#on the floor croaking and wheezing and coughing and reaching out with a hand saying i feel so cold n can see the light etc etc

[bylertruther]

anybody else like a fairy but instead of dying if someone doesn't believe in you, you die if no one has a crush on you. does anyone else relate to that or is it just me and my normal sized ego . asking for a friend btw 💚

#on the floor croaking and wheezing and coughing and reaching out with a hand saying i feel so cold n can see the light etc etc #re: tht crush post tht i made however long ago. well. the bad news is tht i realized i am apparently somehow not the most special girl #in the whole universe which was crazy 2 me but the good news is that I'M CURED 🙏 #i mean. the fairy condition means im dead but at least im not dead with a crush like tht would jus be too devastating 💔 #also srry for posting nonsense n hiding from my msgs im like . spiraling 💜 nd would rather be unwell from afar than up close 👍 #also ive been in my gamer era. The Pixels Have Taken Over My Life

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Resistance IV

A Dystopian AU. Please don’t ask how much there’s gonna be. I’m not sure. But I might add more characters/readers if there’s interest.

Warnings: Violence, torture, blood, gore, dark elements, tags to be added as we progress, tags will not be exhaustive so be wary.

Summary: A part of the underground, you fall into the hands of the authority you seek to derail.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Note: I always love feedback in any form so don’t be shy. Thank you for reading and for all your support. 💗

Inspire by the LEWK.

You wheeze and puff as Bucky drops another fingernail onto the floor. Blood leaks from the barren beds, throbbing and searing in agony. Your hands shake as you're restrained by the thick cuffs attached to the armrests. You grit your teeth and roll your eyes against the hot tears.

"I'm not stupid, Lynx," he snarls as he bends to press his lips to the side of your head, "I know those idiots have moved by now. You don't tell me where they planned on going. You tell me the safehouse. Right now."

"Go... fuck...yourself," you sneer as you rip your head aways from him.

He snorts and twirls the long tweezers in his hand, gripping them in his metal fist. He drives the tip into your naked nailbed, and you shriek. The pain flowers through your tendons and sets fire to your veins. You quake in the chair and let your voice rip from your chest. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He twists it, "tell me where."

You grunt and let it roll against your teeth. He scoffs and pulls back the sharp point, tossing the tool away from him. He turns and takes another from the tray, a pair of silver scissors. You shiver as he holds them up and refocus, looking past him to the two men on the platform, sitting in their thrones. You won't tell. You can't.

Bucky moves into your sight as he slides the blades up your sleeve. He cuts through the layers to your shoulders and across to the collar. The scissors slice through the fabric noisily. You blow out through your nose and brace yourself. He strips away your clothing, little by little, until you're completely bare and quivering.

He looks down at you, eyes scouring you from head to toe. He expects you to cower. Expects you to dissolve before him. You won't let yourself.

"This doesn't have to go any further," he warns as he presses the scissors to your neck lightly, "I can show mercy."

You lower your head and shake it slowly. He sighs and lets the tip cut into your skin before rescinding it. He drops it to clatter on the tray and signals with his hand. He grabs a clump of your hair and forces your head back as he stretches out his other arm. He's brought as large jug that he hovers over you.

"Tell me now."

You swallow and say nothing. He tuts and angles the pitcher to your nose. He pours it, keeping your head tilted even as your muscles fight to sit up. You choke on the water as it floods your nostrils and throat. You cough and gag and he eases up again.

"Go on."

You spit up a mouthful towards him and he growls. He pours morez a steady stream that suffocates you, frigid water that chills you to the core. You croak and sputter as your writhe against your restraints.

"Come on, doll," he stops again, "I'm listening."

You glare at him, heaving but silent. His nose flares and he starts again. Another flood smothers you until you're dizzy. He empties the jug and watches you.

"Lynx…"

You cough and hack before you catch your breath. "Fuck y–"

He swings the pitcher and smashes it into your face. You feel the crunch in your nose as a split forms in the skin along your cheekbone. You groan and reel as the jug flies across the room and hits the floor loudly, bouncing and rolling to a stop.

"You're a tough little minx," he turns back to the tray and drags his fingertips along the edge.

He clucks and reaches to brush his beard, lingering on the grey patch by his chin. He shrugs and chuckles as he faces you again. He rests his hand on his belt and grasps the handle of the long knife there. His fingers fit perfectly in the grip.

He slides it from the sheath and admires the silver blade, "I find the best way is the old fashioned one."

He holds the knife in front of you, pointing it towards your chest. He trails the edge down your stomach lightly. He's taunting you.

He pushes the blade firm and splits the skin down your thigh, slowly cutting to the knee. You hiss as the blood beads around the incision and stains the silver. Your toes curl and you keep from balling your stripped fingers.

He shifts the direction of the blade, cutting across, then back up. He raises the knife and smirks at it. Then his eyes flick up to meet yours.

"Oh, Lynx, this could've been over," he purrs and puts the knife flat, gliding the edge along the bottom of the incision.

He pushes the skin up and starts to peel. You feel the flesh separate from muscle and cry out. The agony is unlike anything you've ever felt before. It consumes you completely.

Your vision flashes white and the blood courses through your veins like fire. Your voice rises and rises beyond your control. You can't think as the torment crawls up your leg.

"The Ridge!" You exclaim, "The Ridge. Please! I can't–"

The flames recede but cinders still singe at your leg. Your head lolls as you gulp down air, your face wet from the years you could not contain. Your body is not your own, it is at the mercy of the pain, at his mercy.

"What was that?" Bucky steps back, moving to let the other two men get a glimpse. You see how they lean forward, enraptured by the scene.

"The Ridge. That's… the safe house." You begin to sob, overcome not only by the agony but by your own weakness.

You broke. You told him. You told them. You sold out the others. Those you swore your life to.

"You can kill me know," you shudder as you let your head fall back, "please."

Bucky grins and shows you the bloodied blade. He brings it to your throat and you close your eyes. You're ready. There's nothing left. A rat like you deserves to die.

"On second thought," he draws away and his shadow shifts, your eyelids parting to watch him turn around, "gentlemen, do you mind if I play with this one a bit longer?" He snickers and faces you again, "she's too much fun."

#bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes #drabble #dark drabble #dark!drabble #series #resistance #mcu #marvel #au #dystopian au #winter soldier #avengers

[just-horrible-things]

Timeline: early chewtoy, before Riven really starts torturing her on the regular AU: Chewtoy - Micromanagement, pt1 [Next]

Henry Crows – warlock, thief and suspected gangster – talked a big game before Ariadne got him on the table. But when he folds he folds like a wet paper towel. All it takes is a bit of drowning.

She doesn’t know the instant he breaks, of course. It happens at some point under the water, while he can’t hope to form words through the choking and the panic. That’s the way with waterboarding.

It’s Ari’s call to make, watching the progress of his desperate, animal terror. When she judges that he’s blubbering hard enough and has inhaled about as much water as she’ll allow, she cuts the tie that pins his neck to the table. 

He tries to sit up but she ignores it, reaching across him to unlock one handcuff, then the other. An easy shove is enough to roll his spasming, gasping body off the edge of the table. 

He hits the floor in an ungainly tangle of limbs.

Ari gives him time to cough and retch up water. It’s best if he gets as much out of his lungs as he can. He makes wet, rasping sounds, juddering and moaning as he heaves up mouthful after mouthful onto the floor. Eventually he lets himself flop miserably back onto his side, still coughing.

Ariadne takes that as her cue.

The warlock moans a hoarse, fearful sound when she moves. She walks unhurriedly round the table, and stops with her boots near his head. “-- don’t –” he croaks between coughs and sobs. “--no more, stop–” “All you have to do is answer my questions.” Calm surety now. He doesn’t need more anger. “Okay –” he sobs “-- okay, what –” cough, hack, cough “-- what d’you want –?”

It takes patience to get answers out of him. He can barely breathe, and if Ariadne so much as twitches in his direction, the fear sets him hacking and wheezing too hard to speak. 

She is patient. 

In the end he tells her pretty much his entire life story. A miserable existence riddled with bad choices. With a little probing and a few mild threats, he gives her some names and addresses to follow up. Some fellow magic users who use their powers for crime and violence. His landlord, who knew he was a warlock and said nothing. His drug dealer.

But he swears up and down that he’s not part of any gang or organization. He begs Ari to believe him, and apologizes tearfully for not cooperating from the start. “I just wanted to –” cough, snivel, cough “-- look tough. I don’t know –” cough “-- anything else, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

His fear, crying at her feet, gives Ari a familiar, guilty rush of warm feelings.

“If you are lying to me,” she tells him softly, “I hope you know there’s a lot worse in store than a little water.” “I’m not lying,” he blubbers, “I swear I’m not.”

She gets him a hand towel, and a cup of clean water – which he flinches from – to rinse his mouth.

“If you’re telling the truth,” she says, “then I won’t hurt you again.” That twisted part of her is disappointed that he doesn’t thank her for the mercy. He just sobs into the towel she gave him. 

But her gut tells her he’s being honest, so she won’t let herself be cruel. Cruelty is counterproductive, once they’re cooperating.

She doesn’t feel the need to lock his wrists together to return him to his cell. There’s no fight left in him. In fact she has to support him with an arm under his shoulders since his legs are shaking too badly to walk on his own.

She lets him keep the towel. He’s clinging to it like a lifeline.

Back in the guard room she writes up her report, playing back the recording to be sure she gets the names and addresses right. There isn’t any need to listen all the way to the end. The last minute is just begging. But she lets it run.

She ends her report with her conclusion that he seems honest, and a recommendation of release if his leads check out. 

Then, remembering the way Riven scolded her for leniency last time, she reluctantly amends it to a recommendation of release or disposal. 

It won’t make a difference to Crows’ fate. Riven will read it the same way whatever she puts down. He doesn’t give a shit what she recommends, besides chewing her out for getting it wrong. 

It still leaves a sour taste in her mouth.

The next day, she is annoyed and mildly surprised to find that Crows is still on her list. 

She doesn’t think much of it. Riven is always sloppy with his admin, and it wouldn’t be the first time he’s completely failed to read her reports. She shoots him a perfunctory email, and gets on with her day in the assumption that it’s an error.

Riven catches her in the hall after lunch. She tries to shrug off his hand, but his grip just tightens on her shoulder. “I didn’t make a mistake,” he says. “201 didn’t tell you shit, so you’re not done with him.” “He doesn’t know shit,” Ariadne retorts. “Listen yourself, if you have so much time to waste second-guessing my work. He’s a dud.”

Riven’s fingers dig in. “Watch your tone,” he warns her sharply. Ari tries to shrug him off again, but she bites back her vitriol and nods her head. “Sir,” she acknowledges. “When did you get so gullible? The little shit is lying to you. So go back and ask him again.” “Yes sir,” she agrees, breathing through her nose.

Crows hits the back of his cell when she opens it up. “You said,” he protests, still hoarse from yesterday. “You said you wouldn’t if I talked to you!” “No pain if you do as you’re told,” Ariadne agrees. She narrows her eyes, a calculated gesture of suspicion that she doesn’t really feel. “If you’re being honest, you have nothing to be afraid of. Now c’mon. Out.”

He shakes his head, frightened, and refuses to move until she takes the baton off her belt and steps towards him. Then he jumps to do as he’s told – still scowling furiously.

She keeps her word, for today at least. Rapid fire questions until Crows is tripping over his words, but no pain. The warlock remains sullen and his answers are terse, but they match yesterday’s. Ari can find no evidence of lies. 

With any luck Investigations will get round to checking out his leads some time this year, and they’ll confirm that he’s telling at least a little truth. It’s unlikely to happen soon enough to get Riven off her back.

Sure enough, he comes around to bother her while she’s writing up a different report.

He calls her by name and makes her stand up to speak to him before he’ll tell her what he wants. Once she’s on her feet he demands, “What’s gotten into you?” “What now, sir?” “You were soft on 201. I told you to interrogate him, not sit him down with a mug of cocoa and a cookie.” “201 again.” Ari only barely doesn’t roll her eyes. “When did he piss in your cornflakes? You don’t give a shit about that lowlife, what’s this really about?” “I want to know why you give a shit about him. Don’t tell me you’re turning sympathizer.”

“Please,” Ariadne scoffs. “Why would I give a shit? I just think torturing him is a waste of our time, it’s not gonna get any different answers. He doesn’t know a damn thing worth asking.” “And I think you’re wrong. Am I, or am I not your supervisor?” “Sir, if you think –” “I asked you a question, Ariadne.”

She takes a deep breath, and does not let it out as a profound sigh.

 “Yes, sir,” she answers, sarcasm dripping from her words. “You are my supervisor, sir.” “Am I, or am I not more experienced than you?” By what, three years? Four at most? “Yes sir, you are more experienced, sir.” “So why, exactly, do you think that you know better than me?” “Because he’s my assignment, and I was in the room with him? Sir.”

He grabs her lapels, then, and yanks her forwards. Ariadne doesn’t flinch, but her gaze slides down and away from Riven’s snarl. 

She gets away with a lot of backchat, but maybe she’s crossed a line.

“I am giving you a direct order,” Riven growls, “and I expect you to follow it, not to argue with me. I don’t care what you think. I want to see 201 bloody before five. No more slacking!”

That does it. Something snaps like a wire in Ariadne’s chest, a sudden rush of heat and anger. She shoves Riven off her, bringing an arm down over his hand to knock his grip from her shirt. 

“Stop fucking micromanaging me,” she hisses. “Just fuck off and let me do my fucking job!”

Instead of answering her violence with violence, Riven steps back. His glare is cold, and Ariadne swallows. “I’m sorry, sir, I lost my temper, I shouldn’t have –”

Riven silences her with a sharp gesture. “You shouldn’t,” he agrees. Ariadne’s cheeks smart as if he had slapped her. “I will let you do your job,” he sneers, “once you have proved to me that you can be trusted not to fuck it up. Is that going to be a problem?” “No, sir.”

“I want to see 201 bloody before five. And when you are done with him, you will report to me for discipline.” Ariadne grits her teeth and glowers at the floor and nods. She’s as angry with herself as she is with Riven. She knows better than to raise a hand to a superior. “Do you understand me, Ariadne?” “Yes, sir.” “Look at me when I’m talking to you.” She drags her eyes up to do as she’s told. “Yes, sir,” she repeats sullenly. “Good, then I’ll see you at five. You’re dismissed.”

[Next]

#my writing #riven #chewtoy!ariadne #au: chewtoy

[taechaos]

A Parting Gift

Continuation of Blackmail from Textbook Love

pairing: bully!Jungkook x nerdy!fem!Reader

genre: drabble, smut, college au

synopsis: "He told me he would leak your video if you don’t give him a handjob."

warnings: deception/manipulation, dubcon, handjob, spit, slight angst

word count: 2.4k

tag: @mwitsmejk

a/n: jungkook is a bit cruel in this 😖 a flop.

Every time you think about Jimin seeing you in your most vulnerable state, you want to cry, gag, vomit, but all you can do is look down and walk away from his direction in a hurry. Jungkook told you to avoid him, and it’s the easiest option for you right now, but you wish you could tell him it was an accident. If he doesn’t see you, he’ll forget it quicker and save you the embarrassment.

It’s been three days since the incident, and it’s Monday as you clutch your binder to your chest while walking to your afternoon lecture. The coast is clear when you scurry down the halls, the lightning dim due to the gloomy weather outside. It’s going to rain soon, but you got off easy by arriving early. The campus is not crowded yet, just as you expected before coming. Chances of seeing Jimin are supposed to be lowered in this instance, but the boy really can’t take a hint.

You hear him holler your name from a distance in the corridor, and you quicken your steps anxiously. You’re internally begging for him to leave you alone, to forget you exist, just to not approach you. The chants don’t matter when he gently holds your shoulder a few seconds later. You screw your eyes shut the moment you’re turned around, hoping he would just go away and spare the shame.

“Hey,” he exhales, out of breath from his short sprint to you. “Why were you ignoring me just now?”

“I didn’t hear you,” you lie and open your eyes. Jimin frowns.

“That’s not true,” he mumbles, “I was pretty loud and you don’t even have earphones in.”

You don’t say anything and grimace at the floor instead, avoiding his gaze for as long as you can. You’re not a good liar, and Jimin realizes that all too quickly. He continues quietly, “Is this about the… video?”

“It was an accident!” you blurt out with flushed cheeks, “J-Jungkook was going to send it to himself, but…”

She’s so dense, Jimin thinks in astonishment. “He told you that?” He knows it was on purpose; Jungkook was sending him a message beyond the media: that he stands no chance; that you belong to him. He was telling him to back off, but Jimin is more strong-willed than that.

“Yes… please forget about that video.” You avert your gaze to him pleadingly.

“I’m not judging you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he tries to comfort, “but are you sure it wasn’t intentional?”

Both of you miss Jungkook exiting the lecture hall when you respond. His brows furrow the moment he notices the interaction, but his vision is blocked by other students leaving. He shoves a few as he watches you from afar, your back facing him and Jimin’s expression angering him with its doubtful look. Why the fuck is he still talking to her? He fumes in his spot until you turn back on your path to attend your lecture. You glance at him mid-way and all of your worries vanish the moment you lock eyes. You are taken aback by his glare as he waves you off and stalks up to Jimin who is just idly standing by without moving.

He only breaks out of his trance when Jungkook grabs him by his collar. “I’m guessing you didn’t hear what she said,” he refers to the video with a subtle snarl.

“Heard it loud and clear,” Jimin retaliates obnoxiously. The halls are emptying itself out, and he grows a bit more nervous when he realizes that he’s alone.

“Are you fucking dense? Why are you still following her around like a fucking creep?” He’s greeted with silence, and another possibility dawns on him. A cheshire grin crosses his features as he scoffs, “Oh, you liked it, didn’t you?”

Jimin blinks, dumbfounded, but doesn’t respond. He’s harshly shoved and the back of his head bangs against the wall, echoing in the otherwise silent area. An oomf escapes his mouth at the force, but Jungkook isn’t apologetic.

“You jacked off to it, Jimin?” he closes in on the suffering man who only stares at him. “Answer me.”

“N-No, I wouldn’t-” He’s cut off by the stinging pain on his scalp. 

Jungkook yanks his hair back without mercy, and sings, “Stuttering, avoiding eye contact, taking too long to respond… all signs of lying, no?”

“You’re hurting me,” Jimin holds onto his wrist with both hands as he groans. Jungkook only tugs on it harder.

“I’ll let go if you answer me honestly.” 

Jimin knows that Jungkook is waiting for one specific answer; it is obvious by the sick glint in his eyes. Alas, he tries again, “I-I didn’t do that!”

A deep sigh leaves his mouth with an eye roll, and he brings his free hand to wrap his fingers around Jimin’s neck. He doesn’t put any pressure on him yet, and Jimin is helpless because of the weight pressing against his legs to prevent him from kicking. “Pity,” he mutters, “I never took you for a pervert and a liar.”

The air leaves Jimin’s lungs all too soon when Jungkook tightens his grip on his throat, crushing his windpipes without so much as an expression on his face. Jimin claws at his arm as he wheezes, and Jungkook doesn’t react in the slightest; he looks psychopathic. “Yes,” he finally croaks, “I did.”

He coughs the moment Jungkook removes his hands from him. He bends on his knees as he catches his breath, and the deadly man waits patiently. “You did what?”

“I-I… I jacked off to it,” he swallows audibly.

“Jacked off to what? Your sex life doesn’t interest me.”

“I jacked off to the video of you fingering… her.” Jimin is once again reminded of how cruel Jungkook is, and all he wants is for you to realize that before it’s too late. But he isn’t any better when he is admitting the truth of his wrongful actions.

“Christ…” he trails and shakes his head. He’s feigning disgust, but it works in making Jimin feel worse. “I bet you’d pay to watch it live.”

“Jungkook, please,” he begs hoarsely, his throat dry and scratchy from the suffocation, “stop this. You don’t even love her.”

“Jimin,” he says monotonously, “count yourself lucky that I don’t have any scissors on me, because I’d cut your tongue off right about now. Your voice gives me a headache,” he sighs, “meet me in the lounge at 4.”

You’re worried and twitching on the edge of your seat during your lecture. Conversing with Jimin was awkward, and him telling you Jungkook had lied to you was infuriating, but it shifted to anxiety when Jungkook appeared upset with you. Why do you always do things wrong?

Dwelling on your feelings is not an option when you have to focus on your professor, and you’re overwhelmed with so many things at once. Your exams; Jungkook’s assignments; Jimin’s persistence are all taking a toll on you. You don’t hesitate to escape reality when your phone vibrates in your pocket. It’s a message from Jungkook and your heart fills with relief as you open it under the desk. It reads:

come straight to the lounge after your lecture.

He’s been interacting with you outside of academical topics, and it feels like you’ve hit a milestone. It’s progress at its finest! He’s waiting for you. Time passes too slow for you, and you eagerly take notes to distract yourself; it works, and you’re out of the hall in a rush.

Students are packing up their belongings just as you stride into the lounge. Jungkook is sitting at the far back, and you almost miss his figure. He’s scrolling through his phone when you reach him and your shallow breaths make him look up. 

“Hi,” you breathe and place your sling bag on the coffee table. The room is spacious and the couches are wide and comfortable. You sit down next to him, your leg touching his spread one.

“Hey baby,” he greets with a smile. You internally scream at the rare pet name, unaware that he’s intentionally riling you up. “How was your lecture?”

“It was good! I missed you so much,” you lean into him, “I didn’t upset you earlier, did I?”

“Of course not, princess. I missed you too,” he palms your cheek before pecking the tip of your nose. “Oh, and Jimin will be joining us today.”

You don’t get to relish in Jungkook’s affection long before your eyes widen. “What? Why?”

“I spoke to him earlier today, and well…” he sighs guiltily, “He told me he would leak your video if you don’t give him a handjob. And I agreed on my terms.”

Your lips part as hatred consumes you. Jungkook knows you would do it, and he knows you’ll hold a grudge. And Jimin… well, he’ll definitely have this experience to keep him satisfied for a while.

Said man stands before the both of you timidly. You’re still in shock when you avert your gaze to him. Jungkook is unexpectedly friendly as he stands up and says, “Jimin! Take a seat.” Jimin sits in his former seat wordlessly as Jungkook plops on the loveseat across. “I don’t think we should drag this out longer than it needs to be.” He juts his chin at you, “Start.”

Jimin is perplexed when you hide your face from him as you unbuckle his belt. “Wh-What are you doing?” he asks, but doesn’t stop you.

Before you can respond, Jungkook says, “She knows.” You and Jimin have two different interpretations of his words, and he is baffled by your reaction to it. You’re going to pleasure him because of what he did? Or is this all an attempt at cutting his dick off?

Your upper body covers your actions from any outsiders, but Jimin is worried he won’t be able to stay quiet when your hand massages his crotch over his briefs. It’s a wet dream come true, really, as he involuntarily inches closer to you. Jungkook leans his cheek on his palm as he watches you in boredom. “Take it out,” he instructs you. You don’t glance at Jimin as you push down his underwear and wrap your hand around his erection. He’s not fully erect because he’s still confused, but the more you stroke him, the harder it grows. “You like it?”

Jimin is conflicted between responding and ignoring, but his noises are the only answer Jungkook needs. He is suppressing moans with gasps, shuddering in his seat because your hand feels so soft and you look so pretty and shy. When you pick up your head to gaze at him questioningly, he replies, “Y-Yes.” 

He is entranced by your doe eyes but Jungkook breaks the building tension by mocking, “You look like you want to kiss her. Calm yourself.”

There’s a brief pause before you ask, “Would it make you… cum faster?”

Jungkook leans his elbows on his knees in interest, a smirk plastered on his face at the power dynamic: both of you are playing along to his strings, two puppets under his control. It makes him curious to see how far you’re willing to go before he’s completely rid of Jimin. The only reason he’s allowing this to happen is because of how pathetic Jimin looks now, and how he’ll be utterly crushed when you never speak to him again. It’s a bittersweet parting memory.

“Um…” he hesitates, but thinks if you decided to give him a handjob, a kiss wouldn’t make you uncomfortable. “Yes?”

You inch your face closer to his, and the both of you look like middle schoolers with how slow your lips eventually meet. It’s a sloppy and amateur kiss with Jimin whining into your mouth, his tongue swiping across your lips recklessly. He’s lost in the pleasure, and it’s clear to you that he’s never done anything like this before. Your thumb grazes the tip of his stiff length, and he begins to twitch under you. You use your other hand to pump his girth, your lips awkwardly pressing against his plump ones.

“Spit in his mouth.”

You abruptly pull away to gawk at Jungkook, but he only raises a brow intimidatingly, as if daring you to defy him. “Open,” you demand Jimin. His eyes are hazy, and he has no idea what he’s doing. He’s drunk on your touch as he parts his glistening lips and slightly sticks out his tongue. You spit on it and he flicks his tongue out to collect all of it, swallowing with a deep rumble resounding from his chest. He’s enjoying this far too much.

You don’t notice him cum with a thrust in the air when you kiss him, but as it begins to coat your fingers, you look down to see his oozing leak. It’s not spurting, and you’re grateful for it when you scoot away from him. He’s panting with his head thrown back on the couch headrest. 

Jungkook breaks his silence by cooing to you, “Are you okay, baby?” You nod with a pout, head turned away from Jimin. You’re waiting for Jungkook’s cue to leave so you can speak your mind. “You can go now.”

Without skipping a beat, you seethe, “Fuck you, Jimin. Don’t talk to me ever again or else I will report you to the dean. I hate you, and I hope to never see you again.” You make your grand departure right after, and the man sputters incoherently in confusion.

“What did I do…?”

“Now, Jimin, you heard the girl,” he grins and clasps his hands, “she may take pity on you, but I won’t. One word from you to her, and you’re fucked.”

“If you’re so jealous, why would you let her do that to me?”

He merely shrugs. “Who is she waiting for after giving you a handjob?” he stands up and towers over the seated man who is fumbling with his belt. “I was being nice to you before she completely cut contact with you. You’re welcome by the way.”

As he exits the lounge, he scoffs to himself, “Jealous. What a joke.”

He has no reason to be jealous, because when he's outside, you're shuffling on your feet with your hands held behind your back with a bright smile as you turn to look at him.

"There's my girl," he affirms with a lopsided grin.

It shouldn't feel so reassuring when you reply, "Always yours." And as long as you are, you should be content with only having him in your life.

Because he's never going to catch you talking to another boy again, even if it's his former best friend.

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[thetravelerwrites]

Alexei (Part 2) Lemon

Rating: Mature Relationships: Female Human/Male Satyr Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Boyfriend, Satyr, Arranged Marriage, Fake Marriage, Strangers to Lovers, Reader Insert, Illness Words: 6143

A commission for @thebimess​​! A sudden illness changes the nature of the reader's and Alexei's relationship. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

You left the next morning before Alexei woke, as usual, but the walk to the bathhouse, which was only across the street, was more difficult than it had been before. Within an hour, you felt exhausted and weak, as if there were steel bands constricting your chest, preventing you from taking a full breath. There was a sharp pain in your side every time you breathed in.

“You don’t sound well,” Your work neighbor, Ellie, said. “There’s a nasty whistle when you take a breath. Are you alright, lovie?”

“Yes, I’m alright,” You lied. “Don’t worry about me, I can carry on.”

“If you say so.”

At some point during the day, you were called out of the laundry room.

“Am I in trouble?” You asked the matron.

“No, dearie,” The matron said, looking concerned. “We went and called on your husband to take you home. You’ve looked like you’re going to fall into the tubs all day.”

“I can work, Madam, I’m fine,” You protested.

“Nonsense,” She said. “Let your husband take you home. The last thing I need is a corpse on my working floor, you got me, missy?”

“Yes, Madam,” You said.

Alexei stood up from where he was sitting in the front room. As soon as he saw you, his face pinched in concern.

“You’re terribly pale,” Alexei said, coming close. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing,” You gasped. “I just have a little cold or something, it’s nothing to worry about.” It was unfortunate that at that moment, your feet decided to trip over themselves and you stumbled into him.

“Oy, oy,” He said, helping you right yourself. He put a hand to your head. “My word, you are boiling, pet! Let’s get you back home and lay you down. Madam, thank you for sending for me. Will you need compensation for the time she’s not working?”

“We’ll figure that out later. Get that child in a bed.”

“Yes, Madam.”

Alexei managed to drag you back to your room and helped you out of your short cloak and shoes. He steered you toward your bedroll and lay you down in it. As soon as your body hit the blankets, it gave out and you lost consciousness.

When you woke, it was dark. You had a wet rag on your forehead, your body feeling as though you’d been trampled by horses. Though you were bundled up, you felt like you were going to freeze. Breathing was like being stabbed with knives. As you inhaled and exhaled, there was a gravelly rasp that you could feel in your lungs. You made a sound of discomfort, and suddenly Alexei’s face came into your field of vision.

“You’re awake,” He said, taking the rag from your head. “Can you sit up? You need to drink.”

“Help me,” You croaked. He wedged his arm under your shoulders and lifted you. Your body screamed in agony and you gave a pained cry. “I can’t breathe,” You told him. “I feel like I’m drowning.”

“I know,” He said, his face scrunching in sympathy. “The physician has been ‘round to see you. You have pneumonia, he says.”

“Pneumonia?” You repeated.

“Yes,” He said, tipping a cup of water for you to drink. “He doesn’t think you’re infectious, since no one you’ve been around has developed symptoms. He left me some medicine to give you, powdered willow bark and peppermint.”

“That must have been expensive,” You wheezed. “How much did it cost you?”

“Let me worry about the expense,” He said, urging you to drink more. “Just concentrate on getting better.”

“But my job…” You protested. “I’ll be sacked...”

“Stop fussing,” He admonished. “I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of everything. Just rest.”

“I’m cold,” You said piteously, beginning to cry.

“I know,” He said again, stroking a strand of your hair from your forehead. “It’s the fever. I can’t make you warmer or you could die.”

“It hurts,” You said. “Let me die.”

“Don’t say that. You’ll be alright,” He soothed, laying you carefully back on the bedroll. “Let me get your medicine.”

Every day, Alexei woke you four times a day for your breathing treatment, which consisted of steeping the peppermint leaves in boiling water and having you inhale the vapor, and to take some fluids, usually water, tea, or broth. He stuck to this schedule without fail, and while it irritated you, you knew somewhere in your subconscious that he was saving your life. The peppermint vapor helped ease your breathing some and the willow bark prevented the fever from becoming dangerous, but it still felt as though you were dying.

Five days in, he woke you for your treatments.

“No, I can’t,” You cried weakly.

“Yes, you can,” He said patiently. “But I want to show you something first. Let’s sit you up, pet.” He lifted you up gingerly and sat behind you so that you were resting with your back to his front and your head on his shoulder. “Can you open your eyes?”

Your eyes felt glued together, but you managed to pry them open. “What do you want to show me?”

“Look,” He said, pointing at the wall where the fireplace was. “Can you see?”

It took a moment for your eyes to focus, but when it did, you saw flowers. Hundreds, thousands of tiny flowers painted on the wall. It was a field, a meadow, and a sweet little cottage sat in the middle next to a small pond. Every color you could think of waved in the painted breeze. It was dusk, and the sky was pink-gold with fluffy clouds of silver floating along it. Little ducks, chickens, and baby goats gathered around the steps to the cottage, and there, a woman who looked much like you stood scattering seeds from a basket on her arm. She wore a crown of flowers on her head.

“Oh,” You breathed, a tear rolling down your cheek as your body trembled weakly against his. “It’s beautiful.”

He rubbed his hands up and down your arms. “I’m glad you like it. I worked on it while you were sleeping. I was going to just paint a small piece of wood with flowers and fruit for you to carry in your pocket, but… it didn’t feel good enough.”

“I would have loved that, too,” You said. “Won’t you get in trouble with the landlord for this?”

“I asked permission,” He said softly into your hair.

You began to sob. “It’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. I just wish I weren’t dying so I could enjoy it properly.”

“You’re not going to die, love,” He said, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and rocking you gently side-to-side. “I won’t let you. You have a fiance to piss off; you can’t die before then. I’m looking forward to the day when I can watch you tell him to stick that contract where the sun don’t shine.”

You laughed through your tears. “Why couldn’t I haven’t been promised to you instead?”

He laughed, too. “You’re too independent and headstrong for me, love. I like women who can’t fend for themselves. They don’t realize what I twat I am.”

You chuckled. You spent a few minutes in silence, staring at the lovely gift Alexei had made for you. And then it was time for tea and treatments before he let you rest again, all the while he stroked your hair and hummed a soft tune under his breath.

It took eight days for the fever to break. Thankfully, you were unconscious for most of it, since consciousness was nothing short of torture. You couldn’t eat and could barely swallow. Every breath was like your lungs were catching fire over and over again.

Once the fever broke and you were able to stand up, Alexei paid a substantial amount to rent you a private bathing room with soaps, shampoos, fruit, cheese, and wine. Every luxury had been seen to and Alexei had spared no expense. When you offered to pay him back, he simply ruffled your hair and told you not to worry about it, saying that you’d earned a nice day for yourself.

He asked your coworker, Ellie, to help you wash up and to watch over you, since you were still weak and had a terrible cough. It was nice to have another friend sitting with you to talk; you hadn’t really had a girl-friend before.

Thanks to Alexei, you didn’t end up dying, but recovery was painfully slow. By the time the six months of the marriage was up, you’d only just started to feel like your old self again, but you still tired easily and couldn’t push yourself for too long.

The two of you packed your room to travel back to Red Landing, selling the furniture you’d purchased when first arriving in Dunmountain.

“Are you ready to go back?” Alexei asked as he helped you up into the driver’s box.

“Not really,” You said. “I’m not looking forward to facing my parents. Or Gregory. Just because I know he’ll be utterly obnoxious about it.”

“Well, don’t worry about a thing, pet,” He said. “If the bastard tries to make off with you like a prowler in the night, I’ll be there to stop him.”

You smiled at him. “Thank you. I’m glad to have you as a friend, Alexei. I’m sorry if I ever insinuated that you weren’t.”

“Water under the bridge, my pet,” He said, patting your hand before trotting around the mule and hopping up to sit next to you. “Shall we?”

“Eh?” You said with a noncommittal shrug. Laughing, he took that as a yes and snapped the mule to movement.

The trip back was comfortable, despite your nerves, and took far less time than the trip to Dunmountain had, since you were walking for half of that one. The two of you either slept in the vardo or rented a room at an inn. After six months of sharing a space, sleeping in the same room was second nature by now, so there was no reason to rent two rooms.

When you reached the boundaries of Red Landing, you wrapped your arms around yourself and took a large breath.

“You’ll be alright, pet,” Alexei said. “If things get too badly out of hand, I have no qualms about loading us back up and doing a legger.”

You smiled. “That’s good to know, I’ll keep it in mind.” You pointed at the crossroads. “Take a left at this fork.”

He nudged the mule left, and it took you out of the marketplace and down the residential track.

“Here. We’re here.”

He stopped the wagon in front of a modestly built wooden house with shuttered windows open in the breeze; your mother had always said that glass was an unnecessary luxury and not worth the cost. There was a simple garden and an apple tree planted next to the walkway up to the front door surrounded by a low stone wall and a wooden gate, which was open.

“That’s odd,” You said as Alexei helped you down. “The gate is never left open.”

“Could they be expecting someone?” He asked.

“I don’t know,” You replied. “All of the windows are open, too. That’s unusual.”

“It’s a nice day,” Alexei said. “They could just be enjoying the fresh air.”

You shook your head. “No, this isn’t like them.”

“Do you think something could be wrong?” He asked, taking you by the forearm and stopping you cautiously.

Before you could respond, your mother appeared at one of the windows, crying out.

“Oh!” She said, her hands to her mouth. “You came back! John, she’s back!”

She disappeared from the window and a few seconds later, the door flew open. She launched herself out of it and into your arms, brushing past Alexei to do so.

“Oh, I’m so happy to see you!” She cried into your shoulder. “I didn’t know if you’d ever return.”

Your father, a gruff looking man with a short beard, came out too. He was less talkative than your mother, but he gathered you up in his arms and held you tight for a moment, releasing you with nary a word, though a small tear fell down his cheek and disappeared into his whiskers.

“Hi, Papa,” You said. “Hi, Mama.”

“Oh, darling, we were hoping you’d come back! We left the windows open, so we could hear you coming. They’ve been open every day since you disappeared.”

You sighed, feeling guilty. “I’m sorry I vanished on you without saying anything. But you understand why I had to do that, don’t you?”

You mother regarded you warily. “Darling… you know how important the investment is for us. We had so many plans.”

“Mother,” You said sternly. “I’m not marrying that man.”

“Be reasonable,” She pleaded. “We can do so much once our business gets off the ground. For you, as well.”

“I don’t think there’s anything unreasonable about wanting to be treated like a human being and not a possession to be sold,” You said, your voice raised. “What happened to you two? What happened to working for what you want? What happened to never trusting a gift? Do I mean so little to you that you’d make a deal with the devil so that you don’t have to work anymore?”

“I can’t believe how ungrateful you are!” Your mother replied, scowling. “Do you know how long we had to wait for this? Do you know what we sacrificed for you?”

“I never asked you to sacrifice anything for me!”

Your mother slapped you. “Don’t raise your voice to your mother!”

Suddenly you were yanked back. Alexei had pulled you behind him and stood between you and your parents.

“I understand family matters can get heated,” He said evenly. “But I must insist that you not strike my wife. She’s still recovering from being quite ill.”

“Wife?” Your father repeated, the first thing he’s said since you returned. “What’s this about a wife? Who are you?”

You heard that but not that I was ill? You thought bitterly.

“My name is Alexei,” He said, his voice deep and imposing. “I’m your daughter’s husband.”

There was an awkward silence as your parents took that information in.

“Why don’t you come in and we can… discuss this,” Your father said, motioning for your mother to follow him inside.

Before you could follow after them, Alexei stopped you. He touched your chin and tilted your head, examining the cheek where your mother had struck you.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” You replied. “Let’s get this over with. It’s going to be painful, either way.”

He grimaced and opened his mouth to say something, but thought the better of it and shut it again, stepping aside to let you pass.

Inside, your mother was setting out tea. Your father sat in his usual chair with his arms folded, looking at Alexei unfavorably. You frowned at him. It’s a little late to be playing the concerned father, isn’t it, Papa?

Your mother sat down next to your father across the table from you. You took the marriage license from your bag as she set out the teacups and unfolded it showing them.

“You can inspect it and send a letter to the magistrate, if you wish.”

Your mother cleared her throat, not looking at the document. “So… how did the two of you… meet?”

You tried to answer, but you felt your mouth dry up.

“She took shelter from the rain in my carriage one night, actually,” Alexei said, laughing a little. “I didn’t even notice her until the next day halfway through my journey. But when I did, it was love at first sight. I did everything I could from that moment on to woo her.”

“How soon after you met did you marry?”

“Three days.”

Both your mother and father’s eyes shot to you suspiciously. You felt the weight of their scrutiny, but didn’t flinch.

“What is it about our daughter you fell in love with?”

You were slightly concerned that Alexei wouldn’t be able to come up with anything, but to your surprise, he answered without hesitation.

“She’s a self-starter, fiercely independent, and has an amazing work ethic, which I imagine is thanks to you.” He gestured at your parents. “She’s headstrong and funny and makes faces when I tease her and is genuinely fun to be around. Not a dull day since I met her.” He turned to look at you fondly. “She’s spent all of our marriage taking very good care of me. Better care than anyone ever has. She’s the only family I’ve ever had, and that means more to me than I can ever express. I count myself blessed to have met her, and doubly blessed to be her husband.”

You couldn’t help but smile softly. He sounded so sincere.

“What about you, dear?” Your mother asked, still looking unmoved. “What is it about Alexei you fell in love with?”

You sat and thought. “I’ll admit, when first the idea of marrying Alexei was presented, I didn’t want to do it.” You didn’t mention that it was you who brought it up. “But Alexei has never been anything but kind to me. He’s silly and talented and he laughs a lot and is never bothered by anything. Not until…”

You stared at your hands, trying to recall the time you’d been ill. “I got sick. Very sick. I almost died, I think. He took care of me. It took a long time for me to get better, and he was there the entire time. He painted an entire wall with flowers and ducks and pretty things for me to look at, just because I’d said I wanted a little painting to brighten up our room. He spend a lot of money for several months on medicine to help me get better. He never got mad at me, never impatient, never frustrated. He didn’t give up on me even when I wanted to die so that the pain would stop. He’s my husband, but he’s also my best friend, and I’m lucky to have him as both.”

That was a hell of a revelation to come to sitting right in front of your parents being interrogated about your fake marriage. Without looking at each other, Alexei flipped his hand and reached for yours, and you took it. He squeezed your fingers firmly. Don’t worry, He seemed to say. Just say the word and we can run.

“So, are you a man of means, Alexei?” You mother asked. “Can you take care of our daughter financially?”

“She’s more than capable of doing that herself, you know,” He said levelly. “But yes. I’m a fairly well known painter and I have a decent nest egg set aside to build a home. If the underlying question is, ‘am I going to give you money in exchange for your daughter as if she were goods to be bartered for,’ the answer is no.”

Your father got red in the face and your mother sputtered. You didn’t even try to hide your smug smile.

“Darling,” Your mother said, turning to you and pleading. “It’s not too late to fix this. You can still annul the marriage and marry Gregory. He’ll straighten up after he’s married, most men do!”

You sighed and rubbed your temples in frustration. “Look,” You said, pulling out your coin purse. “This is all the money I took, plus a little more. Since money seems to be the only thing you care about, take this. I don’t owe you anything anymore.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this to us,” Your mother said angrily, shoving the license back across the table. “After everything we’ve done for you.”

“What? What have you done for me, Mother? You did what you were supposed to do when people have children? Had a child and then raised that child? You don’t get a reward for doing what you’re supposed to do; you taught me that, for God’s sake!”

Your father slammed his hand down on the table and you jumped, letting out a startled squeak. He stood up, his eyes dark.

“Perhaps…” He said slowly. “It’s best if you leave.”

You felt stung. “Happily,” You said, snatching the license from the table and stuffing it in your bag. “I have a feeling that I won’t be back this time.”

“Are we off, then, my pet?” Alexei asked casually, standing and reaching to take your bag.

“Yes,” You said through your teeth. “For good.”

“As you wish, pet,” He replied, taking your hand and wrapping it around his arm. “There’s a lovely tavern a little east of here we might stay. It’s less…” He turned back and looked your parents up and down pointedly. “Money-hungry.”

You asked Alexei if you could ride in the vardo and he was agreeable. As soon as Alexei snapped the reins and the mule lurched forward, you began to sob. You knew he could hear you, because the window near the driver’s box was open. He whistled loudly as the cart rolled, perhaps to disguise or drown out your weeping so you felt less awkward about crying noisily on a crowded street. You appreciated it.

The vardo stopped, you assumed in front of the tavern Alexei spoke of, though he didn’t hop down right away, simply sat in the driver’s box and continued to whistle as you cried. After a time, you pulled yourself together and forced yourself to stuff down the rest of your tears.

“Alexei, I’m alright now,” You said faintly.

He stopped whistling. “I’ll give you some coin. Would you mind getting us a room while I see to the mule and wagon?”

“Sure,” You said tonelessly. You climbed out of the vardo as he came around and held out your hand. Before he handed you the money, he took your chin and tilted your head up, looking at you in concern.

“Are you sure you’re alright, pet?”

You nodded but you didn’t meet his eye.

“I’ll see you inside. Wait for me downstairs and I’ll buy us dinner, alright?”

You nodded again and walked off wordlessly.

Inside, you paid for the room and bought two mugs of ale. Alexei came in after a few minutes and bent down.

“Anything you want specifically?”

“Doesn’t matter,” You replied flatly.

He walked off, and after several minutes he came back, picked up his mug and took your hand, pulling you to your feet.

“Come on, pet,” He said. “I’m having it sent up to our room. You look like you need rest. It’s been a long… trying day, and you’re still not well yet.”

You didn’t argue and allowed yourself to be led upstairs. Once inside, he put your mugs on the provided table while you sat down on the very small bed. You pulled the license back out and stared at it.

“I suppose we should find a magistrate in the morning,” You said. “Six months is up. You held up your end of the bargain. We can have this annulled as early as tomorrow afternoon and be on your way.”

He sat next to you. “Is this a conversation we should have now?”

“There’s no reason not to. I have to think about where I’m going to go.”

“Go?” He echoed.

“I’m not going home, clearly,” You said. “I have an aunt up north, but I don’t know if she’d be any more interested in taking me in than my parents were at listening to me.”

“You could always stay with me,” He said. “Annulling the marriage doesn’t mean we stop being friends.”

“It’s improper for a man and a woman to live together if they’re not married.”

“Who cares what’s improper? We’re adults, we can do what we like.”

“It’s alright, Alexei, I’ll figure something out. I’m resourceful, you know that.”

“I do know that,” He said, reaching over and taking the license, inspecting it. “What if…” He said slowly. “What if we didn’t annul the marriage? What if we stayed married?”

“What are you talking about?” You asked looking up at him. He opened his mouth to speak, but was saved from answering by a knock at the door.

“That’s our dinner, I expect.” He stood up and opened the door, taking a tray from whoever delivered it and closing the door again, putting the tray down on the table.

“Alexei,” You said, standing up. “What do you mean, stay married?”

“Well…” He said, not looking at you and bending over the table, busying himself with placing the food out. “It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement. And we’re good friends, we take care of each other. I can’t think of a single good reason not to stay together.”

“Well, I mean…” You started. “It’s not like we love each other, right?”

He didn’t answer, just continued fussing with the food. You stopped him by putting a hand on his shoulder and gently pushing him upright.

“Right?” You asked again.

He met your gaze, his face a little sad and anxious, and took a big breath.

“When we first got married,” He began slowly. “It was a laugh, something funny and silly to occupy my time. Teasing you was amusing, and I got someone to cook and clean for me as a bonus. I figured that at the end of the six months, I’d just walk away with the money having done my part and never have to see you again. I’d be one step closer to my goal of building a house for myself. I didn’t expect to end up as friends.” He dropped his eyes and took one of your hands in his. “I grew up alone. I expected to live my life alone, and I was happy with that. But when you got sick…”

“Alexei, it’s okay,” You said softly, squeezing his hand.

He shook his head, grimacing as if in pain. “When you got sick, I know I kept telling you to keep your chin up and that you’d be fine, but deep down I was panicking. I wasn’t sure if you’d make it and I was terrified…” His voice shook. “…that I was going to lose the only family I’d ever had. I didn’t sleep at night and watched you all the time to make sure you were still breathing. Whenever I’d try to rouse you to drink and you wouldn’t wake, my heart would stop. I was willing to spend every penny I’d ever earned to fix it. I didn’t want to be alone anymore, and I wanted more than anything for you to live. I wanted you to stay with me. I still do.” He looked up at you again, and there were unshed tears in his eyes. “So stay with me.”

Stunned and moved to silence, you nodded slowly.

He swallowed hard, leaned in, and kissed you. He seemed jumpy, as if he worried you might slap him and he’d need to hop back quickly, but you didn’t slap him. You stepped closer and put your arms around his shoulders, pulling him to you. He sighed in relief and deepened the kiss, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling your body flush with his. He was only slightly shorter than you, so you had to tilt your head down a little to kiss him, but it was nice. It was comfortable.

Ignoring the food now, he took you to the bed, shedding his vest, tunic, and undershirt. He’d worn his best clothes to meet your family, but now they were left in a pile with your dress on the floor. He unstrung your bodice and you slid it off, pulling your chemise off after it. God, why did being a woman come with so many damn layers?

Finally, you were both undressed and crawled into the bed together, your limbs tangling together. He laid you down on the threadbare blanket and kissed you deeply, touching your body and spreading your legs with his knees. After a moment, though, he stopped and popped up in his hands, peering down at you.

“Are you feeling alright?” He asked, looking concerned. “I may have been a little overeager when you didn’t push me away, but are you well enough to… do this… with me? Are you feeling tired or sick?”

You giggled softly, stroking his cheeks with your thumbs. “I feel incredible,” You said. “Better than I have in a long time. It’s alright, Alexei. I want this. We never had a wedding night, after all.”

He laughed. “I think you’d have thrown a pan at my head if I tried.”

“You’re right,” You replied, pulling him down for another kiss.

He took his time exploring your body, touching and kissing and sucking. He nipped at your skin as he made his way down your belly, tickling your sides to make you giggle and squirm.

“I wish I’d known how soft your body was,” He murmured. “And how warm. I’d have confessed my feelings sooner if I could’ve just curled up next to you at night.”

“Flatterer,” You said, smirking down at him.

“Honest,” He said, kissing your hipbones. “To think, so many cold nights with this beautiful body lying mere feet away. It’s enough to chill a man’s heart.”

“Or something else,” You snickered.

“Speaking of which,” He replied, spreading your legs and kissing lower. His lips touched your… lips… and you inhaled at the new sensation. It wasn’t a bad feeling, just strange since you’d never felt it before. You looked down at him as he teased you, and he looked back up at you. You bit your lip and watched him as he finally pressed his tongue to your pearl, and he watched your flushed, thrilled reaction with fascinated intensity.

Shivers rippled through your body and you let your head fall back onto the pillow as he went to work pleasuring you, gripping your inner thighs tightly to keep your legs wide open. His beard tickled the sensitive skin as he pressed his face firmly into the hollow, pushing his tongue deeply inside you and wiggling it up and down. You moaned and tilted your hips so that he could get even deeper.

“Alexei, please,” You rasped, pulling his hair.

He raised back up, wiping his beard and reaching between his own legs to gently stroke himself. He kissed his way back up your body and braced on one hand as he pressed his cock to your entrance, pushing inside you. Your body opened to his eagerly, taking him in to the hilt. He moved slowly at first as he kissed you over and over, making a loose fist in your hair, but when you wrapped your legs around his and thrust your hips up to meet him, he began to speed up.

His lips never left your skin and neither did his hands. It was as if he couldn’t touch you enough, couldn’t get enough of how your skin tasted, and gripped you as if you’d evaporate if he let go. There was a strange, anxious tension in his body that you could feel in his muscles as he slammed into you over and over.

You were getting closer to the peak of your pleasure, you could tell he was, too, because he buried his head in the crook of your neck and clung to you as if he were drowning. His movements were precise and rigorous. His grunting grew louder and faster, joining with your moans and gasps. You gripped his back and dug your nails into his skin, whimpering “yes! yes!” over and over.

He suddenly popped up on his hands, thrusting frenetically before giving a shout and going completely rigid, his forehead pressed against yours. You cried out right afterward, grinding your clit against his body and riding out your orgasm as he released inside you.

The two of you were locked in place, gasping for air. He finally collapsed sideways, sliding wetly out of you, and drew in deep breaths. When the two of you had cooled down and caught your breath, he pulled you into his body, your back to his front, and locked his arms around you.

“Pet?” He said softly.

“Hmm?”

“In case I hadn’t made it clear, I do love you,” He said.

You laughed. “You couldn’t have done much more to make it plain short of shouting it out the window.”

“Do you want me to? Because I will!” He made to release you and reach up to open the window, and you grabbed him back, giggling.

“You silly thing!” You told him, rolling over to look at his face. “In case you were wondering, I love you, too.”

“Oh, that’s good,” He said with a smile, stroking your hair. “Was a little worried.”

“Well, don’t be.” You went in for a soft kiss, and then another, and another. “I’ll stay. Wherever you go, I’ll be with you. Because I want to be.”

He cuddled you in and the two of you slept.

A short few hours travel brought you to a meadow with a small pond. The field was full of flowers of all sizes and colors.

“I know this place!” You said as Alexei helped you down off of the driver’s box. “This is from the painting!”

“Very perceptive, my love,” He said, grinning. “I’ve owned this little stretch of land for a while. I think I finally have enough money to build our home. We might be sleeping in the vardo for awhile until it’s finished, though.”

“I don’t mind,” You said, turning and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “I love it here. I wouldn’t even care if we slept in a tent as long as we could live here.”

He chuckled and kissed your temple. “I think we can do better than that, Pet,” He said. “Welcome home.”

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Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#exophilia #monster boyfriend #satyr #strangers to lovers #Fake Marriage #arranged marriage #reader insert

[samstree]

Hug a Witcher Day (4/4)

In which Geralt makes plans, but everything goes wrong.

(geraskier, 4.7k,  hurt/comfort, sick jaskier, love confessions, first kiss, second kiss, cuddling, geralt talks about his feelings!)

This story ends here. Remember to give your local witchers a hug!

AO3, previous: [1] [2] [3]

Loving someone is unbearable, Geralt has recently realized.

In the big medical camp, when they can only sleep with hundreds of healers and patients in one big room, their single beds are arranged next to each other in parallel. The night renders the place pitch dark and Geralt is the only one still capable of seeing anything.

Geralt watches Jaskier drift off the moment his head hits the pillow, his breathing calm and his heart slowing.

The bard is tired, but he’s safe.

Geralt watches for a few more moments longer and, gradually, a warm pool of fuzziness begins to gather in his stomach again. He revels in it, in the feeling of loving Jaskier.

He reaches out a hand towards the bard and stops at the edge of the bed, a mere foot away from Jaskier’s sleeping form. The steady rhythm of Jaskier’s human heart lulls Geralt into oblivion but his hand remains there, so close and yet so far away.

That’s how Jaskier wakes Geralt in the morning, with a brush of knuckles, a gentle squeeze on his wrist and a soft, bleary smile. His brown hair is sleep-rumpled and there’s a long pillow crease on his cheek, and Geralt almost blurts it out on the spot.

Loving someone is unbearable.

Loving someone while not telling them is even worse.

But Geralt will tell Jaskier one day. A witcher can’t afford to be a coward. He didn’t get through the worst trials only to be intimidated by a simple human bard. No, the reason he can’t voice those three words is only…bad timing. Jaskier has been through too much in the span of just a few seasons, and yet his smiles are still flowing with patience; he persists with the gentleness that is so distinctly  Jaskier .

Geralt won’t weigh Jaskier down, not until they can pack their bags and leave this city.

And they do.

The end of summer brings the first chill in the air, and Geralt finally leads Roach out of the gates of Vizima. Jaskier follows not far behind with the lute on his back and a spring in his steps.

It all feels like a dream when Geralt remembers being cooped up in one place and isolated from the world, but he walks out of the city as a new man. The love flowing through his veins is the tangible proof of his change of heart.

“Roach must be dying to stretch her legs, don’t you think?” the bard offers when Geralt mounts the mare, her gait anxious.

“Catch up to me?” Geralt asks.

“Always.”

The corners of Jaskier’s eyes crinkle and the sun spills down his hair and threads it with gold. With a gentle nudge, the mare takes off eagerly. The bard’s silhouette grows more distant and Geralt gives up on hiding the lovestruck grin on his face.

*

For a long time, Geralt anticipates he will tell Jaskier in the most dramatic, world-ending way.

After all, the bard does everything so dramatically and world-endingly that anything related to him should deserve the same treatment. Geralt reckons even if he tries to keep it down, Jaskier will find a way to make it the grandest scene there is.

Geralt thinks about doing it in Dol Blathanna, a poetic symmetry to their first meeting that the bard will certainly wax poetic about. The idea churns for two days and suddenly he realizes how terrible it is. The fall will soon render the valley of flowers barren and they’ll just be standing on rocky ground.

So Geralt turns his eyes to the north, where Kaer Morhen must be hiding behind the mountains. Within the walls of the ancient keep, there’s a tower just next to their training yard that he has spent so many sleepless nights in. Standing on top of that tower and watching the stars and northern lights might be the rare moments when he’s truly at peace. It’s when he’s at home.

He silently decides on taking Jaskier home for the winter.

“Why are you taking us this far north, Geralt? Urgh, and why do you have to push me like this? You truly have no pity for me.”

The bard sits on his bedroll and rubs at his eyes at dawn, his face scrunched up with displeasure.

“Hmm.”

In his mind’s eye, Geralt can almost see Jaskier’s face when he steps into Kaer Morhen for the first time, the bard raving about all the songs the ancient keep could inspire and exploring the place with wonderment. He can see the way Jaskier’s eyes would light up under the night sky at the sight of those colorful lights, awestruck and gleaming.

If Geralt was any other man, he would be giddy with anticipation.

And perhaps, that’s why he doesn’t see it when sickness creeps up on Jaskier in the most unexpected way.

Surviving a terrible plague and falling ill right after sounds way too anticlimactic. Jaskier would be disappointed in a twist like this if it’s in a story. It never even crosses Geralt’s mind that Jaskier’s increased complaining is a result of discomfort, of months’ exhaustion silently building up. It never occurs to him that Jaskier, now with his waist and shoulders thinner, might need to take more breaks on the road and wear more layers on harsher days.

An autumn storm catches them off guard and that’s all it takes.

“You got lucky. There’s only one room left.” The man behind the desk throws a pitying look at the bard, dripping on the creaky floor and swaying on his feet. “The rest are all booked for the festival.”

Geralt pays no mind to his remarks. His world narrows down to getting Jaskier into a warm room and stripping him of these wet clothes. He has no choice but to replace them with one of Geralt’s dark shirts—the bard has never been good at keeping his pack dry.

Now Jaskier is shivering under the covers and groaning like a dying animal. His hair is damp from the residual rain and cold sweat, his frame drowning in the too-large tunic.

“Can you light the fire, Geralt?” Jaskier asks through chattering teeth. The blanket is slipping from his shoulders, the open collar exposing a patch of skin and sending a chill down his body. Geralt wraps the blanket tighter around him and looks puzzled at the roaring flame in the hearth.

“It is on. Can’t you see it?” Geralt frowns, confused.

Jaskier’s eyes focus on somewhere far away. The dazed expression lingers for way too long before his head turns to the fireplace. “Oh.”

The worry in Geralt’s stomach grows heavier. He feels for Jaskier’s forehead and lets out a curse when his palm meets burning skin.

“You are feverish.” Geralt continues to wipe away the sweat gathering at the bard’s hairline. “Damn it, Jaskier. Why didn’t you say something?”

The bard leans into Geralt’s cooler touch instinctively. “Well, if you learned one thing about bards, Geralt, you should know that we can’t predict the weather.”

“No.” Frustration seeps into Geralt’s voice. He lets out a scowl. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick? You must have been feeling terrible for days if you have a fever like this. Jaskier…”

Geralt breathes out his name and finds anger rising, but not towards the bard. He’s angry with himself, for neglecting Jaskier’s comfort in favor of furthering his stupid plan, for not seeing what’s right in front of him. Jaskier staggering on his feet in the pouring rain stirred up some old fear in Geralt, the fear that hasn’t left him since the day he stepped into Oxenfurt in the spring.

“I guess it didn’t even cross my mind,” Jaskier explains, his voice small and unsure. “We just survived something unimaginable, my dear. I was so excited to go out again. It’s you and—”

Jaskier is rudely interrupted by a coughing fit. The violent wheezing wracks his lungs, causing him to fall forward in a struggle. Geralt catches his limp body in a frenzy and Jaskier ends up with his forehead on Geralt’s shoulder to ride it out, his too-warm breaths fanning over the skin of Geralt’s skin.

“It’s you and me against the world,” Jaskier finally croaks as Geralt helps him sit against the pillows. “All the adventures we missed, think about them. I was just…excited.”

Geralt finds himself kneeling on the bed and a hand’s breadth away from Jaskier’s face, his cheeks worryingly flushed. He looks down to adjust the blanket again to make sure the bard is completely bundled up.

“Excited? And you couldn’t even tell you were sick?”

At least the bard is looking contrite.

“I thought I was just out of shape, with all the pain in my joints and my back. Ugh.” Jaskier squirms in the sea of pillows, adjusting to find better support. “I suppose you don’t have anything for it? A whole bag of witcher potions and none for humans—”

“I—” Geralt splutters. “I’ll, um, get you some willow bark. And a sleeping draught.”

He gets off the bed in one swift motion and works under Jaskier’s curious gaze. The bard is entranced by Geralt’s movement as he boils the water and prepares the tea that he’s been carrying around and replenishing for years.

Blue eyes remain inscrutable as Geralt strains out the shredded bark and scoops a spoonful of honey in the steaming water. He brings the cup to Jaskier’s bed as well as a tincture of sleeping potion.

The bard lets go of the blanket in favor of the cup. He takes a sip and lets out a soft sigh. The honey should be soothing his throat, and it counters the bitterness of the willow bark as well. Geralt leaves him to finish the tea and goes to retrieve his cloak. The thick garment is now completely dry and toasty thanks to the fire, so he gathers it and puts it over Jaskier’s lap.

The bard hands Geralt the empty cup, uncorks the tincture, and downs the greenish liquid.

“ Urgh. Why do all sleeping draughts taste so dreadful?” He grimaces, sticking out his tongue. “Should’ve saved some of the honey.”

“You need more?”

Geralt is ready to fish out the jar again but a hand resting on his elbow stops him.

“Don’t waste it, Geralt. I know how much honey costs.”

“It’s not a waste,” Geralt insists.

Geralt sinks back down into the mattress and suddenly Jaskier’s palm on his arm is burning a hole into his bones, and it’s not because of the fever.

“Because you bought it for me?” Jaskier’s gaze grows intense, the question phrased like a statement, like the bard has never been more sure of anything else. “You keep a jar of honey in your pack and only put it in our water after I sing for a whole night. You carry fresh willow bark for my headache—gods know it’s too weak for your metabolism. You have sleeping potions for humans.”

All statements should feel accusatory, but something is brewing like a storm under Jaskier’s unwavering eyes.

Geralt’s ears heat up in the too-warm room. He wants to get as far away from Jaskier as possible to avoid feeling so exposed. It’s almost like Jaskier has stripped him bare and left his heart in the open.

“It’s nothing.”

And that’s the wrong thing to say.

“What? No.” Distress overtakes those blue eyes. “Geralt, you take care of me. You have been taking care of me for years. How can it be nothing? Even just in Vizima, you stayed for me and you were there for me—”

“I wouldn’t just leave you there, Jask.” Geralt says defensively. The bard truly is burning with a mad fever if he thinks Geralt could ever leave him.

A sad smile spreads across Jaskier’s face.

“I know. And that’s the problem, isn’t it?” he answers, half to himself, which makes Geralt all the more confused. He covers Jaskier’s hand resting on his arm and squeezes gently for the bard to continue.

“It’s been three years, Geralt. It’s been three years since that night. Do you still remember? It was the night before we had to part for the winter, and it was so cold. I couldn’t even get my teeth to stop chattering and you insulted my choice of wear, as you do.” The bard rolls his eyes. “I fell asleep in shivers and woke up warm with all my toes still intact. Miraculously.”

Jaskier slips his hand out of Geralt’s before threading their fingers together, his other hand running up and down the cloak on his lap. “You had given me your cloak during the night so I wouldn’t freeze. And when I turned around, you were just…there. Lying on your bedrolls,  cloakless, sleeping, and so far away.”

Geralt stares at Jaskier’s dazed expression and the melancholy at the corners of his mouth and senses his languid heartbeat pick up. He remembers that night, but it was nothing out of the ordinary. Why Jaskier thinks it was anything of significance is baffling.

“That was the moment for me. That morning, right before we parted for a whole season, was when it hit me. I—Geralt, I wanted to tell you then, but I was too much of a coward, so I sent you away without knowing.”

Tell me what?

The question dies in Geralt’s throat. Instead, habit compels him to deflect. “But you were cold.”

Jaskier’s eyes are gleaming in the warm candlelight, wide and earnest.

“It’s what you do, Geralt. You save me from monsters and rude patrons. You tolerate my faults and you compel me to do better. You traveled across the continent to see me safe, and you stayed. You  stayed .” Jaskier is on the verge of tears, and Geralt wishes more than anything in the world to erase that dejected look on his face. “My white wolf. My protector. I—I had nothing to thank you for, except for my songs. So I wrote the song, thinking I could show you that way.”

The fire crackles and Geralt asks dumbly.

“What song?”

Jaskier holds his gaze and hums the too-familiar tune of Hug a Witcher, his voice breaking from time to time, growing hoarse by the end. Geralt is pinned to the spot, unable to form words.

“I got the whole continent to do it for me, didn’t I?” Jaskier chuckles tightly but his usual smugness is nowhere to be seen. “But, you see, the whole continent gets to hug you for a day. They’ll get to show you their appreciation. But not me. What a wonderful plan! I guess that’s the price for being selfish, for wanting an excuse to—just to…”

Jaskier trails off, his fingers limp in Geralt’s hand. The silence hangs too heavily as Geralt lets the thunderstruck realization sink in.

As if Geralt has ever cared about what everyone else thinks of him. As if he ever wanted everyone else’s arms around him. Jaskier can never be selfish when it comes to Geralt, never when it counts. He’s being such a fool for assuming and Geralt lets out a frustrated growl.

The bard flinches, and retreats, pulling his legs towards his chest to appear as small as possible. His curled-up form is so small that it looks wrong. Jaskier should take up all the space in the world.

“No,” Geralt corrects him desperately. “No. You are not selfish, Jaskier. You’ve done nothing wrong by me in this—”

“I’ve brought nothing but trouble to your side. The song, the plague…I’ve worried you, and now I’ve burdened you. I—” Jaskier’s gaze darts all over the place, heedless of Geralt’s protest. The delirium is muddling his mind. Geralt panics and wraps Jaskier’s chin in his palm, desperately trying to anchor his bard.

“Jaskier—”

“Will you leave?” There’s old fear in the question. “Am I going to be cold and alone again?”

It must be the fever. Added with the ordeal of the past year, it’s bringing back memories of childhood, of painful days confined to a bed and struggling for survival. He needs to reassure Jaskier, to erase the lost expression on Jaskier’s face.

In a frenzy, he ends up doing it by pressing his lips to Jaskier’s.

The kiss is a hot and urgent thing and it’s over in a second. The bitter taste of the sleeping potion lingers. Geralt breathes into the space between them, his palm still caressing Jaskier’s cheek. A tear rolls down and Geralt catches it with the pad of his thumb.

Blue eyes refocus, piercing Geralt’s soul.

“Geralt?” he breathes.

The name comes out so reverent that Geralt is sure that his heart will burst.  Gods, he loves Jaskier.

“I love you.”

A soft gasp escapes Jaskier’s lips.

“Can you hear me now?” Geralt’s thumb continues to trace small circles on Jaskier’s skin. “Can you hear when I say that, Jaskier, you are not a burden? You are not trouble that I have to deal with. You are not selfish for staying and you will never be alone again, not if I ever have a say in it.”

Jaskier’s limbs unfurl, his arms gradually stretching out from the tight hold over his knees.

"I never wanted to tell you like this. I shouldn’t. Not like this.” Geralt sinks into the presence of his bard and presses their foreheads together. Jaskier stays painstakingly silent and a pang of fear hits Geralt. “Shit, Jask. You don’t need to say anything. I shouldn’t have done it when you are still sick. You know what, forget about—”

“You love me?” Jaskier whispers, his voice so small that anyone but a witcher would have missed it.

“I love you.” Geralt pulls away to stare into the stormy blue of Jaskier’s eyes. “I’ve been in love with you for so long. For longer than I know, Jask. I made so many plans for this moment. I wanted it to be perfect for you. But now, I…I just need you to know.”

He just needs to make it better, make Jaskier better. All the plans are nothing but useless, his fear of rejection too. The sight of Jaskier in pain is enough to chuck every worry out the window. Even if his love is not returned, even if a witcher can never have it returned.

But with a heartbeat and the next, Jaskier has thrown himself into Geralt’s embrace, nearly knocking the breath out of him. And, as if in a fantasy, Jaskier’s lips are everywhere, peppering small, wet kisses all over his face.

“You  are  perfect for me, you oaf.” A smile finally blossoms on Jaskier’s face and their lips meet again.

The second time Geralt ever kisses Jaskier, it feels like coming home. It’s a drawn-out and lazy dance that lulls him into dreamland, only the dream has come true in the solid form of Jaskier’s supple lips against his and nimble fingers carding through his hair. The bard lets out a string of adorable giggles as he climbs onto Geralt’s bent knees and straddles him, the cloak and blanket shoved out of their way.

Geralt is falling.

And soaring.

“Hey, steady.” he keeps both hands on the small of Jaskier’s back to keep him in place.

The weight of Jaskier is heavenly, and the unlaced collar of Geralt’s shirt provides the best opening for him to slowly suck at the junction between Jaskier’s shoulder and neck. The bard ends up a whimpering, limp mess, draped all over Geralt’s shoulder with a shudder running down his spine.

“Do you even know how easy it is for you to ruin me?” Jaskier murmurs breathily in Geralt’s ear. All he can muster for response is another growl.

When Geralt gently lowers Jaskier down onto the pillows again, the bard looks a fine picture of debauchery, with a beet-red flush painted across his cheeks and patches of reddened skin at his neck that will surely bloom into dark bruises. His hair is sticking in all directions and the shirt slips down from one shoulder, his chest heaving from the exertion.

Tears well up in cornflower blue eyes again but this time it’s not from pain. All Geralt can smell is the heady pleasure that is equally affecting him.

“I’m afraid your sleeping potion has kicked in,” Jaskier yawns just in time. “It’s the good stuff, my dear. You spoil me.”

The bard blinks his eyes open stubbornly as Geralt fishes the blanket up from the floor and then the cloak.

“I’ll spoil you more when you get better.”

“Big witcher with bigger promises.” Jaskier is slurring his words but the smile on his face can match the bright afternoon sun.

Geralt curls around Jaskier’s body and drapes the blanket over both of them, the cloak tucked where chill might creep in during the night. When he pulls Jaskier closer, the bard tucks his head under Geralt’s chin and nuzzles ever so slightly.

The urge to kiss is overwhelming, and Geralt realizes that he can.

“Goodnight, Jask.”

His lips touch Jaskier’s eyelid and the bard is out in the next second. There’s still a faint smile on his lips.

* 

Geralt wakes up like this, with Jaskier sprawled on top of him and snoring softly. He brushes back the hair at the bard’s forehead and feels for his temperature. The fever is still running low but it will be gone in a day or so. Sighing with relief, Geralt revels in the sensation of the rhythmic thrumming of Jaskier’s heart against his ribcage.

His attention drifts to what woke him in the first place. A group of men seems to be yelling on the street right under their window. Geralt only catches a few words in the distinct conversation, but from the looks of it they are arguing about…building a stage somewhere.

And then, the word  Saovine stands out.

If they are already building the stage for the performance, and the tavern has been booked up by travelers… Geralt does the math in his head and almost feels giddy when it dawns on him—

It’s today.

It’s Hug a Witcher Day.

The thought doesn’t leave him with the agonizing emptiness that is Jaskier’s absence anymore. Instead, Geralt feels like he’s floating mid-air among the clouds and he may never come down again. He might as well not, since Jaskier won’t be going anywhere any time soon.

He hides a goofy grin in tousled brown hair.

One of the men hammers down on something and Jaskier stirs, inhaling deep and then groaning loud. He arches away from Geralt’s chest with a low growling whine—the fever must still be hurting his back and joints. Geralt untangles their limbs and rests his palm flush against the bard’s lower back where it seems to bother him. He kneads gently, massaging the soreness away. Jaskier lets out an exaggerated moan, his face buried in the pillow to muffle the sound.

“It wasn’t a dream.”

When Jaskier speaks, his voice vibrates deep and nasally from sleep, and it makes something warm gather in Geralt’s stomach. He pushes up the hem of the shirt on Jaskier and places a kiss on the side of his waist before lying down again, face to face with the bard.

“It wasn’t.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier mirrors one of Geralt’s many hums and looks up blearily through drooping lashes, his smile content and his blush healthier. The bard boops his nose. “What are you grinning at?”

“It’s my day.”

“What day?” The furrow between Jaskier’s brows is too adorable and Geralt is too smitten with it. Eventually, the bard catches on. “ Oh .”

He then scoots closer to tuck a strand of hair behind Geralt’s ear. Excitement sparks in his eyes.

“Can I?” Jaskier asks as if they didn’t just spend a whole night snuggled against each other, as if Geralt hasn’t been ready to say yes since three Hug a Witcher Days ago.

“Yes.”

With that permission, Geralt finds himself on his back with an armful of bard. Jaskier is hugging him so tightly that even a witcher can barely breathe.

“For luck, right?” the bard says into his neck and flings a leg over Geralt’s hip, putting his entire weight into the embrace. “Only the gods know I’ll be needing some for next year.”

“No more scaring me like this.” Geralt mutters half to himself as he runs his fingers through Jaskier’s hair and pulls him even closer. It’s a near-impossible endeavor since he’s already crushed between the mattress and the too eager bard.

“No more,” Jaskier agrees and rubs his nose into the silver hair pooling on the pillow, humming with buzzing pleasure. “And who would have thought? Destiny can be cruel just as she is kind. It’s today, of all days...”

“Hmm. Who would have thought…”

Geralt inhales the scent of Jaskier, now the sour stench of misery only faint. In its place is the happiness that reminds him of the afternoon sun baked into fresh linens.

“And to think I forgot to tell you yesterday. The most renowned poet on this continent forgot to profess his love. How embarrassing!”

Geralt snorts, but in truth, he doesn’t even care anymore. Jaskier being here, in the safety of his arms and recovering from the ordeal of the past year is more than enough. He can live with the knowledge that Jaskier knows that he is loved. He is loved so deeply by someone who was told his whole life to be incapable of it. Now that Geralt is on the other side, the idea of ever not loving Jaskier becomes an unthinkable thing. It’s like not loving the sun or the earth or—

“You’re thinking sappy things.” The bard looks up and the mirth in his eyes disappears. “And probably bad things about yourself. After all these years, after so many songs and so many scrapes and bruises, you still doubt it. Oh, Geralt. Can’t you see? I wrote Hug a Witcher because I didn’t know how to tell you that I love you. To be fair, I wrote every song for the same reason, but this one…I needed you to feel loved, darling, even if it’s not by me.”

So he got the whole continent to do it for him and dragged every other witcher down with it. Geralt should be appalled by the length of theatrics the bard is willing to go if he doesn’t somehow find it the most endearing thing in the world.

“A love letter. Delivered by everyone but you,” Geralt adds.

“Is it to your satisfaction?” Jaskier purses his lips sheepishly. A sheepish Jaskier is such a rare occurrence that Geralt can’t look away. “My white wolf. My protector.”

Geralt takes Jaskier’s wrist and guides it to his chest, placing his palm right over the slow rhythm of his heart. “That’s one thing we have in common, isn’t it? You protect me too. You guard my heart and my name. You use your strength but not for violence but love. If destiny has ever given me one blessing, Jaskier, it would be you. And you are asking if I’m satisfied...”

Geralt puts the answer in the kiss he presses on Jaskier’s forehead with all the gentleness he can muster. It must be the one-millionth time he’s kissed Jaskier because he can no longer remember not being allowed to kiss Jaskier feels like.

“So, Hug a Witcher Day, eh?” Jaskier springs up with renewed vigor, so fast Geralt amazes that he isn’t getting dizzy. “How should we celebrate?”

Geralt looks at his bard, surrounded by his clothing and his love, basked in the shimmering morning light.

“I believe it’s in the name.” he challenges, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, honey. You know I won’t let you go for the rest of the day, right?” the bard smirks with mischief. “But first, if I remember it correctly, didn’t you say that you had some…plans for your grand love confession?”

Geralt blinks. “Are you always this incorrigible?”

“Duh!” Jaskier shrugs, offended. “Oh, come on! I promise I won’t make fun of you! And I’m sure I can make at least one ballad out of your plotting, my darling witcher. With how much of a sap you are, a whole romance book if I put my mind to it!”

“I won’t give you the chance to make fun of me for the rest of time, bard.”

“But I’m sick.” Jaskier bats his lashes. “It will make me feel better. Won’t you indulge me?”

Geralt cannot believe the bard is already playing this card. What’s worse is that he knows his resolve will break very soon.

It’s Hug a Witcher Day after all, and Geralt finally, finally gets to have the one person he wants the most in his arms. If a little bit of embarrassment is the price for it, he can’t say that he minds that much.

---

Geralt gets lots of hugs. Jaskier gets to tease him endlessly. And I can start new wips!

I was torn between two different ways to end this story and finally settled on this more conventional one. I’ll be putting up the alternative ending soon ;)

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @rey-a-nonbinary-bisexual @birdsflyhome @dapandapod @artisanbaguette

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt x jaskier #cuddling #snuggling #hugs and kisses! #sick jaskier #jaskier gets sick but it's unrelated to the plague #jaskier whump #protective geralt #love confessions #first kiss #second kiss #geralt of rivia is a sap #this should be a tag #the other ending is very silly #so very silly

[jooniyah]

Poison Apple : The Finale

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Fem Reader ; Min Yoongi x Fem Reader

AU: Yandere!au, Moneylender!Taehyung

Genre: Angst, Mature, Smut rated R

Warnings: NON CON, Violence, Hard Yandere behavior, implied forced pregnancy, childbirth, emotional abuse, blackmail, kidnapping, child maltreatment, vehicle crash, surgery, hospitals, character death, degradation and physical abuse, slapping, cum play, choking, spanking, manipulation, heavy profanity, smut, blood, knives, guns, assassins, and murder.

Word count: 37.1 K

Cover edit: @dameleia ᵗʰᵃⁿᵏ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵒ ᵐᵘᶜʰ ˡᵒᵛᵉˡʸ ᵖˡᵘᵐᵎ

Disclaimer:  This is a work of fiction and I do not condone any of the actions of the characters in this fiction. This is to be treated as pure fantasy, and should not be misconstrued to be demeaning the idols in any way. If any of the above warnings cause you discomfort, kindly refrain from reading.

This is a non-consensual setting, please proceed only if you are not triggered by the warnings. All warnings for Chapter 1 and 2 apply. I repeat, please be sure to read all the warnings carefully.

Author’s note:  This is the final chapter of the Poison Apple Trilogy. Please make sure to read Part 1 and Part 2 before proceeding.

Chapter 1  |   Chapter 2

The vapor from the milk swirled up Taehyung’s nostrils. He slowly withdrew his lips from the cup.

“I’m ready to die if that’s what you really want, Y/N.” He looked at the cup, gently twirling it in his hand.  He crinkled his nose and raised his eyes to yours.

“Will you kiss me goodbye?” He hesitated briefly. “Kiss me like you mean it. Will you?”

Heavy salty drops streamed down your face. Dipping your head, you slowly pressed your lips against his. He deepened the kiss, lapping at your mouth like a man dying of thirst. You closed your eyes, fighting your instinct to flinch and step back. He sighed into your mouth, moaning something that clearly resembled your name.

His fingers tightened around the cup. When you broke the kiss, he looked up with teary eyes.

“I’m ready, Y/N.”

He raised the cup to his meet his lips again. Something snapped inside you, and you instinctively reached out to stop him.

“I am not a killer,” you whispered, voice breaking. “I am not you.”

His features became gloomier. He shook his head, not letting his grip slacken.

“You only want to know about where he is buried.” He dropped his gaze. “Before you try to kill me again.”

Hot blood rose to your cheeks. You did want to go to your husband’s grave. Taehyung was a monster. Undoubtably so. But killing him wasn’t going to bring back all that you had lost.

“No. I-” You had nothing to say. You had all the reasons in the world to want Kim Taehyung dead. But you could not find a reason to want him alive.

“I just- I don’t- you could just let me go, Taehyung.” The words came out in a whisper, sounding like a prayer.

A bitter wince shot through his features. Before you could react, he swatted your arm away and tipped the cup over his mouth in one quick flash.

You watched in stunned horror as he downed all the poisoned milk, witnessing his throat bob around the liquid. He wiped his mouth, setting the cup down.

“I’d rather die, Y/N.” He licked his lips slowly. “Like I just did.” A tired smile stretched over his lips.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Taehyung? Taehyung!”

His body was convulsing, froth trickling down the side of his chin. His eyes were fixed on you, but there was no emotion in them. They were devoid of animation. Like the eyes of a ghost.

You crouched down, trying to hold him still.

“Ambulance!” you shouted, trying to get up from the floor. His arm wildly slashed at the air, finding purchase on your ankle.

“No…” he croaked, his face twisting with agony. “Don’t, Y/N.”

You shook him off, running to fish your phone out of your bag. Just as your finger circled the call button, a cold wave of realization hit you. You couldn’t call anyone but Taehyung on your phone.

Spinning around, you caught sight of the man convulsing on the floor.

“I’ll be back. Just- just stay here,” you whispered, making haste to rush out of the kitchen.

You flew like the wind to the brigade of guards patrolling the mansion.

“Help!” you screamed, waving your hands above your head. “Get an ambulance!”

The men turned and looked at you weirdly. It was as if your screams had simply vanished into thin air before falling on their ears. They made no move, there was no sign of acknowledgement.

“Can’t you hear me?” your voice grew even louder. “Taehyung is dying in there!”

Still, no one moved.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Are you a bunch of morons?”

They lowered their weapons, holding them so the muzzles were facing the ground. A guard jogged over to you, removing his Aviators as he did so.

“We know what’s happening, Mrs. Kim. We were ordered to stay out of anything that happened this evening.”

“What?!” Time was ticking on like a time bomb over your head. “What the hell? Get the ambulance this instant!”

The guard’s face flinched. “You don’t understand, Mrs. Kim.”

You bit your quivering lips. “Who had the nerve to give such an order?”

“It was Mr. Kim, ma’am.”

Your gaped in stunned surprise.

The guard went on. “He talked to us before stepping into the house. His instructions were clear. He ordered us not to intervene or stop you in any way.”

“Not to stop me? But I’m trying to save him! Help me!”

The man shook his head, his face betraying the pain he was going through.

“Fuck you! Fuck all of you!” You thrust your hand at him. “Hand me the damn car keys!” He placed them on your palm, and you ran back into the mansion.

Taehyung was writhing on the floor, and his dull eyes lit up when he saw your outline.

“…..came back…” he mumbled, still foaming at the mouth.

“You’re a stupid bitch, Taehyung!” you spat, latching your hands under his arms, and pulling him up.

He was so damn heavy, and you wheezed as you dragged him to the door. Adrenaline gave you inhuman strength - strength you never knew you had possessed. Huffing and wheezing, you reached the porch with Taehyung clinging onto you like a withered leaf.

The guards were huddled by the car, visibly distressed. They didn’t, however, make any attempt to help you lug Taehyung into the vehicle. The guard from earlier stepped forward, blocking you when you tried to hop into the driver’s seat.

“Ma’am- I was instructed to ask in case… “ He quickly glanced at his boss, “… you know what you’re giving up by saving Mr. Kim, don’t you?”

You glared at the man and turned to see Taehyung collapsed in the backseat. He had passed out. Turning back, you shook your head helplessly before pushing the guard away.

Strapping on the seat belt, you sneered at him.

“I know.”

The tires screeched loudly, the smell of hot rubber on gravel filling your nose as you tore out of the gates in full speed.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Kim Namjoon was watching the blue skyline out of his penthouse suite when his phone buzzed. He didn’t like loud ringtones. Naturally, it wasn’t a surprise that his phone was on vibrate mode. The glass coffee table vibrated, humming along with the phone. He didn’t hear it. Nor did he see the way his phone slightly moved with each ring.

“Um, Excuse me? My phone- can I have it back?”

You bit your lips, resisting the urge to dissolve into a puddle of tears. Handing the phone back to the stranger, you sniffed and retreated to the sofa.

Hoseok’s phone had been switched off. Calls to Bo Na and the Jung house didn’t go through either. You had hoped to run back into Hoseok’s arms, away from all the horrible tangles you were ensnared in.

But you were left alone. Your best friend wasn’t around to hold you. What had happened to him? The deafening loneliness had driven you to do the unthinkable – calling Kim Namjoon.

And he hadn’t picked up either. What were you supposed to do? Were you free to leave? What about the man in the ER? You couldn’t leave him to die. Or could you?

Breathing deeply, you rose from the sofa, making your way through the corridors in a daze. Your legs felt incredibly heavy with each step. You had expected to feel relieved. Joyous even. But why then was it so hard to turn your back? You stopped midtrack as if you were shot. Monster or not, you weren’t leaving a dying man alone. Turning on your heel, you slowly retraced your steps to the sofa.

Right on cue, a nurse opened the door and called out “Who’s here with Mr. Kim Taehyung?”

There was only a split second to make your choice. Would you regret it? You didn’t know.

You raised your hand.

“I am.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Taehyung was unconscious and he remained so for hours on end. You found yourself internally struggling during the whole time. You kept walking to the door, turning back, sighing, and sitting down again. It was a hell of a torture to reason with yourself. Weren’t you a better human being? Shouldn’t you stay at least till he woke up? But what would happen then? Would you still get to leave him after?

It was the twelfth time that your hand was on the doorknob, ready to turn it, when his groggy voice called out.

“You… still here?”

Spinning around, you stared at him with wide eyes. He wasn’t fully aware of his surroundings. The dazed look on his face confirmed that.

“Y/N… where am I?”

He looked at the IV cannula hooked to his arm. It came flooding back to him. You had poisoned him. He remembered drinking the milk. He had vague memories of feeling incredibly lonely for a while. But then you had returned. You had helped him up to stand on his feet. But he didn’t know what had happened after that.

He saw your shocked face, his mind still buzzing.

“Y/N, who brought me here?” Speaking made his throat burn. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to tide over the pounding headache. “I left clear instructions.”

You remained by the door, looking at him warily. “I did.”

He raised his eyebrows in shock. “You?” A sudden bout of coughing interrupted him. “You brought me? How- why?”

Good question. Why indeed? Because you were a fool? That was probably right. You hadn’t expected to feel so guilty when you had planned to poison him. Who poisoned a monster and then drove him to the hospital without fleeing for their lives? Fools did.

“Y/N,” he repeated, his eyes latched onto yours. “You didn’t leave.”

The statement hung in the air like a smothering wet cloud. You stared back at him, finally finding your voice.

“I am now.”

When you turned again, the question whipped on your back like a hot rod.

“Why didn’t you let me die?”

The words rolled into a tight ball in your throat. What were you supposed to tell him?

“I- I’m not a cold-blooded killer like you, Kim Taehyung. I can’t live with that.”

He strained his burning throat to whisper hoarsely:

“Stay with me then. Come here.” He patted the side of his bed.

You scoffed in mock surprise. Folding your arms in defiance, you gave him your toughest glare.

“I’m leaving now.” You took a step forward and hissed “I let you live. And now I’m going.”

He chuckled, and then coughed before smirking at you. “I have your passport. You don’t have a penny to your name. Hoseok isn’t here to bail you out either.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Hoseok? Did Taehyung do something to him?

“H-Hoseok? Where is he? What did you do to him, you bastard?”

He beckoned to you with his finger. “Come here and I’ll tell you.”

You sidled closer, worrying your lip so much that you could taste the blood. His hand shot to your face, the back of his fingers caressing your cheeks before his thumb traced the tiny bitemark on your lip. With a firm tug, he pulled you so that you were sitting haphazardly on the bed. His hand resumed brushing your face.

“Now- where was I?” he purred, a gentle smile tugging the corners of his lips.

“Hobi- where’s-?”

He hummed, nodding. “Oh, yes. Well, I got him on the run. He won’t be coming back in a hurry.”

“What did you do to him?” Your voice was lower than a whisper.

His finger continued drawing lazy circles, slowly working its way down your arm. “Pass me that glass of water, honey,” he said, unmindful of your agitation. You didn’t move, too stunned to react.

“Honey? The water?” His voice grew deeper, the slight stern note kicking you into action.

You passed it to him with shaking fingers, and he grinned happily, like a child who had won his first race. Each second dragged on, as you watched his mouth sip the water in agonizing slowness. He enjoyed tormenting you for a while longer, before giving in to the painful suspense on your face.

“I set him up for tax fraud, baby. He decided he’d rather exile himself than stay and get his ass thrown in jail.”

“Where-”

He shook his head prettily. “Oh, I wouldn’t ask that question, honey. He can’t contact you or he’d be dragged back into the country through call tracing.”

He loved the shocked look on your face. He had begun to miss the surprised wide eyes of older days. These days, it was increasingly difficult for him to catch you off guard.

You shook your head, fighting back the angry tears.

“You’re like mold, Kim Taehyung. You destroy everything you touch. I despise you.”

He stared at you, bringing your palm up to his lips and dropping a kiss in it.

“I love you.” He stopped himself before saying out loud : “You saved me. You love me too.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

It was a warm and toasty day, with crisp blue waves lapping at the beach in serenity. Hoseok propped his legs up on the deck chair, rubbing his feet together and shaking the grainy sand off his soles. He looked at Bo Na who was approaching with two martini glasses.

“Baby?” she asked, concerned. “Are you okay?”

He sighed, blowing out his cheeks.

“I just- Y/N…  I feel so goddamn guilty for leaving her.” He shook his head sadly. “I’m a coward, aren’t I?”

She set the glasses down, reaching over to pat his head over the brown straw hat.

“We had no choice, Hobi-yah,” she said, taking his hand in hers. “That asshole completely ruined all of our lives.”

Hoseok looked straight ahead at the kids surfing along the waves.

“Poor Y/N,” he said, heart dropping. “She’s chained to a monster. Poor girl. She’s pregnant too.” He clenched and unclenched his fists. “I feel like crap, Bo Na.”

Hoseok’s wife patted his hand soothingly.

“We’ll go back as soon as we sort this out, Hobi. We will.”

He shook his head in resignation. He knew that Taehyung had completely fucked him over. The guy was like a damned viper. He would find some way or the other to keep throwing Hoseok out of your reach. The only way he could go back was after he killed that bastard.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

When she pushed the door open, Taehyung was doubled over his desk, passed out.

“Mr. Kim?”

She reached out to touch him, feeling his weak breath ghost her fingers. She leaned over the table, picking up the phone to call emergency. A weak hand grasped her forearm, and Taehyung slowly raised his head.

“Y/N,” his lids were half-shut, skin cold and clammy to touch. “Y/N, don’t leave me.”

“Let me call emerg-“

He pulled her closer, pressing his forehead into the warmth of her hips.

“No, just stay.”

Soft hands combed through his hair, and gently brushed the long strands away from his eyebrows. He was definitely in heaven. The fingers traced his earlobe, drawing lines along the side of his neck.

“Sit on my lap,” he croaked, gripping the hips tight.

And then he felt the heavenly weight sink on his thighs. You were being so compliant.

“Kim,” the voice drew him in, sending jolts of delight throughout his body. “You need to rest.”

He shook his head, the sudden action making his delirious brain go into overdrive.

“No, you’ll disappear if I do.”

The hand cradled his jaw, and a wet kiss spread a lovely warmth over his clammy forehead.

“I promise I won’t.”

“I feel so tired, Y/N.” His lids fluttered closed, a cold silence blocking his ears. He could feel you panting and struggling to hoist him up. His mind started losing focus. The last thing he heard before passing out cold was:

“I love you, Kim.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“How much longer, Se Jong?” the man asked, irritation evident on his features. He was in a bad temper, and the cheap wine had served to infuriate him even further.

“Patience, man,” Se Jong said, leaning back in his chair. The bulb above their head was covered in grime, and it flickered like a dying candle.

“Let me do something. Anything. You’re making me sit on my ass all day every day for months now.”

Se Jong tsked. “You don’t know how dangerous Kim Taehyung is. One wrong move could cost us our lives, man. Why else do you think I’m stuck with you instead of all those hitmen I could have hired?”

The room was silent, the stale smell of cigarettes lingering in the air like unsaid words.

“No one is ready to cross Taehyung,” Se Jong continued. “I’m having such a hard time finding guys to join us without blowing my cover.” The chill running up his spine was very real. “Taehyung’s men would empty their guns inside my head if they even smelled our plots.”

The man opposite him shook his head dejectedly. “What if- what if we change the target? Can’t we do something to his wife- what’s her name? You said he follows her like a blind puppy.”

Se Jong straightened up, looking at his mate carefully. “It’s a bit risky, he drives her around wherever she goes… But that’s certainly an idea…”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

When Taehyung opened his eyes, bright light was streaming in through the windows. His neck was sore. The headache was a terrible bitch, throbbing and making his temples hurt. What puzzled him the most though, was the fact that he was lying on the couch in his office. He didn’t remember going over to the couch.

What he definitely remembered was the warm crook of your hips against his face. But- he looked around- you never visited him in his office. The throbbing resumed with renewed vigor. Had he been dreaming?

“Mr. Kim? Sir?”

His secretary hesitated at the door, hand on the doorknob. He shook himself, sitting upright.

“Yeah?” His eyes were groggy and took a second to focus on the woman.

She worried her lip, unsure.

“Are you alright?”

He didn’t know. “Did you see my wife? I thought she was…” He looked beyond her, expecting to see you around the corner. He swung his eyes back at his secretary. Her blank face told him the answer. No one could bypass Na Yeon and reach his office. He nodded to himself.

“…Never mind.”

“Sir, do you want me to call the doctor?”

“What? No. I’m fine. I just-” He looked around, still uncertain. “-did you come in earlier?”

Confusion spread on her face like ink on parchment.

“I have been with HR all day, going over this quarter’s staffing plans. I came back just now.”

He took a deep breath, coughing immediately after.

“Let me fetch you some water, sir.”

She left, leaving behind a very concerned Taehyung.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Throughout the day, Taehyung’s thoughts kept returning you. He was sure it had been you. He didn’t remember a lot of details, but the words “I love you, Kim” came back to him, your sultry voice calling his name.

He was agitated on the drive home. He had called his guards just to make sure. The head guard at home had confirmed that you had in fact never left home.

Who then had uttered those words to him?

“Bin-ah,” he called out.

“Yes, boss?”

The man was seated on the front passenger seat.

Taehyung told him where he wanted to go, and Wo Bin nodded. The car changed course, making a full U turn.

── ⋆✩⋆ ──

“I assume you don’t have an appointment?” the psychiatrist asked.

Taehyung shrugged. He wasn’t a man who made appointments. He was a man of very little patience, except when it came to matters concerning you.

“So, how can I help you, Mr. Kim?”

It wasn’t easy to exactly define what he needed help with. In fact, it was obnoxious that the doctor thought he even needed help.

“I only came because I…I was confused.”

“Alright. What are you confused about?”

Taehyung pursed his lips. He didn’t really know. He felt like the doctor wouldn’t truly ever understand it either. Nevertheless, he hazarded a try.

“My wife- I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“I see. It’s only natural to-“

Taehyung clucked his tongue in exasperation. “No, you don’t understand. I keep seeing her. Hearing her. I feel like I might hurt her.”

The doctor considered the statement for a second.

“Let’s talk about the first part. You keep seeing her? Could you explain that?”

It would probably sound crazy. Maybe there was nothing wrong with him. He might have just been tired. Taehyung sighed.

“I- I saw her at my office today.” He ran a finger over his brow. “I faintly remember her touching me and talking to me. She helped me lie on the couch.” His brows creased, internalizing the words as he said them. “But when I woke up, she wasn’t there, she had never left home today, in fact.”

The doctor nodded his head softly, as if he heard stories like this all the time.

“Has this happened before?”

The times he had conjured up fantasies about you were innumerable. How many times had he imagined your plush lips around his cock? How many times had he almost felt your breath on his neck? Too many.

“No.”

“You talked about feeling like hurting her. How exactly do you mean?”

Apart from the fact that he had killed your husband before your eyes?

“She…” Taehyung swallowed thickly. “… she’s pregnant. With her first husband’s child.”

“Does it bother you?”

Well, he did want to fucking rip it out of you. It made him tremble in revulsion to see the bastard growing inside you, flourishing and mocking him every day.

“Sometimes, yes.”

“How does it make you feel?”

Like a fucking loser.

“I love her. I want her all to myself. I can’t share her.”

“Sharing her love with the baby irks you?”

Fuck yes. You couldn’t and shouldn’t love anyone or anything that didn’t involve him.

“I guess.”

“Could I suggest getting a pet, Mr. Kim?”

Why a pet? So that you could hand an even bigger slice of your love to it and ignore him?

“What good would that do?”

“See, Mr. Kim, you have a problem adjusting to the fact that your wife is pregnant, and that you’ve been left out of a significant part of her life-“

This guy seems to be getting somewhere

“-So, adopting a pet could help you bond with her more. It’s like having a baby too, you both would get to participate in raising the pet. It might help you get closer and feel less bothered by the baby.”

What kind of logic works that way?

“I guess I can try getting one.”

“Well, I would suggest adopting one after making sure you’re both not allergic.”

You weren’t allergic to dogs. Or cats. You used to love walking your neighbor’s dogs when you were single.

“Fine.”

“Right, Mr. Kim. Would you like to come back for another session to discuss further? You might have some issues I’d like to help you with.”

Like hell he would.

“We’ll see.”

“You see, Mr. Kim, you seem to be carrying a lot of emotional baggage. We could talk more over another session….”

Taehyung stood up, giving the doctor a firm nod that was supposed to convey his thanks. Without another word, he stepped out and left.

Once outside, the car again changed course towards an animal shelter. Taehyung had no trouble choosing the pet he wanted. You loved dogs. He had seen you eagerly asking your neighbor if she wanted help with her dog. He even knew which breeds you liked.

“Do you have Golden Retrievers? Corgis? Pomeranians?”

The attendant nodded. Leading Taehyung to the kennel, he said “We have a Golden puppy. He’s a great little guy.”

The puppy in question was curled up in a corner, his silky coat littered with burrs. He looked up at Taehyung, cute eyes shining in expectation. There were other pups with him, but he seemed to seriously miss human interaction. His leg was bandaged, and he whined at the human looking at him through the bars.

“The bandage?”

The attendant clicked his tongue.

“They get into fights, and another pup nipped at his leg. But he has had his shots, no worries.”

A lone puppy. Picked on by other pups.

A couple hours later, Taehyung walked out of the shelter, carrying the Golden pup in his arms, all cleaned and spruced up, with a huge red bow around his neck.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

You were cursing in frustration at the needles. The old school sentimental mom in you had wanted to knit your baby a warm fuzzy sweater. But the damned stitches kept falling apart. It was bizarre, considering you were very good with needles. You had even embroidered Yoongi’s initials in all his pocket squares with seamless finish.

“Damn it!”

You threw the ball of yarn over your shoulder, cross at the stupid thread. Sighing in frustration, you were trying to calm yourself when something butted your elbow. It was wet. Was it him licking you? You shuddered and turned slowly.

A wet nose was against your elbow, yes, but the owner of the nose wasn’t Taehyung. It was a handsome puppy. The ball of yarn was securely nestled in his mouth, and he wagged his tail at you, shaking his pretty bow in the process.

“Hey…” You crooned, smiling down at him. “Who are you, boy?”

Taehyung stood at the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms folded.

“We adopted him.”

You stood up, all the messed-up yarn falling to the floor.

“We did what?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“We have a puppy together.”

You looked down at the puppy in disbelief. His starry eyes were bright as they looked up at you. You knelt down and patted his head, happiness filling up your heart.

“And I don’t get a say? You should have asked me.”

“Well, you love him. So why bother picking a fight with me?” He found your pouting attractive. “Of course, you get a say, you get to name him.”

You never thought anything Taehyung did could ever delight you. But fate had its way, and you were grinning as you booped the pup’s nose, saying:

“Almond. You’re Almond.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Namjoonah?”

The younger Kim stopped outside his father’s study, popping his head in at the door.

“Yeah, dad?”

“Your mother didn’t say you were coming tonight.”

“Ah, I wanted to drop by before I headed to Ha Ni’s.”

“Give your girlfriend my love.”

Namjoon nodded. He saw his father’s face twist in uncertainty.

“What is it, dad?”

His father wiped his glasses, signaling Namjoon to close the door and grab a seat.

“I can’t say much, boy, but Kim Taehyung showed up at my office today.”

Namjoon did a double take.

“What?” His mouth went dry. “What did he want?”

His father rubbed his temples, deep in thought.

“He came for help. Saying he feared harming his wife.”

Namjoon’s jaw clenched. “Y/N?”

“Yes. He apparently doesn’t enjoy Min’s baby disrupting his life. Do you- Do you think he would hurt her? Or the baby?”

The hooded eyes burned with anger. Exhaling sharply, Namjoon’s thick voice growled:

“Well, she would deserve it then. I don’t give a shit about that bitch.” He rose, clenching his fist tight. “I don’t even think it’s Min’s baby anyway.”

He stormed out, leaving his dad staring at the doorway, worry creasing his features.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Mr. Kim?”

Taehyung was grabbing his coat and keys when he heard the voice. He raised his eyebrows at his secretary.

“Mr. Jinyoung is waiting to meet you.”

Na Yeon’s boss looked at her in confusion. “Isn’t he supposed to be here at 3 pm?”

“No, Mr. Kim, his appointment was at 11 am.”

He didn’t believe her. He had carefully scheduled his appointments around your ultrasound. He wanted to go with you.

“Let me see the appointments journal.”

Sure enough, his secretary had jotted down Jinyoung’s name for a 11 am appointment. But he remembered saying 3 pm so clearly

“Tell him to come back at another date. I am leaving.”

“But, sir –“

He flashed her a warning look. Kim Taehyung was never contradicted. Except, of course, by you.

“I am taking my wife for her sonogram. Don’t call me unless it’s urgent.”

── ⋆✩⋆ ──-

At the doctor’s, he held your hand, squeezing it gently. Your attempts to shrug his hand off were futile. Besides, it was an expensive clinic that only the elite could afford. It was a given that everyone knew who you both were. The social eyebrows would frown on you if something awkward happened.

The gel was cold on your belly. It made your toes curl. The transducer wand moving all over your belly produced images of your baby on the monitor. Involuntary tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you watched, spellbound. A deep ache in your heart reminded you that Yoongi wasn’t present to see his child’s sonogram.

In his place, however, was another man, his murderer, holding your hand and blowing on your knuckles as he too silently watched the child’s images.

Taehyung couldn’t understand what he was feeling. There was a tiny version of you, getting ready to come out to the world, trusting him and you to be loving parents. His mind screamed at him that it was part Min too, but his heart wanted to focus on the part Y/N at that moment.

“You have a very healthy baby, Mrs. and Mr. Kim,” the doctor said, smiling down at you. While you wiped yourself clean, Taehyung thanked the doctor and murmured some questions which you didn’t quite catch.

“Very well, then.” You saw her nod in enthusiasm.

As he steered you out the door, you hissed at him, asking what he had been up to.

“Nothing.” His face was sincere. “I told her that we didn’t want a gender reveal.”

You spun around.

“We? You fucking impose your ideas on me all the time, Taehyung.” You hadn’t wanted to know the gender either. But it was rude of him to take all decisions on his own, tying it up with the ‘we’ bow.

“I know what you want, love.”

You faced away, fuming. It was maddening how he seemed to read you so well.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Taehyung was at a loss for words. He had missed eight appointments, each one just as important as the other. Just because he seemed to have his schedules mixed up. Each time his schedule clashed with plans to take you out, he chose you over his own appointments. He couldn’t understand how his time got so muddled however much he tried to keep his professional appointments away from personal time.

Na Yeon was standing before him, worrying her lip, looking meek.

“Sir, if you don’t mind, can I suggest something?”

A sharp sigh gave her the permission she sought.

“Can I arrange Mrs. Kim a personal chauffeur?”

“What?”

She took a step back instinctively, scared at his tone.

“I just think… that it would be easier for you.” She looked like she would faint with fear. “I mean, she could have the chauffeur to take her to her appointments. And- and he can keep tabs on her whereabouts.”

Taehyung was about to deny the idea. But then, he remembered the eight missed meetings, and the deals that hadn’t gone through because of them. He grudgingly admitted that it would perhaps be better to get you a chauffeur of your own.

“Well, tell Wo Bin to arrange for one of the guards to-“

He was interrupted by a file, which she extended to him meekly.

“I have already chosen very skilled people to shortlist from, sir. Using our guards might make Mrs. Kim feel uneasy.”

He thought about it. Hiring one of his own men to drive you around was safer. But you would feel on edge. As if having dozens of men around you at the house wasn’t enough. Na Yeon was right.

He skimmed through the file. There were five shortlisted candidates.

“The best out of these five?”

She drew nearer, leaning to turn the pages. Her perfume reached his nostrils. The smell brought some vague memories back. Weird, faded ones.

“This man,” she pointed at a picture, and then turned the page over to point at another.

“And this one. These two are contenders, very skilled and trustable.”

Taehyung nodded.

“Hire whichever one is the best.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Jinyoung was deep in discussion with Taehyung, talking over the nuances of their deal. The water in the crystal glasses started to ripple, and Jinyoung scowled at his counterpart, pissed. The source of the vibration was Taehyung’s phone-and it flashed your name on the caller ID.

Taehyung didn’t hesitate.

“Yes, love.”

“Stop calling me that, asshole.”

“Tell me, my sweet.”

“Blueberries.” Taehyung reached for his notepad, jotting down. “Chocolate ice cream. Apricots. No, Dragon fruit. Oh, and Hershey’s kisses. Get me the almond ones.”

Taehyung subconsciously nodded his head, writing all your demands down.

“Anything else, honey?”

“Fuck you.”

“I love you too. I’ll get them to you.”

Taehyung grinned when you cut the call abruptly. He was still grinning when Jinyoung glared at him.

“What the fuck, man?” He was peeved. “In the middle of a business meeting?”

Replacing the phone on the table, Taehyung glided his hand to the file he was reading.

“It was my wife.”

Jinyoung scoffed. “You ditched my appointment once already. And now this? I can’t deal with you.”

He got up, nose flaring. “Fuck you. And your dumb cunt. You’re pathetic, running after a pussy who already got knocked up for fuck’s sake.”

Jinyoung’s head made contact with the glass tabletop, smashing it to bits, blood pooling on the sharp shards. The collision had a heavy impact, shattering everything and leaving only the steel frame intact.

“What the hell did you say, motherfucker?” Taehyung grabbed the man’s head by his hair, driving him into the steel frame. “How dare you insult my Y/N?” He kept banging the man’s head against the metal, not satisfied until he passed out and went limp.

“Fucking piece of shit.”

He spat on the unconscious figure, kicking his midriff with violent force. He was heaving with the exertion, sweat wetting his collar and trickling down his neck. His eyes landed on his phone and his face slowly lit up again.

You had called him and ordered him to get you the things you craved. You wanted him. You had thought of him. His smile radiated in his eyes, and his heart smiled too.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

It was the seventh month of your pregnancy. Fuck the calculation of weeks. It made you crazy if people asked in which week you were. The hormones were completely off balance. You snapped at anything and everything under the sun. Almond was the only living creature you didn’t snap at.

Taehyung received a fair dose of kicks and bites, mostly when he tried initiating kisses and make-out sessions. He couldn’t bear to have sex with you, not when your belly was swollen with Yoongi’s child. But he couldn’t stop himself from trying to kiss you.

He got angry when you pushed him away. He was scared that your baby was quickly becoming the center of your attention. It felt threatening that a weak bundle of muscle inside you was challenging his position in your life.

It was one similarly exasperating day when he saw you knitting a scarf, you had given up on a sweater because it was too puzzling, and Almond was lying contentedly at your feet. He sneaked behind the couch, trying to put his hand around your neck so he could kiss you. But a harsh jab of the knitting needle poked his ribs, leaving him gasping in pain.

“Y/N, what the hell?” He clutched his chest in agony.

“Keep your hands to yourself, you bastard.” You spat at him in anger, already irritated by your hot flashes and frequent need to pee.

Almond whined at the sudden raise in voices, and you instinctively bent to soothe him, rubbing his nose.

Watching the fucking dog getting better treatment than him led Taehyung to fly off his handle. Mouth curling, he grabbed Almond by the collar, dragging him out of the room. You shouted at him to stop, swearing angrily, but he pushed you away. He was muttering at the dog in anger as he pulled and tugged, slamming the door shut on him.

You could hear the whines and soft scratching of paws against the door.

“What the hell are you doing, Taehyung?” Your voice was a scream.

“Showing you who is in charge.” He ground his teeth, anger lending a murderous flash to his visage.

He pushed you carelessly, sending you flying to land on the couch. The sudden push made your head throb.

Unbuckling his belt, he pulled it free from the loops, throwing it away, the metal buckle hitting the floor with a clang.

Your voice caught, and you half choked out: “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Reaching his hand out, he pulled the straps of your dress down, exposing your breasts to him. Pregnancy had led to swollen breasts, so you were usually braless.

The only good side of the pregnancy, to him, was that your breasts had become bigger and hence he had more soft flesh to rub his face into.

He didn’t lay a finger on you. His attention was focused on your breasts, and he took his already hard member out, stroking himself. The pre-cum glided on his thick shaft, generously coating him and making lewd noises.

“Eyes on me,” he breathed, seeing you attempt to close them.

“You are a shitbag, Taehyung.” Anger made your face feel feverishly hot.

“Don’t take that tone with me, Y/N Kim.”

You flinched at the surname, and his devilish smile flashed at you.

“You’re a Kim, my Y/N Kim. Remember that, sweetie.”

He stroked himself, an intent gaze fixating on your breasts, watching the way they heaved with each breath. The sight made him go wild, and he stroked harder, hand working in a frenzy. Before he knew it, he was panting your name out, taking strangled breaths and shooting his cum on your breasts. He licked his lips as he witnessed his essence dripping in globs onto the cloth bunched over your belly.

He was shaking, and he squatted down, his breaths labored and heavy.

Almond whined again, and he snapped his head towards the door, shouting in rage:

“SHUT UP!”

He turned back to face you, a blissed out look on his face. An adoring smile stretched his lips wide.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Almond was banished from the house. He was put in a kennel outside, and he wasn’t allowed to go near the main house unless the master desired. You weren’t allowed near him either.

“Why are you doing this?” you had asked, and he had shrugged simply.

“Nothing is more important to you than me. Remember that Y/N. It’s a lesson.”

He dropped his gaze to your bump, and grinned when you put your hands on your belly protectively.

“Cute. But you can’t protect your baby unless you listen to me.”

“Why are you this way, Taehyung? Haven’t you tormented me enough?”

His heart felt stabbed. He had done everything for you. Everything he had done was out of love. Why couldn’t you understand? You were so ready to give your whole heart on a platter to that fucker Yoongi. But why weren’t you throwing even one morsel of love his way?

You put your hands on your hips.

“If you love me as you say, let me go. Let me live my life.”

He was looking down.

“Taehyung?” You sighed in pain. “Do you really love me?”

He looked up directly into your eyes.

“Do you?”

You stood motionless, the heavy silence smothering him.

“Yeah. I thought so.”

He scoffed and got up. You had to learn to love him. It would take time. But he would wait. He almost turned, but stopped when he remembered something.

“I want you to embroider my initials in my pocket squares. They’re all on the dresser. The maid will bring the needles and thread.”

He advanced towards you with a disarming smile.

“Remember, it’s KTH. I’ll let you take Almond on a walk after you finish doing it, my dearest.”

He pecked your cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I’ll see you in the evening, love.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Taehyung was in hot water. You were dangling his pocket square in your left hand, holding his tie with the right.

“What is this stain, bitch?” you growled, leering at him.

The lipstick stain was bright red, the lip prints visible clearly on the white fabric, right above the embroidered KTH. You had found it on him as soon as he walked in.

He had been taken aback when you had jumped on him, pulling his tie in anger.

“You fucking kill my husband, lock me up in this goddamn house and go get a whore’s lips on you? Who do you think you are?”

His face was ghastly, shocked at the accusation. He didn’t know how the lipstick stain had got on the fabric. He always wore suits, and he always wore his pocket squares to show off the beautiful KTH embroidered by your pretty fingers.

What angered him more than your being mad at him was the fact that someone had ruined his precious monogrammed pocket square. He had no idea how it had happened.

“Is this a trick, you sick fuck?” you spat, “Did you make me embroider that just to insult me like this?”

“Y/N, no, I would never,” his tone was panicked. “I have no idea, I swear. I don’t know how it got on me.”

Your bitter stare sliced through his heart. Who had played such a sick prank on him? Who had the fucking nerve to? He couldn’t think of anyone other than you having the balls to mess with him. Balls. He scoffed. More like boobs. And a fucking baby.

You let go of his tie with a spiteful tug.

“Bitch. You are a bitch, Kim Taehyung.”

He controlled his urge to slap you. He had refrained from hitting you as much as he could. But your favorite swear word was making his blood boil. You kept calling him a bitch. Maybe he was, but you were the real bitch. The bitch who just wouldn’t let him love you.

“Wash the stain yourself. Don’t touch me, I loathe you.”

You were about to move when he tugged on your elbow.

“Don’t be a bitch, Y/N. I won’t cheat on you. You are my wife.”

“Yeah. And the mistress of this fucking house. Watch me, I’ll come with a man’s cum on my kerchief one day, and-“

The slap was incredibly harsh, leaving a hot red print of his entire hand on your cheek. Your hand flew to cup your smarting cheek, but he slapped again, and again. The force made your head lurch left and right. The tears washed down your cheeks, staining them and burning the sore skin.

His hand found the nape of your neck, cradling it. His blank manic eyes stared deep into yours.

“I will snap you in two if I smell another man on you.”

The tone was cold as ice, making your gut churn. He stared for a long time, unblinking and stern. Finally, as if he were out of a trance, he let go of your neck and pushed you away with unnecessary force.

You didn’t say a word, moving away from him with flaming hot cheeks.

He didn’t argue when you slept on the couch that night. But when you woke up at midnight to pee, you saw him lying on the floor, just adjacent to the couch, fast asleep.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Taehyung brought his work home in the last trimester of your pregnancy. He wanted to be near you, soothing you and making sure you were alright. Besides, he found that he was having zero productivity at his office while you were at home. He didn’t want one of his guards helping you up the stairs or fetching you hot chocolate. It had to be him.

He would be dictating to his secretary in his study and you would shout out to him.

“Grapefruit. I fucking want grapefruit.” If he didn’t respond, you would punctuate with a “Can you hear me, asshole?”

He learned to get on his feet as soon you called. It was amusing to watch his secretary squirm in her seat when he got shouted at. He didn’t really feel ashamed. Rather, he felt happy that you wanted him.

It was hard to watch you struggle at night. He couldn’t sleep, not when he knew you were wide awake. Even if you did doze off, you would awaken screaming, drenched in sweat. He would ball his fists; hands itching to cuddle you and provide comfort. But he suspected he was probably the reason for your nightmares in the first place.

So, night after night, you both lay awake in your beds, pretending to sleep, trying to fool each other. He would assist you to get up and turn to lie on your side. But the rest of the time, the bedroom was filled with heavy sighs and muffled sobs.

Na Yeon once tried commenting on his dark puffy eyebags.

“Mr. Kim, your eyes-“

“Huh? What about them?”

She shuffled her feet nervously.

“You don’t seem to be sleeping enough.”

Just then, you yelled out:

“Kim Taehyung, black currant ice cream.”

He bolted out the door, returning only after a good thirty minutes. When he came back, Na Yeon risked another comment.

“Sir, she is being really… “

Taehyung had looked at her sternly, cutting her short.

“Say a word against my wife and I’ll fucking fire your ass.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

It was a fine spring day. Taehyung had made sure to check on you before making his way to the study. You had looked ripe. He was sure it was coming soon. The half bastard – half angel was coming soon.

He was talking about a drug deal with another drug lord. The door was closed because the man had demanded it.

Na Yeon was outside, waiting for the meeting to end. She rummaged in her bag to find something. Her hand made contact with the slender wire of her earphones. She started blasting a song, turning the volume up and pressing the buds hard into her ears.

The phone in the study rang, and Taehyung picked it up whilst he was still talking to the man, not noticing the caller ID.

“Taeh-I-I aarghh” The line disconnected.

In a second, he was on his feet, running to the bedroom and throwing the door open. You were lying on the floor, unconscious and out cold. The phone had dropped and switched off on impact with the floor.

“God, Y/N!” he dialed emergency, simultaneously checking your pulse. It felt very weak. “Stay, stay, stay with me,” he muttered, ears ringing in anxiety.

── ⋆✩⋆ ──-

A couple hours later, he was prancing outside the ER, unable to breathe. He didn’t care about the baby. He really didn’t. But you had looked shockingly ill. Your lips had been blue. Dangerously low blood pressure, the nurse had said. He swore he wouldn’t forgive himself if something happened to you.

“Mrs. Kim’s attendant?” The nurse called out, peeking her head out.

“Yeah?” His voice came out dry and raspy. “I’m her… husband.”

“We’re taking her to the labor room, she’s stable and prepped.”

He wiped the sweat off his forehead in relief. He felt like he had just run a marathon. Taking deep breaths, he went off to go wash his face and join you in the labor room.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Ah, shit shit,” he was cursing, the hard squeeze almost breaking his palm. “It’s okay baby, you’re doing great.”

The contractions were fucking painful, and you took great joy in squeezing his hand to death. You were 10 already centimeters dilated, so what was keeping the baby so long?

Taehyung was going crazy by your side, and it didn’t help that at every painful contraction, he screamed at the doctor:

“Get it out, get it the fuck out!”

The pushing started, and you squeezed even harder, inflicting as much pain on him as you could. He took it like a champ, though he swore till his mouth was dry.

“I can see the head, Mrs. Kim! Great job, keep pushing!” the doctor’s voice sounded from between your legs.

“Just a bit more, just a bit more, honey,” he cooed, biting his lips to contain his cussing. He was sure you had broken a few bones in his hand.

With one blood curling scream, you gave one final push, and the room was filled with a hearty cry of an infant.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Kim, it’s a beautiful baby girl.”

The doctor held up the beautiful bundle you and Yoongi had lovingly created, and tears wouldn’t stop trickling down your cheeks at the thought of him missing his daughter’s birth.

“Mr. Kim, do you want to cut the umbilical cord?”

Taehyung went to the foot of the bed. The man who had ruined the father of the baby you had just birthed. His hands were shaking when he snipped the cord. A killer, witnessing the miracle of life. Fucking ironic.

He had the skin-to-skin, as you watched bleary eyed. It was so unfair. Yoongi was supposed to be holding your baby. He was supposed to be crying tears of joy. He was supposed to have the first skin-to-skin

After being cleaned, she was given to you, and the brilliant black eyes made you gasp in happiness. They were exactly Yoongi’s shining ones.

“Do we have a name yet?” the midwife asked mildly, smiling at you.

Taehyung clenched his teeth. It had been the deal, after all. You did get to name the baby if you took his name.

Looking out the window, you smiled at the blue sky. You had chosen the name with great care.

“Ha Neul.” You looked down at the mini Yoongi in your arms. “Min Ha Neul.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Sure, it was a fact that babies needed to be near their mother and stuff, but Taehyung was quickly losing all his patience. Considering your health, the doctor had advised you to stay back for a couple days to monitor the hypotension. And to Taehyung’s annoyance, almost ninety percent of your time was dedicated to rocking, crooning, and- he shuddered- breastfeeding the little tyke.

He hated it when you nursed the baby. It took all his self-control to prevent plucking the little bastard from your arms and throwing her away. You had seen his face a few times, and you had ordered him to get out whenever Ha Neul needed feeding. It only served to make him resent the child more.

He had asked his secretary to send news of the baby being born to the circle. He didn’t want to, but some traditions were traditions, and he couldn’t change them.

A steady stream of visitors came and left, bringing the little one a lot of gifts and clothes. To them, the child was a descendant of the Min family. And that in itself warranted their inclusion in the celebrations of her birth.

Namjoon’s father had called him.

“Joonah, Y/N has given birth to a daughter.”

There were mixed feelings crashing inside Namjoon’s heart when he heard the news. When he didn’t reply, his father pressed.

“Your mother and I have already seen her. She’s just like Min Yoongi.” There was a pause. “You go too, son.”

It was a very confused Namjoon who arrived at the hospital, carrying flowers and a Penguin plushie. He was an uncle. His best friend’s daughter had been born. He remembered how Yoongi had smiled his gummy smile, confiding in him that he wanted his first born to be a daughter. Namjoon’s small fond smile evaporated. Because Yoongi had wanted a mini version of you. You, the bitch who married fucking Kim Taehyung as soon as Yoongi died.

Part of him believed that the child wasn’t Yoongi’s. He told himself that you had probably been screwing Taehyung behind Yoongi’s back, and the girl was possibly Taehyung’s.

You had just burped Ha Neul and laid her down, when Taehyung was hot on your tail.

“You don’t remember Almond, do you?” he hissed.

You turned incredulously. “What is that supposed to mean?”

His lips trembled as he shot a murderous look at your daughter.

“Do you want her to be locked away like he is?”

You leered at him. “The fuck do you want? Don’t you dare threaten me.”

He scoffed in derision. “Kiss me.”

“Fuck off, Taehyung.”

He reached his hand down to the giggling infant. “Well, in that case…”

You threw a punch at his ribs, screaming at him. “Fuck you, bitch.”

He smiled. “So that’s a yes?”

Namjoon raised his hand to knock at the already open door, stopping when he saw Taehyung lean down to kiss you. He gritted his teeth when he saw you kissing him back.

“My tongue, lick my tongue,” Taehyung moaned, and Namjoon’s face crumpled in disgust when you complied. Bitch.

He rapped on the door loudly, making you jump and withdraw back to the propped cushions. Clearing his throat, he spoke tonelessly:

“I- uh, I came to see the baby.”

Taehyung and Namjoon exchanged murderous stares, and your husband stepped away to let the man see the baby.

Namjoon’s doubts vanished as soon as he saw the lovely eyes of your daughter. Just like Min. The little lips were like orange pulp, delicate and soft. He placed his gifts on the bedside table and bent down, crooning at her.

“Hey, little Min, it’s uncle Kim!”

He didn’t bother looking at you, throwing the question at no one in particular.

“Her name?”

You whispered softly, chest puffing up with pride.

“Min Ha Neul.”

He nodded, smiling down at the child, touching her nose gently. If only his best friend had lived to see his fine daughter.

When Namjoon left, he was not sure if he simply disliked you or abhorred you. True, the baby had been Min’s, but he had witnessed you kissing the slimy Kim bastard as if you were eating his face. He called his father after he reached his apartment.

“I saw her, dad, she’s exactly like Yoongi.” His tone changed. “You don’t have to worry about Y/N being unsafe, she is in fact very comfortable with Kim.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Your days were spent changing poop diapers and chasing after your daughter when she crawled near guards with guns. Having the baby and raising her all alone, with zero help from Taehyung, was hard. He was a diva, he wouldn’t even go near a soiled diaper, let alone touch it.

“You made her, you take care of her,” was always the reply when you demanded him to pitch in.

One day though, you had left her in the nursery and gone to take a shower. The water was running, muffling all the sounds from outside your room. You were halfway through your shower, shower gel suds all over your palms and shampoo dripping down your eyebrows, when a piercing squeal almost stopped your heart.

There were a few more squeals, and then Ha Neul’s bawls filled the whole mansion. Wrapping a towel around your soapy body, you dashed out towards the nursery. The cries were still loud, and you tumbled at full speed in her direction.

The door was open, and when you slid to a halt before her crib, Taehyung was there, holding her with a disgusted expression.

“Little piece of-“ he was muttering, shaking her like a ragdoll. When he saw you, he stuffed her into your arms, crinkling his nose up.

“Ger it to stop! Get it to stop! God, I’m going crazy!”

You shushed her, letting her nestle into the safety of your arms.

“What were you doing to her?” you snapped, glaring at him.

He scowled at you, showcasing his arms.

“That dratted bastard- shat all over my hands. Ugh.” He shuddered. “Where the fuck were you? I tried to change her but she wouldn’t fucking shut up.”

A smile threatened to pry your lips open.

He ground his teeth, glaring at the now-calm baby.

“Fucking screams like a hyena,” he said, turning away and stomping off to wash his hands.

When you returned to the bathroom to finish your shower, he was holding the bottle of shampoo, reading the label.

“Funny,” he said, glancing at you as you entered the bathroom. “This label doesn’t mention any fragrance.”

“Huh?”

He squeezed a dollop of shampoo onto his palm and sniffed at it. “I was right, it has no scent.”

“Get out, Kim Taehyung. I need to shower.”

He grabbed the towel and pulled you closer, turning the shower on. The water ran down your damp hair, letting all the bubbles wash away. The wet towel dropped to the floor, bunching around your feet. His hands were all over your shoulders and back, gently kneading your muscles.

You tried to rebel, but his grasp just grew tighter. Deciding to get it over with, you let him caress you. Much to his joy, he pulled you closer and kissed you sweetly. Usually he was aggressive and went for your tongue. But this time it was soft and almost romantic.

He moaned softly into your mouth, cupping the supple flesh of your butt as he thrust his lower body against yours. His eyes were closed when he broke the kiss and roamed down to your neck. There was a sharp prick on the side of your neck, and it vanished just as suddenly when he bent to suckle on the mark.

“God, Y/N,” he murmured, kissing the hickey fervently. “You make me go wild.”

He grabbed your wet locks, sniffing at them like he always did. When he opened his eyes, he was smiling, realization dawning on him.

“It’s not the shampoo. It’s you. You smell like berries.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“It’s time, Se Jong,” the caller said, breathing into the phone conspiratorially. “Her car just zoomed past mine.”

Se Jong drew a deep breath. It had been goddamn hard to get you alone in the car. You only came out of the Kim mansion rarely, and usually a guard accompanied you if you took Ha Neul with you. Taehyung was wary and paranoid that you would try and run away with your daughter.

Se Jong couldn’t risk being identified by any guard. It had taken a whole damn year for him to plan your accident.

Things had started to turn bright for him when the guard stopped accompanying you when you went out without Ha Neul. The chauffeur might recognize him, but he was willing to take that risk. If any of Taehyung’s guards even heard a whisper of what he was about to do, he’d be skinned alive. He was sure of that. Those men were fiercely loyal to their boss. Se Jong scoffed. Dogs. He would become the next mafia lord and they would all come running to worship his feet.

He started the ignition, carefully glancing at the road, waiting for the sleek black car to appear. He had tried to get a hitman, but the wimp had backed out as soon as he had started saying “Kim…” So, he had no choice but to get his hands dirty.

The afternoon rain had left the roads slippery, and it was a stroke of luck on Se Jong’s side when your car came careening around the corner a bit faster than needed. He released the hand brake, hurtling forward at full speed and crashing right in the middle of your vehicle.

── ⋆✩⋆ ──-

The air was filled with smoke, and you couldn’t see properly. The impact had been sudden, and the chauffeur had been knocked out. Coughing and trying to clear your burning throat, you reached out to open the door when it swung wide open. A man’s pants and belt were visible, but it was all so blurred that you couldn’t make out who it was.

His hand reached in, clamping tightly around your eyes as the other arm worked on pulling you out of the car.

“What?” you started to ask before your mouth was covered with the grime-covered hand.

“Shut up,” the man hissed in your ear, pressing your back against his chest as he pulled you to your feet. “Don’t make any noise.”

He was hugging you from behind, one hand covering your mouth and the other pressed against your eyes. He slowly inched you forward, telling you to move one step at a time.

The smell of burnt tires filled your nostrils, and you staggered forward blindly, trying your best to lean away from the man’s chest. The distant sound of a car grew closer and closer, and just as he tried to make you crouch down, you elbowed him sharply.

He cursed in pain, grabbing you by the hair and trying to push you into his car. You attempted to veer around, and a heavy strike sent your head crashing against the doorframe. Your vision blurred, and everything seemed to grow dark.

“Hey!”

A man was calling from somewhere to your left, but you couldn’t focus.

“Hey! Let the lady go!”

The voice was louder now, and you blinked in confusion. Crinkling your eyes in desperate concentration, you tried to see who your assailant was. But just as you turned to face him, a sickening punch hit you like a gunshot, throwing your head back and causing you to tumble. The last sound you heard before your head hit the gravel was the hasty squeal of tires racing away from the scene.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

The lights were making your head pound. There were so many people bustling around, but it all seemed to be happening in slow motion. The voices were too hard to comprehend. But you could feel that something was definitely different with your head. There were thick bandages wrapped heavily around your head, feeling like a big boulder was tying you down.

People came in and shone lights into your eyes, telling you instructions in voices so muffled that you couldn’t understand what was being asked of you.

He wasn’t there. You knew that much at least. It was more by instinct that you knew that.

Your body hadn’t tensed up into a tight coil the entire time you were conscious. Maybe you could slip out of the room unnoticed when you felt better. But the pounding in your head was too much to risk an attempt anytime soon.

It was only on the next day that your hearing got clearer. The clogged sensation slowly alleviated, and you could hear the doctors discussing your charts with their colleagues. You wondered if you could try and make a run for it.

You were debating internally as to what should be done. Just as your toe touched the cold hospital marble, the door opened, and your daughter ran in. She made straight for your arms, jumping into the bed, and clasping her little hands around your waist.

“Mmommieeth!”

“Oh! My baby Min!”

Hugging her in joy, you exclaimed at the shiny truck she had dropped in her haste to run to you.

“Oh, what a gorgeous truck!”

She giggled innocently, bunching your gown tightly in her little fingers.

“Daddath,” she lisped happily, and your breath stopped for a second. Slipping in through the doorway was the embodiment of all your worst feelings in the world.

He casually waltzed in, taking note of your foot resting on the floor. He raised one eyebrow cockily.

“Going somewhere?”

He was holding a slew of wrapped lollipops in his hand, as if it were the most common thing in the world for him to carry candy around.

You refused to answer, choosing to settle back into the bed instead. So much for planning to run away.

He sauntered nearer, placing the lollipops down on the bedside tray and reaching a hand out to touch your forehead.

His fingers made slight contact with the bandages, and he sighed heavily.

“Oh, sweet baby wife,” he murmured, his deep baritone voice sending unexpected thrills up your spine. “I shouldn’t let you out of my sight anymore.”

God, was he going to ban you from leaving the house?

“It was an accident…” you whined, hoping that he wouldn’t press the issue any further.

“Lollipop!” your daughter interrupted, thrusting the candy into Taehyung’s big hand. He silently unwrapped it, handing it to her before turning to face you. He moved over and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Y/N,” his tone was serious, “you had surgery. You were out cold for a whole day. You can’t imagine how much I was-“ He bit his lip, and you squinted hard to see if it was a tear shining under his lids.

“I had surgery? What- how? He hit me that hard?”

Taehyung’s jaw tightened in silent fury.

“About that, yeah,” he said, gently pressing your hand. “Who was that? Did you see that son of a bitch?”

You could see his nostrils flaring. It was quite a sight, your daughter cheerfully savoring a candy while Taehyung seethed in stony anger near her, clearly fighting his urge to throw and break things.

“I’ll get that fucking son of a bitch, I will,” he muttered, making you scowl.

“Don’t swear before my daughter,” you snapped, and he nodded absently. When he looked back at you, his eyes were loaded with concern.

The pads of his fingers traced your forehead softly.

“A subdural bleed-“ he was talking to himself at that point, “- how much it would have hurt…” His lips trembled. In anger or in concern you weren’t sure.

The moment was broken when a doctor came in, requesting Taehyung to stay outside for a few minutes while she inspected your bandages.

She smiled at your daughter, pinching her cheek gently. Ha Neul popped the lollipop out just long enough to say “Docthor Mogo.”

The doctor chuckled and nodded. “Hi Mrs. Kim. I’m Dr. Montgomery, I’ll just need to take your vitals and ask you a few questions.”

You smiled at her, throwing the question at her. “Mogo?”

She laughed. “It’s easier to pronounce. You have a very intelligent child.”

You beamed in pride. “Yes, she is. Wait, how does she know you?”

The doctor paused in surprise. “Oh? Mr. Kim- he was here the whole time ever since you got admitted. He simply refused to leave your side. When you went in for surgery, he went home and fetched little Kim too. He hasn’t slept for two days, he’s such a devoted father.”

You looked down at the angelic little girl on your bed. “Little Min,” you said slowly. “She’s little Min.” The doctor didn’t say anything and chose to scribble your vitals down on the chart instead. She turned to leave, but you caught hold of her arm.

“He took care of Ha Neul? He had her the entire time?”

“Yes, Mrs. Kim. I need to jog your memory a bit, can you answer a few questions?”

“What? Yeah okay.”

“Let’s see. What’s in this picture?”

You stared at the flash card dumbly. Was she kidding?

“An umbrella.”

“Good. Can you spell that for me?”

The curiousness got the better of you.

“Why are you asking all this?”

She gazed at you, turning to look at the frosted glass windows. Taehyung’s mop of long hair was barely discernible, he seemed to be talking to another doctor.

“Mrs. Kim, there were complications during the surgery. You have a risk of developing seizures. We are closely monitoring you.”

You had no suitable reply. It was too much to digest.

“Now, Mrs. Kim, can you spell ‘Umbrella’ for me?”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Previously, 3 hours after the accident

“Mr. Kim?”

Taehyung leaped out of the sofa, rushing to the surgeon.  Wo Bin followed him with equal haste. The surgeon was in his scrubs, he had come out to give an update.

“Mr. Kim, I understand this is a very tough time for you-“

Taehyung was shaking all over. He had been unable to breath properly ever since he you had been wheeled into the OR. God, the blood. His precious little bird all cut up, bleeding and bruised.

“Is she- is she-“ he couldn’t form the words, too scared to ask.

“She’s still in surgery, but she’s stable for now Mr. Kim. That’s why I came out. I need to let you know that there was an unexpected complication…”

“What? What happened?”

Taehyung plunged forward urgently, and Wo Bin had to use his full strength to keep his boss from pouncing on the reedy doctor.

“There’s seizure activity in her brain, which might exacerbate post-surgery-“ the doctor said, his eyes round and wary.

“Treat it then,” Taehyung hollered in his deepest growl. “Isn’t that what you do for a living?”

The man in scrubs seemed to grow perplexed.

“You see Mr. Kim, we might have to remove a portion of her temporal lobe to treat it.” He paused awkwardly. “It might lead to significant memory loss. Statistically speaking, around 70% of the patients…”

“No.”

Taehyung cut the doctor midsentence. “No. I won’t consent to it.”

“But Mr. Kim, it is…”

There was a deep sigh. One that Wo Bin was accustomed to fear. He glanced at his boss in alarm.

“I. Said. No.”

The doctor made as if to open his mouth to protest, but Wo Bin shook his head at him. Taehyung fell silent and Wo Bin took charge.

“You will not perform that procedure on Mrs. Kim,” he said, folding his arms. “Isn’t there any other method you could try?”

The doctor explained that the risk of seizures would be dramatically reduced, and that the patient’s quality of life would be so much better if her husband consented to the suggested surgery.

“I will take care of her if she seizes,” Taehyung said sullenly. He was looking down at his shoes, refusing to look at the doctor. “She’s my wife. I will tend to her.”

The surgeon talked to Wo Bin for a couple more minutes and went back into the OR. After the door closed behind him, Wo Bin rounded on his boss, unusually angry.

“Why did you refuse to consent, boss? Don’t you understand? She’ll forget stuff! She might forget Min entirely. Why would you pass up on a chance like that, sir?”

Taehyung collapsed onto the sofa, putting his head in his hands.

“I can’t do that Wo Bin-ah.”

Wo Bin looked down at the bent man in confusion.

“Why not? It’s a second chance. I don’t get it-“

Taehyung had gone completely silent. There were faint sounds of sniffing. When he lifted his head to look up at his aide, tears were ready to spill down his cheeks.

“Don’t you see? She’ll forget Min. She’ll lose whatever little memories she has of him. I can’t do that to her. I have already taken too much from her. I can’t rob her of her memories too.”

He paused to take another sniff. “I don’t want her to be a clean slate. Because her memories and battles make up the woman I love today. I just want her to forget him and learn to love me.”

Wo Bin knew he had crossed the line even before the words left his lips.

“With all due respect, sir, this might be the worst mistake of your life.”

Taehyung stared at him with a defeated smile.

“Then I shall live to regret it.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

You seized only twice after the surgery, and Taehyung was there both times. He had made you lie on your side and had held you until they passed.

When you were discharged, he brought home flash cards to keep working your brain. He was ruthless and adamant, and just wouldn’t leave you alone until you finished all the cards successfully.

It was raining one night, and he had been in a particularly long meeting with his mafia men. He kept screaming at Wo Bin to drive faster, he knew you would have skipped dinner and tucked yourself into bed. He never worried about Ha Neul. That tyke was well cared for anyway. It was you who kept him worried.

“Y/N?” He shrugged his coat off, not bothering to hang it on the rack. “Y/N?”

He was right. You were curled in a ball, pretending to be fast asleep so he wouldn’t bother you.

The bed dipped, and his warm breath tickled your skin. He simply rested his head in the crook of your neck, supporting his entire weight on one arm so you wouldn’t be crushed.

“Baby,” he whined, unusually softly. “Come eat.”

You lay completely still, hoping he would leave you alone. But he just didn’t budge.

“Y/N,” he whined again, twisting a strand of your hair around his finger. “I know you’re awake.”

Sigh. Of course, he did. What monstrosity was he planning to put you through? Shrugging him off your body and hoping it hadn’t pissed him off, you got to your feet. There was no point in stalling.

He was mysteriously in a good mood though. Reaching out to entwine his fingers in yours, he dragged you to the living room.

“You ordered Pad Thai?” you asked incredulously.

“Mmm hmm,” he nodded before plopping down on the couch. He proceeded to mindlessly unbutton his shirt and remove his cufflinks. He knew you liked Pad Thai, he had been on his toes all through your pregnancy, running to fetch it for you from the best fast food places in the city.

The muffled jangling of the cufflinks as they dropped down onto the carpet brought a fresh wave of dread crawling over your skin. You stood gaping at him, unsure of what he was up to.

He raised his head and stared at you quizzically. Three buttons of his shirt were open, revealing his sculpted chest perfectly. Propping his legs up on the coffee table, he reached over for the remote.

“Well, aren’t you gonna sit down?”

“I- yes. “

You glanced at him from under your eyelashes. He looked relaxed, there was no indication of anything horrible about to happen.

He casually handed over a food box to you, patting the couch to indicate that you should sit closer to him. When you pretended to not understand, he simply scooted you over even closer.

“There,” he said, sighing happily. “Let’s watch this movie, shall we?”

As if you had a choice.

You had expected the movie to be a typical action flick, filled with stupid car chases and shooting sequences. It was a complete surprise when you found out that it was a romantic film. Taehyung had picked a romantic film? What kind of sorcery was that? You had been sure that he only had an iron padlock for a heart.

The empty food boxes and chopsticks were scattered all over the carpet, and your eyes flickered over to see his reactions when the scenes were particularly unhappy. His face was like a canvas, and a myriad of emotions flashed on it with each scene.

It was almost like the usual Taehyung had vanished and another person had taken his place. The man sitting with his arm over your shoulders, the one who was stealthily sniffing away a few tears, was in no way the man you knew.

It felt natural to Taehyung when he pulled your body snug against his, cuddling into your neck comfortably. He didn’t understand why you were trying to squirm. He wound his arm around your waist, butting his head against yours.

The heavenly scent of berries made him heady with happiness. How perfectly lovely it was, to be able to cuddle and watch a movie with you. Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner?

Taehyung was simmering away in euphoria, lost in his own happy world, while you were subtly squirming in his arms. The movie was going to end, what would happen next? Was he going to violate you? The seed of apprehension grew and grew with each passing moment.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice ever so soft. “What’s the matter? Need a bathroom break?”

His features showed confusion and apparent concern. At that moment, you wished he were his normal sneering self. This new side threatened you and kept you on edge. You knew how to tackle his mean and arrogant side. But you had no understanding or control over his new side. It was scaring you more than you had expected.

“No, I just-“ you couldn’t think of a coherent reply fast enough.

He cupped your face, bringing it closer to his. The final scene played on TV, with the leads kissing each other and then the credits started rolling. He smiled- but it was a very different smile. It wasn’t the leering one he flashed at you often. It was a genuine boxy smile, and it pulled the corners of his lips up naturally.

“Perfect timing,” he crooned, gently pressing a kiss on your lips. It felt extraordinary, and you didn’t know how to respond. An inner voice screamed in your head, shouting that he was going to violate you after all.

So, it was yet another surprise when he pulled away after the kiss, letting his fingers brush your hair into place.

“Let’s go to bed, hm? It’s late.”

He undressed and changed into his pajamas, completely oblivious to the mental rollercoaster you were experiencing. When he turned the lights off and climbed into bed, he stayed on his side of the bed without attempting to trespass into yours.

He patiently waited for your lids to close, and when he was sure that you were asleep, he whispered: “I love you.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Several weeks after, the traces of brain injury completely vanished, leaving you behind with nothing but a scar on your forehead. That would take a good amount of time to vanish, you knew.

You were fit enough to take care of Ha Neul on your own, but Taehyung insisted on keeping the nanny.

“You might seize out of the blue, so I’m not leaving you alone without someone.”

And that was it. He rarely let you argue. It wasn’t like he cut you off deliberately. It was just the tone of his voice that sounded finality before you could think of a retort.

Taehyung had to go and check on a deal in Berlin, but he hated being away from you. Sure, it was just a 3-day trip, but it was a full 72 hours of not seeing you or touching you. He was annoyed when your eyes brightened on hearing the news.

He stood and sulked as he watched you bustle around Ha Neul, trying to get her to stop spitting out her breakfast.

“Someone really is happy that I’m leaving, huh?”

You let your lips stretch in a semi-smile. You enjoyed the little moments when you could spite him and smugly smile without being reprimanded. He might punish you later, yes, but you would deal with that when it came.

Oh, how he wanted to slap that smirk off your face! But he couldn’t. No, he would spend the next three days immersed in guilt if he did. You wouldn’t be near for him to kiss and make up. He was at a loss to find a way to break you.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he glared at Ha Neul, irritated that she was taking so much to time to swallow the damned food. Just like Min, getting in other people’s ways and eating their time.

���Be ready at 7 tonight. We’re going out for dinner.”

He turned to leave after announcing it, but your scoff stopped him.

“We? Who’s we?”

He shrugged. “You and me.”

The arch of your eyebrows wasn’t lost on him.

“Look, you can have all the time with your bastard for the next 3 days. Leave her with the nanny tonight.”

And there it was. That tone again. The tone that simply blocked out further arguments.

You had an ominous feeling that he was warming up to you being his wife, salty or otherwise. Movie and dinner? This wasn’t the Taehyung you knew. He surprised you occasionally with cheesy romantic shit, but he was usually hard and cold. He took what he wanted, claimed you if he needed to, bought you stuff that you threw out without even glancing at them, but he hadn’t ever tried to engage in romance.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Why the hell are you fiddling so much with that?”

Conjuring up your harshest scowl, you snapped back at him. “It’s fucking riding up my ass, that’s why.”

He bit his inner cheek to stifle a chuckle. You looked devilishly cute when you were angry.

“Just fucking let me dress myself, you bitch.”

He hummed, one hand on the steering wheel and the other reaching out to squeeze your thigh.

“Oh, come on, Y/N. We both know you’ll wear a dowdy sweatshirt and torn jeans if I let you dress yourself.”

You decided to emphasize your annoyance by going silent and staring out of the window. Taehyung always chose what you wore. Even at the mansion, when you went nowhere, you had to wear pretty dresses and skirts during the day. You had rebelled at first, but he had simply ripped a good number of tees and shorts that you eventually gave up and aligned to his will.

He had picked a luxurious wine-red dress, he had fallen in love with how beautifully it accentuated your body. It screamed elegance, and you carried it so well even though you swore like a sailor the entire time.

When the maître d’ left after seating you in Taehyung’s chosen table, you pursed your lips at the uncomfortable sensation again. Taehyung noticed it, and something snapped in him.

“Damnit Y/N, can you just wipe the scorn off your face for one fucking minute?” he hissed, his feathers thoroughly ruffled.

“You wear a thong that keeps riding up your butt then,” you sneered back.

Shocked surprise lit up his features, and he burst out laughing. He took your hand and patted it affectionately. His smile was innocent and sickly sweet when he murmured discreetly:

“I’ll rip it off as soon as I can, I promise.”

He talked and talked, telling you stuff he had heard from the elite circle. It was unusual of him to chatter and gossip away, but the change was so different. You ate in silence, listening to him and occasionally nodding your head.

You wished you could prolong the ride back somehow. He had dolled you up for a reason. And it was obvious what he was going to do.

Taehyung was losing patience, watching you slide the panna cotta all around the plate in a lame attempt to buy time.

“You do know I can bend you over this table right now, don’t you sugar?”

He bit his lower lip cockily, staring you down. When you didn’t answer, he simply stood up and reached your side, placing his hands on your hips.

“Don’t!” you whispered urgently, alarmed that he actually proceeded to pull you up to your feet in full view of the entire restaurant.

“Well, let’s go home then,” he crooned into your ear.

“All right, all right, you made your point.”

Taehyung grinned like an imp throughout the car ride back to the mansion, gleefully thinking of ripping off the offending thong. He hadn’t meant for you to be uncomfortable in it. But he wasn’t complaining because he now had a chance to right something for you. Even if it was so trivial as tearing off a thong.

He pounced on you like a starved animal as soon as the door closed. His lips were everywhere, licking and sucking marks into your skin.

“Ha Neul- I need to check on her-“ you moaned, unable to remain passive in the face of the sensual attack.

“No…” he groaned, fingers feverishly roaming on your skin, trying to breathe before he crumbled to dust. “She’s asleep… the nanny-“ he dropped a wet kiss on your collarbone before panting out “- texted me. She’s fine.”

His slender finger reached for the zipper, pulling it down in apparent haste. He loved the way the fabric pooled around your hips, leaving your chest open for him. You had worn a plain bra just to spite him. But to him, simple garment looked infinitely sexier than the choicest lace.

Tugging the dress down, he lifted you and practically threw you on the bed, discarding his coat and shoes urgently.

“Oh, God, Y/N!” he whined, flipping you over and watching the thong in fascination. “So pretty. So incredibly pretty, laid out just for me.”

His big veiny hands caught hold of your wrists, lending you helpless. His brain was short circuiting at the delicious sight before him. Engulfing your tiny wrists in one hand, he reached down to knead the soft flesh with the other. One finger slipped under the elastic band and pulled, snapping the flimsy fabric with ease.

“There, baby” he cooed, his hand cupping your ass. “It can’t disturb you anymore.”

You moaned something into the pillow, but the sound was too garbled to comprehend. Turning you over, he shifted his position, so he was hovering just inches over your body.

“Just let me take care of you,” he breathed, nudging his knee into the crook of your knees. “I’ll make you feel so good.”

You parted your lips to protest, but he drowned out the words with a searing kiss. His hand still had control over your wrists, and he slowly moved down to your navel.

His tongue drew hot lines down your belly, inching tantalizingly closer to your core. Using his free hand, he parted your legs, exposing your swollen core to his depraved eyes.

“Such a pretty cunt,” he said, licking his lips sinfully.

But when he bent down for a taste, you kneed him hard, making him hiss in pain.

“The fuck!” he yelled, clutching his precious nose. He tilted his head up, praying that it didn’t bleed. Goddamn, his wife really was a fighter.

“I don’t know why-“ he leaned over and rummaged through the drawers of his bedside table, “-you keep making this so hard.” He produced a shiny pair of handcuffs, dangling them before your nose. “Now look what you got yourself into.”

“No, I…” you tried to shake your wrists free, eyes wide in alarm.

“Shh, baby. Don’t make me tape your mouth too.”

It was not the rickety sex toy version either. The handcuffs looked like standard issue police ones. Taehyung grinned at your shocked face.

“These,” he ran a finger over the cold metal “-these are from a policeman I shot in a drug bust.” The metal cuffs turned and glinted at you.

“He cuffed me to him, silly bloke. As if someone could cuff me.” He threw his head back and laughed. “I shot his hand to pieces. Served him right. And this- I kept this as a souvenir.” He smiled affectionately, the faint clink of the chain sending shivers up your gut.

He was in a strange temper, and you weren’t sure about escaping unscathed if you rebelled. So, you remained still while he clicked the cuff onto your wrist, securing it to the bedpost. He winked at you, proceeding to take off his shirt while you lay motionless under him.

He now had both hands free to work on you, and he set about parting your legs for him. Smirking coyly, he dipped his head down, pressing his tongue flat against your sensitive bud.

You threw your free hand at him, pulling on his long hair, but his grip around your thighs tightened in response. He didn’t even flinch when you yanked at his thick locks, focusing on leaving kitten licks on your clit.

He groaned into your core, pressing his face harder against your silky folds. The sensation of his quick tongue darting all over you left your knees trembling like jelly. You had a hard time containing your moans, determined not to give him the satisfaction of hearing you moan.

But it spurred him on harder, and his licks became raunchier. He felt your core pulsate, and he knew you were close. Opening your legs wide, he attached his lips to your bud, starting to suckle on it sensually.

“Mm hmm, yes… Cum on my tongue, baby,” he encouraged, nibbling on the swollen hood ever so lightly. He held your thighs tightly, peppering your core with soft kisses as you climaxed and shook like a leaf.

He lapped at your sweet essence, helping you ride through your high. His mouth was wet and shining when he rose up to meet your eyes.

“So fucking sweet, Y/N,” he said, flicking his tongue out and smacking his lips brazenly.

You expected him to unzip his pants and get it over with. But he surprised you yet again. Simply crawling back up, he buried his nose into your chest, not minding the way your nails clawed at him.

He inhaled your scent like he couldn’t get enough of it. He so badly wanted to bury himself inside your velvety walls. He craved being united with you as one body. But no, he would wait.

He would go to Berlin first and then come back to claim you heartily. Maybe being away from him would soften your heart. He couldn’t imagine staying even one night away from you. Would you begin to feel the same way? After all, patient men did get the ripest fruit.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Taehyung kept looking at his phone, not caring about the subtle looks thrown his way. His fingers kept drumming against the table, impatient and jittery. His index finger subconsciously went to the notification shade every two seconds, but there was just nothing there to see.

A new notification popped up just then, and his eyes lit up.

Wo Bin

9:28 am : Everything fine at mansion.

9:29 am: Se Jong becoming troublesome.

He swiped it away furiously. He couldn’t care less about some stupid banker acting up. He was sure Wo Bin could handle it. No, he was looking forward to something about you. Just a scrap of news about you. But Wo Bin had to go and text him some random shit like that. He sighed and turned back to the man who was talking.

“We need to be more vigilant; the police are sniffing us out somehow.”

Taehyung tried to focus, but his gaze fell on his phone again exactly three seconds later.

Two hours later, Taehyung was about to push the door and leave when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Kim?”

It was Andrei. He was one of Taehyung’s acquaintances in Berlin.

“Yeah.”

Andrei dropped his voice low. “Care to join me for a drink?”

The bar was weirdly empty, there weren’t a lot of people hanging around. Well, that happened when mafia lords booked the hotel by the dozen. They were a careful bunch; they always played their cards close to their chests. Outsiders were never trusted when one of their meetings was underway.

Andrei toyed with his shot glass, slurring his words slightly.

“So Kim Taehyung is a married man now, huh?” he asked, chuckling slightly.

Taehyung nodded, sipping his drink. A small part of his mind wondered if he should check his phone.

“How did you ever settle down?”

Andrei looked genuinely curious. He only knew of Taehyung’s philandering side. He had been surprised on learning about the wedding.

“She’s-“ Taehyung racked his brain for words “- exquisite. I just knew. That she was the one for me.”

Andrei raised his glass in agreement. “Good for you, man.” He considered for a moment, gazing at Taehyung before parting his lips again.

“If you want, I can send Victoria to keep you company. You know, tonight.”

The Taehyung of older days would have jumped at the suggestion, launching into an interested inquiry of what the woman could offer. But now, he only shook his head, gripping his glass tight.

“No, Andrei. I’m married.”

The man smiled slyly. “You absolutely sure? She’s damn hot.”

“I’m sure. I’m a changed man, Andrei.”

Andrei nodded, looking at Taehyung thoughtfully. “I can see that.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Yoongi was humming to himself, hammering away at his laptop. He usually didn’t carry his work home. But this one was important. He had to finish drafting the presentation he was going to make the next morning.

“Busy much?”

You were leaning against the doorframe, playing with the sash of your dressing gown.

He looked up and crinkled his nose cutely.

“Just a couple more hours, baby girl.”

Clicking your tongue in disapproval, you loosened the sash and let your dressing gown drop down your shoulders to the floor.

“Can’t wait that long,” you crooned, giving him your sexiest drawl. “Need you inside me. Now.”

His fingers stopped typing, and a slow smirk dawned on his lips. He was so damn handsome when he smirked like that.

He kept his eyes focused on the screen, uttering the words in a blunt tone: “Come and take what you want then.”

Giggling in excitement, you rushed over to him, throwing your legs over his lap to straddle him. He smelt so good, just like he always did. You knew his scent by heart. It was the faintest note of cologne, fresh and pleasant like morning dew. He could come back dripping with sweat after gym, but he would still smell heavenly. It was just- so Yoongi of him.

“You’re blocking my view, Mrs. Min,” he said, not caring to look at your eager face.

“Oh, I’ll be out of it in a second, Mr. Min,” you replied, licking the shell of his ear.

The smug devil didn’t bat an eyelid, concentrating on typing whatever was clearly more important than his hot wife eating his earlobes. You decided to accelerate things further.

Grinding against his crotch, you hooked your chin on his shoulder to keep out of his way. You could feel him stirring in his pants, and soon enough he was hard as nails. Allowing yourself a proud smile, you nibbled on his shoulder blade, making him moan despite his best efforts.

You were satisfied at his response. Besides, you were aching for him already. You got off his lap, sinking down to your knees. He still wasn’t looking at you. Well, he would soon.

Instead of taking him out, you chose to palm him through his night pants. The tent in his pants left your mouth watering in anticipation. You looked up; he was still typing. Time for drastic measures.

Leaning forward, you pressed your mouth against the hard muscle, the thin fabric dampening up with your saliva. The friction of the cloth was too much to bear, and he moaned out loud.

“Fuck, Y/N!”

He shut the laptop down with a snap, to hell with the presentation. Grabbing you by your hair, he pulled you in level with his crotch. You stared back at him, tracing your lips with your tongue. Damn you. Want flooded his veins, sending a searing sensation shooting through his length.

“Up,” he said, snapping his fingers at you.

You loved it when he was horny and pissed. It made for a deliciously passionate Yoongi. Hastening to stand up, you looked at him expectantly. He motioned towards his pants, his dominant streak glinting dangerously in his eyes.

“Get my dick out.” He bit his lip before adding: “And lose your bra.”

Without a word, you peeled his pants off, shaking in excitement. His thighs were strong and muscular, just as perfect as the rest of him. He waited until you freed your breasts and patted his lap.

“On my thigh, slut.”

You pouted in disappointment. He noticed that and laughed impishly.

“What? You don’t get to sit on my cock until I say so.” He narrowed his eyes at you, loving the lust shining raw on your features. “Serves you right for teasing me.”

“But Yoongiiiiiii….” you drawled, only to be silenced with a piercing glare.

“Ride my thigh, come on,” he said. “Let me see those tits bounce.”

Fuck, he was making you so wet. Climbing into his lap again, you grabbed his shoulder and steadied yourself. He hadn’t told you to get out of your undies yet. You knew the friction was going to make you go wild.

“Go on,” he said, settling back lazily against the headrest of his chair. You slowly started moving, gripping his shoulders tight. He didn’t make any move to touch or hold you. He simply watched your face in fascination, observing every fleeting emotion with pride.

You were inching closer to your orgasm, and he stilled your hips with a steel grip. Your protesting mewls were music to his ears. A long bony finger pushed your soaked undies away, and his firm hands pulled your hips onto his hard cock.

He slammed his hips up, and started thrusting into you in a punishing rhythm, eliciting fierce curses and strangled moans from deep inside your chest.

“Damn, that’s it baby, bounce on my cock,” he praised, growling in primal want.

You could have sworn you saw the bushes outside the window move. But when you looked down to tell Yoongi, the feral lust swimming in his eyes washed every thought off your mind. He really was fucking your brains out.

“What is it, baby girl?”

Your mind was in complete shambles, and you knew he loved it. Especially when you struggled for words while he had you impaled on his cock.

“I- spank me…”

He grinned, landing a soft slap on your butt cheek. “Use your words and ask me nicely.”

“Oh, damn you Yoongi,” you whined, throwing your head back and exposing your neck. “Spank me, please.”

“Now, that’s a good girl.”

Min Yoongi had the smallest and most delicate of hands. But that didn’t mean his slaps were any less harsh. He could give you a mean spank, leaving hot red prints all over your ass if he liked. And right now, he chose to use that to his full advantage.

He lifted his hand, licking his lips and preparing to rain a volley of slaps on your butt. Closing your eyes, you rutted against him, waiting to feel the first sting.

“Y/N!”

When you opened your eyes, Yoongi was staring at you blankly. His eyes were shining with unshed tears.

You cupped his cheeks, puzzled. “What’s it, honey?”

A set of big hands snaked around your waist. You looked at Yoongi in confusion.

“What-“ you started to say, and froze in horror as Yoongi’s face slowly faded away, wiping all your happiness away with it. Everything went suddenly dark, and an unbearable coldness settled in, smothering you.

“No!” You thrashed about violently, desperate to see Yoongi, desperate to touch him again.

“Shh, Y/N, it’s fine.” The voice hummed in your ear, pulling you towards something warm.

You opened your eyes and gazed directly into Kim Taehyung’s radiant eyes.

“It’s okay baby, I’m back.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Dawn was beginning to break, and Taehyung was severely jetlagged. He assumed you would go right back to sleep. But you remained wide awake, silent tears streaming down your cheeks.

His heart felt all mushy and happy. Had you missed him? Were you crying because your feelings were overwhelmed? Maybe you had felt relieved that he had woken you up from your nightmare in time.

“Bad dream, darling?” he asked, carding his fingers through your hair.

He wouldn’t leave you alone anymore, he would always be there to chase away your nightmares. He resolved to himself that he would protect you from anything, even your own mind.

You lay still, not bothering to respond.

The semi-darkness lent your face a mysterious look, and Taehyung wasn’t sure if the gleam in your eyes was anger or joy.

His unusual softness assured him that it was joy. He told himself that it would be confusing at first and you needed time to warm up to the idea of loving him.

Birds started chirping outside, sunrise was very near. He traced your cheek with his thumb, wanting to kiss you. When he pulled you closer, there was no resistance. Cheering up considerably, he brushed his lips against yours.

When you didn’t flinch, he deepened the kiss, softly moaning into your mouth. The smoldering hunger stirred deep in his belly, consuming him completely. He climbed on top of you ever so lightly, kissing your neck and leaving wet splotches all over your chest.

He had waited for so long, and the tension had built up into a crescendo. He was panting when he fished himself out of his trousers, one hand fiddling with your shorts. He shimmied down the fabric, clawing at it in haste.

The first rays of sunlight broke the darkness, lighting up the room with a rosy hue. He whimpered when the head of his member made contact with your entrance.

“I’m home,” he said, pushing himself inside in one long shove. He slowly started to rock his hips, he wanted to be slow and sensual for a change.

You closed your eyes, and everything came flooding back. It was like your lips had a mind of their own. Before you knew, you had moaned it out loud.

“Yoongi…”

Taehyung’s hips stilled, his hard member still buried inside you. It hurt him like a violent slap. Slipping out of your core, he could hardly contain his angry tears while he dressed himself back up. You had moaned… for Yoongi?

He wanted to leave without saying anything. But he stopped just near the door.

“Tell me just one thing- whenever we… had sex, did you….”

Your vacant eyes chilled his blood. You mumbled silently, almost like you were talking to yourself.

“I Imagined Yoongi…”

He stormed out of the room, rushing to the guest bedroom to unleash the sobs bubbling up his throat. Taehyung never knew that he could hate you. It surprised and upset him to know how much he despised you for insulting him like that. It left a bitter aftertaste in his tongue.

When Taehyung finally stopped sniffing, he made up his mind. You weren’t changing. He would be fighting a dead man for the rest of his life. If you couldn’t warm up to his romance, it was fine. He would just return to being a mean bastard you rebelled against. Being feared was better than being insulted and trampled upon.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Taehyung’s behavior went from romantic to mean and waxed meaner over the course of days. He ignored your presence completely, choosing to leave home at dawn and return at midnight just to avoid seeing you.

He broke things in sudden fits of temper, and every morning you woke up to more and more smashed vases and glass. You kept Ha Neul well out of his way, there was no telling what he might do if he got his hands on her.

Taehyung, on the other hand, was torn between his all-consuming obsession over you and the new-found disgust he had for you. It scared him when he realized how much it was affecting his mind. He had to choose a way to saddle his dark feelings and rein them in. Because, after all, you were his Y/N. His precious Y/N he would do anything for.

Almost a month after he returned from Berlin, almost a month after avoiding you like the plague, Kim Taehyung decided that enough was enough.

He returned home in the evening, slamming the door unnecessarily loud. That was a signal these days to announce his arrival and departure.

“Y/N!” The slight bitterness in his voice surprised him.

Ha Neul’s giggle sounded from somewhere deep in the nursery, and he followed the sound until he was standing before you.

You were kneeling on the floor, clutching onto your daughter fearfully. You didn’t care if he hurt you. Hell, you would even karate chop him right back. But you were nervous when he was around your child.

He glared at the toddler, throwing his most hostile look her way.

“Bedroom, now.”

You dragged yourself to the bedroom after handing Ha Neul over to the nanny. You had no clue what he was going to do to you. He had been like a zombie for the past month, slinking away into the shadows and disappearing all day. What was in store for you in the bedroom?

Taehyung was sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for you. When you entered the room, he manspread his legs and snapped his fingers.

“On your knees,” he tapped on the floor with his shoe, “here.”

You hesitated, and his eyebrows knotted dangerously.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Swallowing your pride, you knelt before his spread legs, his crotch in full display right before your eyes.

He bunched your hair in his fist, pulling you towards him. He rubbed your face against his clothed crotch a little harsher than he had planned to.

“This cock-“ he said, pressing your face against him, “this cock is the only one you’ll get in this lifetime. Better get used to it.”

Yanking your hair, he tilted your head, so your eyes were staring into his.

“If you say his name again, I’ll break your daughter’s neck.”

He was pulling hard on your hair, and the roots were beginning to sting.

“Am I clear, bitch?”

You silently nodded, not trusting your voice enough. He let go of your hair with a mean tug, and you wobbled on your knees.

“Open your mouth.”

You were late in complying, earning a hard slap in reward. Your cheek felt burning hot. He ground his teeth and slapped the other cheek, releasing all the pent-up anger boiling in his chest. Grabbing you like a ragdoll, he gripped your jaw tight and puckered your lips open.

“You don’t deserve my cock,” he spat out, forcing two slender fingers into your mouth. “This is all you get until you earn it.”

He pumped the fingers in and out, setting a harsh rhythm. His fingers were long and slender, and it was a feat to accommodate them all the way up to the knuckles. He added a third finger, not slowing one bit when you whimpered in protest.

“Shut up and take it,” he growled, driving them deeper and deeper until you gagged and coughed around the digits.

He waited until you regained your breath. Then he removed his fingers, scooping up the drool running down your chin. He then dragged his fingers on your cheeks, painting them in drool.

Grabbing you by the neck, he leaned over to breathe in your face:

“You can hate me all you want, but I’m never letting you go. Imagine him all you want, but the dick fucking into you will always be mine.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

The days rolled by quickly, and before you knew it, Ha Neul had turned 2 years old. She had started running and jumping, and she followed Taehyung around whenever he dressed up for work, hoping for a ride in his car.

It was a sunny April morning. You had asked your chauffeur to take you and Ha Neul shopping. She had to get vaccinated, and you had to pick some stuff from the store on the way back. The car was ready, and a guard quietly gave you the message.

Knocking on the bathroom door, you shouted to Taehyung.

“I need your credit card. I’m going out.”

The sound of the running shower immediately stopped. The door opened, and he leaned on the frame, his whole body on display.

“And where exactly is my baby girl going?”

Trying to forget the way his cock stood half-erect, you mumbled out: “Ha Neul’s vaccination.”

Taehyung didn’t let you have money of your own. He wanted you to be dependent on him. That way, you would always stay with him.

He had never forgiven you for moaning Yoongi’s name that one time. Whenever you wanted something, he made it a point to make you beg him. Usually, he made you suck him off, or ride him, just to go to the store or to grab cake for Ha Neul.

You weren’t allowed to ask the guards to get stuff for Ha Neul. They would simply nod their heads but not comply. Because they served Taehyung. And his orders took priority over yours.

“Just give me the card,” you huffed, annoyed at him.

He shook his hair like a puppy, sending water droplets flying all around, some landing on your face and clothes.

You took a step back, patting at the random drops spraying on you. “Ew. Cut it out, Taehyung.”

He grinned, grabbing you and grinding himself against you, wetting your clothes slightly. He was stark naked, in full contrast to your fully clothed body.

“Where’s the brat?” his tone was casual.

You bit back a curse word. “She has a name. Min Ha Neul is in the nursery.”

The annoyance on his face satisfied you to no end. “Why do you insist on calling her that every time?”

“Calling her what? Min Ha Neul? That’s her name.” You weren’t backing down in the slightest.

He leaned down to nip at your jaw. “Hmm. Very well, Y/N Kim.”

It was your turn to snap at him. “Stop calling me that.”

He smiled into your skin. Riling you up was so much fun.

“That’s your name, baby. To get the credit card, come soap me up and wash me.”

“Forget it, bitch,” you sneered, shaking him off.

“Not so fast, honey. Don’t you want her to get vaccinated?”

He thought you looked absolutely beautiful when you were angry. Oh, how he wanted to slam you against the door and fuck you into oblivion!

Not sparing a glance at him, you peeled your clothes off, stripping down to your underwear. He grinned.

“Might as well remove them, no?”

You wanted to slap the smile off his face.

“Fucking get back in the shower, Taehyung.”

He felt a sizzling electric jolt down his spine when you soaped him, lathering up and spreading the foam all over his chest. He was choking on his breath when he whined “My cock, ah Y/N, grab my cock.”

He shivered at the feeling of your warm hands slipping around his length. The feeling was delicious, making him roll his closed eyes under his lids. He enjoyed your little fingers caressing his skin, and when you knelt to soap his legs, he went wild.

The shower washed off the lather, leaving him sparkling clean. Before you had a chance to get up, he dug his hard dick into your face. Your head was caught between the wall and his strong thighs, and you were left with no other choice.

“Shit, suck me, go on, suck me with that hot little mouth.”

He slapped his dick against your cheek, ruining the makeup and leaving a mixture of water and pre-cum glistening on your skin.

“Go on, baby, I’m oh so clean. Suck my cock.”

He popped your mouth open, sliding himself in and hissing at the sensation.

“Like my cock, baby? Nibble along the shaft, yes,” he panted, looking down at you, face contorting in pleasure. “Like having my fat cock inside your mouth?”

You replied something, probably a curse, but it came out muffled around his cock. The vibration made him lose himself, thrusting deeper and deeper against your throat.

“Ah, swallow me, yes, fucking swallow my dick, Y/N.”

He bottomed out against your mouth, the prickly hair on his balls making the tip of your nose itch. His fingers felt around your throat, trying to feel himself through the skin of your neck.

“Swallow, baby,” he cooed, and you gagged a little, trying to swallow around him. His fingers felt the bulge in your throat, and his dick pulsed at the heady sensation, making him cum hard into your mouth. You almost choked on the cum, your throat feeling raw and sore.

He picked you up on your feet, muttering praises and kissing whichever part of skin he could find. Wiping your mouth, you stared at the floor and asked, “Can I get the card now?”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Baby,” he called, calling your attention to him as you tried to sneak past the living room. “Forgot something?”

You took a deep breath, giving up. There was no point in sneaking around him. The guy seemed to smell your presence.

“I’m going to tuck Ha Neul in,” you replied, not quite looking at him. “She fell asleep on the way back.”

He turned his gaze from his laptop, nodding absently. “Come back in five. And don’t forget.”

You went away, preoccupied with thinking of the man who had followed you around in the store. He had worn a mask, covering his lower face, and had been hot on your tail until you had reached your car. He had looked like he had something to say to you. But as soon as he had laid eyes on the car, he had disappeared. Who could it have been? You had no idea.

When you returned after getting your daughter to bed, he was waiting for you. He extended his hand, and you slipped the papers into it.

Taehyung always wanted the complete receipts and details of what you had bought, where you had gone and whom you had met whenever you went out. It was mostly to make sure you weren’t planning an escape or meeting some other guy.

His quickly scanned through the receipts, suddenly pausing, and looking at you ominously.

“Tampons, honey?”

His tone was controlled, but chilling, nonetheless. You had deliberately bought a lot of useless items to cover the fucking tampons.

“Yes. What about them?”

He sighed, skimming through the rest of the items on the bill.

“Y/N, it’s been two years.” He sighed again. “You know we want a baby.”

You recoiled, you had suspected he would say that, but to hear that out loud terrified you.

“Well, I don’t.”

He didn’t answer. He knew you would of course reject him. But it had already been two fucking years. He had tolerated that little tyke Min had sired just because he loved you. But however much he thought about it, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that Ha Neul was more important to you.

He had sent Almond away; the dog was under Wo Bin’s care. But he couldn’t separate Ha Neul from you. He burned with jealousy whenever you kissed her or ruffled her hair. The dratted child had inherited her father’s gummy smile, much to Taehyung’s annoyance.

He wanted to feel closer to you, he needed to make you love him. Seeing you showering your love on the fruit of another man’s seed was humiliating to say the very least. He would give you a child, making you tend to his baby, effectively pulling you closer to him.

He wasn’t sure he liked babies. He hated smelly diapers and wet beds. But he would have to bear those if he wanted you to carry his child.

“Y/N, it’s time we started a family. You know it.”

You felt like screaming and breaking things.

“What part of ‘I hate you’ do you not get?”

He stood up, asserting his dominance by rising to his full height.

“I let you have that bastard’s child, I let her eat and sleep under my roof, I let her fucking have her damned surname,” he said, inching closer and closer, “And this is how you repay me?”

You perked up your chest, standing upright and biting the words out: “I don’t owe you anything. You ruined my life.”

He scoffed, a spray of spit landing on your face. “Don’t you dare talk back to me. You’ll only make things worse for you.”

“Oh? And how, exactly?”

He flushed in anger, looking out the window. It had started drizzling. Making up his mind, he stormed out of the room. You weren’t sure if you should follow. A few seconds later, you heard your daughter wail.

“Ha Neul?” You rushed to the nursery but stopped midway when you saw Taehyung carrying her down the stairs.

“Wait, what are you doing?” you screamed, following him in hot pursuit. He was quicker than you, and just as your feet touched the landing, he slammed the door on your daughter, letting her stand outside in the rain.

“What the hell, Taehyung? Open the door!”

You saw him turn the key in the lock, and he grinned sneakily as he dropped the key into his pants. Throwing yourself at him and pummeling at his chest, you sobbed at him to open the door.

“Please,” you begged, seeing through the window that the rain had started falling in torrents. “Please let her in.”

“I think not,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning his back against the door.

“What do you want? Please, anything…”

He cocked his eyebrows.

“Anything?” When you nodded, he thrust his hips out, still leaning. “Fish the key out of my pants.”

You dropped to your knees in haste, unzipping him and searching for the key. Your fingers brushed against hot muscle instead, and he lazily drawled above you:

“Kiss the tip and tell me you love me.”

Furious tears pricked your eyes, and you swallowed the bitter taste at the back of your throat. Taking his dick out, you kissed the angry red tip, muttering a weak “I love you.”

“Say, I love you Taehyungie.”

You couldn’t wait to grab your cold wet child shivering outside. Kissing the tip again, you looked up at him and bit the words out.

“I love you, Taehyungie.”

He grinned and let you take the key. He was already uncomfortable by sensation of the cold metal rubbing against his hot dick.

You hit him across the jaw, punching with all your might. He responded by shifting his position to let you put the key in the lock.

Before you turned it though, he grabbed you by the hips, his fingers searching under your dress for the crotch of your undies. Ripping it easily, he slammed himself inside you. You turned the lock. But you couldn’t open the door, not with him buried inside you.

“Let me get her first,” you whimpered, struggling to get away.

“Take me, baby,” he said, pushing himself deeper. “Make me cum and you can get her.”

Blowing out your cheeks, you clenched your pelvic muscle tight around him, repeating it mindlessly until he was a gasping mess.

“Oh, oh yes,” he whined, driving harder and harder, finally cumming hard. He slid himself out, letting go of your hips.

“Go get her. She’ll catch a cold, sweetie.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Mrs. Kim?”

The voice of your chauffeur cut through your thoughts, catching your attention.

“Your pills, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Seung Jo,” you breathed. Taehyung never would know how you got your birth control pills. You were so grateful that Seung Jo was loyal to you. You had no idea why, but he was very friendly, he seemed to understand that you were living the life of a caged bird.

He had been smuggling you the pills for a long time, and no one had ever found out. Taehyung had been vocal about you not getting pregnant however much he tried. He didn’t let you get up after sex, rather he made you lie down and tuck your legs. He carefully calculated your ovulation dates. But nothing came of his efforts. Except monthly bills that included tampons, of course.

“Seung Jo, can you do me a favor?”

He looked at your image in the rearview mirror. “Anything, ma’am.”

“I- can you check on Mrs. Min at the Klammer Institute on my behalf?”

He nodded silently. “Anything else, ma’am?”

You looked down at your shoes, chewing out the question. “Why are you not more like Taehyung’s men? What makes you keep secrets for me?”

He smiled and shrugged lightly. “I like you.”

The signal turned green and you lurched forward a bit. “Excuse me?”

He repeated patiently. “I said, I like you.”

“Are you aware that Taehyung would blow your brains out if he heard about this?”

Seung Jo glided the car to a stop. “You hadn’t any idea that I liked you all this time?”

You fell silent. There was no way to know if he was being serious. Maybe it was a trap Taehyung had set. You had to be cautious.

“Well, Mrs. Kim? Tongue-tied?”

“Get the car moving, Seung Jo,” was the only thing you could reply.

Just before the car nosed into the mansion, he whispered in a low voice:

“I think I love you.”

You stared at his reflection, dumbfound. He continued.

“I’ve known you for more than two years, do you think I can’t see how unhappy you are?”

“Seung Jo,” you said, warningly.

“Just think about it,” he said, turning the ignition off. He got out of the car and held the door open for you, meeting your eyes for a brief moment, the look laden with meaning.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Mommy?” Ha Neul called, her cute lips curving around the words. She was very smart, and had started talking in long meaningful sentences.

“Yes, honey?”

She tugged at her pigtails, forming the sentence in her head.

“Why- my name is Min? Father’s name and yours are Kim?” The lilt of the second question suggested innocent curiosity.

Taehyung lowered the newspaper, glaring at the back of her head. You smiled, gathering her up and sitting her down on your lap.

“Because, sweetie, mommy was married to Min Yoongi, your daddy.”

Her sweet voice took on a confused tone. “What happened to daddy?”

You sent a scorching glare to Taehyung before replying, “He died, baby. A bad man killed him.”

Taehyung threw his paper down. “Is this necessary? Should she know the details?”

“She deserves to know the truth,” you snapped.

The child looked at you, not understanding the banter. “Bad man?”

You nodded sadly. She asked again, crooning: “Daddy was a good man?”

A smile dawned on your lips, and you replied earnestly, “He was the best man in the world, sweetheart.”

She went silent, her little brain working to grasp the information. Taehyung’s eyes shot daggers at you, which you steadily ignored.

“Mommy,” she said again, “Can I call father daddy?”

You looked up at the man in question. His face registered surprise. He hadn’t quite expected that.

He cleared his throat and replied gruffly, “You can call me that, Ha Neul.”

The brightness of her gummy smile melted your heart. God, she was just like Yoongi. So adorable.

“Daddy,” she said, feeling the word rolling off her tongue. She ran towards Taehyung, innocently clinging to his forearm.

“Daddy, when can I go to school?”

Taehyung’s eyebrows shot up. He addressed you, asking, “Didn’t we decide to homeschool her?”

Ha Neul spoke up for herself, waving her hands. “Daddy, Mr. Soh says school is wonderful! Pencils, paper, desks,” she started counting them off on her little fingers.

“Alright, honey,” you said, attempting to steer the conversation towards calmer topics. “Daddy and mommy will think about it.”

Mr. Soh was Ha Neul’s homeschool teacher, he came by thrice a week. He had probably planted the idea of school in her mind.

After Ha Neul got bored and ran off to play ball, Taehyung hissed at you angrily.

“I’m not letting you or her out of this house.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

The sound of the waves crashing filled your ears, salt heavy in the air and reminding you of the terrible day you had spent dangling on a suspension bridge.

“Mrs. Kim?” You turned. “Thanks for meeting me.”

You were silent, the blank look on your face replaced with shock when he removed the mask and took off his shades.

“Bong Ju?” you gasped, a wave of fear jolting your heart. “What do you want?”

He took a hesitant step forward; palms open to show he meant no harm.

“I have to give you something, I tried hard to meet you, but it was almost impossible.”

You watched in fear as he dipped his hand inside his coat pocket, your breath relaxing when he pulled out a sealed envelope.

“I’m sorry for a lot of things, Mrs. Kim, I have betrayed you so much. But this,” he extended the envelope to you, “this belongs to you.”

“What is it?” you whispered, scared to touch it.

“Mr. Min, he gave it to me for safekeeping. He-“ the man gulped, “-he wanted you to have it in case he was gone before you.”

You shook your head in disbelief.

“Why did you wait so long then? You fucking betrayed him and me. Why should I believe you?”

He nodded, guilt weighing his features down.

“I had to do it, Mrs. K- Mrs. Min, I was blackmailed to do it. Kim Taehyung threatened to kill my sister and her family if I didn’t help him.”

Tears streamed down his face. “I took the money and fled, but my sister- she died in a plane crash. Her whole family.” A loud sob interrupted his flow. “I think it’s karma, I deserved it for betraying you. I am really very sorry, Mrs. Min.”

“But you- you were the prime witness…”

“Witness? What witness? What are you talking about?”

You shrank back in alarm.

“You don’t know about the inquest? Weren’t you the state’s prime witness?”

He tilted his head in confusion. “I don’t understand. An inquest, you say?”

Cold dread filled the crevices of your heart, rising up steadily, threatening to crush your ribs.

“But- I thought… How did you know where I was?”

His features were still confused when he answered:

“Kang Minsook, a lawyer called me a few weeks ago.”

Your mouth widened. “Where were you three years ago? How do you know Minsook?”

He shrugged, wide eyed.

“I fled to the Bahamas after you ran to rescue Mr. Min. I didn’t know he was dead until Mr. Kang called recently. I flew back and saw you had married Taehyung. I thought you didn’t require to read the letter, but…” his voice trailed off. “…But I asked around and heard a lot about what had happened. Mr. Min made me swear I would deliver it to you.”

“Didn’t Minsook tell you about the case?”

“I don’t know of any case. He only asked if I used to work for Mr. Min and whether I knew he was dead.”

The whole earth stopped spinning. There had been no prime witness! Bong Ju hadn’t even known about the case. Minsook hadn’t discovered about Bong Ju at all. You swallowed the truth. It dawned on you that Minsook never mentioned a witness in court, only Taehyung and your attorney had hinted that Bong Ju was the prosecution’s witness. Taehyung had well and truly played you.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Fragments of Yoongi’s letter kept returning to haunt you. It had been five pages long. You knew he had poured his heart into it, there was such emotion in the words. According to the date, it had been written on the day of your first wedding anniversary.

His words filled the deep void left by his sudden departure, at least to a certain extent. The papers had creases in them, caused by your repeated folding and unfolding over the course of weeks. You kept re-reading it whenever you had the chance, just to hold on to the ghost of his memory a little longer. Dear, wonderful, passionate, loving Yoongi.

“Y/N?” the arms gently shook your shoulders, breaking the spell.

“Huh?”

“I said, I love you.” He leaned into you, his concerned look searching your face. “You okay?”

“I-“  You looked at Seung Jo’s chocolate brown eyes. “I don’t know.”

He let go of you, leaning against the car. “What do you mean?”

“Seung Jo.” You took a whiff of the salty air. “I have a 3-year-old daughter. My husband is a businessman with roots in the mafia. He would kill us if he knew.”

He scoffed, taking your hand, and pressing it lightly.

“Y/N, remember, I love you and your daughter. I am not afraid of Taehyung. I can make you happy. Just say yes and I’ll take you away.”

It did sound alluring. But you didn’t love him back. He seemed sweet and genuine, but that was it. You looked at the brown wisps of hair dancing on his forehead. He was young, the honey toned skin was taut over his prominent veins. He was cute, yes. Did you love him? No.

Yoongi’s letter fluttered back to your mind.

I have kept aside 5 million dollars for us, Y/N. We can use it for our baby, we can add to it every year. I will be so proud on the day our baby is born. I am sure our firstborn would be a girl, just as beautiful and wonderful as her mom. I can’t wait to see you glowing with our child, I can’t wait to hold her tiny fingers in mine.

You stifled a sob. The pain was still fresh. You would never believe that three years had gone already. His letter ended with a note, saying that if he ever died, you were supposed to use the money in case it wasn’t withdrawn already. He had written that he would add a million dollars for every anniversary he celebrated with you. The account details had been written in his neat handwriting.

If I go before you, Y/N, even if I’m 60 and you’re 59, if we haven’t already used up the money, take it. Live happily. I want only the best for you, my love.

It made you guilty that you were even thinking of eloping with Seung Jo. You didn’t love him. But he was your entry pass to the outside world. Maybe, just maybe, after you got out of Taehyung’s clutches, you could explain it all to Seung Jo and part ways. But you knew you needed Seung Jo’s help to get out. You wouldn’t tell him about Yoongi’s secret trust fund, you weren’t sure about revealing that.

Your resolve crumbled, and you caved, asking for more time. He drove you back home, dropping you off dutifully.

When you entered the house, Taehyung was coming out of the basement, unaware of your figure standing on the hearthrug. His torso was naked, save for the chain around his neck. He was holding the key looped in the chain in his hand as he ascended the steps, not seeing you in the least.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Wo Bin sought a meeting with Taehyung, giving him the security update for the week.

“Mr. Kim,” he started cautiously, looking at his boss in wary apprehension.

“Yes?”

“It’s Se Jong again, he has been a sore pain in the ass for months, boss.”

Taehyung blew out his cheeks and sighed.

“I know, Bin-ah, but his brother was very loyal to me. He took a bullet and died for me. And Se Jong is helpful with the money matters.”

Wo Bin hesitated. “Yes, about that…”

“What is it?”

“Mrs. Kim was seen at the bank yesterday. She was enquiring about a withdrawal. Se Jong brought it to our notice.”

Taehyung sat up in concern. It was unusual of you to go to any bank. You only had credit cards which he gave after you satisfied his quirks. What was the need for going to the bank? He knew that more details were yet to come, else his man would have already told them without being prompted to.

“Keep an eye on her banking interests, tell Se Jong to be alert.”

Wo Bin nodded, readying himself to speak again.

“Also,” he drawled, waiting until he had his boss’s attention. “Our man at the docks informed that Bong Ju was seen in the city. We don’t have the details of where he went or who he met yet.”

Taehyung leaned back in his chair, a faint worry nagging him. Bong Ju had been told to stay put in the Bahamas if he wanted his sister’s family to stay alive. It was a breach on his part to flout the order. Why had he come? Did it have anything to do with you?

“Keep asking around. I need to know if he crossed paths with my wife.”

He decided to leave early and be near you for the rest of the afternoon.

On his way out, Taehyung absently walked by the aisle of cubicles, thinking about your new interest in finance. What were you up to? His guards always gave him clean reports of your whereabouts, it didn’t seem like you had found a new guy.

As he passed a cubicle, a pair of sultry eyes looked up at him. He froze spontaneously. Stepping towards the eyes led his gaze to a prominent cleavage, a beauty mark right at the middle of it. His mind raced to the masquerade ball, the night when the mysterious masked woman kissed him.

“You.”

She got up, eyeing him steadily. She never broke eye contact as she traced her vixen steps, affirming his suspicion. She flicked her hand at him, dipping it into his breast pocket and pulling out the pocket square. She was still gazing at him when she pressed it against her lips, winked coyly, and tucked it back in its place with a smoot pat.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Where’s Taehyung?” You inquired casually, careful not to look too interested.

“He is at the cottage, Mrs. Kim.”

Cottage. Basement. Yoongi.

The word opened a dam of traumatic memories. “Oh, yes, I see.”

Your hands were shaking nervously when you returned to the bedroom. So, he was away. He’d probably be late. It gave you ample time to rummage around for passports. Ha Neul had her own passport too, he had taken you and Ha Neul to Paris on a vacation. The passports had to be somewhere, right in his closet.

There was a vault with an electronic keypad. You hoped that the passports were in there. But what was the combination? You tried everything you could think of. Birthdays, birth years, anniversaries, but no luck. It just stubbornly flashed a red light and vibrated.

What was it?

Your fingers punched the numbers in, doubt weighing heavily on your mind. Could it… be the day Yoongi died?

The vault clicked open.

── ⋆✩⋆ ──

Taehyung was seated on a chair, his legs crossed. The woman was kneeling, held in place by two guards. The musky smell of the room brought back memories of the night he killed Min Yoongi. He was not in the glass room, but the basement was the same anyway. The faded light flickered outside the door. It was fucking cold. Well, basements did get damn cold in the winter.

“It was you.”

She smiled, licking her crimson lips, her lipstick and sharp canines lending a fiendish aura to her. Like a vampire.

“It was always me, Kim,” she cooed, the smile turning sinister. “Took you long enough.”

He tilted his head, creasing his forehead.

“What do you mean?”

She smiled again, the genial expression morphing instantly into a dangerous sneer as she ground her teeth.

“You don’t remember me, Kim. But I do. You thought I was an easy fuck. You kicked me out on the streets even before your cum dried.” She glared at him. “I was not and am not a fucking whore, Kim Taehyung. I’m the heiress of the damned Song Shipping Line,” she spat.

“Song? But that is owned by Song Joong-“

“That’s my cousin. I had more pressing matters to deal with.” She smirked and raised her brows. “Because, Kim, you cannot just fuck me and throw me out.”

The pleasant beam was back on her face. “I let my cousin run the company and came after you. I changed my name, solely to crush your heart under my heels.” The smile took on a shy turn. “But what can I say, I’ve fallen for you.”

He looked at her as if she were out of her mind.

“You? Have fallen for me?”

Even the guards holding her looked at each other in confusion.

She laughed, letting her head roll back. “What?” Her eyes were streaming with mirth. “You can’t believe that?”

He didn’t respond, suspicious that she was playing him. Who on Earth actually fell for him? She must be crazy. But Song? Was she Song Jun Hyi? He didn’t even remember meeting her. When he found his voice, it came out croaked.

“Why- why would you leave everything and become a secretary? Why?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Why? Don’t you understand? You of all people should get me. It’s simple, Kim.” She pouted her plush lips. “I’m in love with you.”

He darted out of his chair. “What are you, crazy?”

“Uh huh.” She winked at him, drawing her words out. “Crazy about you.”

Taehyung looked at the guards, and they dropped her hands, leaving the room immediately. But she remained kneeling. Taehyung sat down again, leaning against the backrest, and establishing the power dynamic.

“I don’t believe you.”

She scoffed. “What should I say to make you believe me?” She smiled her crooked smile. “Should I say how your wife is sneaking behind your back?” The smile deepened. “Should I say she’s hiding secrets from you?”

He gripped the armrests tight. No, his Y/N would never. This woman knew nothing about you. She was a crazy bitch who had no idea how pure you were.

“Well?” she teased. “Wanna know, baby boy?”

He pressed his lips together, fighting the urge to slap her silly. The sound of her voice was grating on his nerves.

“Don’t you dare call me that.”

She gave him her best puppy eyed smile. “Aw, look at you, so pretty when angry.”

“I would never love you back,” he snapped.

“But that didn’t stop you from grabbing Y/N, did it?”

He bounded forward, catching her throat in a strangle-hold.

“Don’t fuck with me, Na Yeon.”

His hand was gripping her like a vice. The bob of her throat was evident as she choked out “I’m not. It’s the truth.”

His mean streak got the better of him. “Oh, yeah?” His fingers tightened. “Tell me my wife’s secrets so I can spit on your face and say that I already know them.”

Even though death was beckoning, she remained stoic, looking at him steadily. “I will. But kiss me first.”

He knew an obstinate bitch when he saw one. Dipping his head down, he ghosted his breath just down her nose.

“Tell me and I’ll give it to you. If you really deserve it.”

Her tongue flicked out and traced his lip. “Okay, tiger.” She pushed herself a bit and butted his nose.

“Hmm, how do I put it eloquently, honey boy? You aren’t going to have a baby anytime soon.”

His glare burned into her face. “I’m not impot-“

She rubbed his nose with hers. “Shh, I know, tiger boy. You’re well equipped to make a lot of cubs inside me, I’m sure.”

He remained silent, not liking how she knew about his weakness for nose rubs.

“Tell me, bitch.” His nostrils flared in anger at being called a boy.

“You’re staying at the winter villa, right?” She licked his lips again, causing him to recoil. “Well, my source tells me that she hides pretty little things in a shoebox. Third closet from the left. An old shoebox, baby boy. Go look.”

He smiled mockingly at her. Did the bitch think he would believe her?

“You’re pathetic.”

She grinned again. “Aren’t you, too?”

He rose from his crouch, ears pink. Walking rapidly to the door, he looked back at her one hard time, biting out the words:

“We’ll see what’s in the closet. I’ll fucking snap your neck if you’re lying,” before slamming the door behind him.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

So Na Yeon or Song Jun Hyi to be precise, looked up with hysterical joy when he returned. She saw the tousled hair, deathly pallor and the unsteady gait of a man defeated. The strange mix of anger and disappointment plastered on his face told her all she wanted to know.

“You saw it, didn’t you?”

Taehyung couldn’t believe that his Y/N had betrayed him right under his nose. What hurt him more was that you had kept a lot more stuff inside that box.

He didn’t know how you had gotten your hands on them, but there were suit buttons, bits of paper with Yoongi’s handwriting, cuff links, tie pins, movie ticket stubs, and a lot of odds and ends crammed into it. Beneath the box of souvenirs, the yellow pill bottle was tucked safely, full of birth control pills.

He had gone feral, throwing everything out of the closet and fucking losing himself. He had almost hit you, but he had exacted revenge another way.

He looked at the woman squatting on the floor. Her ass was probably freezing on the cold hard floor. But her face had all the warmth in the world as she gazed at him.

He couldn’t control the anger coursing through his body. His eyes were burning.

“How did you know about it?” He hated the defeated tone of his voice. He hated losing. Ever.

“I think I’ve earned my kiss now,” she replied, pouting her lips up at him expectantly.

His glare was sharp enough to cut diamonds. “I only ever kiss my wife.”

“Come on, tiger boy, you made a deal.” Her whine was bratty, yes, but he knew she wasn’t as weak or harmless as she looked. She had no business inside his wife’s closet, yet she knew where exactly you kept your secrets.

His heart weighed down with guilt as he extended his hand to her, pulling her up so she wouldn’t fucking lose her butt to the bitter cold. Once up, she slithered her body against him, humming in content. He let his hands hang limply at his sides, not even attempting to hold her.

She didn’t seem to mind. Pushing him to make him sit on the lone chair, she straddled him, not paying attention to his limp hands. She moaned in luJst, purring like a cat as she hungrily licked strokes on his Adams apple. Her tongue found its way to his lips, kissing the corners teasingly.

Bunching his hair in her fists, she kissed him with such intensity that a subconscious moan escaped the depths of his throat. Her tongue fought his own for dominance, and he couldn’t help but give up. She was a fricking wildcat. But it was when her hand slid to cup his crotch that he drew the line.

“I only agreed to a kiss. Get off me.”

Her glance was mocking. “Seriously, you don’t want it? You don’t want to be loved back? I’m offering you my whole heart on a platter, and you still want her?”

He didn’t respond, the words cutting him harder than the sharpest blades. She traced her finger down his chest. “I’ve got everything, baby, I am a fucking heiress. She’s got nothing.”

He pushed her off, the malice back in full spirit. His voice was laced with hatred when he hissed at her:

“She is everything.” No one could match up to you. Your half-hearted kisses, sloppy blowjobs, angry punches, they all made more sense than the fiery kiss he had just received. No, he loved you. The whole you.

Na Yeon hugged her knees, smiling up in that annoying manner. “You’re a business man, Kim. How about we talk a deal?”

── ⋆✩⋆ ──

“I’d rather sit on your lap if you don’t mind,” she said, eyeing the chair that had been brought into the room for her. God, she was driving him insane.

“I do fucking mind.”

She pursed her lips, settling into the chair with an air of defeat. He cut to the chase immediately.

“What is your deal?”

She regarded him with blank honesty. “Let’s have a bet, actually. It’s better that way.”

“Spit it out.”

“Let’s see, you killed Y/N’s husband just to get her. Right?” The innocent question had a sinister hook lurking underneath, which Taehyung immediately caught.

“What about it?”

“Well, in that case, if killing an obstacle is right to get to the person you love, doesn’t that law apply to me too?”

He had expected that hook. He understood how her mind worked because she was exactly at his mental place. Obsessed with a person who just didn’t return the feeling. He realized that she was very much like him.

“Do you expect an answer?” He sounded calm and relaxed.

“No, I know you know what I’m talking about, Kim.” She cracked her neck, sighing a little. “I will kill her if that means I can get you.”

“So, what is your deal?” He fought to keep the condescension out of his tone.

She grinned. “My businessman,” she purred. “I try and kill her. You try and stop it. Just leave the odds to the stars.”

“Why would I agree to such a stupid deal?”

“Because, Kim, the clock has already started ticking for your Y/N. I’m only offering you a chance to save her before I kill her.”

“If I win?” He smirked with confidence.

“You get your way with me. Kill me, lock me up, whatever you want.” Her casual words did send a jolt up his spine. “But, if I win,”

“What if you win?”

“I get you.”

She winked and laughed before adding, “And she dies.”

He didn’t bat an eyelid. “Deal.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

The deal was that Na Yeon would try and kill you within a month, and he would have to prevent it from happening. The nuances were:

Na Yeon wasn’t allowed anywhere near you. She had bragged about already having set a plan in motion. So, she had only that plan to rely on. She was fired from Taehyung’s office with immediate effect.

Taehyung wasn’t allowed to tap into Na Yeon’s phone calls or personal correspondence. He wasn’t allowed to involve any other person into the deal. His attempts to save you were to be his alone. No cops, guards, or any backup for him either.

When Taehyung returned home, his ears were already buzzing. He had almost drowned your daughter, trying to teach you a lesson. He went in search of you, finding you curled into a ball by your daughter’s bed.

“She got a fever?” he enquired, attempting to balm your pain.

You flew at him like a lioness, punching him in the chest, pushing him out of the room.

“What the fuck? ‘She got a fever?’ Is that all you got, you cruel piece of crap?”

He let himself get pummeled; he did deserve it. He had jeopardized the only string that was tying you to him. He shifted his gaze down, looking at your pants when he saw something that caught his attention. Dog hair. Almond.

He caught your fists, shushing you as he did so. “What’s that? Almond’s fur?”

You froze briefly, collecting yourself just as quickly.  “Yeah. What about it?”

He tsked. “I don’t remember giving you permission to walk him. Or go near him.”

Holding your head, you shook in anger, hissing “I don’t want your permission to fucking breathe. I’m done.”

He was tempted to say that he knew. He knew you were upto something behind his back. The words almost slipped his lips. But he had to play it out. He had to win you. It was almost objectification, trying to win you. But Na Yeon had placed him in that uncomfortable fix. If he justified killing Yoongi as an excuse to scout your love, Na Yeon did have the right to employ the same tactic. It was only fair.

“I know you’re upset, Y/N. I…” He swallowed the lump in his throat, “… I am sorry.”

You were taken aback. You had thought that apologies never existed in his world. To hear it for the first time, the sound of it felt so unfamiliar.

“I- need to be alone.”

He nodded and withdrew silently, leaving you to your own. Almond. He had to know how you had gotten near him. Also, he had to find out about the shoebox. Was it one of the guards? He became paranoid. Was one of him own men cheating on him with you? Was that why he only got squeaky clean reports of you all the time?

He trusted his guys with his life. No, there had to be something else he was missing. It didn’t make sense, especially when you vehemently hated the guys and their guns. You never allowed them anywhere near your daughter.

Who had clearance to talk to you, to pass you pills? Who did you meet that no other guard got suspicious of? Who was in the circle approved to be in contact with you? Who was the invisible person hiding in plain sight?

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Seung Jo had packed all his stuff and sent them ahead to Malta. He only had to pick up a couple of things. Oh, and the tickets. He smiled at the couple of tickets he had tucked inside his diary. He was going to Malta with the love of his life. It felt too good to be true.

Na Yeon’s steady paychecks, coupled with Taehyung’s had given him a lot of money to enjoy a life of luxury over there. His phone vibrated, interfering in his pleasant daydreams of lazing on hammocks and sipping beer.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Has anyone begun to suspect you?”

“No, everything is fine.”

“And Y/N? You’re positive about her?”

“Oh yes. We’ll continue as planned.”

“Good. Six more days.”

The caller hung up. He lay back down on his bed, thinking if he should get married in Malta, or wait to get to an even better destination.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

There was a knock on the door, waking up Seung Jo. His blurred vision made out 3:18 am on the digital clock. The knock grew louder, and he swore under his breath as he hit his foot on something. Waddling through the darkness, he flicked the light on and rubbed his toe. The sudden brightness took some adjusting to. The knock persisted, getting faster by the second.

“Chill the fu-“ He threw the door open, the curse freezing on his lips when he saw who was standing outside.

“Mr- Mr. Kim?”

The man in sweatpants looked so different, as if he were a whole other person, and not the suit and tie guy Seung Jo knew of.

“I’m coming in, it’s fucking freezing.” Taehyung brushed past Seung Jo, making straight for the couch.

Sweat lined Seung Jo’s neck, even though it was winter and bone-chillingly cold.

“Is something the matter, sir?” He couldn’t imagine the boss man coming to his house at such an odd time. Whatever it was, it surely wasn’t good news.

“Let’s cut the bullshit, Seung Jo.” Taehyung waved a file at the man in front of him. “Who hired you?”

The sweat was coming in torrents now. “Uh- Miss Na Yeon did, sir.” He wasn’t sure how much the boss had found out. He didn’t know if he was owning up to the plan or to the fact that she hired him as the chauffeur.

“As the-?” Taehyung persisted, patience wearing thin.

Seung Jo shut up, he was not going to readily own up. He wouldn’t give up and lose Malta and love to empty threats.

“As the chauffeur,” he replied sulkily.

“Oh?” Taehyung’s lips remained in the surprised pout for a whole minute. “Well, I have a whole file of papers that proves otherwise.”

Seung Jo knew now. His breath stuck in his throat. “Mr. Kim, let me explain…”

Taehyung waved in dismissal. “Just spit out the truth. I don’t have time. Bare facts.”

When he received just a beseeching look in reply, Taehyung opened the file and pulled out sheets of paper.

“Two tickets to Malta.” He waved them at the man. “By flight.” He removed some more sheets and waved them. “Three tickets to Santorini, by ship.”

Taehyung clucked his tongue. “Tell me I’m wrong, Seung Jo, how can you be on a flight and a ship on the same day?”

Seung Jo knew that he was beyond saving. He knew Taehyung’s violent temper. And living around men with guns had already shaken him enough to know when to give up.

“Mr. Kim, sir, I was asked to trick Mrs. Kim into going to the harbor. I was supposed to get out of the country as soon as she left to go to the harbor.”

“And what’s in the harbor?”

“I don’t know, sir. I really don’t. Ms. Na Yeon told me to not poke my nose into it when I asked.”

“And you were going to Malta.” Taehyung leaned back as he surveyed the man shaking before him. “With your boyfriend.”

Seung Jo nodded, wiping his sweat with his palm. “I wanted to live a better life, Mr. Kim. My boyfriend- he’s a barista. He has been through enough in life, that’s why I accepted Ms. Na Yeon’s offer. I wanted money.” He sniffed. “I wanted to marry my boyfriend and give him the life he deserves.”

Taehyung looked at the man closely. “Did you ever… kiss my…”

The man shook his head with violent passion. “No, sir! No. I could never cheat on my boyfriend.”                                                                                    

Taehyung’s chest deflated. “So, you never had feelings for her?”

“I swear I didn’t, sir.”

Good. The guy hadn’t held you or touched you with any lustful intent. Taehyung would have chopped the fucker’s fingers off if he had. He felt lucky.

“Na Yeon doesn’t know that you’re gay?”

She had made a very foolish mistake, overseeing that important detail. One that was going to cost her dearly.

“No, sir, I wanted the money. I couldn’t risk not being hired. She has no idea.”

The man was visibly shaking. He kept wiping his sweaty palms on his sides. “Please, please don’t kill me, sir. I …”

“Oh no, Seung Jo. Here’s what we are going to do...”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Y/N?”

You turned to Seung Jo. His almond skin was glinting in the afternoon sun. “Yeah?”

He passed the tickets to you. Your hands shook when you opened the envelope. The destination made your head swim. Santorini. It was real. You were really going. Your baby girl and you were finally going to be free.

You nodded at him absently before asking “And yours?”

He chuckled, nodding. “I have it safely locked at home. Can’t risk carrying it around, babe.”

“Yeah. Right.”

You fell silent, looking at the cottony clouds sailing above. “It feels so scary-” You took a deep breath – “Getting out of there.” The silence resumed for a moment. “I’m scared I might wake up and find this is all nothing but a dream.”

Seung Jo’s conscience pricked him for the first time. He was dangling freedom in front of a woman who would never get out of the cage. But he had gotten into the sticky mess; he had to get out of it alive.

Taehyung had threatened to kill his boyfriend if he didn’t finish the game he had started.

He squeezed your hand, gently assuring that you were going to escape for real.

“But we’re going on Friday, not Thursday.”

You stared at the ticket closely, surprise written on your face. “I thought you said Thursday. I clearly remember.”

He looked ahead, avoiding your stare. “Yeah I did. But I could get tickets only for Friday. Just a day, babe, hold on for one more day.”

You nodded, gulping down the fear nibbling at your heart. Taehyung would go ballistic if he knew your passports were missing. Just one day.

“So, be ready and I’ll come pick you and Ha Neul up on Friday. You told him you’re going to the dentist, right?”

You nodded again. The alibis were already ready.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“You ready? It’s time. Get going, Seung Jo.”

“Yes, ma’am. I am on my way to the house.”

“Text me when you get there.”

She cut the call and picked up her burner cell. The room was silent except for the low sound of the dial tone.

“You there yet?”

“Yeah. I’ve already set up the scope.”

“Okay. Remember, she’ll be there with her daughter. Wrap it up nice and clean.”

“For sure.”

The sniper hung up, looking at his neon watch. He had some time to kill before his target would be arriving.

Meanwhile, Na Yeon was micromanaging Seung Ho, calling him every few minutes to check up on him. She was in her apartment, biting her fingernails and praying that everything would go right.

Seung Jo hadn’t told her anything that was the least suspicious. Had Taehyung really not found out? Was she winning? Her controlling nature was bursting at the seams, not being there to witness your death. She didn’t like putting her fate into other people’s hands. But some battles were better fought remotely.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“I never miss a target.”

Her fingers trembled, causing the cellphone to shake. She drew a shaky breath.

“Fine. Abort and return.”

When she turned, she had a violent start. A dark outline was standing the doorway, moving towards her. Taehyung stepped into view, his devilish smile lending unnatural charm to his features.

“Guess I won then?”

She had no choice but to surrender, tail well between her legs. All the confidence in her had evaporated away. Not because she failed to kill you. Rather because she had lost him. He was never going to be hers.

“What’s it gonna be? She asked softly. “Death by what? Guns? Poison? Explosives?”

He chuckled lightly. “None.” He took great pleasure in seeing her startled expression.

“What?!”

He flashed his boxy smile, melting the living soul out of her.

“You can never get me, Na Yeon. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t live.” He crossed his arms and pursed his lips. “You did try to harm the singularly most important person in my life. For that though, you’ll have to pay the price.”

He dipped his hands into his pockets.

“A sniper? Really? I never expected that much class from you. I’m amazed.” He chuckled lightly. “Your sniper couldn’t shoot my wife because according to Seung Jo’s new plan, they’re leaving tomorrow, not today.” He loved the way she gulped in shock.

“You played me, so I played you by using your own man against you.”

That evening, So Na Yeon was restrained and taken to the Klammer Institute, where she was placed in a psychiatric ward reserved exclusively for her. Her registration form simply stated ‘No next of kin. Hold till end of life.’

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

You couldn’t sleep all night. What if something raised Taehyung’s doubts? You weren’t going to take any luggage. Getting yourselves out of Taehyung’s clutches was enough for now. You had prepped Ha Neul for the big plan, telling her that it was a surprise for daddy and she absolutely should not say anything before him.

Taehyung was tired and slept soundly by your side. It eased your mind to know he wasn’t aware of how fidgety you were. That man had the sense of a bloodhound.

Dawn came, and soon it was bright and sunny. Taehyung smiled into his glass of juice when you announced that you were going to the dentist.

“Sure, honey. Be back soon.” He resumed scanning his newspaper.

You waited and waited, biting your lips, and stealing looks at the clock. The ship was going to sail away soon. But no Seung Jo came. He had talked to you the previous evening, going over the entire plan. Where, then, was he?

You jumped whenever a shadow fell across the foyer, hoping to see Seung Jo bounding in. But every time, you were disappointed.

Taehyung kept a straight face when he asked, “Do you want one of the guards to drive you?”

You shook your head, biting your lips harder. “No, I’m fine.” You looked up at the clock again. He wasn’t coming. He had let you down.

You had chased a fickle drop, and it had vanished, leaving you stranded in the desert.

At that exact time, Seung Jo was inside the plane bound to Malta, holding hands with his boyfriend, waiting for the takeoff.

His boyfriend pressed his hand warmly. “What is it, babe? Sad about leaving this place?”

Seung Jo gave him a watery smile. “Uh, yeah. Kind of.”

The plane took off, carrying them both towards a new phase of life. Seung Jo leaned and peered down the window, wondering about you. He had done everything Taehyung had ordered him to. There was nothing more to be done. He hoped you would be alright.

“I love you,” his boyfriend said, leaning on his shoulder and sighing happily.

“I love you too.”

“To better places, love.”

“Yeah, babe. To better places only.”

With that, Seung Jo erased you off his mind.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Wo Bin discreetly cleared his throat, standing at full attention before his boss.

“What’s the matter, Bin-ah?”

The man hesitated slightly, unsure of how to best word it.

“Mr. Boss, no, Kim… no, Mr. Kim….”

Taehyung shot a penetrating glance at his aide, peering at him over his reading glasses.

“Spit it out, Bin.”

“I don’t know how to…” He saw his boss’s nostrils flare up, and he blurted it out. “I- I’ve been in-“ He swallowed hard, “-in love with So Na Yeon for years now.”

He nervously watched his boss digest the information, waiting to have his head bitten off.

Taehyung crossed his arms and stared at Wo Bin hard.

“For years?”

Wo Bin nodded silently.

“Help me understand, Bin. You say you love her and then she tries to kill my wife? Were you two planning…”

“No, no, boss!  I never told her. She doesn’t know. Not an inkling. I never even asked her out.”

Taehyung leaned back a bit. “So, are you going to fight me for putting her in an institute?” He looked at the gun in Wo Bin’s holster. “Are you going to shoot me?”

“Of course not, sir. I loved her. I still do in fact.” The man wiped his brow. “But I would never choose her over you.”

Taehyung’s brow shot up, intrigued.

“Why is that?”

“She doesn’t love me.”

The soft voice made Taehyung uneasy. Was Wo Bin mad at him that So Na Yeon was in love with him? Would he kill him for her? He wouldn’t be surprised if Wo Bin decided to go down that road.

Wo Bin looked down at his boots and continued: “She’s not So Na Yeon anymore. I didn’t fall in love with Song Jun Hyi.” He snapped his head back up to look at Taehyung square in the eyes. “And most importantly, I would never betray you.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

One year later

“Mommy, will daddy get candy?”

“Yes, baby.”

Your little girl shook her pigtails cutely, saying “Will I get gummy bears?”

You smiled and nodded at her, assuring her that she would.

Taehyung was talking to Wo Bin, who was complaining loudly about the lack of discipline in the ranks. “Some guys are just too unruly, boss. They’re like a bunch of school boys.”

Taehyung’s phone vibrated, and he smiled as he picked it up.

“Yes, sugar?”

“Min Ha Neul wants gummy bears. Don’t be a miser. Get her some M&Ms too.”

“And you, love? Can I get you anything? Cravings?”

“Fucking get hit by a car and die.”

“I’ll remember not to,” he replied, grinning.

You sighed and looked down. 6 months pregnant. It was humiliating to carry his child around. But you couldn’t hate the baby. No, you weren’t evil enough to do that. He was such a bitch to you, yes, but you would never hurt babies. You would never stoop that low.

You still randomly thought of Seung Jo. Where had he gone? Had Taehyung found out and killed him? But Taehyung was a man to gloat. He would have laughed in your face and told the news. So, what else had happened to Seung Jo? The thoughts came occasionally, out of nowhere. And every time, you daydreamed of escaping on that ship, far far away from Kim Taehyung.

When Taehyung returned home, he couldn’t find you in the bedroom. Waltzing over to the kitchen, he froze when he saw you downing something straight out of a bottle. He bounded over to you, snatching it, and raining slaps on your face.

“You’re trying to kill my baby,” he screamed in hysteria, shaking you by the throat. “You bitch, you’re poisoning my baby!”

“Let me go,” you croaked, “it’s – it’s just cough syrup.” You threw the bottle down, fighting to breathe.

His hands abruptly left your throat, his pupils still dilated in the surge of adrenaline. You looked over his shoulder and saw Ha Neul peeking around the door, scared by the loud noise.

When he bent and looked at the label, he hung his head sheepishly. It was cough syrup.

“Don’t worry,” you snapped, brushing past him, “Unlike you, I don’t hurt children.” You paused and glared at him. “Or anyone, for that matter.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

The baby was due in a few weeks. You had to get a breath of fresh air. You had been going to see your parents for a few weeks, but then the back pain had become too much to handle. You had missed a few weeks, and suddenly you decided on a whim to visit them. It was a long walk, yes, but it would help clear your mind.

You wanted to take Almond too. The poor boy really needed some love. Those brutes with guns didn’t exactly shower him with the love he deserved.

When you knocked on the study door, there was no response. Taehyung worked from home just like he had done when you were pregnant with Ha Neul. You tried the handle and opened the door, but he wasn’t there. Fuck. He usually went wild if you didn’t ask him before taking Almond out. Screw it, you couldn’t be bothered to call and ask.

The crunch of gravel underneath your sneakers felt oddly satisfying. The elation of taking Almond along without Taehyung knowing stirred rebellious joy in your heart. The guards might probably tell him, but you would deal with it later.

Almond happily sniffed at the flowers by the roadside, wagging his tail and occasionally pressing his body against your legs to show his appreciation. Such a dear little thing. You were smiling when you entered the cemetery. Walking past the headstones, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion when you saw two bouquets of white carnations laid neatly on your parents’ graves. You hastened towards them, Almond bounding closely behind you.

The water droplets on the flowers were still fresh, the candles had just gone out. You touched a wick. It was still warm. You looked around wildly, almost missing the man walking far ahead of you, amid the maze of graves.

So, you had finally lost your mind. Were you seeing Yoongi? Had you gone crazy? What would happen to Ha Neul if you were sent to a psych ward? A billion questions buzzed in your mind.

“Almond, stay.”

The dog sat down faithfully.

You trailed behind the apparition, unsure of what to expect. Turning around a row of headstones, he turned to the side, and his side profile was thrown into light. Your breath stopped, heart hammering away inside your ribcage. He sauntered away, unaware of the heavily pregnant woman following him. You ducked behind a headstone, watching him walk out through the other entrance, making straight for his car.

The car revved up and glided away, leaving you staring open-mouthed. He had been the mysterious flower guy the whole fucking time? The fact flashed at you out of the blue. It was Wednesday. Your parents had died on a Wednesday.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

When you walked back home and left Almond at his kennel, the car was already parked in the porch. A bouquet of lilies was on the kitchen counter. Near it was a bag of Tootsie Pops and gummy bears for Ha Neul.

You walked down the hallway to his study. The door was half open. He was writing something and turned in surprise when he saw you.

“What is it, Y/N?”

You couldn’t coherently form a word. His gaze roamed down and settled on the flecks on your pants.

“Is that… dog hair?”

“I went for a walk; you weren’t there when I came to ask about Almond.”

You waited for him to say something. Anything.

“Well, it’s okay just this one time.” It looked as if he wanted to say something else. “I.. uh, brought you some flowers. Didn’t want them to be thrown on my face, so I left them on the counter.”

Mustering up a great deal of courage, you breathed out, “The flowers-“

He didn’t give away anything. There was no dawning recognition on his features.

“Yeah, lilies. You love lilies.”

“Uh, yeah. Yep, I do.”

You silently removed yourself from the room, too dazed to think. The man you had met at the cemetery had said that he had been paid for like- what? Five years? You realized that his job was to scrub wax and get the shrunken flowers off the graves before you went to see them on Thursdays. Taehyung knew your parents had died on a Wednesday. How much did he actually know about you?

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Y/N?”

Taehyung had woken up thirsty, and had gone down to get a sip of cold water.

The fridge door was open; and the soft light fell on his favorite person in the world, with an ice cream tub cuddled in her chest. At the sound of his deep groggy voice, the spoon fell on the floor with a clang.

“Here,” he picked a fresh spoon and handed it to you. “Oh my, Y/N, you’re so beautiful.”

You raised an eyebrow, licking the back of the spoon and smacking your lips. Was he fucking kidding you?

“I’m round as a ball, wearing sweatpants twice my size, leaking through my hoodie, stuffing my face at 3 in the morning with blackcurrant ice cream, and you find me beautiful?”

He snorted, spilling the water on his shirt. Wiping his mouth, he laughed at your indignant face.

“Of course. You don’t believe me?”

“Like hell I would,” you grunted, digging into the tub to scoop up some more.

He clutched your arm, steering you forward as he kicked the fridge door closed.

“Come, let’s go. No, bring the ice cream with you. It’s okay.”

When you reached the bedroom, he flicked on the light, the sudden radiance dazzling your eyes.

He pulled you to the mirrored closet, standing behind you with his chest pressed against your back.

“Look,” he said, taking the ice cream tub from your hands and placing it on the bed gently. “Look ahead.”

His fingers grabbed the hem of your hoodie, his knuckles grazing against your belly and leaving goosebumps in their wake. He slowly lifted the fabric up, bunching it up so your belly was naked and vulnerable.

“See?” he asked, his hand cupping the widest part of your belly, the other hand squeezing your shoulder. “See how beautiful you are, carrying my child. Don’t you see? We made that together.”

His finger traced delicate lines along the bump.

“You’re growing a little Kim inside you, Y/N. Look how pretty you look, swollen with my seed.”

He bent slightly to breathe into your ear: “So fucking perfect.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Kim Taehyung, you miserable bitch!”

Taehyung shot up to his feet, rushing to your side.

“Yes, honey. I’m here.”

The midwife tried her best to pretend that she didn’t hear you insult him every few seconds your contractions came on.

“You made this happen. You put me through this, you asshole!”

He didn’t care about the midwife squirming behind him. You were his Y/N. You had every right to call him names. He held your hand, attempting to help you focus on your breathing.

“Breathe in, baby, just follow my lead.”

“Fuck you,” you screamed sobbing in agony.

“You can do this, Y/N. Just hang on a little more.”

“I can’t, I can’t,” you whimpered, wanting to smash his head against the wall for putting you through the whole ordeal.

“I know,” he said, rubbing your palm and looking hopelessly at the midwife. “How much longer?”

“Just an hour or so, Mr. Kim.”

He sighed and leaned down to wipe your clammy forehead. “Just a little while longer, baby.”

Taehyung could remember the last time he was in a delivery room only too clearly. He had been seething in white hot rage, furious at Min for letting you handle so much pain.

But now, standing nervously by your side, he felt radically different. He couldn’t wait to get the baby out of you and end your suffering, yes, but there was a small feeling of awe that humbled him.

This woman, the one screaming out curses and clawing at his hands, was birthing his child. He was no more just a man; he was a father. The very thought affected him more than he had anticipated.

── ⋆✩⋆ ──-

“That’s it, Mrs. Kim, you’re doing great,” the doctor called, her head between the stirrups. “Give me one more push.”

Taehyung felt something odd going on. The pressure on his hand was weakening by the second.

“Y/N?” he called out, bending to look closely. “Are you alright?”

The machines started beeping in a frenzy, and the doctor yelled for help.

“She’s seizing!”

More doctors rushed in, and one of them jabbed at his chest, trying to push him out of the way.

“Please get out of the room, sir,” he said, using his weight to buckle the tall man.

“Yeah? Try and make me,” Taehyung said, rooted to his spot.

People in white coats were barking orders at each other, pushing and pulling his beloved wife all over the place.

The young doctor opened his mouth to argue, and Taehyung sneered at him angrily.

“Look, you moron, that woman is my wife, and I swear I will rip your balls off if you don’t back off!”

Suddenly, all the pandemonium stopped, and the doctors began filing out of the room.

“What, what?” He shouted, kicking himself for losing track of you.

Your doctor glared at him, pissed.

“If you are done heckling my intern, Mr. Kim, you may be pleased to know your baby is coming. Now.”

Taehyung ran over to the doctor’s side, watching her expertly handle the teeny tiny head coming through.

You were slumped against the pillows in exhaustion, the final push had usurped all your energy.

Before he even saw the baby’s face, Taehyung rushed back to you, hugging you tight. His body shook in emotion.

“I almost died, you scared me so much.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Kim Jaemin was born hale and healthy, his cute cheeks and glittering eyes making you wonder how such a wonderful little human could have been sired by Kim Taehyung.

When you took him back home after a few days, the entire staff of Taehyung’s office showed up to celebrate the baby. The mansion was decorated with festoons and balloons, welcoming the Kim heir heartily.

Taehyung threw a party in honor of the birth of his son, sending out handwritten invitations to every person in the elite circle.

He played the part of the generous host to perfection, moving around the hall with a gracious smile. He had bullied you into wearing a pretty dress and greeting the guests.

You were hastening to get yourself a drink when his sonorous voice chanted your name and piqued your interest.

“… is such a talented person. Yeah, it’s a pity she couldn’t work on projects, I am sure she could work from home. Her artistic sense is impeccable. Come, I’ll show you how tastefully she has decorated the study. You couldn’t see such perfect harmony and rhythm anywhere.”

── ⋆✩⋆ ──-

Ha Neul was elated to have such a cute younger brother. She eagerly brought all her toys to stuff inside his crib, her gummy smile widening every time he giggled.

Jaemin took after you, most of his features resembled you. Taehyung took absolute pride in that. He had made a baby with you. A baby that looked so alike you. A part of him and you were inside Jaemin. Curiously though, he felt like he loved you more than he did his own boy. Yes, Jaemin was his offspring, but it was you that he loved. And you always came first.

Not an ounce of his jealousy had changed. He still hated when you coddled Jaemin or breastfed him. His son was stealing your love. He hoped he wouldn’t grow to regret having Jaemin. He would have much preferred a girl, just so he could compare Min’s daughter and his own and tell himself that he had won over Yoongi, producing the best child.

But when he saw Ha Neul kissing Jaemin’s forehead with her tender lips, he wondered if he were really a monster to even think of comparing children. How could Ha Neul love Jaemin so much? Wasn’t she the least bit jealous? He was baffled and lost, stressed at the complexity, and wondering why everything was so fucking difficult.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Ha Neul was off at kindergarten, you had fought tooth and nail with Taehyung so she could go to school. He had reluctantly agreed, just to get a break from your constant swearing.

After sending her off with Wo Bin, you looked at the clock. You had an appointment with the pediatrician. Taehyung had already given you a credit card, kissing the top of your head before leaving to his office. Strangely, he only ever patted Jaemin’s back, there were no kisses. There weren’t any kisses for Ha Neul either, but you couldn’t help wondering why Jaemin got the same treatment. Wasn’t Jaemin his own flesh and blood?

Wasn’t the war he waged against Yoongi over already? He had gotten what he had wanted. He had ruined the Min clan, taken you and made you a Kim, and finally gotten his own child. What else did he want?

The grandfather clock chimed and startled you out of your musings. You had better shower; the appointment couldn’t be missed. Laying Jaemin down in his crib, you told the nanny to engage him while you got ready.

“Mrs. Kim?” The nanny was standing at the door meekly. “Ah, good. I thought you had already gotten into the shower.”

“What is it, Dana?”

“Little Jaemin broke the harness of his stroller, I wanted to remind you.”

Oh yeah, you had almost forgotten it. You had to buy a new one. Wait. Ha Neul’s old stroller was still in the basement. It could fill in until you bought another one.

“I think there’s a 5-point harness somewhere, I’ll get it.”

Taehyung always insisted that you never go down. He just forbade you from going to the basement. But you had sneaked there a few times. The walls were definitely wallpapered for some reason. Who wallpapered basements? Apart from that, there wasn’t anything suspicious whatsoever.

When you went down, there was so much stuff boxed up neatly in the basement. Ha Neul’s boxes took just a couple minutes to find. The harness was packed along with it, and you grabbed it and turned to leave before something curious made you stare harder.

The wallpaper had previously disguised it, but the ageing and peeling had revealed some parts of the wall. The paper dipped into parts of rectangular crevice almost the exact size of a door. A door? Was it a secret door? A tunnel? Maybe that’s why Taehyung had forbade you from coming to the basement? What was that crevice for?

You felt around the paper, knocking, and pressing, and sure enough, it was a door. Fiddling around, your fingers found a keyhole. It was so small that you almost missed it. How could you open it? There had to be a key somewhere… You tried pushing and jiggling the door. But it was firm and unrelenting. The curious side of you itched to know what was on the other side. Something like an escape tunnel, surely, because Taehyung had been so stubborn about shooing you away from the damned basement.

When you went back up, you passed the harness to the nanny and hit the shower. You were still thinking about the door. Well, you would find out soon enough.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Se Jong was waiting impatiently, smoking his last cigarette, and cursing at no one in particular. How long was it going to take for those stupid dickwads to get the job done? It was getting late. He had to have heard from them a quarter of an hour earlier. The loud ringtone startled him, and he cursed again, shifting his phone to his ear.

“You done?”

“Yeah, man.”

He smiled, licking his lips eagerly. God, he was going to be so rich. He took his sweet time finishing his smoke, dialing Taehyung’s number lazily. A deep voice answered.

“Kim Taehyung.”

Se Jong grinned into the phone. “I’m Se Jong.” He snorted a bit, the chuckle making a gross sound in his throat. “Wanna talk.”

Taehyung was puzzled. His guys never called him directly. It was always Wo Bin who dealt with their calls and reported to him. Was the bastard drunk?

“I’m busy, keep it short,” he snapped.

The voice on the other end laughed stupidly, pissing him off even further.

“Did you just- laugh at me, Se Jong?” he shouted, slapping the table. “Why are you even calling me? Quit wasting my time!”

“Simmer down, Taehyung,” the voice drawled, shocking Taehyung into stillness. He dared call him by name? He was certainly asking for a bullet in his brain, the damned son of a bitch.

The cocky chuckle repeated itself, and then the voice came out low and menacing.

“I got your kid. I’m gonna rip him in pieces if you don’t do what I say.”

Taehyung’s blood chilled. His fingers clutched the phone tighter. His son Jaemin? What the fuck was happening? He shot up, sprinting out of his office, phone pressed against his ear. He raced through the paneled offices, taking the stairs at a frenzied pace.

“Get me Wo Bin. Now!” He screamed at the driver, hopping into the car and slamming the door. Se Jong was chuckling on the other end of the line when he panted into the phone, out of breath.

“How much do you want?”

“Oh, Taehyung.” There was a mocking whistle. “How much can you give me?”

The car was racing towards home. Taehyung’s mind was spinning in circles, nothing was comprehensible. You? What about you? Was it only Jaemin that had been kidnapped?

“I… What do you want?”

Silence.

The man chuckled again. “Power. Everything. All that you have. Oh, including that pretty piece of ass, your wife. The whole deal.”

Taehyung gritted his teeth, relapsing into stony silence, willing the car to move faster. The tires squealed, and he jumped out even before the ignition was turned off. Another car pulled up right behind him. Wo Bin jumped out, concern written all over his features.

Taehyung sprinted towards the nursery, heart thudding and making him feel sick.

“Y/N? Y/N?” He shouted at the top of his lungs. “Y/N!!”

No baby in the crib.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

Se Jong laughed, snorting again. “No boy at home? Ready to talk business now?”

Wo Bin watched Taehyung collapse onto the floor, squatting weakly. Sweat was pouring down his clothes.

“What do you want?”

“Now that’s the right tone, that pleading tone is good to hear. I’ll call in five.” The line went dead.

Taehyung stared at his phone screen blankly, feeling numb throughout.

“The fuck were you shouting about?”

Taehyung looked up startled, and saw you standing before him, your face cross. Most importantly, a child was on your hips, hugging you like a koala. His son. Jaemin.

He sputtered his words out.

“I- was just… looking for… never mind, Y/N.”

You gave him the hardest glare you could muster, wild at being interrupted in the middle of a diaper change.

Taehyung got up, pulling his subordinate by his sleeve, dragging him to the window.

“What the fuck is Se Jong high on, Bin-ah?” he spat, staring at the confused man.

“What exactly did he say, sir?”

Taehyung could hardly contain his loudness. “He told me he had kidnapped my son for fuck’s sake?”

“Kidnapped?”

You spun around on hearing Wo Bin hiss the word.

“But little Jaemin is here, sir.” Taehyung blew out his cheeks while Wo Bin scratched his head.

“Get me that bitch, that loser bitch in Klammer.”

Taehyung was pacing angrily when the orderly at Klammer Institute let Na Yeon talk into the phone.

“What have you done, bitch?” He screamed, anger rising exponentially. “What is the deal with Se Jong? I’m going to fucking ruin you-“

“What happened?” There was an agonizing silence spanning a whole minute. And then the woman giggled into the phone. “Ooh, something juicy did happen, huh?” She sounded surprised. “Se Jong? Who, the banker? What did he do? Spill the tea, it’s so boring here in the psych ward.”

He held his nose, trying to force himself to calm down. “You didn’t fucking send him?”

She chortled, annoying him to no end. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I hope he kills that bitch.  So that-“

He disconnected the call, cursing out loud.

── ⋆✩⋆ ──--

Se Jong was in the mood for celebration. He was going to strip everything Taehyung had built and become the new lord. Everything Kim Taehyung had built, all his drug cartels, his businesses, everything was going to be his. He was going to be so fucking powerful.

His phone rang again.

“Man, everything OK?”

“Yes, everything’s smooth. How you holding up?”

“Alright here. Little biter we got here. Bit my arm. Can’t wait to get rid of her.”

Se Jong was slow to catch the last word.

“Her?”

“Yeah, man. Kim’s girl.”

Se Jong spat the whiskey he was sipping all over his car’s windscreen. “What the hell are you saying? I told you to get his son!”

“But his wife was late from the clinic, we couldn’t hang out there no more without no one bein’ suspicious. Chill, dude, we snatched the daughter from school. What difference is it gonna make? Boy or girl, both are his, right?”

His entire neck vein was bulging prominently when Se Jong shouted into the phone:

“He doesn’t give a fuck about that one!”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Did you say ‘kidnapped’, Wo Bin?” You advanced towards him, suspicion setting off a loud alarm in your brain. “What is happening here?”

Taehyung stepped nearer to you, murmuring that it was nothing of significance.

“No,” you pushed him away, snapping at him. “Tell me now.”

“He was probably drunk, or high on something, he said he had kidnapped our baby,” Taehyung said, the relieved expression on his face changing as he saw the horror on your face.

“Y/N? Jaemin is safe. So- so… why are you….”

“Oh my God! Ha Neul! Where is my daughter?” Bunching his shirt in your fists, you screamed at him. “Tell me you checked on her. Did you call the school? Did you?”

He looked helplessly at Wo Bin, not daring to answer. Ha Neul hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“You’re pathetic,” you spat out, rushing out to get your shoes.

“Y/N! Where are you going?” he called after you, running to keep up with your pace.

“To fetch my baby. Because you clearly don’t give a shit about her.”

He pulled on your elbow, stilling you. “Listen. I will get her. You stay here with Jaemin.”

“You think I am gonna trust you? You forgot my baby girl, you bitch!”

Taehyung winced at the word, fully aware that Wo Bin was listening.

“Y/N, fucking see reason…” His phone rang again. “Se Jong, I’ll end you, do you hea-“

You snatched the phone from him, screaming into it. “Listen, motherfucker, give me my baby back, or I’ll shove your balls down your fucking throat.”

Taehyung wrestled the phone away, motioning for you to be patient. He swore and cussed briefly, nodding at Wo Bin and they bolted out of the door before you could blink.

“HEY!”

But they had already gone. When you tried to run after them, armed guys blocked your way, brandishing rifles and guns and making you retreat.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

You were pacing nervously around, not able to think clearly. Jaemin was sent to his nanny, under strict orders to stay put. Your baby, your little Min Ha Neul, was she alright? How foolish and ignorant these goons were, letting a guy kidnap a kid right under their armed noses. Fucking losers. Poor baby Ha Neul, she was probably scared out of her wits.

It reminded you of when Yoongi had been locked up in that basement. The scary memories wrapped you in sheets of terror, smothering your lungs. You collapsed in a half-faint, hitting the floor with a thud. Something poked at your butt. Bleary eyed, you reached down and removed the cold object, cursing at it for jabbing you.

The object glinted in your fingers. You had seen it already; it was the chain Taehyung always wore around his neck. There was a small Abloy key attached to the chain. The key was somehow special. It opened something. But you had no idea what.

You threw it away, the faint cling of the chain resounding against the flooring. So what if it was special? You couldn’t be bothered to worry about it. Not when your baby was somewhere, cold and probably scared too. She was only a child, your precious child. It made your blood boil that Taehyung had completely forgotten about Ha Neul in the first place.

It felt like history was repeating itself, mocking at you cruelly. First, Min Yoongi. Now, Min Ha Neul. At least you knew where Yoongi had been. You knew he had been locked in the basement, waiting to be saved. But for Ha Neul, you felt so helpless, not knowing where she was. You traced your thoughts back. Basement. You looked at the chain lying forgotten on the floor. The key.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Se Jong! Show your face, you filthy cocksucker!”

The garage was eerily empty, unused cars parked at odd angles, jamming the place. Everything was dusty and forgotten.

“Bin-ah, cover the right flank, I’m going to towards the left,” Taehyung whispered, cocking his gun.

There was utter silence, not even the rustle of leaves providing any relief. Taehyung listened for a sign, any sign, to deduce where your daughter was. It would take hours to comb through each rattled car, not to mention the time it would take for just two men to accomplish the feat.

The loud ding of Taehyung’s phone echoed around. Sliding against a car’s door, Taehyung squatted down and slid his phone out.

03:10 Unknown sender

Throw your guns away & raise your hands. Both of you.

Taehyung turned on his phone’s flashlight and shone it under the maze of cars. There were no feet anywhere. That meant his enemy was most probably in one of the cars. But which one?

“Boss,” Wo Bin hissed, his voice slicing through the silence. From his vantage point, Taehyung saw Wo Bin crawl under a line of cars.

Tucking his phone back, Taehyung started crawling too, inching slowly forward. Wo Bin gestured towards a black Chevrolet parked a few paces ahead. He pointed to his eyes, and then to the floor. Taehyung squinted hard, and then he realized what it was.

There was a wet patch under the car. AC condensation. They had found the car.

Taking careful aim, Taehyung took a shot at the tires, and Wo Bin followed suit. Just as the first bullet hit the wheel disc, Ha Neul’s voice rang out in a high-pitched scream.

“Daddy!”

Wo Bin advanced ahead, rushing in the direction of the scream. Taehyung’s fingers were groping for his gun when a bullet hit the ground dangerously close to Wo Bin. More gunshots followed in quick succession, and Ha Neul wailed again, this time her voice broken by a sob.

“Daddy!”

Despite his better judgement, Taehyung crept out from under the cars, in full view of any hidden attacker.

“Min Ha Neul!”

“Daddy!”

“I’m coming, baby!”

A bullet whizzed through the air, hitting him square in the forearm. Every angry nerve in him was roused, and he ran like a cheetah, ducking under cars and jumping over hoods, not minding the rain of bullets showering all around him.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

The key fit like magic. You had initially thought that it was too small to fit. But it clicked open just fine. What were you going to find behind the door? It was scary and mysterious, but if there were a tunnel you could crawl out of, you would do it in a heartbeat just for your baby.

Slowly, you pushed the door open, met with eerie darkness. You fumbled, feeling around, and touching what felt like a toggle switch. You flicked it on, and the room was flooded with blinding radiance. The sight before you knocked all the breath out of your lungs.

There were shelves and shelves made of crystal, filled with hauntingly familiar things. Photos of you adorned the walls, framed in gold.  There were little boxes, which you found to contain empty candy wrappers, used lipstick tubes, hair ties, juice straws, every little odd thing collected in each box. There were your old shoes, ones that you had thrown out before you had even met Yoongi.

On the far left was a shelf of books. There was also a chair with a reading light. You looked closer, and found that the books were Virginia Woolf, Charlotte Bronte, and a few other authors you exclusively read. They weren’t from your own collection; they had the seal of the district library on them. Leafing through the pages, you found out that you had borrowed every one of those books at some point in time. Your signature was on all of them. So was Taehyung’s. The dates showed that Taehyung had borrowed them long ago. Long before Yoongi came into your life.

There were more boxes, more things to go through. But you were drawn to the turquoise colored crystal trinket box that was right at the center of the room. You reached out and took it, the cool crystal sending a subconscious shiver up your back. You opened it slowly, and your jaw dropped.

Nestled in it comfortably were your and Yoongi’s wedding rings. They sparkled and winked at you, catching the light concentrated by the crystal they were placed in. You were holding them, not knowing what to feel, when you heard Taehyung’s muffled voice.

“Y/N!”

Your heart turned cold. He couldn’t catch you at the basement. It was incredibly creepy, and you had no idea what to do with the sudden sensory overload. You almost dropped the crystal box, hastening to replace it. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a framed photograph.

You. With your parents. It had been hanging in your childhood home.

Forgetting about the man calling your name, you reached over and took the photograph. The glass had not a speck of dust. It had been wiped so clean that it gleamed. You stood there, quietly sobbing, not sure how to deal with everything, when soft footsteps stole behind you.

“Y/N?”

He was carrying Ha Neul over his shoulder. “Shh, she’s sleeping.” He beckoned to you, inviting you into a group hug. You silently sidled over to him, crying into his shoulder.

“Sh, baby, she’s fine. She’s fine. It’s okay.” He patted your hair, kissing the top of your head. “Here.” He passed your daughter to you.

You cuddled your sleeping child, all the worry easing away. You held her against your bosom, chest heaving with the force of your sobs. Her sleepy little fingers clenched and unclenched, finding purchase at your shirt.

“Taehyung… all this? Why didn’t.. how.. I never knew…”

“It’s alright,” he repeated, soothing you. “We’ll talk about it later.”

The wetness of his elbow soaked a red patch on your shirt.

“You’re bleeding,” you hissed, pupils wide with horror.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, attempting to draw the injured hand away. It didn’t really matter. Because he was with you.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Taehyung was sitting on the couch, staring into the space. He hadn’t meant for you to see the memento room. It made him feel embarrassed. His cheeks were hot. He was fanning himself with his hands when he heard your light step.

“Taehyung?”

He gazed at you, no words filling the silence that stretched over several seconds.

You took a step forward, unsure. “Why- the flowers- how long-“

He patted the couch, motioning for you sit down. When you silently glided to the couch, he took your hand in his.

“Now, tell me, baby. Ask me anything but take a deep breath first.”

Man, breathing was so difficult. “I saw you at the cemetery.”

“Oh.”

You stared longer, hoping for another word to fall from his lips. “Why? Every Wednesday? What do they have to do with you? Why do you-”

He blinked, clearing his throat. “They gave birth to you. They deserve to be worshipped. Centuries of destined ancestry and lineage led to their making you. They gave you to this world. They gave you to me.”

You were taken aback. “And the room? Those things there? You stalked me?”

He scoffed lightly. “I loved you. Still do. Always will.”

“But wasn’t it Yoongi you wanted to destroy? You…“

He squeezed your hand. “He was an obstacle. Nothing else. I was blind with hatred, angry that he’d taken you away from me.”

“Why didn’t-” you forced yourself to breathe. “- why didn’t you let me know? Even before I dated Yoongi… Why?” Your voice broke. You would have probably declined, but who knew, you might have even agreed to go on a date with him.

He simply sighed. “Thinking about roads not taken seldom gives you peace of mind.”

You blinked back the tears. “And Woolf? You read Woolf?”

“It is all rather pointless and second-rate without you,” he quoted, flashing a boxy smile.

You didn’t know what to say. It was impossible to love Taehyung. He had killed Yoongi. He had almost drowned Ha Neul. But…

Ha Neul peeked her pretty head around the door.

“Mommy, can I play with baby Jae in the nursery?”

“Yes, you can, sweetheart.”

She ran away happily.

He had saved Ha Neul from the kidnapper. He had taken a bullet to protect your daughter. It was all so crazy and complicated.

“So,” he drawled, breaking into your thoughts. “Do you think you can love me?”

“No.”

He nodded and bowed his head. He hesitated before asking the next question. He feared hearing something he wouldn’t like.

“Maybe you could learn to like me?”

He held his breath as you thought about it.

“I –“

Your words hung in the air, unspoken, when the sound of guns going off echoed throughout the mansion. Taehyung jumped up, drawing his gun from the holster, and pulling you behind him.

“Stay back, Y/N,” he said, rushing towards the door. “Don’t come out until I call for you.”

A bullet whizzed in through the window, hitting a framed picture and shattering the glass.

“Down, stay down,” he shouted, bolting through the door. He stood there for a moment, hesitating. Turning on his heel, he ran back to you and knelt on the floor. Cupping your cheeks, he kissed you hastily, as if he were scared that you would disappear the next second.

“Y/N, don’t move,” he urged, shaking your shoulders until you nodded in response.

He was out of the door the next moment, before he could hear you shriek urgently:

“Ha Neul and Jaemin! What about the babies?”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Taehyung ran towards the source of the gunshots. He knew it was from his own guards. He knew the sounds of the rifles by heart. But who were they shooting at?

The sounds grew louder and louder, and he ran up the stairs in hot pursuit. There he was, dressed in all black, the man responsible for all the chaos.

Taehyung ground his teeth. He should have expected the asshole to show up sometime. He hadn’t pegged him to be one of the vengeful types, but here he was, proving his assumption wrong.

The guards were all pointing their rifles at the man, but the indecision was palpable.

“Don’t hesitate, just shoot!” Wo Bin cried, egging the guards on. “Casualties are unavoidable in battles.”

The guards looked at each other, fingers still unmoving on their triggers. They needed someone from higher up in the chain of command to issue an order.

Taehyung calmly walked onto the damp terrace floor, the click of his shoes enough to instill reassurance in his guards.

“Let Wo Bin go,” he said, addressing the man holding a gun to his aide’s head. “It’s only you and me. We’ll sort it out between us.”

The man cocked his gun, pressing the muzzle firmly against Wo Bin’s head.

“Y/N and the children, where are they?”

Taehyung tilted his head to the side, rolling his tongue into his cheek.

“Let him go and I’ll take you to see them.”

The man only snickered in response. “I wouldn’t trust you with a penny. Bring them here or I’ll drill holes into his head.”

Turning his gun so the muzzle was facing the sky, Taehyung took a step forward.

“Now, Namjoon, you know you aren’t capable of-“

Kim Namjoon removed the gun for a split second to fire a bullet straight into a guard’s chest. The guard toppled over like a tile of dominoes.

Bringing the gun back to Wo Bin’s head, Namjoon snapped at Taehyung. “Yeah?”

“Alright, alright. I’ll fetch them.” Taehyung turned to a guard, and the man scurried away to fulfill the order.

“How did he get here?” Taehyung barked at Wo Bin, who was still trapped in Namjoon’s hold.

One of the guards moved forward cautiously, reaching Taehyung’s side.

“Wo Bin was cleaning up after Se Jong and his gang, sir. Half our manpower was out in the field assisting him. He… dropped by at Klammer Institute, alone, on his way back. He left his gun at the security desk for frisking.”

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Taehyung kicked the pebbles scattered on the rugged floor, overwhelmed with anger. Damn Wo Bin for going out and getting caught unarmed. By Kim Namjoon of all people.

“Just shoot me, boss,” Wo Bin said, his voice steady and calm. “Don’t think twice.”

“Shut up, Bin-ah,” Taehyung snapped. He wasn’t losing his best man and his family in a single night. Not to Namjoon; Not to anyone.

“Listen, Namjoon. Don’t involve the rest of them in this. It’s just you and me. Man-to-man.”

“Namjoon!” your voice cut through the cold night air. Jaemin was gathered to your chest, and Ha Neul’s little hand was secured tightly in yours.

“Y/N! Come on over here,” Namjoon shouted, gesturing to his side.

“Oh no, no, no,” Taehyung said, firmly planting himself in front of you. “You have to kill me first.”

“No!” you screamed. “The children! Think about the children! Stop!”

Namjoon bit his lip, glowering at his rival. “Get rid of the guards, then. We’ll see how much of a man you are without a gun. Without your army of gunmen.”

The barb in his tone got to Taehyung, and he shouted at his men to get the hell out of there. He turned to you, yelling at the top of his lungs.

“You! Get back downstairs and send a guard to prepare Namjoon’s coffin.” Ha Neul winced at the shout and tugged at your hand urgently.

“Mommy, I’m scared.”

The guards filed out of the terrace, encircling you and the children so you wouldn’t try and make a run for it. They settled themselves on the stairs, waiting with anxious expressions and bated breaths.

You huddled with the children on the sofa, whispering soothing words to Ha Neul and reassuring her as best as you could.

The three men on the terrace were left alone at last. Namjoon knew that Wo Bin was trained in combat. Wo Bin had been a Captain in the Army before his discharge. The man wasn’t Taehyung’s commander-in-chief for nothing.

“Drop your gun,” Namjoon said, brandishing his weapon at Taehyung.

Taehyung complied wordlessly, dropping his gun, and kicking it away. Mustering all his strength, Namjoon whacked the gun against Wo Bin’s skull, the blunt force knocking him out completely.

“It’s just you and me now, huh?” Namjoon said, kicking his gun away to the side.

“Honestly didn’t take you for the fighter type, Namjoonah,” Taehyung goaded, settling into a boxer stance.

Namjoon charged forward, landing a solid punch in his rival’s ribs.

“Enough chit-chat.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Y/N!”

It was a high-pitched scream; in a voice you knew only too well. There was a sickening sound of glass crashing somewhere to the left of the building.

“Y/N!” this time, the yell came from the stairs, a deathly hush replacing the babble of the guards’ murmurs. The men parted silently, letting the wounded man stumble down the steps one at a time.

“Sweetie, hold your brother’s hand tight until I come, okay?” you whispered to your daughter, running up the stairs to meet him halfway.

“Namjoon!”

His face was ghastly, there were cuts all over his eyebrows and jaw. Blood dripped down his brows in a steady trickle. He was wheezing, all the wind knocked out of his lungs. A few guards rushed past you up the stairs, jostling each other in their hurry.

“Namjoon,” you repeated, kneeling on the steps. “Did you- did you…”

He coughed, spitting blood in the process. When he finally wiped his mouth, he simply nodded.

“He’s as good as dead.”

“What?!”

Without a second thought, you dashed up the stairs, not heeding Namjoon’s cries of dissent.

“Y/N, no, come back!”

── ⋆✩⋆ ──-

The guards were all clustered at the edge of the terrace, and they silently let you pass, letting you see the sight for yourself.

Kim Taehyung was sprawled out on the ceiling of the greenhouse, broken shards of glass jutting out of his body. The fall from the terrace had sent him crashing onto the glass. There was no support under his back, only the metal frames shielded him precariously from falling to his death.

His eyes had been flickering back and forth, waiting to see you. And when you came at last, a small smile graced his features. He was losing too much blood too fast.

“Y/N, come back.”

Namjoon was standing behind you, not minding the hot glares he drew from the guards. “It’s time. Come, let’s go.”

Taehyung’s mouth was twitching, and the glass had turned into red glinting blades with all the blood. His legs and hands were jerking uncontrollably, but his eyes never wavered from you.

You felt Namjoon’s hand on the small of your back.

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered, gently turning you away from the ghastly sight. He had taken one step forward, pulling your arm, when you shrugged free.

“No.”

Namjoon’s mouth set in a straight line. “What?”

“Get him help, please! I can’t leave him to die. I can’t!” you pleaded, your words tumbling out fast. “Please, just save him. Please.”

The guards looked at one another, and a man cleared his throat.

“Mrs. Kim, ma’am, we tried to help but Mr. Kim waved us away before you arrived.”

You snapped your head to bark at him:

“Now I’m telling you, get that man all the help he needs.”

Everyone rushed into action, until only Namjoon and you were the ones standing frozen on the terrace.

“Really, Y/N?” Namjoon said, disgusted. He barely tried to conceal the contempt in his tone.

You puffed up your chest and looked at Namjoon in the eye.

“Yes, really. I am not a killer. Neither are you.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Namjoon’s doctor was stitching his eyebrow up when a nurse came looking for you.

“Is Mrs. Kim here?”

“Yes?”

You had to admit that you were terrified. Utterly terrified of what news she might be bringing.

“The surgeon will be briefing you about Mr. Kim’s surgery in a few minutes.”

“Yes, thanks. I’ll be there.”

Namjoon exhaled, nodding at his doctor. He took your hand, squeezing it tight.

“I’m with you. Y/N.”

You stared at him, remembering all the hot insults he had thrown at you over the years. He had been mean and cruel to you whenever you had chanced to meet him in social gatherings.

“How did you come? I thought you had pegged me as a gold-digging whore.”

Namjoon winced at your words. He had been wrong to judge you. But he was gracious enough to own up to his mistake.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I am sorry I behaved so badly. I was wrong and I am heartily ashamed of myself for not trusting you. I am sorry I didn’t honor Yoongi’s faith in you.”

You marveled at his fierce loyalty to Yoongi. Your husband would have been immensely proud of his friend.

“But how did you realize? I had no way of contacting you or anyone else.”

Namjoon nodded, agreeing. “Kang Minsook, the prosecutor, called me last year and told me that he had found about Bong Ju, Yoongi’s manager who went missing.”

He ruffled his hair, squinting at the window. “He said that there was something off about the whole case and told me that Bong Ju knew something more. But he was missing, there was no trace of Bong Ju anywhere.”

You didn’t interrupt, choosing to listen in silence. He went on.

“I hired a detective to find out Bong Ju’s whereabouts. I was notified that he was back in the city for a brief time, but he vanished again. But as it turned out, I needn’t have hired a detective after all.”

“What do you mean?” Your curiosity was thoroughly kindled.

“Bong Ju got in touch with Minsook, saying that he had found someone called Seung Jo in Malta. I learned that Seung Jo had once been your chauffeur and had mysteriously disappeared too.”

You felt blood rush to your cheeks on hearing the name. But you let him continue without interrupting.

“I went to Malta and got hold of Bong Ju. He told me he had gone there to find out about Seung Jo. I talked to Seung Jo and Bong Ju, and finally realized what Taehyung had been doing to you over these years.” He looked at you with soft eyes. “I am so sorry that you had to go through all that alone, Y/N.”

You were at a loss for words. So many emotions were pelting at you, making it hard to breathe.

“I…” you looked at the sincere face gazing at you. “It’s okay now, Namjoon. I am grateful that you came when you did.”

You didn’t have any grudges against him. You rubbed your nose and looked at the corridor teeming with elderly people.

“I have to go to Klammer and see Ma tomorrow.” Taehyung had kept you from visiting Yoongi’s mother for some reason only known to him.

The nurse returned, walking up to you briskly. “The surgeon is waiting, Mrs. Kim.”

Namjoon whispered softly, “Ready to go?”

You shook your head. “I- I don’t know.”

“Hey,” he said, tucking your hair behind your ear. “I’m gonna be there with you, okay? I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You nodded, summoning a bit of courage from the universe.

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

── ⋆✩⋆ ──--

The surgeon looked stern, and you felt like you were going to be sick. Clutching Namjoon’s hand tight, you drew closer to the surgeon, heart hammering away so hard you thought you were dying.

“Mrs. Kim, the surgery went well, the patient is stable for now.”

Your breathing grew raspier.

“But…”

The nerve in your temple started pounding in fear.

“There was a complication, his spinal cord was damaged too much…”

Namjoon’s hand was going numb with how tightly you were gripping it.

“… and he stroked out in surgery, causing him to be paralyzed completely.”

The stunned silence hung around you like a smothering wet blanket, muffling everything else.

“Paralyzed? You mean he can’t-?”

“I’m truly very sorry, Mrs. Kim.”

Namjoon saw that you had gone mute, and he stepped in to ask the surgeon some questions.

“Can he talk?” you heard him ask, and the doctor shook his head.

“Speech therapy can help….”

You zoned out again, unable to take any more.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Are you sure about this, Y/N?” Namjoon asked, looking at the papers in your hand.

“Yes,” you beamed, smiling at him. “You are the best person to do this. I’ll join in and do my bit as the Chairperson, sure, but what the company needs right now is you. I know you have that fire in you, Namjoon.”

He smiled, his dimples popping out.

“I want the Min empire to return to its formal glory,” you said, passing the papers to him, “Before Min Ha Neul is of age and inherits it. She’s going to be the next Min to sit in her father’s office.”

Wo Bin had set up a therapy room in Taehyung’s mansion, overlooking the garden. You held the rails tightly, gazing at the butterflies flitting over the flowers.

Behind the one-way glass, Kim Taehyung was in his wheelchair, struggling with gripping his pen.

Ha Neul was tiptoeing on her tiny little feet, trying hard to reach the paints on the shelf. The nanny helped her lift the paint set, and she clapped her hands in delight.

“I’m so happy,” she squealed.

Her nanny smiled mildly. “Oh, really? And why is that?”

Ha Neul considered the question seriously.

“Daddy lets me paint his face.” She glanced sideways at Taehyung. “And he lets baby Jae sit on his lap.” She put her finger on her lips and beckoned her nanny to come closer. “I thought daddy hated me. He always shouted. He always went away.”

She stole a glance at her father again. “But now he is here all the time. And he doesn’t talk.” A huge gummy smile lit up her face. “And I paint his face.”

Taehyung had speech training all day. It was agony to fail at uttering the simplest of sounds. Whenever he tried to speak, it came out in a croak. The drool accompanying it humiliated him. He couldn’t bear to be reduced to such a state. He almost wanted to give up trying to speak, just to save himself the embarrassment of letting you see his spittle running down his chin.

Physical therapy took up a good chunk of his time too. His legs were completely paralyzed; but his hands had very limited movement. He couldn’t grip a cup, but he could hold a pen if he tried long enough.

“You can do it, Mr. Kim,” the therapist said, encouraging him to go on. “You already wrote so many letters, you can write one today too!”

Taehyung was screaming obscenities inside his head. He was able to write just one alphabet per day. Just one! The pen kept falling out of his stupid fingers, and he wanted to scream till he went crazy. It had taken him 7 days so far, to write something so simple.

The nib tore through the paper, bleeding some ink and smudging on the side of his palm. He had finally done it. He had produced a wobbly, crooked ‘U’.

The therapist took the paper like a proud parent, waving it in joy.

“You did it, Mr. Kim! That’s such a great job!”

Taehyung wanted to kick the man’s balls. All the exaggerated joy was making him paranoid. He wondered if the therapist was actually mocking him.

His eyes swung to the one-way glass, and he saw you deep in discussion with Kim Namjoon. There was a hatred burning inside him so hard that it seemed to roll off his skin in waves.

── ⋆✩⋆ ──-

“So, Wo Bin is gonna be the next mafia kingpin, I hear,” Namjoon said. “I believe Taehyung already named him his successor.”

You shrugged. “I have no problem with him as long as he does his thing without poking into my life.”

Namjoon’s scar became wobbly as he raised his eyebrow. “You really don’t mind? The man’s a fricking clone of Taehyung.”

“Well, he considers Taehyung family. So, I guess he considers me family too. He is good with the kids at least.”

Namjoon’s phone buzzed, and he reached for it in one quick flash.

“Ha Ni?” you asked, referring to his girlfriend.

“Nope. Not Ha Ni. We broke up long ago. There’s no one, in fact.” His eyes were scanning his phone screen. A slow smile spread over his face. “Guess what?”

“What?” you asked, the energy catching on.

“Jung Hoseok just texted, he’s coming back with his wife and daughter. I sent Kang Minsook to help him out of all that tax fraud stuff, and he’s finally out of the mess.”

“Oh!” You couldn’t help the squeal of joy. “Oh my God, Joon that’s wonderful! Thank you so much!”

You threw your arms around him, squeezing him in a tight bear hug. Namjoon butted his forehead against yours, gazing at you fondly. On some impulse, he bent his head down, his plush lips brushing against yours.

Before they could touch properly, you pulled back, shaking your head.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed, “I’m just- I’m not… I’m sorry”

Namjoon’s eyes were tender. “Hey, don’t worry. I understand.”

── ⋆✩⋆ ──-

Taehyung boiled in rage when he saw Namjoon bend his head to brush your lips. He looked at the paper rustling in front of him. It had taken him eight days. Eight fucking days to spell it out. The bitterness smoldered in his chest, spilling into the pupils of his eyes.

A rush of wind caused the paper to flutter, and it flew down to the floor. Taehyung’s eyes focused on the lopsided letters.

I LOVE YOU 

His therapist snapped his head up from his position on the floor. He had been massaging Taehyung’s feet when he saw it happen.

Taehyung had just twitched and moved his left foot.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

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[snowstark]

— you’re my world. —

for @truckloadoffrogs | LINK TO AO3

for @buckybarnesbingo | Y2 - Kink: Wall Pinning

“I… oh, I get it now.” Sam tilted his head, perceptive as ever, goddammit. “All this flirting with my sister, that was just to get my attention, wasn’t it? I know it was. Say it.”

“That wasn’t—” Bucky croaked, but Sam wasn’t having it.

He huffed a low laugh, and bulldozed right through Bucky’s feeble pretense. “You like it when I pin you against the wall? Take away all that power you have, that strength that your arm gives you? Make you feel small, maybe?”

“Stop. Flirting. With my sister.”

“Sam, she’s a grown woman!”

Sam growled. He actually growled, what the fuck. “She’s still my sister.”

Bucky snorted. “Alright, fine, Christ. Sorry.” He raised his hands in a surrendering gesture. “We’re cool now, right? Didn’t mean anything by it.”

Sam eyed him for a few moments, then nodded. His shoulders drooped, like they had lost all the pent-up tension, and he reached out to clap Bucky on the back, hesitating for just a second before going for it. “Yeah, we’re… yeah, we’re cool.” His jaw flexed and he looked away for a split second, like he had more to say, but he didn’t; he just walked off, giving Bucky another pat before ducking into the boat.

Bucky stared after him, sucking the inside of his cheek thoughtfully.

Sam was weird.

Sam pissed him off. From the moment he’d refused to move his seat up in the car, he’d burned right through Bucky’s patience like a hot flame and gotten right on his nerves. Had toasted them to crumbs, in fact. He’d yapped on about that shit about Gandalf and the big three—as if Bucky wouldn’t have read the goddamn Hobbit! And now he was here, being all domestic about his boat, and Bucky was willingly helping him.

Sam was so fucking weird.

But… he still liked him.

He was… they were… it was complicated.

__________

“Hi, Sarah.” Bucky smiled and waved, hearing the waves slosh behind him—nice, he liked that; reminded him of when he and Stevie would go on walks by the bay—and she smiled, waving back. Bucky grinned, and she ducked into the house. She was real pretty. She was. He liked her.

Sarah was Steve’s ma’s name. That was kind of weird, he had to admit. But Bucky found that a lot of things were weird now. Like the internet. Mytube—no, youtube. Social media. Cellphones.

No wonder Steve had written things to discover in the book. It was there in his pocket now, too. It was small and old, but it felt like his whole damn world, because it had been Steve’s. All he had left of Steve were bits and pieces of objects that he could put together to find some sort of remembrance of him, so every part counted. A machine couldn’t run when it was missing a screw.

“So. Why did my sister just tell me you could stay the night again?” Sam plopped down next to him, and despite his words, Bucky could only see amusement on his face. “Oh, hold on, let me correct myself—why did my sister just say my handsome friend can stay the night?”

Bucky’s lips twitched before he could stop himself, and he had to cover his laugh with a cough at the mildly outraged look on his face. He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a charmer.”

“No.” Sam gave him a look, and Bucky tossed him an affronted one right back.

“That was rude.”

“No, I mean—” Sam huffed. “You are a charmer, okay? Whatever.”

Why did that make Bucky’s chest feel warm? Sam was so fucking weird.

“Doesn’t mean you have to be charming my sister.” Sam frowned at him.

Bucky gave him a mockingly sympathetic look. “Can’t help it. Charmers don’t choose who they charm.” He gave Sam a lopsided grin. “Just happens.”

“Okayyy. And now your ego is pissing me off.” Sam rolled his eyes.

“I don’t have an ego,” Bucky said defensively.

“Oh, baby, you do.” Sam let out a bark of laughter. “Please. Charmers always have an ego.” He gave Bucky a pat on the shoulder, a bit harder than necessary, Bucky thought, and strode off to break up the playful tussle his nephews had started with the shield.

Baby.

Sam called him baby.

Bucky let his left hand drift up to his shoulder, touching the spot Sam had clapped, just hard enough for him to really feel the ache. Shit, Sam was strong.

And weird.

Really, really fucking weird.

Baby.

Bucky shivered.

__________

See, Bucky’d thought it was a joke, had thought that Sam was joking when he’d said stop flirting with my sister. And that was why he’d kept doing it, because it was funny to rile Sam up, and that was what they did with each other, that was what Sam did to him.

So he didn’t quite understand why Sam was refusing to say a single word to him while they fiddled with the water pipes of the boat.

Or, well, he did understand, but he just— look, the situation was weird and complicated.

All he knew was that Bucky had flirted again with Sarah; she was a nice woman, her smile made him smile, and Sam was upset because he had spent the last couple of days telling Bucky not to. But the truth was, Bucky had thought it was a joke, even more so because he and Sarah had established—just by exchanging a very long look with each other, how strange was that?—that it wasn’t serious, that it was just them exchanging sweet manners, and he’d thought Sam was joking when he said stop.

Bucky had thought it was a joke, and now that he realized that it wasn’t, there was a familiar little ache in his heart, one that he didn’t like to discuss or delve into, one that he knew well because he constantly carried it around with him.

Guilt.

And the fact that Sam was giving him the cold shoulder was making it worse by the second.

“C’mon, Sam.” Bucky scowled to hide his hurt. “C’mon, jesus fuck. If I’d known you were gonna throw such a tantrum I wouldn’t have done it.”

No response, except for another flex of Sam’s jaw muscles.

“Christ,” Bucky muttered under his breath, chest tightening with frustration and anger and resentment and fear because shit, he didn’t have anyone else besides Sam now, he didn’t— he needed Sam, he wanted Sam, he— no.

No. That wasn’t the path he was going to go down. He’d done it with Stevie, he’d done it with— with a billion of others, and he didn’t need to be focusing on whatever this was right now, he needed to be making amends and saving the world—with Sam.

Sam.

It always circled back to Sam fucking Wilson, right there in the corner of his brain, never leaving him alone, always lingering, always reminding him that he was always— always— alone.

He wasn’t… Sam wasn’t his.

And he needed to stop hoping for something that he would never fucking get. Wasn’t this proof enough? Sam refusing to look at him, not speaking to him, turning his head away just when Bucky tried to make eye contact so he could show that he was sorry, because his words were never enough? Wasn’t it proof enough that he was reaching for something he would never be able to grasp in his hand?

Sam didn’t need him. Not the way Bucky needed him. Sam wouldn’t understand, so he would— he would need to leave him alone. Let him be. It’d be fine. He’d just go to his apartment again, he’d be fine on the floor, with the dog tags clinking as he woke up from yet another nightmare, the TV flashing bright enough to make him twitch in his sleep, the bare, cold room, cold like ice, cold like the soldier, cold like loneliness.

It was always cold without Sam, he realized.

That created a lump in his throat that he couldn’t swallow, his spit felt like acid, burning a hole into his tongue, and he couldn’t— this wasn’t—

“Okay,” he said, and his voice came out more hoarsely than he’d wanted it to. He cleared his throat, forcing the lump down, feeling it move down to his stomach, and he tried again. “Okay. I’ll just—I’ll let you be.”

Sam twitched, reaching for the wrench to fix the pipe, but… silence.

Bucky took a step back, and still… nothing. He was shocked by how hollow he felt inside.

And when Sam pulled out his phone, like he wasn’t even fucking there, the hollowness in his chest filled, filled with anger, with frustration, with— with—

“Okay,” he repeated, muscles tensing enough to hurt. “Okay, I’m gonna go to Sarah and see if she needs a hand in the kitchen.” He turned, grimacing at the jab—no, bait—he’d thrown, knowing it was fucking stupid, and jesus, Steve definitely hadn’t taken all the stupid with him because here he was, and before he knew what was happening, there was a whirl of movement in the corner of his eye as Sam shot up from his seat and slammed him into the side of the boat.

It rocked precariously; it had been strong enough to rock the whole boat, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, and it went straight to Bucky’s dick, even more so when he realized that Sam hadn’t just shoved him, he was holding him there, with his arm across Bucky’s chest, hard enough to make him wheeze like the 106 year old man he was, and— and Bucky—

Bucky moaned.

Sam held him there, looking taken aback not only by the noise that had left Bucky’s mouth but by the entire situation, and his eyes dropped to the tent in Bucky’s pants. “You—” He broke off, staring.

Bucky’s face flushed hotly at the dumbfounded expression on his face. Shit. This— shit, he should’ve— he’d miscalculated, he shouldn’t have—

“You like this,” Sam breathed, and Bucky couldn’t bear to look him in the eye.

“Sam—”

“No, no.” Sam pushed a finger onto his lips, making his heart skip a beat. “You like this. You like— you like me. You do. I can see it on your face, Buck.”

Bucky twitched and gritted out, “Don’t call me that.”

“I’ll call you whatever I want to,” Sam snapped, and Bucky’s mouth went dry. “Jesus fuck, Bucky. Look me in the eye and tell me you like this. You like it when I hold you down? When I make you tell me how much you like it?”

“I— no, that’s not—”

“Don’t lie to me.” Sam’s eyes flashed, stopping Bucky right in his tracks. “Don’t lie. You’ve done enough lying.” He stared at Bucky, eyes boring into his, and Bucky wet his lips nervously with his tongue, not missing the way Sam’s eyes flickered over the movement. “I… oh, I get it now.” Sam tilted his head, perceptive as ever, goddammit. “All this flirting with my sister, that was just to get my attention, wasn’t it? I know it was. Say it.”

“That wasn’t—” Bucky croaked, but Sam wasn’t having it.

He huffed a low laugh, and bulldozed right through Bucky’s feeble pretense. “You like it when I pin you against the wall? Take away all that power you have, that strength that your arm gives you? Make you feel small, maybe?”

Bucky stared back, breath hitching in his chest.

Sam tightened his hold. “Say it.”

Bucky groaned, his cock twitching. He couldn’t. He— that wasn’t— he was— Sam didn’t—

Sam… Sam wasn’t weird. He was hot.

He liked Sam.

The full extent of that realization hit him like a truck and he choked on his next breath. “Yes,” he gasped out, trembling, and Sam released him. He fell to the floor, breath still raspy and hitched in his chest.

Sam let him catch his breath, face expressionless, and then said, “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

In any other scenario, Bucky would’ve laughed at the potential that pun had, because holy fuck, his dick had never been so hard before. But right now, he was a cock-hungry tornado for one Mr. Sam Wilson, and Sam was going to fuck him into a new dimension, he already knew it.

“I—shit, Sam,” Bucky said intelligently, staring up at the man. Sam extended a hand and Bucky took it cautiously, letting him help him to his feet. “You still mad at me?”

Sam huffed and turned his head to the side, making Bucky’s heart sink a bit. There was a small pause between them, not necessarily awkward, just… there, and Bucky was ready to say something inevitably stupid when Sam beat him to it. “Nah. Nah, I’m not… I wasn’t mad.”

“Yeah, you were.” Bucky felt his lips twist into a bitter grimace, angry at himself. “Shouldn’ta done it. ‘s my fault.”

“Yeah, well.” Sam finally dragged his eyes back to him. “Not your fault you’re, well, you know.” He broke off awkwardly.

There was another silence between them and Bucky’s mind was beginning to go white with panic, because this wasn’t exactly how he’d planned this shit to go down, ever, and he stammered, “Um.”

“Um?” Sam stared back at him.

Bucky licked his lips again, and again, Sam’s gaze moved down to follow the movement. “Maybe we should—‘s too quiet. Maybe—”

“Maybe I like it quiet.”

“I—oh.” Bucky broke off, biting his lip.

Sam just stared, then broke into a wide grin that had Bucky both relaxing and tensing for whatever would come next. Then, just when Bucky was beginning to sweat through his shirt, Sam stepped closer, close enough to press him against the wall of the boat, and tilted his head when Bucky chewed at his lip nervously again. “Don’t do that,” he breathed, and Bucky obeyed instantly because Sam told him not to, “that’s mine to bite.”

That was the only warning he got before Sam pressed his lips to Bucky’s, kissing him soft and tender before Bucky let out a small moan. Almost as though the noise had jump-started something inside him, Sam growled, and the kiss quickly turned hard and wet and sloppy.

When they broke apart, Bucky’s chest was heaving, and he found himself following Sam without even realizing, only stopping when Sam laughed and pushed his hand against his chest, forcing his back to the wall again.

“You stay like that,” Sam told him, and Bucky was pleased to hear him sound a bit winded from the kiss. Good. He wasn’t the only one. “You stay where I put you.”

Bucky nodded eagerly, hard enough to give himself whiplash. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll stay,” he breathed.

“You stay,” Sam repeated, then pulled back from Bucky after one last lingering look to disappear, heading for the exit of the boat.

Bucky’s heart skipped a beat and for a millisecond, he wondered if Sam was leaving, if he’d seriously misread this situation, but there was no way that was the case, right? Sam had kissed him.

Bucky could still taste him.

Sam Wilson tasted like fucking candy.

He heard some rustling, and then a clink and a grunt, and he realized that Sam was locking the door down to the area of the boat they were in, and he swore under his breath.

Sam was serious, then.

Wetting his dry lips nervously, he let a hand fall down to the bulge in his pants, pressing the heel of his hand against his cock, letting out a deep, shaky breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in.

His eyes fluttered shut and he bit his lip before releasing it, remembering that it wasn’t his to bite, it was Sam’s, and fuck, just the thought of that was so fucking heady that it made him dizzy.

“There.” Sam appeared, making Bucky jump. There was a glint in his eyes as he drew closer, then pulled Bucky’s hand away to pin it above his head without a moment of hesitation, the sheer demonstration of his strength going straight to Bucky’s cock, and he caged Bucky in his arms by planting his hands on the wall until everything, Bucky’s entire goddamn world, was full of one Sam goddamn Wilson. “Now we can get started.”

Read Part 2 Here!

#sambucky #tfatws #winterfalcon #sam/bucky #sam x bucky #buckybarnesbingo2021 #bucky barnes #sam wilson #my fics

[mai-sau]

Prompt "give me attention" for kidnap family?

"haha, im gonna take it easy with prompts this time around, only a few hundred words -" cue spongebob title card "2.3k words later"

seriously tho thank you for the prompt!! (and sorry about the wait!) i had fun working on this one bc well i love any chance to write about this lil family of murderers and tiny bois :') hope u enjoy!!

Prompt: "Give me attention."

“Nelyo.”

“Nelyo.”

“Ne-”

Thump. Maedhros slammed his book shut. A puff of dust wheezed out from the crusty pages; Maglor could make out the swirl of particles flying about in the dim shafts of sunlight peeking into his brother’s study from windows that he was sure were clean at some point in their existence.

Said brother tossed a glare over to Maglor from the other side of his desk.

“You’re allowed to be here. Quietly.” Maedhros threw a pointed look towards the abandoned scroll in Maglor’s hands.

“But I’m so very lonely, Nelyo,” Maglor pouted, and dropped the scroll on the desk. The parchment rolled out towards Maedhros, whose face was fast approaching the same shade as his hair. “Besides, I’ve already taken care of all my correspondence for the day. Nothing much else to do, really, but seek out the company of my darling brother.”

“I’m older than you,” Maedhros grit out, rubbing his temple in terse little circles. Which one of them he was reminding Maglor couldn’t say.

“Only by a few years,” Maglor teased. He let the corners of his lip curl up - he was well aware this made him look like “a cat about to feast on the fattest saucer of milk it’s ever conned” according to his brother, and that was why he did it.

On top of that dusty old book, Maedhros’ fingers twitched. Got you.

“Come on, Nelyo,” he whined. “Give me attentiooon.”

Maedhros threw him a positively hateful look, but Maglor knew he wouldn’t throw him out just yet. By this point, Maglor liked to think he knew his brother well enough.

There were some things he didn’t, of course, and this was fine. When his brother would wake and traipse out to the courtyard in the dead of night, staring at the moon hungrily for hours and hours as if he would never glimpse its light amidst the pitch dark again; when one of the many elves around Amon Ereb would do something wrong - not when one of their craftsmen made the same excited little exclamation as Curvo used to, or hunters fletched their arrows just how Tyelko did, Maglor understood these, at least - but a request phrased too sweetly, an abrupt movement, a smile too wide, and Maedhros’ throat would tighten, his words clipped, before excusing himself to go lock himself in his room for an hour, or two, or three: these parts of his brother Maglor may never know.

But he knew much, or at least enough. A few months after they’d taken in the twins, Maglor had just finished mopping an explosion of jam on the dining floor and sweeping up the shards of what was once the hefty jar that contained it. He’d first gently let Elros know that if they wanted food, they need only ask; he’d then let him know that no, of course they wouldn’t cast him out for breaking the jam jar, with no small amount of tears or internal panic on either end of that conversation.

By the time Maglor slunk into Maedhros’ study that evening to go over reports from around the fortress, he was maybe a bit tired. When Maedhros told him to wait for just a few minutes while he wrapped something or other up, Maglor might’ve let slip a touch of petulance and no small amount of theatrics into his voice when he asked when his dear Nelyo could spare just a moment for his poor baby brother, simply wilting away from the neglect.

Maglor had frozen, fearful of what his second-most severe brother would have to say in response to - well, whining. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d let himself do so. Oh, he’d been quite the brat in Valinor, and used to be quite proud of that fact, thank you. Each and every one of his brothers’ last nerves practically had his name on it. But it seemed ever since they arrived here, it was as if they simply couldn’t afford the waste of time. Ribbing was a favored pastime of his in Aman, but Beleriand offered no such frivolities.

But living with the twins, putting on playful words and coaxing laughter from two young faces that Maglor couldn’t bear to see two seconds from breaking anymore, had apparently loosened his discipline.

He’d thought Maedhros would treat him to one of his signature frowns, barking at him that neither of them had time to make things any harder for each other, but instead he’d… laughed. Just the slightest huff of air, yes, but a laugh nonetheless. Maglor hadn’t heard his brother laugh since…

Well, if anything, he was honoring his cousin’s memory.

So Maglor experimented over the years, let a few more teases and whines slip into his day-to-day interactions with Maedhros. His brother had since mustered a valiant effort to act annoyed, but Maglor could still catch a muffled chuckle or smothered grin here and there.

So. All in all, he’s sure he knows his brother pretty well at this point, and Maedhros was not troubled (bad), just bothered (good).

Which, of course, meant they could continue to play; Maglor would show no mercy.

“Please? Please, please? Just a smidgen of tender love and care from my dearly beloved big brother?” Maglor asked, eyes wide and pleading, hands clasped in front of him as he leaned over the desk. His hair, inky black, spilled all over his scroll.

Maedhros’ nose twitched. His right ear flicked. Oh yes. He was close to a chuckle now, he could tell. His dearly beloved big brother stood no fucking chance.

“Oh dear Eru, let my brother pay attention to - MANWË’S TITS!” Maglor shrieked, springing up from his seat after spotting a dark shadow peeking through the window.

His brother whirled around. Quick as a viper, his hand darted out to grasp the hilt of his sword. Despite this, Maglor could hear a choked noise he was more than halfway certain was the chuckle he had so desperately hunted. Oh well.

A chubby face stared right back at them, eyes round as saucers. Wait, make that two faces.

Both Maglor and Maedhros sagged with relief.

“Elros, can you please come in?” Maglor croaked, feeling five feet to the left of his physical body. “You too, Elrond.”

The two of them nodded bashfully, heads bobbing as they fumbled over to the glass. And they were… flapping. Each twin sported small brown wings on their back, looking much like the falcons Tyelko used to play with as a child. Maglor supposed, thinking of a great bird soaring away over the sea with light itself clutched tight in its talons, maybe they should have expected this one in particular.

Elros pushed once, twice at the windows, tiny arms straining against the pane and looking more panicked by the second. Behind him, Elrond simply pointed to the - oh, the window latch. Yes.

Maedhros stood up and flicked it open. Elros came tumbling through, nearly bashing his skull on the desk before Maedhros caught him midair.

Elrond flew in smoothly and landed on Maglor’s empty chair, wings neatly folding in. Maedhros dumped Elros on his own chair. His wing smacked Maedhros’ arm by mistake.

“We talked about this. No new shapeshifting without me or Maglor there,” Maedhros said, fixing each of them with a stern look.

Both the twins looked down at this. Elrond wrung his little wrists.

“We’re sorry!” Elros burst out, tears welling up in his eyes. “We won’t do it again, promise!”

“That’s what you said last time, sweetheart,” Maglor told him.

“And the time before that,” Maedhros grumbled.

“What we’re saying, dear, is that we understand that you’re sorry. But keeping your word has to take first priority,” Maglor explained softly.

Maedhros coughed.

“Or, er, not doing it again,” Maglor corrected. “That’s what counts.”

“We understand,” Elros sniffled. “It’s just, we wanted to hear, but you weren’t there to check with, because well, you were here, and, well, um, yes -”

“Bringing us to the next point of order,” Maedhros rumbled. He raised a brow at both of them. “Eavesdropping. We have also been over this.”

Oh dear. Elros looked like he was about to drown in a puddle of tears. Maglor rubbed a hand between his shoulder blades soothingly, careful of the new feathery appendages.

Thankfully, Elrond stepped in. “We remember, it’s not nice because we like to be in private sometimes and it’s not fair for us to not let other people be too,” he recited shyly. “Um, we just… we know you both meet up a lot like this, and we know it's important… but… um…” His lip trembled; his voice cracked. “Do you... talk about us? Do you not want us to hear because it’s bad? Because we can do better!” He promised quickly, eyes wide and wet. “Elros is getting really good at his music lessons, he’s practicing a lot! And I’m working on my writing lessons every day!”

Something in Maglor’s chest twisted. “Oh, honey, no -”

But his brother beat him to the punch. Striding out from behind the desk, he knelt down in front of Elrond. “Can I hug you?” he asked very quietly.

Elrond bit his lip and nodded. Without another word, Maedhros wrapped him up in his arms.

They stayed like that for a moment, Maedhros’ hulking frame wrapped around Elrond’s body, like a drape of russet locks, leather and rich furs. When his brother finally pulled away, he gave a heavy look to both children.

“We will never give you away because you’re not good enough. Alright? You will always be good enough. Both of you,” he told them. He reached out and covered Elrond’s tiny hand with his own, fingers curling around and intertwining. “And not because you’re caught up on your lessons, or do what we say.”

“Though those are certainly nice,” Maglor added. He flashed them a teasing grin before taking care to soften his expression once more, and laid a gentle hand on Elros’ shoulder. “You will always have our love. And nothing, not even the worst jam spill, or missed harp lesson - don’t think I didn’t notice that last week, dearest - can ever reach in and steal it. It is your’s by blood and birthright.”

“Love you,” Elros sniffled. Elrond echoed him, voice no less wobbly.

Maedhros gifted them with a small smile. “Love you both, starlights.”

“And -” Elros started, hiccuped, and continued. “And same for me too. Nothing can change that! I’ll always love you two.”

Maglor felt a pang of sickly guilt invade his chest and looked away. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Maedhros stiffen.

“Me too,” Elrond said, voice suddenly clear. Maglor glanced at him and met a gaze that seemed years ahead of its time; he froze, rooted to the spot. “We’ll always love you no matter what you do.”

“Well -” Maglor started. “That’s…”

“No need to worry about us,” Maedhros recovered quickly, waving his hand. “Now then, it’s nearing bedtime, hm?”

“But wait!” Elros cried. “What were you two talking about then?”

“Yes! We saw Atya going like this,” Elrond clasped his pudgy hands together and shook them. “And his voice sounded all funny, and then he prayed to Eru about Atar paying more attention to Manwe’s t-”

“ALRIGHT!” Maglor yelped, clapping his hands. His face must’ve been steaming, his cheeks were burning, oh stars - “Bedtime!”

“But we want to know why you were saying all those funny things,” Elros complained loudly. His voice slipped into a high pitched whine, dripping with petulance. “Nelyo, Nelyo, give me attentioooon -”

“I do not sound like that!” Maglor gasped, scooping up a giggling Elrond to be carried to bed.

“I do not sound like that!”

Maglor turned around, gaping. That was not Elros’ voice.

Maedhros stared back. His eyes glinted with mirth and the most shit-eating grin curled his lips. In his arms was a starstruck Elros, who looked no less shocked than if the clouds themselves had just burst into song and danced a lively jig. And quite frankly, Maglor would be less surprised.

Maedhros dealt him one last smirk before twirling on his heel and walking out of the room to go deposit one elfling in his bed. Maglor still had the other, who poked his cheek.

“Atya? Are you okay?”

Slowly, ever so slowly, Maglor felt a smile grow across his face. His eyes stung with tears. He quickly wiped them with his sleeve before they could fatten and spill over his cheeks and probably make Elrond worry even more.

“Wonderful, dear.” He frowned for a second, considering. “Although I think there is a dreadful amount of mockery in my future.”

He looked down at Elrond. His son merely tilted his round head, offering a blank look. Maglor sighed happily. “But that’s okay.”

XXX

In time, it became clear that there was no need to worry about the looming threat of brotherly teasing paid back in full; Maedhros may have been looser with his laughter, but even this was a rare occasion still. Maglor did not mind, for any time he saw his brother’s eyes alight with anything other than fatal passion was a gift.

The true threat that lurked within Amon Ereb made itself known eventually.

Two weeks later, Maglor was scurrying to meet up with one of the smiths to discuss pending repairs but stopped short in front of a small figure in the courtyard blocking his path.

“Not now, sweetheart, Atya’s very busy,” Maglor told Elrond, harried, ready to flag down someone on the way to attend to whatever his son needed.

And then it happened. Elrond’s face crumpled just so. His eyes widened: big, round, and wet. His lip wobbled. When he opened his mouth, his voice took on a tone so absolutely, horribly pitiful that Maglor half-suspected the echo of Lúthien herself lived in his words.

“Please, Atya,” he begged, every word a death sentence. “Give me attentiooon.”

Oh Eru, Maglor despaired, even as he opened his arms for an evil little elfling to leap into, repairs forgotten. I’ve made a monster.

#this was also my first go at writing more humor #but the hurt/comfort managed to sneak in #kidnap dads #kidnap fam #maedhros #maglor #elrond #elros #my writing #writing prompts #fic #jaz-the-bard

[plush-rabbit]

I Want To Hear You Say It

Chapter 1: Mutter Apologies

Word Count: 4.4K

A/N: start of a miniseries, (maybe)yandere!shigaraki x reader, just introductions

The walk home is quiet and brimmed with life all at once. No one talks to you, but the cars fill your ears, tires on asphalt, music muffled by closed windows and the squeal of tires when someone makes a harsh turn. The grip on your phone tightens, the urge to listen to music and make this walk slightly more enjoyable is tempting but the cautionary tales of walking distracted fills you with a slight fear that makes you slip your phone into your back pocket and stuff your hands into the pockets of your jacket, backpack softly tapping against your back.

You brush a strand of hair away from your face, an annoyed expression flashes across your face as it falls back where it once was. The air is humid, sky devoid of anything, a darkness that shines throughout the sky, all consuming and empty at once, the silent threat of it spreading with malicious intent as it reaches across the plain and offers no hint of light or shining stars is enough to put you in a melancholy mood. Your arms swing at your slides, a nervous pull of your hair as you try to fight the feelings of incoming desperation, the horrible, sickening feeling that leaves you with no room for happiness but all the room for despair.

The night is broken by sounds of cars, the laughter of friends that walk ahead of you, the soft chime of a convenience store door and the soft whirl of the wind that carries secrets and whispers of the night far away to be forgotten and never heard of again. The wind that ruffles your hair and makes you wish that you hadn’t brought a jacket, that you had at least taken it off before you walked home from your friend’s place. A bead of sweat forms and it’s quickly wiped away with the back of your hand, and weeds that grow between the cracks are crushed under your foot and you almost feel sorry for destroying something that had tried so hard to grow and had succeeded only to be pushed down and stepped on by accident.

The walk grows quiet, friends that trailed off, the cars that lower in views as time ticks onwards and your eyes droop, filled with tears that obscure your vision as a yawn stretches across your face.

The alleyways are dark, the promise of untold dangers are hidden in the shadows, shadows that nip and stretch towards the sidewalk where you walk and the dumb, naive part of you wants to wander in- just to say that you did it, to prove a point to no one- but the more rational part of you, forces yourself to look straight ahead, to keep your legs that grow heavy, in a line that does not part from it’s existing map.

You pass an alley, eyes darting briefly, and you hear a soft cry, a pained whimper that’s so soft it could be mistaken for a rodent that squeaks as a call. And you stop, clutching the straps of your bag and you turn to face the alleyway that brims with nothing but trouble.

You call a soft hello, waiting for a greeting and you’re mentally kicking yourself, digging your nails into your wrist as you take a hesitant step forward, the tips of your shoes peeking and getting lost in the shadows. You lick at your lips, bit the inside corners of them, and you glance around with wide, scared eyes, hoping for someone to come in and tell you to go home as they take care of it- you hope for a hero. But none come. You are alone right now. Alone with only a set of keys hidden in your backpack for protection and with the last rational thought that you have before you enter the alleyway where sharp gasps are being heard and echoed between the brick walls, you pull out your keys and hold them tight in your hand, the figurines that hang from the keyring indent into your palm.

Your steps are quiet and you have to blink a few times before your vision adjusts to the darkness. The light from the streetlamps, the bright glow from neon signs and soft pale light from other stores is gone, extinguished like a flame and you’re walking towards the noise that grows harsher and more pained, a wet, wheezing that makes you cringe and hold on tighter to your poor excuse of a weapon.

“Hello?” You ask, stepping closer, scrunching your nose as you step into a puddle. “Is- Is anyone here?” There’s no response and you feel silly. And scared. It could have been an animal. It could be a set up for human trafficking. You could have just been hearing things. They could be behind you right now with a cloth drenched in chloroform. You shift your weight in your legs, ready to turn and then there’s an awful, wet coughing sound and you turn and stumble onto the opposite wall, backpack squished against the old brick wall, key held in front of you dangerously, and your other hand scrambles for your phone, shakingly unlocking it until a white flash brightens the alley and on the opposite side of you is a man hunched over, legs outstretched and head lowered.

Your eyes widen and you take a few stumbling steps towards him. “Hey, are-” the stench of copper hits your nose and makes you cover your nose with the hand that holds the keys. Your eyes lower and you see his shirt colored in red, a few drops spilling from the hidden face and onto the shirt or between the legs where it hits the asphalt. You clear your throat and look around, the flashlight blinding as it  moves left and right and lands back on the frighteningly still form. “Are- Do-” any questions that flash through your mind sound dumb; of course they aren’t okay, of course they need help- “I’m going to call for help, okay?” There’s no response and you pray that they can hear you.

It’s soft. A simple croak that sounded more like a gasp for breath than an actual answer. “No,” they repeat in a quiet mantra, a limp arm raising, fingers outstretched and tipped with dried blood that flakes off and loses itself against the dark floor.

Your thumb freezes over the number and you stare down at him, eyes glancing to the side, waiting for something to prove that this is all indeed a set up but nothing happens, no sound is made, no cars that pass by, the soundless gust of wind brushes against your hair and you stare down at the figure whose hand lowers onto his lap, palm faced towards the dark and empty sky and you crouch down at the end of their legs.

“You’re bleeding,” you comment, a whisper past your lips that breaks the silence. “You need-”

“‘S not my blood,” the gruff voice responds, dragging their palm against the asphalt.

You gasp and grab at his wrist, pulling it away from the ground. His words register in your head and your grip tightens, your shoulder raising. “Wait-”

He yanks his arm back, his eyes raising and red eyes that glower at you. His nose trickles out with blood, crimson treks out of the corner of his mouth, drying as he stares at you and there are angry red and purple marks around his neck. Under his eye is a dark, purple that has begun to form and you hold your hands in front of your body.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Despite his hurt appearance he still sounds intimidating.

“I-” you stutter and the light flashes against his face making him appear in a ghastly glow. “You need help. I-” you swallow- “It’s fine if you don’t want help from authorities but-” your eyes take his appearance where his clothes are ripped at the sides and caked in something that fills the air with a faint metallic scent- “you’re still hurt. I’m not a doctor or anything but there’s a convenience store like a minute away. Do- Do you want me to get you something? Can you stand?”

He stares at you with a confused look, eyes that narrow and he places his hands on the ground, pushing himself upwards only to collapse back down when he’s an inch above ground. He falls with a groan, face pinching in pain, nails dragging along the pavement. “Just get the fuck away from me.”

You swallow nervously and look around hoping for someone to come by. You desperately wish for a hero to wander by and offer to take over for something that you’re clearly unqualified for. You look back at him and let out a shaky breath.

“Okay, just,” you whisper, stomach twisting in harsh coils, “stay here, okay? I’m going to get you at least aspirin and something to clean you up, okay? Just stay here, okay?” He gives you no sign of approval and you swallow tightly before rising, twisting your body to stuff the keys inside the backpack and walking quickly to the convenience store.

The door chimes as you enter the store, greeted by a worker behind the counter and you flash them a nervous smile. You walk through the aisles, your steps are quick through the tiles as you walk, eyes scanning at the shelves and you come to a quick stop when spotting the small medical section. Your hands shake and eyes scan quickly before deciding to grab at a pack of cotton balls, rubbing alcohol, a pack of microfiber towels, a pack of bandages and a travel size pack of tissues. You rise and think you see movement in the corner of your eyes and when you turn you’re met with your reflection into the glass door that holds refreshments, frost around the corners and cartoonish stickers of snowflakes taped to the door and with a careful hold of the supplies you walk towards the freezer section and grab two water bottles.

You give a polite smile at the cashier, their eyes widening a bit before shrugging and ringing you up. The price makes your shoulders and you have to remind yourself you’re doing this to help a potentially hurt person.

With supplies in a plastic bag, you wave a simple goodbye to the clerk and exit the store, walking calmly until you pass by the windows, bringing the bag to clutch to your chest as you jog to the alley, pulling your phone out to light the way and you hold your breath as the light flashes shakily across the crevice until it lands on the slumped figure, still there where you had left him. You breathe a sigh of relief and walk towards them calmly.

“Thank goodness you’re still here,” you say as you crouch down, dropping the bag beside you. “I brought a few things-” you rummage around, the plastic crinkling in night with a shaky flashlight illuminating the both of you- “since I didn’t know what you needed or wanted and I uh- I brought water.” You hold a bottle up, the frost around it disappearing under your touch and you hold it up to him, his eyes narrowed and hair caked around his face. “You should drink some,” you say awkwardly, loosening the cap for him. “I- Do you need help?”

He yanks the bottle away from you and you gasp, looking at him as he holds the bottle up with his pinky raised, greedily drinking the water and resting the bottle beside him. “What do you want?”

“You’re hurt,” you reply, pulling out the rubbing alcohol and the towels. “This might sting but I should clean you up a bit.” You squirm under his gaze and look away, coughing weakly. You take in a deep breath and look back at him with false confidence. “You don’t want any help for whatever reason and that’s,” you pause trying to find the proper words, “on you but you need help. So just let me clean you up a bit, okay?” You place the phone against the bag, frowning as it slips and ruins the lighting, shining awkwardly and you shake your head.

Without waiting for a response, you unscrew the cap and remove the safety foil, grabbing at a towel and clasping it over the opening of the bottle, turning it upside down. Once wet, you inch your hand slowly towards him, the cloth in hand and you prepare yourself, muscles tensing as if you’re the one who’s going to feel the sting.

“It’s going to sting,” you whisper, mouth in a thin line, “so, sorry about that.” You mouth yourself counting down to three, before placing the cool towel against his face. He holds a steady gaze on you, crimson eyes hardening as they meet yours for a quick second.

The drying blood and grime is washed from his face, gently wiping one his forehead, the hair that was caked onto by either blood or sweat is pulled, dirty, blue hair is pushed back with your hand as you move closer to him, mumbling words of comfort under your mouth. He flinches as you inch down to his brow bone, and you mumble an apology, pursing your lips and blowing cool air above the jagged cut.

His face is layered in a thin layer of blood and dirt, short and long strands of hair cling to his face and are pulled away by your hands as you cup his face.

“Um,” you state awkwardly, licking your lips at the close proximity and tense air, “do you think anything is broken?”

“No,” he replies in a raspy voice.

That was no help to ease the tension. “Good, good,” you mumble, feeling sweat prick at your brow. “I uh, you have a few cuts around your face. Are- You said that it wasn’t your blood,” you voice lifts a fraction and you stare at his mole, dabbing the cloth around his face, “so I’m not sure if I’m getting at a cut or at someone- at blood,” your voice catches and you stare at his eyes, feeling a chill run down your spine at the dark look he gives you. You clear your throat. “Drug deal gone wrong?” You joke nervously.

“You could say that,” he says blankly, resting his head against the wall.

You click your tongue and carefully maneuver yourself until your hand is curving over the back of his head, your knuckles scraping against the wall. A questioning look directed at you and you respond with a shrug.

“You hair ‘ll get stuck to the brick,” you glance at the scar on his lip and frown. “Do- Do you have any other cuts?” Your hand washes over and the strong scent of alcohol fills your nose and waters your eyes. “You have a few around your face. I’ll wash them over with water in a bit.”

“Water?” he asks.

You jerk your head to the bag. “I bought another bottle of water. Just to clean around. I probably should have used that first but it’ll soothe over the alcohol.” You dab lightly around his jawline, the grime loosening and staining the towel, cleaning it slowly, dragging it down his neck and he hisses sharply, pushing himself further against the wall, your knuckles pressing against the groove of the brick. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you repeat, pulling your hands away from him. “I-”

“It’s fine,” he rasps, rubbing his hand over the curve of his neck. “Just stings is all.”

You lick your lips and pull away from him. “I’m going to use water now, okay?” He nods carefully and shuffles in his seat. “What's your name?” He doesn’t answer and you sigh and give yours. “I uh, I work at a cafe. We have macarons that we design and I think they come out nice. I like to design simple animal emoticons on them.”

“Animal?” He closes and opens his fists.

“Cats, dogs, bears,” you list. “Just the usual ones that you can find on any emoticon sites.” You puff your cheeks, pressing the cloth against him, scratching the back of his head as you do, your lips moving soundlessly as you try to comfort him.

He nods and remains quiet. His eyes come to a close as you clean his neck with water, frowning as the bruises appear darker against his pale skin, small and long cuts that are around him and pulled down in a slope around his neck in a twisted decoration.

His chest rises and falls as you clean his neck, drops of water sliding down and hidden between his shirt. “I’ve never had macarons.” he looks at the ground and grabs at his bottle, tracing around the condensation that has formed around it, dirt sticking to the bottom. “Are they good?”

“I like them.” You pull out the roll of bandages and softly hold them in your hand, playing with the flap of the box. “They’re sweet,” you finish, pulling the box open and taking out a bandage. “I’m going to put a bandage on your neck, okay?” He nods, tilting his neck to give you more access. “Thanks,” you mumble.

The bandage is beige, the plastic protecting the sticky part is placed into the bag and you’re careful to place it over the cuts, not wanting to have it stick to a stray cut or tug against a bruise. Your fingers press over it and smooth is over, gliding over the bandage and you pull away, frowning and the many other cuts that decorate his skin. You have the sudden urge to kiss at the wound, something that you had done for your younger cousins and that had been done to you by older family members but you hold back, biting your bottom lip and pulling out another bandage, wrapping it around his skin, repeating the small process from before.

He glances at you through the corner of his eyes. “Are you almost done?”

“Do you have any other cuts?” You ask, your fingers dancing over his apple, your hand softly curving over him, to hold his neck steady. “You couldn’t stand before. Do you think you can now?” His legs bend and you stumble away, falling onto your rear and you pull a face thinking about the stain that it’ll leave. You hand stings as it’s pulled, tugged against and you hold it with your other, adding pressure against the scrapes in order to dull the pain.

He wobbles as he rises, hands that hold himself steady against the brick wall, legs bent and outstretched, kicking his bottle over and hair falling around his face like a curtain. He leans against it, eyes knitted together, lips pulled into a thin line and you scramble to rise, placing your arm against his shoulder. He gives a few pained breaths, a hand lowering to clutch at his abdomen and you fret, fluttering your hand to where his rests only to be slapped away.

His eyes open and he meets yours are furrowed with concern. “Got hit pretty hard,” he explains simply, twitching jaw and moving to stand straighter, but failing as he groans and rests his head against the wall.

“Do you have anyone you can call?” You watch with worried eyes as he remains still against the wall, the grip on his abdomen pulled taut, with a flushed face and heavy breathing.

“Phone broke,” he hisses between closed teeth.

You leave him for a second and bend down to grab yours. You touch at the phone icon and take a step closer to him, placing a hand on his back and rubbing him in slow circles while the other hand holds the phone in front of him. “What’s their number? You can use mine.”

You see his jaw tense, eyes that harden and a hand that shakes as it rises only to fall and dig his nails into the grooves of the brick. “They won’t answer.”

Your hand falls and you swallow. His breathing is harsh and heavy, breaking any lingering silence and blood rushes in your ears. Your hand stops its monotonous movements and you clutch the back of his hoodie. You take a look at him, eyes glancing down at his fragile state and with a nervous bounce of your leg, your body heating up with what could be a horrible decision you’re about to make, you take a deep breath.

“Do you want to stay at my place? For the night? Just to rest?” You keep your eyes at his red sneakers, the black shoelaces frayed and faded. “I- It feels bad to leave you alone in an alleyway with just a bottle of water and a few medical supplies.

You can feel his stare on you. “We’re strangers.”

Your face burns and your stomach churns. “I introduced myself and gave you a fact about me.” You blow out a steady puff of air and tug on the end of your jacket. “You don’t have to but I- if you can get home by yourself-”

“Tomura,” he coughs out. “I’m Tomura.” You glance up at him and he refuses to meet your gaze. “I- I work in a bar.”

“Promise not to kill me?” You ask in a soft tone, holding up a pinky.

“What?” He asks, turning to you, eyes wide and mouth agape.

“I’m not in the mood to get murdered tonight,” you state flatly, curling and uncurling your pinky, urging him to complete the promise.

He blinks once. Twice. And then a wide grin stretches across his face. His pinky loops over yours and he holds it tightly. “No promises.”

You chuckle nervously. “That’s concerning.”

He doesn’t respond and the dread that has made itself clear since the start is weighing heavy across your shoulders. You look at how he leans against the wall and flutter down to stuff everything into the plastic bag, holding it tight in one hand and with unspoken words, he drapes an arm over your shoulder, closing his fist as it nudges against your shoulder, eyes glancing to the spot where you fret over try to hold yourself steady as you stumble, with his added weight.

The walk normally short has doubled its time with the slow pace of Tomura, his head dipped down and legs sluggish as he tries to walk fast. You can feel exhaustion settle in your bones and you want to collapse there on the sidewalk. His hood is pulled up, head down as he struggles to walk next to you and with every person met on the late night- albeit not a lot but quite a few- you give them a polite smile and make a drinking motion to ease any worries that one might possess. It’s silent between the two of you, the occasional question if he’s all right is asked only to be responded by a groan of pain? Confirmation?

Soon your apartment complex comes into view and you breathe a sigh of relief, a burst of energy coursing through you as the promise of a bed and relaxation comes into view. You lead him around and stand at the end of the stairs, internally groaning at the obstacle. “Okay, we just need to take some steps, okay?”

“Steps?” He asks, tone weak and obviously tired.

“Stairs,” you sigh, urging him forehead, a tight grip on the bag as you two walk upwards, eyes wide as the strain against your muscles starts to ache. “I regret getting an apartment that wasn’t on the first floor.”

“Fuck,” he curses. “Just hurry up. It’s starting to hurt.”

“We can sit-”

“No,” he hisses. “Just hurry up.”

You nod and make the trek towards your room, trying to keep steady breathing as you both finally reach your locked door. “Okay,” you huff, letting him rest against a wall, “we’re here.” You sigh and roll your shoulders, doubling over and holding your hands against your knees. “Fuck.” You rise and find him staring at you with a tight expression. “You’re heavy and it’s a long walk.” Without waiting for an answer, you grab at your backpack and unzip it, digging around until you grab at your keys, and unlock your door.

You hold the door open for him, and step welcome him in. He stumbles inside, not bothering to remove his shoes and you welcome him to sit down on the couch and without further encouragement, he collapses onto it, scrunching his face in pain and chest rising and dipping heavily.

You kick your shoes off by the entrance and with a distracted hand, turn the lights on inside your home and close the door with a kick. You drop your backpack on a moon chair and the plastic one beside him on the floor. You call his name and he hums in response, a leg draped over the edge of the couch, eyes fluttering open to look up at you, squeezing shut at the light that shines above him.

“Are you going to be okay if I leave you here?” He furrows his eyes. “There isn’t enough room on the couch for me to keep an eye on you and sleeping on my moon is bad for my spine.” He doesn’t answer and slowly his breaths grow steadier and deeper. You brush the bangs that drape across his forehead and sigh. “I’m going to be in my room, okay? If You need anything, just knock. The hallway light will be on, the restroom is the door with the plant sticker on it.” He does not answer, his face relaxed and hands fisted above his chest.

You’re silent as you walk throughout your apartment, stopping every minute or so, to hold your fingertips over his neck to check if he still has a pulse, sighing in relief when he does. You peek into your closet and pull out a blanket, holding it close to you and walk into the living room, turning the fan on and draping the blanket over his still body.

You look at him for a second and rub over your neck where his cuts had laid. “Good night, Tomura,” you mutter, slipping off into your room, the lock clicking behind you as you sleep with a pair of scissors under your pillow.

#felt cute might delete later #delete later #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki headcanons #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura headcanons #tomura shigaraki imagines #tomura shigaraki headcanons #tomura shiragaki #bnha shigaraki tomura #bnha imagines #i miss wiritng stories #im also sad #so #requests will be done tomorrow #or wednesday #idk #lmao im done #also gonna update ciays on ao3 #i cringe at the early chapters bleh

[redfirefox-55]

Ok uhhh I don’t usually write things, but I found this on my phone today and I thought it wasn’t actually that bad-

it’s just some genshin traveler angst stuff and if anyone actually reads it and likes it I have something else I wrote that I could also post if anyone is interested..

Ah I am not a writer so if the pacing is weird or I wrote something incorrectly or something I’m sorry! I hardly ever do stuff like this and I’m not very practiced in it lol

Anyways here it is

Here we are, at the end of the world.

My vision started to blur, as I stared at the streaks of blood on the floor I had created by being kicked from one side of this empty plane to the other.

Struggling for breath I grasped at my waist, an unpleasant warm and sticky feeling was all I felt.

A huge gash all the way from one side of my torso to the other.

It hurt.

The pain was bad enough by itself, but what caused it only made it all the more upsetting.

My sister

the one I had been chasing after for months, the only reason I was still on this cursed planet, the one who had been by my side for eons, the person I swore to protect all those years ago, the person I knew I could count on, rely on, who’d always love me the way I loved her.

She stood a few feat away, bloodied sword in hand.

My sword in her hand.

How had this all gone so wrong.

I replayed all the events that took place upon coming to this world.

So many things I could have done differently. Could I have prevented this from happening.

I heard the clicks of heels against the reflective obsidian floor.

I tried to stand, knowing she was walking closer.

I collapsed to the ground as she stopped approaching.

“Aether.” She spoke with a soft tone, almost sad.

I met eyes with her.

“I told you to stay out of my way. To stay out of the abyss’s way.

Why can’t you just listen for once.”

I tried to reply, but all that came out was a pained weak wheeze and a cough.

She stared down at me. The weight of her gaze was crushing.

“I just need you to trust me. I didn’t want to hurt you, but you were too dangerous to be left alone. It was the only way I could ensure your long term safety.”

She looked at the ground ahead of me.

I wanted to reach out, to say something, do something. But I was too weak to even speak.

“I promise it’s not long now. Not long until our plan is complete, and Celestia is engulfed by the abyss.”

“W-why, why are you d-oing this..”

I croaked out, desperately trying to get answers. To be heard.

“You will understand. Once your journey has reach its climax, you too will know why this is necessary.”

She turned away from me. Was it to hide something? Guilt. Sadness. Shame.

I wish I knew what she was thinking now, like when we were younger. We used to be able to read each other like books.

But that was a long time ago.

Before I could attempt an answer to her a portal on the other side of this arena had opened.

“W-wait wait! Lumine!’ I scrambled to get to my feet, ignoring the searing pain from my wound. ‘Please, please don’t go! I haven’t gotten any answers yet, please!” I fell to my hands and knees.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore!”

She hesitated, and turned.

A soft smile on her face, the kind that always used to cheer me up on the bad days. So familiar yet, there was something different about this one. A hollowness.

This smile was tired.

This girl was not the same bright and confident one I had traveled with last.

“You were never alone Aether. I love you.”

And with that, she vanished.

Defeated I lay down. The tears in my eyes made my already blurred eyesight even harder to decipher.

I stared up at the dark and star filled sky.

Even the most deadly of places in this world has some beauty to them.

Something my sister seems to have long forgotten.

A closed my eyes, leaving nothing else to focus on but the pain across my chest, and my own thoughts.

———————————————————————

If you actually read the whole thing thank you

#its pretty dramatic I think lol #but I like the dramatic angst stuff so #I wrote this like months ago hah #genshin impact #aether #Lumine #aether and lumine #genshin traveler #fanfic #I guess? idk lol #genshin fanfic #genshin twins #writing drabble

[wingsofkpop]

Hiraeth - I.X: Was it Worth it in the End? Part Two

pairing(s): Hybrid!Im Jaebeom x Reader, Witch!Mark Tuan x Reader, Werewolf!Jackson Wang x Reader, Vampire!Park Jinyoung x Reader, Supernatural!Got7 x Reader

genre: Supernatual!AU, Dark Magic!AU, very heavy Angst, eventual Smut

warnings: Mature language, violence, explicit descriptions of fighting and injury, weapons, blood and gore, brief mention of a mutilated animal corpse, minor character death, description of trauma and mental illness, brief mention of suicide, mentions of murder, satanic themes and ritual, etc. 

Trigger Warning: This chapter does contain graphic and explicit themes regarding violence, trauma, and death. Please do not read if this will harm you. This is your final warning.

word count: 10,6k

synopsis: How far are you willing to go to find out the truth about Moon Dye Bay?…

chapter directory

The nighttime is hushed, almost anxious as Minho maneuvers his way past gravestones and overgrown shrubbery. It’s almost like nature itself is too afraid of accidentally provoking the witch, sensing the torpedo of dark magic and violent sorrow stirring through his veins. He peers up at the crimson moon, grateful for the illumination it provides, and continues down his path—ignorant of the cold air bleeding into his flesh. 

Minho knows this is probably not the best time for a visit, aware that his ex-covenmates are likely plotting some sort of mission to overthrow him, but he doesn’t care—he can’t care anymore. A part of him, the shameful, guilty part of his mind. actually hopes they will succeed, at least then, he would no longer have to endure the pain that comes with bearing this black magic. He can feel its poison rushing through his veins, seering his body from the inside out, killing his soul over and over and over again… 

But isn’t this what he wanted? Revenge? Retribution? Minho performed that spell to hurt the very friends that hurt him—to hurt Mark, and he got his wish… so why does it feel like the world is caving in around him, swallowing him whole? 

Once he reaches his destination, Minho collapses to his knees, unable to bear the weight of his burdens. His eyes burn with tears, but he doesn’t allow himself to cry. A silent gust of wind strokes his cheeks, painting his skin red with bitterness and anger. He welcomes the cold air, accepting the punishment, before lifting his hand to splay his fingers against the even colder surface of the headstone. 

“I’m sorry…” Minho whimpers, “It didn’t have to be like this…” 

The silence heightens his anguish—deepens the wounds in his heart. 

If he could take it all back, he would… but he can’t. 

“I wish you were here, noona…” 

His murmur is lost to the wind, but it doesn’t matter. He climbs back to his feet before sparing one final glance at the burial place of his lost friend. After a deep inhale and a wordless goodbye, Minho turns and hastily begins back toward the mausoleum. 

He was allowed this one moment of weakness—now he must get back to the horrible reality he manifested for himself. 

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“Can you be any more obvious…?” 

Mark quickly awakens from his mindless trance, discovering, to his dismay, Dahyun looking down at him with a single raised, all-knowing eyebrow. He fakes a cough into his elbow before shrugging his shoulders, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You’re kidding me, right?... You literally haven’t taken your eyes off of her since we met up in the forest.” 

Heat immediately rises to Mark’s cheeks. As if on instinct, his eyes trail back to his subject of interest, watching as you wipe the sweat from Jaebeom’s girlfriend’s forehead and neck before shifting to do the same to Felix. It’s such a simple action, but you somehow look so ethereal—almost like an angel sent from heaven. 

He curses himself for his own cheesiness, then releases a defeated sigh. 

“We got into a pretty big fight earlier.” 

“Then don’t you think you should—I don’t know—talk to her instead of staring her down like a creep?” 

“I think the last thing she wants to do is talk to me.” Mark drags a hand through his hair. “I… said some really stupid shit in the heat of the moment. She probably hates me.” 

Dahyun scoffs, “God, you are such a fucking idiot.” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means you need to get your ass over there and apologize to that girl.” 

Her harsh tone doesn’t falter beneath his glare, nor does her tenacious expression as the two proceed with their silent staring contest. After a minute or two, Dahyun breaks off the competition with a long, heavy sigh. Her eyes are soft when she looks back at him, and suddenly Mark finds the dried mud on his shoes a lot more interesting. 

“Mark, anyone can see how much you care about her—how much she cares about you.” Even when a gentle hand caresses his shoulder, the witch keeps his attention to the floor. “(Y/N) could never hate you—no matter how much stupid shit you pull.” She snickers, “And you pull a lot of stupid shit, so that has to account for something.”

He can’t help the amused chuckle that falls from his own lips. 

“Thanks, Dubu.” Mark says, tilting his head to finally meet the warmth of her gaze. 

“She’s a good one—a really good one, Mark.” The wolf hums, “Don’t let it be your fear that pushes her away.” She doesn’t give him a chance to reply further, pacing to a nearby corner to join a conversing Bang Chan and Yugyeom. 

Sparing the wolf trio one final glance, Mark musters up the remaining courage he has left and pushes from his perch against the kitchen countertop. He forces himself to walk in your direction—each step releasing more butterflies into the confines of his stomach. Once he reaches you, close enough to touch your turned back, he almost chickens out, content with spending the rest of the night watching you like hawk, but the sound of Felix’s breathy voice locks him in place: 

“—Channie-hyung and I have always wanted to go to Chicago… Is-Is it as windy as they say?” 

“Even windier.” You say with a laugh. “I can’t tell you how many scarves I lost, and don’t get me started on how freaking cold the winters are.”

Felix laughs too, although it resonates as more of a wheeze than anything. 

You shrug, “It’s a gorgeous city though—probably my most favorite place I’ve ever lived.” 

“Then why did you leave? If you loved it so much?” 

Mark’s interest piques when he notices how your figure grows tense at the young boy’s croak. He’s heard his fair share of stories of your heartfelt time in the Windy City, but he never quite figured out why you ultimately decided to move to Moon Dye Bay. You’ve always been reluctant to reveal certain details from your past, especially regarding your time in the foster system, but even then Mark has been able to pry the worst memories from your brain. 

This subject, however, has been a brick wall. 

“Because I couldn’t stay.” You finally answer, “It’s complicated, but something happened and basically I—” 

“(Y/N)?” 

He silently cusses as Felix interrupts your explanation, but his annoyance dissipates at the panicked expression etched along the teenager’s sweaty face. 

“What is it, Felix?” You shift your position on his bedside to better face the boy, leaning forward to place a gentle hand on his forehead. Mark can only imagine how hot the skin is to the touch. 

Felix’s words crack as they leave his lips, slicing at the witch’s heart like a dagger: 

“Am… Am I gonna die?”

“Of course not.” You immediately say, but Mark can sense the uneasiness in your tone. “Everyone is doing everything they can to help you, okay?... You’re gonna get through this, and one day you and your brother are gonna go see Chicago yourselves and try not to get blown away into the next century.” 

Felix sleepily chuckles, “Thanks, (Y/N).” 

“You should get some sleep.” The moment the command leaves your lips, Felix is already closing his eyes and diving headfirst into dreamland. Not wanting to startle you, Mark waits a couple seconds—partly to give you time to regain your composure, and partly to give himself time to think of what to say. However, he doesn’t have much of a choice when you suddenly turn, growing aware of his presence. A frown overtakes your face, and he instantly regrets ever leaving his countertop. 

“Did you need something?” 

“No—yes, I mean—shit.” Mark buries a hand in his tresses to tug at his roots, attempting to juggle between putting together the right spoken words and reminding his body to breathe. “(Y/N), I—” 

“If you came to apologize, I don’t want to hear it.” He helplessly watches as you rise from the bed before tossing your used rag on a nearby table. “I think you made yourself pretty clear back at my apartment.” 

“I shouldn’t have said what I said—” Before you can storm away, Mark latches his fingers around your wrist. “—please. Just give me a chance to explain.” 

Your shoulders rise and fall in a heavy sigh, but you make no move to tear away from his grip and he takes it as a chance to continue: 

“After my mom died, I was so fucking angry…” Mark notices your surprised gaze when you lift your head, but he doesn’t meet your eyes. “I was angry at the world, at her, at myself… and when my magic began to show up, things got a whole lot worse.” He shakes his head, “I thought about just ending it—jump into the bay or maybe drink myself to death—but then I met…” 

“Then you met Jackson.” 

“He taught me how to deal with the anger—to use it as a tool, not a weapon.” His eyes begin to burn at the countless memories that reel through his mind. “It was because of him I learned how to control my powers, and I was able to bring the coven together—hell, he was the one who told them to nominate me as Regent, which right now, seemed like the worst fucking decision on the planet.” 

Mark takes a moment to blink away his tears before taking a seat on an empty cot. He still can’t find it in himself to glance at your face, keeping his eyes trained to the wooden flooring. 

“But when Jackson had an idea, there was no stopping him.” He chuckles sarcastically, “The bastard was as stubborn as a goddamn mule.” 

“What happened to Jackson, Mark?” Your voice is both a sweet lullaby and a screeching siren against his ears. “How did he die? Really?” 

“The initial plan was to infuse enough magic into Jackson’s werewolf form so his venom would be lethal to the Primes, or at the very least, to Jinyoung. It all went smoothly in the beginning, I was able to channel enough power to complete the transformation… but something went wrong—

“—Jackson was different when he shifted. He was ruthless… He didn’t want to just kill the Primes—he wanted to slaughter every vampire along with those who protect the secrets of their existence… no matter if they were witch, werewolf, human—they all deserved to die…

“The combination of his determination and the bloodlust drove him fucking mad… If Jaebeom hadn’t ripped out his heart, there’s telling what he would have done—who he would have killed…” 

Mark leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, attempting to hide his shame beneath the curl of his bangs. “—Jaebeom may have dealt the final blow, but Jackson died because the dark magic I used turned him into a monster—he’s dead because of me…” 

Silence encompasses the room like a vice grip to the throat. For a moment, Mark believes you left him, too disgusted and ashamed to even breathe the same air as him, but the entrance of your worn boots into his vision proves otherwise. The image is replaced by your face when you kneel in front of his broken figure, laying your hands over each bicep. He notices your touch is gentle, but not hesitant, and warm—always so warm. 

“You can’t blame yourself for his death, Mark.” Mark doesn’t realize he’s crying until you wipe a tear from his cheek. “How could you have known what that spell would do? You couldn’t have—”

“Magic always comes with price—especially dark magic.” He whispers, unable to hold back more liquid sadness as it trails down his skin. “(Y/N), if I ever lost you the same way I lost Jackson, my mom, I—” 

Mark’s voice cuts out into a sob, and once your arms wind around his form, he completely breaks, releasing every ounce of repressed sadness and despair and pain into the crook of your neck. He knows he’s selfish for melting into your embrace—for consuming your comfort like a demon expelled from the heavens—but he doesn’t care. 

When you guide his eyes to meet your own, Mark can spot the glassiness of your own orbs in the artificial light—along with enough compassion and ardor to send another flood of tears down his face. 

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?” You affirm, your tone unwavering and stern. “I’m here—and no matter how many times you fall, I’m gonna be here to pick you up…

“I’m here, Mark… Do you understand me?” 

He nods with a sniffle, tightly squeezing your hands between his own. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You smile at his apology. 

“I’m sorry too… for everything.” 

“Just… No more secrets. For real, this time.” 

“For real, this time.” Mark’s heart rate picks up when he suddenly notices how close his face is to yours. From this angle, he can count the constellations glistening within your eyes and map the delicate curves of your facial features. If he were to lean just an inch closer, just one tiny inch, his lips would be on your own—

“Sorry to interrupt, but we have an issue.” At Yugyeom’s statement, you and Mark immediately wrench away from one another, almost as if having been caught engaging in forbidden territory. Mark pretends he doesn’t miss the weight of your hands inside his own as he rises from the cot, making sure to put an appropriate amount of distance between his and your shoulders. 

He clears his throat before humming, “What’s going on?” 

“Chan wants to go and find Chaeyoung’s body.” Although Yugyeom’s face remains neutral, Mark can see the sadness lingering within his eyes at the mention of his fallen packmate. “He doesn’t remember exactly where she was, so him, Dahyun, and I are going to search the forest.” 

You immediately shake your head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Sunrise isn’t for at least another hour, and we have no way of knowing Youngjae broke the curse yet.” 

“I’m with (Y/N) on this one, Gyeom.” Mark agrees, “We’re safest here in the bunker.” 

“We can’t just leave her out there. I mean, she—” Yugyeom cuts himself off with a heavy sigh, before continuing in a softer tone, “You know how it feels to lose someone, hyung… Chaeyoung is—was… our family.” 

Mark takes a moment of silence to ponder, conflicted between his common sense and Yugyeom’s pleading gaze. As you said, sunrise is an hour away—but Youngjae, the coven and the Primes should have overthrown Minho by now, right? Plus, he literally blew Changbin’s head off with that shotgun. There’s no way his body could regenerate that quickly… 

“We’re all staying together.” He finally says, moving toward the kitchenette to grab his weapon from its perch on the counter. “And if anything seems shady, it’s an immediate retreat.” 

Yugyeom delivers a nod before heading off to gather the other wolves. Mark moves toward the bunker exit, but is stopped by your form. A heavy sigh cascades from his lips—just from your expression, he knows this conversation isn’t going to go his way. 

“(Y/N)—” 

“If you’re gonna tell me I can’t go with you, don’t even bother.” 

He shakes his head, “It’s too dangerous…” 

“If someone tells me that one more goddamn time—” He can’t help the tiny smile that spreads across his face at the sassy way you roll your eyes. And he doesn’t protest when you move to follow Dahyun up the ladder. 

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Youngjae inhales a deep breath, taking the moment to feel his lungs expand, before releasing the air in an even deeper exhale. Even with the relaxation attempt, his body remains tense and his thoughts disorderly. He can’t help but feel as if Minho is waiting somewhere in the darkness of the crypt, ready to pounce on him like a predator to its prey. 

Would he toy with his catch first? Or would he skip the pleasantries and go right in for the kill? 

A hand appears on his shoulder, wrenching Youngjae from his morbid daydream. He angles his head to meet Lia’s concerned gaze and immediately tries to mask his fear beneath an expression of indifference. Unsurprisingly, the female witch sees right through his facade:

“I’ve known you practically my whole life, Youngjae. Whatever it is, you can’t hide it from me.” 

His shoulders sag in defeat as a sigh blows past his lips. 

“I’m just… worried about Mark-hyung. He’s powerless out there.”

“Mark is smart—he’ll know what to do if he finds himself in trouble.” 

“And if he doesn’t?... I-I mean, what if Minho or Changbin found him before he could warn the pack? He could be dead for all we know—” 

Lia silences his desperate quip with a shake of her head, “You shouldn’t think like that right now—” 

“What else am I supposed to do?” Youngjae runs a frustrated hand through his hair before gesturing toward the main exit of their underground penitentiary. “Even with yours and Jisung’s energy, I don’t have enough power to take down the barrier spell.” 

“Help is on the way—” 

“How do you know that for sure?” 

Lia remains silent, simply continuing to stare at Youngjae. He feels almost uncomfortable beneath her gaze, resisting the urge to shrink back and become one with the shadows. 

“I don’t know… but I have faith.” She murmurs after a brief moment. “We’ve lost a lot, but I still believe that we’ll all somehow manage to come out of this alive. You should try doing the same.” 

With that, Lia leaves to speak with a dangerously quiet Jisung. Youngjae spares the pair a single glance before heading toward the crypt entryway. A single beam of moonlight illuminates the exit stairway, almost as if mocking him about his inability to escape the dingy prison. 

Youngjae knows Lia is right—of course she’s right. Worrying about the possible pitfalls of this plan won’t help him, or Mark, or anyone. He can only pray that his mentor safely found his way out of the cemetery and is sending backup right this very moment. 

He needs to have hope, if nothing else. 

“What if we somehow lure Minho down here?” Youngjae’s thoughts quiet at Lia’s suggestion, angling his head to meet her gaze. “Technically Youngjae just needs to touch him to siphon his magic… so why don’t we bring him to us?” 

“Minho-hyung won’t step past the barrier.” Jisung dissents, dragging his fingers through his already tousled hair. “He probably knows we’re planning something against him, so there’s no way he’ll believe whatever ruse we try to pull.” 

“Then we have no choice. Youngjae, are you sure you can’t take down the spell?” 

Youngjae sullenly shakes his head. 

“Is there something else you can siphon? Maybe the crypt itself?” 

“The crypt was built by humans.” He answers, “I can only draw power from the supernatural—”

“Then it’s a good thing my dear brother and I weren’t turned into superwolf bait.” 

Youngjae, along with the other witches, nearly leaps a foot in the air at the sudden voice. He whirls around to face the stairwell, which to his surprise, is now occupied by the last person he ever expected to see: 

Im Jaebeom. 

Jisung chokes, scurrying backward into the shadows as the hybrid approaches the trio. After taking purchase against the doorway, he offers his signature sly smirk. 

“Evening, Harry Potter and friends… Funny meeting you down here.” 

“Now is not the time for games, hyung.” Youngjae breathes a sigh of relief as Jinyoung’s voice echoes throughout the stone walls. Seconds later, he comes hustling down the staircase before shoving Jaebeom out of the way. The vampire then peers into the crypt, his gaze burning with the determination of a man at war. “Is anyone hurt?” 

“No. We’re okay.” Lia steps forward. “If you’re here, I’m guessing Mark reached the wolf pack?” 

“Your guess is correct.” Jinyoung nods, placing a hand against the invisible doorway. “My brother and I will do everything we can to help disarm the rogue, but I think it’d be best to free you all first.” 

Youngjae joins the conversation. “I can take down the barrier spell, but I’ll need to draw energy from one of you to do so.” 

“Let’s do this quickly then.” Jinyoung goes to roll up the sleeve of his white shirt, but is halted by his immortal companion. Surprise filters through Youngjae’s veins as Jaebeom shrugs the leather jacket from his shoulders with a huff: 

“With my luck, he’ll drain you dry and I’ll have to deal with this voodoo fucker myself. I think it’s best we use my energy—sorry not sorry.” 

“Alright, then.” Youngjae hums, “I’ll need you to push through the barrier just enough that I can touch you… It’s gonna hurt. A lot.” 

“Good thing I’m a sadomasochist.” Jaebeom snickers at his brother’s unamused expression, “Too much?” 

“Move your hand through that goddamn barrier before I throw you to the superwolf myself.” 

The hybrid rolls his eyes, but follows Jinyoung’s instructions and proceeds to force his limb past the invisible blockade. He remains silent, but Youngjae can spy the uncomfortable twitch of his eyebrow and the tension along his stone-cold features. Blood begins to bud along his knuckles like a patch of blooming roses before flowing down his pale skin the more he presses against the barrier.

The siphoner raises his hand in preparation. “Just a bit more.” 

A mere couple seconds later, Youngjae feels Jaebeom’s bloody flesh brush against his own. The skin-to-skin contact is slight, but enough, allowing the hybrid’s energy to spread through his veins like wildfire. Youngjae almost cries in relief as the magic conquers his entire body—a new kind of hope sparking somewhere within his chest. 

“Phasmatos Siprum… Emnis Abortum…” Youngjae murmurs, positioning both hands against the invisible wall. He feels it crumbling beneath his fingertips, unable to withstand the power flowing through his figure. “Fasila Quisa Exilum San… Fasila Quisa Exilum San…”

A proud grin stretches along his features as the barrier buckles, then completely shatters. With Lia and Jisung in tow, Youngjae beelines out of the crypt and into the stairwell where Jaebeom, who’s cleaning the crimson from his knuckles, and Jinyoung reside. The latter nods, which Youngjae is quick to return. 

“‘Kay, they’re free… Now what?” 

“Now we find Minho and end this once and for all.” Lia answers, not sparing the hybrid a glance as she dashes up the stairs. Youngjae and the rest of the group try to keep up with the female witch as best as they can, not faltering until they reach the surface. The cemetery is quiet when they emerge from the crypt, Youngjae notices—almost too quiet. 

He takes a short moment to breathe in the fresh night air before turning to a tense Jinyoung, “I need to get close enough to siphon Minho’s magic to perform the counterspell. You think you and your brother can find me a way in?” 

Jinyoung nods. “You can count on us.” 

“Stay close…” Lia warns with a sigh, “I wouldn’t be surprised if the bastard already knows we’re free—” 

Lightning suddenly strikes a mere few feet from where Lia is standing, earning a chorus of screams and surprised gasps from the witch trio. Youngjae watches as Jinyoung speeds forward, grabbing Lia just in time to avoid being burnt to a crisp by a second bolt. With Jisung at his side, Youngjae quickly takes shelter underneath the overhang of a nearby tomb as even more lightning bombards the earth. He surveys the area, searching for the perpetrator responsible for the weather abnormalities. 

“Minho!...” Lia screeches from behind a large tree, her tone far less than friendly. “Quit being a fucking coward! Come out here and face us goddamnit!...” 

Youngjae huddles closer to Jisung as the wind suddenly picks up, ripping at his hair and clothing like a vengeful spirit. He moves to speak to his younger companion, but his words die on his tongue as the subject of the hour waltzes into view. The heavy gusts don’t seem to affect him, though that’s no surprise since the wretched weather is his doing. 

Minho smirks, “They say lightning never strikes one place twice… You must be really special then, Lia.” 

“Oh fuck off! We’re tired of playing your stupid games!” 

“This only ends one way, Minho—” Jinyoung says, cautiously moving from Lia’s side to approach the powerful witch. His steps, however, are halted by another vicious bolt of electricity. Youngjae attempts to make out Jaebeom’s form through the blurriness of his wind-induced tears, but the hybrid is nowhere to be found. “—so we can do it the easy way, or the hard way! The choice is yours!” 

“Last I checked, this isn’t your fight, Prime.”

“It became my fight the moment you threatened my family and my friends!” 

Minho snickers, “Trust me, I had every intention of ridding this town of you and your brother’s filth.” 

“Was it also your intention to kill an innocent werewolf girl!?” Youngjae’s heart drops at the vampire’s following statement. “Son Chaeyoung is dead because of Changbin—because of you!” 

“Every war has its casualties.” 

“And what of Felix!? Will his death just be another trivial loss in your obsession for revenge!?” 

This time, Youngjae notices the cockiness melt from Minho’s features into something akin to trepidation. The wailing of the wind picks up to a screech, nearly drowning out the dark-haired witch’s weak inquiry, “What are you talking about?”

“Felix was bitten… and is dying as we speak!” Jinyoung shakes his head frantically. “Do you believe he deserves this, Minho!? Do you believe Chaeyoung deserved to die!?... You can fix this—make this right!” 

Minho remains silent, and for a moment, Youngjae wonders if the witch will actually come to his senses and call off this whole ordeal. But just as soon as it appeared, the pained look along his features transitions into something more sinister.   

“We’re all gonna die someday, so what does it even fucking matter!?” 

“Are you hearing yourself!?” Lia screams from behind a nearby tree, “Look what you’ve become, Minho! How would Nayeon see you right now!” 

“Don’t bring her into this!” Minho’s hiss blends with the moans of the wind. Massive raindrops begin to pelt down against the earth, immediately soaking Youngjae to the bone. For the first time, he notices the dark witch’s position in relation to his own. Realistically, Youngjae can be at Minho’s side in mere milliseconds, before he has a chance to blink. If only he can get him to move a bit closer… 

As if reading his thoughts, Jinyoung attempts to coax the witch another step forward. 

“Please, Minho… I don’t wish to hurt you.”

The latter shakes his head with a chuckle. “It’s too fucking bad that you think you can.” 

Minho raises his hand, harshly forcing the vampire down against the muddy earth. Youngjae watches in horror as Jinyoung’s limbs begin to contort and rearrange against his own will—the sound of cracking bones and the vampire’s pained groans filling his ears like a haunting melody. He forces his gaze away from the gruesome sight and prepares to advance on the dark witch, but Jisung stops him with a hand to his shoulder: 

“Not yet, hyung.” 

“But Jinyoung—” 

“Trust me.” His eyes are wide with determination—Youngjae can’t remember a time he’s ever seen Jisung so fierce. “I have a plan. Wait here until my signal.” 

Though filled with confusion, Youngjae does as the young witch requests and stays in place while Jisung himself carefully maneuvers his way through gravestones and buildings, attempting to remain out of sight. A sudden burst of lightning cracks through the atmosphere, and at first, Youngjae fears Jisung has been caught, but quickly realizes Minho has his sights set on another party: 

“I was wondering when you’d join the fun—I looked forward to tearing your bitch-ass apart.” 

“I would say I’m flattered, but I rather like my ass.” Jaebeom saunters across a nearby rooftop. In the midst of the storm, he almost reminds Youngjae of a superhero—or more likely in his case, the psychotic supervillain. “Look, you’ve had your fun, kid. Now I suggest you release my brother and cut out all this petty-teenage bullshit before I break your body in places you never thought possible.” 

“That’s it?... And here I thought you’d want the antidote?” 

Jaebeom’s face darkens. 

“...So there is a cure?” 

“Of course. Every spell has its loophole.” Minho finally lowers his hand, ceasing the painful reconstruction of Jinyoung’s skeleton. Youngjae watches in confusion as the former retracts something from his pocket—some sort of vial, it seems—and offers it toward the hybrid. “The blood which Changbin drank to turn—it’ll heal anyone fallen victim to his bite.” 

“You better hand that over before I rip your teeth from your skull.” Jaebeom growls darkly, hopping down from his overhead perch.

The witch shakes his head, “Not so fast, Mr. Wolf… See, there was only so much left—enough to heal one lucky soul.” 

“You’re a sick fucking bastard,” Jaebeom spits. “You wanted this to happen—”

“Your little bloodsucking girlfriend is dying, isn’t she?” Minho tosses the vial toward the hybrid, who effortlessly catches it between two trembling fingers. “If you want to save her life, then I suggest you go before the venom does its job.” 

“Jaebeom-hyung, don’t—!” Jinyoung gasps, slithering across the muddy earth like an earthworm lost to the world. 

“You know she doesn’t have much time—” 

“We can’t do this without you—we need you!... I need you, hyung!”  

Jaebeom, staring at the tiny container in his grasp, doesn’t reply to his incapacitated companion. Youngjae curses the smirk that spreads across Minho’s face—a sign of victory—and attempts to spot Jisung and Lia somewhere between the ferocious raindrops. He has no such luck, and instead decides to pray for a miracle instead. 

“If you hadn’t fucked around with the few people I care about, I might have actually liked you.” Jaebeom murmurs with a sigh before tucking the vial into his pocket and sending the dark witch a malicious sneer. “Well isn’t that too fucking bad.” 

Youngjae leaps almost ten feet in the air as lightning strikes for what seems like the millionth time, although this time, it’s inches from where Minho is standing. After searching the area, Youngjae discovers Lia and Jisung across the way, hands clasped, eyes bright with passion, uttering some sort of offensive charm. Minho attempts to sprint in the opposite direction, but Jaebeom easily tackles the witch before he can get far. 

“Now Youngjae-hyung! Do it now!” 

At Jisung’s cue, Youngjae takes off into the rain. The bitter feel of Mother Nature’s tears against his skin quickens his movements, wanting nothing more then to end this hurricane, both literally and figuratively, once and for all. He reaches Minho in what seems like hours and hurries to grab his wrist—but just like the tides during a storm, the tables quickly turn. 

At the wave of Minho’s hand, Jaebeom goes flying across the cemetery, crashing into a stone statue and collapsing into the resulting rumble. White-hot pain spreads through Youngjae’s veins like a poison, freezing his muscles and immobilizing his limbs from any further movement. He collapses to the ground, where mud immediately clings to his clothing.

Minho rises to his feet before stepping on Youngjae’s hand with a cackle, “Don’t you fuckers get it!? I’m untouchable! You can’t fucking win!” 

“That’s where you’re wrong, Minho…” Youngjae chuckles, curling his fingers around the tread of the dark witch’s boot. Minho realizes his mistake as soon as the former’s hand begins to glow, foolishly attempting to squirm from his touch. 

Thunder roars in the distance as Youngjae grins in triumph: 

“Because unlike you… we’re not alone.” 

The last thing Youngjae sees before he loses consciousness is a flash of white and the bewildered face of the dark witch as he collapses beside him.   

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“I take it Mark apologized?...” You nearly leap out of your own skin at the sudden inquiry. With a less than agitated frown, you turn to acknowledge the culprit for your almost heart attack. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear some of these supernaturals have powers of teleportation or something… 

“Goddamnit, Dahyun. Not all of us have superwolf hearing.” 

“Sorry, dearie. Force of habit.” The she-wolf offers an apologetic smile, moving forward to hook her arm with your own. She allows Yugyeom, Chan and Mark to gain a bit of distance ahead before repeating again, “So Mark…?” 

“We both talked it out and apologized… so everything’s okay now.” You hum—the tiny fib leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. 

Truthfully, your encounter with Mark left you conflicted. Of course, you’re more than glad he finally opened up about his past, and even more glad that he trusts you enough to reveal his lingering feelings of trauma, but there’s still a pretty big fucking elephant in the room—one involving his dead best friend and the fact you can talk to him beyond the grave. 

You should have told him then and there—right after you promised to abolish all secrets—but something inside you couldn’t do it… and you don’t know why. 

“Why are you so interested in Mark and I’s relationship anyway?” You utilize your curiosity as a distraction from the guilt breathing down your neck, angling your neck to peer at Dahyun’s side profile. “Is there… history between you two?” 

“No, no—nothing like that. Mark and I have just known each other since we were kids. Our moms were close friends, so Mark, Yugyeom and I pretty much grew up together.” 

“He never told me that.” 

“Don’t take it personal, sweetheart. Mark doesn’t like to talk about his past—” Dahyun sighs, “—too many bad memories between his dad and the bullshit that happened with his mom. He’ll come around eventually… he just needs more time.” 

“I know his mom passed when he was a teenager, but Mark never actually mentioned how she died…” You bite your lip, sending a curious glance to your wolf companion. “It’s really not fair to ask you, but—” 

“Mark found her in their own kitchen with her entire throat ripped open.” Dahyun’s blunt answer leaves your throat dry, unable to speak another word if you wanted to. “The sheriff ruled it as an animal attack, but I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure out what really happened.” 

Your heart sinks, and you choose not to say anything further. 

“Dahyun! (Y/N)! Don’t get too far behind!” Chan’s voice echoes from somewhere up ahead. With the black of night beginning to fade, you can just make out his, Yugyeom, and Mark’s silhouettes a couple dozen feet away. Dahyun gives your forearm a gentle squeeze before releasing your conjoined limbs to catch up with her packmates. You do the same, meeting an armed Mark about halfway. 

His eyes glitter with concern underneath the fading starlight. 

“Everything okay…?” 

“Yeah, Dahyun and I were just catching up.” You inhale a deep breath before releasing it in an even heavier exhale. “But there is something I need to talk to you about—about Jackson and the whole resurrection thing.” 

Mark shakes his head, “You have every right to make your own decisions, (Y/N), but I wish you and Youngjae would have come to me.” 

“I know that, but it was more complicated than that—” You try to gather your thoughts while also attempting to make sense of your words. “I couldn’t tell you because, well—because Jackson told—” 

“Mark-hyung! We’ve got an issue!” Yugyeom’s warning immediately cuts off your explanation. Mark shoots you an apologetic glance before hurrying the two of you forward to join the wolf trio. It only takes seconds for you to distinguish the cause of the beta’s distress. 

A deer carcass lays precariously on the forest floor, and albeit it’s practically torn to shreds, you can just make out a single word carved into its bloody flesh: 

Die. 

“Shit—we need to go. Now.” 

“We’ve already come this far. Chae should be around here somewhere.” Chan ignores Mark’s directive, stepping over the animal corpse to traverse further through the forest. He barely takes a step before the witch is grabbing his wrist. “Let me go, hyung.” 

“Don’t be an idiot.” 

“Don’t tell me what to—”

“Shut the fuck up. Both of you.” Dahyun quietly hisses, “Listen.” 

You try to do as the she-wolf says, but all that meets your ears is the combination of your own labored breathing and uneven pulse. Judging by the confused expression along Mark’s face, he’s probably dealing with the same situation. 

“What is it?” 

“We’re being watched.” Yugyeom answers Mark’s inquiry in a whisper. “Mark, you and (Y/N) need to find somewhere to hide right now—Chan, Dubu, get ready to fight—”

As soon as the command leaves Yugyeom’s lips, Mark takes you by the arm and drags you behind a broad tree trunk. You fish Jinyoung’s pocket knife from your pocket while Mark cocks his shotgun in preparation. Who knew the day would come that you’d actually be grateful for the presence of two dangerous weapons…  

“If anything goes wrong—you run like hell, got it?” 

You shake your head at Mark’s demand. “I’m not just going to leave you—”  

“Yugyeom! Above you!” At Chan’s warning, you’re suddenly shoved to the ground by the witch, watching in horror as a deranged Changbin descends from the treetops onto the beta himself. His skin is a sickly ashen shade, and his black veins so prominent it would make a nurse weep. There’s no human emotion left inside his dark eyes as he strikes Yugyeom over and over again with his lengthy sharp talons, tearing open his skin like a birthday present—he’s a complete animal. 

“Bin, stop!” Chan throws his arms around Changbin’s shoulders in an attempt to pull him from Yugyeom, winding a tight arm around his throat before thrusting a knee against his spine. “Think about what you’re doing!” 

With Dahyun’s assistance, the two wolves manage to separate the dark wolf from that of Yugyeom’s wounded self. Even so, Changbin clearly does not appreciate being stolen away from his prey. He easily escapes from Chan’s hold, landing a couple heavy hits against the latter’s nose before shoving him to the ground. Dahyun takes the moment to strike, bringing the dark wolf to kneel with a harsh kick to his knee, but the action does minimal damage. Changbin punts the she-wolf a dozen feet away as if she weighs nothing. You wince as Dahyun connects with a nearby tree trunk with a vocal thud before dropping to the ground with no movements of rejoining the fight. 

“Shit…” You curse to yourself, “They won’t be able to take him down by themselves—he’s too fucking strong.” 

“Watch your ears.”  You notice Mark aiming his gun toward the dark wolf, waiting for an opportunity with his finger on the trigger. At his discretion, you cover your ears just in time for him to fire a first and second shot. A ferocious growl echoes through the trees, spreading goosebumps across your flesh like wildfire. 

You watch both Chan and Yugyeom take advantage of Changbin’s distraction. The alpha delivers a swift, yet heavy hit against his wounded shoulder while the beta goes for his legs. Similar to Dahyun, they manage to pin Changbin to the forest floor. For a moment, you almost believe the fight has concluded in your team’s favor—but the tides shift. In the blink of an eye, Chan is impaled with a large jagged branch and sent tumbling into some foliage whereas Yugyeom is dealt punch after strike after kick, unable to escape the barrage of Changbin’s wrath. He eventually, like the former two, collapses to the earth and makes no move to rise. 

Changbin cracks his neck before stalking toward where you and your companion stand. 

“Mark—” 

“I got it!” Mark quickly feeds another couple shells into the shotgun barrel, cocks the weapon, then aims down sight. He manages to sink a bullet into your target’s abdomen, followed by another in his bicep, but Changbin merely releases an annoyed snarl and continues charging forward. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—(Y/N), move!” You leap out of the way just in time to avoid a powerful strike. Changbin’s hand splinters the trunk of the tree, sending pieces of bark in every direction. A particular shard catches the bridge of your nose, causing blood to warmly cascade down your skin. You quickly wipe the liquid from your right eye, ignoring the nausea fluttering inside your gut, before focusing back on the situation at hand. 

You look up in time to watch Mark swing his shotgun harshly against Changbin’s skull. Taking advantage of his disorientation, you rush forward to stab your pocket knife into the wolf’s back. Changbin practically roars in fury, angling backward to land a hit to your face before you have time to react. The force of his strike throws you to the ground, a sharp pain lingering in your left cheek. 

“Don’t fucking touch her!” Mark throws himself against Changbin, delivering hit after hit to anything and anywhere. Still, Mark’s human strength does little to outbeat the dark wolf, and you watch in horror as Changbin effortlessly pins the witch against his chest with a bloody hand around his throat.  You desperately search for something, anything, in hopes of saving Mark from whatever deadly fate awaits Changbin’s bloodlust, but fate doesn’t seem to be on your side.

“Changbin—please don’t do this!” You cry, praying to some type of deity that the wolf is sane enough to understand your words. Even so, your confidence is low, seeing as talking clearly had no effect during your last encounter, but you’re fresh out of options at this point. “You know this isn’t who you are!” 

To your surprise, Changbin actually answers, “You don’t know anything about me.” 

“Maybe not, but I know you don’t actually want to hurt anyone…” You cautiously rise to your feet with a shake of your head, wary of the tight hold Changbin currently has on Mark’s jugular. “Your thoughts are all sorts of fucked up right now because of the dark magic, so why don’t you just let Mark go and we can—” 

“Don’t you fucking get it! This fucker—” He yanks at Mark with more force than necessary, “—took everything from me! He took my pack, my alpha—the only people I ever felt safe with!” 

“I understand you—” 

“No, you don’t!” Changbin wails, “You can’t even imagine how I feel! How fucking hard it is to wake up in a world you know you’ll never belong! How much it fucking hurts just to go on and pretend like everything’s normal when it’s fucking not!” 

“Tell him it’s okay to feel angry—” You whirl your head around to find a seemingly exhausted, yet wild-eyed Jackson Wang at your side. “—but none of this was Mark’s fault.” 

You’re mortified at first, having never encountered the ghost anywhere outside your bedroom—but whether it’s the desperation etched along his features, or the flush of purple that overtakes Mark’s complexion—you quickly transfer back to reality: 

“Changbin, it’s perfectly normal to feel angry and cheated, but this wasn’t Mark’s fault—deep down, I think you know that.”

“What does it fucking matter anymore? I’m all alone anyways.” The pure agony etched along his face has your heart splitting in two. 

You’ve never seen a creature so strong and so powerful look so… vulnerable. 

“You said the exact same thing to me when we first met…” Jackson murmurs softly.

“You told Jackson you were alone at one point too…” 

An obvious wave of tense silence washes through the forest, making the beat of your heart that much more prominent in your ears. 

Changbin’s whisper is dark—dangerous. “How the fuck do you know that?” 

“Because… Because he’s here, Changbin.” You say, your eyes meeting Mark’s as the words leave your tongue. “You’re not alone because Jackson is still here.” 

You don’t know what kind of reaction you expected from your revelation, but it certainly is not the heinous laughter that spills from the dark wolf’s lips. 

“You must have lost your goddamn mind… Jackson-hyung is dead!” 

“Maybe physically, but his spirit still remains.” 

“You mean—” You turn to discover a bewildered Yugyeom unsteadily leaning against a tree, “—his… ghost? You—You can see his ghost?” 

You nod.   

Changbin sneers with a low growl. “I don’t fucking believe you.” 

“There’s a cliffside back along the bay about twenty miles from the lodge,” Jackson begins, his tone a blend of nostalgic and sorrowful. “Changbin and I used to go there to watch the full moon rise before we turned into our wolf forms… I-I’ve missed that so much…” 

“You and Jackson would always watch the full moon rise on a cliff overlooking the bay before you transitioned,” You repeat. “He says he misses those moments with you…”

“Stop it!” Changbin frantically shakes his head, “You’re lying!” 

“He’s here, Changbin… He’s really here.” You move forward again, more confidently this time, and raise your hands in a sympathetic gesture. “And the last thing he wants is for you to make the same mistakes he did, so please—let Mark go and let us help you…” 

It’s as if time freezes for a moment. Changbin seems to fight a battle with himself—countless emotions rushing through his teary eyes. You watch the dark wolf glance toward an unconscious Dahyun and Chan, then to a silent Yugyeom, before finally setting his focus back to you. You can only pray your face reflects the hope swirling throughout your veins—pray that Changbin will do the right thing. 

To your delight, the blackness of his veins gradually begin to fade and the sharp claws protruding from his fingertips recede. You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until Changbin finally retracts his hold from Mark’s neck. You’re quick to take the unsteady witch in your own arms before sending the now normal wolf a thankful smile. 

“Thank you, Changbin…” 

He nods shyly before wiping a couple tears from his cheeks. You watch as Yugyeom cautiously makes his way toward the younger boy, murmurs something, then tugs the latter into a tight embrace that pulls even more liquid sadness from his eyes. The sight has your heart melting into a puddle of warmth—the emotion doesn’t last though, not when Mark’s dark croak enters your ears:

“You… can see Jackson…” 

You shrug sheepishly, “I wanted to tell you, but he said not to… He didn’t want to hurt you anymore than he already had.” 

Mark remains silent. You try to search for his features for some kind of anger or disappointment, but are only awarded with his surface level blank stare. Worry flooding through your veins, you look to Jackson for any possible guidance, but the ghost merely shakes his head. 

After a couple tense seconds or so, Mark finally murmurs, “Jack… I—I’m so sorry. For everything.” 

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Jackson says immediately, “If only I had listened to you, then maybe things would have played out different.” 

“He says it wasn’t your fault—he should have listened to you.”

“We both made some pretty shitty mistakes.” Mark hums, “I miss you, man. So fucking much.” 

You don’t wait for Jackson to reply, already knowing his answer. 

“He misses you too, Mark. Just as much.”

“How is this even possible…?” You and Mark turn to find the shocked gaze of Yugyeom, who is closely followed by the despair of that belonging to Changbin. “Supernaturals can’t even see spirits, much less mortals…” 

“We never exactly figured that out. Jackson said he felt drawn to me from the Other Side—he kind of just showed up in my bedroom the night after Mina and Momo died.” 

“Any contact with the dead usually requires some sort of spell or medium.” Mark bites his lip in confusion. “I’ve never seen anything like this before, not even in any of my mother’s grimoires—”

“Jackson!” Your body grows rigid as Jackson suddenly collapses to the ground with a pained groan. You hurry forward, kneeling next to the man, and reach for his shoulder. The realization of his phantom existence hits you like a bag of bricks when your fingers phase through his form. You settle for calling his name again instead, “Jackson—what’s wrong?” 

“What the hell is going on?” You hear Changbin stress from somewhere behind you, but your focus is completely on the ghost in question. 

Jackson lifts his head with a gasp, revealing a line of blood dripping from his nose. “I-It’s the witches!... They know about our plans—they’re trying to force me back to the Other Side—”

“(Y/N)?” 

You shake your head feverishly, “It’s, uh, it’s the witches on the Other Side—they don’t like Jackson crossing over, so they’re trying to bring him back…” 

Mark nods. “Witches, dead or alive, will do anything to maintain the balance of nature.” 

“(Y/N)—shit—I don’t have a lot of time—” Your chest tightens at the urgency behind Jackson’s words. “I know so much just went down, but—” 

“Don’t worry, Jack. I won’t let you disappear again.” You affirm before climbing to your feet to face your new subject of interest. “Mark—I need you to perform the resurrection spell.” 

“Woah, wait—” Mark shakes his head, “(Y/N), I can’ t—” 

“If we don’t resurrect him now, then Jackson is gone forever!” Your warning spreads a new tension across the atmosphere, manifesting in the form of sullen and panicked expressions. “Please, Mark—we have a chance to bring him back!” 

“I can’t do the spell because I don’t have any magic…” Your heart sinks at Mark’s revelation. “Minho absorbed all my magical energy back at the graveyard… I’m so sorry, Jackson…” 

“Hold on, you told me that there’s different types of magic…” You push, “Can’t you draw energy from something? Like the forest, or the moon, or, or—”

“Or me.” You turn, discovering the speaker of the response to be none other than a determined Changbin. “Minho-hyung’s spell may be gone, but I can still feel the magical energy lingering through my body.” 

Mark hesitates, “I-I don’t know if it will work… and if something goes wrong—” 

“Do you want Jackson-hyung back or not?...” 

A moment of silence passes after Changbin’s question. You keep an eye on a repeatedly wincing Jackson, and the other on the witch’s face, attempting to decipher his thoughts inside the glow of his gaze. For a moment, you wonder if Mark will even provide an answer, until the words finally leave his lips: 

“Fuck the balance of nature. I’ll bring you back, Jackson—I promise.” 

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Jinyoung stares at the sun as it gradually rises past the horizon, bathing his skin in a warm, celebratory light. His gaze wavers across the cemetery to the notorious mausoleum, where he watches Lia and Jisung carefully assist a barely conscious Youngjae past the doorway. After this crazy night, the siphoner definitely deserves a good, long rest. Then again, so does everyone else. 

He releases a heavy sigh before shifting away from the witch trio. After sparing one final glance to the sunrise, Jinyoung allows his feet to carry him through the early morning glow, past countless tombstones and other structures, and settles beside a second figure in front of a particular burial site. He silently reads the engravings along the headstone before addressing his companion without so much as a glimpse: 

“I assumed you would be halfway back to the bunker by now.” 

Jaebeom doesn’t respond, not that Jinyoung really expects him to. He peers at the hybrid through the corner of his eye, attempting to seek meaning beyond his blank features. Centuries later, Jinyoung still can’t predict the workings of Jaebeom’s inner thoughts. Especially when it comes to the situation at hand. 

“Mark called. Changbin is no longer affected by Minho’s spell.” He explains, “They’re also preparing a ritual to resurrect Jackson Wang—” 

“Tzuyu…?” 

Jinyoung’s chest tightens as the name falls from Jaebeom’s lips. 

“Their youngest, Ryujin, is looking after both her and Felix.”

“So she’s still alive…?” 

“It seems so.” 

A brief moment of silence passes between the pair. The earth grows brighter and brighter as the seconds roll by, reminding Jinyoung that time is a friend to no one. 

“Hyung, did you… truly switch off your humanity?” 

“I did, at first.” Jaebeom’s answer is quiet, and Jinyoung can detect the subtle hint of vulnerability hidden beneath his gruff tone. “But I guess I can never completely turn it off.” 

“It’s alright to feel, hyung—be it anger… or passion… or fear…” 

Jinyoung notices Jaebeom shift uncomfortably before glancing down at the glass vial in the palm of his hand. For once, he can actually distinguish the emotions present within the hybrid’s dark eyes. The knowledge only jabs at his heart. 

“Everything is taken care of, right?” 

“The night has ended, and Minho is safely sealed away in the crypt.” Jinyoung nods, “We live to see another day.”

He watches his companion tuck the precious vial into the pocket of his jeans before turning away from the headstone. Jinyoung is not sure where the urge comes from, but he abandons his perch, grabbing Jaebeom’s shoulder before he can leave the cemetery. He ignores the hybrid’s confused expression and pulls him into a tight embrace. 

“Thank you for staying, hyung…” Jinyoung’s murmur is slightly muffled against the fabric of his jacket, but he knows his companion heard them loud and clear. 

Jaebeom hesitates for a moment, clearly taken aback by the sudden act, but eventually winds his arms loosely around Jinyoung’s back with a gentle murmur of his own:

“You will always be my family, Jinyoung… Always and forever…”  

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“I’ve never used magic like this before, so I can’t promise this will work.” Mark glances to where he assumes Jackson’s spirit is located inside the white circle makeshifted out of a bag of flour Dahyun managed to find in a bunker cabinet, before glancing to the companion at his side. “You sure you’re up for this? It’ll feel like I’m literally sucking the life force out of your body…” 

Changbin nods, “If it means bringing Jackson-hyung back.” 

“Okay, then.” Mark turns to the surrounding crowd next, “In order to do this, I’ll need to lower the veil to the Other Side. This will create a temporary door that Jackson can pass through to physically enter our realm. Once he crosses over, he should become mortal again.” 

“Seems easy enough.” Dahyun snickers, although the sound is dry and forced. “Anything else we need to know?” 

“Whatever happens, do not enter the circle.” His eyes drift from the she-wolf to your silent form. As if sensing the scrutiny, your gaze connects with his own, and knowing he has your attention, Mark continues in a darker tone, “Just as spirits can pass into our realm, we can cross to the Other Side… so for the love of god, don’t do anything stupid.”

Your and Mark’s staring contest ceases when your head snapes toward the circle. Seconds later, you break the tense silence with a soft murmur, “Jackson says it’s getting worse. He can feel the witches trying to drag him back.” 

“Then I guess that’s our cue.” He sighs before nodding toward the circle one last time, “I’m gonna do my best, Jack. Just hold on.” 

With one final glance to the grimoire you gave him earlier, Mark inhales a deep breath and takes Changbin’s outstretched hand into his own. He closes his eyes, focusing every part of his brain on the electrifying sensation of the magical energy coursing through the wolf’s body. Bit by bit, he feels Changbin’s power bleeding into his own veins, awakening the slumbering supernatural nature of his soul. Once he’s sure enough he’s acquired enough magic, Mark opens his eyes and begins the incantation: 

“Vita mortem, mortem vita est… Partis inferioris velum, partis inferioris ante illum vetum…” Almost instantly, the wind picks up while the air grows uncomfortably cold. He ignores the violent shivers wracking through his limbs and proceeds to repeat the words as the temperature continues to drop. With each spoken syllable, Mark’s head becomes dizzy and his flesh feels as if it’s being scorched off, but he continues. 

No amount of pain could ever dull the hope of seeing his best friend alive once more.

“Holy shit—it’s actually working!” 

Mark doesn’t realize he had shut his eyes until he opens them, nearly yelping in delight when he discovers the image of said friend standing in the center of the white circle. Jackson looks no different than the day he last saw him, and he can’t decide if he wants to laugh out of irony or burst into tears. 

“The veil is down! I’m gonna start the spell to cross you over!” Mark yells over the howling of the wind, clutching Changbin’s hand tighter as he transitions to the next phase of the spell. “Ohto eestanay as vazat esvet ohnaz eespalit… Ohto eestanay as vazat esvet—fuck!” 

A brutal force comes down against his head, almost resembling that of a punch, before spreading hot fire down his neck and to the rest of his body. Mark doubles over with a wheeze, attempting to fight against the painful sensations by grounding himself in Changbin’s touch. However, as soon as the first wave concludes, a second, even more excruciating one follows. He feels as if someone is trying to crush his brain—to kill him from the inside out. 

“Mark-hyung! What’s wrong!?” 

“It’s the witches!...” Mark is thankful that Jackson answers Yugyeom’s panicked inquiry, “They’re trying to break the spell!” 

“Like… hell they will…” Mark hisses, righting himself with a pained groan before grabbing Changbin’s other hand. “I’m not going down without a fight—hold on!...” 

He jumps back into the spell, weakening the manipulated pain through the absorption of more of the wolf’s energy. Borderline high off the power, he pushes everything he has into the ritual, determined to see it through to the end. After a minute that passes like a decade, Mark detects a shift in the atmosphere, indicating the near completion of the spell, and shouts: 

“Jackson—get out of the circle! Get out now!” 

As if in slow motion, Mark watches Jackson quickly move to escape the white border. But just as soon as his toe brushes the edge, he is wrenched away and lifted from the ground. 

Dahyun cries, “What the hell is happening!?”

“They won’t let me cross over!” Jackson squirms and writhes, attempting to escape whatever invisible grip is holding him hostage. His efforts are futile, and he continues to rise higher and higher off of the ground. 

“Hang on, Jack!” Mark releases Changbin’s hands and raises his own palms in Jackson’s direction. However, the same torturous pain from before returns once more, hitting his nerves like a sledgehammer to a brick wall, and throws him to the earth. “Shit—no! H-He has to pass through the circle!” 

“(Y/N)! Don’t!” 

Mark raises his gaze at Dahyun’s shriek, only to watch in horror as you rush past the flour boundary and grab hold of Jackson’s hand. A blinding light immediately erupts from your clasped palms, expanding through the area until all Mark can see is white. 

After a long moment, his vision eventually returns, and he finds the forest completely silent. The temperature is no longer frigid, he notices, and the strain within his brain is gone. For a moment, Mark is filled with prowess, victorious at the fact he successfully carried out an ancient resurrection ritual, however, his triumph is temporary, especially when he notices your form laid motionless in Dahyun’s arms. 

“(Y/N)—fuck!” Mark hurries to where you lay, stealing your figure from the she-wolf to cradle you in his own hold. “Shit, shit, shit—she’s not breathing! Fucking goddamnit!” 

His panic only grows tenfold when he hears the murmur cascade from Dahyun’s lips: 

“Mark… where’s Jackson?”

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Jaebeom scales the final rung of the ladder before making his way toward the corner where the snoozing trio resides. He moves cautiously, mindful not to awaken the young werewolf caretaker, yet eventually finds himself perched on the edge of a familiar cot. His heart thunders inside his chest, and he cannot tell if it’s out of anxiety or hope. Though at this moment, Jaebeom can really care less to find out. 

“It’s about time you showed up…” He winces at the broken husk of his companion’s voice, attempting to keep his expression as neutral as possible. “I thought you were actually going to leave me to die in the hands of a neurotic teenage wolf…” 

Jaebeom doesn’t respond to her quip—he can’t find it in himself to do so. 

Tzuyu raises an eyebrow, “What’s with the face? Did you take down the witch or not?” 

“We did.” He hums, “The spell is broken.”

“Good thing—” The vampire pauses to cough, and the sound is like broken glass against his ears. “—you and your brother are safe for the eternity to come.” 

“Tzuyu… I found the cure.” 

“What are you waiting for then? My consent?” She snickers playfully, “We fuck for over a century and this is the most gentlemanly behavior I’ve ever seen from you, Beomie.”

Again, Jaebeom remains silent. 

Recognizing the obvious tension in the room, Tzuyu’s face falls. “But… I guess it’s more complicated than that, hm?” 

“There’s only enough for…” He’s unable to finish his sentence, not when his companion’s eyes are gazing at him with such sullenness and sympathy. Jaebeom has to look away for a moment, though the action does little to relieve the tightness of his chest. 

“Ah, I see.” Tzuyu hums, glancing across the way to a slumbering Felix. Her pale lips twitch, as if attempting to upturn to a smile, but it instead appears as a weak grimace. “You know, I really never meant to hurt (Y/N)… or you.” 

“Tzuyu—”

“I’ve known you for decades… but I’ve never seen you look at someone the way you look at her.” Another violent cough wracks through her body, expelling a mass of dark blood past her lips. Jaebeom is quick to wipe the splotch from her skin with the blanket, trying not to dwell on the fact that her skin is ice cold. “I’ll admit, I was jealous at first… I’ve always wanted someone to look at me like that… 

“I know you’re afraid to care—to love, Jaebeom.” Tzuyu murmurs sadly, lifting a hand to rest against the hybrid’s cheek. “Especially someone like (Y/N)… and you’re right to. She’s too good… too human. 

“One misstep and you could lose her forever.” 

“I want to be selfish…” Jaebeom whispers, “I want to be selfish so fucking bad—”

“But you can’t be, Beom. Not with her.” 

“Then let me be selfish with you.” 

Tzuyu smiles. 

“I’ve lived over three lifetimes, and he is barely a ways into his one—so you’re going to give the cure to that damn kid, Im Jaebeom.” He leans further into her touch as she caresses the apple of his cheek. “Promise me that you’ll stay away from her—to keep her safe?”

He nods.

“Good… Can you hold me for a moment? I’m cold.” 

“I’ll hold you as long as you want me to.” 

And so Jaebeom takes Tzuyu into his arms. However, it’s not until the vampire grows still does he allow a single tear to cascade from his eye, staining the bloodied bed sheets with the agony of a heart that has been broken too many times to count.

#got7 #got7 fanfic #got7 fic #got7 imagines #got7 x reader #got7 angst #got7 smut #got7 au #im jaebeom #im jaebeom x reader #im jaebeom fanfic #mark tuan #mark tuan x reader #mark tuan fanfic #jackson wang #jackson wang x reader #jackson wang fanfic #park jinyoung #park jinyoung x reader #park jinyoung fanfic #kpop fanfic #kpop au

[whenisitenoughtrees]

thousands to prophecy failure

Janus blinks. “You’re sick,” he says. “Someone needs to make sure you don’t die in here.”

Well, yes, Roman has gathered that much. But that doesn’t answer his real question: why is Janus the one doing it?

When Thomas experiences creative burn-out, he struggles with a few days of unproductivity. When Roman experiences creative burn-out, he gets sick. And it's fine, really; he'll suffer through it if it means that he can come up with ideas for Thomas. That's all that matters, right?

Luckily, there are others who disagree with him.

Content Warnings: vomiting, depictions of illness

Word Count: 4,427

(a repost, since the first attempt wouldn’t show up in the tags; see that one for the ao3 link)

It doesn’t come on suddenly. So really, Roman has no excuse.

It starts with chills running up and down his spine, shooting into his limbs and setting his fingers to trembling. He glares at his hand and decides to press on, decides to keep going, because he has come up with so many ideas but none of them seem quite good enough, quite able to hold up under the inevitable criticism of the others. He keeps going, keeps creating, and ignores the way his body begins to ache.

None of it is good enough, and he hates it all, because with every failed idea, he’s failing Thomas, is disappointing Thomas.

Magnifying, Logan’s voice whispers in his head, and he should probably pay attention, but Logan’s voice is also whispering things like, Illogical and unrealistic, and, Really, Roman, you couldn’t come up with anything that makes more sense than this? And it’s joining other imagined slights, joining the image of Patton’s face turning away from him and Virgil’s dark glower, Janus’ smooth, mocking laugh and Remus’ smile looming out of the darkness.

He needs to come up with something good. But the words are slipping away from him, slipping away even as his body trembles harder and his forehead beads with sweat, and he can’t think of anything at all. He starts and stops in fits, and he scribbles out half-baked ideas only to crumple them up and throw them in the wastepaper basket moments later. He began this morning so well, so upbeat and optimistic, ready to tackle the day and let the creativity flow like it has for the past week, so why is this happening now?

He keeps trying. But one moment, he’s trying, and the next, his pencil is slipping from his grasp.

He stares at it. It lies there, innocuous, on top of a blank piece of paper. He reaches for it, but his vision swims, and he is hit with a wave of dizziness even as his entire body shudders.

He should have stopped before it came to this point.

But he needed to come up with something good. Still needs. Needs to push through, so he reaches for the pencil again, manages to pick it up, but he’s barely set the tip to paper before his stomach rebels against him. He lurches to his feet and stumbles into the bathroom and vomits into the sink, gripping the counter in order to stay upright. He turns on the tap to wash it all down; he skipped breakfast this morning, so eager to get to work was he, and so it’s more bile than anything else. He wipes his mouth and looks up at his reflection in the mirror.

He looks terrible, his skin shining and flushed, his eyes bright and glazed. He ignored the warning signs, and now the fever has set in, and he can’t possibly work like this, can barely even string a coherent thought together, but he has to, doesn’t he? Doesn’t he need to keep working, to come up with something good, something that he can share with the others without shame, something that they will like, so that they will tell him he did a good job, Roman, we’re proud of you, except they don’t usually tell him that even when he does do a good job, so what exactly is the point?

No, wait, the point is--

The point is Thomas, isn’t it? He needs something good for Thomas, and it doesn’t matter if the others don’t praise him so long as it helps Thomas follow his dreams, succeed in life, be who he wants to be--

Does Thomas even like him, though? He’s not sure. His brain is hazy, muddled, dark. He can’t remember.

He needs to keep working. He knows that much. Needs to keep working, even though he feels lightheaded, unsteady, even though his empty stomach is performing flips and twirls and the very thought of moving makes nausea rise again.

He trudges out of his bathroom, intent on making it to his desk, but then, the floor rises up in front of him. He barely feels the impact, though the breath is knocked out of his lungs in a wheezing gasp, and it’s harder than it should be to draw it back in. He takes a moment to realize where he is-- the floor, cold and hard and hardly the place for a prince to be-- before heaving himself up, but that doesn’t quite work, because all the strength seems to have been drained from his limbs, so he collapses back and lies there for a little while. Breathing.

The world swims. He pushes himself onto his back, eventually, and the ceiling wheels above him, all his fairy lights spinning and twirling. He raises up a shaking hand, but they bob just out of his grasp. And it’s sad, because he just wants to touch them, just wants someone to touch him, and his skin is too hot and too cold by turns and he’s so uncomfortable so he just lies here and he thinks he might be crying but he can’t stop and he can’t get up.

He needs to keep working. The longer he lies here, the more of a failure he is.

But he can’t get up.

Time passes, he thinks. Nausea crashes over him in waves, though he doesn’t throw up again. He might sleep at some point, but his dreams are troubled, full of darkness and laughter and eyes, all looking at him, all pointing at him, and he tries to run but he can’t escape them because no matter how fast he goes, the ground slips out from underneath his feet and he falls, falls, falls.

Someone knocks at the door. He turns his head to look. Someone asks after him. His throat is too dry to do anything but croak, and the door is too far to reach. So whoever it is leaves, and he is left with the spinning fairy lights and the bad dreams that bleed into waking, and he is hit with the sudden surety that there is someone in the corner of the room, staring at him.

He wants to get away. Wants them to stop looking. He struggles to sit up, wide-eyed and scared and shaking as they keep watching him, unblinking, and he doesn’t know their face, but those eyes are his brother’s, he’s sure,bright and gleaming with malice, so either Remus is here or something else has stolen his eyes and he doesn’t know which is worse.

He struggles to sit up, but he fails, collapsing backward and coughing, coughing until he thinks he’s about to literally cough up his lungs. The fit passes, and he curls into himself on the floor, and he thinks he cries a little bit more. Reality drops in and out of focus, hazy images dancing before his eyes, and he can’t even begin to make sense of any of it, and his head pounds.

He sleeps, and then wakes again, and sleeps, and wakes, and then, there are hands on him, lifting him, and he gasps, striking out, because what if the thing is back, the thing with Remus’ eyes, taking him away? He struggles, but to no avail, and only seconds pass before he is dumped on something soft. He cracks his eyes open and sees-- his bed? He’s on his bed. There is a figure moving in the room, too blurry to make out, and he opens his mouth to ask who’s there, but all that escapes his mouth is a weak groan.

The figure stops, turning toward him, and then approaches, reaching for him. He flinches back, but the figure is relentless, placing a hand on his forehead. The hand doesn’t feel like a hand, though. It feels like cloth, like soft cotton, and that doesn’t make any sense at all.

“Easy now,” the figure says, and their voice is smooth and familiar, and he thinks he should recognize it, but its identity slips from his mind, like trying to hold on to smoke. “You’ve done quite a number on yourself, this time.”

He can’t figure out what they mean. But then, it strikes him, a bolt out of the blue: he needs to work. He has work to finish, or else Thomas will be disappointed in him, and the dread of that happening is enough to give him the strength to move, to start to get out of bed.

But the figure holds him down. And he fights, he tries, but he is too weak, and he has to lie back against the bed again, gasping and humiliated. He needs to work; doesn’t this person know that?

“The only thing you need to do right now is rest,” the figure says, pushing him against the pillows. He wants to keep fighting, really, he does, but the pillows are so soft, and then the figure covers him with a blanket, and he has no chance at all against that.

His dreams are uneasy, still, full of lights and sounds and colors he doesn’t understand. His brother is there again, though whether he is friend or foe, he cannot tell. He has never been able to tell. He wakes panting, and there is someone sitting on his bed, hovering over him, their face just beyond recognition.

“Here,” they say, and hold something in front of his face. A water glass, he realizes, and with that comes the realization that he is so, so thirsty. The person helps him tilt his head upright and holds the glass to his lips, and he gulps the water down, almost choking in his eagerness. They take the water away too soon, and he whimpers a complaint, but they hold fast in their denial.

“Too much at once will make you sick,” they say, and pause. “Well. Sicker, I suppose.”

The words don’t quite make sense, don’t quite resolve into meaning in his head. But he decides that he likes the sound of their voice. It is cool and comforting, a balm to the heat that rages through his mind.

They laugh. “Thank you,” they say. “Get some more rest, Roman.”

That sounds like a good idea. Only, not, because isn’t there something he’s supposed to be doing?

“Yes,” they say. “Resting.”

No, that’s not it, he’s sure of it. In fact, he’s fairly certain that he’s supposed to be working on something. Something for Thomas? He needs to have an idea for Thomas. That’s it.

“You’ve already had plenty of ideas for Thomas,” they tell him. “That’s why you’re sick. You push yourself too hard.”

Alright, he is absolutely certain that at least part of that is a lie.

“Oh, I so want to argue this with you right now. You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

Besides, even if that’s right and he has had plenty of ideas already, none of them were any good. That was the point. It doesn’t matter how many ideas he has if none of them are good enough, and he distinctly remembers an overflowing wastepaper basket, spilling over with all of his failures, all of his broken attempts at creating something that will pass muster.

They sigh, then, and he wonders if he’s done something wrong. He feels so very tired.

“You haven’t,” they say. “And that is the whole truth.”

He is fading back into sleep, and it feels like he’s falling. He’s not sure if he imagines the kiss to his forehead, or the fingers that lightly stroke his hair. He hopes not. It’s all soft and cool and sweet, and he would very much like to be touched like that again.

He doesn’t know how long he sleeps. It feels like no time at all before he opens his eyes, his head pounding, and sees Janus sitting by his bedside, flipping through the pages of a book. It’s an utterly incongruous sight; he doesn’t think Janus has ever been in his room before, or at least, not that he can remember. He might be forgetting something; his head feels fuzzy, his thoughts disordered and confused and feverish, and he feels as though he is burning up.

That would be the fever, probably.

“J’nus?” he rasps, and Janus jerks, snapping his book shut. He glances over, and Roman’s vision is a bit blurry, but he can see the way his eyes widen.

“Roman,” he says, scooting his chair closer to the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“‘M hot,” he says. He pauses, considering. “Head h’rts. Back aches. Why’re you h’re?”

Janus blinks. “You’re sick,” he says. “Someone needs to make sure you don’t die in here.”

Well, yes, Roman has gathered that much. But that doesn’t answer his real question: why is Janus the one doing it? He knows that illness makes Virgil anxious, and he can’t imagine that Logan would jump at the chance to play nurse, but why not Patton? Unless it has been Patton, and Janus is standing in while he takes a break.

His head hurts so much.

He must be making a face, because Janus frowns. “If you’d rather someone else,” he says, voice unreadable, “I’d be happy to get Patton.”

For some reason, that thought is just about unbearable. He doesn’t want Janus to leave. In fact, he rather wants Janus to be closer to him than he is right now.

“No,” he says, and works his arm free from the covers. It’s harder than it should be; the limb feels unaccountably heavy. But he manages it, and makes a grabby hand in Janus’ direction. Janus stares at it, and then sits on the edge of the bed, hesitant. It’s odd. Should Janus be hesitant? He’s pretty sure that’s weird. But that’s fine; Janus can be weird as long as he stays.

He stares at his face, at the frown twisting his lips, at the furrow between his brows. His hat is missing, and that’s definitely part of what’s weird, because it’s left his hair messy and sticking out in all kinds of directions, almost like he’s been running his hand through it, though Roman has no idea why he’d be doing that when he usually takes so much pride in being put together. He looks tired too, like he’s been awake for a while; his eyes are bloodshot, and there are deep bags beneath them. Roman finds himself staring at the left one, yellow and slit, and from there, his gaze travels across the left side of his face. His scales are lovely, green-gold, and they appear as though they’re moving, rippling on his face, though Roman’s pretty sure now that they’re not, that the fever is cooking his brain and making him see things.

“Hey,” he slurs, “c’mere.”

Janus frowns deeper, and that’s a bit funny, but he scoots closer, leaning in, like he thinks Roman needs to tell him something. He doesn’t. He just wants to touch.

He brings his hand up and starts trailing his fingers across his cheek. His scales are so, so smooth, so nice and cold under his fingertips, and he loves them so much.

“They’re very nice,” he says, enunciating as much as he can to make sure his point gets across. “Very pretty. You’re very pretty.”

Janus inhales, but doesn’t say anything. His eyes are wide, and Roman notices that his slit pupil has blown wider, rounder. There’s a word for that, but he can’t remember it. Also, his face is red. The right half, the human half, which also looks nice, but not as nice and pretty as the scaled half.

If his scales are cold, is the rest of him cold? Roman is very hot, hot like he’s full of lava instead of blood, like he’s burning from the inside out, and his thoughts are fuzzy, but this seems to make sense. He nods to himself, and then grabs at Janus’ arm, yanking him closer. Janus doesn’t move much, so he tries again.

“What are you doing?” Janus asks, sounding a bit strangled.

“Cuddling,” Roman informs him. “‘M hot, an’ you’re not. C’mon.” He tugs again, and this time, Janus moves closer. Slowly, though, as if he’s waiting for Roman to tell him to stop, which is ridiculous. He swings his legs into the bed and settles against the headboard, placing just a bit of distance between the two of them, but Roman is quick to fix that, snuggling against his side.

Janus makes a noise. Like a little squeak. It’s cute.

“You’re cute,” he mumbles, just to make sure he’s aware, and falls asleep again.

His dreams are restless, and he wakes up several more times to sip at water, and once to throw it all up over the side of the bed. He imagines castles falling and doors that won’t open and a dragon that glares down at him with golden eyes and tells him to sleep, that he’s safe. He fights dragons, usually, but he believes this one. It speaks with a voice that he knows he should not trust, but does all the same.

He wakes, and he is alone.

It takes his sluggish mind a moment to parse out why this is strange. His last clear memory is throwing up in the bathroom sink; the journey from there to here is foggy. He fell on the floor, and… made it to the bed, somehow. He is alone now, but someone was here, beside him. Someone comforting, someone safe, someone who should still be here. The memories dissipate when he tries to reach for them.

He levers himself into a sitting position, wincing at the weakness of his limbs. There is a dip in the mattress next to him, as well as a half-full glass of water on his nightstand, but his room is otherwise undisturbed. His gaze travels to his desk, messy and disordered, wastepaper basket overflowing, and he winces again.

So much for getting any work done. The whole mindscape has probably heard of his weakness by now. He sighs, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, pressing his hand to his head as a wave of dizziness hits him. He has no idea how long it’s been, whether hours have passed or days. Most likely the latter; he feels as though an entire castle has collapsed on top of him.

Did he dream about that? He’s pretty sure he dreamed about that.

The door opens, then, and he looks up, startled. It is Janus who enters, a steaming bowl balanced in one hand as he closes the door behind him. It takes a moment for him to notice Roman looking at him, and Roman takes full advantage of that time to panic, because why is Janus here? He could imagine anyone else being his caretaker, but not him. Sure, they’ve apologized to each other, fixed what was most obviously broken, but that does not mean that there is no tension between them, a hesitance to their interactions, a caution in the way they look at each other when they think the other won’t notice.

Roman has wanted to bridge that gap for some time now. But he has never known how.

Janus meets his eyes and visibly startles. His hand jerks, sloshing a bit of what Roman assumes to be soup onto the floor, and in the split second before his expression reverts to cool, blank professionalism, he makes a face of what Roman can only assume to be unadulterated relief, and Roman’s breath catches.

When was the last time someone looked at him like that?

“You’re awake, then,” Janus says, walking over and placing the soup on the nightstand. There is a chair next to the bed, and he sits in it, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from his pants.

“Um, yeah,” Roman says. He licks his lips; his mouth is dry and his lips unbearably chapped. He must look a disaster. “How long--?”

“Three days,” Janus replies, and Roman blanches, because that long, really? He could be lying, of course, but there’s no reason to lie about this. So he’s likely telling the truth, which means he’s let Thomas down even worse than he thought. That realization makes him want to shrivel up and die, just a little bit.

“Well,” he says, trying for his characteristic bravado and not quite finding it. His voice trembles, and as annoying as it is, he can’t smooth it over. “I suppose you got drafted into playing nursemaid. I apologize for that. I’m sure you--”

“I didn’t get drafted into anything,” Janus says, his voice sharp, but infuriatingly sincere. “I’m the one who came in and found you.”

He pauses. “Ah,” he says eventually, because how else is he supposed to respond to that? He vaguely remembers being unable to make it to the bed, spending what must have been hours on the floor before… well. He doesn’t remember being transferred to the bed, but it must have happened, and it must have been Janus who did it. Must have been Janus who picked him up, held him against his chest and carried him to his soft mattress, and he should probably derail this train of though because it’s definitely making him blush, and he really hopes he can blame it on any lingering fever--

“We’ve had this discussion before, Roman,” Janus says, his voice just as sharp. There is something else there, too, something that sounds almost like worry. But it can’t be worry; why would Janus be worried about him? “You know very well how creative burn-out affects you. You need to be taking better care of yourself.”

Roman looks away, looks past him and to his desk, cluttered with papers and yet not a single good idea among them. Of course, he should head off burn-out before it happens, because it leaves both him and Thomas in a worse position than they started in. But he thought he could push through it, thought that just another few minutes would bring the inspiration he sought.

“Right,” he says quietly. “I’ll do better next time.”

To his surprise, Janus groans, and he looks over to see that he’s covering his face with one hand. One gloved hand, and another memory floats back to him, of a hand touching his forehead, carding through his hair.

“It’s not about doing better,” Janus says. “It’s about you needing to not make yourself sick, and not because it means you’ll miss work. You deserve to take care of yourself. It seems that you’re the only one in the mindscape that doesn’t understand that.”

He blinks. “I just don’t want to disappoint--” he tries, but Janus doesn’t let him finish.

“Oh, yes, because everyone is so disappointed in you,” he says. “Because no one is worried out of their minds that you pushed yourself into days of illness. Because absolutely no one cares about you for you and not the ideas you provide, which, I might add, are certainly just as bad as you think they are and not worthy of being used at all.” He takes his hand from his face and glares. “Really, Roman. How many times will it take for you to get it through your thick skull that just maybe, we all love you and want you to be well?”

There is so much to unpack there. But for some reason, Roman’s mind is stalling on one phrase.

“You… love me?” he asks weakly, because if he’s not mistaken, Janus said, we all, which would imply that he’s including himself in that, but that simply doesn’t make any sense at all.

How, after everything he’s said and done, could Janus care for him?

Janus stares at him, and then scoots his chair closer, so that their knees knock against each other. Roman is expecting denial, or a lengthy explanation of some sort, but instead, Janus gathers up both of his hands in his.

“Yes,” he says simply, and leans in to kiss him on the forehead. All of the breath escapes Roman’s lungs, but Janus doesn’t stop there. He plants one on Roman’s cheek next, and then the other, and Roman thinks his heart might beat right our of his chest. Perhaps he’s still feverish, still dreaming, still hallucinating, and perhaps he’ll wake up to find an empty room and a cold bed, or will wake up to find that he is still on the floor and none of this was real at all.

Then, Janus captures his lips, and he forgets to think. It’s soft and slow and sweet, barely more than a graze, barely long enough for him to respond at all. He should say something, he thinks, when Janus pulls back, but his mouth has forgotten how to make sounds, apparently.

“Forgive me if I misinterpreted,” Janus says, sounding a bit hoarse. “But you, uh. Said my scales were pretty.” A blush has risen on his right cheek. Roman doesn’t think he could feel any more mortified.

“Oh, Odin’s beard,” he moans. “I said that out loud?”

Because he really wouldn’t put it past himself, feverish and delusional, to admit something that he’s thought many times before, thought and never intended to reveal. And for a moment, he fears he’s said the wrong thing, that Janus will mistake his meaning, will back off when that is absolutely the last thing he wants, once he gets past his embarrassment. But then, Janus laughs.

“Oh, no, not at all,” he says. “Just like you didn’t call me cute, or tug me in to cuddle with you.”

Oh, that’s… ringing a bell, now that he thinks about it. Great. Wonderful. Very princely behavior.

But then, Janus kisses him again, just like the first, and he forgets to feel upset with himself, if it has led to this.

“Not to put too fine a point on it,” Janus murmurs, “but I’d like to make sure you take care of yourself, if you’ll allow me.” He pulls away a bit, just enough to look into Roman’s eyes. “You are so worthy of love. And you’re allowed to take things that you want.”

And Roman feels so very warm inside. He doesn’t think it’s the fever anymore; it’s like a sun, finally rising after a long night, like flowers blooming in the meadow now that spring has come at last.

Perhaps ideas will come later. And perhaps that’s not a bad thing.

“Well, if that’s so,” he says, and leans in to kiss Janus himself.

#sanders sides #ts sides #roceit #roman sanders #ts roman #janus sanders #ts janus #my fic #long post #please work this time i am begging #this is a repost #so i'm sorry if you're on my blog and you see this twice #i'm just trying to get it to show up in the tags this time

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

A Virus for the Vicar

Guess what... I inspired myself with this post to write my first drabble! Also, this had to be written because @gr0ss-enby asked so nicely, and @oh-no-my-hand-slipped had such awesome sickly Victorian prompts. So, here’s ~3000 words of a flu-ridden, regency-era clergyman. 

Feedback welcome! But please be a little gentle. This is my first short fic, as short isn’t usually my jam. But maybe it will be going forward, as I had a lot of fun with this one. 

*****

Lydia Lennox sat darning her husband’s stockings in the sitting room, humming idly as she stitched. She was startled out of her reverie by a commotion on the stairs. It seemed her husband, the vicar, was coming down in a rush. As this was usually the hour he usually closed himself away in his study to prepare his sermon, she was concerned. She rose to see what was the matter, but he appeared in the doorway just then, buttoning his coat with one hand as he held a handkerchief to his streaming nose.

“Mrs. Ames is being buried today. I must go perform the service,” he said with a sniffle. “I shut my eyes but a moment in my study and it seems I fell asleep, and now I am behind my time. I must dash.”

She bit her lip as she looked outside at the chillyA, drenching rain that had been falling for days. She knew he would not be dissuaded from going, despite the dreadful cold he had picked up, so she refrained from voicing her concern. He would only become frustrated if she tried to stop him. After all, burials were part of his duty as a clergyman. 

“Do take care, Mr. Lennox. Come back as quick as you can. I’ll have tea waiting for you.” She forced herself to leave it at that. 

His only reply was a sharp nod and a grunt as he strode to the door. He pulled it quickly open, then shut again, taking himself, hoarse voice and chapped nose and all, out into the downpour.

Lydia seated herself again with a sigh and resumed her mending, spending some time musing about her husband of 5 years. If one were to meet the vicar by chance, or only saw him on Sundays when he preached, that person would think him a stern man, or even a harsh one. It was true that he held himself to the strictest standards as a member of the clergy, and that carried into his interactions with everyone he met. He could be severe and intractable when he was in one of his moods, expecting perfection from himself and everyone else. There were times his eyes burned with such fire when he was preaching that she herself was a little fearful of him.

Yet she also saw the tenderness in every inch of his frame when he baptized an infant, or blessed a child, or took the hand of an elderly person to greet them. She got to witness firsthand his serenity as he tended his garden, his boyishness when he was spending time with his brother, and his gentleness and devotion during their own intimate interactions. 

He often seemed fierce, keeping most people, including herself at times, at arm’s length in deference to his duty as a man of the church, always mindful of how he might be perceived by his parishioners. Yet she knew there was more to him, and she loved him passionately, for all his own fiery passion for righteousness and zeal for his duty. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Some hours later, the door banged open, and the steady patter of water dripping off of a coat onto the floor of the foyer heralded the vicar’s return. That, and a thick, wet sneeze.

“HET’kiihh’shuuh! HET’chooff! “HEHHHT-CHOOO!”

She rang for the tea she had prepared for him, then hurried to his side, blessing him in earnest as she helped him remove his sodden coat. His hair and clothes hung limply on him, and he stood dejectedly, trying to wring himself out, his handkerchief again pressed to his nose. 

“Oh, my dear! Go quickly and put on some dry things. I’ll have your tea brought up to you there. You look half-frozen.”

“That I am,” he croaked wearily. “And half drowned at that. Never saw such a muddy burial. But the good woman is laid to rest as she should be, and that’s what matters.”

“Indeed,” she said, refraining from sighing. “But now go and tend to yourself, for that is what is called for here.”

“As you say,” he grunted. “I’ll be back down in time for supper, but for now I’ll go to my study. I need to catch up on my reading. The whole day is nearly gone as it is.”

“Couldn’t you take some rest? I’m sure the reading could wait another day.”

“There’s no need for it to wait when I can do it now just the same. As I said, I’ll be down for supper.”

He shuffled wearily to the stairs, coughing wetly as he went. 

Once again she bit her tongue and said nothing further. When his mind was made up, there was no arguing with him. So, she went about the usual dinner preparations, fretting the whole time, and all the more so every time she heard him cough or sneeze, which was not infrequently. 

Always true to his word, he reemerged 5 minutes before supper was to be laid out, looking drier but otherwise no better. He shivered faintly in the temperate air, wiping wetness away from his eyes and upper lip. She wished she could go hug him, and offer him any and every comfort she could, for he looked miserable, but she knew he would not allow it. She kept her eyes averted for the most part and tried not to fuss, for he would be quite embarrassed if she did. When the food was laid out, they seated themselves. They bowed their heads and he said grace as he usually did, though his voice was jarringly different. His usually rich, mellow tone was husky and strained, his consonants dulled with congestion and fatigue. Even before the final hoarse “ambend,” she wanted to reach for his hand and squeeze it, and tell him it was fine to not be fine. That he wasn’t any less even though he felt unwell. That she was here for him, no matter what. 

The meal was a quiet one, aside from his stifled sneezes and soft coughs. After one particularly harsh stifle, she timidly looked up at him.

“You sound unwell, my dear. Is there anything I could get for you?”

“No,” he shot back quickly, averting his eyes and stuffing his handkerchief out of sight. “No, I’m fine, thank you. Just a bit under the weather is all.”

“Please do let me know if there’s any way I can be of help to you,” she bravely tried once more. He fidgeted with his fork, still turned away.

“You are always a help to me, dear. But I am in need of nothing just now.”

She quickly nodded, then let her own eyes drop to her plate. They ate in silence until they were finished, then retired to the sitting room, he with a book and she with her needlework. This is how they ended their evenings, in companionable silence or quiet conversation until they went to bed. Tonight though, she knew there would be no conversation. They had both perched on the settee, only a few feet apart, and she quenched the urge to close the distance between them and rub his shoulders and neck. He allowed minimal physical contact between them anywhere besides their bedroom. The servants were watching, after all. 

As she sewed, she watched him in her periphery. He looked to be absorbed in his book, but through the entire hour they sat, he did not turn a single page. She studied his profile fondly, if also worriedly: His long longs, stretched out, but limp with weariness, his fine brow, now clammy-looking, his deep eyes, hazy with illness, and his well-shaped nose, the tip of it red and glistening. Every line of him spoke of fatigue. As she watched, she saw his eyelids drooping even as he fought against it.

She knew he would not go to bed before she, no matter how tired and ill he felt. It was improper. So, she feigned fatigue herself, yawning softly and stretching, before announcing she wanted to retire, almost an hour earlier than usual. 

He looked startled, but grateful as he offered to accompany her, and of course she accepted. 

They made their way upstairs, and he seemed to be moving almost in a daze. As they prepared for bed, his fingers were clumsy, and he was hampered by having to tend to his constantly dripping nose. She hovered at his elbow as he went through the motions, silently imploring him to admit how he was feeling and allow her to assist. Of course, he did not.

Once they were both in their night clothes, she watched him as he lingered, sitting on the edge of the bed and blowing his nose. She perched at his side so their knees touched; he shifted his away. 

"You look quite ill, my dear. Pray tell, how can I help you?" She began to gently caress his back, a gesture she knew he loved when he was weary. 

Yet he twitched away from her touch, a flash of anger in his eyes.

"Leave me be! I'm alright. I’m only in need of a good night’s sleep." 

With a huff he yanked back the bed clothes and proceeded to cover himself with them, keeping his back to her whenever he could.

Now she was frustrated too. With a scowl she moved to her own side of the bed. 

"Your stubbornness will be the death of you, Nicholas Lennox. Just because you're miserable, you needn't make me so as well, when I'm only wanting to help. But have it your own way."

He did not reply, and continued to keep his back to her. She turned away from him as well when she lay down. They both held themselves stiffly still, as far apart on the bed as they could be, until they fell asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

This was not the case when they woke, however. Upon opening her eyes the next morning, Lydia found she had rolled onto her back as she slept. Looking around as she roused herself, she was startled to find her husband still fast asleep beside her. Usually it was his stirring that woke her each day, or the sound of the door shutting behind him as he left.

Nicholas too had shifted in his sleep, and was lying on his stomach, his face toward her, his arm stretched across the center of the bed and resting an inch from her shoulder, as if he was reaching for her.

Any hard feelings that lingered from the night before instantly melted as she watched him sleep. He looked so pitiful and pale, and she heard his breath wheezing in his chest. As she stared, deciding what to do, he suddenly twitched once, then again, then he sprang awake, pressing a hand to his nose, but too late:

"Hehhgg'CHOOOF!" A wet, spraying sneeze exploded out of him, down the front of his shirt. He scrabbled desperately for his handkerchief, his breath hitching for another sneeze as he turned away from her. He couldn't grasp it in time.

"Hih-KIHT-chuuhh! Heht'kih'SHOO!" He sneezed miserably into his elbow, rough sneezes that seemed to scrape his throat harshly as they were expelled. He grabbed his handkerchief at last in a defeated sort of way, and wiped and blew his nose. With a weary groan he fell back against his pillow, throwing an arm over his eyes.

She watched this whole performance with widened eyes. All the years they'd been married, she had never seen him ill like this. She observed him for another moment, then nodded to herself, her mind made up. Regardless of how he would fuss, she was making him rest today, no matter what it took. She opened her mouth to address him when he again jerked forward, breath hitching desperately, handkerchief over his mouth:

"Hiihh'shieww! Hnnxxt'CHUUF! AhKT-CHOOOO! Oh blast it all," he mumbled thickly, the closest he ever came to cursing. He gingerly wiped his poor, red nose, eyes scrunched closed in pain. Yet he would have no rest, for he immediately began to cough. 

 She crossed the distance between them on the bed to put a hand to his shoulder. He jumped in fright, as though he'd forgotten he wasn't alone. Upon seeing it was her, he relaxed slightly, and didn't pull away, but acknowledged her with a little grunt. Encouraged by this, she pressed against his side and began to rub his back tenderly. He groaned softly in pleasure as she did, letting more of his weight rest against her. After a moment he had to hunch forward to stifle another hoarse coughing fit into his arm before leaning back into her touch, rubbing his chest with a grimace.

He was overwarm. She could feel the heat through his shirt. She pressed her palm to his forehead, then his cheek, clucking her tongue softly.

"I am most poorly today. Every inch of me aches or burns. My head pounds so, I can hardly think," he muttered, answering her question before she had to ask it.

"I shouldn't wonder, with how high your fever is. You're not to leave these rooms today and I'll not hear any argument."

"As you say," he mumbled with a cough. 

She wanted to be suspicious of his unexpected pliability, but looking at him, she only saw misery in every feature, so perhaps he was simply feeling badly enough not to complain.

She pressed a kiss to his hot temple. "Lay yourself back down and rest while I dress, then we'll see what we can do for you. We'll ring for tea, for starters." She rose, donning her dressing gown. "And I may have Dr. Barcliffe call 'round as well. I don't like the sound of that cough one bit," she said, as he erupted into another hoarse fit.

"There's no need to involve Dr. Barcliffe," he croaked, lying back down with a wince, rubbing his chest again. "I shouldn't want to be a bother."

"Hm," she murmured, moving to his side. She brushed the sweaty hair from his forehead, and he sighed in pleasure at her touch, his eyes drifting closed. "We'll see how it goes. But I shouldn't think tending to the vicar would be a bother to the doctor."

If he heard, he did not reply, and seemed to fall asleep again immediately. She dressed efficiently, and just as she finished, one of the servants arrived with a tray of tea and toast. The commotion roused the sick man, and he shook himself awake with another bout of hacking coughs as the servant departed. Lydia moved to his side and rubbed his back again. He leaned his head into her side wearily as he quieted.

"Poor man, I've never seen you so ill. It seems you've picked up something nasty--likely from your niece and nephew last week. I thought they were looking a bit peaky, and there you were, rolling around on the floor with them."

A muffled grunt was his only reply. She served his tea, and helped him sit up to drink it, though he tried to protest.

"I'd rather not take tea now. I only want to sleep some more hours yet."

"You must drink aplenty today. You'll only feel worse if you don't. We can't have you getting parched."

He mumbled a few more weak arguments, but when she pressed the streaming cup into his hands, he obediently drank. Of course, the hot beverage made his nose run in earnest, but he seemed too weary to care. She plied him with toast also, but he only managed a few bites, claiming his throat was too raw and painful to eat any more. With a sigh, she set it aside.

He was visibly trembling as he finished the tea, and the hectic red spots showed ever brighter on his cheeks. She assisted him in lying down once more, and covered him warmly, though they were slowed in the process by yet another coughing fit. She let her hand linger on his arm after he was settled.

"Is there anything else you want, my dear?"

He turned to look at her, his fever-hazed eyes imploring:

"Only to rest a while, with you by my side."

She tilted her head in confusion. "You-you're asking me to sit with you while you sleep?"

He nodded. "I'll sleep better if you're near. Would you come sit beside me, just here on the bed?"

"That I will," she complied willingly, flattered as well as flustered. She would never have expected such a request from her independent, private husband. She hopped up to sit beside him, arranging herself comfortably. She reached out to cover his hand with her own. 

"If I could trouble you for one more thing… could I lay my head just there?" He gestured to her lap. 

She reddened. "If you think it would help you sleep, I shan't say no. For you do look so miserable, after all," she managed.

"Nothing would help more." They carefully rearranged themselves to his desired configuration. Lydia was quite taken aback by these developments, though they were far from unpleasant. She studied her husband's still form for a bit, making up her mind as he continued to settle. Haltingly, she moved her hand to his head and began to stroke his hair with the lightest touch. His free hand found hers and gave it a grateful squeeze. Encouraged, she continued her ministrations with confidence.

"You're positively trembling with chills," she murmured, almost to herself. "After you rest a while, I'll have Hannah draw you a hot bath. Then a compress for your chest after a long soak I think. How does that suit you?"

A snore was the only reply she would receive, for the dear vicar was already sound asleep.

#snzblr #snzfic #snzario #Sickness #sicknario #sickfic #a touch-starved sickie ❤❤❤ #nothing is hotter than sick old-fashioned gentlemen #my ocs

[you-arent-gentle-enough]

A/N: I might add tags and such later but as of right now? I’ve had this thing for 24 hours and I’m a lil sick of being nervous about it so- this is your problem now @sinfulcries @keigoism

Y/n panted lightly, his grip on the dyed blond hair loosening as he pulled himself out of the pretty boy’s mouth, finally letting him breathe properly again.

Yuji gulped down air, choking and coughing while trying to regulate his breathing. Finals week was rough on Y/n, he knew that, but he couldn’t help but think it might be rougher on him.

His throat was raw and when he opened his mouth to speak only a small wheeze came out. He grimaced, looking up at the man in front of him, finding him brushing down his shirt and turning to leave the room.

Yuji, with no voice and no strength left in his body, was left with little to do but let his gaze fall to the floor as he panted lightly, gripping at the fabric of his shorts as he knelt there, trying to find the will to stand up and take care of himself like usual before a sudden realization hit.

Y/n hadn’t gone to the front door.

As the realization hit him he looked up, just in time to see Y/n re-entering the room with a cup of what looked like water.

Yuji’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he watched Y/n come closer. Then something entirely new happened. Y/n knelt in front of Yuji and he didn’t even seem to care. Maybe it’s just not that deep, but Y/n kneeling was a new sight to the blond.

Y/n held the cup out to Yuji, but as soon as his shaky hands moved from his thighs the other man frowned slightly, quickly grabbing Yuji’s hands in one of his own and placing them back on his thighs, earning a confused look as he shook his head lightly and moved forward, getting closer before lifting the cup to Yuji’s lips.

This all felt so surreal, Yuji wasn’t entirely convinced that he hadn’t just passed out and was dreaming.

“Yuji, drink,” Y/n commanded lightly. And it was, light. It could hardly be considered a command, especially when compared to how Y/n usually spoke to him, but his tone left little room for argument, not that he would argue even if he could.

The blond obediently parted his lips, instinctively reaching a hand to Y/n’s wrist to help guide the cup and control the amount of water, but it didn’t seem to be necessary.

Despite everything Y/n seemed to know exactly what Yuji could handle and never once gave too much or too little.

Again, it probably wasn’t that deep, but Yuji couldn’t help it when his heart fluttered a little in response to the realization.

Y/n made him drink the entire cup, then stood up, setting it aside and wiping a hand on his pant leg.

Yuji watched his movements, still feeling dazed and confused.

Why is he still here? Why is he doing this? What’s happening? Has something changed?

“Yuji.”

He looked up as his name was called, finding Y/n in front of him, offering a hand.

There was no hesitation as he took the other man’s hand, being pulled to his feet. He struggled to keep his legs beneath him, but Y/n easily held him up, all but carrying him to the bathroom where a bottle of mouthwash sat on the counter.

“Use that,” Y/n instructed, stepping back and leaning on the wall with his arms crossed, silently watching while Yuji leaned against the counter, trying to process the last few minutes and what he’s just been told to do.

Yuji’s movements were slow and shaky, and he couldn’t help but be worried about Y/n losing his patience, but every time he locked eyes with him in the mirror, Y/n was only watching him patiently. Quietly. There was no anger, no frustration, only calm silence. If anything, he looked pleased.

Yuji moved slowly as he rinsed out his mouth, leaning over and spitting into the sink, his eyes flicking up and meeting Y/n’s again as he wiped his mouth.

“You keep looking at me like that,” Y/n observed, tipping his head to the side slightly. Yuji looked away, standing up again, rubbing at his throat gingerly.

Y/n shrugged and moved away from the wall, standing up again.

“Well, no matter. There’s something I want to talk to you about but,” he glanced at Yuji’s hand that was still rubbing at his throat. “I’m guessing you won’t be saying much,” he teased, one side of his lips briefly quirking up, raising an eyebrow when Yuji turned and looked at him confused and slightly worried.

“Calm down, dove,” Y/n cooed, gently cupping Yuji’s cheek and rubbing it lightly with a thumb.

Yuji shuddered slightly at the touch, but leaned into it anyway, earning a pleased hum from Y/n.

“I’m not going to do anything to you,” he assured, his hand slipping from Yuji’s cheek, down the side of his neck and briefly resting his hand on his shoulder before slipping down his arm, taking his hand and parting his fingers to slot in his own.

Y/n’s eyes finally left Yuji’s, following the path it had made down his body to his hand, interwoven with Yuji’s, and a tiny smile tugged at his mouth. He tugged their hands up, brushing his lips over Yuji’s knuckles and grinning at him before turning and tugging him towards the bedroom, leaving little option but to follow obediently.

Yuji let Y/n lead him into his room and sit him on his bed. He fiddled with the sheets in front of him, hearing fabric rustle to the side as Y/n changed out of his day clothes and into the loose sweatpants he always kept here.

Spending the night wasn’t exactly a ‘common occurrence’, but it did happen a few times every couple of months. Those nights where he’d focus on Yuji. When he’d love him for a day then leave after breakfast. Those nights where he’d treat him the way he used to. Back when they were in high school. Now they were both in their third years of college and they were still doing this dance because Yuji was still in love with him. Despite everything, he was still in love with him. And he hoped that one day, he might get Y/n to love him back.

He shifted slightly when he felt Y/n settle behind him.

Maybe tonight was another one of the softer nights. Not those loving ones, since Yuji hadn’t been pulling away from him recently, but a softer one. Y/n was only stressed, and he seemed to get that all out, so maybe he’s been feeling happier recently. Otherwise, he would just leave, right?

Y/n’s arm wrapped around Yuji, pulling him back into his warm embrace, ducking his head into Yuji’s shoulder and letting out a content hum.

What’s happening?

“You did so good for me, you know that?” Y/n inquired quietly, turning his head and placing a gentle kiss on Yuji’s jaw. “So good for me… so sweet. Waiting so patiently for so many years…” he murmured, trailing kisses down Yuji’s neck, resting his head on the blond’s shoulder for another moment before turning so he could look up at him and meeting Yuji’s confused gaze.

Then he smiled.

Y/n smiled at Yuji and it wasn’t sadistic or cruel. It wasn’t sweet or loving. It was just… happy. Content. Proud, maybe?

“You’re gorgeous. You know that?” He asked, his smile growing.

His smile was off-putting, but not because of anything he was doing, or how it looked. It was the entire situation really.

Usually, after one of his visits, even if he did stay the night, he would leave Yuji to pick himself up while he showered and changed. The most he ever said was the usual ‘I’ll think about it’ when he begged him to give him another chance. Y/n never touched him, unless he was forcing him to his knees, or setting his pace, and he certainly never praised him like this. Not since high school.

Everything about this situation was unusual, but as Y/n pressed tender kissed to his neck and shoulder… he couldn’t help but fall into it, even as he fought, afraid that this was just another cruel game.

He’d been hurt before, but Y/n hadn’t cared about him enough to break him in a long time, so even if the praise wasn’t genuine. Even if there was no love behind those gentle eyes or the sweet caresses, even if it was all just a trick, the want to hurt him… it meant Y/n cared for him again.

“So beautiful…” Y/n praised, placing a lingering kiss on Yuji’s neck then letting his head fall to rest there. There was silence for a few moments, the only sounds being the pair’s breathing and Yuji’s heartbeat that he swore Y/n had to be able to hear.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered, shifting until he was sitting in front of Yuji. He smiled as his fingers tracing Yuji’s features, his eyes following the motions. “Truly amazing. Always so good for me… isn’t that right, sweet boy?” He finally looked up to meet Yuji’s eyes again, smiling ever so softly.

“Do you want to be mine again?”

Yuji freezes at that.

His heartbeat stutters before returning full force.

His eyes go wide as he tries to process just what that question means.

He couldn’t be asking… right?

“Do you want me to be yours?” Y/n cooed, one hand now holding one of Yuuji’s while the other held his hip, his lips now tracing his features, but carefully avoiding his lips. “Do you want to try again?” He asked again, playfully nipping at Yuji’s jaw.

“Wh-what?” Yuji croaks out. Y/n chuckles.

“I’m giving you a second chance, dove. Now, are you going to respond?” He teased, sitting back again so he could take a good look at Yuji.

The blond looked about ready to cry.

“Maybe I should’ve given you a little longer to recover,” Y/n chuckled, sliding his hand from Yuji’s and reaching up, running it through the blond’s hair to the back of his head, letting it sit there for a moment before pulling him forward into a hug as the tears finally spilled over.

“Come on, honey, I gotta get an answer here,” Y/n murmured, sounding amused as he kissed the top of Yuji’s head while the blond shook in his grasp. “I’m giving you a second chance. Are you gonna take it?” Y/n asked. Yuji sniffed and nodded, crying softly and grabbing desperately at Y/n’s clothes.

“Oh, look at you,” Y/n laughed a little, running his fingers through Yuji’s hair. “Sweetheart, it’s okay, you’re alright. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere,” he reassured him.

“I-I love y-you,” Yuji barely managed to get out.

“I know you do, sweetheart,” Y/n responded simply, kissing his head again.

The lack of reciprocation didn’t go over Yuji’s head. He knew he would have to do more to get Y/n to love him again, or at least admit that he did. He lowered his head further, curling more into his warm arms and chest.

It didn’t matter how long it would take. Yuji would get him to love him again.

He was never again, going to be the cause of Y/n’s hurt.

[reptilian-with-scalli0ns]

Wrath

Summary: Roman's been a little upset with recent events

Word Count: 1902

Read on AO3

cws: someone gets beat up, there's a little blood, someone's arm is broken, shouting in all caps, being restrained, being choked, being knocked out

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

Janus was waiting, somewhat nervously. He’d noticed that Patton had seemed lonely lately (something that was not his fault and absolutely did not feel guilty over), so he’d invited him for tea. He was waiting in the commons, to prevent any unfortunate interruptions from Remus, or anyone else. He’d even told Remus that his kraken was causing issues in his side of the Imagination, so hopefully that was where he was right now.

He’d just checked the time for about the tenth time in two minutes, when, to his surprise, Roman came striding into the room. He did not look happy.

“You.” Roman strode over, and Janus stood quickly to prevent Roman from towering over him.

“Perhaps it is me, perhaps it isn’t,” said Janus, pretending to examine his fingernails while studying Roman out of the corner of his eye. He looked incensed, and the venom in his voice backed it up. “Maybe I’m actually Remus in disguise-“

“Shut up!” Roman interrupted. “I’m going to be doing the talking this time, snake.”

“You do a remarkable impression of second rate lackey, might I ask the reason-“

“This is all your fault!” Roman slammed Janus into the wall, lifting him by the collar, and Janus finally got a clear view of his eyes. Oh no.

“Roman, wait-“

“NO!” Roman slammed him back again. “Stop TALKING!” Roman’s hands moved to Janus’s throat and he choked, gasping for breath.

“J- Janus?”

Roman turned, furious at the interruption.

Patton gasped. He’d never seen Roman look so… angry. His eyes-

“You know what,” said Roman in a low, dangerous sounding voice. “This is your fault, too.”

Behind him, Janus croaked as Roman’s grip tightened.

“Roman,” Patton said, trying to stay calm, “just let him go, we can talk about it-“

“NO!” Roman screamed, “NO, I’m done listening to either of you! All both of you ever do is manipulate and lie, and I’m DONE!”

Janus tried to push Roman's hands away, but he couldn't move them, and his arms fell to his sides. He weakly hit the wall a few times, then went limp in Roman's grasp. Patton cried out and moved toward Janus but Roman blocked him. He dropped Janus to the floor and turned to Patton.

“Now, both of you are coming with me.”

Roman advanced, and the last thing Patton saw was a flash of orange in his eyes before darkness.

~

Patton woke up to the sound of crying.

“Roman?” Patton tried to reach out, but found that he couldn’t. His hands were tied tightly behind his back, and attached to the wall somehow, he couldn’t get around to see. Then he remembered what had happened before he’d blacked out. “Janus?!”

There was a groan to Patton’s right. He turned to see Janus in a similar position, with the addition of a cloth gag over his mouth. Patton tried not to freak out.

“Janus, Janus are you are alright?” Janus blinked his eyes open and turned slowly to Patton. He coughed a little, and his breathing sounded a little hoarse, but otherwise he seemed okay.

Patton was pulling on the ropes when he realized that the crying had stopped a while ago. And that Roman was standing just a few feet away.

He was slightly in shadow, even though there was light in the cave looking area they seemed to be in that Patton couldn’t see the source of. He couldn’t see Roman’s face, but he could tell that his eyes were rimmed red, and he still looked incredibly angry. He could see this because even though Roman’s face was in shadow, his eyes were glowing orange.

Janus seemed to notice this too, because he was staring at Roman with something that almost looked like fear, and he started yanking on his bindings desperately. He looked at Patton, and he could see concern and fear in Janus’s eyes, but he didn’t understand. Sure, Roman had never been this upset before, but he was still Roman, right?

“So,” Roman said, still in that low, dangerous tone, and Patton turned back to him. “You think that you can just crush all my dreams and that’ll be it?” He took a step forward, and the light flashed off the sword at his waist. “You think, that you can just puppet me around, hold exactly what I want in front of me, only to turn around and say I can’t have it?”

“Roman,” Patton started, “Let’s just talk-“

“And you!” Roman rushed forward, and suddenly he was in Patton’s face, hands on the wall on either side of his head, shouting. “Stop acting all innocent! This as just as much your fault as that slimy snake’s!”

Patton gasped and pressed himself back against the wall. It was Roman, but it wasn’t Roman at all. His eyes were orange, and there was smoke coming out of his nostrils with every breath, and when Patton tore his gaze away from his eyes, he saw two small red, scaled horns poking up out of his forehead and curling over his hair. He snarled, and Patton saw that his teeth had sharpened, too, before he shoved himself away and turned to Janus, who re-doubled his efforts to get away.

Roman walked over and stopped in front of Janus, staring down at him. Janus looked like he would love nothing more than to sink into the floor and be gone, but that wasn’t working, either, so he was trying his best not to look afraid, determinedly staring Roman in the eye.

“You care about him, don’t you?” said Roman, his voice low again. Patton looked between them, confused and scared. “You care about this sneaking-“ Roman kicked Janus in the chest and Patton cried out, “pathetic-“ he kicked him again, and Janus gasped for breath, “liar-“ he kicked him once more and Janus bent over, wheezing, “more than me, who did nothing but do exactly as you said for years and years.” Roman looked over to Patton, who tried to think of something to say, but nothing came out except a few terrified breaths. Why was Roman doing this? “Because you insisted that you were right, you were always right, and we should all just listen to you, but you were lying,” Roman hissed, and smoke shot from between his teeth.

He turned back to Janus, fists clenched tightly by his sides. His breathing was becoming erratic, and his eyes were getting shiny. “You shouldn’t care.” Roman advanced on Janus, who was just recovering and propping himself back up against the wall. “You should never care, because you’ll just get hurt, right Deceit?” Roman spat.

“Roman, just stop,” Patton cried faintly, leaning as close as he could while being held back by the ropes.

“No.” Roman’s eyes weren’t shiny anymore, just orange. “I won’t stop, until- until you hurt like I did- like I do-“ He punched Janus in the chest, knocking a pained cry out of him, and Patton could see tears leaking out of the corners of Janus’s eyes.

Roman heaved a few breaths in and out, and looked at his hands, which were also becoming covered with red scales, and his nails becoming claw-like. His eyes went wide with a slight panic, and he ran his tongue over his now very sharp teeth. His hands shook as they went up to his forehead to feel the horns, and he took another step back, and Patton’s heart leapt with a bit of hope. Then Roman’s hands came down, no longer shaking.

“This is you too, isn’t it?” He asked Janus, anger wobbling through his voice. “You make me the villain, just because I won’t just roll over and let you trample me anymore!”

He kicked Janus again, then punched him in the shoulder, then the face, and Patton cried and tugged on his bindings fruitlessly. Janus summoned more arms to protect himself, but Roman grabbed his wrists and yanked them out of the way. He knelt over Janus, pinning one arm with his knees and forcing the other against the stone wall. Janus struggled, but he was tied down and Roman was stronger, and he twisted Janus’ arm until Patton heard something crack, and Janus screamed.

Patton’s vision turned orange.

He roared, suddenly several feet taller and no longer bound to the wall, and a long green frog arm swung out and knocked Roman back into the opposite wall, where he fell limp on the ground.

The orange faded and Patton stumbled to his knees, catching himself with one hand.

There was a muffled groan from behind him and he remembered what was happening.

“Janus!” He turned around and looked. Janus had bruises forming on his wrist and darkening ones on his neck from earlier, and Patton was sure there were some on his chest too. He pulled off the gag and Janus coughed, worryingly getting a bit of blood on Patton’s shirt. He inhaled shakily. “Janus, are you okay? What am I saying, of course you’re not, tell me where it hurts, is anything broken-“

“Patton-“ Janus croaked out, leaning against Patton’s shoulder. He was breathing shallowly, and wincing with each breath. “We need to get-“ he coughed again over Patton’s shoulder as he fiddled with the ropes, mindful of Janus’s probably broken arm. “We need to go.”

Patton finished untying the ropes and leaned Janus on him more fully. “Not without Roman,” Patton insisted. “Something was wrong, that couldn’t have been him-“

“And it’s probably still wrong,” said Janus weakly as Patton helped him stand, “I’m fairly certain we’re in the Imagination, he’ll be fine, let’s just go-“

There was a muffled sob from the corner and Patton turned to look. Roman was curled up in a ball, his hand over his mouth and his face covered in tears. The orange eyes were gone, but the scales and horns were still present.

Patton dragged Janus over as he protested weakly.

“Roman-“ Roman flinched and shook his head, pressing further into the corner. “Roman, it’s okay, you’re okay now-“

“No, I’m not, I hurt you, I hurt Janus, and I- I’m,” Roman pulled his hands away from his face and looked at them, trembling. “I’m a monster,” he whispered. Despite his injuries, Janus managed to roll his eyes. Roman growled at him, then immediately looked guilty, whimpering as the horns grew slightly longer.

“Let’s just…” Patton didn’t know what to say, but he didn’t want to leave Roman alone here. “We can deal with it at home, okay? Maybe… maybe it’s just from the Imagination, and it’ll go away?” He put a hand on Roman’s shoulder and Roman put his hands over his face. “Please, let’s just go home, I can’t carry both of you.”

Roman muscles lost some tenseness, but it seemed more out of exhaustion than calm. He nodded shakily and pushed himself up. “I- it’s just the Imagination, we can get to my room from here.” He stood, and Patton started to follow with Janus, but he stumbled, holding his ribs.

“Here,” Janus blinked in surprise as Patton lifted him into a bridal carry, “We can get you better in the Mind Palace, you’ll be alright.”

Janus managed a small smile as he leaned into Patton’s arm.

And Janus was the only one to look back with a grim stare as they left, at the orange glow that stayed in the darkness until after they were gone.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #open ending #sort of #janus sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #whump #orange side #rwswriting