#I’m so tired of being vague about it like the frothing at the mouth over something you cannot change at all is wild

[deadonyouraccount]

INTRIED TO FUCKING ESCAPE FROM GREEN PILLED AND BLACK PILLED NONSENSE LIKE WHAT IS THIS NOTHING IS GOING TO CHANGE IM SCREAMING IN THE VOID LIKE ITS POINTLESS YOURE LOGGING ON TO MAKE THINKPIECES THAT DIVIDE AN ALREADY FUCKED FANDOM

Analyzing the same body of work every day that’s got to be taxing

I wish I never would’ve made some of the choices I made if it led to how dismal the fandom is now but I had my cake and I was eating it every day on my old blog & now

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference

[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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[poptod]

The Breeding Kings, pt. 20

Description:

Notes:  WC: 7.4k

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It wasn't long at all until he realized something was different––not specifically in you, or in his environment, but within his thoughts. Things had shifted, and the constant anxieties of where food and water was coming from next were turned to empty slots in his mind, slots you happily filled.

Against his will, he could think of little else besides you. He tried many things as well––staying away from you, keeping close to you, but he had yet to touch you in any way that really mattered. Fluttering glances and barely-there graces didn't count, nor did misplaced kisses on saner, safer areas. No, his dreams offered him no break from the annoyingly insistent thoughts, and instead supplied him with the endless imagination of an unchecked mind. Drowning in the image of your closed eyes slotted next to his in soft kisses, of your fingertips trailing across his bare waist.

But you would never do that.

He stared longingly at you through the gate he guarded, leaning on his wooden and bronze spear as you dug in the garden. Zakiti, your work partner, was travelling back and forth between where new trees had been dropped off, and where you were told to plant them.

In fact, he was so absorbed in your moving lips that he barely heard his own partner talking to him from across the gate.

"What are you, in love with Zakiti?" He asked, but he spoke in Akkadian, and Ahkmen had yet to pick up more of the complex words. One phrase you taught him was –

"I do not speak Akkadian," he said.

Luqa––or at least that's what Ahk thought his name was––just sighed, rolling his eyes and turning back to face front. Ahkmen frowned softly but turned to attention as well.

That was generally how he spent his working hours. Much like he had in the House of Life in Egypt, he wasted away the time by staring at you or thinking of you, phasing out at the thought of knowing you. He was sure his coworker was tired of his shenanigans, but he couldn't find it in himself to care about what Luqa thought.

Fortunately, neither of you had work that often, and after asking the stewardess, your schedules were matched up to have the same amount of free time at the same time. The two of you took full advantage of that, spending many of your days strolling throughout the city and trying the new foods and beers created throughout the mud brick landscape. Strips of gardens were scattered throughout the city, but none more grand than the terraces of flora making up the Hanging Gardens, whose trees leant over with their plentiful fruit. Deep green vines twisted around blue tiled ledges and tall, white pillars, the especially long ones brushing up against the people who came and went from the gardens. You had yet to actually enter any of the Hanging Gardens, but they remained a constant in the background of the city.

Many morning and evenings you spent in the brewery. Sometimes Ahk would follow you, but other times he left to temples and taverns, socializing with the locals in hopes of absorbing more of the language. His favorite time was coming to visit you at the brewery after letting you work for a few hours, as you always lit up like a beacon whenever you caught sight of him.

This time was no different––you raced up the steps, taking his hand and dragging him back down. Today, tarps had been raised above the workshop, blocking away the blearing sun, and allowing a little more comfort in the already-heated environment. Not all of the stations were filled, but your friend Tiamat was still there at your side.

"I am – I am doing a, uh, a way to make my beer, but with the barley," you stuttered out, barely coherent enough for him to understand.

"So... the really alcoholic kind?" Ahk asked uncertainly.

"Yes!!" You exclaimed, and Tiamat laughed.

"Here," Tiamat said, gesturing Ahk over to her. She dunked the cup in her hand into the frothing beer, and handed it to him when it filled with the golden liquor.

You and Tiamat waited in baited breath as Ahk slowly lifted the cup to his mouth, sipping at the warm drink with a critical look in his eye. It was sweet––almost like cider, but it burnt his throat on the way down, warming his stomach pleasantly once it was there. He looked up, and you were still watching intently.

"What do you think?" You asked, your hands clasped tight together in front of your chest.

"It's good," he said, nodding. "You know what would go great with this?"

"What?"

"Cardamom. It's a spice, I'm sure they have it here," he said, but your brow furrowed as you looked away, a confused look on your face.

Ahk looked to Tiamat and repeated, "cardamom."

Tiamat, who look equally confused, said something to you that you had to translate.

"We do not know the word in Egyptian," you said.

"Shit," Ahk muttered. "It would taste so good, though."

"Is it sweet?"

"Well, it is used in desserts," he said with a shrug.

"That is good for me. We can – uhh, we can go to a spice shop, and we can, or you can, find it," you suggested, and repeated it to Tiamat, who nodded with a brightening smile.

"Good idea," she said.

The three of you set off quickly with Tiamat leading the way, as she knew the city best after the years she'd been living within its walls. Bustling chatter filled the streets, accompanied by shuffling feet, wooden wheels, and the jarring calls of sheep and goats. Bells sometimes rung as merchants shouted out their wares, and you ducked beneath their raised arms, giggling as you followed Tiamat, while Ahkmen trailed close behind, almost always reaching out for your hand.

Tiamat was a good deal taller and buffer than you, reaching Ahkmen's height and surpassing his strength, so she was stopped by large crowds that suddenly crossed your path. You panted as you caught up to her long-striding legs, followed by Ahk also appearing and panting.

"Since the drought, a lot of our trade lines have been cut... of course, the Kassite takeover didn't help, so we've only got a couple spice shops left," Tiamat told you as she tried to look over the moving heads of the crowd. "I think most of it is grown in the King's garden now, actually."

"That is good," you said, positing it was better than nothing.

"Yes, but... I do miss cinnamon," she said with a chuckle.

You relayed what she said––minus the cinnamon––to Ahkmen as you waited for the people, who were dragging along a group of goats, to pass by.

"That ought to make our search easier," Ahk said, and no sooner had he'd finished the phrase than he was being pulled on again, your left hand clasping his and your right held by Tiamat.

Frequent turns led you from the northern-most side of the city and into the south, where the streets were less disorganized than they had been. You tried to stop Tiamat several times to look at some of the cuisine and textiles within the scattered markets, but to Ahk's relief she didn't notice you, and kept on her quick-footed pace headed for the spices.

Both you and Ahk fell into heavy pants as Tiamat finally drew to a stop in front of a large, clay storage house, staring up at the symbol carved above the entrance. Through the archway you could spy a few people moving about amongst the massive pots and jars of sandy colors.

When Tiamat made to enter, the two of you followed gingerly, looking like twins with your hands curled in front of your chests to avoid touching anything. You scanned the room as a whole before your eyes fell to one of the merchants, wrapped up in white desert attire and a large turban set on his head. He was speaking quietly to another man, so you ignored him for the time being, and returned your attention to Ahkmen.

"What is the spice you did name?" You asked in a whisper.

"Cardamom," he repeated. "It's just kind of... vaguely brown. Like split wheat."

"That is a good help," you said flatly, looking at the pyramid-like structures of spice nearly overflowing out of the tall clay vases, most of which could qualify as 'vaguely brown'.

"Cardamom," Tiamat tried the word, rolling the word unnecessarily. She turned to you and said in Akkadian, "it's a strange word, isn't it?"

"A little," you agreed with a giggle.

You and Tiamat watched as Ahk sniffed each spice individually, often having to bend down to get a full whiff of the scent. Each time he did so, he wrinkled up his nose, stepping away with a frown.

"Is it bad?" You asked on the first time he did this.

"No, it's just really strong," he said.

That was his continuing excuse for doing it at least ten more times throughout the 15 presented jugs. By the end of it, you were no closer to knowing cardamom's Akkadian name, much less actually having any cardamom.

He backed away from the jars with a frown, crossing his arms as he scanned over all of them once more.

"Nothing," he said.

"How may I help you?" Someone behind you asked, and all three of you turned to see the shopkeeper––the darkskinned merchant who wore a turban. He spoke in Akkadian, but he had an accent, one only Tiamat could pick up on.

"We're looking for a specific spice, but we only know the name in Egyptian," Tiamat said, gesturing vaguely in Ahk's direction.

"Alright," he said with a heavy brow, glancing between you. "What is it?"

You nudged Ahk and he said, "cardamom."

"Ah," the merchant nodded, "qaqullu."

Tiamat asked for him to say it again, but she didn't know the spice, and reported so with a confused look.

"I wouldn't expect ye' to, it's off from Kuru in the east," he said, gesturing out the door with a hand holding round bottle. "Route's been cut, so I haven-been able to get it."

Before you could do it, and to your immense surprise, the merchant repeated what he'd said to Ahkmen in Egyptian. Ahk had a similar look of surprise on his face.

"Do you know of any place that might have it?" Ahk asked with wide eyes. He almost didn't notice the way you grinned toothily up at him.

"You are so intense," you whispered to him.

"How do you even know that word? You asked me what soup meant just yesterday –"

"The King's garden, probably," the merchant interrupted. "But it would cost much."

"That's not a problem," Ahk said before Tiamat could respond.

The three of you bid a hasty thanks and good-bye to the merchant, who gave you an odd look as you raced out of the shop. Crowds had only grown more thick during your time indoors, meaning you could barely see past the moving bodies, and had to rely on Ahk and Tiamat for where you were supposed to go.

Tiamat led the way once more, winding back through the streets from the way you came. According to her, the King's palace was somewhat near to the center, but the gardens were held closer to the largest temple, which marked the exact center of the city. Ahkmen spied through the tall buildings a stretching tower, reaching into the sky in white stone and dark, green leaves. The closer you got, it became easier to realize that the garden resided in a massive temple complex that took up nearly half of the city dwelling on the western bank.

You stopped at a large bridge hanging over the wide Euphrates that split the city down the middle, staring at the sheer size of the rushing water compared to the thin stretches you and Ahk had travelled down. Travellers and chariots marched down the large brick street, wooden wheels pulled by strange creatures you'd never seen before. Most chariots carried one or two passengers, as well as a carriage for goods, such as food, stone, and cloth. A couple carried massive bushels of reeds. On either side of the bridge were familiar statues––the lions with the heads of men, of which you'd learned earlier were titled Lamassu. Soldiers with spears and sheathed swords stood at their sides.

The frequency of soldiers and guards increased as you approached the walls surrounding the temple of Marduk, whose name you only knew after extended conversations with both Tiamat and Zakiti. Ahkmen wasn't aware of the name, but that didn't stop him staring at the temple's might, six terraces building the material of humans into the unearthly heavens.

However, the temple ended up not being your final destination. Tiamat led you past the tower and to the south, running down a wide street that led directly to one of the city's outer walls. Once you stood at the wall's base, she took a sharp turn to the left, and took you to one of the city's entrances across the moat of water.

Across he bridge lay farms and smaller houses, as well as another wall––though much smaller––that had been built to fortify the growing city. The sun shined a bright white overhead, allowing the dewdrops on trees to shine and glitter across the small, town-like reaches.

"There," said Tiamat, pointing out to a shaded area protecting rows of plants. Some of them had tarps set out above them, but others had more permanent shade, effectively hiding a good number of rows from view.

Ahk squinted in the bright sun to try and make out the different types of plants growing there.

"Are we allowed to actually go into the garden?" Ahk asked, a question you relayed to Tiamat.

"I've never been," she said, and began forward across the bridge. "So I'm not actually sure."

You translated the general idea again.

"Well, I've run this much now," Ahk said with a sigh, placing his hands on his hips. "Ought not to give up now."

The overbearing scent of mixed spices was quick to hit you, and the three of you slowed down as your noses burned. A few people were standing outside an open archway, the darkness inside containing several more people, and barrels worth of spices. To the left of that the growing continued in shadow, while sunloving plants enjoyed the last light of the day.

Ahkmen accidentally met the eyes of one of the people flanking the entrance, causing his gaze to shoot back down to the ground. The doorway, like many in Egypt, was raised partway off the ground to avoid tracking dust and sand into the building. He stepped over the frame, and stood blindly while his eyes adjusted to the major change in light. His squinting was disturbed when you bumped into him, muttering some sort of apology before you pressed your side to his, scanning the quiet room with a look of near menace.

Tiamat appeared to be in a similar state of apprehension, scanning the room in hopes of finding out whether or not you were allowed to be in there at all. You and Ahk hadn't noticed, but the symbol of the King was carved clearly above the small house, and those who stood nearby were dressed in deep colors of red, purple, and green––a stark difference from the farmers who dwelled in much simpler homes outside.

Your awkward glances eventually caught the eye of a much older man, whose beard curled magnificently between robes of green and silver silk. His dark, bushy brow furrowed as his eyes fell specifically to you––a sort of anger, or perhaps confusion, overtook his curiosity and he stepped forward.

"My name is Sagar," the man said, taking your hand and bowing his head slightly. You stiffened, and Ahk quickly came over to your side, wrapping an arm around the back of your waist.

"Hello, I, uh – I am here with my friends," you replied in Akkadian, joined soon on the other side by Tiamat.

Compared to you and Ahk, Tiamat looked a great deal older as well––neither of you had gotten the chance to ask her age, but considering you were about as short as a 10 year old, and Ahk was twiggy as a 12 year old, it created a considerable difference. You assumed this was why Sagar very suddenly averted his attention to Tiamat, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. Like you, Tiamat grimaced, her shoulders tightening.

"How may I help you?" Sagar asked, his voice low and weathered against your softer ones. Tiamat stuttered before she found an answer.

"We are looking for a spice, qaqullu," she said slowly.

"You must be a woman of noble bearings," he said with a smile.

"Well –"

"No," you answered for her. "But he is."

You pointed to Ahk with your thumb, who shot you an offended look before he confronted Sagar.

"I do not speak Akkadian," Ahk said, easily recalling the only phrase he knew in Akkadian.

Sagar looked him up and down, almost hesitant to speak.

"Egyptian?" He asked.

You nodded, somewhat impressed considering Ahk was trying to wear more Babylonian clothes, but Ahkmen just looked unsettled, shifting his weight between his feet.

"I've been helping them look for cardamom for their beer," Ahk explained quietly.

"If you have the means to pay for it, the King does have seeds. The price has gone up, though," he added, "due to some... outer pressures."

"You mean the trade network?" Ahk asked, kinking a single brow.

"I'm afraid so. It'll be several gold bands or sacks of grain."

Several?? Ahk's eyes bulged as he heard the price. While he was regaining his words, his mouth fallen open, Sagar translated the sentence back into Akkadian for Tiamat.

"Mother of Gods," Tiamat blurted out. "We'll, uh – we'll be right back."

She herded the two of you out the door––which wasn't a very hard task––and took you round the corner so the doorway was no longer visible.

"I don't think I have that much grain and I certainly don't have that much gold," she said quickly, her eyes flickering between you and Ahk despite the fact that he couldn't understand her.

"We have many gold," you said, retaining most of your optimism easily.

"Okay, wait, we don't have that much gold," Ahk said as soon as he vaguely translated what you said. He turned to you and continued, "we still need to get through Elam and into Harappa. And we'll still need a lot of money once we get there so we don't starve after, like, three days of being in the city."

"Hmm..." you hummed quietly, your brow knotted together as you picked at the skin on your chin.

The two of them waited for you while you thought deeply, staring at the ground.

"We can steal," you suggested after a moment of silence.

"Again??"

"You say it all the time, that it is fun to steal, and from Kings," you said rather loudly, causing Ahk to shoot forward and silence you with a hand held tight over your mouth, simultaneously pushing you against the nearest wall.

"That man in there knew Egyptian, and I'm pretty sure he works for the King," he said quietly.

You stared at each other, iron in your gaze and steel in his.

"What is happening right now?" Tiamat asked, and at that point you recalled that, once more, you were not alone. Ahk had a similar reaction, backing up as his hands zipped behind his back.

You explained the short conversation to her, at which point she nodded with much the same expression as Ahk's when he thought deeply.

"What's the King like?" Ahk asked, knowing little more of the man other than his name. You translated.

"His name is Gidar," she began, allowing you to translate each sentence before she continued. "He is quiet, keeps to himself. He has funded building and farming projects, though, and he upholds the law, so no one really bothers him."

"Are his punishments violent?"

That one took you a little longer to figure out––you didn't know the Akkadian word for 'violent' or 'punishments,' so instead you said something more along the lines of 'does he kill or hurt people who do bad'.

"Like stealing?" She asked.

"Sure," you said with a shrug.

"He will cut off your hands and kill you."

"... oh," you mumbled, grimacing as you turned to Ahk and translated.

"Well, then we better not get caught," he said, placing his hands on his hips.

You glanced to Tiamat with an odd look.

"I do not think that is something we can ask her to do," you whispered, leaning into Ahk.

"Probably not," he said after a moment's thought. "Tell her to go back to the brewery. We'll be back there soon, I think."

"Today?" You asked, your eyes wide.

"Tonight," he nodded.

Late afternoon, and the warm, fiery colors it brought sunk into the horizon, and the stars chased after that light, appearing easily in the sky surrounding a simpler town than the centers of Karanduniash. Only small torches burnt outside the main walls, usually hung by entrances to the clay huts built up from the earth. Some houses were illuminated brightly by fire places, casting squares of light onto the ground from windows, but many were climbing up onto their roofs with rugs and blankets.

You watched the evening progress from a spot near the King's spice garden which, now that you'd stared at it for a couple hours, looked incredibly inconspicuous for such a rich store. An alleyway hid you from sight of the caretakers inside the garden, and a silver earring from Ahk allowed you a hearty, thick stew, steaming with warmth in your bowls.

With a grin you clinked your wooden bowls together before raising it up, forgoing your spoon in favor of slurping the soup. He chuckled, matching your behavior as he glanced past your shoulder, to the garden, and then ultimately to one of the nearby houses in his line of sight.

More people up on the roof––smoke billowed into the air, long shadows and brightly lit faces indicated the bonfire now burning on the rooftop. A couple louder shouts, though still not loud enough for him to understand, and laughter came from there. Ahk recalled with jarring suddenness nights spent on his friend's roof's, cooking fish and warming beer over flames. Fireflies sometimes drifted through the streets below, but what always stood above were looming palm trees, silhouetted against the evening sky rife with stars.

All he could see of the stars was through the thin gap between the houses where you now sat, as anything outside of looking directly up was fuzzed by torchlight. At least the scent of stew still tempted him; he turned his direction back to his food and felt considerably better after finishing.

"I think we take hot stew for granted," he said after a full minute of staring at his empty bowl.

"It is hard to make when we move," you said quietly.

"Really?"

"Yes, you... you need spices, and – and wheat, or barley, or it will be hot fish water," you said in complete seriousness, looking up to him with a critically thinking eye that sent him into laughter.

"Hot fish water??" He repeated, a wide, sweet smile across his face that had you blushing.

"That is what that is!"

"Okay, okay," he chuckled, "keep quiet, my dear."

"I am not your deer," you said flatly, and returned to the last of your stew.

His heart beat painfully, warmth following that pulsing depth. His smile fell, as well, as imagination––and longing––seized him, and he very nearly pulled you into his lap. Instead he dug his nails into his palm, and proceeded to thoroughly imagine the entire scenario, were he not a coward.

He would take your hands and pull you in. You would follow without hesitation, slotting your knees on either side of his hips, and resting yourself on his thighs. Then you'd ask why he did this, and he would say something suave––something like 'just wanted to see you better'. He'd raise his hand and push the hair out of your face to see your dark, inky eyes, and the red mark above your brow. And he would ask–

"How did you get that mark on your forehead?"

You paused your eating and Ahk stiffened, realizing he just spoke aloud his thoughts.

"My parents did give it to me," you said quietly as you set your now-empty bowl aside. "It was... on my mother, not there forever. It – it came off, but they did want me to always have my third eye open. And they hit it in with sindoor."

"Sindoor?"

"It is from Harappa, I think... I do.. I remember that, in that time, I was in stone homes, with flags of red and gold, and the food.. was very sweet. I think that it is Harappa, what I remember," you said, slowly coming to terms with your own memories.

"You remember your time there?" Ahk asked, raising his brow.

"Only a little," you said with a shrug. "But the mark is where everything is made, by Gods, by us. It is..," you sighed deeply, "I do not know how to say it in Egyptian."

"Oh," he said. His knees pulled ever so slightly closer to his chest, scraping his sandals on the rough gravel. "Can you draw it?"

"... maybe?"

You moved to your knees, searching your immediate surroundings for a stick or rock.

The stick dragged through the loose dirt, forming shapes that soom became ideas––one triangle to represent bread, beside two, and then a blank, empty space you circled.

"It is... nothing. It is when you have no bread, that is a number too," you said, watching Ahk carefully to guage if he fully understood. "Because the life does not.. fully live, without our math."

"The absence of something isn't a number," Ahk said with a frown, his intense gaze switching from the image to you.

"I do not know," you mumbled, pulling your knees to your chest. "It is only what my parents did say."

The stray expression on your face was solidified with wandering eyes, trailing off to the side of the alley wall. Ahk was still in a state of stupefaction, staring at your features––the curl of your lashes, or the warmth of your lips, whose mirage always found his cheek in dreams and fantasies.

Before he knew it he was leaning forward, at last reaching out for you, fingers numb with nervousness scraping against the earth. You still wouldn't look to him, but he continued, thoughtlessly, to creep closer, his hand hovering close enough to your waist to feel your heat.

"The man is leaving," you whispered, the words acting like ice over Ahkmen's brain.

He quickly withdrew, clearing his throat and tracing your eyeline back to the King's garden. There was, in fact, a silhouette of a man leaving the garden hut, settling a tarp over the door and its' symbol before he disappeared from view.

"Give it a few minutes," he muttered back, his eyes set dead upon the disappearing figure. "He might come back."

Ahkmen sat back down on his butt, the pebbles beneath him scratching as he adjusted himself against the wall. You glanced to him for a moment, offering a small smile when you saw his furrowed brow, lessening his anxiety if only minutely.

The two of you talked quietly for a little while longer, keeping up your cover as vagrant friends, until Ahk was assured the guard wouldn't be returning. He kept a continuous eye on the garden, and was quick to move to his feet after he decided it was safe. Your hand slipped into his without him asking, a grip he solidified as you jogged, looking up and down the street you crossed.

No one.

The flap the man set over the doorway was a meek form of protection, and was easily bypassed with nothing more than your hands. It rippled behind you as you entered, but soon fell silent, hiding you and Ahk from view of the street.

Inside the garden's storeroom was even darker than the night outside––the flap blocked out the light of torches, and a ceiling concealed the sky. You squinted as you tried to see, eventually making out the shaky forms of closed caskets and containers. Most of them had lids made of pottery, but some had nets wrapped around the high necks, secured tightly into place with complex knots.

"You must see for it," you whispered to him. "I do not know the smell, or the look."

"I don't really know how it looks either, I'll be honest with you," he said. "I've only ever seen it fully processed in one of the kitchens."

"Why did you not say that?!" You hissed.

"I didn't think it would be a problem!" He whispered harshly.

"You –" you sucked in a breath, "– you find the thing, I will go see that we are not found."

"Yes, dear," he said in a drawling tone he had used many times for those two words.

Before he knew it his back was slammed against a wall, sending pain shooting up his spine and into his cranium. He nearly let out a pained cry, but your hand zipped up to cover his mouth, your other arm keeping his chest pinned to the wall. He stared wide-eyed down at you, shocked at the force you so easily used.

Your fingers over his lips.

Your hand on his chest.

Your leg slotted between his.

His cheeks were set ablaze.

"You do not get the bad part of the times in Egypt, when you did steal and make fun with guards," you said, glowering up at him. "But this is not a place where you are rich. You can not pay for innocence. Not here. And this price is death if we are seen, like it is always for me, in Egypt and Babylon."

He gulped down the knot in his throat, only breathing when you gently pulled away. You still glared at him, but it was less intense, and you put more distance between you.

"Do see the cardmoms," you mumbled before you left.

The flap settling back into place was the last sound he heard from you, your fabric shoes allowing you to pad quietly away without making any noise. An intense, overpowering silence followed, darkened hands rubbing it like lavender upon his skin, familiar and uncomfortable.

He spent the following hour or two searching through the assorted jars, carefully raising up mud lids or untying thick rope. Many of the spices were ones he'd tried before––some reminding him of Egypt and others bringing memories of the few countries he travelled to during his time as Prince. Now he was stealing not just for fun, but because he had to. He couldn't afford what he was taking.

Cardamom, who carried a sweet, fruity scent, ended up being at the opposite end of the room, making it one of the last he inspected. Its' scent was also incredibly distinct, and the moment he found it he knew most certainly it was cardamom. He grinned.

It wasn't the seeds, either––it was the actual powdered spice, meaning it was already ready to put in the beer. But there was very little of it, the whole of the container being around the size of his head.

He sighed almost wearily, leaning sideways against the wall.

If you were still here, he could've apologized, and you'd both probably be gone by now. As he phased out at the thought of you, he mindlessly stroked the clay pot.

Approaching footsteps broke his trance. His eyes shot up, automatically tucking the cardamom into his clothes and running off into the night garden, in which the medicinal herbs were grown. He sucked in a sharp breath, realizing acutely that he was now ankle deep in wet earth, though fortunately, in-between the rows instead of on them.

The tarp at the garden's entrance flapped again as the stranger entered. There was little protecting him from being discovered now, and he fled off to the sun garden, careful to not slosh his feet in the mud. It was then, when mud had splattered up to his calf, that he remembered his leather shoes were still inside the storeroom, waiting to be discovered.

Thoughts flew wildly around his head, his quick-thinking talents melting away into timed panic. Wide eyes flickered from the archway between the shadow garden and the storeroom, and then to the arch leading into the sun garden, then back to the stranger, who pivoted on their heel.

He fled into the next room the moment the steps even hinted of growing louder, pressing his back against the opposite wall, his chest heaving up and down.

Again his frantic eyes searched the room for anything that might aid his escape. Tarps were stretched taut between wooden poles, blocking access to the outside, but allowing sunlight to stream in. He looked up and realized with sickness that the only way out was up.

Digging his teeth into the inside of his cheek, he tied fabric around the clay pot, ensuring it wouldn't fall from his grasp. He tensed his muscles, preparing himself mentally before he jumped up and grasped the top of the pole with his fingers.

Steps continued to get closer, now treading through the silted earth and sparking a dreadful terror that shivered down his neck in much the way it had when you slammed him against the wall. He scrambled up, his bare feet digging into the splintered pole before he threw himself over the other edge of the tarp. A loud thud came from him as he fell on his back––once more injuring it––bringing from him a pained groan.

Footsteps grew even closer, marking the sign of running feet that had Ahk clambering to his legs, cradling the cardamom to his chest as he ran. Bits of gravel and hay dug into his bare feet, bringing with them sharp pains that had Ahk convinced he was bleeding. When he looked behind himself, however, he found no trail, and slowed his sprint as he crossed the gate into the main city.

Deep breaths wracked his chest and he collapsed partways, leaning the weight of his upper body on his knees, fingers splayed out on the heated skin. He quickly looked behind him to be sure, and after finding nothing continued on into the city. It would take a while before he reached the brewery.

He paused in an alleyway for a short few minutes, checking the state of his heel and finding it alright. Reddened and dry, but unpunctured, despite the pain being sent through his muscles. With a sigh he leaned back, closing his eyes.

What a nightmare.

He could not pull his thoughts from the image of you angry, blazing with an inequality that had clearly been irritating you for a while. Even with his lie he alienated himself from you.

You would forgive him, but not for the reasons Ahkmen wanted you to. You'd forgive him because you had to, because the only other option was fending for yourself through another country and a half until you got to Harappa, where even there safety wasn't assured. But you wouldn't forgive him because you loved him, or because you knew he could do better. Horrible guilt flared in his chest, turning to bile in the back of his throat.

Whether or not you intended this reaction, it was there nonetheless, and Ahkmen did his best to force it down with logic. It wasn't a big deal. He could do better. And, he supposed, he got the cardamom, so that had to count for something.

His hands were still wrapped around the pot discreetly when he entered the vacant city plaza, heading quickly down the steps into the brewery. From the entrance he could hear the soft sounds of burning fire, and when he pulled away the door he noticed immediately warm light and soft voices, stirring with a mixer that clunked gently against the side of the cauldron.

The two of you went quiet when Tiamat noticed Ahk standing awkwardly at the doorway. He glanced between you before reaching into his clothes, pulling out the cask of cardamom so highly coveted in the last couple hours.

Tiamat gasped, a wide grin instantly spreading across her face. Your mouth fell open in shock.

"You did get it?" You asked, stepping around the boiling pot to stand in front of Ahk.

"Yeah," he said, still reeling from his escape. "Almost got caught. I had to jump over the tarps 'round the sun garden."

"Jump??" You asked.

"Well – more vaulting over them," he said. That didn't clear it up at all, but you were grateful anyways.

He sat in the corner of the limestone room, watching you and Tiamat mix a handful of the spice in the large cauldron, and testing the scent as you stirred. You continued to talk in hushed whispers of Akkadian, your shadows casted long against the low fire. Sleepiness was already beginning to take over him, leaning his head back against the cool wall, and letting his eyes slip shut.

When he came to, Tiamat had gone, and you were left alone to tend to your beer. You still stood atop a box that lifted you up to look over the jug, slowly stirring the thick mixture. Your face was flushed from the heat, and the strands of your hair that fell in front of your eyes casted shadows on your cheeks and brow.

After a yawn and a stretch, he lifted himself to stand, and shuffled over to your side.

"I'm sorry for endangering you," he said quietly, hesitant to look and even more hesitant to touch.

"I do not know that word," you said without looking up.

"Putting you in a place where you might get hurt."

"Oh," you glanced up to him, but didn't linger before you returned to the vat. "It is okay. I know you do not know very much better."

"It's not really okay, I should've thought beyond my own nose."

"A little," you agreed before falling silent.

After a minute he asked, "is there a way I can make it up to you?"

"You had the cardamom, that is good," you chuckled. "But you almost got caught?"

"Ah, that," he said with a long sigh that made you giggle again.

He recited to you the events of the evening that progressed after you left. He conveniently left out a few details––such as almost crying because he'd upset you––but included how he'd injured himself, how the garden official was hot on his trail, and how he accidentally left his shoes in the storeroom. You nodded along.

A beat of silence passed after his story ended, broken only by the bubbling of beer.

"You are filthy," you said.

"Thanks," he said with a frown.

You set a lid over the cask, feeding the fire only a little more before you stepped down from the pedestal.

"I know where we must go," you said, stopping in front of him to look up and meet his eye.

"To bed?" He asked hopefully.

"No."

His heated skin finally calmed down enough to feel a cool breeze as you led him out of the brewery, and back into the empty town center. For a few minutes you walked in silence, and every now and then you'd turn down a street, directions he thoughtlessly followed.

The scent of water hit him before he saw it, and soon the brick path led out to a crystal-white terrace, holding descending steps on either side of the raised platform. Below sloshed the inky waters of the canal, reflecting his warped features. He opened his mouth to ask a question, but was halted when you took his hand, gently pulling him down the glazed brick steps. Their tops were white, and the rims beneath carried a familiar shade of blue.

Olive-colored trees grew on the riverside, barely reaching any taller than the platform that now stood proud above him. Only a single other person was there––a bald man drifting on a skiff at the other bank of the river. He was easy to ignore, which you did gladly, and continued to pull Ahk to the riverside.

"You have dirt," you said, scanning him up and down. "And here is where you do clean your body. This is your forever. No more of the home baths, and your smelly things."

"You mean my lavender?"

"Etuvaka. You know what I say," you said with a stern look.

"I know," he said quietly, sitting on the ledge of the stone dock with his feet swinging in the water.

You took a seat beside him, slipping off your shoes and rolling up your pants before you dipped your legs in beside his.

"How are your feet?" You asked.

"Alright," he said as he massaged the bottoms of them. "I thought they were bleeding, but they aren't, so I must be alright."

"Take your clothe off," you said, suddenly moving up to your knees and scooting behind his back.

He chuckled but undid the tie around his waist, pulling the green shawl off his shoulders. It fell easy to the crook of his elbow, and you tugged it down further, eventually pulling the fabric out from being tucked into his skirt, and tossing it aside to the marble floor.

"You have... color," you said quietly after a moment of just staring at his back.

"Sort of dark? Like dirt?" He asked, attempting to look over his shoulder at you, but settling for staring at the wall beside him.

"A little," you said.

Your fingers touched the top of his spine, trailing down the bumps and ridges showing prominently through the skin of a man overworked and weary. When you pressed harder, even slightly, he hissed and jerked away.

"Careful there," he said, clearing his throat to mask his whimper.

"Sorry," you mumbled.

Ahk continued to wash his feet and legs free of the mud while you stayed knelt behind him, your touch brushing against him every so often. He finished rather quickly, but enjoyed your hesitant fingers so greatly that he pretended to keep washing himself, hoping to feel you at his back and shoulders again.

"You are Shu fully equipped," you began to murmur, your palms settling on his shoulders and digging softly into the skin. "You have not been taken to the God's place of execution, for you are covered with the kenu-garment. You were not made to enter into the God's place of execution, for you are the Great One, baboon-shaped; you have not entered into the God's place of execution, the knife has no power over you."

He sat in silence for another moment, his mouth hanging subconsciously open.

"That was... perfect Egyptian," he turned around, dragging water on his leg, "where did you learn that?"

"My time in your class, in Memphis, was not for nothing," you said with a giggle, as though it was inconsequential, as though you were normal. "It is one of your spells, for being killed by a King. It is best, because that is your crime."

He could do nothing but stare, confounded.

"I could fall in love with you," he blurted out, watching with dread as your expression fell.

You pursed your lips softly, your gaze falling to the river behind him. To his credit, he hadn't given everything away, though by the look on your face he might as well have.

"I am not a person that people fall in love with," you said quietly.

[tracle0]

Something was very, very wrong, and he was absolutely certain it had something to do with the fact that a heart was beating in his chest.

Loud, angry shouts echoed in the air, familiar voices clashing in fury. Someone stumbled on the ground, a few meters away, cursed and righted themselves, backing away from him. Beneath his fingers, the grass was cool and wet, painfully numbing his hands. Panic pounded at his ribcage, scraped at his throat, strained to free itself. It demanded an outlet for its energy, encouraged him to get up and run away, but refused to provide any reason for the fear.

With a throat too dry to scream with, he whimpered to himself instead, a tiny, pathetic noise. Amongst the shouting, it shouldn’t have been heard, and yet in a matter of seconds, someone approached him. “Keaton? Keaton, are you alright? Can you hear me? Keaton?”

Keaton. Vaguely, part of his head recognised that as his name, the word that he answered to, chosen after months of agonising and searching and responding to a name that was not his own. The rest of his head was pulling itself in a thousand directions, screaming, fearful, angry, confused, scared.

He peered up from his knees, where his head had been buried. Everything was white, smoky, a few dark shapes moving amongst the mist, jostling and shouting. Wincing away from the commotion, he lowered his stare to the floor, watching the white. It didn’t move like normal smoke – it coiled, crept, reaching out to him in a friendly, gentle way. After a moment of watching, he brushed a hand through it.

Touching it bought a new jolt of panic, confusion, fear, so overwhelming he was almost blinded by it. Jerking his hand away with a sharp hiss, he tried to slow his breathing to a normal level but found the smoke still snaking towards him, seeking him out, desperate to share its terror.

At first, he wanted to scramble away, but his head and body weren’t co-ordinating yet, and it was surrounding him from all angles. When it started to creep closer, enclosing him in a smaller and smaller patch, he instinctively twitched his hand, and the creeping tendrils were pushed away by an invisible force, leaving a small, round patch of grass clear for him to stay in. And stay he did, eye sockets pressed into his knees, heart pounding, thoughts moving far too quickly for him to keep up with.

Keaton. Him. His name. His body, stiff and awkward as it was. His hands, buzzing, burning, why weren’t they buzzing or burning? He could remember them buzzing and burning and something bad had happened.

What? What? What had happened? Where was he? Who was he? Keaton? The name tasted right, but unfamiliar at the same time. Why was he here? How was he here? He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be breathing. Was he breathing?

Someone. Next to him, the same voice as before, one he recognised but couldn’t place. Whoever it was, he knew he trusted them. Why? How? Doesn’t matter. They were saying something, had been saying something for a while, a low soothing mumble for his ears only, words that didn’t make sense yet, words that were trying to help him. The voice came attached with an image of someone tall, holding a long pole and grinning, as if having just delivered a terrible joke. Not helpful. Not useful. He ignored it.

How long had he been on the floor? How long had he been breathing, thinking, cowering? How long had his eyes been clamped shut for? It helped his breathing slow down. It helped his shoulders relax. He kept his eyes shut, hugging his knees, gripping his arms so tightly he could feel the outline of the bone.

Bone. Bone. His bones. Peeking through his skin, his skin coming undone, he had watched it unwind itself, oh god, oh god, what had happened to him?!

Around him, the shouting continued. Someone fearful, nearby, words translating into meaning in his head over the new wave of panic; “Get out! Go away! Leave him alone!”

Someone angry, further away; “You’ve fucked him! You’ve fucked him! This is your fault!”

Someone muttering, almost out of his range. “This isn’t right. This can’t be right.”

Someone speaking, right next to him; “It’s okay. You’re okay. Don’t worry. We’ll get you somewhere safe.”

A blink and the shouting was gone, the quiet murmur next to him gone, moved to a hushed conversation a few meters away from him.

“Is he alive?” The frightened voice, the person who had been shouting was asking, a much calmer, more feminine voice. He recognised it again, understood it was someone he trusted, didn’t know how or why. With a closer vocalisation, memories swarmed him; a dark and dreary seafront. Braided hair blowing in the wind as tired eyes frowned down at a folder. Ranting passionately together about something not very important. They were good things to recall, sweet moments in the confusion he was drowning in, even if they did raise more questions.

“He’s alive,” the first familiar voice said, a masculine voice. “I think he’s a bit scared.”

A bit scared. That was putting it lightly. Granted, the pounding panic had subdued into pressing anxiety, but he was still more than a bit scared.

“Didn’t expect this as an outcome,” the first voice continued, picking at his words. “Didn’t think he’d…”

“No, me neither,” replied the second. “It’s a miracle. Alhamdulillah.” A pause, a moment of quiet, a moment for his head to calm down a little, then again, “Is he… are you sure he’s alive? Definitely alive?”

“Ask him yourself.”

“I’m here,” Keaton said quietly, eyes still screwed shut, the words bitter and foreign on his tongue. The hum of sound in his throat made his pulse race, but he swallowed it all down. “I’m alive.”

Someone responded, but the panic was drowning out words again. There was peace in the blackness, calm in the quiet, even when it came from ignored speech and shut eyes. He took what he could get, kept his head lowered, kept his terror as low as it would go.

Blink. He was being guided to his feet, someone holding his arm, gently narrating what they were doing as he was walked somewhere. For a few steps, he let himself be pulled through the dark, but quickly found it was more dizzying to walk with his eyes shut than it was terrifying to look around. He could be guided into some of the white smoke, stumbling into a suffocating trap of unmanageable panic. He could trip and fall. It was safer.

Logic didn’t make it any less terrifying. Fear was not logical. Fear cowered at the tapping of tree branches at a dark window, and the shuddering settling of the house at night. Fear flinched away from the unfamiliar and unknown and hid behind a pounding heart. Fear coaxed and nurtured an irrational thought process that kept him hunched over, keeping himself as small as possible as he stared around.

The only relief was the white smoke was now gone, but that was barely a relief; now he could see everything clearly. Images sang at him, high-pitched and straining. Everything jabbed at him, demanding attention. Bush. Grass. Fence. Tree. Bench. Path. People. Stone. Stones, plural. Floating all around, every single pebble and rock that had been on the ground was held in the air, perfectly still, as if poised to fire.

Too much. He shut his eyes.

Blink. Opening them again as the panic started to die down, he glanced up quickly. Sure enough, the stones were still there, frozen in place. Watching. Waiting. The people with him – one tall and white, by his side, the other short and black, leading the way, both familiar, both unnameable – weren’t ignoring the rocks entirely, but also weren’t giving any indication that they were strange.

Maybe it was normal. Maybe he hadn’t properly loaded the world in his brain. Something was clearly wrong with him right now. His heart was still thumping in his chest. His head was still screaming in panic. So what if there were floating stones all around him? It was the least of his worries.

Their presence wouldn’t leave him alone. After a few steps, with his head lowered to the floor, he murmured, “Are the stones meant to be doing that?”

If there had been a conversation before he spoke, it died as soon as the first word left his mouth. “No,” the second voice told him, coming from the black woman. A name nagged at his head, out of reach, almost taunting him. “You’re holding them.” 

“Me?” His voice was barely louder than a breath. Eyes stuck to the closest stone, he flicked his wrist experimentally, dismissively, and sure enough, it fell to the floor. Every stone fell to the floor, in unison, leaving the air empty.

“There’s no other telekinetics around, Keaton,” she said kindly, casually, unaware of the explosion this new information caused in his head.

Telekinetic. Moving objects without touching them. Yes. Yes, that was what he could do. But to this extent? To this degree? To the point that every stone in the limited distance he could see had been held aloft, held still? That was surely too much. Past his limit. Past a limit. What limit? He had a limit? He had passed a limit. Passed a limit and watched his skin unravel to reveal the bones in his arms as a result.

Horror swept up his throat. The person at his side jumped as Keaton tore himself from their grasp, stumbled to one side and threw up, stomach acid burning his mouth and nose, eyes watering. He shut them again as if it would hide the fact he was sobbing.

Blink. He was in a vehicle, a van, being driven through the night. An endless whirlpool of panic frothed and spiralled in his head, unwilling, unable to stop. This wasn’t him. This wasn’t who he was. Who was he? A name, an ability, a wave of terror, that wasn’t what made up a person. There was more. He just couldn’t remember it.

Eyes open again, he was met with a wide array of small figures, mostly of rats, all perched on the dashboard of the van, watching him. For a moment, he stared back, then glanced to his right. Someone was driving him, someone was next to him. 

Stranger danger. A warning flashed in his head, delightfully normal and much quieter than the fear that pounded with his pulse, and it almost made him smile. These weren’t strangers, anyway. It was the pair from the park, unnamed but trusted, both engaged in a conversation that he chose to ignore.

Whilst they were distracted, he took the chance to study them, try and recognise them. Next to him, on the second passenger seat, was the woman. Her wide smile as she spoke was something he had many memories of, and the way she flicked a long braid behind her shoulder was comfortingly recognisable. She was dressed in a warm, fuzzy jumper, not unlike the material on the neck of his jacket, and looked tired. That didn’t seem unusual for her.

Next to her, on the driver’s seat, was the man, his eyes stuck to the road, listening. His long, blond hair was falling in his face. The sight of it pulled a memory, a moment Keaton had asked about it. Does that not get annoying? He’d gotten a tight smile in response, then almost deliberately, he’d shaken more hair over his eyes. Sweet memories. Confusing memories.

More notable than the hair was his choice of clothes. If a headache could be a person, it would look like him. Or, more specifically, it would dress like him; luring you into a false sense of security with a reasonable, if overly large sweater, then punching you twice in the face with trousers with such jarringly bright patterns they should be considered a hazard.

Lots to take in. Turning away from the pair before they noticed him staring, leaning his head against the window, a hand over his face, he peered through his fingers at the world passing by. His eyelashes blurred the streetlights into bright, spiking strands, dancing as he was pulled through the night. Did he know this place? This town, city, street? Its roads were flat, twisting around each other like snakes wrestling. It seemed quaint, familiar, out of his grasp like so many other things.

It was getting to be annoying that everything was staying away from him. After a moment, as the conversation died down, he dared to ask, “Where are we?”

“Oh, hey, you are awake,” the driver said, delighted. “Are you feeling alright?”

“No,” he said bluntly. The window was cold, numbing his knuckles, providing something to ground himself against the tide of panic. “Where are we?”

“We’re in Mika’s van,” the woman said, which didn’t help much. Although he had first heard her shouting, it seemed very unlike her to raise her voice much at all. Whatever had happened earlier, it must have been bad. “Heading back to the hotel.”

Mika. Not his name, the name of the driver. It slotted into place, filling at least one frustrating hole. There was barely time to relish in the relief before the next scrap of information clicked in his head.

The image of a hotel had very little attached to it – a few specific memories of this pair in a room, talking, laughing, arguing. Him, sitting at a desk, eavesdropping on them as he worked on something, the same sound replaying over and over and over. The two of them hunched over separate meals, leaning against each other as they ate. Friendly. Soft. Welcoming.

So why did the mere mention of a hotel fill him with so much dread, such an overwhelming feeling of wrongness? It drowned out even his panic, leaving him with just the sound of his thudding heart and the creeping sense he didn’t belong.

Blink. He didn’t notice the time pass, but the van was stopped, the engine still and silent. Someone was speaking to him, the still unnamed woman next to him. “When we’re in the room, we can get you some tea,” she was saying as if that would solve all his problems.

“We’re nearly there now,” she was saying.

“When we’re inside, it’ll be better,” she was saying.

“Can you get inside?” She was asking. It felt like a demand.

“Lynne,” came a gentle warning. He barely reacted to the name as it slotted into place. “Give him time.”

Keaton wanted to say yes. The part of his head that grasped at every fact he uncovered, holding onto them carefully and keeping them safe and secure wanted to nod, regardless of cold sweat that was making him shiver and the sense of foreboding that turned the air in his lungs into needles. Telling the truth would be making a fuss, and that was the last thing he wanted.

Or – no, that was the second to last thing he wanted, beaten only by the certainty that he would rather die than set foot in the hotel. Why? Why was this hotel so dreadful? What about it was making him hunch so small, so tight?

The van doors opened before Keaton could find an answer. Eyes snapping open, he stared at the building – all bright lights, walls of glass, white accents. Beyond that, out of his sight but he knew the details were there – a polished floor, the smell of industrial cleaning, cloying, clogging up the air. Vividly, hauntingly, the memory of a reception, a desk, a bell. Three images that made his hands buzz.  

“I can’t go in there,” he whispered into his fist. “Something’s wrong.”

Blink. “Wrong?” Came a confused echo. Mika, outside the van, holding the door open for Keaton. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.” He kept his wide-eyed stare on the hotel in front of him, tried to keep his throat from ripping itself apart with the held-back screams. “But I can’t go in. I won’t.” A pause, and quietly, so quiet that he almost didn’t hear himself; “Please don’t make me.”

“We won’t,” came an almost instant response. Lynne’s voice was drowning in sincerity. “Of course not. What do you want to do instead?”

Blink. “I don’t know.” Seven of the rat figurines on the dashboard trembled, lifting a little, and Mika glanced at them, nervous. Forcefully, Keaton unclenched his fingers, settling them back down gently. “I don’t know,” he repeated, softer. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” he was told, Lynne’s voice almost stern. “Take your time. Figure it out.”

Blink. He needed to be somewhere safe. Somewhere secure. Somewhere dark and quiet where he could curl up small and ignore the world. The answer brushed by his fingers, and he grasped it firmly. “Home,” he breathed. “Please, take me home.”

Blink. The van, rumbling away underneath him. He had no idea where home was, but he was being driven somewhere. Time had swept past him, leaving him in different moments with no idea how he had ended up there. He could only assume something had happened in the meantime. He could only hope this wouldn’t continue much longer.

Thinking into the future made his head hurt, but not as much as trying to dig into the past. The future was supposed to be confusing. The past was meant to hold facts, opinions, memories, not a murky haziness.

“What happened to me?” His mumble had to travel through his hands and compete with the rumble of the engine for attention. There was no chance anyone had heard it.

“You don’t remember?” He jumped hard at a response, fear flaring up in his chest. Lynne flinched next to him. “Sorry, sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Moving his hands from his mouth to make it easier to be heard, he rested them on his knees instead, bouncing them up and down to expel some of the panicked energy. The trembling of the van under him provided a soft buzzing, nowhere near as insistent and urgent as he was expecting. His bones were stable under his skin and it felt wrong, but thinking about how they had peeked through his flesh, letting the meat crumble into dust as they grew more and more exposed – it made every disk in his spine shake.  “Don’t remember what?”

He was so distracted by the wrongness of his skin wrapping around him he almost missed Lynne’s careful words. “Four days ago,” she said softly. “You… You, uh…”

“What?”

“You died, Keaton,” Mika said bluntly. “You died.”

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

This is the last ask ill send because im honestly tired of this whole thing

I dont know why you brought up the anon hate you got when that’s no part of the discussion. Even if it isnt your intention, you’re making yourself out of to be the victim when you arent. You say you want to get better but each time something gets pointed out you get on the defensive. I dont know why you decided to bring it up, but now that you have: Piama is indeed whitewashed on your drawing. “Warm lighting” doesnt change peoples undertones like that. Compare it to Piama’s last two cgs if you really don’t believe me.

Even if you aren’t affected, you need to be able to recognize it without poc having to tell you in order to be a good ally. I wouldn’t want a straight friend that lets people make homophobic comments about me in their presence and then hear them say “it doesn’t affect me so i couldnt tell it was homophobic so thats why i didnt defend you”. If you aren’t able to recognize it then you’ll inevitably repeat the same rhetoric. Racist rhetoric is everywhere and spewed every single day so you cant expect poc to be with you all the time and take you by the hand to tell you whats racist or not. Those are the reasons why you need to learn how to identify it by yourself, be listening to poc, by developing critical thinking skills, by not surrounding yourself with only white people. If not there’ll be more unchallenged asks such as one i saw recently that pinned poc that complained about yet another white route “stupid because they dont get that lovestruck releases routes by demand”. As if we have no concept of nuance.

No one is obliged to accept an apology, especially after what happened. I dont know where you got that idea from, especially when it concerns something that hurts people this deeply. And I didn’t point it out what happened just to be petty, I pointed it out because it isn’t an isolated event but a pattern of behavior of unchecked racist comments. That was simply the worst case: It was handled poorly, considering mod viv herself never apologized and again, swept it under the rug. The apology I saw from mod wrath was vague, didnt address the situation directly, was posted on this blog so no one knew what was going on, and was later deleted. So yeah she can apologize ten times and it still doesn’t mean we have to accept it. Especially if it’s that catastrophic because it looks like its more about saving face rather than feeling remorse, even if she did feel bad. You’re too eager to call it just “a mistake” and pin me as the unreasonable one.

And I want to ask you, have you truly seen with your own eyes an interaction where someone said to the other “if you like vinca you’re racist” and was completely serious?Or have you heard it from someone else saying that they were told that? Because considering that other anon watering down a woc’s criticism of lovestruck as “she doesnt like white people or this blog” then yeah i wouldn’t trust anything else coming from their mouths. People are getting too pressed over the millionth white woman in the app. Hell even if it happened, it’s probably what, one, two people? But you’re lumping all of us together as if its been a wave of saying that. The valid criticism surrounding Vinca is interconnected with Nahara’s release (one of the few dark-skinned women in the app) considering people kept saying they’d rather have a Vinca route when Nahara’s was announced. They’re not even willing to support it just because they want Vinca’s and that sends a message to voltage. So it simply doesnt boil down to “well its a difference in personalities”. Im gonna go as far as to say that if a woc had the same attitude as Vinca, people wouldnt be frothing at the mouth for her or they’d delve into the realm of fetishizing (as some people are bordering the line with Piama). But thats a whole other topic. And since people want to act stupid: all of the white characters in lovestruck are white because voltage made them that way. They could’ve quite easily made them a poc, but they rarely do. Think about what that means then, if youre really trying to defend yourself by saying “well they put out whats popular”

Lastly, you should really evaluate the content and beliefs you put out when racist people are still comfortable following and interacting with you. This is why i want this discussion to be public: your followers need to read this and apply it to themselves. Because considering the amount of anon hate you said you got yesterday towards the other blogger, theres a bunch of your followers who need to get off their phones and learn to care about other people and stop being racist assholes.

Believe me, I’m tired of it as well.

I brought up the anon hate because I didn’t want you to wonder why I was posting your asks in this form.

And no. Piama is not whitewashed. I took a dropper tool and took the color directly from her sprite, and if you’d looked at my blog, you would’ve seen that I sent screenshots as proof in response to that ask. But you obviously didn’t, so I’ll send them here again. (1. Without lighting. 2. With Lighting.)

If you still don’t believe me, you’re welcome to call me on Discord and I’ll share my screen and show you the entire process. And as an artist: You’d be fucking surprised what lighting does to colors.

Well, yes, I need to be able to recognize it indeed. The thing is: I can’t always. I try my best on this, and there will be moments and issues that will come up, mistakes I will make because I’m not perfect and not a machine. And in those moments, I’d love to have a friend that affectionately slaps me and says “JD, that was shit.” So I can apologize and notice it the next time. I have had multiple friends be transphobic to me in certain ways. I’ve informed them about it. They apologized and haven’t done it since. We’re still friends to this day. I do try to educate myself on racism and put in some work. I don’t expect POC to do all the work for me and explain to me how to be an ally correctly, and still - I hope they help me just as I help my cis friends with trans stuff. I can’t magically change all my behaviors and overcome internalized societal racism with the snap of a finger. If I could, I fucking would have already done it multiple times. The way it is, I’m working on it. Again - I’m sorry I didn’t point out the racist comment in the ask. I should’ve done that, and I’ll make sure to do it in the future.

You’re right no one is obliged to accept an apology. You’re right this hurts people deeply. And as I said - Mod Wrath apologized three times, including one on her personal blog which was a lot less vague. Mod Viv also apologized - to the person in question, in private. Just because you didn’t see it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. And the thing is - if you refuse to accept her apology, that’s one thing and fully your right. And the thing is: If an apology is not going to make you forgive her, if ten are not, what do you need in order to forgive? Will you never forgive? Will you always argue it’s going to be an apology to save face when you don’t know the fact she does feel remorse? How will you see that she does?

I did hear the Vinca thing from a friend of mine. Whom I trust. Because seriously, why would you make things like that up? Who would even get the idea? I’m against the idea of believing my friends would lie to me for attention or whatever. And yeah, the criticism of that anon was unfitting - I’ve visited the blog they claimed was doing that and I found nothing of the sorts, so that comment was unfitting unless I missed something. I never intended to say that it’s all of you saying that. I intended to say that some people are handling the issue wrong. I’m sorry it came off that way. I do believe though that it’s people’s full right to say they’d have preferred Vinca over Nahara. I would’ve preferred Vinca. I still read Nahara tho. However, it’s not yours to dictate which routes other people have to support and which not. I will however agree with you that people should give Nahara a chance - it’s quite the sweet story. And I for my part would enjoy a POC Vinca just as much as a white one. (Also, side note, you’re making it appear as if everyone would either fetishize or rage over her, which is very much putting all of the “white” fanbase into the same bag, the same thing you critizised me for earlier. It’s understandable from a psychological point of view, tho, so I’m not gonna comment further.)

Yeah, Voltage makes the characters white, and that’s an issue people can only fix by demanding more POC in the ask posts and comments. Which many do, btw. They put out what is popular indeed, they put out what is demanded, and I fucking demand more POC. I want it. They could’ve made so many LIs POC and they haven’t and I’m fucking unhappy about it too! I’m not even trying to say anything else.

Yes, making this public to arouse thinking is a good policy. The followers need to read this indeed. And we didn’t get anon hate for the other blogger. We got anon hate towards us. Tons. Comments that went as far as telling mods to kill themselves. And while I agree with lots of the things you say - some of the ways you’re acting actively spark this type of hate. There is being loud about the issues you face, and then there is calling people racist assholes based on a comment they made instead of talking to them personally and telling them that’s not okay, giving them the chance to improve themselves instead of always having them stamped as a racist. Just because you’re the one who’s hurt, the one who’s morally correct, does not mean anything you say or do is good behavior. 

You told me I whitewashed Piama when you, with a minute of research, could’ve found proof I didn’t. You obviously wanted the internet to see, maybe hoped I’d get exposed? Could I get an apology for that? And I promise, I’ll accept it because I’m willing to believe you’re a good person.

Summary of everything:

You’re right with lots of things.

I behaved wrong and I’m sorry.

Lovestruck has an issue with racism that we need to change together. 

Together. Without toxic behavior from any side.

- Mod JD

[bunny-hoodlum]

“Untitled” for NH2020 May “Jealousy”

No one prepares you for the first fall.

Nor the vice around one's heart, the kind that feels like you'll never be the same again if you don't remove it right away.

Naruto was twelve when he became vaguely aware of these concepts, that growing into himself -- whomever that was -- meant dealing with new aches of every severity, shape and sharpness, and removing them like the spiny seeds that clung to his sherbet-orange sweater.

Naruto stumbled out of the bushes, urgency bouncing inside his skull like pachinko balls.

Glancing down at his appearance, he wrapped his hands in his sleeves and swiped at the burrs, only to come away with palmfuls of them.

Throwing his head back, he growled in resignation.

He's been coming here after school for the past two years, ever since they moved from the prefecture north of Hi no Kuni's capital.

This particular sight, though familiar and ordinary, has evolved inside his mind. Once a green ocean to frolic across, the large sports field now resembles an emerald moat around a castle of a high school.

He sprinted across the grass, up the slope and onto the dirt path lining the perimeter. Bypassing the wash sink and the enormous gymnasium, he dashed into the outside corridor between buildings and entered the main school.

From there he made a beeline inside, his black Randoseru bouncing against his back with every step.

Here and there were older kids, boys in their black slacks and buttermilk yellow sweaters, girls in their black skirts, black socks and yellow sweaters. Some wore their red ribbons, others wore their loose or completely undone, or none at all.

Gone were their curious, mirth-filled gazes and amused whispers. Well, for the most part.

"Hey bud, you look like you'd been swimming in sea urchins." said one boy in passing, pointing his finger.

"Yeah, yeah! I know!" Naruto hurried along, his lips fluttering with an exaggerated sigh.

That aside, these teens they paid him no mind, as if he were one of their own.

Because they knew exactly where he was headed.

Naruto reached the Staff Room and pushed the slide door open. Instantly he attracted the eyes of the other teachers, their faces lighting up at his presence.

The first one to greet him was a woman with a brown bob parted from the center, with dark kind eyes and purple eyeshadow.

"Oh, Naruto-chan's here! My day is officially brightened!" said Nohara-sensei, one of the Home-Ecs teachers.

"Hey, what about me?!" interjected an Uchiha her age as he gaped at her in betrayal.

Nohara-sensei's smile remained unchanged.

Adjacent from Uchiha-sensei at the foot of the combined faculty desks, the silver-haired Hatake-sensei greeted him with a two-finger salute, his bored gaze glued to a thin book laid atop his stack of graded assignments.

Amongst these three were four other teachers, one of them being his dad.

"Naruto! You're early today!" His father said matter-of-factly as he spun halfway in his desk chair.

"Yeah! That's because--"

"Excuse me, Namikaze-sensei?" Her voice twinkled like the dreamy dulcet tones of the Kalimba, the air playfully plucked with each clear syllable.

Time slowed down, yet his heartbeat jumped and ran off, like a spooked horse after getting spanked in the buns.

The reason why he's early… The reason is...

His father's attention shifted a foot over his head, a cordial smile taking place. "Oh, Hyuuga-san! Those are the propositions for our Culture Day theme?"

"Yes, Sensei." The owner of that voice crossed the threshold, her gaze falling over him for a moment, and when she smiled at him the world grew quiet beneath the swishing of blood in his ears. And when she beheld him, her eyes curved as though her cheeks were swelled with love, and the only colors that existed were hers.

Hyuuga Hinata circled around the island of desks to hand in the stack of papers, and Naruto watched how his father interacted with one of his beloved students, and how she interacted with him.

Of course his father didn't act the way he does with his wife around his student, but somehow Naruto had to make sure.

And his father was a popular man no matter where he went, no matter where he worked. It never took very long until a new Namikaze-sensei Fanclub established itself, so Naruto had to see if she wasn't one of them.

They spoke and spoke but the topic never strayed and their eyes maintained the same friendly regard.

And yet, wordlessly, in the back of his mind he wondered.

If he stared hard enough, would she look his way again?

She excused herself with a small bow and with delicate precision, she strode towards the door, their business completed.

But as she left the Staff Room, she did not look at him again.

Naruto squeezed the straps of his Randoseru, the aches growing stronger around his chest.

"Naruto," His father called out to him. "I'm afraid I'm still going to be here awhile longer. What did you need?"

Naruto flattened his lips together then transformed his chagrin into a cheery beam.

"I just wanted to see you, Dad."

His father furrowed his brows and hummed questioningly, inciting Naruto to conjure a new excuse.

"Also... there's a new figurine I want." He rubbed the back of his head for extra credulity.

"A figurine? You haven't played Gashapon since you were ten." Even so, his father began to dig around for spare coins in his pants pocket. "What changed?"

Naruto wove around to approach his father. Minato furtively surveyed his son's appearance, the frown pretty much saying 'I've told before to stop going through the bushes', but it was faster for him, the walk to the front entrance taking him an extra ten minutes if he did.

Presenting his empty palm, Naruto accepted the coins and idly counted them to give himself more time.

It looked like just enough for a can of 200% Sweet Café Au Lait, rather than a vacuous plastic figurine.

His father was still waiting for an answer.

"Uhh," Naruto pocketed the coins into his back pants pocket. "I just found one that I really, really want, that's all."

Rin watched Naruto exit the Staff Room, her smile broader than before.

"Naruto-chan is getting cuter everyday." She mused.

"Hm? What is that supposed to mean?" said Obito, a trace of a whine still in his voice.

"Did you see his face when Hyuuga-san arrived?"

Minato lifted his head up from his paperwork, trepidation and intrigue washing over him like a chilly waterfall.

"I know exactly the meaning of that face," Rin continued, her gaze sliding over to Obito whose ears reddened knowingly. And Minato was beginning to connect the dots, though he didn't want to. "Naruto-chan is lovestruck."

_____________________________________

Later that night over dinner, Minato was quiet. Which wasn't particularly unusual when his beloved wife and son always had so much to say.

He loved their vivaciousness, how they seemed to boil over with attitude and excitement at even the smallest source of happiness, never dimming, never tiring. He loved listening to their stories.

"-- And the ball bounced off the goal and smacked Sasuke in the back of the head, and he face-planted the grass!"

"So that's what happened!" Kushina was in tears. "Mikoto called me asking if anything happened at school today."

"What did he say?"

"He told his mother he lost in a fight against three older kids!" Kushina clasped a hand over her mouth, he features scrunching up as though her laughter could escape from her eyes, and Naruto broke down into laughter with her.

Minato's gentle smile pulled up higher, and yet that familiar warmth in his face and thumping in his chest suddenly came with pangs.

But now Minato was looking at his son as though he were shining at a brightness never witnessed before.

Like a TZO hybrid star.

This love that he felt for Kushina hasn't changed since their middle school days.

And with great melancholy Minato imagined that these same feelings were growing inside his son.

_____________________________________

This was one of their rituals.

Minato washing the dishes while he handed them off to Kushina to dry.

It was an easy way to speak amongst themselves like two lovers.

"Is everything alright?" Kushina said as she wiped down a plate and added it to the drying rack beside her.

"Naruto likes someone."

"Huh?! No way! How could he not tell me?!"

"Shh!" Minato threw a glance out the kitchen entryway which lead into the living room. Naruto's blond head could be seen beyond the couch where he sat by the low table, transfixed by the prank show on tv. "He didn't tell me at all. Rin figured it out."

Kushina's shock quickly curled into a sly grin. "Did she now? Well, I wonder who it could be."

Minato grimaced. "She figured that out, too."

"What?! How?!"

Indeed, how? Rin had no business in any other school but theirs. Had Naruto being crushing on a fellow classmate instead, Rin's obtaining of knowledge would certainly be more interesting than the knowledge itself.

Minato propped his elbows against the sink and slumped forward, his hair nearly grazing the froth of dish suds.

Minato couldn't bring himself to say.

It wasn't so much respect of his son's privacy than it was his inability to accept the situation.

"He's growing up too fast."

A beat of silence hung between them before Kushina responded with loving circular strokes along his back.

Minato was the last person you would ever hear gripe nor whine, so this was rather serious.

Kushina then grasped her husband's shoulders and pressed herself against his back and held him.

He slowly angled his head towards her, temple kissing temple and they breathed in their mutual resignation that, yes, Naruto would soon no longer be a child.

No more childish fixations and hobbies, no more innocent observations that made him laugh, no more boundless curiosity where he had all the answers not the internet, no more theatrical 'labor strikes' in demand of an increase of allowance or a trip to the waterpark because Sasuke made it sound like a paradise.

None of that.

He could begin working as early as fifteen if he so desired.

He would afford his own fun, possibly sneak around when his sense of curiosity matured.

Rather than the reward of sharing and impressing his dear old dad, he'll be seduced by the appeal of secrecy and keep things to himself.

He won't desire his father's opinion on anything. At that age, teens believe they know what's best, so they trust themselves above everyone else.

Independence like that is inevitable.

And whoever in the future accepts his feelings, they'll have every part of his son that he’s lost, and Minato isn't ready for any of that.

Kushina chuckled lightly before giving him another supportive squeeze.

"Looks like someone's jealous."

[likeshipsonthesea]

oh my GOD if you wrote something for "i’d suffer hell if you’d tell me what you’d do to me tonight" and nurseydex I'm pretty sure I'd combust pls do it

hello hi it’s been a while. so truth be told i wrote this, or started this, a long time ago, when you first sent in this prompt, and i didn’t like it, but then i read it again and ended up finishing it and..once again didn’t like it. and then i read it last night and thought it was pretty cool and now i’m posting it. fun story, i know.

warning for religious imagery/issues and internalized/referenced externalized homophobia.

nurseydex for the prompt i’d suffer hell if you’d tell me what you’d do to me tonight from Hozier’s Dinner & Diatribes. enjoy!

           On the first night back from spring break, Dex sits across the living floor from Nursey and thinks about Easter mass.

           It’s blasphemous, really. A rough rug, older than him, scratches at the exposed skin of his ankles, his wrists. The team around him laughs and mellows in waves. Bitty’s most recent pie sits cooling in the kitchen, chilled breezes from the open window carrying the scent of it into the living room. Dex ignores it all to watch Nursey bring the mouth of a bottle to his own mouth, rest the glass on the soft dip in his bottom lip. He tilts back his head, jaw lengthening, dropping. He swallows, and his throat bobs. A tendon in his neck guides Dex’s gaze up, up to his stubble, to his mouth, to the regal slant of his nose. His eyes.

           Nursey is looking. Half lidded. Green, burning. Forest fire.

           Dex thinks about Easter mass. Scratchy shirt cuffs rubbing red against bony wrists. The too-thin pages of the Bible like receipt paper on his fingertips, half imagining that the print came off with his touch. Songs about sacrifice, and love, and being beholden to a man who is at once so very human, and so very, very not. Ethereality in kindness. The sweet smell of wine, tasteless wafer. A body, given.

           Nursey looks away—back to Chowder, back to conversation.

           Dex wonders what he would give to be looked at like that for a moment longer. Condensation builds between his fingertips and his beer, and he takes a sip that tastes sweeter than it should. He reckons Nursey is some kind of holy. The descendant of a God long forgotten in name, but never spirit. The kind of God who loved rich smells and smart words, who knew the value of respect, and laughter. The kind of God who looked at love as something to be given, not sacrificed.

           Worship no other God before me. Dex’s beer turns bitter on his tongue.

           Blasphemous.

           Dex watches Nursey hands and imagines the punishment he’d endure. Each hit bloody, bruising. Would Nursey’s hands be smooth? Nails short, light scratches, pinkened skin. Dex would cry out, likely, as hard as he would try not to, under the onslaught. The sounds Nursey would make would be soothing, caressing and lovely and breathy and loud. Dex would shut his eyes and imagine in the darkness that he couldn’t see their frothing rage. Nursey, spread across bedsheets, hair haloed on pale pillowcase, eyelashes dusting the tops of his cheeks, smiling.

           During a lull in the silence, when everyone is busy, Dex stands up from the living room floor. He goes into the kitchen and grabs himself a bottle of water, prodding at the pie to see if it’s cool enough. Back to the doorway, he hears footsteps.

           “Not in the mood to chat tonight, Poindoodle?”

           Dex closes his eyes. Nursey’s voice lilts, laughter concealed in vowels outstretched and pointed consonants upturned. When he’s sleepy, or drunk, his words link together like holding hands, drifting thumbs tucked delicately against sweaty palms. Nursey talks with his hands. Sometimes Dex feels the words more than he hears them.

           “Tired, I guess,” Dex says, because all of this is too much to say outside of a confessional. He does not turn around.

           Nursey hums. “How was break?”

           Dex sways into his hands, feeling the pressure between the calluses on the inside of his knuckles and the vaguely floured countertop. “Good,” Dex says. It almost isn’t a lie.

           The nearly normal has become the best outcome he can hope for. Half beats between conversations about school, hockey, fall into place as if the music called for them all along. It is a tune now ingrained in him, even if the words never make sense, or make him sad. He remembers bits of songs they taught in Sunday school and hopes that one day this will be dulled as well. Home is this, and so it must be good, because by any other metric he might not go home again and the Bible has something to say about that, too.

           A hand on his shoulder. Warm, heavy. Nursey does not say anything. Dex counts the words he doesn’t say until he loses track trying to keep his tongue tamed. I love you. I miss you. I wish I was enough. I wish I could live in a world where what I am is enough. I wish you would touch me. What do I do to make you touch me?

           Nursey’s hand falls. “It’s nice to see you,” he says, and he waits a minute, a passage of time, full of breathing and not breathing, and Dex follows along intently. Nursey leaves the room. Dex counts the bones in his hands and bathes in the bloody faded pink of his knuckles.

           That night, after the drinks are gone and the lights are out and they’re all in their beds, like they should be, Dex shifts under his sheets and drags his own incompetent hands against his skin. Wrinkled elbows and knobbed shoulders, shuddering ribcage bones and fleshy sides. He prays, like he hasn’t in years, to someone he doesn’t know but is somehow surer about than whatever it is that stares at him as he sits in hard pews, scratchy and burning. Let me have this, he thinks, eyes shut, lips pressed together. Let me give myself to this.

           Somehow, his feet bring him to the hall side of a closed door. He cannot hear mumbling. Nursey talks in his sleep.

           I would suffer anything to know, Dex thinks, eyes tracing the lines carved into the wood. Let me know.

           He knocks.

           The door opens.

           Nursey stands, rumpled and perfect, one hand curled around the doorknob, holding himself up. His green eyes are deep, mossy, Maine-like and worried. “Dex,” he says, no fanfare. “What’s wrong?”

           “Let me in?” Dex licks his lips. They’re sweet.

           Nursey moves his body to make room for Dex and it takes all the restraint his church has taught him not to fill it up completely. Door closed, Dex inside, a foot and a half between their bodies. Dex’s fingers twist in his sweatpants.

           Nursey stares, expectation heavy. The weight of it, in this creaking room, in this darkness, is heady, not suffocating. Dex takes a deep breath.

           “I—” Dex knows what swallowed words taste like. Metallic and copper, razor blades on his tongue, kept safe by his teeth, lips, until his mouth fills with blood. He wants to say it, he wants Nursey to know, and yet he stares long enough for his eyes to adjust to the faded Maine green reflecting back at him.

           “Is everything alright?” Nursey finally asks, quiet, whispered.

           The question shudders his bones. Instead of answering, Dex says, “I missed you.”

           The shock of surprise is like a thunderstorm over the water, flashing quick and then muffled. “Oh?”

           Dex’s fingers knot up the material of his sweatpants. It leaves his ankles cold. “I did.”

           Harsh exhale, then slow. “Dex,” he says, he says Dex’s name again, not Poindoodle or Dexington or anything else. “What are you—” Swallowed words, razor blades.

           “I always miss you,” Dex says, because the rest of the words are rusted over with sweetened wine and this seems to be the truest thing he has inside him.

           “Dex,” Nursey says, and Dex would like to cry, sort of, because that name on those lips with that kind of homesick color staring at him wide and open feels more like coming home than two weeks of being in Maine and that aches in so many different, good and bad, kind of ways and he doesn’t think Nursey knows, he doesn’t think he could explain, all the things he’d go through to hear Nursey call him Dex, look at him like this.

           “Please,” Dex says, and he knows it doesn’t make any sense, any of it, but nothing does, really, and he thinks Nursey gets it anyway because in the next moment his mouth is parted over Dex’s and he tastes nothing like razorblades, nothing like wine, just sleep stale toothpaste and a sigh.

           Dex releases his sweatpants to curl his hands over Nursey, his hips, his back, the roundness of his elbow. Nursey does not pull back, he does not flinch away. He slips his thumb under the waistband of Dex’s sweatpants and just leaves it there, warm, like a promise.

[delldarling]

the woodland fort | winsome ii

looking for part i? male kelpie x gender/body neutral reader 3.4k words lemon | oral, size difference, riding, implied stomach bulge and subsequent mess

“Surely you’re tempted by sweet flesh?” Winsome’s brother asks him, pinching at your ear. His words, as much as his presence, startle you into moving. You dart to Winsome’s side, glaring back at the kelpie you’ve secretly taken to calling Blockhead, if only in your own head. Winsome hadn’t been fond of you giving the nickname to his brother, no matter that it was unflattering, and you can understand his reasoning, at least a little. Every name a fae is given is a gift and all that. But you have to have something to call him though, and fae don’t share their names idly.

“Why are you here?” Winsome asks, petulance heavy in his tone. He curls a protective arm around your shoulders and shares a rough grin with - with your friend? Your eyes slide over the vacant spot where someone should be sitting. You focus back on Blockhead and his tense frame.

He’s older than Winsome, though you don’t know by how much, and already he towers over all three of you. He’s not as eerie looking as the glimpses you’ve caught of Winsome’s mother, but he would be halfway there - if he didn’t take such care braiding his long hair into model worthy plaits. He’s not even looking at Winsome though, his eyes are still all for you. 

“Tempted by sweet flesh,” Blockhead repeats, grinning. His sharp teeth do him no favors either, no matter that Winsome has them too. Winsome doesn’t bare them at you like a beast though. “You aren’t?” He asks Winsome, again, finally turning his attention to his younger sibling. 

Winsome’s cheeks flush purple and- and your friend laughs, the noise bouncing off the copse of trees and echoing out over the lake. 

“His stomach isn’t,” your friend had said, sprawled in your hand-made fort, and Blockhead had scowled, had snapped at them, told them to stay out of-

You breathe in, and the memory tries to settle. Pain flashes behind your eyes, head adjusting as your memories reorganize themselves. It feels like trying to cram a too large book into an already full shelf.

You recall that Winsome hadn’t been around one afternoon. You and your friend had been killing time, trading stories near the water, and then Blockhead had you by the ankle, trying to drag you into the depths. Your friend had stopped Winsome’s brother, had kept you safe from drowning. They’d saved you, had fulfilled a.. life debt to you? But it had broken a kelpie rule. Your friend would need to forfeit something precious for interrupting the business of kelpies. Winsome’s mother had seen your friend stop Blockhead. Had insisted on recompense. Your friend’s precious item- you have the feeling it was your memories of them.

The vague outline of your friend, the absence of them in your memories, is all you have now. Losing your memories of Winsome though? That happened later, when it was just you and Blockhead. He’d caught you unawares and held you by the wrist until you agreed.  

“You remember?” Winsome asks in the present, and his smile is savagely pleased, fingers pressed tightly into the middle of your back. Before you can confirm it, before you can ask any questions, Winsome is kissing you again. Your eyes flutter closed, fear all but gone as heat and want fill you up near to bursting. For a moment, you forget entirely about the kelpies in the water, about the memories still trying to settle. You hook a leg around his torso, a small noise escaping your mouth, but then a sloshing sound reaches your ears and Winsome yanks his face away. He takes hurried steps away from the shore, whirling to face the kelpie still half submerged in the lake. 

“Was it you?” Winsome demands, lip curling in a sneer. “You took the memories of me-”

“Yes,” you whisper, recognizing the dappled flank of Winsome’s brother. “If I didn’t give them up,” you say, heart racing as the truth finally spills from your mouth. “He said he would finish what your mother started. That you would be punished for spending time with a human. For not-” 

His brother's eyes widen, but he doesn’t move, just starts to shake in the shallows, and the three kelpies still in the water make snorting, angry noises. 

“You see?” Winsome asks his family. He says a name that you can’t seem to understand, that feels and sounds like rushing static to your ears. “-made no claim, mother never needed to take any memo-”

“We cannot lie,” his brother says, the words slightly garbled in his horse form. Rage blossoms in your chest, heat coursing through you like lightning. He hadn’t lied, but he hadn’t offered reasoning to his mother, hadn’t told her about who you were to Winsome. Part of you is still amazed that the frightening matriarch let you go, had accepted your memories as payment. “You would have been punished, sparing every human who fell prey to our charms.” 

“But not for sparing this one,” Winsome bites out, cheeks tensing as his teeth clack together.

“Cease,” one of the kelpies, Winsome’s mother, says from further out. Her curling mane floats on the water like froth. “A sacrifice using my name was wrongly claimed, my son. Come underneath, leave them be or you will be the one to forfeit something precious.” 

Winsome sucks in a breath, eyes gone wide with- with fear? And in that split second of you glancing his way, and then glancing back- all the kelpies but his mother have vanished. You and Winsome stare at her, frozen. 

“Will you give the memories back?” Winsome asks, though his tone says he doesn’t dare hope for that much. Her eyes roll to your face and then back to her son.

“You know that I cannot. Squander your time here again, if you must. I will not stop you. Humans… Are charming, and have so little time as it is,” her eyes dart to you again and you have to swallow. That… That was the strangest ‘have at it’ declaration from a parent that you’ve ever heard. She isn’t finished though, and her gaze stays on you as she speaks. “He will not be punished for chasing his pleasure, only for denying his nature. We cannot be anything but ourselves,” she tells you, and the words are forceful. A reminder. “And you would be wise to hold fast to this memory in particular.” You blink and then she too, is gone, leaving nothing behind, not even a ripple on the surface of the water. 

Both of you are silent, staring out over the still lake. 

“How… How did you lure me down here?” You ask, recalling the strange feeling that had made you pause on the road to the lake. The pull that had reeled you in until you knew without a doubt that you weren’t moving your own feet. 

Winsome smiles at you, but his eyes are sad. He doesn’t answer your question, and that gives you the feeling that it must have something to do with your friend. “Are you angry?” He asks instead and-

It’s terribly strange, trying to reconcile the young face from your memories with the older one in front of you. You’re both grown now, and the childish fancies of a 13 year old wanting to kiss the kelpie with sharp teeth- It’s almost embarrassing, knowing they’re still there.

“Maybe?” You find yourself answering. He’d frightened you at first, but… You don’t want to lose him again. “I would appreciate my shoes back though, at some point. Aren’t your arms getting tired?”

Winsome shifts you in his arms, but doesn’t let you down, just leans in close until the mist of his breath is condensing in the fast cooling air, mingling with your own. “No,” he says, quietly, tipping his face until his lips are brushing against yours. “I’m not human,” he teases, and the tone, the way his thick eyelashes fan against the curve of his cheeks- it’s an old joke. They would both tease you about it. It had come up in conversations about adventure, about spending your lives together. All the impossible things that feel only a step out of reach to a child or a young teen. But kelpies aren’t exactly talented with human-like glamour, and Winsome… Winsome will never pass for human. 

"Human enough," you joke back, heart thrilling. 

"I do have arms," he says, but it's his mouth he uses, slanting his lips over yours for a kiss, and then another, and then his tongue is curling against yours and arousal is building in your frame. If Winsome didn't have hold of you, even with your legs wrapped around his torso, you would fall. Your thighs are growing tired, and it's all too tempting to let your legs dangle, to settle yourself in his grip and let him move you where he will. 

You break the kiss so you can breathe, laughing when he complains about human lung capacity. "You also have legs," you remind him. "Should we take a walk so, uh," you clear your throat, nodding your head towards the water. 

Winsome grins, and though you can see the echo of his young self in it, it's… it's another reminder that so much time has passed. "No audience for you? Are you sure you want-" Winsome stops, eyebrows drawn together in thought, licking at his lips and glancing away. “We’ve… made a hundred jokes about it. But I am not human,” he says, as if this whole ordeal isn’t fresh in your mind. For as long as you’ve known Winsome, for as lovely as you’ve found him over the years - even during the time you couldn’t recall him - you never would have assumed he was human. His being a kelpie was never what kept you apart. It was your age, all those years ago, pre-teen nerves and self awkwardness. And then all the memories of him taken from you in the interim.

“How about you let me have my shoes and we can take that walk?” You ask, heat burning the back of your ears and neck. You’d much rather have this conversation far from potential listeners. Never mind that the kelpies are probably deep beneath the water now.  

After a moment, Winsome’s expression brightens and he, slightly unwilling, lets you lean down to grab your shoes from the muck and wrestle them on. “I could carry you,” he insists, and memories want to push to the surface again. It seems impossible that you could have forgotten so much. He sets you down, and then leads you through paths you haven’t walked in years. Most of them are overgrown now, filled with debris from storms  or overgrown plants, but the path to your little fort area is still clear, still trampled down- You have to clamp down on the emotions swirling through you. Winsome must still visit regularly. 

The copse of trees is almost exactly how you remember it. Overgrown and shaded from most of the lake and filled to the brim with items all three of you had brought here. All the trinkets and blankets are still in strangely good condition, and the arch you’d built for the fort is still standing strong, tied with- You glance at Winsome, embarrassed to find him watching you. The length of water weeds he’d plucked from his own head is still growing, still green, twined about the arch to keep it up. He takes a few long steps ahead of you, taking out the blankets and laying them over the ground for padding. When he bends, you blink. You’d… You’d forgotten about his tail, about your friend braiding it once when Winsome had fallen asleep in the fort. 

“I remember that face,” Winsome says archly, drawing you out of your thoughts. He snags hold of your wrist and tugs you into his arms, letting momentum pull him entirely over. Winsome falls onto the blankets, with you caged carefully against him to keep from jostling, and settles his face against the hollow of your throat, breathing in deeply.

“I’d forgotten so many things,” you say, almost confessing, like it’s a secret. You sit back so you can see his face, legs bracketing his middle. You reach out to tug at a lock of his dark gray hair, brandishing it at him with a small, startled laugh. “Like your hair! I forgot that it dries perfectly, that you don’t need to comb it.”

“Those memories will return,” Winsome murmurs. “And we can make others, now, if- if your feelings haven’t changed.”

There are a thousand things you could tell him. There are years worth of conversations you haven’t gotten the chance to have, but- he’s right. As a child, as a teen, trading away the memories had seemed like an easy choice to make for his safety. As an adult, you likely would have done the same, but- with more regret. Memories are sometimes all we have, and you want them. You want to make new ones.

“They haven’t changed. It’s like… It’s almost like they went to sleep. But I do,” you say, heart beating faster as a faint tinge of lavender crawls up his throat and over his face. “Want to make new ones,” you add, and then you lean back down. You kiss Winsome until you’re breathless again, until you’re starting to rock against him, thighs tensing, but his torso is too long. You aren’t even close to his hips at this angle, and if you move back, you won’t be able to reach his mouth. Winsome laughs, sensing your dilemma, and carefully moves you to the side, pushing you until you’re laying on your back and his long fingers are helping you unbutton and unzip every article of clothing he touches. His mouth follows his hands, teeth leaving behind faint bruises that you know will ache, tongue trailing over the worst of them before he sucks at the skin, leaving you trembling. 

It’s when he settles between your thighs that you have to fist your hands in the old blankets though. His tongue is wide and long, and the first stroke of it has you tensing. His hands curl around your thighs then, to keep you from moving, to keep your knees from closing around his sensitive ears. He teases, slow and steady and then starts sucking as soon as you relax. You’re fairly sure he’s just enjoying the way you arch into his mouth. Winsome hums when you start to whimper, clutching tighter to you, drawing you closer and then dips his head so he can press his tongue into you, as deeply as he can, eyes flicking up to watch your face and your panting mouth. He’s strong enough that he moves you, pulling you onto his tongue and letting you ease back and then repeating. You have to bite your bottom lip to keep from making noise, but after the fourth time you can’t stop yourself.

“Okay,” you gasp, “okay, okay, that’s- Pause, or you’re going to make me-” You start to shake when he laughs, pulling his tongue out of you to lick his lips. You are… You’re an absolute mess, aching and wet with his saliva and Winsome looks extremely proud of himself. Slowly, he lets your legs settle back against the ground and then gets up to adjust himself. His loincloth and belt are hiding... next to nothing

“Isn’t that the point?” Winsome asks, fumbling at his hip until his belt comes loose and the loincloth follows. He sets them to the side, stalling, arranging them just so. You’re fairly sure he’s doing it so you can have a moment to react before he sees your expression. Winsome finally breathes out and chances a look at your face. You… You had kind of expected him to be on the large side, but large side doesn’t quite cover it. “Earlier,” he starts, reaching out to stroke a hand up your calf. “This was what I meant. About being not human.”

Before you can think on it, before you can rein yourself in, you blurt: “You’re human enough,” and then your mouth snaps closed. He is large, and you can’t deny that you’re breathing faster and you’re slightly nervous, but- You search the memories, still blinking from the pressure of them. Winsome has always respected your wishes. “If I say stop-”

“Of course,” Winsome says, and then his cheeks are dark purple as you get to your knees and carefully crawl into his lap. This, you realize, was why he used his mouth for so long, why he left you wet and eager, because as soon as you take his cock in hand, you’re having second thoughts. “You can say no,” he says softly, hands stroking up over your thighs, “I won’t be upset.”

“I want to try,” you say instead. Using his shoulders for balance and letting him guide seems the smartest way. He follows your directions, eyes tracing over your lips and every minute expression that crosses your face. A rough breath is forced from your mouth when you press yourself down, but as soon as your lips start to twist, Winsome is surprising you with a kiss. You forget what you’re doing for a moment, lost in the way he cradles your cheek, the soft noises he makes when you nip at his lip- and then the stretch of him inside you has you gasping. He swallows the noise, hand sliding from your face to the back of your neck and then grabs hold of your thigh with his other, keeping you steady when you start to straighten. It takes work and time and by the time you feel you’ve taken as much of him as you can, your thighs are straining from the effort. You feel ridiculously tight and full and then Winsome is raising one of his legs so you can rest against it, the small of your back pressing against his knee. 

“I think,” Winsome says, voice low and rasping, hand sliding down the middle of your chest and pausing over your abdomen. “I think you’ve done a bit more than try.” He presses with the very tips of his fingers, freezing when you whimper at the added pressure. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” you gasp, embarrassed and turned on, and you seriously want to curse because your thighs feel as strong as jelly right now. “But I’m not sure I can- I can move.”

“Shall I?” He asks, one hand curling around your hip. When you nod your head, the barest whisper of a yes following, Winsome listens. Holding tight to your hip and taking your thigh in his other hand, Winsome rolls his hips and then pulls back. There’s barely a rhythm, you’re both moving so slowly, hot breath misting in the cool air, but every thrust is pushing you closer and closer to the edge, your fingers digging into his pearly shoulders. It’s almost unexpected, how fierce the pleasure is when you come, thighs quivering and arms tense. Winsome’s grip on your thigh becomes uncomfortably tight, and his face is flushed again and then he’s pulling himself free of you, coming over the blanket and his own thigh. You hold yourself up until he’s finished, not wanting to collapse into the mess, but you do collapse into his arms, laughing against his chest, still shaking with aftershocks. His hand cradles the back of your head and he presses a single, breathless kiss to your temple before he’s groaning, tension vanishing from his shoulders. “I thought I would never see you again. Even if you did come close to the lake. I thought-”

You stroke a hand over his damp shoulder, eyes falling closed. You think you might have to nap soon after the roller-coaster of emotions, but you hope he’ll stay with you through that. It… It almost feels like some kind of strange dream, that you might be waking from it at any moment. “We would never have another adventure?” You tease, nuzzling into his skin. 

Winsome hums, reaching down to tilt your chin, to make you look at him. “For a while,” he admits. “But now I have a new adventure to undertake with you.” For a moment you think he’s going to make jokes about sex, or maybe even about Blockhead, but then his smile turns shy. “I say we gain back your lost memories, and track down --.” The name is still nothing but static in your ears.

[myforeverforlife]

the sacrifice (part two).

“I,” you struggled to get out. “I need a cure. My cousin is dying, and nothing else has worked. I need the help of the Byun witches.” You gulped upon seeing the hardening of his eyes. “Are you one of them?“

The man laughed hollowly, the sound sending a chill up your spine. "Princess, you’re looking at them.”

”I am the last of the Byun clan.”

Series masterlist : ( 1 )  ( 2 )  ( 3 )

A/N: Mentions of blood, vague mentions of minor character death

Pairing: Baekhyun and Fem reader

Word count: 4,670

Masterlist

Baekhyun’s words brought goosebumps to your skin. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

“But,” you stammered. “There were so many of you. My aunt’s book had lists of people from your clan.”

“There were a lot of us,” Baekhyun emphasized. “The witch hunts changed all of that.” He glanced away, eyes falling to the floor as his dog waddled over. Baekhyun’s eyes softened as the pet rubbed its head against his leg. “Now, I am the only representative for my family.”

You knew about the witch hunts, the paranoia and fear that drove people to out even their long-time neighbors. Reports of countless riots had come flooding in for the first couple of years after the queen’s death and the king’s ban on witchcraft. The burnings weren’t as rampant nowadays, but it wasn’t unusual to hear rumors of a witch sighting once in a while. In your ignorance, you hadn’t realized how many of the witches had been killed.

It had never even crossed your mind that entire families would be wiped out.

Opening your mouth to speak, you thought better of it and stopped yourself. A simple apology would do nothing to fix this, to bring back the rest of the Byun clan. There weren’t any words sufficient enough to express the depth of your guilt and shame at the destruction caused by your uncle’s reckless decisions. But there had to be something you could say…

Quick footsteps against the staircase saved you from the growing silence, Jongdae the witch returning with another man behind him. This newcomer stared at you curiously, eyes flickering between your guilty expression and Baekhyun’s empty gaze.

“I assume we’re in the middle of introductions?” he said. With a thin-lipped smile, he nodded in your direction. “I’m Minseok.”

“Hello,” you mumbled.

Jongdae looked just as awkward as you felt, playing with the brim of his pointed hat as you all waited for someone, anyone to speak up. Finally, he nodded at the short hallway leading towards one of the other rooms. “You must be tired from your journey, I know it wasn’t easy to find us. Come eat.”

He walked away without waiting for you to follow, leaving his hat on a side table. Minseok was close behind, glancing over his shoulder when he noticed that you and Baekhyun remained unmoving. His lips parted, ready to call both of you over when he stopped himself. Shaking his head, he continued on.

“I… I’m sorry,” you told Baekhyun. “I don’t know if I would have come if I realized…”

Baekhyun seemed to wake up, breaking out of his daze. He studied your face, mismatched eyes roving over each feature. You weren’t sure what he was searching for, but whatever he found seemed to be enough.

“I understand why you came. The prince suffers from the same illness as the late queen, doesn’t he?”

You nodded weakly. “The latest physician believes it may be hereditary. Nothing works, I don’t know what else to do. I thought that…”

“That magic would be the one to save him,” Baekhyun finished. “But you traveled all this way, in search of the one thing that the king hates above all else. You would go against your uncle, your king?”

“Yes,” you replied without hesitation. “If it meant that my cousin would live, yes. I would do anything to save him.”

That seemed to trigger some sort of response, Baekhyun’s jaw clenching as he broke eye-contact. “Be careful with what you say. You might think you’re noble, but sacrifices have always been made in vain. You’ll need more than sheer will to find a cure for the prince.”

He left you behind, frozen by his sudden change in attitude. You hurried to catch up to him, almost tripping over his dog. What was it with these witches and their pets?

“I’m not a fool,” you told him. “I know of the risks and trials ahead of me.”

Baekhyun whipped around, eyebrows drawn low over his face. “You know nothing. The worst is yet to come, princess. Are you willing to die for your cousin, if that’s what it takes?”

You flinched at the harshness of his words, meeting his glare with one of your own. “If I had to sacrifice myself for Sehun, I would do it in a heartbeat.” Your hands were trembling, your entire being in shock as you realized that this was the truth — you would lay your life on the line to save your best friend. No hesitation.

The witch shook his head with a scoff. “Sacrifices get people killed. A hero complex won’t save you, little princess.” He left you behind, boots stomping against the wooden floor as he went to join the rest of his coven.

His dog looked up at you, whining uncertainly before running after his owner, nails clicking against the floor with every step.

Baekhyun was an enigma, polite one moment and then cold the next. You weren’t sure why he had reacted so strongly to your responses, caught off guard by the anger simmering in his voice.

But you wouldn’t let this deter you. Your path had brought you here, and you were intent on making sure that you got what you came for.

Squaring your shoulders, you made your way down the hall. The sounds of chairs scraping against the floor and hushed voices led the way. The witches had mentioned supper, but that didn’t stop you from gaping in wonder at the sight before you.

Minseok stood in front of the fireplace, this one larger than the one you had seen when you entered the house. He peered into the pot as he stirred, sniffing fragrant smells in the air. Jongdae passed Baekhyun a bowl of stew as the other man took a seat at the small table, his corgi staring up at him expectantly. A bowl of food lay on the floor, but the dog seemed more interested in the human food.

But in the center of the room sat a large cauldron, a white cat napping beside it. What was even stranger was the faint green light emitting from the top of the cauldron, casting warped shadows on the ceiling above.

Minseok looked up, confused by the awe in your expression. “Ah. You’ve probably never seen a potion brewing.”

“Never.” You took a step closer to it before pausing. “May I?”

He nodded, waving a hand thoughtlessly in your direction as he focused on serving up another bowl of food. “Go ahead. Just don’t touch it.”

The cat opened its eyes, mewling softly before standing up and strolling over to the table. You took this chance to move closer, eyes wide as you watched the mixture bubble and froth. “What is this?”

“Potion for the radishes in the garden. They haven’t been looking too good.”

You almost couldn’t believe what you were hearing. These men were witches, and yet they were concerned with using their magic for radishes?

“Oh,” you replied lamely.

“I think the princess was expecting something more exciting,” Jongdae spoke up. He broke off a piece of bread from the loaf that lay on the table. “Maybe a potion for eternal life.”

You blushed at having been discovered. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I just figured that you wouldn’t need to worry about things like that. What with your magic, and all.”

“Not all magic has the same capabilities,” Minseok said as he brought a bowl of food to the table. “Come eat, and then we’ll talk.”

To your embarrassment, your stomach chose the most opportune time to grumble loudly. The other men didn’t seem to notice, or care. Either way, they didn’t mind as you left your knapsack on the floor at your feet and took a seat next to Jongdae. But before you could eat…

“Thank you,” you said softly, the whisper of your voice heard even as the men ate. “I know that me being here is less than ideal, but I appreciate the three of you letting me into your home.” You thought of how Dotori had led you to them, your tiny guide through the forest. “How long have you known I was coming?”

Minseok and Jongdae stared at Baekhyun pointedly, waiting for the witch to answer. Chewing through a mouthful of food, he replied, “About a week. The scrying stone showed me.”

Scrying stone? You were about to ask what he meant when Minseok cut you off. “Eat first. You look like you’re about to pass out from exhaustion.” He frowned at the shadows under your eyes.

He had a point. As much as you wanted to delve into getting all of your questions answered now, there was no denying that you were on the brink of total exhaustion. You were safe here, eating supper with a trio of hidden witches.

For now, all was well.

You didn’t hesitate to start bombarding the trio with questions as soon as the last person finished eating.

“How did you know I was coming?”

Baekhyun ran his hands through his dark hair, trying to figure out how to explain everything in a way that made sense. “My gift is in clairvoyance — the ability to see the near future. I can’t pick what I want to see, the scrying stone chooses for me. For some reason, it decided to show me you.”

“So it was mere coincidence that you knew I was coming?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. Although magic is never just the result of mere coincidences. I think the craft might have brought you here.”

“The craft? Witchcraft?”

Baekhyun turned to look at you, one eyebrow raising. “You’re one of the Shin witches, right?”

“Yes, but I have no magic. I’m just like any other human.”

“You might not have the power,” Minseok chimed in, “But you’re still a witch.” He leaned forward on his elbows, hands clasped in front of him. “As a coven, we’ve agreed to help other witches in need. But your case is different, seeing who you’re related to.”

You gulped, the weight of your uncle’s sins present now more than ever.

“We weren’t sure whether to let you find us,” Minseok continued. “Some of us,” he glanced at Jongdae, “Thought it would be a mistake to let you know of our existence.”

“And so,” Minseok’s voice took on a serious tone. “We’ve decided to help you on one condition.”

Straightening up in your seat, you nodded. “Anything.”

Jongdae let out a deep breath. As if sensing her familiar’s anxiety, Dotori came out from where she bad been hiding in Jongdae’s pocket, climbing up onto his shoulder.

“We will agree to do everything in our power to cure the crown prince,” he began. “In return, you will find a way for the king to lift the ban against witchcraft and put an end to the burnings.” You were about to speak when he held up a finger, asking you to wait. “If either side, yours or ours, goes back on the agreement, they will pay with their lives.”

Your blood ran cold, the full weight of their request dragging you down, down. How were you supposed to enact such a change, to bring the witches back when the kingdom was out to get them? To fail would mean the end of your life, your existence.

But, another part of you reasoned. If they found a cure for Sehun and he was saved, you would have solid proof to show the king that the witches were to be trusted. Honestly, who else would you go to for help if you turned down their offer?

Feeling a set of eyes on you, you glanced up to see Baekhyun staring at you from across the table. His words from earlier came back to haunt you. “Are you willing to die for your cousin, if that’s what it takes?”

At the time, you had answered yes without hesitation. Now…

“How do I know for sure that you won’t go back on your promise?”

Jongdae smiled wryly, no humor in his expression. “A blood pact. Those who take part in the blood pact seal the deal with their lives. There’s no backing out once it’s made.”

“The deal will be upheld, one way or the other,” Minseok added. “The choice is yours.”

You would be engaging in real witchcraft, the final nail in the coffin to seal your fate. Your hands were shaking, fingers twitching restlessly from where they lay in your lap. But despite your apparent nervousness, you voice was strong and clear when you answered. “Yes. I accept.”

The three witches stared at each other, surprised by how quickly you came to a decision. “Once we make the pact, there’s no turning back,” Jongdae warned.

“I meant what I said. I will find a way to save my cousin, or die trying.” You looked each of them in the eye, refusing to back down. You lingered when you came to Baekhyun, trying to decipher the meaning behind his stoic expression. “I am confident that we will find a way to heal him.”

Baekhyun leaned back in his chair. “You have more confidence than we do, princess.”

“Alright,” Minseok declared, ignoring the younger witch. He pulled out a small switchblade from his pocket, the metal flipping open and glinting in the firelight. Jongdae got up, rummaging through the kitchen materials before returning with a small bowl.

Minseok held out a hand towards you. He nodded towards your folded hands when you stared at him in confusion. “Your hand — we need blood from all included in the pact.”

Slowly, you reached out across the table, palm up as you bit your lip. Even with all your talk of bravery and selflessness, if there was one thing that made you queasy, it was the sight of blood. Minseok handled your palm carefully, the blade of his knife cutting swiftly across the skin. You hissed in pain, watching as Minseok let the blood drip into the bowl.

“Baekhyun, get a rag and help her cover the wound,” he ordered. Quickly and efficiently, he cleaned the blade before drawing blood from his own hand. You watched in horror when he didn’t show any signs of pain or discomfort.

You were so transfixed by the ritual before you that it took Baekhyun a few promptings to get your attention. “Let me see your hand,” he said, holding onto a small cloth.

He was careful with your hand, wrapping the cloth around it and tying it firmly in place. Although the process was quick and over in a matter of seconds, he didn’t let go. You looked up to see him staring down at you, an unreadable look in his eye.

“I hope you don’t regret this.”

“I won’t,” you replied firmly, pulling your hand out of his grasp.

Baekhyun sighed before sitting back down, emotionally distant as ever as he and Jongdae contributed to the bowl.

All four of you sat with hastily bandaged hands as Jongdae began mumbling under his breath, eyes closed and hands cupped around the base of the bowl. You waited, unsure of what would happen next. All you could see so far was a bowl of blood that made you sick to look at.

“Bind the four through promises sworn, break the bonds and trust is torn,” you heard from among the whispered jumble of words. “Save the prince from his final breath, and save our people from further death.”

Jongdae opened his eyes, one finger dipping into the bowl and coming out bloody. Sitting across from him, Baekhyun leaned forward, eyes closing as Jongdae drew a line down the bridge of his nose. “Baekhyun, the clairvoyant,” Jongdae breathed out.

Minseok did the same, nose wrinkling at the sensation as Jongdae proclaimed him, “Minseok, the knowledgeable.”

Jongdae turned to you, his finger dragging down the length of your nose and leaving behind a crimson trail as you fought back the urge to flinch. “Y/N, the truth seeker.”

He did the same to his own face, a drop of blood falling off the end of his nose and onto his tunic. “Jongdae, the protector.”

The rest was incomprehensible to you, spoken in what sounded like another language. You found your eyelids growing heavier, only relaxing when you saw the others waiting with eyes closed as well. A tickling sensation began at the top of your nose, making its way further down. Just when it started to get uncomfortable, the feeling was gone.

“You can open your eyes,” you heard Jongdae say.

You did as you were told, surprised to find all traces of blood gone from everyone’s faces. In disbelief, you reached up to touch your own face, taken aback when your fingers didn’t come away red and bloody.

The witches laughed at your surprise, lightening the heavy mood that had been hanging over everyone since stepping foot into their home.

“That’s it?” you asked. “We don’t have to… drink the blood or anything?”

Jongdae snorted at your naïveté. “Whatever they’ve been teaching you about witchcraft is wrong. We’re not blood drinkers. Just practitioners of the craft.”

Now that the pact had been made, you were buzzing with anticipation. “Well? What’s the cure?”

“We’re going to need to do a lot of research first. Possibly even some scrying,” Minseok said. “We need to make sure that we know what’s ailing the prince first before we try to find a way to heal him.”

“My aunt had a book.” You reached down, pulling the leather-bound book from your knapsack and placing it on the table. “I can’t read some of the text, but it’s what led me here. Maybe there’s something in it that could help us?”

Jongdae reached out before pulling his hands back. “May I?” he asked you, nodding towards the book.

“Of course.”

Carefully, Jongdae brought the book closer to him. As he turned the pages, he treated each one carefully, fingers barely brushing against the parchment. “Wow,” he breathed out. “I wonder how long its been since the Shin grimoire was last read.”

“A grimoire?” you asked.

“A book of spells, or instructions for making amulets or potions. Things like that,” Baekhyun chimed in. He was leaning forward, reading the pages upside down from where he sat across from Jongdae.

Minseok elaborated for you. “A grimoire is a clan’s lifeblood. It’s how witches preserve their information, and then pass it down to their children. All three of us continue to learn from our families’ grimoires.”

Jongdae continued to flip through the pages, eyes drinking everything in while Baekhyun did the same on the other side. The two reached the list of Shin witches, glancing up at you in unison when they reached the bottom of the page.

“You and the crown prince really are the only two witches of your generation,” Jongdae gasped out.

You shrugged uncomfortably. “I always knew it was only us and my father left. All other family members that I have are from my mother’s side, and none of them come from a family of witches.”

Baekhyun turned the page, face alight with curiosity before realizing what was written there. Even with the book flipped upside down from his viewpoint, he could still clearly read all of the names staring up at him.

The names of his family.

Hastily, he turned the page, focusing much too intently on a random list of ingredients. “Not like we need to read about my family,” he mumbled. “We know what’s happened to them.”

Jongdae paused, worried brows drawn low over his expressive eyes as he stared at his friend. “Hey, do you want to talk — ”

“No, Jongdae. I don’t. Just drop it, please.”

All four of you sat in the thick silence, Baekhyun pretending to read through the pages as the rest of you worried about what to say next. The dog from earlier, the one who stuck by Baekhyun’s side, got up from where he had been lying down on the floor. He let out a soft whine, weaving in between his owner’s legs before settling down on top of his feet.

Minseok reached over, pulling the book away from Baekhyun and closing it. “I think that’s enough reading for tonight.” He slid it back over to you, giving you what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Thanks. Do you mind if we look through the rest of it tomorrow?”

“Go ahead. All of you are free to read it whenever you’d like.”

Minseok nodded. “Thank you.” Stretching his arms above his head, he let out a long yawn. “I guess we’d better find a bed for you tonight. You can take my room, I’ll just sleep on the floor in Baekhyun’s or something. Tanie might go insane if we have to sleep in the same room as Dotori.”

Jongdae was about to fight back when Baekhyun stood up, the chair scraping against the wooden floor. “You can take my room,” he told you. “You’re the guest, and this is my family’s house. It’s only right that I give you my room for now.”

“I’m fine with sleeping on the floor out here,” you began, blinking in surprise when all three men groaned.

“Like we’d let you sleep on the floor,” said Jongdae. “Just take the room.”

“I — ” You began, growing silent when Baekhyun shook his head.

“Take the room, Princess. Please.”

It was the “please” that sealed your fate, such a simple word to be changing your decision. You couldn’t protest, not when you felt both indebted and grateful to the witches, especially Baekhyun. You still weren’t sure if he hated you or if he was just this distant with all strangers, but he had still let you into his home.

He let you in, even with what he knew about you and your family.

“Okay,” you gave in. “Thank you.”

His dog followed both of you upstairs as Baekhyun led the way to his room. The other witches stayed behind in the kitchen, cleaning up the mess from earlier. Although the two of you walked in silence, the dog barked happily up at you, tongue hanging from his mouth.

“Mongryong likes you,” Baekhyun said with a tiny smile. You were struck with the realization that this was the first time you had seen him smile all night.

“Is that your name?” you asked sweetly, giggling when Mongryong jumped up in response. “You’re very friendly.”

Baekhyun stopped before a door, pulling it open and gesturing inside. “Here’s my room. Feel free to move anything you need to.”

“But where are you going to sleep?”

“I’ll be in Minseok’s room.” He nodded at the other door down the hall.

“Alright.” You stepped inside, eyes roaming over the cluttered messes that took up space. A stack of books and other knickknacks covered his desk, with what looked like a pile of robes and other fabrics clumped together on the floor by his nightstand. It was messy, but it was also obvious that this room was well-lived in. A window was positioned at the other end of the room, moonlight peeking in between the curtains.

You turned to look back at Baekhyun. “Thank you, truly.”

The man coughed, nodding stiffly. “You’re welcome. Well… good night.”

“Good night.”

You closed the door, smiling down at Mongryong as he let out a small yip. “Come, Mongryong,” you heard Baekhyun say once the door had clicked shut. Both sets of footsteps grew fainter as the pair walked away, until you could hear them no longer.

Your knapsack dragged along the floor as you walked to the bed, the blankets shifting as you sat down. You still weren’t sure if Baekhyun hated you, or if he was just this closed-off to all strangers.

But if he hated you, he wouldn’t have agreed to help. If any of the witches downstairs truly hated you, they wouldn’t have risked their lives to help you. Maybe you were just overthinking things.

With a sigh, you lay back on the bed. Did it matter if they liked you or not? You were here to find a way to save Sehun, and that was all. Even if the witches didn’t trust you completely, at least they were helping you. All you had to do was fulfill your end of the deal. But the king’s word was law, and once he made up his mind, there was rarely any chance of changing it. What if you couldn’t convince him to lift the ban?

One thing at a time, you thought to yourself, closing your eyes. Save Sehun first, and then worry later.

But that was easier said than done.

Baekhyun shivered in the night air as he waited for Mongryong to finish doing his business. The corgi barked, choosing instead to stroll through the grass leading to the gardens.

“Mongryong, hurry,” Baekhyun grumbled. “Minseok will kill me if you pee on his vegetables.”

Mongryong sniffed at the leaves of a plant, ears perked up in interest before he walked away. He wandered over to the ring of trees, still close enough for Baekhyun to keep an eye on him.

Baekhyun loved his familiar, but sometimes he wished he didn’t have to bring him out for restroom breaks throughout the day. Even now as Minseok and Jongdae were getting ready for bed, he was out here trying to get his dog to pee one last time before bedtime. He assumed you were asleep already.

Baekhyun cringed to himself, imagining you trying to navigate between the piles of things he left lying around the room. He was usually good about keeping his things clean — he had to be when he was living with Minseok. But he was so busy lately that he hadn’t gotten a chance to organize his things.

Why did he care what you thought anyway?

He had gone back downstairs to whisper with Jongdae and Minseok after saying good night to you, the three of them trading their thoughts and opinions. The general agreement was that although you were naive, you seemed genuine enough to trust. Even Jongdae was warming up to you, although he had been the one most worried about you coming.

Baekhyun was still bothered by the easy way in which you had decided to bet your own life in order to save another’s. Baekhyun had nothing left to lose, and had agreed when Minseok first mentioned the idea of a blood pact, days before you arrived. But for you to agree right away, just after learning about what a blood pact even was…  It was reckless and stupid, even if you were doing it for your cousin.

Sacrifice hadn’t saved his brother, no matter how brave he was. Images of flames dancing against shadows, screams in the night and light blue eyes flashed through his mind.

With a shudder, Baekhyun straightened up, looking for his familiar. “Mongryong! Hurry up!”

His familiar ran over, already sensing the shift in Baekhyun’s mood. Mongryong barked at him, whimpering when Baekhyun didn’t respond right away.

“I’m okay,” Baekhyun murmured. He reached down, petting the corgi affectionately. “Just old ghosts back to haunt me.”

Looking over his shoulder, Baekhyun stared at his bedroom window. He hoped you wouldn’t regret your decisions.

You may be a witch, but you hadn’t suffered in the same way that Baekhyun had. The way that he, Jongdae and Minseok constantly lived in fear of facing the same fates as the rest of their families. But no matter how angry he was at how life had turned out, he wouldn’t wish it on anyone else, not even his worst enemies.

Baekhyun sighed, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his robes as he stared up at the night sky. The moonlight seemed to be reflected in his one blue eye, the mark of his family’s magic. If he could prevent the loss of another innocent life, he would do everything in his power to help.

He only hoped that what he had was enough.

Series masterlist : ( 1 )  ( 2 )  ( 3 )

A/N: alright here’s try number two of me trying to update the series WITH tags this time lol. the series might be longer than I expected? I didn’t think it would take me a whole chapter to write these scenes, so I’m thinking that the whole series might be extended a chapter or two. I also want to add that any kind of magic/witchcraft mentioned in this series is a mix of things I’ve read/watched in TV or movies, and things I’ve made up for this series. (also, please let me know if there are any typos in here, I feel like there’s always something I miss when proofreading haha)

@shesdreaminginoverdose​

[katherine-mcnamara-archive]

I completely agree with all the points you made regarding the shipping situation in the fandom, if you didn't already get from my replies lol. Like it's totally fine to not ship arthur and nimue but what is being said and the image that is being pushed kinda has rubbed me the wrong way. There are other people who had scenes with "PaLpAbLe ChEmIsTrY" opposite nimue (ahem morgana) but that was just largely ignored. Have you finished the show yet? I want to hear all your thoughts on it! Thanks (:

Imma put your replies here because they deserve to be SEEN because you are RIGHT and YOU SHOULD SAY IT!!!!

I cannot agree more with everything you, and others, have said. Arthur is selfless, he’s human, he made mistakes AT THE START OF THE SHOW, and he realised it was bad and became the most amazing caring selfish character and like WE NEED THAT????? WE NEED THOSE ROLES FOR BLACK AND BROWN ACTORS INSTEAD OF THE ROLES THEY ARE USUALLY TYPE CASTED AS. 

ARTHUR IS A HERO AND YOU CAN JUST TELL THE RACISTS ARE FROTHING AT THE MOUTH BECAUSE HE’S PLAYED BY AN ACTOR OF COLOUR!!!!!!!! LIKE YOU GO DEVON!!!!!!! WE LOVE YOU!!!!!!! 

Also y��all really be coming talking smack about Devon’s acting skills when I could point out a ton of y’alls white faves with not even half the range but like go off and out yourself I GUESS. 

ALSO WHERE IS MY MORGANA LOVE WHERE IS IT GODDAMMIT I WANT MY DAUGHTER PUT RESPECT ON HER GOD DAMN NAME!!!!!! Y’all would be losing your absolute shit over a LGBT Morgana if she was played by a white woman because it’s all a lot of y’all wanted from BBC Merlin. But now? Silence? OK.

RIGHT THOUGH? These same people who are villainising him for one thing that isn’t even HALF as bad as what you’re “uwu done no wrong ever he’s a baby” fave has. and I know for a fact that y’all would be writing hella long meta’s about arthur being like that and how hot topic monk is the worst person imaginable if the actors playing them were switched because you can excuse a genocidal white man and call him an uwu baby who is terrible for the whole show but not a biracial man(african american & indian) that made one mistake at the very start of the show and then became super selfless. like yeah tell me again how it’s not about the colour of arthur’s skin and how you would still hate arthur if the actors were switched. somehow i do not believe some of y’all.

BUT EXACTLY!!! Like idc what people ship, my main problem is the legit racism. Which is heavily involved in a lot of people shipping nimue with hot topic monk and being gross about arthur 

like YOU SAID IT ALL SO WELL AND IF I MISSED ANY POINTS IM SORRY!!!! BUT TY SO MUCH FOR THIS ASK AND COMMENTS!!!!! <3 

I have finished it now! and my main thoughts were S2 BETTER BE CONFIRMED SOON. AND ALSO GIVE ME BACK MY KIDS YOU SONNOFABIAKFAKFDAFDK I think we all know the 3 i’m referring to! 

I’m trying to be vague bc I have people following me who aren’t caught up and who i do not want to spoil even though they say they don’t mind.

I was really upset by a few things but i really want a season 2 and i’m already mentally tired of the probable love triangle that s2 is gonna play into even for a little while with guinevere, arthur, nimue. like i’m so tired i hate love triangles. 

BUT YES MANIFESTING ALL THE GOOD S2 THINGS FOR ARTHUR, NIMUE, AND MORGANA, Also Gawain....... IDC I KNOW BUT IDC I DO NOT BELIEVE GIVE HIM NETFLIX.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Deathly Loneliness Attacks

Okay so this is definitely not a fic, BUT- basically it’s a script of an animatic/amv for SIX that I would do if I had any artistic talent. But I don’t. So y’all are just gonna get the script of what would happen if I could because I like to make up music videos in my head while listening to music. And I came up with this. And wanted to share. So enjoy.

Song- Deathly Loneliness Attacks

TW: Vaguely implied rape and CSA, teenage pregnancy

———————

Instrumental.

At the beginning four beats, the following images are shown- Large hands pinning down frail wrists; the same hands scraping down a pale, naked back; Henry on top of a smaller girl; and a bloodied crown of thorns. At the music after these beats, we see scenery of the theater. When the music picks up, Bessie is seen standing out in front of the theater with her back towards the screen, her black hair blowing in the breeze. During the slight shift in the music, she turns to the screen and stares with a curious expression. Near the end of the instrumental, the camera zooms in on her eyes, which shut tightly, then snap open right as the lyrics start.

—

No matter how you live your life, you're breathing every day

Depending on somebody else to lead you on your way

Bessie, whose black hair is slightly brown at the roots, seems to “wake up” and look around dazedly, finding herself in her old childhood home. She’s startled as a little girl runs right through her as if she were a ghost and she turns, realizing it was her as a child. Bessie’s figure should be sparkling and slightly transparent, while everything else is solid.

—

But even if they disappear you're breathing all the same

’cuz all you’ll do is drag along whomever keeps you safe

She watches her younger self play with a toy with an awed and curious expression until a door down a hallway slams open and her younger self scampers into it. She follows and is consumed by blackness.

—

Instrumental

Bessie is running through early childhood memories. A prominent image is of her mother yelling at her younger self and then an image of her parents fighting, which she runs right past.

—

The people who I cherished and the people I forgot

At the “cherished” she’s looking at scratched out faces of old friends with question marks all around them, like she can’t tell if they actually ever existed or, perhaps, if they ever really liked her, and then she turns her head in the other direction at the “people I forgot” to show blurred out, distorted figures of her family with their faces scratched out as well.

—

Relationships that came and went without another thought

The camera pans out from that scene and, from the background, Bessie watches her younger self, who is screaming and crying and reaching for her parents, who don’t seem to care, get pulled into a carriage.

—

Although I felt an inkling “this is not how things should be”

I guess I really didn't know a single thing-

Bessie is in the carriage, sitting beside her younger self, who is sniffling and crying and rubbing her eyes. She’s holding the toy she had been playing with at the beginning. Bessie herself is stiff and wide-eyed in her seat and turns very slowly to look at the child version of herself. At the “guess I didn’t really know a single thing” she shoves open the carriage door with force.

—

Whatever anyone may say

I know I've always been this way…

At “whatever anyone may say” a wide shot of the grand hall where Aragon’s wedding takes place is shown. “I know I’ve always been this way” pans back to young Bessie, her eyes wide in fear, but wonder. Present-Bessie, with her hair slightly browner, is at her side, stiff with fear at what’s to come.

—

As I avert my gaze away from bonds I’ve severed to this day

Young Bessie is shown meeting Aragon, who is smiling warmly and treating her very kindly. Bessie watches them before shaking her head and running away, knowing what happens to their relation. When she runs out of the grand hall, the scene changes.

—

Even I cry when I’m alone

Even if nobody will know

Bessie travels further down the hallway and sees her younger self, slightly older (thirteen) sitting alone in the bedroom she was given, clutching the same toy from earlier close to her chest. Memory Bessie is sobbing and alone and the camera pans at an angle that shows bruises on her exposed shoulders and bites on her neck, and Bessie looks at her with resigned pity before continuing offscreen.

—

Cause deathly loneliness strikes on its own

Aragon and Maria are talking and laughing. The camera pans to younger Bessie, watching them before running over with a big smile. Behind her, Bessie is shown, tears running down her cheeks and a stricken expression on her face, once again knowing what happens to their friendship.

—

Instrumental

Bessie runs past her many loves ones; Aragon, Maria, her siblings, parents, friends, although most of them have their faces scratched out. Henry starts to appear in the images, mostly showing him touching a younger version of Bessie.

—

For all the people’s feelings that I threw off to the side

Although I know I needed them to keep myself in line

Bessie, whose hair has gotten browner, is back in the castle and walking down one of the many halls. She sees herself again, slightly older- around fifteen. Memory Bessie and Maria are talking, and Memory Bessie snaps at Maria, who looks stricken and surprised at the action. As Memory Bessie turns and stomps away, Bessie looks sadly and with regret at Maria, as if she wishes she had been kinder to her at that moment, and then continues on offscreen.

—
The punishment for running from my duty all those times

Memory Bessie is shown throwing up in a bucket. One hand grips tightly at her slightly swollen stomach.

—
Has tightened all around my chest and now begins to bite

Bessie watches her younger self become sick again, holding at her own stomach. At the “bite” she appears to be lanced with some sort of pain and her eyes go wide. In her eyes’ reflection, images of Henry and Memory Bessie in bed together flash wildly.

—
Before I know it, something in my heart begins to change

I wish I had somebody else to share my everyday

We cut to a shot of Bessie who looks pained and tired, and just behind her is a memory of her younger self with a big smile, despite being very obviously pregnant, who runs through Bessie toward the camera to go meet Aragon in the distance. Bessie continues offscreen.

—
My body feels so numb as I succumb to prickling pain

Pregnant Memory Bessie is collapsed on her side, holding tightly at her stomach and sobbing in obvious agony. Bessie watches her, slowly sliding to her knees as well, froth oozing from her mouth and a pained look on her face.

—
I realize now that solitude is not a strength

A hand suddenly reaches to Bessie and she sees Maria, looking concerned. Bessie, who is startled that she can apparently be seen, leaps up and runs away through Maria. After she’s gone, the camera pans to show Maria had actually been reaching for the collapsed form of Memory Bessie. Aragon is now at her side, very worried.

—

Whatever words I said out loud

I know there's no returning now

Bessie trips and stumbles through a new doorway and sees a slightly older version of herself (nineteen/twenty) with Henry in the bed. She watches, brown slowly streaking through black portions of her hair, as her younger self fights with the king, appearing to yell at him before she’s slapped and pinned to the bed.

—
And yet again I tell myself “it’s fine because it can’t be helped”

Bessie watches the king violate her younger self before scrunching her eyes shut and shaking her head angrily, then running offscreen and away from them.

—
No matter just how much I cry

No one will be there by my side

Bessie is running down one of the castle hallways as several memories from her life flash by her- being taken to the country home after becoming pregnant again, not being let outside, pacing anxiously, sticking herself with needles, writing letters to Aragon and never being answered, going into labor, holding baby Fitz (who she gazes at with disgusted horror), Henry kissing the top of her head.

—

The cracks within my heart run deep with time

Bessie suddenly skids to a stop, hair completely brown and her body no longer transparent and glistening, and she’s in the throne room. Aragon is in front of her, looking furious. She realizes that she’s actually there, not just watching it, and Aragon seems to be about to hit her. Then, ground opens up into darkness and Bessie falls right into it, spinning wildly downward into pitch blackness lit with twinkling stars.

—

Instrumental

Bessie plummets down into darkness, reaching desperately for nothing.

—

So that it wouldn’t break-

So that I wouldn’t break-

Bessie collapses onto the ground, still surrounded by darkness. She looks down and sees shackles around her wrists. Blood is running down her face from a crown of thorns.

—

Although my hands were shaking I still tried to keep it safe

There’s a sudden glow of light and Bessie looks up to see an image of her younger self being exiled. Memory Bessie is crying as she walks away from the city, holding Fitz in her arms.

—

Oh what a simple feeling and

She turns her head slowly to witness another memory, this one of her when she’s older and returning to court as Jane’s lady in waiting.

—

I fail still to comprehend-!

She turns in the opposite direction, looking at a third memory of her being Cleves’ lady in waiting.

—

I held too tight and it broke to pieces in the end

Bessie reaches up and rips the crown of thorns off right at the best after the word “end”.

—

Hugging my knees I cry in vain

Knowing that not a thing will change

Bessie jerks backwards, eyes wide. She’s back in present time and on the stage, seemingly performing. She appears to be hyperventilating.

—

No one will answer to my useless cries that echo in this room

Bessie rips off her bass and runs offstage.

—

Even the silence of the night

Even the veil of the moon light

Bessie stumbles into the bathroom, eyes still bugging in her skull and struggling to breathe. She braces herself against the sink and doubles over.

—

Won’t erase, won’t erase

Images of hands all of her body flash at each “won’t erase”.

—

What I try to escape, and that’s the truth...

An image of chains and the crown of thorns appear on Bessie’s body, distorted and shaking. She looks up slowly at “that’s the truth” and sees a brown haired, bruised, naked, and abused version of herself in the reflection.

—

There’s no way I can say

All the words hid away

So deathly loneliness

Maria and Aragon burst into the bathroom, looking very worried. Bessie looks at them, not realizing there were tears streaming down her cheeks and looking slightly dazed, and they run to her, immediately pulling her into their arms.

—

...has followed me to this day

Bessie is stiff in their embrace until she is shown hugging back tightly.

—

Instrumental

This part starts with four beats- on those four beats, in order, we should see: Bessie’s, Aragon and Maria’s faces, the reflection standing behind them, and then the reflection nodding, proud of how Bessie finally accepted help and comfort. The rest of the images shown during the instrumental are of Bessie being tended to by Maria and Aragon.

[terrible-things-happening]

Day 3 - Delirium

(content warning for alcoholism, loss of contact with reality, panic attacks, and child abuse)

(i’m really not kidding about those warnings! click the readmore at your own discretion)

Ryouma hadn’t eaten in three days, and something was wrong with his grandfather.

The second part was worse than the first. Ryouma had gone longer without food before. Watching his grandfather shake and stumble and mutter to himself was new, and frightening.

Three days ago, Yousuke had been fired from his job washing floors at the slaughterhouse, probably for being late and showing up drunk. He’d come home in a towering rage, slugged Ryouma across the face for not getting out of his way quick enough, then fell into bed and slept the rest of the day. He spent the next day at the bar, drinking the last of their meagre savings while Ryouma went hungry. Yesterday, he did nothing but pace and twitch and complain about how hot it was while Ryouma tried to make himself invisible.

Today, his grandfather was seeing things that weren’t there.

“Goddamn spiders,” he muttered. He was prodding the floor with his big toe, which was sticking out of his frayed house slippers. “Oughta caulk these damn boards, or the spiders’ll keep crawlin’ through.”

There weren’t any floorboards. They lived in a room in the bar cellar, and the floor was packed dirt. From behind the trunk which had long ago been a weapons chest, Ryouma watched with disturbed fascination. Every ten minutes or so, Yousuke would roll off his ratty, ancient futon, somehow get to his feet, and then shamble around the room muttering about spiders and worms before he got tired and fell back into bed. This performance had repeated like clockwork for nearly two hours. 

Tucked in his hiding place, Ryouma clutched the hilt of his knife and tried to decide which hurt more - the sawing pain in his belly, or the still-puffy bruise on his cheek. Which was worse: going without food for another day, or risking his grandfather’s fury if he tried to sneak out? Probably the best time to try and scrounge something would have been earlier, when his grandfather was sleeping, but while Yousuke slept he sweated and moaned and trembled all over, and Ryouma was too afraid he’d come back and find a corpse.

Ryouma dreamed about killing Yousuke. But he didn’t have the nerve to watch him die.

He weighed the odds. Very rarely, old Hachirou at the bar would give him scraps if there weren’t many patrons around. If there were, he’d scowl and tell Ryouma he wasn’t running a charity and maybe shove him back towards the stairs. But it was probably around two in the afternoon now, so his chances were decent. Stealthily, Ryouma started to creep out from behind the trunk. 

He almost made it to the staircase before Yousuke paid any attention to him. “What’re you doing there?” he rasped. “Spiders ‘re gonna get in. Close...close th’ windows, girl”

The fact that there were no windows in the basement was not the most prominent thing wrong with that statement. Ryouma blinked. 

His grandfather came shuffling over. Ryouma froze, but Yousuke only patted vaguely at Ryouma’s shoulders and hair. Ryouma could feel him trembling.

“C’mon, Miyako,” his grandfather said, in a wheedling tone. “Did right by you, din’ I? Don’ you betray me now, too...”

Yousuke hadn’t hurt him yet, but Ryouma hadn’t heard his mother’s name spoken in three years. It felt like being slapped. 

He tried to shrug away from his grandfather’s hands, throat tight with rage. He couldn’t make himself say anything.

That was the wrong choice. His grandfather cuffed the back of his head, with less strength than normal but still more than enough to hurt. “TALK T’ME!” he roared. “S-STUCK UP LITTLE WHORE THINKS SHE C’N ‘GNORE HER OWN DAMN FATHER?” Ryouma lunged desperately to the side, flattening himself against the wall to avoid being struck again, but Yousuke went after him.

Ryouma fumbled for the knife tucked in his pocket, knowing with white-hot certainty that this time he’d finally do it, he’d stab his grandfather and maybe kill him and he didn’t care what happened next, but then Yousuke fell.

He tripped forward, his head bouncing off the wall inches from Ryouma. On the floor, his limbs suddenly jerked, spasming randomly like a decapitated insect. His feet kicked pointlessly at the floor, froth boiling out of his mouth. His eyes were wide and blank and sightless.

For three paralyzed seconds, Ryouma just looked at him. Then, he tore up the stairs. 

He dashed out into the still heat of afternoon, grabbing the corner of the bar to whip himself around. A hand clamped down on his shoulder, and he froze up again, but it was only Hachirou. 

“‘Ey now, where’s the fire, boy?”

“My grandfather,” Ryouma panted. Spots danced in front of his eyes. He really needed food.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hachirou’s wrinkly old walnut of a face crease into a frown. “Did ‘e piss on my floor again?”

“No,” said Ryouma, managing to straighten up and shrug away from Hachirou. “But he’s...I dunno. He was sayin’ stuff that didn’t make any sense. He thought I was my mom. And then he fell on the floor and started twitchin’ all over...”

“Ah, Yousuke’s got the d’lirium tremens,” said one of the old drunks at the bar, who had a name Ryouma could probably remember, if he cared. “Cert’ly expected, with the way he was puttin’ it away on Tuesd’y.”

“Happens t’us all ‘n th’end,” his friend slurred. “C’d kill him, mebbe.”

“The son of a bitch can go ahead and die, for all I care,” Hachirou said, boredly. “‘e closed his tab on Tuesday. Still owes me rent, tho’”

“He can’t die,” Ryouma shrilled. “If he dies WHERE AM I GONNA GO?”

It felt like there was a fist wrapped around his lungs, squeezing out the air. The room pitched, and he slithered down the side of the bar to sit on the floor. His chest heaved. He could feel all of them staring at him.

“Awright,” said Hachirou, after a long, uneasy moment. He disappeared behind the bar for a moment and returned with a jar of something that he handed to Ryouma. “Get him to drink this. he’ll prob’ly live.”

Ryouma accepted the jar gingerly. Even closed, the smell of it made his eyes water. A tiny piece of him hoped it would turn out to be poison and just kill his grandfather outright, but thinking that squeezed the air out of his lungs again.

He got unsteadily to his feet, and slunk back down the stairs without looking at anyone.

Yousuke was still lying on the floor in a pool of spit and snot, but as far as Ryouma could tell, he was breathing. He set the jar down next to his grandfather, reconsidered, then unscrewed the cap and put it back. Then he hid behind the trunk again, clutching his knife so tight he could feel its edge through the sheath.

His grandfather roused a few minutes later. It seemed to take him several minutes to orient himself, but when he did, he grabbed the jar and drank it like a condemned man tasting salvation. He spilled most of it down his front.

Newly lubricated, he crawled back onto the decrepit futon, and fell deeply asleep. Ryouma could tell because he didn’t groan, or roll around, only snored. He was probably having the best sleep he’d had in weeks.

Ryouma hated him so much he couldn’t breathe.

That piece of shit wouldn’t even remember this, and Ryouma...

...Ryouma could’ve let him die. It would have been easy. 

He just didn’t have the guts. Probably, he never would.

Curled in his hiding spot, clinging to his only weapon, Ryouma fell asleep. He was too exhausted to cry.

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [630]

Ellana sits on a rickety three legged stool, the lines of her shoulders tense and the dexterity of her fingers as she combs through her thick waves of hair on full display.

Bull watches her from the bed that they will share because she’s too stubborn to let him argue with her about it, and because Bull doesn’t know how to argue with her about it.

Her voice holds a near electric quality to it when she talks to him, and he doesn’t know how to address that, either.

From here Lanval could be a regular bird. A regular dumb bird, dumber than Leliana’s most addled crows. From here the raven is just a raven, that happens to be someone’s pet, and the creature is laying on its back, rocking itself back and forth like Ellana’s legs are its personal bassinet.

“You have no idea how uncanny it is to be in a building that doesn’t talk back at you,” Ellana says, not looking at him or Lanval or her hands or anything at all. “I was getting cross with the stairs because they were quite narrow and steep and I thought they were ignoring me and being that dim and foreboding on purpose. And then I got to the top and Evelyn was giving me that funny look and I remembered that normally buildings don’t give people an attitude.”

“Normally you don’t give me attitude,” Bull says softly. “Ellana.”

Ellana’s fingers don’t still as she rakes them through her dark her, but one of them leaves the dark waterfall to rummage around in her bag, pulling out a fist sized stone. She turns her back fully to him, upsetting Lanval in the process. The familiar lets out an upset croak, wings flapping awkwardly as he tumbles to the floor and hops to the relative safety underneath the equally rickety table against the wall where they’ve set most of their belongings.

The raven’s three eyes blink at Bull balefully, each a different type of star, before winking out all at once.

The thing about mages is that they’re magic. That’s obvious. They can do things that most people could only dream about.

Evelyn can make fires with her mind. Pavus can turn a graveyard into a party. Kaaras can create invisible walls that can hold up against a druffalo’s charge.

But even magic has rules.

Evelyn can’t do what Pavus can. Pavus can’t do what Kaaras can. Kaaras can’t do what Evelyn can.

And none of them can do what Ellana can.

Ellana can do fantastical things. Impossible things. Dangerous things. Ellana’s spent years of her life studying one of the oldest schools of magic, one of the most traditional and dangerous. Ellana can take a berry from a pie and within an hour have a fully grown tree groaning with fruit. She can take a chip of ice and turn it into a fountain. She can pick up a piece of kindling and turn it into an entire forest. She can pick a feather out of a mattress and turn it into a screaming flock. She can weave wool into gold. She can make rocks bleed.

But all of this is a matter of will. The others can do things they can vaguely explain with logic, almost turning their schools into advanced science.

There is no logic to Ellana’s magic other than her will, her drive her determination, and her sheer force of presence.

A berry will become a tree because she wills it to, and it understands. A feather will become a bird because she wants it to and because it was convinced to follow. A rock will sob because she refused it any other recourse.

Not everything will listen. Not everything can be brought to heel.

That’s why her kind of mage makes a safe space, a fortress, a place all their own filled with things that will listen. That know how.

Outside of that place they are at the mercy of the unfamiliar, the stranger. And the rules become infinitely harder.

It becomes less about commanding and more about bartering.

He listens to her whispering to herself as she turns the stone over and over in her hand. He knows that stone. He was there when she got it.

The day they left Bull and Solas sat in the great kitchen of Skyhold.

Ellana sat in the fire of the main fireplace, picking at the back of the great fireplace with her bare hands to convince a single bit of stone from Skyhold’s heart to come with her. The flames licked around her, climbed over her, but they did not burn her. They made her skin red, and she had shucked off everything but her small clothes which were dark with her sweat as she cursed, pleaded, cajoled, and threatened a single corner of stone to come loose.

Bull had offered to help. Ellana refused politely the first time. And then not so politely the second.

Bull had attempted to offer a third time but Solas’ hand shot out across the wide table, impossibly fast and impossible for the breadth of the space between them, to cover his mouth.

“If you offer a third time,” Solas said quietly, “She will be compelled. Do not ask again.”

Bull nodded, the taste of honey fresh on his lips, and the cool slip of cream churning in his stomach.

“Ellana,” Bull calls out again. “We need to talk.”

“You mean like how we talked before you gave Solas the cream and honey from the larder?” Ellana replies, false sweetness. “Before you bound yourself to me forever?”

She still doesn’t look at him.

“Yes,” Bull says. “You’re mad. We need to talk about why you’re mad.”

“You know why I’m mad.”

“And we need to sort it out. I needed to do it to get his permission. It was the only way to release you to get you to come.”

“My freedom to go on a quest in exchange for your life bound in service to mine until the end of days?” Ellana sneers, “I don’t recall asking for that.”

Bull’s hands open and close, useless in a battle of wills and minds. “Look. I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry you’re stuck with me, and I get that I’m not the kind of person anyone would want to be chained to — “

“You are an idiot,” Ellana turns to face him, face wicked and worrisome. “Ask me why I didn’t want you to complete the trials. Ask me. Right now. Did you realize you never asked me? Ask me, Bull. Ask me.”

Bull draws in a steadying breath as he meets the wild dark of her eyes with only three small candles to light the way.

“Why did you not want me to complete Solas’ trials?”

“Because,” Ellana says, hands still, “Of all the people in the world to be bound to it would be my highest honor to receive your life with mine.”

A crack in her voice like lightning down a rock.

“And I do not deserve you. You do not deserve me. We do not deserve each other and I have nothing to give you.” Ellana’s hands drop to squeeze around the stone. “Because I want you terribly. Awfully. I have done nothing to earn what you’ve given me. What Solas took from you and gave to me.”

Bull’s heart is the silence of lightning. Ellana’s voice is the thunder that follows.

“I want you, do you understand that? I love you,” Ellana’s voice is a vibration he feels in his stomach. His lips are sticky, like honey. like the froth of cream. “I love you and I know you. You, of all people, should never be bound to anything. To anyone. For whatever reason or purpose and the idea that you would do that just for me to go on a stupid quest with my friends brings such shame upon me that I can’t even look at you. I look at you and magic curdles, my words spoil, and my mouth tastes like rot. Your life, your freedom — for what? A go at some dragons, knocking some sense into a couple of demons, biting my thumb at some know-it-all sorcerers?”

Ellana stands up abruptly, and her hair is every shadow in the room, and there are three stars in her hair that glow with a growing intensity.

“I hate it,” Ellana says. “I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate you for it. I hate Solas for it. Above all I hate myself for it, because I wanted it — for a split second when I realized the trials for what they were I wanted it so badly I could feel the magic of a promise closing.”

Bull stands up so abruptly that he feels his horns scrape against the ceiling.

“And what about what I want?” he cuts in, suddenly feeling cold. Like cream. Slow. Like honey. Tired. Like stone. “What about what I want, Ellana?”

That brings Ellana to pause.

“What if I want you?” Bull challenges. “What if I want to be in your life? What if I want you to be in mine? Did you ever consider that maybe I know exactly what I’m getting into and that maybe I don’t give a shit if you own my life? Because I trust you with it anyway?”

And that knocks the wind out of Ellana’s sails right there. The room is light again. The rumble of a storm leaves his bones. The air is breathable. Lanval is a bird that is hesitantly poking its beak out from underneath the table.

Ellana stares at him, like she doesn’t recognize him at all.

Bull stares right back at her.

“Do you mean that?” Ellana whispers, “Are you lying to me?”

“I have never lied to you.”

For a moment Bull thinks she’s about to cry.

And then she rushes him, wind at her feet as she is suddenly at his eye level, her mouth on his for the briefest touch that he half imagines.

“Then I give you my breath,” Ellana whispers against his lips, eyes not leaving his, “My word.”

Something rough presses against his chest and he raises his hand to it and feels a fist sized stone settling in his palm as she closes his fingers over it.

“I give you my power.”

Ellana’s hand cups against his ear as she leans forward, Lanval’s talons and weight suddenly on his other shoulder as his beak grazes the other side.

And she says something. Bull can’t even — he doesn’t know what it is. He doesn’t hear it, he can’t remember it. It’s just something that comes out of her mouth and Lanval’s beak that slides into him, pushes into his brain, his head, his chest, his stomach, heavy and nudging everything aside to make room.

“What was that?” Bull asks, pushing her away as Lanval’s wings beat heavily.

“And lastly, I give you my true name,” Ellana answers, eyes bright with defiance. “Three challenges accepted. Three gifts given. You trust me with your life? Then I the same. As you are bound to me, now I am so bound to you. I may not deserve you, but by god will I do anything I can to keep you.”

[gibzy]

heyyy I just realized like a billion of yall have been liking/reblogging that really bad kam fanfic i wrote like pre-quarantine so i’m just gonna put one of my more recent writing thingies under the cut if you want to read something with actual flow and descriptions qwq

so! you decided to read this, thank you! it’s a short story I wrote in like two days this week bc my english teacher gave me an opportunity to write fiction and obviously I was frothing at the mouth to write anything other than an essay. so. we had to write a hero vs monster story, which is pretty vague, so I had some alien eldritch fun with it. enjoy!

-----

Evelyn prefers the dark.

It’s not anything important, really— just a liking for the serene embrace of a quiet night. Things are bright too often, she often thinks, in this overwhelming world of fluorescent office lights and LCD screens. Intensity is not something she has ever been good at dealing with, so when the opportunity to just exist in a low-lit space presents itself, she takes it.

Which is exactly why she’s biking down the street at two in the morning.

The wind rushes through her lungs as she eases off the pedals down a hill, cold and bracing in the moonless winter night— or day, technically, but the distant flicker of headlights on the top of an overpass being the only thing close to celestial radiance for a long while, it’s close enough. Her hair whispers against the tops of her ears in the breeze, the sound not unlike tussocks of dry grass brushing against each other. She sighs. Her hair looks like dry grass, too, actually, if it was colored violet by a woefully inexperienced hand. 

More thoughts weave their way through her mind generally akin to that one; pointless, but more positive. Grounding thoughts. She’s too tall for this bike now, but it’s still fun. Her eyes are light grey— maybe that’s why she’s so sensitive to light. The road is smooth and easy to ride; must be recently paved.

She’s trying not to think too much about where she’s going or why she’s going there, lest the anxiety seize her heart again. It pumps with blood now, and not pain, and that’s how she intends to keep it for as long as possible. 

Trees lining the road wind just as much as it does, twisting and knotting in an organic symposium of leafless branches. They’re barely visible against the sky, a charcoal-gray to its inky azure. A gentle susurrus of cicadas and frogs drones quietly on, accompanied by the ambient clicking of Evelyn’s bicycle spokes. It’s not any warmer at the bottom of the hill, shielded by vegetation, even bundled in a sweatshirt and jacket. She shivers. She’s not sure if it’s from the cold or the slowly growing trepidation.

She can feel it stirring. Predictable, sure, but unsettling nonetheless. It sparks as she rounds the familiar bend, an entropic, feral sizzle of energy and panic. Good, she tells herself. Good, this is supposed to happen. But even so, her fingers tighten around the handlebars. 

The road grows rougher and rougher until it cracks into glorified gravel, a confluence of pebbles and weeds. She squeezes the brakes as the bike begins to bump across the sharp stones and hops off. The rocks peter off into the woods. 

There’s a moment where she just stands there, frozen. Does she go? Can she go?

But she shakes her head— of course she can. She came all this way to get here, and there’s no way she’s going back without resolving at least a little of whatever this is. She flips down the kickstand of her bike, and with a fortifying breath, she sets off into the thicket.

It’s an odd place, really.  Used to be a townhouse development, decades ago, abandoned for no reason other than the fact that there were other, better places to live. Nature had reclaimed it years before Evelyn had ever discovered it, and yet everything there was and is eerily stagnant. No animals rustle in the underbrush. No bugs buzz through the air. The only trees, though tall, are all in various stages of decay, so she supposes it’s rather vibrantly alive, but it's a different energy than she’s used to. She moves slowly. Ducking under branches, stepping over the occasional touch-tone telephone, and squinting through the darkness for the clearing that lays beyond. A flashlight would be very useful at this point. She brought her phone for that purpose, actually, but it feels wrong for her to use it now. Like it would summon the thing too soon. 

So she trudges on, her heart pounding in her chest. It’s calm here, but the mere anticipation of it thrums in her blood. There’s no shoving the thoughts down now, with such a material reminder surrounding her. She grits her teeth as another gelid blast of wind whips past her, and begins to try to organize everything scrambling around her head.

Okay. One: it calls itself Consterlevus. A fairly egotistical name, if you ask Evelyn— anything that purposefully puts latin roots in its name just to sound important is annoying on principle. 

Her foot plunges through a soft, rotting log, and her pulse spikes again. It’s fine. It’s fine.

Two: she doesn’t call it a monster. She did, at first, but she learned quickly that ascribing such universally known characteristics made it even more confident, which she learned even faster was very, very bad for her.

Her phone vibrates in her pocket. Not now. Not now.

Three: it’s probably easiest to kill it physically. She can hurt it, and she has, many a time, but it just slinks back to the burning place in her heart where it likes to fester. She needs to defeat it quickly, before it can retreat. A switchblade weighs heavily in her pocket. A last resort, to be sure. She’s not looking for a dangerous confrontation, but when it comes to that— if it comes to that, she corrects, looking for at least a shred of hope— she’s prepared.

At last, she can see the glade. It seems illuminated, somehow, despite the new moon, but when she blinks, it’s dark once more. She jogs towards it, nervous impatience vibrating through her skull like a plucked chord.

It’s exactly as she remembered it. A small field of unkempt grass and weeds, surrounding a pond, dotted with small water lilies. She hasn’t been here in years— three? Four? And yet it’s completely undisturbed. She laughs to herself. Of course. Consterlevus can’t handle anything less than perfection.

She hesitates for a moment, unsure of what to do. It had kind of been a spur-of-the-moment, last straw sort of decision to come here, The thing has a flair for the dramatic, though, so she spreads her arms and calls up to the sky. “Well? You’re always around, where are you now?” 

There’s no response other than another spark of energy in her heart. She rolls her eyes. “I know you’re here. It’s no mystery that you’re the one making me all, y’know,” she says, pointing at her chest, “panicky.”

A resonating grumble fills her mind. The voice seems split in two, speaking the same words in different tones. One, a shrill, tremulous warble, and the other a deep, jarring rasp, like a coyote with bronchitis. She had found it horrifying at first, an unnatural harmony of something utterly alien to this world, but now it was just irritating.

From her chest, a sinuous, winding light spills onto the ground, sinking into the tangle of untended, shin-high weeds. It slithers through them, sending harsh shadows beyond the reach of its blinding corona. It draws the reflections it creates on the water into itself, swelling and shuddering until it coils itself into an identifiable shape. Its body is lithe and quadrupedal, resembling a panther. Its head, long and rounded, bears the visage of a snake, and when it opens its mouth to hiss, it reveals the  sickle-like fangs of a lion. But the most disturbing thing about the creature is its eyes— or lack thereof. 

Though the entire being is made of intense, writhing light, upon its forehead is a tight spiral of absolute darkness; the kind of darkness only achieved in the far reaches of space. It is massive, dominating the majority of the clearing. She squints, eyes watering as it draws itself to its full height. When it opens its mouth to speak, viscous, pearlescent saliva drips from its jaws, rippling on the surface of the pond like gasoline in a parking lot puddle. “You think you may simply summon me at your whim, mere mortal? I have knowledge of realms far beyond your own, power you could never fathom, thoughts—”

“Aw, no hello, Connie?” 

It snarls. “My name is Consterlevus, and you will address me as such, you insolent human!”

She crosses her arms, trying to shove away the pounding distress that grips her heart like a vise. Eldritch entities are nothing too bad. She’s familiar with this one, who has been her unwanted companion for years. Ever since she visited this place, it’s been a parasite in her brain, amplifying the existing anxiety in her head. Terrifying, at first, but she’s exhausted after so many failures at banishing it. And she doesn’t think straight when she’s tired. This thing could literally be eating dimensions if it wasn’t trapped on Earth, powers tamped down by the planet’s very nature.

She shakes her head, trying to clear her mind. Focus. “Right. Anyway, you need to pay your rent. It’s, like, really overdue.”

It lowers its neck, bringing its face— if you can call it that— closer to her. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your rent. You’ve been living in my brain or heart or something for at least three years, and all you’ve done is severely worsen my anxiety disorder and convince at least one person that I have schizophrenia. I’ve been a very lenient landlord.”

It makes a piercing rasp she supposes could be interpreted as a scoff. “Are you attempting to jest at your predicament, human? Many have borne my curse before, and none have survived.”

She sighs. “Look, dude, it was a really lame metaphor, I get it. I’m just lowkey a little freaked out.”

It puffs out its chest, raising its head towards the sky. “Of course you are. My abilities known no bounds. My presence permeates your very soul. My—”

“Okay, okay! I get it, you’re an unfathomable cosmic entity beyond my most vivid nightmares or whatever. Now, if you’re not gonna stop whatever you’re doing with my brain, I’m gonna have to kick you out myself.”

It cocks its head, claws extending as it flexes its paws. “Was that a threat?”

She exhales loudly, exasperated. “Duh! I came all the way to the place where I had the absolute pleasure of making your acquaintance with a knife and an ultimatum. I’ve been way too passive all this time, and I can’t stand it a second longer. So what’ll it be?”

Consterlevus bears its teeth. “You are passive. You never tell anyone your opinion, do you? You let it fester in your mind, and then you tear yourself apart for being such a coward. Sure, they all think you are nice, but you never express any real emotion.” It swells, its neck curving down and around her neck, searing her skin. “But it is all worth it, is it not? Being so worried about what other people think. It matters, it really does, in this world. You may hate yourself for it, but you’ll succeed.”

“No!” The cold air condenses her breath into a warm mist, billowing from her mouth like the smoke of a dragon. “That’s not true. I can be nice to people without sacrificing my own needs! The fact that you convinced me otherwise is your fault, not mine, and I’m done blaming myself for everything. I feel detached from everyone because I’m not sincere with them! Not everyone will like me, and that’s okay, because it’s more important to be myself!”

Consterlevus sloughs off her shoulders, neck limp as it slithers back towards its body, a wholly unsettling movement. It shrinks in size, now about even in height with Evelyn. “You cannot possibly think that is true,” it hisses. “Everyone preaches acceptance and love, but few uphold it.”

“Well screw all of the people who don’t! I don’t need their approval; I can be happy with the people that are actually decent human beings!”

It growls, slinking closer. “No, no, do not delude yourself with these lies—”

She draws the switchblade, driving it fervently into the center of the spiral upon its forehead. “They are true! They have taken me years to figure out, but they are true. You have infested this planet long enough, Consterlevus. Be gone!”

It shrieks, a piercing sound that sends ripples through the water. It dissipates into shards of light, flickering like embers of cold white fire until it eventually disappears. 

The panic in her heart fades, and she lets out a sob of relief, falling to her knees. It’s over. It’s gone.

She hugs herself, smiling through the tears, and as she looks up at the jet-black sky, she knows that now she can truly direct her own independence— truly accept its serenity.

[liketolaugh-writes]

Forget-Me-Not, O Lord

Author: liketolaugh Summary: Children do not follow Kenpachi. Kenpachi picks them up and takes them with him, and they are glad of it. Unfortunately for Kenpachi, Red isn’t quite the same as Yachiru.

When Kenpachi first came into town, Red was watching from a window.

It was easier to find an abandoned structure here; no one bothered to chase you out unless they wanted to use it. The shack Red lived in now was particularly run-down, so that wasn’t much of a problem, but he didn’t worry about the rain anymore.

And it was permanent. That was… new.

The point was, though, that he could see when a large, scarred man came into town, with a little pink-haired toddler on his shoulder. They were talking.

Red didn’t speak the language here, but he’d picked it up in bits and pieces over time. He still didn’t really speak the language, but he knew what he needed to. (Not much – even now, people saw his arm and murmured things.)

He watched them through the window for a while, frowning. New people didn’t come by often, and these two- they stood out.

The girl half-turned on the man’s shoulder, twisting around to look back as if she felt herself being watched, and then met his eyes.

His eyes widened slightly in surprise, but he didn’t look away. After a moment, she smiled cheerfully and waved, and then she and the man turned a corner and were gone.

Red waited a few more minutes, and then ducked away from the window again, and put them out of his mind. They probably weren’t his problem anyway.

Much later in the day, Red had almost forgotten about the newcomers. His stockpile of (stolen) food was dwindling, so he needed to go and get more. The market was usually the best place, when it was busy enough that he could lose himself in the crowd, but not so busy it was hard to move.

Stomach growling irately, Red deliberately blended into the crowd and kept an eye on the stalls as he passed them by, his hands stuffed in his pockets. His face stood out a bit, which was annoying, but it wasn’t so bad if he kept his head down and his sleeves long.

“Hey! Mado-san!”

Red ignored the call and kept his head down, keeping half an eye on the store fronts as he passed them. There were usually a few tired or distracted shopkeepers that he could get his food from, but today, for some reasons, they were all alert, even tense.

Two hands closed around his left wrist, and he bit his tongue on a yelp. Before he had time to think he’d twisted away, his wrist easily sliding free of the grasping fingers. In another heartbeat, his wide gray eyes had found the big scarlet ones of the little girl who’d waved at him earlier.

For a moment, he stared at her, confusion and annoyance mixing in his mind until his mouth formed a scowl.

“What?” he demanded harshly, shoving his hand back into his pocket before someone noticed.

She beamed at him. Unsettling.

Then she chattered to him, but she was talking so fast that Red couldn’t even try to keep up, blinking at her in confusion. A second after she stopped, staring at him expectantly, her mouth formed a pout and she grabbed for his arm again.

He stepped back with the ease of long practice, still staring at her. It was enough to bring him into the alley, out of the not-so-busy street. Sadly, she followed him.

“Mado-san!” she repeated insistently, clasping her hands behind her back since her previous plan had been foiled. She was still pouting. “I’m taikutsuna. Won’t you asobu with me?”

Red just blinked, scowl deepening slightly.

“Where’s your dad?” he asked, the first thing that came to mind.

She crinkled her nose in confusion, and a beat passed in silence before her eyes widened in realization and she giggled.

“Ken-chan’s not my dad,” she chided, eyes dancing, with a big grin like it was a good joke.

Red raised his eyebrows. He didn’t see how the man who’d carried her over his shoulder like a particularly valuable sack of potatoes could be anything but her dad, but whatever. He was hardly an expert.

He shrugged. “Where’s… Ken-chan, then?” And why isn’t he keeping you away from me?

“Ken-chan’s isogashī,” the girl answered instantly, nodding to herself as if to reconfirm her own words.

Right. So either he hadn’t been watching and this little shit had wandered off, or he was a piece of shit and left her.

Either way, really.

Red considered. Honestly, it wasn’t his fucking problem to begin with. And it wasn’t like he could help the girl get back except by looking – he barely had the words for this conversation, and he’d still missed a bunch.

But.

She probably wouldn’t go away at this point. And she was so tiny she wobbled when she walked.

“What’s your name?” he asked the little girl, just to cement his fate.

She smiled brightly. “Yachiru!” She stuck out her hand. “What’s yours?”

He ignored the hand. “Don’t have one,” he said blandly, already regretting everything. He turned away towards the street before he could see the expression on her face and vaguely wondered how to find a hulking mountain of a man.

His stomach rumbled.

Right. There was that too.

A moment later, Yachiru was in front of him again, leaning forward, so close and so fast that Red reeled back with a yell. Yachiru ignored this.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, voice full of fascination.

Red opened his mouth to tell her what a stupid question that was, but at the sudden sound of heavy feet, he cut himself off and looked up.

It was a man, tall and broad and angry, interchangeable with all the others like him. Red thought he recognized his face, but he didn’t know his name.

Yachiru let out a soft squeak, but when Red glanced back, she didn’t look frightened. In fact, her eyes were narrowed, and even with that childish pout back on her lips, Red wondered if she, like many of the people here, was somewhat older than she looked.

Red was suddenly struck with the realization that he did not know how long he had been here, or how old he had been before.

“I know him!” Yachiru whispered urgently, reaching out to tug at Red’s elbow. Red shook her off, but half-turned to look at her anyway; the man had some ways to come. “Ha-san paid Ken-chan to kill his friend!”

It took Red a moment, and then he scowled.

“What does he do for work?” Red demanded, but it was a rhetorical question. The man had reached them.

He spoke. Faster, louder, and more complicated than Yachiru, Red didn’t catch much of it. But he heard ‘father’ and ‘kill’ and an entire fuckton of swear words, so it was easy enough to put together.

Fuck. This was not what he wanted. This was exactly not what he wanted.

The man was frothing at the mouth with rage. He wasn’t holding a weapon, but he didn’t need one – Red remembered where he’d seen him now.

Weak-dick son of a bitch. Red had seen him kicking some of the other street kids.

A scowl, deeper and darker than anything he’d directed at Yachiru, spread across his face.

“I’m gonna anata no o shiri o kikku!” Yachiru declared to the man, arms crossed. Red didn’t understand it, but really, it didn’t take much to figure out.

He huffed, and with only a little bit of remaining reluctance, he stood by Yachiru.

By the time Kenpachi found them, the still-nameless man was a quivering pile on the ground, and both Red and Yachiru were sitting on him.

Yachiru was giggling to herself, playing with the unconscious man’s hair as if he weren’t drooling blood. Red ignored this.

Instead, Red was thinking about the fight, which had been… much easier than he’d expected.

He’d actually kind of expected it to be token at best. A grown man against a toddler and a kid? Red had thought it would be a slaughter. An ugly one.

But Yachiru, for all that walking seemed awkward for her, packed a hell of a punch. And she bit.

Red shuddered.

And Red himself – he didn’t remember much about before, not anymore, but he knew that he’d been disinclined to fight. Because he was too small, and not strong enough-

He flexed his fingers and looked at the scraped knuckles, and thought about how he’d heard ribs crack.

All he had to show for the fight was a bruised cheek.

He jumped as booming, raucous laughter echoed down the alley, and didn’t relax until Yachiru leapt up and cried,

“Ken-chan!”

Oh.

Somewhat warily, Red looked over, closing his bleeding right hand over his exposed left.

The man was grinning down the alley, eyes glittering. He had a bloody sword slung over his shoulder, and more spots scattered over clothing and skin.

None of this bothered Yachiru, who ran right up to him and started tugging at his shirt, babbling about ‘Heikin-kun’ and ‘niisan’ and ‘reiatsu’.

‘Ken-chan’ stopped appreciating the carnage long enough to look down at Yachiru, listen to her babble herself out, and then grin even more violently.

“Niisan?” he asked.

Red was wondering the same thing, actually.

Yachiru beamed and pointed at Red. “Niisan!” she repeated, following it up with a firm nod.

“Huh.” The man looked at Red. Red scowled back, unsure what kind of epithet he’d been inflicted with now. “Hey kid, you got a name?”

Red frowned. “No.”

“You want one?”

Red scowled. “No!”

“Alright.” The man nodded to himself, and then said, “Name’s Zaraki Kenpachi. You use Kenpachi, or Ken-chan like the brat does.”

“Huh?” Red’s scowl dissolved in the face of his confusion. Kenpachi was going to take Yachiru and leave, wasn’t he?

Ignoring this, Kenpachi reached down and lifted Yachiru by the back of her shirt, and set her on his shoulder, the way she had been when Red first saw them. He made it look easy, like he was lifting a pillow.

Then Kenpachi reached over and picked Red up by his shirt, too.

Immediately, Red screeched and started struggling.

“Let me go!” he spat, reverting to English in his rage and thrashing in Kenpachi’s grip. “Let me go, you stupid fucking asshole son of a three-spined lobster-”

Apparently, though, his new strength didn’t extend to this guy, because Kenpachi just laughed at him.

“Ochitsuku,” he said, and set Red on his other shoulder.

Red froze.

Confused and wary, he glanced over at Yachiru, who just grinned at him again. Yachiru was not helpful.

Slowly, Red settled, and with his right hand, he got a solid grip on Kenpachi’s shirt.

He supposed that if things got too weird, he could just let go.

[anovelposer]

the difficult nature of easy

for those lurkers gnashing at the bit, frothing at the lips, giggling to the silent approval of their own loneliness regarding my lack of writing. . . hi. nah, i highly doubt anyone falls under that description but isn’t it true that most of us quietly savor a kind of grim satisfaction when some idea of a person far, far away has their shortcomings strewn about for our condescending entertainment? i’m not above this, particularly if the embarrassment stems from a particularly grandiose, overly dramatic, or broad origin. that’s quickly consumed with a few unsympathetic and damningly effortless flicks of the finger over the touchpad, a desensitized delicacy. im not one for being a delicacy, whether that’s for someone else’s consumption or my own cannibalistic self, so here i write. 

although it’s spring break and i’ve made it a point to avoid productivity, i do have several projects that need to be done. despite my best attempts at forgetting them, they cling to my body like clothes that are slightly too small - the type of too small that, though you usually wear a medium, is made by a different manufacturer and you knew you should have tried them on but your pride insisted “you are a medium, don’t bother” and, sure enough, here you are, struggling to breathe while the fabric grates on your medium skin and reminds you that you have papers to write. papers to write as an english major are par for the course. “papers to write” as a graduate student, while obviously more difficult, might as well be a perpetual status of being that should be expected and as normal as waking up in the morning - most likely you will, but sometimes you don’t. so why am i struggling? if i knew, precisely, i wouldn’t be approaching this from such a vague and wordy perspective. despite the impression my writing style may give you, i can, shockingly, be direct. but where’s the fun in that? i can pinpoint when my “writing ptsd” began manifesting in such a way that it was becoming truly detrimental, but its roots extend far below the surface of that event. said event being my first, genuine graduate level research project. more or less, i got smacked right in the wordy mouth - a first for me. it wasn’t that i didn’t enjoy the subject or the process or the extensive reading or even the writing. it was because, well, simply because it was hard. 

oh come on, it was hard? that’s my excuse? of course it was, but it was the first time it was so hard for me. i, as a flawed human, find many tasks to be difficult. many times i fail on my first attempt and, often, subsequent ones as well - an example being removing keys from a keyring. it’s nearly impossible for me to do, but i hand it over to a friend and they manage it in a matter of seconds. that’s just how life is. i couldn’t take keys off a keyring but i could read books and write papers. when i was soul searching in nashville, feeling as if i had made a major mistake - i chose to return to indiana state university to pursue an english degree for a number of reasons, but two particular contributors to that decision were “i enjoy it and its easy to me.” it’s interesting doing something you love because it can be, realistically, dangerous. i think you put that love or passion at jeopardy when you decide to elevate it from the comfortable but pressureless role of pastime to profession. it can become tainted and agonizing because now its a source of struggle when, still fresh in your confused and depressed mind, it used to bring you pleasure. 

so, like i said, i got smacked. the kind of hit to the face that, despite your best attempts, you can’t stop the tears from transforming your vision into a painful kaleidoscope, your ears are ringing like a homephone in the 90′s after an episode of survivor, and your mind is as blank as the word processor sitting in front of you. maybe its over dramatic and im a hypocrite, but it’s how i felt and, to an extent, still feel. i think the simplest way to sum it up is this: whenever you, deep within your greediest heart of hearts, allow yourself to believe “yeah, i’m kinda okay at this” and begin to gradually define yourself by this “kinda okay” feature because it’s something you actually like about yourself and then, often with a suddenness you’re unable or unwilling to comprehend, that feature you were “kinda okay” at that made things kinda easy fails, crumbling down into the darkest pit of your stomach along with your confidence because you could count the things you liked about yourself on a hand with some amputated fingers and this one was your favorite. when something enjoyable is easy and it abruptly becomes hard, the stoicism and mental fortitude required to struggle on through is, often, absent. thus the conundrum of easy’s difficult nature. thus my struggle to write papers or, honestly, anything at all. after writing all of this out, a moral victory (but “moral victories are for little league coaches” - Jay Z), my point for doing so isn’t substantial, wise, or even thought provoking - i’m just tired of feeling this way, i want to rekindle that enjoyment, i want to remind myself that I can do it. if it’s hard, it’s hard, such is life, such are most things worth doing, a challenge is a chance to learn. I know this and think this but don’t always act accordingly, however, i’m working on it. i think that, because im working on it, i’ll be okay. i’ll go on writing a word, then a sentence, then a paragraph, and then a page. and then another. 

listening to: james blake’s The Colour In Anything

feeling: i should write those papers.