watching the ‘Old Guard Hair and Makeup Test’ on YouTube!)

• Andy screaming and crying at the end hopefully means the film will maintain the focus on emotion/character we loved so much from the first one, even if it is leaning more into huge action set pieces this time around.

Thats’s all I have right now, more things will probably occur to me when I rewatch it a further hundred times between now and July!

#the old guard #the old guard 2 #2 old 2 guard #kaysanova #andromaquynh

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choochooboss · 2 years ago

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"Running a large facility comes with great responsibility and challenges. Having to make quick decisions under stress at times can get things heated up."

#I like to think Emmet leads more with logic and Ingo with emotion #It's hard to imagine them in a serious argument with each other! Canonically the least #They make great leaders together balancing each other out with their personalities!#The ultimate co-op team!!#they even share their pokémon!!#submas #subway bosses #subway boss ingo #pokemon ingo #submas ingo #subway boss emmet #pokemon emmet #submas emmet #pokemon #Old piece from last July

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nochukoo97 · 1 year ago

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we can’t be friends (wait for your love) - teaser

pairing: childhoodfriend!jk x childhoodfriend!oc

summary: you and jungkook have been friends since birth, and as you both grow into teenagers, you can’t help but have some sorr of longing feeling towards him. but after a turn of events, you move away from your home town, growing apart from the boy you onced were close to. almost a decade later when you decide to move back, there’s someone familiar yet unfamiliar waiting for your arrival… was this the universe giving you a sign about him?

warnings/tags: story starts off when the both of them are children, but most of the plot is when they are adults :)), eventual: kissing, an emotional rollercoaster 🥲, they’re stuck in a ‘what are we’ moment, playing a waiting game of who confesses first, a little bit of angst, smut, but fluff too hehe

a/n: IM BACK 🥲 after being in writers block sighhh but i am back hehehe hope u r excited for this!! anyways this is just an intro for the actual fic, its more of what happened before the present which will be in the main part hehehe

TAGLIST OPEN!!

(this is the introduction, the main part is coming soon :)))

MASTERLIST

23 July 2007

You’re currently wedged between two bookshelves in the living room of your house, eyes trained on the words in your book, giggling to yourself when the plot takes a funny turn. Meanwhile in the background, Jungkook and your brother Taehyung, both a year older than you, the two ten year old boys play fighting in your parents backyard, their game was way too rough for you to even watch, you decided.

That’s always the way it’s been since you were young, Jungkook’s mum dropping him off at your parents place as he spent time with your brother, mostly roughhousing like they are now, and you, at nine years old, simply tucking yourself in another fairytale, which to you seemed like a much better way to past time.

You never truly spent a lot of time with the two of them when Jungkook would come over, besides the once-in-a-while moments where your parents would make you guys bond a little through board games or card games which the two elder boys would never take seriously, the games always ending in them either throwing the board game pieces at each other or stacking the cards into a pyramid.

When it came to school, you tried your best to stay away from bumping into your brother at school, but you’d always end up being teased in front of your friends by him and Jungkook, making fun of your two pigtails or your very glittery pink bag you had just gotten as a birthday gift, but you were used to it anyways, having grown up with a brother.

12 August 2011

Four years go by and now you’re finally completing your last year in middle school, Jungkook and your brother having moved on to high school, and as expected, they end up attending the same school, as they have done their whole life.

But since four years ago, a lot has changed. You’ve grown much closer to Jungkook, having gone on quite a few trips with his family, and you could even consider him a close friend. Most importantly, he’d grown from being a kid to a teenager, even though he was only a year older than you, the 14 year old boy suddenly became someone you always wanted to hang out with. To you, you saw him as someone cool. Instead of teasing you along with your brother, he now would defend you from your brother’s teasing, treat you to ice cream on the weekends and even teach you the video games he played with your brother.

“And then he let me get as many toppings as I wanted,” You tell your friends, clicking the buttons on your phone to show them the picture of your ice cream, filled to the brim with all sorts of toppings because Jungkook said you could.

“You’re so lucky, I wish I had a boyfriend like that,” Jiyeon sighs, pouting her lips as she sulks.

Your face turns red, tip of your ears warm as you quickly deny, “He isn’t my boyfriend! Just a friend… In fact he was my brother’s friend first,” No, you couldn’t even begin to try and imagine Jungkook as someone more than your friend!

“Well, but you should definitely confess to him on valentine’s day, it’s in like six months,” Yuji twirls her hair, nudging your leg slightly as she giggled.

To the three of you, as 13 year old girls, having a valentine was a big deal, especially since the whole idea of a crush and all was new to you guys as teenage girls.

“No! I don’t have feelings for him! He’s just nice to me I guess,” You frown at Yuji, just because she confessed to her crush and now apparently has a boyfriend, doesn’t mean you need to do it too, you decided.

You didn’t have a crush on Jungkook right?

You push away the thought quickly, this whole topic was so taboo to you, it made you feel squirmy thinking about it. No, you didn’t have any sort of feelings towards the older boy, never.

So that day when you arrived back at home, spotting Jungkook and Taehyung sitting at the table and doing their homework, you decide to take a seat away from the certain boy.

“Huh? Why are you sitting all the way there? Come back here,” Jungkook hums, pulling out his earphones in bewilderment, you had always sat next to him whilst the three of you would do homework together after school, nudging him here and there to ask for help with a math problem.

“I- okay,” You scooch towards the chair next to him, dragging your books along the table as you avoid eye contact. Your cheeks heating up again as you remember your conversation with your friends in school earlier, it made you feel all tingly inside, but why were you being so weird in front of him?

“You’ve been staring at that math problem for ages, need help?”

You jump up in surprise at Jungkook’s voice , letting out a small yelp as your brother snickers at you from across the table, you kick his shin in response, sending his hands flailing to the injury, mumbling some cuss word you don’t understand.

“Yeah,” You only muster out a whisper, handing over your pencil to the boy, who finds your behaviour a little off but nonetheless, doesn’t comment on it.

And while he explains the solution and working to find the value of X, you can only notice his eyes, his nose, the mole under his lips, the scar on his cheek from when he fought with your brother years ago, his lips.

And then you for yourself to snap out of your daydream when his eyes lock with yours in confusion as to why you’re staring at him instead of your workbook.

03 January 2012

But then five months later, opportunity for valentine’s day didn’t even come for you anyways, as you pack your bags to move miles away from the place you once called home, since your father had been posted to a new country for his work.

The whole idea of leaving your life behind and all the people you’ve ever known since young was such an overwhelming feeling that you didn’t even think once about your feelings for Jungkook anymore, or maybe you did once, but it didn’t matter.

So when you tugged your luggage and watch your brother sadly hug his best friend goodbye at the airport, reality struck, you wouldn’t ever get a chance to even properly assess your feelings for Jungkook anyways, so you simply wave him goodbye, not looking back so you don’t think further than a goodbye.

He did make sure to exchange his Instagram and Facebook with you, promising you and your brother to keep in touch, which you agreed to. Maybe there was a part of you that wanted to cling onto the idea of him, but you didn’t let yourself believe that anyways.

#jungkook fluff #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook au #jungkook ff #jungkook smut #jungkook x oc #bts #jungkook x you #jungkook drabble #jungkook angst #jungkook imagine #jungkook imagines #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenarios

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wandamaximoffsbadgirl · 1 year ago

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Beautiful Stranger

I've Never Recognized a Purer Face (1)

Mommy!Wanda Maximoff x Beefy!Fem!Reader

Summary: You've just moved to West View for collage with your parents and your neighbor has caught your attention.

Word Count: 2K

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, R masturbates

A/N: This is an old piece I reworked a bit so here you go until my brain can focus on the prompt requests!

June 14, 2023

You had recently moved to West View, New Jersey with your parents. You'd be starting college here in the Fall along with your dad starting a new job in a week.

The hot summer air made you sweat even in your tank top and shorts, your tattooed body being shown off almost completely. Trying to get everything inside as quickly as possible was proving to be ineffective as you took a moment to collapse under the tree in your front yard, finding solace in the shade. “Gods it's too hot for this.” You grumbled out.

“Can I interest you in some lemonade?” You heard an unfamiliar, feminine voice ask from just above me as you opened your eyes. Your mouth drying up instantly at the sight of the beauty before you. Red hair flowing in waves over her shoulders, green eye like emeralds, her skin splashed with freckles not unlike your own face.

“H-hi…” You somehow managed out.

“Hi there I'm your neighbor, Wanda, Wanda Maximoff.” She pointed behind her at her house which looked identical to your house from the outside.

“I'm Y/N…Y/N Y/L/N.” Luckily your mother came over to save me from your awkwardness.

“Oh hello! I'm Y/M/N Y/L/N and my husband over there is Y/F/N Y/L/N. I see you've already met our Y/N/N.” You groaned, throwing yourself back down. “We just moved in for our little Y/N/N to go to collage and my husband to start a new job.” Your mother gushed.

“Ma please stop. I'm sure Wanda doesn't care about why we moved here.”

“Oh, but sweetie I do. I love the nick name by the way. Y/N/N.” The way it rolled off her tongue and her accent? Fuck it sent a shiver through you like it was the middle of December.

“Please just Y/N is fine.” You begged slightly not knowing if you could handle her using your name like that. “I'm going to go help dad. It was nice meeting you Wanda.” You told the older woman before leaving her with your mom for them to talk. Wanda was about your mom's age so probably twenty years older than me.

“Mom!”

“Mom!” You heard two different boys call at the same time as You came out of the moving van, the boys running up to Wanda. “We're going to go play with the Barton kids is that okay?” One of them asked.

“Of course boys. Go on and be back before the streetlights come on.” Wanda gave each of them a kiss on the forehead. When she leaned back up her eyes met yours. You felt your face flush at the thought of a kiss from the older woman before retreating into the house. The central air cooling you down.

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

July 2,2023

There was a knock at the front door causing you to pause your game on your switch, getting up from the couch. Upon opening the door you were met with Wanda.

“Hi Y/N I know this is super last minute, but my babysitter canceled. Could you watch the boys?” Wanda asked desperately.

“Oh yeah sure of course I can.” You grabbed your keys and phone, following Wanda, totally not staring at her ass the whole time.

“Okay so here is $40 for dinner. Get them whatever they want it'll probably be pizza which the menu is on the fridge for their favorite place. Bedtime is 8pm. Billy is a little sensitive so if he isn't enthusiastic it's not you I promise. Tommy will probably try to pester you, don't let him. Oh and if I'm not back early and you get tired you can sleep in my bed. I'll wake you when I get home. Thank you for this I really appreciate it. Boys! Y/N from next door will be watching you tonight! Please behave for her!” Wanda called the boys barreling down the stairs and past you she gave each a kiss, “Be good you two. I love you.” She told them as they ran back off upstairs and it seems without much thought she kissed your cheek before leaving. Leaving you there with your face burning.

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

You were scrolling through your phone, noticing it was past midnight. You didn't think Wanda would be gone this long. You didn't even ask what she was up to this evening? You got up from the couch, putting away the remaining pizza before quietly making your way upstairs. You checked on the boys who were fast asleep. Their sleeping faces made you smile as you quietly closed the door and found Wanda's room. As soon as you opened the door Wanda's scent of jasmine and sage overpowering you and sending a shot straight through your core. Closing the door behind you, swallowing hard as you sat on the bed; it is so soft. You lay down, your head on Wanda's pillow as her scent completely overtakes you and you can't help, but move your fingers between your legs, rubbing your clit furiously as you were completely wrapped up in Wanda. Moaning softly against her pillow as you came to the thought of her. You pulled your hand out, breathing heavily as you sucked your own fingers clean. You were in so deep and You knew it. It's not fair though Wanda didn't look like she was almost 40 she still looked like she was in her 20s and didn't have twin 5 year old boys.

You groaned against her pillow in frustration as You buried your face into it, getting under her duvet making it feel like Wanda was holding you and soon enough you fell asleep.

“Hey, sweet girl, come on wake up pretty girl.” You heard a gentle voice call.

“Mmm?” You turned to look over your shoulder, it was Wanda. “What time is it?” You asked sleep heavy in your voice.

“Really late sweet girl. You can stay if you want. I don't mind, I just ask that you move to the other side so I can sleep here on my pillows.” Wanda's voice was soft and she moved your hair out of your face.

You grumbled a bit, but moved over to the other set of pillows. You did move them ever so slightly to be closer as you turned to face her side of the bed as she settled in.

“Good night sweet girl. Thank you for everything.” You felt Wanda lean over once again placing a kiss on your cheek.

“Mmm s’ no problem…” You mumbled falling back to sleep almost instantly as her presence soothed you knowing she was home and safe now.

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

You woke up in her bed, sitting up you rubbed your eyes as you heard a door open. Looking up to see Wanda through blurry eyes as you reached for your glasses on her side table.

“Good morning sweet girl. Did you sleep well?” Her unblurred form came into view, her hair was only slightly damp, a pair of dark gray, flared dress pants, a tucked in cream colored button down that she purposefully left the top ones unbuttoned to show her amazing cleavage off. She was currently grabbing a hair clip to get her hair up which once she did looked amazingly effortlessly beautiful.

“Good.” You manage as your breath hitches remembering what you did in this bed last night.

“Well you certainly don't have to stay, but I am making breakfast. Pancakes.” Wanda wiggled her eyebrows at me making me laugh.

“Can you make chocolate chip pancakes?” You ask shyly.

“For you? Yes. Come on.” She started making her way out and you followed, grabbing your phone.

The boys were already downstairs watching cartoons, Wanda giving them each a kiss on the top of the head.

“Why is Y/N still here?” Tommy asked, noticing me as You went to sit at the kitchen island.

“I told her she could stay the night because of how late I'd be getting back, is that okay with you little man?” Wanda asked and he shrugged.

“I guess. She's better than dad.” Tommy off-handedly states catching both Wanda and you off guard.

“Excuse me?” Wanda's voice is stern suddenly and it feels like You shouldn't be here.

“I'm just saying that I like her better.” Tommy spent one night hanging around you and is now stating he likes you better than the father you didn't even consider they probably have somewhere.

“Thomas Oleg Maximoff. I know things aren't the best with your father right now, but that isn't nice.” Wanda is stern with her son in this moment who recoils slightly.

“I'm sorry mom…” he says with his head down.

“I know you're having a lot of big feelings about everything going on between your father and I right now, but he's still your father.” Wanda's voice softens a bit. You hadn't really seen it other than in exaggerated tiktoks, but Wanda seems to have the gentle parent style, much unlike your parents who had a very authoritative style. The two hug it out before Wanda joins you in the kitchen.

She silently moves about the kitchen as she grabs things and when it comes to chocolate chips she has bags just about every kind you can think of.

“Which kind do you want sweet girl?” Wanda asks and you feel overwhelmed at first. You decided to do a triple chip of milk, white, and peanut butter chips. “I see you have a big sweet tooth.” She comments.

“Yeah. I always have. I used to get cavities a lot as a kid cause I didn't brush properly, but I got better as I got older.” You told her, grabbing a handful of chips which she smacked your hand playfully. You laughed and took another, sticking your tongue out.

“Oh naughty girl.” She teased and you felt a heat inside again as you shifted in your seat, trying to alleviate it slightly. You saw Wanda flick her eyes at you, before going back to her pancakes. Had she noticed? Surely she hadn't.

“Boys! Breakfast!” Wanda had gotten out a whole plethora of goodies it felt more like we were having dessert. Syrup, butter, whip cream, peanut butter, chocolate sauce. You'd never seen so much effort go into something like this.

You all moved to the dinning table as the boys dug into their stacks covering their pancakes in syrup until they were drowning.

Wanda grabbed coffee for the two of you and milk for the boys.

“Thank you.” You smiled taking a sip and revealed in the warmth it provided you.

“Of course sweet girl. Now tell me. You're starting college in a month right?” Wanda asked and you nodded as you ripped up your pancake, taking a bite.

“Yes. I took a few years off. Was only supposed to be a year then one thing led to another and it turned into three years.” You explained.

“So you're twenty?” You shook your head.

“Sorry I should explain I was taking a gap year from college after I had to deal with some personal things. I left college when I was twenty, planning to go back in a year, but now I'm twenty-three.” Wanda nodded her head.

“What will you be majoring in?”

“Well originally I was doing psychology. I wanted to go into children's psych, but realized it was a lot of work that I personally couldn't keep up with. Then I was thinking about history, but then I'd have to double major into teaching to do anything meaningful with it, so now I'm going for cyber security.” You smiled, finally explaining your weird college timeline. Wanda laughed a bit.

“You've certainly had an interesting ride, pretty girl.” Wanda leaned on the table and you didn't miss the look Tommy was throwing between his mother and you.

“Yeah I'm just happy to get back on track. The cyber security program teaches from the bottom up and I can get some pretty good offers through the college and freelancing is always an option. I'm already good at programming so maybe I can make my own security program.”

“I'm sure you can do anything you set your mind to pretty girl.” You smile and blush, bashful, at her compliments. You stare down at your mostly finished pancakes.

“Thank you…”

#ley writes #ley speaks #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximommy #mommy!wanda #beefy!fem!Reader

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writtenwhalien · 6 months ago

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a lover's redemption | chapter 3

chapter 3. the new normal

pairing ↠ mafia leader!park jimin x reader

genre ↠ mafia AU — romance/action (angst, fluff, smut)

summary ↠ Blood, business and betrayal is all that Park Jimin has ever known, but when you cross paths again, the stakes are raised even higher and he finds himself battling his conscience, and his heart.

word count ↠ 13.3k

18+ | warnings ↠ drinking, explicit sexual content, violence, all sorts of crime (please see the series masterlist for a complete list of warnings).

taglist is open – dm/comment/send an ask to be added <3

notes ↠ please enjoy and shareeeee xxoxoxox and pls share your thoughts w me as we get into it ;) also in case its not clear, jimin's birth year in the fic is 1995, same as real life, and Y/N is 2 years younger than him. I always put the year for any flashbacks so you can work out how old they are :) any confusion, please let me know (i might make a mistake!) thanks angels! <3

17th July 2009

The heavy scent of cigar smoke lingered in the room, curling around the dark oak furniture. Jimin sat quietly beside his father, his small legs barely brushing the floor. Across from them, Lee Han-Jae exhaled a long puff of his cigar, looking tired.

“They confirmed the crash?” Jihoon asked, his tone devoid of warmth.

Jimin did not know what accident his uncle and father had planned but he knew that his father had been on edge all day because of it.

Han-Jae nodded. “Mostly. But he's gone.” He downed what was left of his drink. “Did we take care of the family?”

Jihoon swirls his glass. “We’ll let them go, they have no one.”

“Except Kija and Min-Baek-hyun,” Han-jae counters.

“They mean nothing to us.”

“But they were loyal to Sehun.”

Upon hearing this, Jimin went still, realising what’s happened.

“Their loyalty was not just to Sehun but the entire Han family. They will protect them at all costs and they’ve been in this long enough to know not to retaliate if they want to keep themselves safe.”

Han-Jae said nothing else of the matter but his face did little to mask his disapproval. He took another puff of his cigar before he spoke again. “The other two men survived. Escaped before the flames could finish the job. They’re digging through the wreckage, but the police are sniffing around."It seems dental records are proving... inconvenient.”

Jihoon’s eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching. “Inconvenient?” he echoed. “The detectives are a problem?”

Han-Jae waved a dismissive hand. “Nothing we can’t handle.”

“Funny,” Jihoon said, leaning forward slightly. “You said the same thing about the last case they opened. And now I hear whispers about them building something bigger — trafficking charges. Another detective’s on the case, isn’t he?” His tone sharpened. “You’ve been careless, Han-Jae.”

The room tensed, the air thick with unsaid threats. Han-Jae stiffened, his smirk faltering for the briefest moment. “Watch your tongue, Jihoon.”

Jihoon’s lip curled. “You’ve been playing dirty, using our resources to fund your side business."

Han-Jae remained indifferent. "You'll be asking for a share soon. All the pieces are almost complete and this detective is nothing more than a bump in the road. I'll deal with it."

"That's besides the point. I trusted you and you're acting foolishly."

"Foolishly?"

"Is it not?" Jihoon asked, patronising.

Jimin watched as Han-Jae got up wordlessly and walked over to his cabinet. He picked up the decanter and generously poured himself some whiskey.

“I’ve given you more than enough leash,” Jihoon continued, his voice rising. “But if you think I’ll let you drag my name down with yours, think again.”

Han-Jae emptied his glass before he turned, his face a mask of fury. “We’ll talk about this later,” he spat. “We have somewhere to be.”

Jihoon didn’t bother responding. Instead, he turned his attention to Jimin, his gaze cold and commanding. “Get a gun.”

Jimin froze, his blood turning to ice. His lips parted, but no sound came out.

“Now,” Jihoon snapped, his tone sharp enough to cut. "Then meet me by the car."

Jihoon left the room and Jimin followed, his legs moving before his mind could catch up. He went towards the basement, down the stairs and past the training floor, all the way to the locked room at the back. Some of his father's men watched as he walked, but none said a word. Hands trembling, he pressed his thumb to the scanner and waited for the door to unlock, revealing an entire array of weapons lining the walls.

Jimin didn't think. He picked up the first handgun he saw, checked it was loaded and then walked out with the cold metal feeling alien in his grasp, the weight far heavier than he anticipated.

Without realising it, his feet carried him to the kitchen, where his mother stood slicing vegetables. She turned at the sound of his shaky breathing, her eyes immediately softening when she saw the gun in his hands.

“Jimin,” she whispered, crossing the room in an instant. She crouched down in front of him, pulling him into a gentle hug. The faint scent of lavender filled his nose, momentarily drowning out the suffocating reality around him.

“I can’t,” he mumbled against her shoulder. “I can’t do it.”

His mother’s embrace tightened. “I never wanted this for you, Jimin,” she murmured, her voice thick with regret. “I’m so sorry.” She pulled back, brushing his hair from his face with trembling fingers. “But this is your life now. Your father won’t wait. If you don’t go back, he’ll only get angrier.”

Jimin shook his head. “Why do you let him—” His voice broke off and a single tear rolled down his cheek.

"I'm so sorry." Her face crumpled, but she quickly composed herself and closed his fingers around the gun. “You have to go now, before he comes looking for you.”

Reluctantly, he nodded, his small frame trembling as she kissed his forehead and guided him toward the door.

The container yard smelled of damp concrete and iron, the air thick and stifling. As Jimin stepped out of the car, he immediately spotted Kwan and Duri ahead of them.

Jihoon and Han-Jae walked ahead while Taemin and Jimin followed behind. As they went further into the yard, around a dark corner, Jimin glanced at Taemin, hoping for some kind of answer. Taemin, barely older than Jimin, gave a reassuring smile of sorts when Jimin glanced his way, but it did little to make him feel better. Jimin figured he knew where they were going since he and his dad spoke often.

Duri pulled the heavy door of one of the containers open as they approached and both fathers stopped short outside of the container. Han-Jae laughed mirthlessly and they both stepped aside for Jimin and Taemin to see.

Two detectives knelt on the floor, their faces bloodied and swollen, their hands tied tightly behind their backs.

Suddenly, the dead weight of the gun in his hand felt heavy again.

Jihoon glanced over his shoulder. “Stay here,” he ordered both boys.

Taemin, barely older than Jimin, gave a solemn nod but said nothing.

Jihoon stepped into the container, and crouched in front of one of the detectives, his voice low but menacing. “I warned you to stay out of my business. But now, you’re here. What do you have to say for yourself?”

The detective spat at Jihoon’s feet, earning himself a sharp backhand. Jihoon stood, motioning to Jimin. “Come here.”

Jimin hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Now, Jimin."

Taemin looked between them and gently nudged Jimin forward. "Go on," he whispered.

Reluctantly, Jimin got closer, his eyes glued to the ground.

"This man is a threat to us,” Jihoon said, calmly. “End him.”

Jimin’s breath hitched. “I-I can’t—”

Jihoon’s hand lashed out, striking him hard enough to send him stumbling. “You’re weak,” he snarled, stepping close to Jimin and speaking low in his ear. “Your mother’s made you soft.”

Jimin’s head snapped up and he ignored the harsh stinging sensation on his cheek. “Is that why you always send her away?” he asked, teeth gritted. “To keep her away from me?”

Jihoon froze, his face darkening. For a moment, Jimin thought he might strike him again. But instead, Jihoon looked right at Jimin and spoke, his voice icy. “She chooses to leave. Every time she walks out that door, it’s her choice. And it’s time you grew up and realised that.”

Jimin’s grip on the gun tightened, his knuckles white. He didn't look at the man before him but raised his arm, finger closing around the trigger. "You're right," Jimin said, voice low. "It is time I grew up."

The gunshot echoed through the warehouse, the sound ringing in Jimin’s ears long after the man’s body hit the floor.

Jihoon’s voice cut through the haze. “Finally.”

But Jimin didn’t hear him. All he could see was the blood, pooling and spreading across the cold concrete. All he could feel was the weight of his father’s shadow, pressing down on him, suffocating him.

Jihoon glanced at Han-Jae, his lip curling in irritation. “You deal with the other one.”

Han-Jae smiled thinly, his hand settling on Taemin’s shoulder. “Go on, son.”

Taemin hesitated, his youthful face pale under the dim light of the yard's lights. He glanced at Jimin, whose expression was frozen in a mix of horror and detachment, and then back at his father.

Han-Jae’s smile faded. “Do you want to disappoint me?”

The weight of that question hung heavy in the air, and Taemin swallowed hard, but slowly, he stepped forward.

The second detective, bloodied and trembling, began to plead incoherently, his words dissolving into a sob.

Jimin’s stomach churned violently. He couldn’t bear to watch as Taemin raised the gun with far steadier hands than his own, nor could he endure the suffocating tension of the warehouse any longer. His voice was hoarse as he muttered, “I’m going to the car.”

Jihoon turned his head slightly but didn’t object. “Fine. Go.”

The indifference in his father’s voice stung more than any reprimand. Jimin moved toward the exit, his legs unsteady but quickening with each step.

The sound of the gunshot rang out just as he stepped out of the container, the echo chasing him into the night.

The air outside was still warm despite it being well past midnight. Jimin usually loved late summer nights like this but not today. As he walked around the bend, he felt more hot, and the humidity worsened the thick, suffocating tension inside.

He made it only a few steps further before his stomach betrayed him. Rushing over towards a stack of crates, he retched violently. The contents of his dinner surged upwards and all Jimin could hope was that he was far away enough from his dad.

His throat burned, and his body trembled as he leaned a hand against the cold metal for support.

When the heaving subsided, the silence around him felt deafening. His mind was a storm of guilt and revulsion. He could still see the detective’s lifeless eyes in his mind, and worse, as he still held the gun now, he kept imagining his finger was still around the trigger.

“This is your life now,” his mother’s voice echoed in his head, her words a hollow comfort against the growing ache in his chest.

His throat tightened, and for a brief moment, he felt the urge to cry. But the tears didn’t come. They couldn’t — not here, not now. He took a deep breath, forcing air into his lungs until the sharpness of it dulled his emotions. He repeated the motion over and over, steadying himself, quieting the chaos within.

Jimin wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and straightened up. His legs felt heavier than before as he trudged toward the car, but by the time he reached it, his breaths had evened out, and his face was expressionless once more.

Sliding into the back seat, he leaned his head against the window and the chill of the glass grounded him.

As he sat there in silence, the weight of his actions settled like stones in his chest, and he knew this wouldn't be the last time.

Present day

It takes you a while to come to your senses, your fuzzy mind drifting in and out of sleep, telling yourself that you’re dreaming every time your eyes half open to see the surroundings of a room which isn’t yours. Your head sinks back into the feather filled pillow, your breathing is slow and steady and you remain completely still as you wait to wake up in your own bed, in your own home.

But it doesn’t happen.

As you start to focus on the feeling of your chest rising and falling with each breath, your eyes flutter open fully and everything comes rushing back to you. Seojun lying helplessly on your kitchen floor, Minjun and the men flooding your kitchen, Dani and Siho dying to protect you. And Jimin.

The thought of it all hurts your head, and you push the thoughts down, focusing on something else for now. You have many questions and you’ll make sure to get answers, but right now, one thing you’re sure of, is that you’re safe.

Looking around the room you’re in, you faintly recognise the large wooden doors and particular coving style on the walls. You spent more than a few days running around the halls of this estate, hiding and playing in the rooms belonging to the boy you were once friends with — now the man who saved your life…

It hasn’t escaped you, that had Jimin and his men not walked in when they did, Minjun would’ve killed you after he got whatever information he needed from you.

You’ve never forgotten him, and now it seems like an odd sort of fate that you’ve ended up entangled in some kind of mess with him, thanks to Seojun.

There’s definitely something going on, because there must’ve been a reason why Seojun was in your house, why he spent those late evenings at the cafe just trying to have a conversation with you.

Looking next to you on the nightstand, you see your phone and purse, as well as a few of the other items you had in your pocket and your first thought is to call Yoongi. Whatever’s going on, you need to tell him and he might know something too.

There’s also a small bowl of fresh fruit on the nightstand and a bottle of water — a small reminder that you’re safe here.

As you reach for your phone, you feel a mild throbbing pain in your wrist. You almost forgot that Minjun cut you, but the wound is neatly bandaged now. Pushing the sheets back, you look down at your thigh to see it’s also been bandaged and you’re almost certain you’ll find stitches under there. You’re also wearing clothes that aren’t yours — a loose tee and baggy basketball shorts. You don’t remember anything since falling unconscious but you’re sure one of the housemaids must’ve dressed you.

Reaching for your phone again, you expect to see a call from your grandma since she normally calls you every morning, but your home screen shows no notifications except the many security camera notifications which you’re sure must show the events that took place at your home – you might be able to use it to identify a few of the men who were there, Yoongi certainly would be able to help you with that.

Unlocking your phone, you open up your contacts and scroll through to find Yoongi’s name. Just before you can press call, there’s a knock at the door. Pausing, you look up and a few seconds later, the handle turns slowly.

A slim man enters the room, dressed sharply head to toe in a suit… Your eyes widen, and suddenly, everything makes sense.

“Yoongi.”

He smiles, though somewhat apologetically.”Y/N.” Walking over to your bed, he doesn’t hesitate to pull up the chair that sits in front of the dressing table and bring it beside your bed. While your thoughts race, Yoongi sits quietly and waits.

He’s been working for Jimin, of course he has – his dad was close with yours and Jimin, and after your father’s death, his dad, Min Baek-hyun, stayed close with your grandparents and still resides close to your grandma in Namwon, while Yoongi stayed in Seoul. All these years, you’ve stayed close friends with Yoongi, not knowing he was so close with Jimin too – someone you once considered a best friend.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” you ask finally.

“I didn’t want to complicate things,” he murmurs, looking up. As soon as you meet his gaze, you know what he means by that…

You still remember that night, a few months ago, when Yoongi asked you to take out the Cheong men at the warehouse holding the drugs. For the first time, you asked for something in return – for him to help you find who killed your dad. It was the fact that he looked away as soon as you said the words that told you he already knew.

“I need something in return.”

Yoongi lifted his head calmly. “Is everything okay?”

You nodded, placing the key down on the table. “Just, promise me you’ll do it first.”

At this, Yoongi’s expression changed to one of concern and he hesitated.

Meeting his gaze, you said his name. “Please.”

“Alright.” Yoongi shifted, keeping his eyes on you. “I promise.”

There was a moment of silence as you mulled the words over in your head. It had been on your mind for a while, something you’d been considering often for the last few months, since you passed what would’ve been your father’s fifty fifth birthday. Not a day had gone by that you didn't miss him, and you’d known since his death that the last place he was called to, wasn’t a timely coincidence. You may have only been 12 at the time of his death, but your father always taught you to be aware of everything, and you’d noticed the tension between him and his friends for months before that night. Even the fact that you hadn’t seen Jimin in years, and the way Jihoon always disregarded your presence – that is before your father limited their visits to your family home. He was trying to protect you from them.

“I want to know who killed my dad.”

The words felt strange on your tongue – though your dad’s murder wasn’t a secret to you, you didn’t often speak about it so forwardly, especially not to Yoongi.

Concern returned to the lines in his face, brows furrowing as he shook his head and reached for your hand. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

You moved your hand from the table before he could hold it. “You know.”

He paused, eyes flitting down to where your hand was. Releasing a slow sigh, he closed his eyes. “And I think you already know.”

The anger and frustration you’d been holding on to for years began to surface.“It was them, wasn’t it?”

Yoongi looked up. “Y/N–”

“Lee Han-jae? And Park Jihoon?”

Yoongi gave the smallest of nods, and your fist curled in your lap.

“Do you know why?”

“Y/N, please, don’t–”

“You promised, Yoongi.”

Meeting your gaze, Yoongi sighed. “Alright, I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

“Everything.”

So he did…

Na Doyun was a corrupt prosecutor who worked for the Lee’s, keeping them out of trouble as long as they paid her well enough. It was the perfect deal until some of the DA became suspicious of Doyun’s intentions and motivations, and she panicked, demanding more money, as well as a way for her to launder all the funds she was receiving.

The Lee’s had no choice but to comply since she had enough dirt on them to put them away for life, (as well as a supposed contingency plan that would expose them should they try anything to harm her), and so Han-jae developed a nightclub under his name and added Doyun as a majority shareholder, as well as a few others under his influence. It became one of the most popular nightclubs in all of Seoul and the perfect place for any illicit activity,

“The one that closed down months ago?” you asked, vaguely remembering. You were sure you'd followed more than a few unsuspecting victims of Yoongi’s from there on one of your errands for him..

“Yes. They have a few all over Seoul but none as big as that one. And you remember Taemin?”

“Lee’s son?”

“Yes.”

You barely saw Lee Taemin growing up. Though he was close in age to Jimin and you, his father had sent him to school in the United States. There were a few occasions where you were there together but unlike Jimin, he barely spared you more than a glance.

“Closing the club was intentional on their part. Han-jae wanted Taemin to replace it with something much bigger and better.”

“The Benitoite.”

Yoongi nodded. “A clever move on his part. The nightclub was becoming a hot spot and that was risky for them. After years of illegal trading, predatory lending and more, they had to find a way to get rid of any liabilities who used to frequent the club for their own gain, and with the Benitoite, they got the DA off their backs while attracting a whole new world, as well as another way to make their money clean again.” Looking up, Yoongi carried on. “Once that was done, Doyun had nothing left to hold over them.”

“They killed her?”

Another nod.

Your hand tightened around the fob. You couldn’t say you felt bad for the woman, she was corrupt after all and served men doing worse than herself, but it still didn’t make any of this easier to hear.

Yoongi sighed, his hand moving towards yours. “You okay?”

“Fine. Tell me.”

“When that nightclub before the Benitoite first opened, your dad wasn’t opposed to it so he never said anything. But, Jihoon or Han-jae weren’t just abiding by what Doyun wanted, they both saw an opportunity and wanted to run part of the nightclub as a secret brothel for invited guests only, those who would pay enough.”

Yoongi looked up apprehensively, but he saw your expression and continued.

“They knew anyone who knew of them, or had any kind of business with them, feared them, so they used that. If there was anyone who had done them wrong, or owed them money, they offered them a way out. Hundreds and millions worth of debt in exchange for years of service, and they didn’t care who it was.

“A mother, father, son, daughter, brother or sister. Any relation to the person who owed them was good enough and as you can imagine, none of the actual offenders offered themselves so it was all innocent family members being taken in. They would kidnap them and coerce them into working there doing whatever it was that needed to be done too. The whole thing was set up as a way for them to earn honest money to pay back whatever was owed.”

You looked up, repulsed. These are the men you once regarded as your uncles, seeing them as your dad’s friends you thought of them as family while growing up. It’s true that as you got older, you started to feel a certain way towards Jihoon because of how cold he was, especially with Jimin, but this was still beyond anything you would’ve expected of them.

“So that’s why they killed my dad?”

Yoongi shook his head. “Not exactly.” Pausing, he studied your expression for a few seconds before he leaned over the table to grasp your hand. After a gentle squeeze, he let go. “There was a lot happening around that time, I don’t know the details but the way Han-jae and Jihoon saw it, is that your dad became soft. When he first found out about the nightclub he was angry and threatened both of them.”

Your stomach curled.

“They wanted to appease him so they said they would reconsider.”

“But they didn’t.”

“No. And truthfully I don’t think your dad ever believed them anyway.”

It went quiet, the distant humming of car engines along a nearby busy road carried the sound of your thoughts as they ran endlessly.

Yoongi took another sip of his milk, watching you carefully. “Y/N,” he spoke softly. “I can tell you the rest another time.”

You looked across at home, taking a slow breath. You do feel like you’ve heard enough, but you need to know. “What more is there? They killed him after that, no?”

Traces of a grimace appeared on Yoongi’s face. “Not quite.” He paused, waiting.

Wordlessly, you nodded for him to continue.

“Did you know Han-jae was married twice?”

Nodding, you remembered his step-daughter, Jiyoung. She looked after you occasionally, but like Taemin, she wasn’t always there. “Yeah, his first wife passed away but Jiyoung was from her, right?”

“Not exactly, Jiyoung wasn’t Han-jae’s daughter.”

Now, this was news to you.

“And her mom wasn’t a huge fan of Han-jae, their marriage was arranged after her first husband died, and she had plenty of reasons to dislike the man and he felt the same, except she always threatened to expose him.”

The arranged marriage wasn’t a surprise to you, as it was common amongst many of your father’s affluent friends, including your own parents, but you hadn’t known that Han-jae’s first wife despised him.

“After she died, Jiyoung got older, she looked more like her mother, acted more like her, and Han-jae didn’t like her just as much as she didn’t like him, so… he saw an opportunity to get rid of her.”

Eyes widening, you asked, “The nightclub?”

Yoongi nodded, looking down. “But your dad saved her.”

Despite the warm evening breeze, you feel your skin go cold.

Yoongi continues. “He knew something was going on and he happened to be there the night she was being taken. He killed the men and took her away to a safe place, out of the country.”

And just like that, it all made sense. “So that’s why they killed him.”

Taking your hand again, Yoongi nodded silently. “It was a means to an end for them,” he murmured. “Han-jae and Jihoon had changed. They weren’t who your dad befriended and their morals and ambitions were far from the same.”

Yoongi’s words were said to comfort you, but they only fueled your anger… your dad’s closest friends, the men who he regarded as brothers, were the ones who killed him.

That conversation felt like a lifetime ago, and as you see Yoongi sitting in front of you now, you understand why he chose not to tell you, but you can’t help but feel a tiny bit betrayed.

“Still could’ve told me,” you mumble, looking away from him.

“Would it have made a difference to anything?” he asks, leaning forward with a playful smile.

Realising he’s right, you frown indignantly. “Might’ve stopped this,” you say, knowing it’s a weak point.

Yoongi’s expression darkens. Shaking his head slowly, he meets your gaze. “Nothing could’ve stopped this.”

Seojun is the first person that comes to your mind, and you feel your stomach coil.

Reaching to hold your leg over the covers, Yoongi says your name. “You need to tell me everything you know.”

Nodding, you push the mental image of Seojun out of your mind. “I don’t actually know much,” you start, “Seojun had been coming into the cafe around once a week and would talk to me, just small talk. He must’ve known who I was but I didn’t realise until the last time. He seemed worried about something and kept asking me about grandma, and when she called, he’d left and there was a note on the table.” Looking towards the night stand where your belongings are, you see the note you pocketed then, and the drive is there too. You take them both, handing the note to Yoongi. “This is what it said.”

Yoongi takes a few seconds to read the simple words, She’s the only family you have left. You should stay with her. Frowning, Yoongi lowers it to the bed. “He must’ve known, but I don’t know how.” Looking up, he asks, “you never told him anything about your grandma?”

“No,” you shake your head. “He just knew.” Thinking of this, you suddenly remember all those conversations you had with Seojun… he had a girlfriend. “Yoongi?” You meet his gaze with worried eyes. “He had a girlfriend.”

Yoongi’s expression softens, lips pursing. “Yeona. She knows. She lives here with us, she moved in with Seojun a year ago.”

Nodding your head slowly, you look away. You don’t bother asking how she’s doing, that would be a pointless question – you could tell how much Seojun loved her and from the stories he told you, you’re certain she loved him just as much, she must be heartbroken. The thought of it reminds you of the night your dad passed away… you’d never seen your mom in so much pain.

As your emotions begin to swirl heavily again, you look up at Yoongi. “Did he not say anything at all about what he’d been doing?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “We knew he was up to something, but Jimin told us to let him be.” Again, Yoongi’s expression looks pained.

“Why?”

“A few weeks back, Jimin had one of their clubs raided by the police on the same night they were receiving a weapons shipment and there’s since been a good few detectives on their case. Taemin’s uncle got some time in prison for it and even though he’s out, they still wanted to send a message to Jimin, a way to get back at him… so they killed Seojun’s mom.”

The words wound the knot in your stomach even tighter. “So Seojun wanted to get back at them?”

Nodding, Yoongi shakes his head. “Jimin warned him not to, he promised they’d work it out together and end things for once, but Seojun was angry. Once we figured out he was up to something, Jimin told us to leave him and once Seojun had a plan, we’d join in on it.” Releasing a shaky breath, Yoongi looks down. “We never got to find out what it was, and each week we’d see him less and less. Everyone here knows how to look after themselves, but now I wish we’d taken more care.”

Seojun was a friend to everyone here, Yoongi included, you realise. You know you ought to comfort him but you don’t think you know how. “I’m sorry, Yoongi,” you murmur.

He gives a small smile. “Finish telling me what happened.”

Sitting back into the cushions again, you recall the events from that night. “I left work as normal, came home and when I went upstairs, something felt off. So I went back down, and then I saw him in my kitchen, he was bleeding, barely conscious on the floor and I ran over to him. I tried to help him but he kept apologising, and then he gave me this.” Looking down, you hand the drive to Yoongi.

Confused, Yoongi turns it over in his hand. “Did he say what’s on it?”

“No,” you shake your head. “And it’s probably protected too since the Lee’s wanted it as well. But he told me to take it and find Jimin.” At this, Yoongi looks up and meets your gaze. “He kept saying he’d keep me safe and that I should leave him and go.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I couldn’t. He needed help, but it was too late. When I was about to get out, Minjun and some of his men came in. Seojun tried to help me but in the end…” you trail off, looking down. “In the end it was Minjun questioning me, asking me who I am. I lied, of course.” You finish telling Yoongi the rest of what happened, up until when Jimin and his men came in.

When you’re done, Yoongi is cursing under his breath. “Minjun was a fucking psychopath.”

“Yeah, he seems like it,.” You remember the way he laughed when Jimin was punching him.

“He has a brother, Kwan, he’s just as crazy, if not worse.”

The thought of it leaves you shuddering. Minjun was ruthless and you can’t imagine how much worse his brother is. You hope you never have to meet him, although luck hasn’t really been on your side recently.

“Hey,” Yoongi says quietly, moving from his seat to the bed. “You okay?”

“Mhm,” you nod.

He smiles softly. “Your wrist should be better in a few days, but your leg might take two or three weeks to heal well. I got you some crutches in case you wanna use them.”

“Thanks, I probably won’t use them though.”

“Yeah, I thought you’d say that.”

Smiling at him, you push the sheets back to look at your bound leg. “It’s not deep is it?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “You got lucky. Only an inch or so. Ah, also,” he looks up at you apologetically, “you’ll need to stay here for a while until your house gets fixed.”

“Oh.” You remember how the windows were smashed in as Minjun attacked, and you’re sure there’s more damage to the property that you’re not even aware of.

“Jimin is making all the arrangements,” Yoongi continues, “but he’s trying to keep things quiet so I don’t know exactly when things will be sorted.”

“He doesn’t have to, I can do it myself.”

“He wants to,” Yoongi responds. “He blames himself for what’s happened, so just let him please.” His words appear to carry more meaning, and you can’t imagine how he must feel after seeing Seojun dead. You still remember the look on his face when he saw the body.

“Why?”

“He blames himself for a lot of things,” Yoongi murmurs with a soft sigh. “This hasn’t helped.”

Even though it’s been years since you were close with Jimin, you still find yourself feeling a familiar twinge in your chest – ever since you’ve known him, Jimin has had to suffer so much hurt, you couldn’t even count on your hand the amount of times you saw him looking so defeated and terrified in front of his father. He seemed to prefer the company of Lee Han-jae over his own father, although you don’t know how much better Han-jae was as a father since his son, Taemin, was in America most of the time to study. All you know is how he treated Jiyoung.

Now, curiosity (or care) gets the better of you, and you ask, “What happened between them? Han-jae and Jihoon?”

Yoongi looks up, grimacing. “It started with money. Han-jae got greedy and wanted the Benitoite to be only his, but Jihoon insisted it belong to them both since the nightclub was half his effort, though he never really cared for the extra money, he just needed the front. Han-jae reluctantly agreed but it was clear he wasn’t happy.

“And then Jihoon found out that Han-jae planned on going behind his back and he got angry. Han-jae was drunk one night and started threatening Jihoon, which only made him more angry. But before he could do anything, Taemin stepped in and shot him.”

“Taemin?!” you ask, surprised..

Yoongi nods. “He knew of his dad's plan for the Benitoite and he wasn’t fond of Jihoon, so he did what he had to to protect his dad. But Jimin was there.” His expression darkens. “He watched his best friend shoot his dad, who was bleeding out in front of him. I’m so grateful we were with him that day…” He trails off, exhaling as he looks down.

He doesn’t need to say anymore for you to know what he means – Taemin was going to have Jimin killed too.

Your head lowers too. You don’t allow your thoughts to wonder what would’ve happened if Jimin had been alone, you’re just glad he got out. Though you can’t imagine what he must’ve felt given his relationship with Jihoon.

“Did he get to have a funeral for his dad?”

“Yeah,’ Yoongi answers. “Han-jae had just lost another one of his friends and the blood was on his hands, so he sent the body back to Jimin and tried to make amends, but Jimin wasn’t having it. He was already against everything they were doing and now that his dad had gone and he’d lost Taemin as a friend, he had no reason to keep ties with them.”

Leaning back into the cushions, you mull over everything he’s just said. For years, you stayed away from these families who were such a big part of your life growing up, and now you learn that they’ve fallen apart as well.

After a moment, Yoongi speaks again. “I was surprised when they brought you in.” You look up at him as he continues. “I thought he might’ve recognised you, but he said nothing.”

“Do you think he does?” you ask, remembering the look on his face when he first saw you. “But he’s just not saying it?”

Yoongi shrugs. “Might be. If he does remember you though, he’ll say something.”

“Are you going to tell them?” you ask, looking at him.

“Only if you want me to.”

After a few quiet seconds, you shake your head. “At least not yet.”

Yoongi nods and it goes quiet again. You close your eyes, leaning against the headboard as you think back on everything that’s happened, and then it comes to you.

“Dani and Siho,” you say, opening your eyes again as a heavy weight settles on your chest. “Did you get them out?”

Solemnly, Yoongi nods. “I sent them back to their families and have offered to make all the necessary arrangements for anything else they need.”

“Thank you,” you murmur. “Let me know what they say, I’ll sort it out for them..”

Yoongi nods again, pursing his lips as this time he reaches forward to take your hand and comfort you. “They knew the risks, Y/N, better than anyone else.”

“I know,” you sigh. “But it’s different, they were there because of me.”

“Yeah, but they made that choice, they wanted to fight for you,” Yoongi says, shifting on the bed. When you look at him, he winces slightly. “Sorry if this isn’t helping, you know I’m shit at comforting people.”

You smile. “I know.”

“Hey, you’re not any better though,” he says defensively, “you didn’t even hug me properly when my mom passed away.”

“What?” you chuckle. “I tried to, but I know you don’t like hugs.”

Yoongi shrugs. “Not normally, but then I would've liked it.”

“Oh…” Now you feel bad. “Really?”

He nods, only looking up at you when you fail to respond. Seeing your face, he smiles. “It’s okay though, I got lots of hugs from the guys here.”

Scoffing, you absentmindedly pull the covers over your legs again, feeling cold from the aircon. “Yeah, you’re telling me Park Jimin was giving out hugs?” It comes out sarcastically and without much thought.

“Yes, actually,” Yoongi answers simply.

Pausing, you realise what you said and his response. You don’t know why you feel surprised when the Jimin you knew was nothing but caring and considerate towards others, oftentimes more than he was towards himself.

As though he can read your mind, Yoongi smiles. “Surprised?”

“Kind of.”

“You knew him though,” he says, as though that makes it so obvious.

“Knew,” you repeat. “I didn’t expect him to still be the same.”

Yoongi hums in agreement. “I wouldn’t say he’s changed, but I wouldn't exactly say he’s the same either…” looking up, he smiles again. “I guess you’ll get to see for yourself now.”

“I guess so,” you say, reaching for an apple from the bowl beside you. Seeing Jimin again has been weird, but you can’t ignore the part of you that is ready to welcome a part of your old life back, someone familiar, someone you liked very much. Like Yoongi said though, you’ll get to see for yourself if he’s anything like you remember him. Although you were both younger then, you don’t think he would’ve changed much from what Yoongi has told you so far.

“D’you want something a bit more filling than that?” Yoongi asks, nodding to the apple you’ve just bitten into. “Dinner is just about to be served so you can come down to eat or I can bring it up for you?”

“Oh, yeah, actually,” you answer, hearing your stomach growl after receiving a tiny morsel of food. “I am quite hungry, so I think I'll come down.”

“Sure,” Yoongi chuckles, “you must be hungry, you’ve been sleeping for almost three days.”

You look up at him with wide eyes. “Three days?!” When he nods, you immediately reach for your phone. “I need to call Moni, she’s probably wo–”

“I already have,” Yoongi says, interrupting you quietly.

Fingers freezing over her name, you look up at Yoongi. “What?”

“I already called her.”

A frown settles on your face. “What did you say?”

Yoongi has always been aware of your wish to keep everything hidden from your grandma, so he hesitates now, knowing this would be your response when he told you he called her. “Everything, but Y/N, she needed to know.”

“That wasn’t your decision to make.”

“I know,” Yoongi sighs. “Sorry.”

For a moment, it goes quiet and you lower your phone to the covers. Yoongi is right, she did need to know about this, and it’s not like she’s a stranger to this kind of stuff. Besides, what happened wasn’t related to any of the stuff you’ve been doing for Yoongi, which is what you always wanted to keep from her, and what’s happening now does seem to involve you, and therefore her.

“Sorry,” you say. “You’re right, I just didn’t…” you sigh, trailing off as you think about how worried she must be. Your grandma is a strong woman and you’re everything to her, just as she has been yours.

“I know,” Yoongi says, understanding what you mean without you saying it; he knows your grandma well enough too.

“What did she say?”

“First, she just wanted to know if you were safe,” Yoongi answers. “After that, she didn’t say much except that she’ll come as soon as she can.”

You nod. Knowing she’s coming brings a smile to your face, you’ve missed her a lot. Before you can respond, your stomach growls again.

“Come on,” Yoongi says smiling, getting up and pushing the covers back, “let’s get you some food.”

“You still remember it?” Yoongi asks, a tone of surprise in his voice.

Taking another step, you shrug. “I wasn’t that little when I was last here, I must’ve been, what, eleven? Twelve?”

“Hm, Yoongi hums. “Still impressive.” He keeps a hand hovering around you should you need him, but you’re doing just fine, walking slowly down the hall you recognise as being the third floor.

The Park Estate isn’t much different from what you remember. The estate sprawled across acres, is a masterfully designed blend of elegance and practicality. The entrance opens to a grand foyer, splitting into two distinct wings. The East Wing houses the biggest office which used to belong to Jihoon, and now you assume it would be Jimin’s. It’s flanked by a suite of offices, all of which are bathed in polished woods and leather tones, belonging to his closest men. The West Wing, larger and more personal, feels more like a home. It rises three floors (taking the space above the East Wing) to accommodate the family’s quarter’s on the top most floor, a lounge and other rooms on the second, and downstairs is a dining room, a sleek kitchen caters to formal gatherings and another lounge.

Yoongi points out his room as you pass it, as well as naming some of the other guys whose names you try to pay attention to as you ignore the mild pain that spreads through your leg.

As you approach the stairwell, you notice another dimly lit corridor leading off the main hallway. You can’t see anything down the corridor as you pass, only a wall with light coming from the left and you assume it continues on.

“Jimin’s room is down there,” he says, answering your unspoken question.

“Ah,” you nod, carrying on. It makes sense for his room to be separate from the rest.

The second floor has a few extra guest bedrooms which are rarely used, and a private lounge which is different to what you remember, with a huge balcony that overlooks the gardens and the furniture has changed from mostly dark colours to a much warmer colour palette.

Downstairs, the split between the East Wing, and the West Wing is much more noticeable. The entrance to the West Wing from the grand foyer is always guarded and behind is a much more private hallway with more guards at the end for extra security, and the only way to go upstairs is from the two staircases within the West Wing. The staircase you’re approaching now takes you downstairs where the kitchen is.

As you approach the stairwell, you freeze, your eyes landing on a painting hung up on the wall at the far end of the hall. Yoongi says your name as you begin to walk towards it, but you don’t respond as an old memory suddenly returns to your mind, from the night your father was murdered.

“Lightning… is it a storm?” you asked, standing next to your dad in front of the easel.

“Yes,” he said, ruffling your hair with his elbow as his hands were smudged with paint.

“What does it mean?”

“Sometimes it can mean power,” he answered, turning back to the canvas in front of him. “But sometimes it can also mean punishment.”

You looked up, frowning.

He smiled. “Sometimes, too much power isn’t a good thing. If you’re not a good person, then it can be dangerous.”

“Oh…” You looked back at the canvas, admiring the deep shades of blue and black and grey he’d used to paint the night sky. In the centre, a spear of light struck the violent waves of the sea below. “Who is it for?” you asked.

Your dad’s smile disappeared as he looked back at the canvas. “An old friend.”

The painting is just as vivid as you remember, and seeing it now brings tears to your eyes as you feel a bout of nostalgia.

“My dad painted this,” you say quietly as Yoongi joins you in front of the huge canvas.

He doesn’t say anything, but instead looks up at the painting, admiring it in its entirety as though he’s never seen it before. “It’s beautiful.”

Nodding, you blink a few times to get rid of the stinging sensation in your eyes.. You realise now that Park Jihoon was the old friend your dad mentioned; realising he called him an ‘old friend’, you know your father must’ve known in those months leading up to his death that he couldn’t trust Han-jae and Jihoon.

Just then, Yoongi’s phone vibrates in his pocket. Reading a text, he quickly excuses himself. “Come down if you can, or I’ll ask someone to come up,” he calls out as he’s already walking off towards the stairwell.

“Okay,” you answer absentmindedly, still looking at the painting.

It’s not often you allow yourself to dwell on the past, but it’s also not often that you find yourself face to face with things that remind you so much of the past. There’s a reason your grandma decided to leave Seoul all those years ago and it’s a decision you agreed with. Even when you moved back to Seoul, you knew you couldn’t return to your old home, not when all you had there was fond memories of a life that was so unfamiliar to you now. But now, standing in front of your father’s own hand painted work, a flood of memories return and you find it harder to fight the lump that settles stubbornly in your throat.

You don’t realise you’re standing there for long until you hear someone approaching behind you. Turning around, you recognise the man approaching you as one of the ones who were with Jimin that night at your home. He smiles as he comes to a stop beside you.

“Admiring the art?” he asks.

“Mhm,” you hum, still watching his face – you didn’t realise then but now you see just how handsome he is, you feel like you can’t stop staring.

He chuckles, glancing at the painting. “You know I was talking about the painting, not me?”

Shaking out of your daze, you smile. “Yes, sorry. I just recognised you from the other night.”

“Ah, yeah, sorry we had to meet in such a way,” he nods, still smiling. “I’m Seokjin, but call me Jin.” He extends his hand which you shake.

“Y/N, and it’s okay, not your fault.”

“How’s the wrist?” he asks, pointing to your wrist.

“Oh, it’s okay,” you answer, lifting your arm for him to see. You can still move your fingers fine, just the occasional stretch or twist of your wrist hurts.

“Good. And the leg?”

“It’s mostly fine,” you nod.

He smiles again. “That’s good. Your wrist will heal fast, the leg might take a few weeks but it’s looking good so far. I didn’t expect you to be up so soon though,” he adds, raising a brow as though impressed.

You shrug.

“I take it this isn’t your first time getting hurt like this?” Seokjin says casually.

“What makes you think that?”

“You didn’t flinch that night, when we all aimed our guns at you. And the way you handled your own gun…” he shakes his head, smiling. “It definitely wasn’t your first time, and no normal person would point their gun at a mafioso at that.”

Chuckling, you turn back towards the painting again. “I guess I like getting shot at.”

“Just like everyone else here,” he laughs. “Well, you must be hungry, Yoongi asked me to walk down with you.”

“Sure,” you nod, turning away from the painting. You can return to it later. “So what about you?” you ask Seokjin as you approach the stairwell.

He watches carefully as you descend the first few steps. “What about me?”

“This definitely isn’t your first time stitching someone up,” you remark.

“Ah,” he nods. “Definitely not.”

You have to pause, reaching out for the banister to continue on. “So you’re a doctor?”

He snorts, stepping along beside you. “No, but I should be. I’ve done this kind of stuff enough times.”

Smiling, you know his statement is true enough. Injuries like yours must be a regular occurrence in the Park household. Stepping onto the landing, you take a breather and sit on the bottom step for a moment before you continue on. At the same time, you hear hurried footsteps running towards you and Seokjin.

“Jin hyung!” A bubbly voice sounds from down the corridor. You look towards the source and see two men who you recognise from that night – the man bun guy and the slender brown haired one behind him. They can’t see you sitting on the bottom step but as they get closer, Jin nods in your direction, turning their attention to you.

They both smile warmly when they see you, bowing their heads.

“Oh, miss L/N,” the first one comes forward, extending a hand. “I’m Jungkook, nice to meet you.” He has an adorable bunny smile and you can’t help but return it with one of your own.

“Nice to meet you Jungkook,” you reply, shaking his hand. “And you can call me Y/N.”

“Y/N, got it,” he nods, taking a step back so his other friend can greet you properly.

“Hi, Y/N, I’m Hoseok, Hobi for short,” he grins, shaking your hand.

“Hey.” You return his handshake, feeling slightly taken aback by how relaxed these guys are compared to their stoic looks from when you first saw them. Jungkook looks like a bunny rabbit in human form, and Hoseok beams like a ray of sunshine.

“How are you feeling?” Hoseok asks, motioning towards your leg.

“Um, it’s okay,” you smile. “I can still walk at least.”

He smiles with you, helping you as you start to get up. “Will you be joining us for dinner?”

You hum in response, allowing Seokjin to continue walking beside you as Jungkook walks ahead, leading you to the extensive lounge.

Distractedly, you look around the familiar room. The coffee table you’re sitting at is still the same as it was when you used to have extra helpings of dessert with Jimin, secretly given to you by the housemaid who had a soft spot for Jimin. Being here reminds you so much of your father too, and knowing how much of a huge part of his life this family was makes you miss him dearly.

Before any of the guys notice you’re not tuned into the conversation, you return your attention to what they’re saying. It hasn’t escaped you that none of them have said anything about your identity, and you reckon it must be because Jimin hasn’t recognised you – if he did, surely he would’ve told these guys since they were there too. You’re not sure if they know anything at all about you – perhaps you should’ve asked Yoongi about that before you came down.

Whether they know anything or not though, they keep the conversation away from anything that would involve you from sharing too much, and you realise now, how their warm smiles and easy conversation is a stark contrast to the tense memory you have of first meeting them the other day. However, there’s some missing.

“Are there more of you?”

Jin, in the middle of swallowing a big sip of water, nods and hums.

Hoseok answers for him. “There’s Yoongi, who you saw already, and Taehyung, Namjoon and Jimin.”

“They were there the other day,” Jungkook says, his tone dimming slightly.

“Namjoon and Taehyung will be joining us,” Jin adds, ignoring the last comment and keeping up his chipper attitude. “We always eat together whenever we can and they’re about somewhere.”

It doesn’t escape you that he didn’t mention Jimin’s name though.

“Taehyung is probably in the wine cellar,” Hoseok says.

“Ah, yes, Taehyung loves to pick out the wine for dinner.”

Jungkook snorts. “He thinks he’s a sommelier.”

You smile. “Well, does he make a good choice?”

“I can never tell,” Jungkook shrugs.

Hoseok jerks a thumb in his direction. “He’s not matured enough.”

“Hey!” Jungkook starts, but is interrupted by Jin, glancing toward the doorway.

“Ah, speak of the devil!”

You look up and see two more men entering. One has dark curls and sharp features, his posture relaxed but his gaze calculating as it sweeps over the room. The other one has dark grey hair and broad shoulders, wearing glasses that give him a sophisticated air. You recognise both of them from the other day.

“Yoongi said you’d come down,” the man with dark curls remarks as he approaches. His tone is calm, and a slight smile plays on his lips. “I’m Taehyung. Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“Hi, Taehyung,” you reply, shaking his hand. His grip is firm but not overbearing. He’s undeniably striking, and there’s something about his presence that feels both inviting and enigmatic.

The broad man steps closer, adjusting his glasses as he nods at you. “I’m Namjoon. I handle most of the boring work around here.” His smile is disarming, and his voice carries a hint of dry humour. “Finances, logistics, making sure this place doesn’t fall apart.”

“Nice to meet you, Namjoon,” you say, shaking his hand. His words make you curious about just how much he handles behind the scenes.

Namjoon takes a seat in the armchair across from you and sinks into it comfortably. “How are you? I imagine this isn’t how you thought your day would go.”

You smile wryly, keeping your responses guarded. “Not exactly, no.”

Taehyung sits down next to Jungkook and returns his attention to you immediately. “Yeah, you put up quite the fight. Most people would’ve frozen in your position.”

“Not the first time I’ve had to defend myself,” you reply simply, not offering much else.

There’s a beat of silence as they all exchange glances, clearly intrigued but not pressing further. You appreciate the lack of prying.

“So,” Hoseok pipes up with an ever-cheerful tone. “Yoongi mentioned you might like spicy food. We had the chef prepare something special just in case.”

“Spicy works for me,” you say, grateful for the change in subject.

Jungkook claps his hands together. “Great! That makes two of us. The food here is amazing – you’ll love it.”

As the conversation shifts to lighter topics, you glance around the room again. The faces around the table are new, but the setting is steeped in nostalgia. Flashes of your childhood in this house flit through your mind – running down these halls, playing games late into the night, and the quiet presence of your father when he was here.

You force yourself to focus, tuning back into the conversation just as Seokjin asks, “So, Y/N, what’s your impression of the estate so far?”

“It’s... different,” you reply honestly, but keep your tone light. “Bigger than I remember.”

Seokjin tilts his head. “You’ve been here before?”

You curse yourself for slipping up but recover quickly. “Not this one exactly. Just a similar setup.”

Namjoon raises a brow but doesn’t say anything else, and you’re thankful for the reprieve.

The door from the far end of the room opens, and an older woman with an apron tied around her waist steps in, carrying a pitcher of water. Her hair is neatly pinned back, and her face is composed but kind. You immediately recognize her – Ara, one of the housemaids from your childhood.

Your eyes meet for a brief moment, and something flickers in her expression. She knows who you are. You’re certain of it. But to your surprise, she doesn’t say a word. Instead, she places the pitcher on the coffee table and begins pouring water into the glasses.

“Thanks, Ara,” Jungkook says warmly, and she nods with a small smile.

When she reaches you, she hesitates ever so slightly before pouring the water, her gaze lingering on you. You hold her gaze for a beat, searching her face for any sign that she might say something, but she doesn’t. Instead, she finishes and steps back, her expression carefully neutral.

“If you need anything, let me know,” Ara says softly, glancing at the rest of the table before leaving the room.

Namjoon watches her leave, then turns back to you with a faint smile. “She’s been here for a long time. Reliable, like everyone else here.”

You nod, trying to mask the unease and nostalgia that her presence has stirred up.

On the opposite side of the room, Yoongi comes in from the corridor you came through. With a smile at you, he then nods at everyone. “Dinner’s ready. Let’s eat before Jungkook inhales the entire table.”

Jungkook laughs, not bothering to deny the accusation. Everyone rises from their seats, and Yoongi gestures for you to follow them to the adjoining dining room.

"Taeheyung, did you choose a bottle for dinner then?" Hoseok asks.

"Of course. It’s spicy food so I brought up a Riesling."

"Nice one," Yoongi murmurs in approval.

"I want a beer," Jungkook says, with no regards to Taehyung's expression.

"More for us then."

As you walk, Namjoon falls into step beside you. “You’ll find this place can be both a refuge and a maze,” he says softly. “It’s easy to get lost, but it has its charms.”

You glance at him, wondering if there’s a deeper meaning to his words. “I’ll try not to get lost, then.”

He smiles faintly. “If you do, just call out. Someone will find you.”

Returning the smile, you find that any uneasiness you'd been feeling, begins to dissipate. It’s clear these men, while different in personality, share a bond that goes beyond mere loyalty to Jimin. You can see why they’ve been by his side for so long – they feel like a family in their own right.

Once everyone is seated at the table, conversation flows more freely and the atmosphere is surprisingly warm. Jin sits at one end of the table, serving himself a generous helping of the roasted chicken and rice dish.

“Jin-hyung, don’t hog all the drumsticks,” Jungkook whines as he watches Jin’s plate pile up.

“Then grab faster,” Jin quips with a smirk, not slowing his pace.

Taehyung leans back with an amused grin, observing the chaos. “I’m telling you, Jungkook, he does this every time. You should know better by now.”

“Should I?” Jungkook huffs dramatically. “Maybe next time I’ll just take the whole plate first.”

“Do it, and I’ll poison your portion,” Jin deadpans, but with a twinkle in his eye.

Hoseok chuckles as he passes you the salad bowl. “Don’t worry, Y/N. They act like this every meal. You get used to it.”

You smile faintly, watching them banter. It’s strange to see these men, who just days ago were all sharp glares and deadly precision, behaving like siblings teasing each other.

“Y/N,” Taehyung’s deep voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “Do you always eat so quietly? Or are you just plotting something?”

You blink at him, caught off guard. His face is serious, but his lips twitch with suppressed amusement.

“Maybe I’m just afraid to get between Jin and his drumsticks,” you reply lightly.

Laughter ripples around the table, and Taehyung raises his glass in salute. “Smart answer.”

Jungkook grins at you between bites of food. “Yeah, but next time, you should at least try to grab a piece before Jin wipes out the whole plate.”

“I heard that,” Jin retorts, mock-offended. “I’m ensuring quality control.”

“You’re ensuring there’s nothing left for the rest of us,” Hoseok counters, sipping his water.

As the banter continues, you allow yourself to relax a little. It’s a stark contrast to what you expected when you first woke up in the Park estate.

“By the way, hyung,” Namjoon says, turning to Jin. “Have you checked the medical inventory reports? They were due yesterday.”

“Oh, are we doing shop talk at the table now?” Jin sighs dramatically. “Can’t a guy just eat in peace?”

“It’s your own fault for procrastinating,” Namjoon replies smoothly, adjusting his glasses.

“Don’t drag me into your world of schedules,” Jin retorts. “I’m a free spirit.”

“You’re just lazy,” Jungkook interjects, earning a flick of a bread roll from Jin.

“Enough guys,” Hoseok says, raising his hands in mock exasperation.

Namjoon’s phone buzzes on the table, followed immediately by Hoseok’s. They both glance at their screens, and their smiles fade slightly. Exchanging a look, they nod in unison before standing up.

“Sorry, something’s come up,” Namjoon says, sliding his phone into his pocket. “We’ll catch up later.”

“Don’t eat all the dessert without us,” Hoseok adds with a wink as they head out.

“Like we’d wait for you,” Jin calls after them before turning his attention back to the table.

“Do they always leave like that?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Pretty much,” Taehyung replies, leaning back in his chair. “They’ve got the busiest jobs out of all of us. It’s a miracle they even sit down for meals sometimes.”

“Or they just like to be mysterious,” Jin adds, rolling his eyes. “Half the time, it’s probably nothing.”

You smile, but you feel the weight behind it all. These men might act carefree, but there’s no denying the underlying layers to their lives.

After a while, another two housemaids quietly enter to clear some of the empty dishes.

“You okay?” Taehyung asks, drawing your attention back to the table. “You’ve been pretty quiet.”

You nod, brushing it off. “Just tired, I guess.”

“Understandable,” Jin says, rising from his seat. “You should rest. Recovering from an injury takes time.”

The others murmur in agreement as they begin to disperse, leaving you with a mix of gratitude and uncertainty. The warmth of their camaraderie is undeniable, but beneath it all, you can’t shake the feeling of what’s happened, and what is undoubtedly yet to come.

Only Yoongi remains at the table. He sits across from you and smiles. “It’s bringing back memories, huh?” He asks, seeing right through you.

“Yep.” You look around. “Loads. I don’t know how this might sound, but it feels like I missed it.” You look across at Yoongi, expecting to see a puzzled expression but he just smiles.

“I think it’s normal. You were young when you came here and I don’t think you have many bad memories associated with the place. Only good ones, right?”

He’s right. Back then, coming here usually meant evenings filled with laughter, hiding in closets with Jimin, and Jiyoung’s occasional teasing if she was here. Your dad was still alive, and this house, in a strange way, felt like an extension of home. Now, it’s like walking through a memory you can’t decide if you’re grateful for or aching to forget.

You smile softly at Yoongi and nod, letting the silence stretch as you stand. He doesn’t press you further, only watching as you cross the room to the wide, cushioned window seat at the far end. The large pane of glass offered a view of the front of the house. Settling into the seat, you lean against the frame, your gaze drifting outward.

Outside, the estate is alive with movement. Men are stationed around the house, their presence a constant reminder of the life you’re now steeped in. From the East Wing, you spot four men climbing into a sleek black Escalade. Then your attention shifts to the house’s front steps, where Namjoon and Hoseok emerge, walking with purpose.

Behind them, another figure appears and you recognise him instantly.

Jimin, dressed sharply from head to toe, walks across the front drive. He pauses briefly in front of his Porsche, glancing back toward Hoseok, who says something you couldn’t hear. A moment later, Hoseok and Jin climb into the car, and Jimin gets into the driver’s seat. The engine roars softly to life, and within moments, his Porsche is gliding down the private lane, the Escalade following closely behind.

Your gaze lingers on the lane until the cars disappear into the distance. Though you can’t see the estate’s gate from here, you can picture it clearly in your mind – a familiar marker from years ago.

“Where are they going?” you ask without turning, your voice quiet but curious.

“Something’s wrong with one of the shipments we received from the Takahashis. Akira has been a bit of a pain these past few months. Jimin reckons they’re now involved with the Lees and are trying to keep us distracted.”

You hum in response, saying nothing more, but your eyes stay fixed on the far-off trees that bordered the estate. Centred in front of the west wing, a fountain catches your attention, its centrepiece intricate and elegant. It reminds you of the one in Jimin’s mother’s garden and absently, you wonder if that fountain was still there.

As you shift, a sharp pang shoots through your leg, where the knife wound throbs dully. Your wrist isn’t much better, but the pain in your leg is what makes you wince audibly.

Yoongi notices immediately, his gaze darting toward you. “I think you’re due for your meds again.”

You exhale softly, nodding. “Yeah, I think so.”

“You wanna stay here or go back up?”

You push yourself to stand, biting back a groan as the strain makes your voice tight. “Mm, I know I slept for days, but I’m actually still exhausted.”

Yoongi chuckles, rising to help steady you. “That’s to be expected. Don’t worry.” He gestures toward the far end of the room. “We’ll go up, but this time we’re taking the lift.”

You can’t help but smile faintly at his consideration. “Appreciate that,” you murmur as he slides a steadying arm under yours.

The dim light of the ensuite glows behind you as you step into the bedroom, a towel draped over your head. You had just woken up after another long nap, your internal clock utterly thrown off by the days of rest. It's late now, just past midnight and the night is quiet, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric and the soft padding of your feet on the carpet.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you absentmindedly rub the towel through your damp hair.

Your gaze drifts to the shelves by the dresser table, now stocked with an array of skin and hair care products. A small smile tugs at your lips as you stand to examine them, fingers lightly trailing over the meticulously arranged items. Appreciatively, you sit and carry out a full skin and hair care routine – after three days without it, you definitely need it. You wonder if it was Ara who must have put them here. You're certain she recognised you at dinner and when you think about it now, you think it would be nice to speak with someone familiar.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the buzz of your phone on the bed. Turning, you see the screen light up with an incoming FaceTime call. The name on the screen sends a swell of emotion through you.

“Moni?” you answer, settling back on the bed as your grandmother’s face appeared.

The sight of her brings a pang of guilt and relief all at once. Her tired eyes search your face and you can tell she must have been worrying nonstop. “Y/N,” she says softly, her voice warm. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” you reassure her quickly, though your heart aches knowing she must have been so anxious. “Really.”

She gives you a sharp look, the kind only she can manage, and her tone turns brisk. “Good. Stay safe there, you hear me? We're figuring out what's going on and Yoongi will tell you more when he can."

You nod, knowing better than to argue. Her expression softened just a little as she continued. “Tell me about Jimin.”

“He hasn’t said anything.”

“About recognizing you?” she asks, her brow lifting slightly.

You nod. “Nothing.”

She sighs, a mixture of fondness and exasperation crossing her features. “I don’t imagine he would. But I have no doubt he does. You haven’t changed much. He, however... he’s different.”

Her words hang in the air, and you find yourself looking up, your thoughts turning to Jimin.

“Life hasn’t been kind to him,” she continues, her voice tinged with melancholy. “When I last saw him, I didn’t see the same little boy I knew.”

A bittersweet smile crosses your lips. “Life hasn’t been kind to any of us.”

Your grandmother purses her lips, acknowledging the truth of your words. “Do you remember his father?”

“Of course I do,” you say without hesitation. “It’s hard to forget a man as cold as him.”

“And Mr. Lee?” she asks, her tone cautious.

You nod, already anticipating where this was headed. “I know, Moni,” you say quietly, cutting her off.

She looks up at you, her expression briefly surprised, but it fades just as quickly. "Of course, I should have expected you would piece it together."

“I know it was them,” you say, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. “They did it. They killed Dad.”

She lets out a slow breath, her gaze steady on yours. “They were his best friends,” she says softly. “And then, all of a sudden…” She trails off.

You nod. You can only imagine that the sting of betrayal is still fresh even after all these years. Your grandmother's gaze remains on you, sharp and searching. “You’re there now, though… so, do you trust Jimin?”

You pause, memories of the night at your house flashing through your mind -- seeing Jimin in your kitchen with your gun aimed at him and he didn't retaliate in the slightest.

“I didn’t, at first,” you admit. “But I think I do. Besides, I trust Yoongi, and Yoongi trusts him."

She exhales slowly, relief evident on her face and a small smilw touches her lips. “You’re safe there, Y/N.”

You tilt your head slightly, meeting her gaze. “You trust Jimin?”

“I do,” she says without hesitation. “I trust him with you, and you’re my everything.”

The words wrap around your heart, and you wish you could reach through the screen to hug her. Instead, you nod and smile.

“You need to rest,” she instructs, her tone turning firm again. “I’ll call you later. Baek-hyun and I might come to see you. I think he wanted to see Yoongi too.”

Your lips quirk up at the thought. “That would be nice.”

"Good," she nods, and you eventually exchange goodbyes.

As the screen goes dark, you set the phone down, feeling a renewed sense of comfort. The thought of her visiting makes you smile softly as you sit in the quiet of the room.

Still restless though, you wander to the window, gazing out at the sprawling grounds bathed in the moonlight. You spot three men stationed at the back of the house, conversing together as they keep watch. The gardens stretch endlessly, just as you remembered. You can’t see the part of the grounds where Jimin’s mother’s garden would have been as it's hidden beyond the trees, but it would be nice to visit it tomorrow when the light returned.

As you shift, you feel your leg still aches, but it's different this time, more like the dull stiffness of inactivity than pain. Restless energy courses through you, and you decide a walk would do you good. The house is big enough and you need to keep your legs moving.

Stepping out of your room, you close the door quietly behind yourself and hear the faint hum of distant voices and sounds that tells you that not everyone is asleep yet.

As you move through the corridors, memories of Jimin filtered into your mind -- moments you hadn’t thought of in years now rising to the surface with startling clarity and they give you a strange sense of familiarity.

Eventually, your wandering brings you to your dad's painting again. You stop in front of it, the vivid strokes of lightning and sea send a wave of nostalgia over you, gratitude mingling with sadness. You remember you have a few of your father's paintings hanging up at home too and you make a mental note to ensure they're safely retrieved.

“Can’t you sleep, little bear?”

The voice, familiar and gentle, pulls you from your reverie. You turn to see Jimin standing a few feet away.

Dressed casually now, his white shirt unbuttoned at the top and his sleeves rolled up, he looks markedly different from the composed figure you saw earlier.

There’s a softness to him now, something that reminds you of the boy you once knew. His smile, small and tentative, feels as though it might disappear if the silence breaks too loudly.

You smile back, and the corners of his lips lift a little more.

Realising what he just said, his words stop you short – it’s the name of the book you gave to him the first time you met him, so many years ago.

Jimin steps closer, the lamp’s dim light casting soft shadows on his features.

As he nears, the subtle scent of his cologne reaches you – a delicate blend of cedarwood and something faintly sweet, familiar yet grounding. It lingers in the air between you, quietly drawing your attention to his presence.

Despite the weariness evident in his eyes, there’s a steadiness about him, a calmness that feels both reassuring and disarming.

“Y/N,” he says, your name leaving his lips quietly, as though testing how it feels after all these years. “Did you think I wouldn’t recognise you?”

“I wasn’t counting on it,” you admit, your voice soft. “I’m surprised you remember the book.”

Jimin’s smile grows, faint but genuine. “How could I not? I never got to thank you for it properly.”

“Thank me?” you ask, tilting your head slightly.

He nods, shifting as if the memory is a tender one. “It was a comfort to me for a long time. I wasn’t allowed picture books of my own, so… thank you.”

You remember then how he once told you about his father’s strict rules. A cold man, his father likely saw no value in picture books – if they didn’t teach something useful, they weren’t worth having.

“You’re welcome,” you say softly.

Jimin’s gaze lingers on your face, and you feel a warmth creeping into your cheeks. Turning back to the painting, you focus on the familiar strokes of your father’s work.

“He was talented,” Jimin says quietly, standing beside you.

You smile faintly. “He was.”

After a moment, he adds, “I can have it moved to your room, if you like.”

You shake your head. “No, no. It’s okay. This is where it belongs.”

Jimin laughs softly, the sound low and soothing. “It’s actually covering up a stain we couldn’t remove. You might remember it since it was you who put it there.”

“Me?” you ask, eyebrows rising in surprise as you look at him.

He nods, a playful glint in his eyes. “Yep. One of the nights our fathers were away, and you had to stay over. Jiyoung was babysitting us, and we were painting. When it was time for bed, you didn’t want to sleep, so you ran away from her – with all the paints.”

As he speaks, the memory surfaces, vivid and sheepishly embarrassing. “Oh gosh, I remember. I tripped, and the paint went everywhere.”

Jimin smiles wider now, clearly suppressing a laugh. “We tried to paint over it a few times, but the colours were too bright. Eventually, my dad decided to put this up.”

You shake your head, laughing softly, though you still feel a twinge of embarrassment. “I can’t believe that’s still here.”

Jimin’s smile lingers, and the space between you feels quieter, weighted by an unspoken familiarity. His eyes flicker back to the painting, then to you. “It’s been a long time since then,” he says, his voice gentle, almost reflective.

You glance at him, catching the subtle shift in his tone, something deeper beneath the surface. “Yes,” you reply, turning your gaze back to the painting. “Though being here again… it almost feels like no time at all.”

Jimin studies you for a moment, his expression softening. “I imagine it feels different,” he says, “without your father?”

“Exactly,” you answer, the memory stirring a pang of longing. “It felt safe wherever he was.”

“And now?” His question is soft, careful, as though he’s weighing each word before speaking.

You hesitate before answering, meeting his gaze. “I want to say yes,” you admit honestly, “but experience tells me not to feel safe anywhere.”

Jimin nods, his expression contemplative, and something about his calm presence makes your honesty feel less vulnerable. “You’ve learned not to trust anyone,” he says, his voice carrying a quiet understanding.

You look at him, searching his face, but his steady gaze gives nothing away except an openness that feels disarming.

“You’re right to think that,” he continues, his tone neither judgmental nor apologetic, as if he understands the walls you’ve built all too well.

The words sit between you for a moment before you ask, carefully, “Can I trust you?”

His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, silence fills the space between you.

“Yes,” he says, his voice quiet but certain. “But you’ll make that decision on your own.”

You nod slowly, his answer settling something inside you. There’s no urgency in his response, just a quiet assurance that feels like a small but solid anchor. It’s not a promise – it’s an invitation.

“Until then,” he continues, his voice softening, “please, make yourself at home. You’re safe here.”

Jimin doesn’t say anything else, but you catch the way he watches you, something unspoken but soft in his expression. You feel it yourself too – after so many years there is so much to say, to ask, but for now you take the peaceful quiet for what it is.

His presence feels closer now and you find yourself smiling faintly, glancing back at the painting.

It occurs to you now, how strange it is, that this time, there is something familiar that Jimin’s presence stirs in you – a reminder of what it feels like to trust, even if only a little.

note. thank you all so much for reading! please don’t be a silent reader :’) this fic takes me forever to write and I’d love for you to share your thoughts w me -- i really wanna know what you guys think! and rb toooo <3333

#jimin x reader #pjm #park jimin #park jimin x reader #jimin fanfic #jimin series #bts series #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #jimin imagines #jimin fluff #jimin angst #jimin smut #jimin x you #jimin x y/n #bts mafia #park jimin x you #jimin masterlist #bts masterlist

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yumeka-sxf · 10 days ago

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Spy x Family miscellaneous collab scans - part 12

Here's the last batch of scans from the SxF Jump Festa merch I bought - a 5-piece set of bromide cards, featuring the Forgers baking 🍰

Also wanted to mention, for those of you who remember the SxF workbooks I made scans of last year, new ones are going to be released this year too 😃 Two are coming out on May 26th and another in early July. Of course I'm planning to get them and make scans! I love the chibi artwork, plus they're great supplements my Japanese studies. Hopefully these workbooks will have a lot of new art and won't rehash too much of the old ones.

<- Return to Part 11

#spy x family #sxf #spy family #spyxfamily #loid forger #yor forger #anya forger #bond forger #sxf scans

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solecize · 1 year ago

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 | 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. every summer on your grandpa's farm was real-life magic to your younger self, who left a piece of her heart in amber valley when the years went on and the town became nothing but a faint childhood memory. soon enough, you become rocked by his death and realize the dead end in your bustling city world. this leads to you making an abrupt decision.

despite knowing nothing but designer purses and the corporate ladder, you uproot your entire life to take over your grandfather's old farm in the town you were desperately trying to remember - alongside a familiar face from your youth that permanently finds his way into your heart. 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. jungkook x reader 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. swearing 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. 5k 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒. inspired heavily by stardew valley, friends to lovers, childhood friends, small town alternate universe, slice of life, grief, growing up.

part one: the storm, the envelope and the granddaughter ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ next. masterlist

i. the storm

for the first time in a long time, your eyes flutter open to the golden curtains of the sun and not the blaring noise of a royalty-free iphone alarm. the rays are harsh and welcoming all at once, as you blink away the stinging sensation and adjust to the muddy path ahead. there was no mistake about it, the town withstood an unforgiving storm last night. however, mud coating the wheels of your bus seemed to be the only indication, as you became distracted with the kiss of summer from the skies above and the clear cerulean painted across cotton candy clouds.

memories of amber valley became bygone over the years, as memories always do. but, amber valley seemed to be a long lost chase you haven’t won in years and the older you became, the town disappeared entirely. it was like the smell of your favourite scented markers and the feeling rumbling at the pit of your stomach on the first day of school - nothing but faint ideas from your childhood.

“we’re not going to visit grandpa this summer?”

at age twelve, you couldn’t fathom missing out on the midsummer festival or being away from your horse, marshmallow. for that age, absolutely everything felt like the end of the world, whether it was missing an episode of your favourite show or not getting an invite to a classmate’s sleepover. it was a little different for you, though, as you looked at your dad’s dull eyes. they’d been dull since the divorce went through that february. they never shone since and that’s how you knew things weren’t going to be the same.

he shook his head at you, but never met your eyes. “no, i’m sorry. he’s coming up for to the city at the end of july, though - “ it would be later in life, precisely at age 25 and months removed from your grandfather’s funeral, when you would learn that he only began coming up to the city to regularly see a hepatologist, “ - so you can see him on your birthday.”

you did, in fact, see grandpa for your birthday and for the rest of the years to come. he laughed with his whole body and his smile never failed to reach his eyes when he gave you updates on the farm and amber valley. grandpa did his best, but time passing came with you losing your bright eyes whenever he spoke fondly of his town. it was inevitable, when the big city enveloped your teenage self and you became more concerned with interests that come with the turn of youth - clothes, parties and boys.

now, there was absolutely nothing wrong with any of those ideas. you stood by this at heart, embracing femininity and defending it alongside your love for science and life. you grew up and began wearing high heels to dates, to university lectures and finally, to your 9-5 on the busiest corner of your city’s financial district. you had long outgrown your riding boots, likely tucked away at the back of your closet in your studio apartment. you began just politely smiling and nodding when your grandfather shared local amber valley gossip about individuals who were just names to you now, also tucked away at the back of your mind.

even though you eventually grew past the age where you needed your parents’ permission to make the trek over to amber valley, past the period of time where your mother refused to speak to your father to coordinate your trip to see your grandfather, the idea of returning to the valley never crossed your mind. like summer camp, it was something you thought you didn’t need anymore and preferred spending your school-less months with your friends in your hometown, working away at your first part-time job and getting your first ever drivers’ license. a seventeen year old city girl wouldn’t want to waste her summer at her grandfather’s old farm.

“mrs. oh’s husband just left the valley for his deployment overseas. may god watch over that family.” it was one of the last times you saw grandpa, late on christmas eve when everyone else went to bed. your mom, her new husband and your little sister had bade their goodnight’s by 10pm and left the two of you sipping honey lemon tea by the fireplace.

your mom’s new husband made a lot of money. that was one of the first things you noticed about him and it was so different from the two bedroom inner city apartment you were raised in. it was certainly different from your grandpa’s farmhouse, where the television only got three channels and all of the windows never fully opened because they would fall apart entirely if you pulled too far. you and your grandpa mused these thoughts on their white leather couch, when the conversation slowly moved back to how the old farm was going.

you tried to sound interested. “oh really?” the reality was you couldn’t remember if the oh family was the one that ran the general store or the one couple who seemed to be constantly fighting, on the verge of divorce.

grandpa grunted in response. “mhm. thankfully, they have jungkook helping out around the store. ah, the wasted potential with that boy, but such a kind heart.”

“jungkook..?”

“oh, you remember him! the two of you would always bike by the beach,” he said. “i’ll never forget, you two would always come back and show me the seashells you collected that day. always made a competition out of everything.”

he chuckled and you joined in, hiding the despondence for being unable to recall. grandpa didn’t seem to notice, though, continuing to discuss amber valley. cranberries and pumpkins were the strongest crops of the fall, mayor kim was re-elected for a third time and something about the town soon getting their first chain convenience store since amber valley’s founding. then, grandpa’s face lost his smile and a serious expression formed on his ageing features. he asked you about your job and how life was for you.

by now, you’re 22 and working an entry-level position with nothing but a bachelor’s in your pocket and a hunger to climb the corporate ranks. like any fresh college graduate, there was no meaning to life if it weren’t for paying overpriced rent, mimosa sundays, dating apps, and maybe remembering to go to the gym every now and then. the life you lived was loud from city traffic and heavy from looming student debt.

“my job is..okay. i’m just starting out and i’m really just trying to do my best,” you replied.

grandpa, still with a serious look, placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “it gets stressful, doesn’t it?”

you opened your mouth to respond again, but failed to find your voice this time. your stress was found in a growing caffeine addiction and getting too tired to give your parents a call on the weekends. adulthood was everything you expected and nothing you expected. you secured a job that you dedicated four years of studies to and just like that, was pushed into a world of hustle and bustle and nothing in between. once this realization settled, you tried to hide it by cracking a faint smile. grandpa saw through it, though - he always did.

“well, darling, if it ever does get too stressful..” you became confused when grandpa reached into his back pocket and pulled out a sealed envelope. he handed it to you and you turned it over, finding no writing other than your name in your grandfather’s decorative penmanship.

you asked, “what is this, grandpa?”

he finally smiled again, but shook his head. “a gift. it’s yours for when you find that you need a break from the challenges of life.”

grandpa only gave gifts from the heart. only, this time, you wouldn’t know that he was giving you his entire heart and soul. you had taken this envelope and slid it in the drawer of your desk at home, where you tirelessly worked after hours, even after returning from the office. it was hidden away, but always poked your curiosity at the back of your mind. however, you restrained from opening it, even when it eventually became one of the last things you had from grandpa.

ii. the envelope

the only time you took the pristine envelope out of your desk was on the day of his funeral.

it was no surprise that grandpa wanted to be buried in amber valley, his home for over fifty years and his birthplace. it was once your heart’s home, too, once upon a time when you were a child skipping rocks by the town river and rode your horse through mustard-hued sunflower fields. for that, you were nervous to return and confront the realities of your coming of age in the face of a town that only lived in your memories, sickeningly reminding you of the years that have gone past.

wedged between your mother and father who had only began speaking to one another as of three years ago, you stared blankly at the onyx coffin that, in about 20 seconds, was gone from your sight and lowered into the ground. it happened all too quick. you clenched your arm tighter, squeezing the envelope tucked underneath and protecting it from the rain. your very last summer in the valley was marked by constant rain and wind and once again, you greet the town amidst storms.

the drive was quick, having gone directly to service after the three hour drive from the city. you couldn’t make much of the town through the gloom and suddenly, the valley was so much colder than you remember. like your being since your grandfather’s passing, it lost its colour. it was unwelcoming and felt like a punishment for your neglect over the years. amber valley was unforgiving as much as it was perfection.

you couldn’t make out much of the attendees through the gloom, either. many of them appeared absolutely devastated, sobbing and cold-faced at the goodbye of a beloved neighbour. your grandfather was always well-liked amongst the townspeople, helping out his friends with mundane tasks whenever he had free time away from the farm and shared his warm personality at community events. this was affirmed through the stories that were shared about him at the service, recognizable for his distinct good heart, but seemed so far away for you, having detached yourself from amber valley.

“oh, an unfamiliar face! what’s your name, dear?” a man around your father’s age with salt and pepper hair was handing out hor d'oeuvres at the post-service gathering in the church basement. he seemed to be the most upbeat one in the room - though, it wasn’t saying much, considering the occasion.

you told him your name, while looking around for either one of your parents. being in a room of strangers wasn’t your favourite activity, especially following a funeral. the last thing you wanted to do was socialize, feeling like you weren’t even in your own body all day. while you were saddened and to an extent, numb, you knew your grandfather’s passing was coming up. his illness was going to catch up to him and you spent months mentally preparing yourself for the day you would have to say goodbye. despite not being surprised, your grief was accompanied by the painful nostalgia of the town that raised you in the summertime.

the man looked at you, appearing to search your face for something. “you’re the old man’s granddaughter? bunny?”

the nickname almost made you flinch, having not heard it in so long that you were surprised you recognized it. you began searching the man’s face, too, also looking for some signs of familiarity. for so many years of your childhood, you were almost exclusively called this nickname by adults and friends alike.

there wasn’t room for a response when the man pulled over another individual by his sleeve, merely attempting to walk by in peace. this one was a man closer to your age and you were too distracted by the glisten of his facial piercings to scan for recognition. the second thing you noticed the adornment of tattoos peeked from below his sleeve and trailed onto his hands. the third and final thing you noticed about him was how gentle his hands were. this was realized because the sight of this man made you drop whatever was in your own hands in surprise.

the only thing you were holding was your grandfather’s envelope, no longer pristine and stained with a few raindrops. you noticed that you had been clutching onto this keepsake the entire service. you bent down to reach for it, when he also attempted to make the save for you. your hands brushed and you looked up at his eyes, suddenly taken away by confusion.

“jungkook, you remember bunny?”

you forgot the older man was in your presence, as he was the one who pulled jungkook over in the first place. jungkook. this was the little boy you spent hours running around with all those years ago. although you seemed to forget when your grandfather had last brought him up, those moments began to rain down on you upon taking sight of him for the first time in years. you had barely looked, but it hit you.

jungkook handed the envelope over to you and you cleared your throat, standing up properly and trying not to wobble on your favourite high heels. he also stood up and seemed to mirror your confusion, not understanding who was the person in front of him. you muttered a thank you and fixed an imaginary snag on your cardigan.

“i just go by my first name now,” you said through a tight smile to both men, still feeling like your gut was punched in after hearing the nickname that your grandpa coined,

“oh, of course. you’re all grown up now!” the man exclaimed. “do you remember me? mr. kim?”

the truth was that you didn’t remember him by face, but instead remembered that your father mentioned a man of this name being the mayor. if he was the same person, mr. kim’s father was the previous town mayor, as well, and was your grandfather’s best friend before his own untimely passing. given his larger than life presence, it was same to assume that the man in front of you was the tiny valley’s politician.

“mayor kim, of course.” you hoped you sounded convincing.

jungkook was still standing to the side, the same confused look etched on his face. “you’re the girl that tricked me into eating mud that one time?” he blurted, as if an imaginary lightblub flashed above his head

that took you by surprise and you almost snorted. “i didn’t trick you, you just went for it.” the quick snap back also took you by surprise, having left behind a bit of your normal self in the city before coming down to the valley for the funeral, as well as your instant recollection.

somehow, this memory was clear as day and you could remember jungkook as a seven year old with a horrible bowl cut and missing teeth. you wore light-up sneakers and candy bracelets that day, sitting on the porch of your grandfather’s farmhouse with him and were exchanging dares to see who would give up first. maybe that was why your grandpa said you two were -

“ - always competitive,” jungkook said.

although the two of you surely shared countless more memories, it was this one that stood against the test of time and it showed when it immediately hit you with a laugh. it took jungkook a second, too, but he eventually gave in and joined with his own. you hadn’t realized it until his swollen eyes became crescents in his giggles, but he seemed to be having his own trouble of a day.

“there it is, jungkook! nice to see you finally cheer up a bit,” mayor kim encouraged and jungkook’s chuckle immediately fell back to a straight face, almost intentionally. you suspected that this was not the first time today that mayor kim was on his case.

before mayor kim could add on, his attention gravitated towards something at the other end of the room. he sighed and set down the hor d'oeuvres, checking the time on his wrist dressed with gold.

“oh, i’m being called over,” he sighed and turned back to you. “it was a pleasure seeing you again, i hope to see you around town before you have to go back to the city.”

swiftly, mayor kim weaved his way through the crowd and just like that, it was just you and jungkook.

you took this opportunity to give jungkook an actual once over, comparing it to the faint image you had of this man from when you were children. undeniably, he was handsome, but you were more concerned with the fact that this was still the little boy you spent your summers with. he grew into his face and you didn’t realize that you accidentally said this out loud.

jungkook looked as much taken aback as he was amused. “oh, you got jokes, huh? that’s what you learned growing up in the city?” he teased.

“i didn’t mean it like that - “ you started, but he waved you off with a laugh.

the conversation was a bit overwhelming, considering you were still stuck in a church basement following your grandfather’s funeral service and could not locate your parents anywhere. jungkook recognized this in your face and eased into a sympathetic smile. somehow, you felt okay enough around him to drop your tense shoulders for the first time that day.

“i’m sorry, i should be giving my condolences. your grandpa was a loved man by everyone here.”

looking around the room, it was clear. everyone had shared fond stories and were making toasts in his honour. you felt out of place, but more so because you felt like you should have been joining in with the attendees. instead of being a kind of extended family that once saw you grow up, these people were strangers. you weren’t sure if anyone recognized you, having tried to lay low and not draw any attention to yourself. the only times you seemed to have caught anyone’s eye was when you were sat beside your parents at the burial, but no one dared approach you then.

“you were like a son to him, too,” you offered. it was true, given the amount of time you spent with jungkook as a child, maybe even going so far to call him your best friend at one point.

he let out a long breath, eyes moving to the enlarged portrait of your grandfather propped up on the wall. “that’s nice of you to say. i miss him already. i’m sure you feel the same.”

you learned quickly that, in light of your disappearance from your grandfather’s farm over the years, jungkook was the one who began helping out and taking over what were your old chores. your grandfather was physically able, but he kept the young boy around for company and made feeding the chickens an excuse to have his presence. hearing this made your heart drop, feeling an unknown sense of regret that you didn’t know existed when it came to the farm.

“it’s not like that!” jungkook cut in, seeing the tears well up in your eyes. “he would always talk about the two of you going on adventures in the city and how he loved spending time with you whenever he came up to visit. he knew that’s where your heart was.”

you sniffled a bit, having already promised yourself to limit your breakdowns to two that day, and took a second to reel it in. “sorry…i don’t mean to - “ you sighed.

“it’s okay. it’s weird being back here, huh?”

it was weird. it was so damn weird that the air of amber valley stuck with you for the months following, like bubblegum in your hair and a melody on loop in your head. you couldn’t shake it. not when you were working an extra 20 hours overtime in a week, not when you became stuck in traffic everyday, and especially not when your boyfriend of three years dumped you because you “changed” so much since the start of the year.

and, it was true. you changed a lot since your conversation with your grandfather on christmas eve, with his words echoing about the stressors of life everyday. it opened your eyes to how much you were really struggling and it wasn’t simply you who had changed, but your outlook on life. ever since you were twelve years old, everything shifted to the fastlane and years breezed by you in the blink of an eye. everything moved so fast and you never got a chance to catch your breath. one moment, you were 15, sneaking a sip of your first ever drink, and the next, you were 24 and drinking straight out of the wine bottle on a tuesday evening. you wondered how you suddenly found yourself jaded at a 9-5 black hole of a job that sucked out your energy and passions.

these days made you think about what truly deserved your energy and what truly were your passions. did you like your everyday routine of gluing on false lashes and slipping on pantyhose? were you happy, alone in your apartment with not even a cat to talk to? your parents had their own worlds and new lives to deal with and long stopped asking why you never call. your friends were co-workers, having no time to meet anyone new. you didn’t even have time for hobbies, given how tired you were every time you finished work and the amount of overtime you did.

one thursday night, you arrived home from work at 10:13pm and decided you had enough. it was constraining, nearly strangling you with exhaustion everyday. you spent the entire day wondering was “it” was and when you kicked off your loafers by your doorstep, it hit you. this was what your grandfather was talking about.

almost walking with fear of what was to come, you creeped over to your desk. after your grandpa’s funeral, his envelope no longer lived underneath manila folders in your drawer, but found a place on the surface. you kept it there, as it mocked you every time you opened up your work laptop after hours. you didn’t realize why you left it in plain sight, until this moment when you came to terms with the fact that you were reminding yourself of him.

“if you’re reading this, you must be in dire need of change. the same thing happened to me, long ago. i’d lost sight of what mattered most in life. . . real connections with other people and nature. so i dropped everything and moved to the place where i truly belong.”

it took you precisely two weeks to pack up your things after opening the envelope. nobody could convince you not to. your mother complained that you were wasting your degree and your father had concerns about the massive role you were about to take on all by yourself. it didn’t matter.

two weeks later, you met amber valley and its sunlight for the first time in years, pretending that the storm ceased and the sun shone to welcome you back.

iii. the granddaughter

the sun faded quickly when you realized the bus dropped you off on a plain dirt road in the middle of nowhere. the movers took the rest of your belongings separately, so you were left with nothing but a duffel bag and a cell phone that couldn’t find any signal.

“oops,” was all you could say. you didn’t think it was a crazy idea, that there would be service at the very least.

it took you a few moments to let the situation settle in and for you to realize that you were abandoned in a place that was unfamiliar to you. was it unfamiliar? you looked around, seeing nothing but fields on fields and accepted that there was no way you could even try to remember where you were, even with the help of the maps app. you knew you made it to town, but you were certainly left at the farthest point of the borders.

and then, you heard it.

it was over at least ten years since you last rode, but your ears perked up at the sound of a horse’s gallop naturally. you had to squint, but it was unmistakable.

they were going in the other direction and they were going fast, so you had to think fast. you tried yelling and waving your arms, but quickly saw that it was useless. so, you dropped your bg and brought your hands to your mouth, releasing the loudest whistle that your vocal chords could handle.

the horse and its rider kept going and for a few seconds, you thought you lost hope. but, then, as you were about to pick up your bag in shame, you watched them take a wide turn back around. they were headed to you.

you waved your arms back and forth again, affirming that you needed their attention. as they came closer, you could make out a figure of a man with chestnut brown hair peeking out underneath his cowboy hat. he wore medium wash, stained jeans and a plain white t-shirt.

“that was the loudest whistle i’ve ever heard,” he hollered, drawing closer to you.

you shook your head bashfully. “didn’t even know i remembered how to do that.”

“pretty sure the whole town heard. my name is namjoon, are you visiting someone here?”

likely a few years older than you, you tried to recall someone named namjoon from your memories. his appearance didn’t ring a bell, so you were searching your brain for his name or if you heard it from somewhere.

you told him your name and then squinted at him, pausing for several moments before speaking again. “are you. . .joonie?”

his eyebrows shot up immediately, looking at you like he couldn’t understand what language you were speaking. “pardon me?”

joonie. he was mayor kim’s eldest son, who was sent to a fancy arts camp every summer when you were younger. you only met him a few times throughout the years, as he often arrived back the same week you were due to leave your grandpa to go back to your parents, but one feature stuck in your mind always. his dimples. you thought you recognized namjoon’s polite smile and piecing it together with his name seemed to be the key.

“i’m pretty sure you’re mayor kim’s kid. i’m bad with faces, but you’re joonie, aren’t you?” the confidence in your voice was fuelled by the fact that no one really left amber valley. it was the kind of place where families would raise their children with the kids they grew up with themselves.

namjoon seemed to still be calculating your appearance in his head when you heard the faint noise of galloping once again. the two of you looked over to see another person on a horse who was looking around the field, likely looking for namjoon. the man in question brought his hand to his mouth and released a whistle similar to yours - though, you did gloat silently because yours was, in fact, louder.

still, it was enough to get the person’s attention and they finally made eye contact with the two of you. they began approaching and you could make out that it was a man’s figure. still, even with how small of a town amber valley was, you were surprised to see who it was.

“jungkook!”

“namjoon, i just spent fucking 15 minutes looking for you - “

you tried to keep your expression neutral when you saw that it was actually jungkook on the horse. he wore an all-black outfit of cargo pants and a wife beater tank that exposed his tattooed arms. it made it hard to keep your expression the same.

“oh, hey. did you come to collect something from your grandpa’s property?” jungkook suddenly ignored his previous frustration at namjoon, cleared his throat and dropped his voice by an octave, in addition to cutting his voice’s volume by a cool half. he swiftly hopped off his horse, too cleanly to be casual.

namjoon’s confusion only doubled, darting eyes between the two of you. “sorry, have you guys met?” he didn’t miss the way that jungkook straightened his shoulders without even trying to be subtle.

you missed it, though, having cut away your stare to double check if your phone managed to get any signal. none. sighing, you shook your head at jungkook, as he began explaining to namjoon.

“ - we called her bunny. remember bunny?” he nudged towards you.

namjoon looked back at you again and concern formed. “you’re the granddaughter. oh, you were at the funeral - i’m sorry about your loss. your grandpa was such a great person.”

you put on the same tight smile every time someone mentioned him. the worst of the grief came back on some days, but you learned how to manage it day by day as time went on. jungkook watched you do so and cleared his throat.

“the old bus stop is the worst,” he interrupted, gesturing towards the tiny sign that indicated that it was in service. “people get lost all the time when they arrive. well, we don’t really have a lot of people visiting by bus - “

you couldn’t help but cut in. “i’m not visiting.”

the two men gave you and your single chanel duffel bag a blank stare and wondered if the idea was so hard to believe. it was for your parents, who both thought you caught them on some sort of prank show when you told them about grandpa’s envelope. you were wearing platform mary janes and a leather skirt in the dead of the june sun, so maybe they had a reason to be confused.

there was a moment of silence, so you decided to speak again. “yeah, i’m not visiting. um, i’ve decided to take over my grandfather’s farm. i’m moving to amber valley permanently.”

#jungkook au #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagines #bts fanfic #kpop fanfic #bts imagines #jungkook x you #bts scenarios #jungkook series #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #bts series #jungkook reaction #*** / the farmhouse.

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