#a greedy notion but i will ponder it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chateautae · 4 years ago

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saudade | kth. (m)

saudade ; “a deep emotional state of nostalgic or profound melancholic longing for an absent something/someone that one cares for and/or loves.”

➵ summary : a demanding idol lifestyle was something taehyung and yourself were all too familiar with. it wasn’t so hard when considering your unconditional love for one another, but lately, taehyung wasn’t the same anymore; and you decide it's time to find out why.

➵ pairing : idol!taehyung x choreographer!reader

➵ genre : angst, smut, fluff (the holy trinity), idol!au, established relationship!au

➵ rating : 18+

➵ word count : 16k

➵ warnings : sexual content, swearing, dom + sub dynamics, dom!tae, fingering, oral (f. receiving), lots of dirty talk, t e a s i n g because let’s face it this is tae, big dick!tae, cock sliding, marking, restraint (with his own hands), unprotected sex (wrap it up peeps), rough sex, mushy i miss you sex, lots of feels, tae undresses reader (it’s hot i promise), praising, name kink, slight body worshipping, slight brat-handling, forced orgasm, creampie, one spank, tiny impreg kink, aftercare

➵ a/n : wow, my first fic on tumblr!! i’m beyond excited to finally be sharing my stories and writing, hopefully i can let you escape into a whole new world and enjoy my works! comments and feedback are always appreciated <3

2:27AM.

He still wasn't home.

Texts on delivered, calls unanswered, radio silence on all social media.

And it wasn’t just tonight, it was every night.

Everyday.

And it’s been a month. A long, grueling month.

A month where he only acknowledged your presence just once and called it a day. A month where he returned so late and left early enough the following morning you didn't see him. Somedays, he never even came home at all. You made suggestions to hang out together, and he declined them on the premise of 'too busy'.

It hurt beyond comprehension.

It's like he wasn't even there.

But you knew he was.

He was the one who moved your sleeping body from the couch to your shared bed every night, a sweet gesture of his that gave you hope maybe everything wasn't so bad. Sometimes, though, you woke up on the same couch the next morning, knowing he most likely stayed the night elsewhere.

You tried to remain indifferent to the treatment, figuring he was just stressed with his tightly-packed schedule that didn't always include you.

But it was beginning to feel heart-breaking, disappointing, but most of all, so lonely. It was starting to feel like he was slipping away from you, like you were losing him, relationship tearing at the seams. It left you nothing but heartbroken and afraid. Afraid of where your relationship had gone, afraid of whatever happened to the never-ending love you two shared. You both harboured an array of feelings for one another that infinitely tethered you two together, kept you madly in love and nearly impossible to separate.

So where was that now? How could it have all changed within the span of a month?

You’ve survived comebacks with him before and he never entertained this kind of behaviour. Maybe you had a fight or two about someone cancelling on a plan or working too hard but nothing as excruciating as this.

Your relationship began to feel empty, so meaningless. And the more he was distant, the stronger the pain grew and your love seemed to be losing its vitality.

Why would he do this? What's gotten into him? Did I do something wrong? Why doesn't he care anymore? you asked yourself repeatedly for weeks.

You’d think work was the issue, where your relationship had to be purposefully low-profile and subdued. But ever since the inception of your relationship, Taehyung never found any of that difficult. If anything, he loved it the most. You could easily leave it to the 'forbidden’ or 'looked down upon' stigma of you two dating to make everything 100x hotter, more exciting, and fuck, did you and especially Taehyung enjoy fiddling around with the concept as if you were some modern-day remake of Romeo and Juliet.

The sneaking around, the thrill of moments only you two shared, the promises you kept, the secret kissing or displays of affection, your romantic status like classified information some were only privy to.

But you didn't have to worry about suddenly losing your 'Romeo', though, because Taehyung wasn't as stupid as he was (no offence, Shakespeare).

Taehyung remained business-like whenever he needed to be and tended to his work accordingly. He was always cautious of the consequences your relationship warranted, and worked hard to prove your love was worth it despite his chaotic life and the challenges everyone warned you of.

Taehyung has also always been mischievous, a little rebellious, someone who doesn't always like following whatever he's told; so this relationship was just his cup of tea, making it hard to believe he would grow tired of it considering his well-precedented admiration.

But now, you weren’t so sure.

Now he seemed practically devoid of the fact that you two were even dating. He didn’t naturally gravitate towards you anymore like before, instead increasingly gravitating away from you. He didn't linger around to catch a moment with you anymore, didn't come looking for you, didn't spark conversation whether it was important or not, even stopped looking at you as a whole. It seemed like being in your presence was something he avoided rather than just didn't do, like he wanted to fill his time elsewhere and sometimes… you swore it felt intentional.

As if he didn't want to be around you.

You sought communicating with him about everything, pinning all the blame on his mountain-high stress and how busy he was thinking you could help ease his mind; but he stayed firm on the notion he was just fine. You obviously knew something was up and wanted to confront him, but you feared pestering or nagging him, never wishing to add to his stress.

And you get that, you really do. He has this demanding, grandiose life that you should understand is incredibly stressful and time-consuming. But you're going to be honest... you fucking missed Kim Taehyung. A lot.

Granted, you saw him at work, even more so now with a comeback dawning on the group, but it wasn’t the same.

You missed being home with him. You missed the way his big arms cuddled you when you watched a movie together, you missed 'attempting' to cook dinner with him, you missed your snuggly mornings where he wouldn’t let you go until he laid at least a hundred kisses on you. You missed him tickling you when you least expected it, randomly playing any track of jazz or slow music, swaying you until he made you giggle and you missed him never forgetting to kiss your forehead whenever he parted from you, even if he had to be discreet where work was concerned.

The cute, couply things you missed, sure. But the one thing that consistently clouded your mind and bothered you nearly every second of everyday...

Sex.

That active as hell sex life you two had, you missed every damn detail about it and your body desperately yearned for its revival.

After a month's dryspell, you craved Taehyung so badly it wasn’t funny anymore. From all the times he eyed you suggestively, to the way his large, touchy hands ended up all over you, to the way he eventually laid you down, lost himself in his torturous but pleasurable teasing, maybe even tying you up or handcuffing you in the process, getting you dripping wet before he eventually fucked you just right simply out of his own desire.

Nope.

You can't do this, it only made you hornier than you already were and fuck, did anything you try on yourself not work at all. You were feeling greedy. Going from doing it nearly three times a week during quarantine lockdown with him to suddenly having gone a month sex-free left you losing your mind.

There used to be so much fire, so much love, so much passion between you two. It was intoxicating, so ardent that you could feel yourselves aching for each other in your bones. But now, all of that felt either non-existent or buried so deep underground you couldn't feel much of anything. And of course, the absence of sex and the cute stuff collectively sucked, sure. But what scared you the most were your own thoughts.

What if he's finally tired of you? What if he wants to focus on his career? What if he's found someone new, someone that isn’t staff, someone much easier and less burdensome than you..

You stopped.

A dark web of assumptions swarmed your head, all seeming completely plausible and welcoming a dull, daunting sadness to loom over you. Your chest constricted at the thought of your fickle importance to him, wincing at the possibility it could be true. You sat in silence in your lonely home, leaving you to ponder when the apartment began to feel so forlorn in the first place.

The photographs he took framed the walls, the old albums he owned littered your shelves and even one of the many jackets he owned was currently sprawled across your couch. You noticed the way his presence was so deeply rooted in the home, yet he felt as distant as ever.

You settled in on your couch, cradling his jacket at the thought of how much longer this would continue, forcing yourself to sleep in hopes of ridding the feeling of emptiness from your chest.

But you couldn't.

Your mind drowned struggling to sleep, giving up on shut-eye as a whole until eventually you began swimming, swimming through your emotions and one particular thought stood out to you; this wasn't fucking fair.

It just wasn't, none of this was. You can't let him continue this, can't remain on the fence about doing something and you certainly cannot just let this go. It was your duty as one of the active partners in this relationship to fight for its life, so that's exactly what you were going to do—with one conclusion you were convinced would work.

You should give him a taste of his own medicine.

You decided to be upset, ignore him and see how he reacts. Respond with the same curt responses, not give him the time of day, 'naturally' gravitate away from him. Hell, you could start tomorrow by waking up earlier than him and seeing how he responds to your empty side of bed for once.

That's if he even comes home tonight.

This seemed like the only sure-fire method of gaining his attention. Maybe if you acted unreasonably, far from how you usually do he would finally pay you any mind, have to approach and confront you. You’d always let him off the hook on the account of him being an idol, but now he’s taken it too far.

Your mind grew hazy somewhere in between thinking and shuffling on the couch, only the sight of a vacant apartment and the scent of his cologne lulling you to sleep.

You groaned as your eyes fluttered open, the reality of last night resurfacing as you remembered the impromptu plan for today, cursing how early you had to wake up to avoid him.

You lazily rubbed at your eyes as they landed on the clock on your bedside table, suddenly registering you were in a different room altogether. It was then you felt the softness of your pillow, the silk of your sheets, the familiarity of your room's walls coming into view—all of it blissful until you froze at the feeling of weight around your waist, a quick glance confirming it was an arm. It was then you felt your neck being fanned by hot breaths, your back flush against someone's bare chest and you felt your heart speed up.

Is he...?

Thinking you're getting ahead of yourself, you're proven just right when you turn around to a face you knew all too well.

Taehyung's soft figure rose and fell as he slept soundlessly next to you.

You instantly softened, in a bit of shock because he was right there, angelic as ever as he breathed calmly and cuddled your smaller figure into him.

He still held you to fall asleep, huh?

A smile found your face at the thought as you admired the details of his; thick, pretty lashes pressed against the skin underneath his eyes, his large, veiny hand tucked under his cheek as the other draped you, his pink, pillowy lips sealed together in an adorable pout. You shifted onto your side and nuzzled closer into him, listening to his rhythmic breathing and watching his broad chest rise and fall. You melted into his presence, soaking in all the glory that was Kim Taehyung.

You then remembered he was always here, he did give you his personal time; you just didn't see him. You knew he moved you at night, tucked you in, maybe kissed you goodnight. Maybe he had moments where he felt terrible for being away, whispered sweet apologies and promises into your ear.

But then again, you wouldn’t know, you didn't spend enough time together for you to know.

A sudden movement of his arm and that eerie thought snapped you back into reality, instantly scolding yourself for getting distracted by him. You had to focus on how you felt, hone in your emotions and refrain from doting on your precious boyfriend.

You wouldn't be able to ignore him later if you didn't start now.

You were forced to leave his warmth, having to ready yourself for today's rehearsals and resolving numerous things for however long this would continue; you needed Taehyung to feel what you've been feeling all this time, needed him to feel the absence of your presence just as you had felt his.

And you'll be damned if you were going to be easy about it.

A couple hours had passed as you stretched, yawning after revising a rehearsal video, the murmurs of staff keeping you awake. Stretching for what felt like the millionth time, you slightly jumped at the sound of the studio doors opening just before the scheduled time. You watched it mindfully, your heart speeding up at the thought of suddenly seeing Taehyung so soon.

Don’t let it be him first, don’t let it be him first, don’t let it be him first.

You calmed down once your eyes set on 5 of the members ambling in, watching them greet people until you eventually spotted Jimin and Taehyung trailing behind, thankfully too occupied with giggling to see you.

You rejoiced in the lack of eye contact until you decided to sneak a peek at Taehyung, mortified when you found his eyes suddenly locking with yours. The shock made you turn away instantly, swallowing what felt like your heart down your throat.

Your ears were welcomed to the boys making conversation, playfully teasing the 95's for apparently being late and in the midst you managed to shyly greet everyone... except Taehyung.

And this didn't go unnoticed by him, who already felt worried since he woke up to your cold, unoccupied side of the bed this morning. Taehyung instantly found it off-putting, since he usually knew your schedule and left him wondering what reason you had to disappear without informing him.

Curiosity flooded him as the thought continued to bug him, what did she have to do so early in the morning? His inquiries turned into actions when he began passing through the boys, immediately stepping towards you.

"Morning, Y/N. Everything alright?" Taehyung innocently reached for your shoulder once he settled beside you. You almost let him do it, making you reminiscent of when he actually gave a shit about you, but you remembered your little scheme and swiftly pulled away.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Taehyung immediately froze up, disbelief riddling his handsome features. You've never once rejected his touch so blatantly.

You would never do that, he thought.

Taehyung paused his hand at the point he would have touched you, tugging at his bottom lip uncomfortably before rubbing the back of his neck. You internally winced at the hurt you could see on his face through the studio mirrors, forcing yourself to stand your ground as he feebly spoke again.

"You don't seem fine. Why did you wake up so early this morning? You didn't tell me about it..." He scratched his neck awkwardly, a hint of a pout in his tone.

"I don't know, I just couldn't sleep. I don't need to tell you my every move, Taehyung." You responded curtly.

"I know..but you could've told me, Jagiya. We could've spent the morning together in the apartment if you were up so early." Taehyung looked at you in protest, lowering his voice so others couldn't hear.

The use of your pet name after a long time instantly ticked you off, even more so his proposal, he could say all that cute shit but couldn't act upon it?

Irritation nestled its way under your skin, causing you to whisper dryly, “Just get to stretching, Taehyung, we have a lot to go over today.”

His jaw clenched as he swallowed, a troubled expression painting his face. He managed a small 'okay' before he unwillingly stepped away.

Taehyung was beyond confused; something was wrong, seriously wrong. It wasn't just your harsh tone or icy aura, but even in the way you addressed him so plainly as Taehyung.

He didn't understand, he's seen you mad or annoyed before, but nothing along these lines and he couldn’t piece together the reason for your attitude. It seemed like nothing would ameliorate your mood either, leaving Taehyung cursing whatever evil thing was making you so upset.

Despite experiencing that bitter demeanour, however, Taehyung was forced to watch you act friendly with everyone else during practice.. except him.

And what was even worse, he watched you do so for the rest of the week. You had gone a whole week with your (what he found to be) ridiculous behaviour, everything about you so different with him he was left consumed with frustration.

He watched as you continued to treat everyone else the same, getting a little too close to them than he liked. It was something he noticed in the weeks previous to this, but now silently pissed him off even more because this time you decided to purposefully exclude him; and he hated it. You barely spoke or tended to him over the course of the week, Taehyung's envy blooming in his chest at the way you acted so close to everyone yet treated him, your boyfriend, like a stranger.

He didn't understand why he was the only one, you talked to Jimin about what he did on his days off, pretended to box with Jungkook, danced around with Yoongi and Hoseok and goofed around with Jin and Namjoon. Hell, he even found you socializing with other staff and dancers more than usual.

Taehyung couldn't fucking stand it, what in the world was wrong with you? Not only did he figure something was clearly wrong, but that he clearly did something wrong.

He was beyond confused, annoyed, but more so worried as to what was fuelling your actions. Taehyung didn't know what he did, and he couldn't manage not knowing anymore, most of all despising the feeling that he was suddenly losing you.

He quickly resolved after a gruesome week he wasn't letting you go after rehearsals tonight, giving a fat fuck you to his evening plans and trading them in for confronting you.

Your eyes stung from a week’s worth of waking up at the ass crack of dawn to avoid Taehyung, rubbing your eyes as you slung your purse over your shoulder to end another day at the studio. Thinking you were alone, you swiveled around to an empty room and surprisingly spotted Taehyung.

You jumped a little, not expecting him to still be here when you knew he had dinner plans tonight.

Did he cancel them?

Suddenly realizing this is the first time in over a month you’ve been in a room with him, alone, and especially after the week you've spent purposefully dodging him, anxiety flooded your chest.

Your eyes flittered around, nibbling on your lip awkwardly as you pretended he wasn't there. You eventually met his eyes and he returned your hesitant gaze with an intense one, nearly peering into your very soul. He remained unbothered with his hands tucked into his pockets, and now that you were finally viewing him, couldn't help but swoon over his look for the day.

He really chose to wear that damn grey hoodie with matching grey sweatpants that makes you weak, hair styled in the messy curls he's been sporting ever since his perm and wearing that one silver hoop earring you found incredibly hot.

He looked like a fluffy puppy but also a full-course meal crafted by God himself.

This isn't fucking fair at all.

He noticed you staring at him and his head cocked to the side, studying you with a hint of a smirk. He raised an eyebrow tauntingly, like he wouldn't let you go after trapping you in what felt like shackles around your ankles. You could only swallow dryly, averting your eyes and reminding yourself you had to get out of his trance

His power over you was immense, especially when he flipped his curly fringe from his eyes, examining you with such a fiere, unreadable expression you shifted nervously on your feet.

How is he so dominant when he's standing a whole 15 fucking feet away from you?

You watched a self-satisfying grin play onto Taehyung’s lips, loving the way you squirmed under his undivided attention until he suddenly began stepping in your direction, sheer panic overtaking you. You weren't ready, you didn't really think of the result of this plan and now that it's worked, you knew you were in trouble.

Taehyung is unpredictable as hell, you never knew what was running through his mind and which idea he’d pick to entertain. You malfunctioned at the thought and your flight response kicked in, making you step towards the door at light speed.

"I..uh.. I have to go." You stuttered and purposely ducked around him. You felt relieved once you passed his deep stare, until you felt his slender fingers suddenly grapple onto your wrist.

Shit.

"You're not going anywhere." His low voice reverberated in the room, sending currents through your body. You refused to look at him, knowing it would make you squeal, but you stabilized your voice to speak.

"I..", you swallowed, "don't think it's your place to say."

You felt his hold on your wrist tighten, knowing that pissed him off.

A small moment of silence passed and you thought he'd given up, relaxing until he suddenly yanked you towards him, your smaller figure crashing into his chest. He held you against his tall body as his eyes locked with your timid ones, forcing the confrontation of your obvious issue with him.

You took a stubborn step back instead of giving in, arms crossed. Taehyung had enough of you evading his look and gently lifted your chin with his index finger.

"My place? It's been a fucking week and you haven't even looked at me, Y/N. What is your problem?" He emphasized with annoyance, but his soft eyes gave away he was just desperate for an answer.

"Nothing's wrong, Taehyung, I'm just tired."

"Oh really? Tired? Y/N, don't think I didn't notice you ignore me for an entire week. I thought something was wrong in general but clearly you have a problem with me and only me. What's your deal?" He vented in frustration, tone utterly displeased.

You only scoffed disbelievingly, looking towards the ground in search of something to hold back your piled-high emotions.

Taehyung grew tired of your silence and sighed with dejection. He cupped your cheeks and looked at you seriously, "Look at me, bubs, what's so wrong? Did I do something?" the newfound frailty in his voice left you sucking in a breath of guilt.

You really wanted to voice how you felt, teetering on the possibility until you suddenly became aware you'd be requesting demands from one of the busiest people on Earth.

Your tongue habitually tied itself.

"It's just.. It's not important, Taehyung. Let me go." You abruptly turned out of his hold, locking your jaw tightly.

"Why in God's name would I let you go? Something's wrong, Jagiya, and that's always going to be important to me." Taehyung squeezed your arms affectionately, suddenly warming you to him.

You could instantly feel your emotions conflicting inside, flooding your chest with regret yet frustration so heavy you needed air. Your eyes were beginning to reveal your vulnerability, trying to blink away threatening tears.

"Taehyung, just let me go, it's absolutely nothing." Your voice sounded shakily unconvincing and yet, you were tugging yourself away as if he would believe you.

"It's not nothing, I can clearly see something wrong. Why won't you just tell me?"

"Because I don't want to tell you, Taehyung. It's really just nothing."

"You keep saying it's nothing but I can see it in your eyes, you're upset, Jagiya. I know you." Taehyung spoke matter-of-factly, his grip and tone growing desperate.

"I'm not upset, I'm just exhausted."

"Exhuasted..” Taehyung trailed, licking his lips. “Of course, because now you're waking up earlier than you usually do in the morning and on top of that without even fucking telling me why." His tone grew irritated as he scoffed, looking away from you.

You instantly grew annoyed.

"And I told you I don't need to tell you my every move, Kim. Why are you even so pissed about it?”

"Did you just.. family name me?" Taehyung narrowed his eyes

"So what if I did?" You deadpanned.

Taehyung let out a deep sigh.

"I’m pissed cause I got worried, okay? Not everyone has a situation like ours where anyone could do shit to you because of me, so I like knowing where you are." Taehyung stressed with a serious tone. "And listen, I’m not letting you go until you tell me what's wrong. I'm fucking serious, Jagi, you did not just ignore me all week only to tell me nothing's wrong."

"And I'm not gonna say anything. I'm fucking serious, Taehyung." You mimicked him, hoping he'd let you go.

Taehyung dragged his tongue along the inside of his cheek and chuckled dryly, your impossibility unbelievable to him. He pursed his lips before slowly releasing you, his hands up in mock surrender.

"Fine, you can leave then."

You took his words without a second thought and immediately turned for the door. You had just cracked it open before Taehyung’s hand suddenly smacked it shut from behind, making you turn around startled.

He abruptly pinned you against the door with the weight of his body, locking you in with both arms. He leveled himself to your height and peered directly into your eyes.

"And I told you, I'm not letting you go, Ms. Y/L/N." Taehyung now mimicked you as you felt him dominate you with a degree of alpha-male that left you entranced and unable to move. He drew himself closer to your face, so close that he granted no room for you to breathe. You could only stand in defeat, your doe eyes wide as you flashed them to his lips and back to his eyes.

Taehyung couldn't resist how much he wanted you anymore.

"I always forget how challenging you can be." He spoke in his deepest, sultriest tone, that damn bass paired with his dancing eyes causing you to bite your lip.

Taehyung watched you do so and grew hot, finding you irresistible when you were acting impossible yet became putty in his hands. You balled your hands into fists against his chest as he dangerously inched towards your neck, his proximity shooting arousal through your blood.

His scent was intoxicating, resurfacing the numerous thoughts you had of him in his absence. He manifested butterflies in your chest, knowing you had to resist him yet found yourself giving in.

He finally ducked into your neck, anticipating the connection of his lips until he only ghosted your skin. He breathed against you purposefully to elicit a reaction, gifted his desire when he felt your body lean into him and breath hitch.

You hated that you wanted him to kiss you already. You craved him so desperately, so in need of his touch that just the feeling of his body pushing you against the door was enough to make you press your thighs together.

And little did you know, a month and a week without you left Taehyung dying to devour you.

As if noticing you getting impatient, he pulled you towards him by your waist and his lips finally crashed onto your neck, a silent groan escaping you as his plush lips began mouthing sensually. You let out a breathy moan but gathered the courage to speak up, knowing full well the high creeping up on you and you needed to get back at him.

"Maybe if you were home more often you'd remember."

A small laugh escaped Taehyung, "So that's what this is about?" The sudden puff of his breath made you want to jump him. He deliberately pushed his hips into yours, shooting jolts throughout your core once you felt the familiar prodding of something hard. He began sliding one of his hands up and down your waist, almost in an effort to distract you.

"Of course it is, Tae. You're never fucking home." You spoke with vexation, growing both sexually and emotionally frustrated over the way he was pressing you up against the door and inviting a stirring feeling to constrict your insides. He brought his thigh in between your legs, slightly grinding against you as he added pressure to your heat and sucked your sweet spot.

"I'm never fucking home, huh? Who do you think moves you from the couch to our bed? Makes sure you're comfortable and tucks you in? Kisses you goodnight?" He asked rhetorically, letting his teeth bite at your supple flesh and embellish you with his favourite purple marks.

"T-that's not the point, Taehyung. I'm not awake. H-how does that count as you being home?" You retaliated as best you could, snaking your hands to grab the nape of his neck, fingers trailing into the curly ends of his hair. He groaned so audibly that you grew shamelessly hornier.

"Because I do come home. I sleep next to you in our bed, even cuddle you." He began sucking underneath your jaw, wrapping his arm around your torso to press you flush against him. He kissed down your throat trying to bite and leave more hickies, pushing you back for support.

"I-I just told you, that doesn't count, Tae. You... come home when I'm asleep and leave before I wake up. I-I never see you." You tried to maintain your composure, hands hugging his head close to you.

"But we already see each other here, don't we? You see me at practice, meetings, in the building... no?" He suddenly came off your neck and his hand flanked to your chin, advancing for a kiss. But immediate annoyance flooded you upon registering his words, pulling your face back.

"Are you kidding me? You count that as seeing each other? All we do is rehearse choreography and work together. How is that 'seeing' each other?" You asked, baffled at his audacity.

"Because we're at least together, aren't we? Isn't that all that matters?" Taehyung looked at you as if you were the ridiculous one, ignoring your concerns and trying to kiss you again. You immediately removed yourself from him and pushed him back, his hands letting you go.

"That's not the issue, Tae. The issue is that you're really busy and I get that, but we literally haven't done anything together in the last month. And the reason that sounds insane to me is because we work and live together, you'd expect that somewhere in that time we would’ve done something... but we haven't." You emphasized as you pled your case.

"Princess, we've been over this. I told you at the beginning of our comeback that our time together was gonna be limited. I remember you agreeing to that and understanding. Why is this coming up now?"

"So going an entire month neglecting your ‘princess' is what you meant? Your 'limited' seems more like 'nothing at all'.” You air quoted and crossed your arms, becoming annoyed with his ambiguity and sudden use of another pet name.

"Okay, that's not what I'm saying. All I'm saying is that comeback season is busy, it's one thing after another and I can't always keep up with everything. There’s a lot going on; our album, company business, don’t get me started on the mountain of work with promotions, concerts, filming and photoshoots. I'm even making an entire fucking mixtape. I’m trying my damn best here." Taehyung vouched for himself, holding his hands up to defend against your accusations.

"And I'm not saying you don't try, I understand that you're busy but what I’m saying is I don't even feel important to you anymore, let alone a priority. We barely interact, you never do anything with me or talk to me, but for everyone else you’ve got all the effort in the world to spare. I get that you're an idol, I always see you working hard and I'm proud of that. But you somehow make time for everything else.. why can't you just make some time for me?" You felt like you sounded selfish, almost faltering from revealing anymore but you felt so neglected it had to be said.

"Wh-what about you? Oh my God, Jagiya.. you're such a high priority to me. Trust me, you really don’t know what I'd do for us and you should know I’d damn well do or sacrifice anything. It may seem like I'm not right now but I promise it's not like that. You'll always be important to me, how could you think otherwise?" Taehyung was perplexed by your sudden outburst, never having known of these feelings before. He reached his hands out to you but you abruptly denied him, snapping at the question.

“Then what’s it ‘like’, exactly? Because it seems very much to me like you want nothing to do with our relationship.”

“No, that’s-that’s not it at all. Don’t worry about this, okay bubs? Overthinking this won’t do you any good, just trust me.”

“Trust you? You're not even answering my damn question, Taehyung, what is it then? Why aren’t you telling me? Are you fucking hiding something?” You began speculating, his repeated vagueness irking you.

“Jagi, no, just listen to me. Know that I mean it when I say you’re important to me, you’re the love of my life and you'll always be a priority. Why are you thinking like this? Where is all this coming from?” Taehyung asked incredulously, getting on your very last nerve.

"I don't fucking know, Taehyung, maybe because you ignore me for hours on end? Maybe because you leave me every morning without considering just waking up together? I know we can't make it obvious we live together, but we’ve always found a way before, what happened to that? Your texts and phone calls are so meaningless. You make time for your friends and other people but don't make any for me." Your eyes turned glassy, tears escaping as you recalled your terrible feelings over the last month.

"Do you know why you find me sleeping on the couch every night no matter how fucking uncomfortable it is? Because our bed literally smells like you and it constantly reminds me of you but you’re not even there. Do you know how many times I've wanted to talk to you but you're too distracted and I know you'd just push me away? Or how scared I am of bothering you? How many times I've wanted you to come home? How utterly empty and lonely the apartment feels without you even though everything about you is riddled all over it? You don't get it, Taehyung. You just don't fucking get it." You found yourself crying and clutched your chest where it felt like your heart was on display for Taehyung, the reality of everything hitting you like a 16-wheeler.

Taehyung did nothing but blink at you for several seconds, shocked at what he just heard. Were you seriously.. that upset? His absence was that prominent? It didn't even feel like a month to him, but it seems to you it felt like an eternity.

Taehyung unfortunately only knew his packed schedule and making sure he didn’t fall asleep where he shouldn't. A multitude of things ran through his mind on a daily basis with his chaotic life; discussing outfits with his stylist, trying to purchase that new serum his makeup artist always reminds him of, meeting with a producer to review freshly composed songs for his mixtape or finally going out for that one drink he always promised a friend or two—and he suddenly hated it all.

He especially began to loathe his demanding life when he saw the hurt on your face; the way your eyes glistened with pain, the loneliness in your voice, the way you tried physically holding yourself together. He couldn't fathom he was the cause of such pain, wincing at how utterly stupid he was for not noticing this earlier.

I really did do something to her.

He searched for anything to say, beginning to form words but quickly stopping himself from starting a sentence each time. He only examined your crumbling state and regretted not having talked to you sooner, but suddenly wishing you informed him about your feelings preemptively.

"I.. I thought you would've said something, Y/N, but you didn't. How am I supposed to know you feel this way if you don't tell me? You-you seemed okay to me." He inquired softly, tone riddled with guilt, but his words only made a disdainful scoff leave your lips.

"Told you? Taehyung, you have always made it clear that you're a busy person and I've always respected that. You also made clear the importance of this comeback and that I just had to understand how limited our time together would be. Of course I had to act okay. How could you expect me to come and beg you for your attention after you tell me not to seek it?"

Taehyung was taken aback, falling silent. You watched him angrily, finding it unbelievable he really had nothing to say for such a crucial argument.

"I was fucking embarrassed, Taehyung. I thought you'd get mad at me for hovering around you while you were busy and stressed. I didn't want to fucking suffocate you."

"What? Jagi, no, this is important. I wouldn't have reacted like that at all. If you were hurting this much you could've told me and I would've done something. You can always talk to me, how could you not know that?" Taehyung inquired with a hint of accusation and it was like every cell in your body had set off.

"Oh fuck you, Kim Taehyung. Don't give me that bullshit! Of course I know, but I also know that you just get caught up in your own world and your extravagant idol life and I don't wanna fucking bother you when you’re living it without me!"

"Y/N, don't. I'm not trying to pick a fight with you, can you watch your tone a little?" Taehyung asked with a frustrated timbre.

"You know what? I won't, Taehyung, let's fight. Only way to get your attention, isn't it?" Your feelings had reached its peak as you decided to egg him on.

"Don't do this, Y/N. I'm trying to have a civilized conversation."

"And I don't want a civilized conversation, it's only making you ask me stupid questions."

"They're not stupid questions. Can you not understand my side of this?"

"Nope, I won't because I don't care about your side, actually."

"The fuck? And you just expect me to understand your side when you won't even try to understand mine? I’m expected to know how you feel? Well news flash, Y/N, I can't exactly read minds.” He humorlessly tapped his head for effect, quipping at you harshly.

"I'm not asking you to read my mind, I'm just asking you to fucking pay attention for once in your goddamn life." You rolled your eyes dramatically, arms crossed tight as ever.

Taehyung noticeably grew angry at the remark, his eyes narrowing in irritation. "Do not tell me of all people I don't pay attention. You know I've changed over the years but how attentive I am hasn't. Don't ever say that to me again." Taehyung's stern voice warned you of the line you were crossing.

You immediately softened and turned your attitude down a notch, only by a margin since you knew he would never grow angry enough to do anything to you.

"Fine, you pay attention, but clearly not enough." You acquiesced, looking away from him.

Taehyung tried his best to reason now that he sensed you yielding. "Look, this is my first time hearing about this, okay? I had no clue, especially because you seemed and acted fine with me. Of course I'm going to tell you you should've just talked to me, I'm seriously not asking stupid questions."

"Well, I didn't want to talk to you."

"And how was that going to help you? It's only making us argue over something so easily fixable." He indirectly accused you and you returned your eyes to his, narrowing them at his audacity.

"Wow, easily fixable, huh? Do you really think it takes that little to earn my forgiveness after neglecting me for an entire month? Am I that easy to you?" You smiled to yourself miserably, turning away as tears spilled from you.

Your assumptions were correct, he really just thought of you as some easy pushover. Part of this was your fault, wasn't it? Being so quiet and passive about everything. You voluntarily let him get away with everything, let him slip away without a fight, and the frustration of that realization came washing down on you, hard.

"No, wait. That's not what I meant. I just meant that if you'd let me known earlier, we wouldn't be fighting like this." Taehyung instantly softened at your tears with regret, internally facepalming himself.

"I didn't want to openly tell you, okay? It makes me seem...like an attention-seeker, and I was so afraid of bothering you." You wore your heart on your sleeve as your voice wavered, more tears escaping as you attempted to blink them away.

Taehyung looked at you with overwhelming worry. His heart was beyond broken now, his desire to fix everything growing stronger with every tear that dared escape your eyes.

He needed to make this right, fast.

"It doesn't make you a fucking attention-seeker, Y/N. Stop being so worried about how you appear to me, I'm with you for a reason. I accept you in any way, especially after how much we fought for this, for us. Your feelings too, they're all fucking valid to me. I really would've done something if you’d just told me how you felt." Taehyung practically pleaded, his pouty lips and devastated eyes making it clear he just wanted to reach some sort of consensus with you.

"But that's the problem, Tae." You sniffled, wiping some tears. "You keep saying I should’ve told you, when you should've noticed on your own in the first place."

Taehyung felt like someone had slapped him across the face, his lips parting as a deep look of realization dawned on his gorgeous face. "I…" He trailed, but couldn't let words out. He was realizing how stupid he was, how unobservant and ignorant. He hated it all, hated that he was so busy, hated that he didn't pay enough attention and hated that he hurt you.

You gave up when his lack of words warranted a tense silence between you two, cut short when you hastily left the room. You walked in the direction of the parking lot angrily. You just needed some air, needed to go home and cleanse yourself of him for the time being.

You thought you were being quick enough, until you heard laboured footsteps and Taehyung's low voice echoing in the hallway, tailing you.

"Y/N! Wait, wait! Please, don’t walk away!" Taehyung practically begged as he rushed to your side.

"I'm not gonna wait for anything, I'm going home!"

"Stop! My manager's gonna take us home tonight, okay? We're gonna talk about this." He stated with solidarity as he grabbed your arm, eager to patch things up.

"No we're not, and I have my own car, I'm getting myself home." You snatched your arm from him and marched on.

"You can leave it here for fuck's sake, and I said stop. We're going home together and sorting this out because I can't leave you like this, okay? We need to fix this."

"Awh, all I'm getting from that is you'll finally be home for once!" You chirped sarcastically, never looking at him as you practically stomped away. You saw him falter from your side, knowing he had to have paused at the heft of your comment.

You both eventually made it through the building’s doors, you needing to be pretty much dragged into his manager’s car despite your vehement protest, stupidly shut into the back with him.

You were turned away putting on an Oscar’s worthy performance of pretending he wasn’t there, and Taehyung was left to canvas his numerous thoughts as the car drove.

He realized he had said nothing to your comment earlier because.. you were right.

When was the last time he sat in a car with you like this? The last time you were both home together? The last time you both lazily threw your things onto the floor once you arrived home and immediately smothered each other after holding back all day? The last time he held you in his arms while you two watched a trashy movie?

Holy fuck, when was the last time we had sex? Made love?

He could only think of memories from weeks ago in quarantine, nothing recent. His solemn gaze fell upon you as he thought. He could feel the prominent tension between you two, the gut-wrenching distance, leaving a black hole swallowing his heart. He felt no ease, no affection, no love.

When did it fucking become like this?

He was still struggling to stomach the fact that he hurt you. He watched you regretfully, tears pricking at his eyes as he saw you attempting to hold back your own.

He then felt the sudden need to hold you, to comfort you. You had been pulling away from him for so long that he wanted nothing but to feel his large, warm hand cradle your smaller, colder one. Reassure you that while he's stupid, he's still here.

Taehyung looked at you and leaned over, deciding to gently slide a reaffirming hand atop yours, gripping your fingers with all the love and warmth he could muster.

He expected you to reject him, nearly giving up on a reaction until he felt your tentative hand just barely grab his back. Surprised, he took a relaxed breath.

I'm going to fix this.

Taehyung shut the door as you two sauntered into your apartment and you disregarded your things, heading straight for your room. You thought it would make Taehyung leave you alone, but he caught your hand as you began stepping away. He didn’t yank you; simply held your wrist, still and remorseful with your back to him.

A long pause passed as he stood in place, silence piercing the air until you spoke coldly, "What do you want?"

“I’m sorry.” Was all he could manage, his once powerful voice so incredibly small.

You searched for a response, the air becoming somewhat suffocating as you sighed. “I know.”

“No, you don’t. Jagiya, I mean it. I mean it with everything I have. I'm so sorry” Taehyung insisted with meaning, like he was seconds away from falling apart if you didn't believe him.

You could hear the sincerity in his words and you could feel how heartbroken he was, but your exhaustion amassed with all the emotions that had been attacking you all week were discouraging you from participating in any conversation right now.

“You may mean it, but that’s not fixing anything, Taehyung. You really don’t know how it felt to have you ignore me. To see you unaffected by our time apart. It felt like you were pushing me away, like I wasn’t worth your fucking time anymore.”

“That’s wrong, Jagiya. You are always worth my time.”

“Then maybe you’re just a contradictive jerk, Taehyung, I don’t know!” You threw your hands up as you broke his hold, turning around vexed.

"Because one day you're telling me to basically fuck off because you're too busy but the next you're saying I'm worth all your time? Where the fuck was that the last month then? All you had to do was spare me a couple hours a week, just a couple. I wasn't even asking for much, you could've made the time!"

“I'm sorry, okay! I’m a jerk, I get it, but I had a reason! I have a fucking reason but right now I want to apologize and say I'm sorry. I’m sorry I made you feel like that, I’m sorry I neglected you and made you feel alone, I never intended that!” Taehyung sincerely implored, eyes worried and persistent as he reached for you.

“Then what did you intend? Saying sorry after the fact does nothing. If you didn’t intend to hurt me then what did you intend to do?!” You shouted, evading his touch again.

“I was doing it for you! The reason was all for you, for us!”

You couldn’t help but laugh as anger seeped into your blood, unbelieving of whatever excuses you thought he was making up.

“For me? Us? Really? Wow, did you suddenly quit your job as an idol to become comedian of the fucking year?” You quipped venomously. "How the fuck is you ignoring me for a month 'for our relationship'?"

Taehyung was trying hard to calm himself down, thinking twice about how he was going to handle this. "Y/N, please, just try to trust me on this."

You scoffed disbelievingly, shaking your head as you quickly made your way further into the apartment and over to your TV. Taehyung's eyebrows furrowed as he watched you reach towards the shelf underneath it. It was adorned with cherished photos of the people you both held most dear; family, friends, the boys. Most of them consisted of Taehyung entertaining his love for photography, having snapped stunning photos of scenery, people or a combination of both he adored enough to frame.

But many were of you two, either in front of gorgeous landscapes or adorable candids. You picked up a photograph of you two in Daegu—Taehyung's big arms enveloping yours from behind as you hooked onto them, all smiles in front of his family's strawberry farm after his camera’s timer snapped the photo.

“See this? This is something you did for us, you told me you only take and frame photos of the most beautiful moments in your life, and you gave this to me telling me it was your favourite moment.” You placed the frame down, opting to grab the gray Sherpa blanket off the couch in front of you.

“This? You got this for me after I was diagnosed with anemia during Christmas and had been shivering for months. You told me not to worry because you’d always keep me warm and whenever you weren’t there I could use this blanket instead, think of it as you. You did that for me.” You disregarded the blanket and held up your wrist.

“This bracelet? You got it for our anniversary and made it our equivalent of promise rings because you know I hate rings. You even made sure your bracelet matched in a way that other people wouldn't notice and was only special to us." You watched as Taehyung slightly lifted his left hand to look at the mentioned bracelet. "You did that for me, for us.” Tears were brimming your eyes as you spoke, voice growing shaky.

“Taehyung, you did all those sweet and thoughtful things for us, for me. Those are the kinds of things you should be doing, not fucking hurting me by acting like I don't matter to you, making me question everything. What’s wrong with you? How could you scare me like that? Treat me like I’m nothing and say it’s for our relationship?”

“You're not, you're not nothing." Taehyung's voice caught in his throat, trying hard to dry his glassy eyes.

"I get it, Y/N. I fucking get it, what I’m doing right now may not seem as sweet as all those other things, but I promise it’s as thoughtful, it's still all for you. I’m serious when I say that, this is all because I love you. Why can’t you just believe me?”

"And why can’t you just say what it is? Why won't you tell me? Are you hiding something? Taehyung, what you did felt like anything but love-"

"That’s not true. The reason is insignificant right now because I didn't mean to hurt you, I’m so fucking sorry.” Taehyung's voice shook with genuity, trying once again to approach you, gingerly, affectionately.

Your anger couldn’t subside with the way he kept side-tracking, however, your emotions growing erratic again. "Are you kidding me? Insignificant? The reason is the most important! Just tell me, why did you ignore me for an entire fucking month?!”

"I said it's not fucking important right now. I want to apologize first, I didn’t mean to do it!" Taehyung was desperate to reason, eyes begging you to believe him.

“It is important! Tell me what you’re hiding.”

“It’s not important.”

“Yes it is!”

“No it isn’t!”

“Yes it is!”

“No it isn’t! I'm trying to earn your forgiveness firs-Y/N, what are you.." Taehyung’s eye widened in shock.

He couldn't finish his sentence because he watched you grab a cushion from the couch and suddenly launch it in his direction.

"What the fuck? What are you doing?!” Taehyung exclaimed as he dodged, his large hands instinctively catching the object, looking at you like a confused puppy. “Did you just throw that at me?!”

“I did! And I'll do it again until you tell me what you’re hiding!” You challenged him like a child and started reaching for throwable things. Pens, notepads, books, even a stray plastic water bottle all went hurtling towards Taehyung.

You couldn’t stop throwing out of frustration, his unfair gift of ambidextrous hands and incredible catching skills making you even more frustrated.

Did he really have to be made so fucking perfect?

He continued defending himself from your attacks until he grew annoyed, “For the love of God, Y/N, stop throwing shit! Just put everything down and listen to me, you have to trust me before I can even explain myself!” Taehyung shouted more so with concern for you, dodging a bottle of vitamins.

Now why the fuck was that just lying around?

You snorted condescendingly, "Again with that, trust you?" You mocked as the TV remote came into your hand.

"You know what, Taehyung? Let me explain for you, you’ve just found someone new who's not fucking staff, haven’t you? Our relationship got too difficult and you’ve finally had enough. You’re hiding shit to save my feelings, aren’t you?” You accused him much to your dismay, angry tears pooling in your eyes.

"What-no! Fuck no I would never do or think any of that!" Taehyung vehemently denied, finally having reached you and wrestled you for the remote. He eventually pried it out of your hands, throwing it away and holding your wrists as you resisted him.

"It’s none of that, alright? I was just so damn stressed and I had way too much work. There’s so much going on, it fucks with me and I didn't want to make you my fucking mental care, unload my idol life crap onto you. You're working just as hard and I didn't want to burden you.” Taehyung desperately revealed trying to reach you, upset that you could even think such ridiculous, lowly things of him.

"Don't you dare use work as an excuse. I know you were busy and stressed, but you were making time for everyone else in your life except me. Just say it, Tae. I know you're tired of us!"

"Fucking-Y/N, it's literally not that at all. I was actually busy, okay? What I said is true!" Taehyung pleaded, he knew he was only telling part of the truth, but it wasn't exactly a lie.

"It can't just be that, there's no way. What are you hiding from me? I'm serious, I'll leave this conversation if you don't, I'll leave this apartment if you don't-”

"No! Just-alright! You really wanna know so badly?” Taehyung inquired rhetorically, his jaw locking. “Fine then. You fucking got found out.”

You stopped fighting him and blinked, confusion riddling all your features. Taehyung sighed deeply and continued before you could say anything.

“We got too comfortable, okay? I'm still an idol and our team heard a shit ton of rumours spreading outside the company about me dating someone. They controlled most and knew any remaining ones would just turn into baseless gossip since nobody knew your identity. I’d just get talked about which I didn't care about. But people somehow started finding your face, your name, and your information was spreading fast. Management was scared you'd be made public especially with reporters and cameras so up our asses these days and watching us. I was terrified when they told me. I couldn't let anyone know you, not when they’d do or say shit to you just because we're together… so I had to do something."

Now it was your turn to stand in shock for several seconds, utterly wide-eyed at the bullet you didn't even know Taehyung was keeping from you.

“What-what the fuck? What do you mean? When did this happen?"

"The same time I started 'ignoring' you. Nobody pressured me to break up with you, but I was warned to dissolve the rumours asap. I took matters into my own hands by acting the way I did to get people thinking we were either broken up or never dating in the first place. I hated doing it.. but it started working. I didn't want to tell you anything because I knew you'd just say we could solve everything together when we weren't in a position to do so." Taehyung wasn't hiding his clear anguish, upset having to recall his awful memories of the ordeal.

You were still shocked at how little you knew, finding yourself at least understanding of his actions and reasoning, but crossed your mind better ways to have dealt with this; especially ones that didn't entail hurting you.

"But Taehyung, you should've let me known. If you had just told me I wouldn't have gotten hurt like this. Why would you keep this from me?"

"I just.. I couldn't tell you. It felt like I was breaking up with you and I couldn't handle it. Even when I finally had the balls to do it I ended up prolonging because I just got so busy and pushed everything away to focus. I felt like I could deal with it on my own, fix it all by myself. I didn't want to drop this on you when you were busy too."

You exhaled harshly, hating how unfair this entire situation was. "You could’ve told me with something like this, Taehyung. I can't just let you carry the burden all on your own, this entire problem had to do with me. We promised we wouldn’t keep shit from each other especially considering the circumstances of our relationship. Why would you break that promise?" Your eyes welled up again, inhaling painfully.

Taehyung paused, scoffing humorlessly. "Yeah? I broke that promise? Jagi...you broke that promise too."

You blinked again, his eyes piercing yours poignantly as you could only look back at him in defeat.

He was right.

He was entirely right, you hid your feelings from him and never told him anything, a clear violation of that promise on your end. But you couldn't let his wrongdoings go either, not on this; the hurt, the doubt, the thoughts he made you think. That pain was making you fall apart and the reality of it all came crashing down on you. "An apology still can’t fix this, Taehyung. I want to go to bed, we'll talk about this tomorrow.”

You pulled away and moved towards your room until Taehyung rushed in front of you, grabbing onto your arms.

“Wait! This isn’t over, baby please, just listen to me.”

“It is for today, Taehyung. I can't do this right now.”

“No, I don’t want tomorrow. I want this now, I want to talk to you now.” Taehyung insisted with what seemed like his entire being. He didn't want to spend tonight like this; he didn't want you to sleep upset, and neither did he.

“Taehyung, you’re making me repeat myself. Let me go, please. I’m exhausted.” You choked on your words, swiping your tears.

“No, I told you I’m not fucking letting you go, especially not now.” He gripped you stubbornly, searching for your eyes.

“Taehyung, for the love of God just let me go-”

“I said no!” Taehyung's volume suddenly pierced the room, his intense aura stilling you.

He didn't sound angry. rather in need, like he was calling out to you with his entire heart and the tight hold on your arms gave it all away.

You finally decided to pay attention to him. His tone beyond serious, his eyes swimming with worry. His miserable face and refusal to let you go regrettably softened you. You understood him, saw the desperation and concern behind all his actions.

But he chose to neglect you. He made you feel alone, made you overthink numerous possibilities about your relationship and even question his feelings for you.

"You.." You exhaled with agony, swallowing hard.

None of this was easy, the nights you spent curled up on the couch overthinking, lying to everyone that you were okay, working in the studio alone to get him off your mind, blaming yourself. The accumulated pain of all those days now manifested in your chest all at once, making your heart ache.

"You made me feel like I wasn't important to you, like I wasn't worth your time. I.. thought you found someone better, easier.. that I wasn't enough for you." Your voice crumbled by the second, your mind jumping to the one conclusion you tried to avoid the most but couldn't any longer.

"I thought you weren't in love with me anymore."

Taehyung's heart shattered into a million pieces, overwhelming hurt piercing his chest so violently that tears instantly betrayed his eyes.

He couldn't bear any of this anymore, the tension, the distance, couldn't bear that you ever thought such an awful thing. Small tears escaped him as he gently placed his hands on your face, looking into your eyes with insurmountable pain before colliding his lips with yours.

He kissed you tenderly, passionately, like his mouth was dying to express how much he'd missed you, and trying harder to prove how utterly wrong your last words were. Before you could even reject him, you found your own lips mirroring the same longing, the same need after a painful month apart.

Your eyes fluttered shut as tears stained your cheeks, the sheer love you could feel in his kiss suddenly brightening any parts inside you that had grown dark because of him. He began working against your mouth hungrily, trying to commit every inch of your lips to his memory.

The kiss was fervent, utterly desperate, your harsh breaths mingling together as his hands on your cheeks wiped your tears away gingerly and yours clutched his hoodie tightly.

It's like he was consuming all of you, attempting to deepen the kiss with every second that passed by as he pulled you closer. And for once this past month, you didn't feel like questioning his feelings for you, because he was now serving them on a silver platter, making it blatantly obvious he had never once lost his love for you and will never do so.

He kissed you like he wanted you and only you, he kissed you like you were fleeting and could disappear at any moment, he kissed you like you were his home, like you meant any and everything to him, like you were the only galaxy he believed in and it did nothing but set you both ablaze.

His tongue swiped your bottom lip impatiently, wanting to taste you after so long and you permitted absent-mindedly, damning every emotion except love and lust to hell, welcoming him.

His tongue entangled with yours sloppily as you slid your hands up his sculpted neck, a soft groan escaping Taehyung's lips once you tugged his hair.

It wasn't until Taehyung caught your bottom lip between his teeth that you felt something ignite inside you. You both panted as you disconnected, gazing at his dark eyes for a mere second before impatiently crashing your mouth onto his again.

This time you caught him for a heated make out session, pulling his hair aimlessly as Taehyung pressed you against him with his arms snaking around your waist, both of you moving perfectly in sync with one other. The feeling of your bodies so close ignited your arousals, currents running through both your veins.

Taehyung pushed you back against the nearest wall, hard. You nearly yelped at the contact but Taehyung swallowed it with his eager kisses, getting rougher, sloppier, growing high off the feeling of you wanting more, him wanting so much more.

He brought his thigh in between you, pushing his hips against yours and you felt his hardness through his sweatpants. Your panties practically soaked at the contact, your moans devastatingly loud and hot and only making Taehyung harder.

He brought his hands down to cup your ass momentarily as he kissed you, sliding them to the back of your thighs. You kicked yourself off the ground into his hold, legs grappling Taehyung's waist as he forced you back up against the wall. Your hands grabbed his jaw tightly, wanting all of him as your tongues moulded together.

Taehyung felt his urges to touch you overwhelm him, utterly dying to hear you desperately say his name and moan breathlessly into his ear. He had gone too long, far too long without feeling you lose yourself to him that he needed you now.

One of Taehyung's impatient hands moved up to fumble with the button of your jeans, disconneting to look into your eyes, his pink, swollen lips irresistible.

"Have you been touching yourself?" He breathed hard and asked mere centimeters your mouth, forehead leaning on yours.

"B-barely. I couldn't get myself off the same way." You exhaled harshly trying to calm down, mind woozy from the sheer adrenaline he was pumping through you. "You?"

"Tried, but nothing felt like you."

Taehyung returned his lips to yours breathlessly and unzipped roughly, sliding his hand inside and finding your already sopping wet heat. His fingers made contact through the soaked material and you let out a satisfied moan, throwing your head back against the wall. Taehyung chuckled proudly, pressing his lips to your exposed neck as he began lewdly rubbing your folds.

Your walls clenched around nothing, begging for something to fill you up. You shamelessly rode against his fingers, desperate for more friction and Taehyung absolutely adored how needy you were.

He smirked to himself as he pushed your underwear aside, his fingertips suddenly touching your bare pussy and you automatically felt sparks, gasping.

Taehyung felt your delicious wetness and a satisfied groan left his lips. He couldn’t stop rubbing you, playing with your folds like it was a game he mastered ages ago. His digits spread you all over yourself, teasing you. He purposefully brushed over your clit multiple times and you felt nothing but fireworks, the heat between your legs growing so hot you clutched onto his shoulders to stay sane.

"Fuck.. Taehyung fuck! If you go inside.. I can't.. I'll fucking lose it." You stammered out, trying to relax but Taehyung eyed your panting figure with a smirk so evil you wished he'd just fuck you against this wall right now.

Taehyung brought his lips to your ear and spoke lowly, the bass in his voice sending chills down your spine.

"Then fucking lose it."

Without warning, Taehyung shoved his two fingers inside you, a smug grin decorating his gorgeous face as he watched you nearly cry out, gripping harder into his hair and shoulder for dear life. His fingers began sliding in and out, your walls welcoming him greedily as he pumped you, milking out every beautiful sound you could make for him as he relished in them.

Taehyung was already the hardest man on Earth, his cock painfully tucked away in his pants and aching to be inside you. You brought your forehead against his for support as he went harder, your breaths melding as you panted fucked out moans from the sheer bliss of his long fingers, just something of his dragging inside you.

Your body moved up against the rougher thrusts of his fingers, practically fucking you open and the delectable sting certifying you’d lost it for Kim Taehyung.

You suddenly felt your insides beginning to stir around him and you panicked, not wanting to let go just yet, just on his fingers.

"T-Taehyung.. shit.. I can feel but- but not just on this." Your head was so gone a coherent sentence seemed impossible. Taehyung's fingers curled up inside you as he pumped a little harder, faster, making you whimper against his mouth and he used every ounce of strength he had not to swallow them with kisses, just so he could hear you.

"Taehyung, please.." You moaned loudly and held onto him so desperately that Taehyung finally snapped, his dick throbbing to have you wrapped around him and hear his name just like that.

"Fuck this." Taehyung pulled his fingers out and carried you straight into your room.

He threw you down onto the bed hurriedly, his eyes blown out as he positioned himself above you. You breathed unevenly as you looked up at him, his body rising and falling quickly as he tried to control himself and his hungry look made you push your thighs together.

The sight of your flushed cheeks and panting body underneath him made Taehyung's dominant side thrive. He drank you in greedily, registering this as the first time in a month he had you all to himself.

"You don't fucking know, Y/N. All those times I had to hold back. When you walked around the studio looking sexy as hell, moving your body like pure sin, and I couldn't do a single thing to you." Taehyung's dark eyes indicated something had awakened inside him.

"What do you mean?"

Taehyung scoffed, "You just don't get it." He mimicked you from earlier. “I was putting on a front and none of it was true. Every fucking time I saw you I wanted to lose it. Every time I saw you concentrating with that look, working, seeing your exposed skin, all the times I caught you practically eye-fucking me and I wanted to eye-fuck you back." Taehyung breathed out, voicing his pent up tension.

"But you know what was worse? The times I saw you laughing with fucking Jungkook, screwing around with Jin-hyung, the guys acting so close with you. Watching back-up dancers eye-fuck you, hearing all their fucking comments about how hot you are, people asking if you’re single now, and I couldn't do shit because everyone was always around, watching." Taehyung breathed frustratedly, dangerous eyes locked on you.

"You know I don't get openly jealous, but my blood still boils under my skin when I see or hear those things, especially when I can’t do anything about it. I wanted you.. so badly, just wanted to take you right there in front of everyone if I could.." Taehyung nearly growled as his head hung low, entangling his hands with yours and squeezing them on the bed.

"Then why didn't you?"

Taehyung's eyes flashed up amusedly, "Why didn’t-you wanted me to do something in front of everyone?” His confusion softened into a little smirk.

“You wanted to be watched, huh?" Taehyung lowered himself to your ear. "Wanted everyone see the way I fuck you? See the way I make you mine? Fuck you open for me?” Taehyung was setting your core on fire and you had to bite your lip.

He noticed and hated that his lips weren't on yours, quickly planting them for a kiss.

The weight of Taehyung's leg pushing against your throbbing heat started compromising your sense of control, wanting to rile him up so bad he'll have no choice but to give you what you want.

"Fuck, this is what I've been waiting for. Teasing you under me, cumming just from my fingers and tongue, fucking you senseless until you’re cumming again." Taehyung's words were filthy as ever and you loved every syllable.

"Then do it."

He smiled smugly as his mouth moved to the one spot on your neck he knew leaves you squirming. Curses left your mouth the second you felt his teeth, Taehyung adamant on leaving deep, purple marks.

“I'm gonna show everyone you're mine, only mine.” Taehyung’s authoritative voice came out breathy as he kissed and bit in between, obsessed with seeing the art he was creating.

"Shit… Taehyung yes, I missed you, I missed you so fucking much." You desperately stammered out.

"I fucking missed you too, baby." He smiled, his dark eyes glancing from your zip-up sweater and back to you. "But first, off."

Your hands moved for the zipper until Taehyung caught your wrists and forced them back against the bed, obsidian eyes scolding you.

"That's my job." Taehyung spoke dominantly, hot as fuck as he stared at you while bringing his mouth down to your zipper.

His teeth caught it and slowly zipped down your body, pronouncedly breathing against your bare skin that made you hiss, arching up into him as he held your hands down.

Taehyung was welcomed by your bra-cladded chest, basking in the glory of seeing your body after so long. He began laying kisses in between your breasts, his every contact electric.

"Taehyung, please.. don't tease. It’s been so long."

"We'll see about that."

He reached a hand underneath your back to unclip your bra, practically ripping the clothes off you and chucking them.

Taehyung was heating up drinking you in, cursing at how even the sight of your naked top was making him somehow harder.

"Shit, Jagi. You're so fucking gorgeous." Taehyung stated with haste as his large hands found your thighs that rested either side of his hips. He then slowly slid them up your abdomen, cupping your breasts and fingering your nipples. Your hands reached out to hold onto him as you exclaimed but he roughly pinned them above you, restricting you.

He lowered himself to your chest for hickeys, kissing, licking, nibbling the flesh of your boobs. You arched and groaned as he held you down, sexually frustrated as he torturously teased you.

"Taehyung, please… you know what I want." You breathed out, your hands resisting but he kept denying you.

"You’re so fucking hot like this, so impatient and needy for me." Taehyung groaned, lapping his tongue over the flesh of your breasts until the tip of his tongue finally glided over your perched nipple.

You gasped at the contact, whimpering as your walls clenched around something non-existent and you bucked up into Taehyung. You could feel heat pooling at your core, begging to be battered as he sucked on your nipples, tongue doing wonders.

Marks now embellished your chest as he kissed down to your stomach affectionately and neared your lower half, exciting your opening.

Your eyes darted down and suddenly caught his length, poking out from his sweatpants and practically begging for attention.

He instantly took notice.

"No, princess. It’s about you tonight, not me, no touching." Taehyung ordered seriously, looking at you with a sense of dominance that only left you more aroused.

You made a whiny noise, "Why not? I want to make you feel good." You retorted, wiggling your hand out to touch him until Taehyung locked you down harder.

He clicked his tongue as he began pulling your pants and panties down your legs with one hand, his dark eyes chastising you, "We'll get to me another day." He disregarded them and let his hand feel up your thighs, bringing his face to your entrance.

"But right now, having you like this, begging-” he nipped at your inner thigh, “making those sounds-” he licked the marks, “wet as hell for me-” he sucked your flesh, “that's all I need." His tone dropped an octave, letting your wrists go and nearing your cunt inch by inch.

"Taehyung, fuck-don't do this. Please, it's been too long, don't tease.." You pleaded, hating the way he was shamelessly working you up.

"Do you need me, baby?" Taehyung watched your breath hitch as he kissed around your nether lips. "Need to feel me inside you? Stretch you out? Fuck the shit out of you?" His low, dark tone made butterflies fill your abdomen and all you could manage was a light nod.

"Tell me, Jagiya. Tell me what you want from me, where you want me.." Taehyung breathed against your soaked pussy and you shivered, beyond impatient.

"Y-your tongue, your cock, Taehyung, you. Please..I can’t do this.. just fuck me, make me come all over you.." You rambled and looked at Taehyung through hooded eyes. You grabbed one of his hands and brought him directly to your dripping heat, rubbing him against your slit unforgivingly.

Taehyung groaned proudly, "Good girl. I'll fuck you so good you’ll feel me for hours, so hard I’ll have to carry you to rehearsals myself." Taehyung's filthy words rang in your ears.

A loud moan escaped you once Taehyung's pillowy lips and tongue pressed onto your pussy, your breath hitching as his muscle began licking into your folds. Taehyung hooked onto your thighs from underneath, parting your legs wider for him. Your hands found his broad shoulders for support and you tugged at his hoodie frantically, whining.

"Taehyung, off.."

Taehyung drew away from you to slide his top off. He threw the sweater mindlessly as he returned, deciding to sink two fingers inside you as his tongue began licking. His newly exposed skin made you feel more aroused, tugging his soft curls to manage the bliss he was supplying you.

His tongue licked you like he was starving, sucking and flicking your clit occasionally as his fingers curled up inside your velvety walls. You felt like crying, after such a long time the pleasure was already building up inside you and so intense you needed to let go.

"Taehyung-Tae.. I feel it. Don't stop..." You moaned weakly, your orgasm dawning on you as Taehyung quickened his pace. His dark eyes watched you through his fluffy fringe and it was intoxicating, had you throwing your head back against the pillow just to contain yourself.

"Come for me baby, come all over my tongue and fingers. I wanna hear you.” Taehyung cooed at you as he pumped and the tip of his tongue played with your clit faster, soothing your thigh and adoring the wet mess in between you. Your loud moans and groans sent shivers down Taehyung's spine and blood straight to his cock.

The familiar sensation of something coiling came to you, gripping Taehyung's hair until you saw stars and felt a fierce snap, the unholiest of noises leaving you as your back arched. You panted hard, bringing an arm up to shield your eyes, the pleasure of your high dizzying as Taehyung watched you, tasting and fingering out your orgasm.

He kissed your entrance multiple times before he decided he was done. He straightened himself up and wiped your juices off his chin, licking your essence off him. Feeling you come undone on his mouth made him go feral, needing to feel your walls hug his cock just the same.

He positioned himself above you, gently moving your arm from your face.

"Don't hide from me." he spoke softly, intertwining his hands with yours against the pillow to adore your fucked out expression.

You admired him innocently in the moment, his honey-coloured skin kissed by the moonlight radiating through the windows. The expanse of his broad chest and shoulders looking more bulky now that he was working out, his thick neck, the beautifully visible veins in his arms that all created the art that was Kim Taehyung.

Your eyes scanned over him greedily until you landed on his lower half, the tent in his pants looking so painful you again ached to relieve it.

Taehyung eyed you as you licked your lips, boldly reaching out for his dick. You touched sparingly, Taehyung instantly letting out a pleasurable groan until he caught your hand.

"What did I say? You never fucking listen, do you?" Taehyung brat-handled you, his alpha male on full display.

“What if I don’t want to listen?” You disobeyed and reached out again, gaining full contact until he grabbed and forced your hand against the sheets.

“I’ll make you regret that."

Taehyung quickly shuffled his pants and boxers down and past his hips, disregarding them and leaving him bare before you.

Your eyes began ogling the angry, red tipped cock that had sprung out, looking painfully uncomfortable and leaving you wishing Taehyung had just fucked your mouth just watch him suffer. He was already leaking precum, making you whimper at the thought of him coming inside you.

Taehyung positioned himself in between your legs, bringing his dick to your entrance. He tried to bite away a mischievous grin before sliding his cock against your folds to mix your wetness with his.

"Shit, Jagi, you're so fucking wet." Taehyung moaned with you at the pleasurable feeling.

"Fuck, Taehyung…I can’t, I need.. inside." Your sentence was mangled, his hot flesh against you heavenly.

"Shit, saying my name like that..I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll feel me in your throat." Taehyung growled, gripping the base of his cock and aligning himself with your entrance. You readied yourself until Taehyung stopped, a thought suddenly popping into his head.

"Wait, you got your shot this month, right? You're okay with raw?" He asked with no particular haste, concern glossing over his eyes.

Taehyung's chest suddenly tightened realizing he didn't even know something as simple as you getting your shot, important to him since your phobia of needles was so bad you usually needed to hold his hand or talk to him on the phone.

But he was so busy this month he couldn't do either.

"Of course, Taehyung, of course I did." You breathed out erratically, trying to calm down after his tormenting cock sliding. You gave his hand that held yours against the bed a squeeze, wishing he would begin battering your insides already.

"Fuck, I know how much you're afraid of needles.. I should've been there." Taehyung became disappointed in himself, eyes faltering from yours.

You immediately grew soft, "Taehyung.. it's okay, if it's for you then I'm not so scared. Don't worry, bubs." You said as you let go of his hands to cup his cheeks, searching for his eyes.

"But you get them just for me..even though you're so scared. I love you for that." Taehyung doted on you as he tucked your hair behind your ear, completely contrasting his cock about to abuse you.

"Taehyung, baby it’s okay, I'm okay. I'm with you right now. I want everything you thought of, everything you want with me… I want you." You looked into his doe eyes tinted with guilt, offering him a smile.

Taehyung returned a light smile of his own, pressing a feathery kiss to your lips before he grabbed the base of his cock again. He gripped your hand hard as his dick compromised your opening.

He hissed once he sank in, the feeling of your pussy opening up for him eliciting a drawn out 'fuck' to leave his mouth.

Taehyung could feel how tight you were after a month without him; you weren't as stretched out and he felt drunk. The way your walls hugged his rock hard dick so snug, so intoxicating he wanted to completely lose control but refrained with you in mind.

You thought you were used to the pleasurable burn of Taehyung's gifted size, already aware of how well-endowed he is but you suddenly felt a harsh sting and forced your hands against his chest, exasperating. Taehyung immediately stopped, widening his eyes in concern.

"Are you okay?"

"Just-just give me a second." He nodded, feeling your breaths calm down as he soothed over your arm, your walls relaxing

"Y-you can move." You voiced weakly.

Taehyung complied and moved in considerately, failing to suppress the low groans that left him. He finally bottomed out and hit your cervix, both of you letting out satisfied grunts at the feeling of him buried so deep. He could feel the way your walls pulsed around him to adjust, adding to his lists of reasons he was insane for you.

Taehyung kissed you as he began fucking gently, slowly, wanting to feel the way you wrapped around him, craving for you to feel every inch, groove and vein of his cock.

The feeling of him slowly and languidly thrusting inside you felt otherworldly, the longing, the care, the love in his movements so apparent you grappled the back of his neck to hug him closer. Taehyung rocked himself against you, laying deep kisses to your mouth.

"Fuck, baby.. you're so tight." Taehyung breathed out, unable to hold back his sense of control, gradually fastening his pace to fuck you better, feel more.

"How does it feel, princess, tell me." Taehyung cooed into your ear, now kissing underneath your jaw. Your lewd noises grew louder as he began pumping faster and Taehyung looked at you.

"Shit, Taehyung. I-I feel so fucking good. You fill me up so good… want more.” You practically whined, head spinning at his intoxicating pace, wrapping your legs around Taehyung's torso to feel him deeper.

Taehyung weakened at the feeling, kissing your lips with fervor and now thrusting faster as his need to come undone racked his balls, but aching to treat you first. His skin was imprinted with your scratches, him only fucking you faster in response.

"Harder, Taehyung, fuck me harder..!" Your voice trailed with a mewl, kissing him sloppily as your desire for more of him grew unbearable.

Taehyung smirked against your lips, "You want it harder, huh? You like that? Want me to fuck up your insides? Batter this pussy up?"

"Y-yes, Taehyung, please."

Taehyung already felt fucked out, wrestling with your tongue as he wrapped his arms around your torso and pressed you flush against him. You both groaned louder as his pace turned unforgiving, 99% sure your neighbours could hear every lewd sound.

"Taehyung.. fuck. I missed you. I missed you so much!” You spoke without a thought, light-headed but hyper aware of just how much you wanted him, needed him, not only with his cock buried inside you but just him, so close to you.

"Shit, baby.. I missed you more. So much. So fucking much, you don’t even know." Taehyung growled desperately as he fucked deeper, kissed harder, his tone coated with sincerity.

Both your confessions made for rougher fucking, nasty tongue kissing, tighter grasps on each other. You rutted against one another shamelessly, movements faltering in precision and more so in desperation as Taehyung shoved himself inside you.

And he watched as he did, seeing the way he disappeared into you between your bodies and enjoying the way you bounced in response.

"Taehyung, fuck, Taehyung.." You moaned out his name breathlessly as you gripped his shoulders, feeling your abdomen flood with heat as his cock kissed your cervix.

"Jagiya, fucking-watch it, say my name like that again and I'll fuck the living shit out of you." Taehyung warned with a growl as he rammed into you.

"T-Taehyung.."

“Such a bad fucking girl."

His arms suddenly locked you down in place, holding you tight as he began the roughest, hardest thrusts you've felt all night. Taehyung deliberately pulled all the way out only to smash back in as he felt your body jerk up in response, swallowing your whimpers.

Your moans were loud, ringing in your own ears as you felt yourself losing your sanity. He snapped into your gut, filled you up so good all you could feel was him. Your orgasm was bubbling in your stomach, begging for release now.

"Taehyung, I'm gonna- fuck, I'm gonna come!” You warned him with a pitchy yelp, the tingling feeling unbearable as his body rubbed against your clit.

"Come for me, baby, all over my fucking cock, Let me feel you." Taehyung encouraged as he desperately tried to hold his own load, wanting nothing but to witness the way you came underneath him.

And out of nowhere your second orgasm washed over you, barely noticing the snap as you ached from oversensitivity and protested him to a halt. Taehyung controlled himself as your walls continuously clamped down on him, watching you pant from fatigue.

But he decided on your punishment and suddenly flipped you onto your stomach, instinctively settling on all fours as you felt him prod your entrance. He pushed you to arch your back and pulled your ass up, giving a nice smack before kissing up your back like the demon he is. He sank in with no warning and began drilling into you again, setting a merciless pace and angling himself to fuck you completely open.

“T-Taehyung, what are you doing!”

“You’re coming for me again.”

“I can’t- Taehyung I can’t!” Your hand quickly came down to entangle with his on your hip, his deft fingers boring into your skin as he mercilessly buried every inch of his cock into you.

“You can do it! Just one more time for me princess, let go for me.” He coaxed you as he felt your walls pulsating around him again, his arms hugging your body to his and mouth breathing unevenly near your ear.

"Taehyung, Ah- fuck! C-come inside me, please!”

"Shit, I’ll stuff you with my cum, fucking give you my kids!” Taehyung grunted as he continued bartering your pussy, reaching down to roughly rub your clit. You cried out, half from sensitivity but half from pure pleasure, gripping his hand hard.

You felt the coil coming back for a third time and Taehyung’s encourgements were doing absolute wonders. "Taehyung-shit I’m gonna..fuck!”

Once he delivered a particularly hard, deep thrust with his hand on your clit, you gasped out his name as another orgasm released through your body, temporarily blinding you with bliss. Your legs grew weak as you buried your face into the pillow, trying to catch your breath.

“Just like that, baby, just like that.” Taehyung spoke supportively as he thrusted one last time before finally coming inside you, helping you ride out your climax. He groaned into your ear as he spurted hot stripes of cum inside you. You squeezed his hand on your stomach that still held you up, feeling him milk himself of every drop he had racked up just for you.

Once Taehyung felt completely vacant of his seed, relief washed over him as he kissed your upper back, both of your bodies lax and panting for air.

"You're amazing." Taehyung tried steadying his breathing, beaming as he hugged you from behind, cock still throbbing inside you. "I fucking… I held that back for so long."

"You didn’t have to… I would've thrown myself at you if you just came home." You breathed shallowly. "Could've done whatever you wanted.. I planned...on treating you cause you were so stressed."

Taehyung rolled his eyes at himself, "Ugh-don’t remind me. I already feel dumb as fuck."

You turned your head back and scolded jokingly, "Don't call yourself dumb, only I get to say that." A soft giggle escaped him as he let you go. Taehyung slowly pulled out and watched as he did so, viewing the mess in between your legs with admiration.

Taehyung swiped the cum dripping down your thighs back into your core, completely stuffing you with him until he brought his fingers to your lips. He watched you lick provocatively, his breath hitching at the sight until needing to pull his fingers out.

He then quickly made off the bed and ambled over to the bathroom, retrieving a damp towel and cleaning you up gingerly. He plopped down next to you after discarding it and threw an arm over his eyes.

You turned to look at him, feeling the butterflies of him next to you flood your chest. You wiggled closer and propped yourself on an elbow to gaze at him, your other arm laying on his chest.

Taehyung felt your eyes on him and spoke without looking. "Hi."

"Hi," you moved his arm from his face, echoing him. "Don’t hide from me."

Taehyung grinned at you, lifting his arm. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you're madly in love with me. Don’t do that, I don't really deserve it." He stated dejectedly, evading your eyes to rather view the night sky.

"Kim Taehyung, what did you just say to me?"

No response.

You sighed, "Bubs, look at me." requesting with a softer tone and he returned his eyes to you hesitantly. You wagged your finger at him.

"Don't say that, okay? Maybe you should’ve told me, maybe I should’ve been more vocal about my feelings, maybe we both should’ve just communicated. It's not only your fault, it's mine too so please don't say that." Your bottom lip jutted out and your eyes implored him, upset that he was insulting himself.

He deserved every ounce of love in this world.

"Maybe.. I just..Fuck, you need to know I hated doing it, okay? Every time I saw you in that building I was dying to be with you, but I had to hold back to protect you. I couldn’t bear something happening to you, and please, please don’t think I don’t love you anymore. I do, I love you more than you’ll ever know. If I could throw all of this away for you I would." Taehyung spoke sincerely, remembering the way he saw you admit such an awful thought and he hated that he was the cause of it.

"You really don’t know how hard it was. I’m writing lyrics for my mixtape and they all end up about you. We're out at a photoshoot and I always wanted to send you pictures. I didn’t use SNS, call or text you because I knew it’d just be harder for me to create that stupid ass distance.” Taehyung ran a hand through his hair as he sighed, frustrated about it.

“Even when I was shooting commercials I thought about your reactions if you saw them. I missed you the whole time, more than you know. I just couldn’t risk anything, there was so much on the line with you and I wasn’t going to give you up. Work got in the way and there was so much happening and I just-"

“Shh shhh.” You calmed him down reaching for his cheek. “Thank you for that. I'm sorry you had to do everything by yourself, had to carry all that responsibility alone." Your lips quivered, catching Taehyung's attention.

"No, it's okay. I'm the one who made you think all those shitty things. I do find you annoying, but I could never find you that annoying." Taehyung quipped to lighten the mood and you smacked his chest.

"Hey!"

"I'm kidding, Jagi." Taehyung chuckled before letting out a long, hard sigh. "I was just so swamped with this comeback, I’m working really hard for it and got too focused." He explained regretfully, tucking his hands underneath his head.

"So you just thought fuck me for a little while, right?"

"Wha-no I didn't, I mean.. I did just fuck you but-not like that…shit, just come here!” Taehyung suddenly turned onto his side and threw his arms out, you scooted over to him instantly, giggling. He tightly wrapped his arms around you and hugged you close, pressing his lips to your hair and you kissed his shoulder.

Your hand absentmindedly found his and you intertwined them, causing a warm and comforting feeling to spread across your chest.

You found yourself becoming smaller in his hold, clutching his hand to compose yourself because you didn't feel like ruining a passionate night with tears.

Nonetheless, Taehyung sensed you growing vulnerable and pulled you on top of him, your naked bodies flush against one another. Taehyung immediately showered you with comfort, clutching you close to him.

"I’m not going anywhere, you’re with me for a lifetime, Jagiya." The smooth bass of Taehyung's voice eased you, reverberating from his chest as he senselessly soothed your back.

"Please, don't do that again. Please just tell me next time when there's a problem, I'll tell you too and we can work it out together." A hint of desperation tinted your tone, shutting your lips together to prevent yourself from crying.

"I won't, baby, I promise." Taehyung hugged you a little tighter, running a hand through your hair.

"I love you, Taehyung."

"I love you, Y/N."

#taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #kim taehyung x reader #bts smut #taehyung scenario #taehyung fanfic #kim taehyung #first fic #thebtswritersclub

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eolewyn1010 · 2 years ago

Text

Welcome back to Ace Abe who sneaks up on Jack to wake him up, then they go look after Lucy. Who is back to being drained almost to the point of corpse after having been left alone. Whaaaat? I can't believe it; who could have foreseen this outcome? Also, van Helsing's German is blatantly grammatically wrong and I hate Stoker's attitude toward research. Ace Abe prescribes brandy (whatever) and another blood transfusion, this time donated by Jack. Boy, Lucy is sure lucky she and all the boys have compatible blood. And "the draining away of one's blood, no matter how willingly it be given, is a terrible feeling"? Okay, it's been a while since I last donated, but kind of no. Van Helsing thinks it a splendid idea to have our blood-robbed sweetheart eased from faint to a narcosis via morphine (whatever) and eventually cuts Jack off, reminding him he has work to do and as such shouldn't donate as much as to weaken him. Jack protests, and van Helsing- *splutters* "If our young lover should turn up unexpected"? OUR young lover?? I might have to revoke the Ace Abe title already; this dude is thirsty for young men. What were they up to with Arthur??

But then, Stoker also thinks Arthur could be jealous that Lucy has some Jack blood in her veins now. Is this a body fluid exchange thing or a Victorian philosophical thing? And can Dracula taste another's blood in Lucy's veins? Was he more greedy for Arthur's oh so virile blood? Queer questions to be answered! At least Jack wonders where all the blood has gone that Lucy lost - sure isn't soaking her bed now, period. He falls asleep over pondering though and when he wakes up is put back on Lucy watch duty. Lucy eventually wakes up and chats with him, although she's not fully recovered. Mrs. Westenra is making things weird, pointing out that Jack himself needs care. Specifically, the care of a wife. I'm exasperated at the notion of a grown man not being able to take care of himself, while Lucy is blushing something fierce. In case we forgot, she did indeed want to marry that man, along with Quincey and Arthur. Eventually, van Helsing deigns to grace them with his presence again, how kind of him, and orders Jack to eat and drink and sleep well, presumably so he can tap that reserve again later. To keep Dracula well-fed, I guess? Instead of moving Lucy someplace else... I don't know because van Helsing won't tell us. He's being Ominous(TM) again. Final line is the maids asking Jack if they could stay with Lucy for a while. I'm not sure this is a good thing; we know Dracula's attitudes regarding service staff.

#Dracula Daily #hey so Lucy COULD be an AB+#I wish Stoker wasn't so goshdarn weird about the tranfusions #but then I also wish the characters weren't so obstinate about just keeping up their less-than-successful course of action #Stoker. Dutch ain't German.

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goldafterglow · 4 years ago

Note

Head canon: MAKING JACK BLUSH. I NEED TO SEE IT. 🥺

Summary: Jack Daniels is a pretty cowboy.

Paring: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x reader

Word Count: 1.3k+

Warnings: soft!Jack, no sins but they are for sure basking in the post-sin afterglow, a lil bit of blushing for our baby boy, this is not beta read bc i’m impatient

Author’s Note: YESDJHGJFD I LOVED EVERY SECOND OF THIS. This is also my first little like drabble, except it’s too long but ig 1.3k is a drabble for me kids this is the standard.

It’s early in the morning. 1:43 am to be exact. But you can’t bring yourself to end the night; he always make it so hard to sleep. In a good way of course; a really good way.

It’s in the afterglow that his feelings begin to melt, glaciers in his mind turning to liquid as the golden amber spills gently from his lips and over your chest so that it will encapsulate you, dry around you and encase you, keeping his words wrapped around your body forever. Embroidered into the soft chenille of your neck and whispered into the lobes of your ears. He speaks to you in a way that you can feel; it’s a pleasure of its own to feel his lips kiss the dips of your clavicles through his words, his voice low and sending wide vibrations through your sternum. It feels sinful, heavenly, like something too good to be right.

It feels nice.

You’re laid by him on your side, face buried into his bare chest as his thick fingers run along the curve of your spine, re-exploring you with a sense of focused clarity that he doesn’t often get when he’s overwhelmed with lust and passion. His fingers are careful, sensitive, picking up on every bump and blemish until he can paint the perfect picture of you under his closed eyelids, even as the meek moonlight bathes your waist and glimmers against the sheets. Perfect.

He’s resolved to a comfortable state of wordlessness, eyes trained on the top of your head as you bask. There truly is something golden about the afterglow he casts onto you; you always seem to feel like you’re floating, like not even gravity could keep you from ascending to the clouds with him. He makes you feel precious.

With an inhale of his musk, you slowly nudge your chin so that you can look up at him, fingers tracing his jaw. You love to let him shower you in his affection like a delicate hummingbird is kissed by tiny drops of rain, but you rarely take the time to take him in. The bump of his nose is highlighted by the window’s rays, his lips still a little blushed and swollen from the night. The side of your palm runs up along the side of his face before finding his hair; it’s been mussed, disheveled by your greedy fingers. Gorgeous.

“What’s going on in that big beautiful mind of yours, angel?” Jack ponders, prodding you tenderly with his words. He can tell when you’re lost in thought, lost in him. Perhaps he can’t tell when you have no desire to be found, when you want to be left to traverse the tall grass of his forest and hug the applewood in his eyes. What a way to go.

“Nothing, Jack,” you assure. It’s a weak excuse, an almost embarrassing attempt at deflecting his question, but maybe it’s because you want him to ask you again, dig a little deeper into you so he can make a home inside you. Never leave.

“Now, darlin’,” he starts, feigning a little sternness in his tone, “I think you know good and well that ol’ Jack can tell when you’re fibbin’. Ain’t no use lyin’ to me, honey. I’ll catch ya every time.” Your heart swells swells a little at his words, because he’s so honest with you. You know he knows you, sometimes better than you know yourself. He’s made you his hobby, learning you like a subject and studying you like a book. He can always read you.

And yeah; he always catches you.

You take a few diamond-adorned seconds to look at him; his mustache rests right on top of his soft smile, there to accent his words and tickle your neck when he’s feeling playful. His eyes are wide like when a two-month old baby can finally look at its mother in awe, utterly mystified and doe-y. His face is sculpted by the gods, chiseled to magnificence in his charcoal features, and yet he uses it to show you he loves you. He loves you.

“You’re so pretty, Jack,” you whisper. The words barely leave your lips as a noise, traveling to his ears as wisps of the breeze you blow onto him.

Jack Daniels is floored.

It’s not a word he’d ever use to describe himself. Cocky, sure. Sexy, absolutely. Brash, confident, competent; he wasn’t too shy to toot his own horn every once in a while. But pretty? Flowers are pretty; butterflies are pretty. When the sleepy sun yawns and breathes a peach glow onto the front-porch flower bed, that’s pretty. When you step outside to dip yourself in the golden afterglow and he walks out into the backyard to find you sitting on the quaint bench he built just for you. When he drags himself into the kitchen in the morning to find you already there, frying up bacon on his stove in nothing but his unbuttoned flannel and last night’s bra; that is fucking pretty.

But Jack Daniels -- is he pretty? He looks down at you carefully. He can tell when you’re fibbin’, after all.

You don’t look like a dishonest woman to him.

“You’ve already got me in bed with you,” he teases, trying to deflect. He can’t handle the weight of your words, isn’t strong enough to hide what they do to him, and he needs you to take them back before he bursts into a supernova of rouge love. “You don’t need to-”

“I mean it, baby,” you interrupt, tone serious. You can tell he doesn’t want to believe you, doesn’t want to grapple with the intensity of your thoughts. But he needs to know, he has to trust you’re not deceiving him. “You’re beautiful.”

His smirk is gone, his smug, self-assured grin nowhere to be seen. The room is dark; he knows that. But the moonlight hits him just right, at just the right angle that you can see that sweet strawberry syrup tint his cheeks, giving him up. You can’t help but smile a little, like you’ve done something good. He’s good.

Jack’s breathing is a little jagged, his heartbeats a little stuttered. What was it he’d done to deserve you again? Oh right; nothing.

Your hand leaves his hand to cup his red cheek, thumb running right under his big eyes. He leans into it, face turning a little to nuzzle your palm, and the notion makes you giggle. A fierce lion reduced to a whimsical lamb, so gentle under your touch. He is vulnerable when he is with you, especially in these shared moments of solitude, and you wonder if you could look at him like this forever.

Blushing.

“C’mere, pretty boy,” you tease, but you mean it. You mean every word.

You nudge him towards you, his face finding solace in your chest. He shifts down a little, his soft body wrapping around your middle. He can hide in you, feel pretty in your arms. He’s safe in you.

“You think I’m pretty, sugar?” he asks softly. Almost a little timid. He’s embarrassed to need validation like this, ashamed that he’s practically begging you to say those words again, but you make him feel so warm, so secure, and he knows that the last person to leave him for a lapse in strength is you.

You press a kiss to the top of his scalp, his wild hair tickling your nose but you don’t care; you want him close. Closer.

“I know it,” you whisper, throat closing on itself a little because you’re so grateful that you finally get to tell him. That Jack can finally begin to grasp just how much he means to you. There’s so much more you want to say, but you don’t want to overwhelm him with it because you know he loves you with a fury and passion that drowns him without you piling on your love too.

And as Jack closes his eyes, finally ready to let the night end, he thinks he might know it too.

Tags (ik this is a drabble but idk lmao): @gustavos @catfishingmorales @keeper0fthestars @1zashreena1 @blancatobarxoxo @honeyedspace @chaotic-noceur @opheliaelysia @adikaofmandalore @din-damn-djarin @mrsparknuts @girlwithanewplan @mrschiltoncat @buckstaposition @the-feckless-wonder @ergotautology (girl you know what to do)

also im gonna never tag anyone in my headcanons again bc that was embarrassing yikes gjfhdjgd

#iris writes #jack daniels #agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #drabble #?#soft!Jack #fluff #wgjdfkgj wow y'all really wanted fluff huh #tryna fucking break me down for part 2 i see #it's called astroprojecting luv

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getitinbusan · 4 years ago

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10 years with Jungkook

California

You met Jeon Jeongguk in the summer of 2012. Two kids brought together by a calling to California and a chance at making it big. Best friends from the start, what happens when only one of you becomes successful? Do you ever forget your first love?

Childhood friends to lovers, angst and smut.

Words: 4600

Warnings: 18 plus smut. Oral F, Sex MF, Swearing. Pretty Mild for me. This is a previously posted fic that has been updated and reworked.

It was a rare rainy August day in California. The heavy drops created a sad melody on the window as you put the dishes away. Tired and lonely, the feeling in your gut kept nagging at you, maybe it was time to give up.

The savings account was drained, there were no jobs to be found and this was the second month of falling short on rent. Surely it would only be a matter of time before your roommates would stop exchanging house cleaning for money.

Hanging the threadbare towel over its hook you stood in the kitchen, your mood mirroring the dim light of the afternoon. Feeling frusterated and stupid, it had taken you way longer than it should have to realize that in LA, you were nothing. Not pretty enough, rich enough, skinny enough or talented enough to ever make it big. So this is how the great Califonia chapter of your life would end, not by choice but necessity.

Gathering up the mail that was strewn across the countertop, you shuffled through it sorting its priority. Junk mail, bills, personal…one in particular standing out. Your heart began pounding as you took in the details.

The penmanship was nice, black ink on an unassuming envelope. But it was the stamp that caught your attention. It was sent from Korea.

Flipping it in your hand you examined the torn top. The letter, having been read, was cradled back safely inside. Addressed to your roommate a frown crept onto your face. Why wouldn’t he write to you?

It was a ridiculously hopeful notion but you widened the envelope and inhaled trying to find a trace of his fragrance, something, anything to trigger a happy memory. Cool California nights were the best excuse. How many times had you borrowed his sweaters just to have his smell on you?

You missed him. It had been a year and a half and you couldn't help but once again ponder the nagging question that always crept back. If you hadn't forced him to break the rules would he still be a part of your life?

It was too tempting to resist, your fingers pinched the paper inside of the envelope and pulled it free.

I’m feeling low, I don’t know who I am, only who I’m supposed to be.

What would life be like if I had stayed in California? We could all be roommates, hanging out and having fun, going to the beach on weekends.

Does she even think about me?

It sounds greedy that with how much I have right now, it’s not enough. I would give anything to wake up in bed beside her everyday. I want more than anything to be able to talk to her about these things but I can’t. I’ve made the mistake of trading her for fame and now I’m destined to keep her at an arm’s length so she’ll never know the price I paid.

How does she even see me? As an Idol? As the boy who abandoned her? Has she forgotten the good days we spent together?

I’ve been wrestling with myself, whoever that is. I wish I could be the teenage boy from that long ago summer again. I wrote this song thinking about it…

~When I see you smile in the screen

You’re good at everything

You’re just perfect

Feels like I've never been you

Do you even see me?

Do you know who I am?

Or how do I look now?

You don’t like me like that

I want to be your decalcomania~

I’m afraid I may not get back for a while, please write. Your friendship and thoughts of her are the only things that are keeping me tethered to some semblance of reality.

Clutching the letter to your chest, your mind took you back to that day.

"Decalcomania, the art or process of transferring pictures and designs. Making a copy of the original on a different medium"

Reading the description on the wall you’d both stood laughing at the piece's strange name, Decalcomania. The gallery visit felt like lifetimes ago but you still remembered clearly. You remembered, not because the piece had struck you as particularly special but because that's where you had decided that Jeongguk's laugh was the best sound you'd ever heard.

California had lured you into its promise when you turned 14. Having been accepted to an intensive dance program at The Movement Lifestyle Studio you packed up and headed West for the summer.

It was July and it was hot, the dancers stepping off the bus one at a time took their places in the studio.

Looking around there were so many older kids, you were probably one of the youngest. Calling out names they put you into groups, it appeared to be by age so you made your way across the unfamiliar wooden floor to the tiny gathering of teens in the darkened corner.

Shy introductions were made as one more member was ushered over to where you had congregated. “This is Jeongguk.”

He had the cutest smile and barely spoke english but his eyes twinkled like the constellations. Immediately drawn to each other you became fast friends.

Absolutely exhausted by the end of the first few days he quietly knocked at your door.

He was homesick and lonely, used to being surrounded by his six members, he couldn’t sleep well without someone beside him. You let him crawl into bed with you, you were 14 and it was innocent.

Inseparable, days and nights were spent side by side, the others began referring to you as the twins. It was the best summer of your life but like every boy meets girl summer story, it had to come to a close. Promising through tears to keep in touch and stay friends you went your separate ways.

Jeongguk would send silly videos of his practice sessions, goofing around with the other members. He’d facetime and text but he always loved to send handwritten letters.

They lived in a box under your bed and contained stories of how hard he was working to become an idol. He always signed off with, "I miss you,” and a few lines of lyrics he’d written.

You didn’t know then how important they would become, the only tangible piece of him you could still hold on to.

Whenever he came back to America you did everything you could to see him. You always found a way to get to the small tour stops whenever they came through. 2015 was the first, then KCon in 2016, but 2017, it was different.

Facetiming you with the news that they were bringing the Wings tour to NY, Chicago and Anaheim, he asked if you’d be part of the dance crew. How could you turn down two weeks with Jungkook the hottest new K-pop Idol? They were getting bigger, more popular and their lives were changing rapidly.

He had strict rules, girls were completely off limits. No talking, no hugging, no smiling at one another, any little thing could be easily misconstrued by the fans. Everything had to be done in secret. Jungkook would sneak you into his hotel room where you would spend your nights together catching up. The boys would bring you in food and cover for him while you both stayed locked away out of sight.

While happy to be with him, you could tell there was an underlying sadness he was holding on to.

"I wish I could go and explore the city with you like we used to," his voice trailed off.

You were laying in each other’s arms cuddling on his bed. Leaning over he kissed the top of your head.

"All I really want is to take you on a proper date."

You snuggled closer into his side as he exhaled deeply, releasing his secret.

"I’ve been waiting so long to become someone, a man worthy of your affection. Now I’m stuck. I have everything I wanted and I’m not allowed to share it with you."

His arms gripped you tighter.

"I’m sorry, this is a terrible confession. I don’t expect you to love me back, not under these circumstances, I just need you to know, you’re the only girl I’ve ever loved and there won’t be anybody else, ever."

Every bit of his confession, every moment of that last night in the hotel room had stuck with you to this day. The words of a 19 year old boy whose life had become bigger than the feelings of two people.

He'd left in the morning without knowing. You were a coward, too afraid to tell him you loved him too.

LA became your home right after they left Anaheim. Focused on your dancing, if you became good enough, maybe you could join the tour with him.

A letter with a big bouquet of flowers arrived a few weeks later.

"Congratulations on your new house in LA!

I hope that all of you are getting along as roommates, it’s hard living with others sometimes.

Last night I dreamt that I was there with you and all of our friends. We were having a party on the beach and we sat together watching the sunset.

Do you remember after practice when we would skateboard as fast as we could to the ocean so we wouldn’t miss the colors?

Maybe one day my toes can feel the sand there again.

I miss you, I miss me… the me I am when I get to be with you.

We're coming back in October for a few days and I’m hoping I can see you, I’m lonely already.

Jeongguk

~Won’t you please stay in dreams

I can hear the sea from far away

Across the dream, over the bush

Go there where it becomes clear

Take my hands now

You are the cause of my euphoria

When I’m with you, I’m in utopia~

By the time The AMAs came, the plan had been finalized. You would steal Jungkook away so that you could take him on your first real date.

Having enlisted Namjoon to help, he was your inside man. The boys, happy to help finally get you together, would cover for his whereabouts with management. The day before the awards they were only scheduled for styling, as long as he wasn’t late for the press rounds the next afternoon your plan could work.

It was Namjoon’s job to get him out of the building. Telling him to follow his lead, Joon convinced the managers that Jungkook must have eaten something bad for lunch. Claiming to not feel well, he was whisked away to meet you at the hotel’s back receiving door.

Sitting in the shiny red rented convertible you tossed him a pair of sunglasses. What you wouldn’t give now to see that smile again.

Barely giving him time to get in you’d sped away heading straight for In And Out Burger.

"Kookie, I hope you’re ready for the best day of your life! We’re going to eat until we explode, drink and party at the beach and then, instead of returning you to your fancy 5 star hotel you’re staying the night in my crappy little house with a tiny uncomfortable bed!!"

He laughed, that perfect laugh. It was so pure and honest, thinking about it now made you sad. Was that the last moment he'd gotten to be his true self? Jeongguk the man not Jungkook the personna?

Knowing you only had one day to give him everything, one day to show him you loved him, you tried to make the best of it.

Picking up the food Jungkook held onto the red and white bags in the passenger seat, sneaking his hand in to steal fries when he thought you weren’t looking. If you weren’t sure you were in love with him before you you certainly were now.

Pulling up beside the tree on the beach he was stunned, "Ahhh Jagi, I can’t believe you brought me here."

Happy that it meant as much to him as it did to you, you both sat on the branch and ate. Two blocks from the old studio this used to be your escape. Every break you’d make your way to the tree for some time alone, together.

With the burgers done he turned to you and smiled. It felt like he wanted to say something, but stupidly, you'd cut him short leading him back towards the car.

Making your way through your checklist you brought him back to where you'd first met. The Movement studios students were starstruck when he walked in. After insisting that he teach some choreography, he reluctantly led the class.

Your eyes were glued to him as he moved in front of the mirrors, no longer that awkward teenager but a full grown man mesmerizing you with his every move.

Getting back to the car he stopped you before you reached for the handle. Putting his arms around you he pulled you in close. But again, you resisted him.

"You stink Jungkook, our next stop is the ocean."

You remember pulling away. How stupid you were, you should have held on to him longer. Reaching into the back seat you revealed a pair of swim shorts and a towel. He looked disappointed that you kept interrupting his attempts at intimacy. It broke your heart but you had a plan and limited time to execute it.

The Ocean was chilly but the wind was warm, he came out of the change room with the shorts on but still wearing his shirt.

"Kookie, this isn’t Korea, you don’t have to be so modest here. Plus, you should grab some sun, you may not believe it but when your skin is sunkissed," you grinned, "you look really sexy."

He raised his eyebrows and quickly removed the shirt at your request.

Running into the water you splashed and played and he took great pleasure in picking you up and throwing you as far as he could.

The sun was getting ready to set and you wanted to dry off before the cooler air set in.

Leading him back to the shore you both laid down on the towel. He put his arm around you and you cuddled into his side.

"My god Guk, look at your abs!"

He blushed like crazy as you traced the muscles on his stomach.

"Stop, it tickles," he giggled.

But you didn’t, you kept tickling him until he held you so tight you couldn’t move. He had you pinned, flipping you on your back he shook his wet hair flinging water droplets all over you. Pleased with himself he leaned in closer to you, his eyes asking for permission to kiss you. As the gap between you got narrower you could hear his name being shouted and footsteps running closer. He flopped onto his back and sighed as your roommates and friends piled on top of him.

Eating, drinking and catching up with everyone you watched each other from across the bonfire. Moving from person to person he slowly made his way back to your side.

"Welcome back." Running your hand through the back of his hair, it was now or never.

Pulling him closer your lips finally met in the way they were destined, soft, slow and full of love. His hands instinctively moved to cup your face as the world stopped around you.

"I love you," you whispered.

Nose to nose he smiled at you and it was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

It didn’t last long, his phone started going off incessantly. The managers knew, you’d been careless, photos and videos of him from the studio had been posted online.

"I’m so sorry Jungkook, I didn’t mean for you to get in trouble."

His eyes turned hungry as he grabbed your hand.

"You promised I wouldn’t be going back to my hotel tonight, let’s get out of here."

If he was going to get in trouble anyway, why stop now?

The drive back to your place was quiet, adrenaline and hormones flowing like electricity through you both. The time for smiling was over as the seriousness of the situation lingered in the air between you.

It wasn’t just being in trouble or being caught, but the fact that you both knew what was going to happen when you stepped into your bedroom. One act that would change everything between you, it held the power to change the dynamic of your relationship forever.

Leading him to your room you closed the door and stood staring at him as he sat on your bed. He raked his fingers through his hair before he spoke.

"I’ve never wanted anything more in my life than to be able to make love to you. BUT I also know that when I leave I’m not going to get to see you again for a very long time." His head hung low. "Management is going to do everything possible to keep us apart and that won’t be fair to you. I think that maybe we should just let our happy memories of today be enough, I don’t want you to regret anything. "

Walking closer you stood between his legs and he wrapped his arms around your waist.

"The only thing I'll regret is never getting to experience all of you. I can’t live not knowing how it feels to be totally yours even if it's only for one night."

He rested his head against your chest, "You’ll always be mine."

His hands traveled to the hem of your shirt and his fingers ran over the soft skin of your stomach. Undoing the button of your jeans he slowly slid them down your legs and you stepped out of them.

Standing up he lifted the thin fabric of your shirt over your head and you stood before him waiting as he took his off too. Unclasping your bra he sighed as he looked at you taking in your shape, his fingertips hovering over your hard nipples.

"I’ve never done this before," he confessed.

"Me either," you whispered. "I've only ever wanted it to be you."

More relaxed he let his mouth start exploring your body. You were goosebumps and shivers beneath him as his tongue found it’s home between your legs.

He was soft and careful, placing his lips over your clit sucking it in delicately until your moans couldn’t be contained any longer. You could feel his eyes burning into you as he watched in awe as his finger slid inside you.

"It feels good Kookie, please…"

You could feel his mouth stopping to smile before he picked up speed. Moving your hips to eagerly meet his mouth you were unravelling quickly.

"The way you taste is better than anything I had imagined."

Devouring you in sessions between his words of adoration you came hard on his tongue.

"I'm really regretting running you all over town today when we could have just been here...doing that.. " You were out of breath.

"I was worried that I wouldn't be any good." He grinned at you pleased with himself.

Moving up to where your head lay on the pillow he pushed the dampened hair off your face, "Are you ok? Do you need anything?"

He placed his forehead against yours.

"I just want you. I need you to know I'm yours, forever.

Rolling a condom on he moved slowly to line himself up with your entrance.

"Tell me if you need me to stop okay?"

He pushed carefully, slowly stretching you around him. Watching intently for discomfort he froze when he saw the tears welling in your eyes.

"Shit, I’m so sorry, let’s stop, I didn’t mean to hurt you." He was apologetic as he thumbed away the tears.

"No," you delicately kissed his lips. "I’m okay… I’m just so happy, so overwhelmed with how much I’m feeling right now."

He smiled down at you, pressing his body closer he gave another push until he was fully inside. Your bodies fell into a beautifully choreographed rhythm until Jungkook was so lost in pleasure he began to move at his own pace. Quicker and deeper he moved until he finally spilled into the condom.

Laying together in euphoria you kissed, and kissed, and kissed until you finally found sleep while wrapped around one other.

Every few hours he’d wake you up. His hands running over your body checking to make sure you weren't just a dream. You’d made love each time, everytime better than the last.

It was 9 am when he caressed you awake once more.

"I have to leave soon. I don’t want to." He spoke in whispers nestled into your neck. "Please tell me to stay."

Your heart broke at his words. "If I ask you to stay, I’m selfish, you’ll always wonder if you made the right decision." The tears came, knowing you had to do what was right. "If I tell you to go, your dreams come true… ” your voice trailed off.

"And I’ll always wonder if I made the right decision,” he finished.

Your phone started ringing and you knew time was up.

It was Joon, "I’m outside. Sorry, I held them off as long as I could. I told them that I’d come get him so you could at least have time to say goodbye."

Your tears fell out in heavy ugly sobs, "Okay, five minutes… and Joon… thanks, I know you’re probably in trouble too."

Hanging up you turned back, Jungkook was already out of bed with his clothes thrown on. He stood with open arms bravely waiting.

"Thank you for yesterday I'll never forget it."

Laying your head against his chest you took a moment to listen to his heartbeat. You could hear him sniffle and knew he was crying too.

You flashed back remembering that night long ago when he came to you homesick, holding you so he could sleep while he tried to hide his tears. There was a knock at the door and Namjoon’s voice broke through the moment.

"We’ve got to go Jungkook."

Stepping away you’d left his shirt soaked in tears, handing him his sweater he pushed it back towards you. "You keep it."

He kissed you one last time before opening the door to reveal Namjoon's weary face. His Hyung put his arm around his shoulder and led him to the car.

Turning one last time he looked back, his eyes were filled with tears as he gave a small wave before getting in the back of the big black sedan.

For months you pretended that management was the only thing keeping you apart.

You held on to that silly notion until May when they were coming for the Billboard awards. For weeks leading up you waited for a message, a secret meeting arrangement, but you got nothing. His image was all over the TV and his voice echoed through your empty heart. Then, just like that, it was over and he was gone again.

Now, here you stood in your kitchen, his letter bringing him to the forefront of your mind and opening old wounds.

He was just as sad as you but what could you do?

Picking up a pen you began writing…

I shouldn’t have done it but I read it in your letter

You said to a friend that you wish you were doing better

I wanted to reach out but I never said a thing

You don’t ever have to be stronger than you really are

And honey, you don’t ever have to act cooler than you think you should

You’re brighter than the brightest stars

You’re scared to win, scared to lose

I’ve heard the war was over if you really choose

The one in and around you

You hate the heat, you got the blues

You’re changing like the weather, oh, that’s so like you

I’ll pick you up

I’ll catch you on the flipside

If you come back to California

We’ll do whatever you want, travel wherever, how far

We’ll hit up all the old places

We’ll have a party, we can dance till dawn…

Y/N

October came again and a chill was in the air, the smell of the ocean hit your nose and you stopped to take it in.

Bundled in Jungkook’s hoodie you threw your bag over your shoulder and began your walk to work. You'd gotten lucky, Movement had hired you just as you were about to give up and leave California. Filled with hope and excitement a new intensive program was scheduled to start today and you were going to meet the future superstars of the dance world.

Memories flooded your mind as you made your way through the familiar neighborhood. It still hurt, but things were beginning to feel happy again. Writing the letter had given you closure, he knew how you felt and beyond that there was nothing else you could do.

Opening the heavy door to the studio you caught a familiar reflection moving in the mirror. Chalk marker in hand he was writing something, It couldn’t be?

Hearing the door click back into place he turned to face you.

"Hi."

He walked towards you slowly. Unsure of what your reaction would be, he approached with caution.

"Hi."

You were breathless, in the months of not seeing him he’d only grown more handsome.

"I can’t change what happened… and for the rest of my life I’ll be sorry for all of the time we missed."

He was getting closer.

"But I can’t take another day not knowing if I can fix this… somehow…"

He reached for your hand but you pulled it away. His head fell in disappointment.

"Jungkook, I can’t listen to this… look at me."

Reaching for his chin you pulled his head up until he was facing you again.

"I refuse to listen to you apologize for something that is out of your control. Your life was decided before you met me and I am nothing but grateful that I got to appear in some part of your story."

He tilted his head and pressed a small kiss into the hand that was still holding his chin.

"God I’ve missed you." He wrapped his arms tightly around your waist.

"How long are you here? I’ve got to teach class.. It’s the first day but I’d love it if we could catch up?"

He laughed at you and your knees buckled at the sound of his happiness.

Taking his chance he pressed his lips to yours and you could feel the smile forming on his face.

"I’m your private lesson Jagi, I’ve booked you for the next two weeks."

Taking a step back you had to ask, "How Jungkook? What will you be giving up?"

Pulling you back to his embrace he began to dance with you.

"There is no more giving up, on anything. Our contracts were over and I only had one thing I wouldn’t negotiate on, that’s you."

He guided you to look at the mirror.

"I wrote you something."

~Please call my name one more time

I’m standing under the frozen light,

but I’ll walk step by step towards you

Still with you ~

"I promise I’ll never let you go again."

#jungkook #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #Jeongguk #jungkook x reader #kookie #nochu #10 years with jungkook #california #lana del rey

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niqhtlord01 · 4 years ago

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Humans are weird: Never enough time

Taken from the information scroll “Humans: Sages of our Time” by Rivrind Pios.

The often excepted portrayal of humanity is one of greedy bipeds with no sense of reasoning beyond their own personal wants and needs. I must confess that this notion is rather fitting for most humans as many I have encountered in my travels had been in the process of pursuing their own dreams and ambitions at the time and appeared almost blindsided to the world around them.

Their seemingly endless need for excess seems to be their key driving factor. More food, more wealth, more power, more clothing, more hair, more muscles, more and more and more on and on for an eternity. Nothing ever appears to satisfying the teeming throngs of manlings until they are buried deep beneath the soil where they want no more. Countless worlds have been left in ruin by this rabid hunger for more to the point many species consider humans to be nothing more than a blight upon the very stars themselves. I myself began harboring such ideas of humans for some time as nothing I had seen in my journeys had shown me otherwise. It wasn’t until I came across one of the strangest humans I’ve ever met in the city of Shanghai on the human home world that finally gave me greater clarity to the inner workings of humans.

I had been exploring the south eastern hemisphere of the world and found myself wandering the streets of Shanghai. It’s history of a rich trade city was clearly visible as it had been upgraded into a massive star port taking hundreds of craft in daily. While waiting for a layover to the north western hemisphere I found myself wandering the streets of the bustling city.

The city was a maze of catwalks, boulevards, parks, back alleys, side streets, and market places. Several times I found myself accosted by other humans while wandering the avenues, though many soon lost heart and fled after I revealed my many rows of teeth. It seemed humans were not fond of many mouths and many teeth for some reason.

While exploring I smelled something so delicious it had me enthralled from the moment I inhaled that delectable scent. Keenly I tracked down the aroma through several alleys and back streets, down three sub levels, and passed four cordoned checks before arriving at a neat little hole in the wall food dispensary called “Athens of the East”

The inside was dimly lit with assorted rows of tables and chairs lining the walls. In the center of the room was a massive sandbox like ring where two humans were currently punching each other violently while the humans at the tables cheering and whooped.

At first I found myself deeply confused as to why such a barbaric establishment would have such divine food smells coming from it until I noticed the tables with plates of food still on them. to say the morsels looked delicious was an understatement so I put aside my confusion about the entertainment and waved a waitress to sit me.

To my displeasure it appeared that every table was occupied and I would have to wait as the crowds cheered again as one of the fighters took a punch to the face and went sprawling to the sand. I was just about to leave when one of the patrons at a table waved to me. They kicked a chair opposite them from beneath the table and waved for me to come join them.

I had heard tales of humans luring unsuspecting fools to their graves and was first hesitant to accept the offer, but the human sitting at the table merely explained it was bad taste to eat alone and wanted to have some company. I was still cautious but the smell of the foods made it impossible to pass on such a chance and so I joined the human at their table.

They were an elderly human going on some 80-90 years if I was to guess; nothing but a younger species considering I lived to be roughly 3000 years old before my species passed on. Their clothes were of a fine material but i could see that they had been worn regularly and their hairs had turns a shade of greyish white. The elderly human was of the talking variety and seemed rather happy to be having company and chatted up a storm. I was not in as much of a talkative mode yet felt it rude after they had shared their table so I joined the conversations when I had something to say.

It turned out that we were more alike then I had first imagined as they too were a traveler seeking new destinations, They had been to most of the human cities on their homeworld and now were waiting to catch a flight to the Hive homeworld thirty three systems over. Their flight had been delayed for several days now due to gravitational storms and they had come to here to let off some steam. I was going to inquire as to what exactly that meant when one of the fighters in the ring had been knocked down and was unable to get up. The cheers of the crowd were silenced as another human stepped forwarded and asked if there was anyone brave enough to challenge the surviving champion.

To my complete surprise the elderly human I had been sharing the table with rose up and unbuttoned his shirt. He left it on his chair and stepped forward into the ring. The announcer backed away and rang the bell and the two fought each other. The elderly man was not what one would call in the prime of his life, what with his belly sagging forward like a sack of lumpa berries, but his muscles were toned well enough to keep the fight far from being one sided. The bout lasted about twenty minutes before the elderly man, now covered in bruises, threw a hard right and knocked his opponent to the ground and won. He returned to his chair shortly after the crowds cheers had died down and resume his drinking and food consumption.

I asked him why would committing combat let off steam to which he replied that he was angry that his flight had been delayed so long and that fighting a stranger in some back alley dive had always been a wish he’d had since he was a young scrapper. Perplexed I inquired again how a delayed flight transitions to brutal combat. The Hive world wasn’t going anywhere and would still be there when the flights resumed.

The elderly man sat in silence for some time, his stare focused on the swirling ice cubes of his drink as he rocked it back and forth. He told me that he was dying and that his time among the living was dwindling day by day. He had a disease called “cancer” that was slowly devouring his body from the inside out like rot and soon he would be too ill even to lift himself out of a bed let alone fight someone in a back alley fighting ring.

It was unusual to feel sad for someone you have just met and yet I felt pain knowing my new companion would soon pass off their physical remains. I apologized to him and gave him my well wishes too which they oddly laughed and waved me away like I had just knocked over their glass and thought it was the end of the world.

He thanked me but said he did not want my pity nor my sorrow. I asked him why then if he was dying that he would take such a journey off world with such little time remaining. He took a swish of his drink and waved for another as he told me it had always been one of his wishes to see another world.

He looked up at the ceiling for a moment and his eyes narrowed out. He spoke of many things he had wanted to do when he was younger. Buy a boat, go fishing every day, ask his schooling crush out for a dance, traverse the globe with friends. He told me of how something would always come up at the last second that would hold him back and his chance would pass him by. How many missed opportunities had passed him by that only now in his old age did he see.

He chuckled to himself and said how he wished he could live forever, or at the very least a few more years, so he could finally check everything off his list as he took another sim of his drink.

Now that he was old it seemed like all he had was time until he found out his clock was ticking faster to his demise then he had planned. Now he wished to achieve what dreams he could before his clock finally stopped.

To this day I’m not sure if it was their words or the combination of drink and food I had been having but in an instant my entire perspective of humanity had shifted.

We spoke for some time more together until my notifier alerted me that my flight was now on schedule. I stood up and shook the hand of the strange human as they turned their back to me and entered the ring once more. I pondered what I had learned from the odd man as I took the streets back upwards to the space port.

Humans apparent greed and carelessness was not in a self centered manner for some, but rather born from a fear of knowing constantly that their existence would eventually come to an end.

For a being such as myself with an extended lifetime I do not feel this need as much, but with short lived species like humans it must be a constant cloud circling them ever reminding them that what they miss today may be missed forever.

It was only after I reached the the top level of the city with my mind circling with ideas of missed opportunities that I realized something. For all the stranger had shared to me, for all the stories and laugh had in that dimly lit food dispensary, for all the kindness they had shown me I had made a fatal mistake.

I had never asked them their name.

I had missed my opportunity......

#HUMANS ARE WEIRD #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #scifi #story

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pfreadsandwrites · 4 years ago

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不名誉・Ignominy・一 (1/3)

AO3 LINK AND AUTHOR’S NOTES

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warnings: description of suicide, depression, violence, death, angst, father-son relationships, one-shot, 7k words

i.father /ii. son (tba) /iii. legacy (tba)

不名誉（romaji: fumeiyo) - dishonour

Nothing is here. Not time, not space. Just the ghost of a father, waiting for the ghost of a son. What else would limbo be for?

親はなくても子は育つ

Even without parents, children grow up.

The flame is incessant.

It rustles and crackles, never wavering, the only thing of note, of light, in this eternal aphotic abyss. It’s comforting somehow, the warmth of the fire. Energising. Igniting his soul in a way that he doesn’t mind this place, wherever it is, however long he’s been here. Paradoxically, he doesn’t feel it.

A spark escapes, but he doesn’t make to evade it. His bleary eyes watch on hopelessly as it disappears back into the obsidian.

Perhaps it’s more accurate to say he doesn’t begrudge it.

Limbo, is it? Sakumo figured. Certainly not the afterlife, not all of it. Bleak as it was, it was too… empty, too inconsequential, even for someone like him, someone who died like he did. He shouldn’t have expected anything more. He didn’t deserve anything more. It was fitting that even transferring from the physical realm to the spiritual isn’t straightforward, not for him anyway. It’d been too bold of him to assume he’d at the very least get that, even if he did only assume it for a moment.

When he considered the notion of his own death - and he had considered it - afterlife hadn’t really come into it. It didn’t matter, he’d decided. As long as he ceased to exist on Earth, what awaited him here was an afterthought. And he’d be remiss if he lamented it now, not after what he’d done.

There’d been no other way.

(But if that were true, why is he bound here? He knows nothing has ever been that simple. Surely there’s something missing, something he needs to atone for beyond his death? Or maybe-

The thought is snatched away before it forms fully, engulfed by the greedy fire before him)

Yes - no other way.

It’s of little comfort though, because it just means that he was always supposed to be here too, regardless. Waiting. He knows why. Ending things like that - no, how dare he be cryptic - when he plunged the blade into his stomach, swiped it along smoothly and keeled over. When he groaned in pain, torment and inure. When he expelled his guts and with it, his anguish and his anger - and his sins and his virtues, in the hope that no one else would bear them, especially not the little boy. When the the little boy that, despite acting more like a man, wouldn’t understand that this was all for him, the little boy that looked too much like him and too much like her, the little boy that meant everything, had discovered his father’s corpse.

Yes - no other way.

Necessary - incumbent, horrific, as it was, he has to take responsibility. Even if it means staying and suffering here for all eternity. He won’t let thoughts of regret enter his mind, let alone admit it out loud.

Whether what he did was fair, whether what led up to it was fair, is inconsequential. Justice doesn’t come into it. It’s honour. It’s what a shinobi does, what a man does, what a father does. If he can’t do even that for his son, then that flame can grow and swallow him up now for all he cares.

He owed Kakashi that much then, and he owes him that much now.

So he knows he can only accept, and wait. Morbid as it is to wait for your own son here, of all places, it’s the best he can offer him. It’s all he’s ever been able to offer him. He closes his worn eyes. The smoke from the fire envelops him and for a moment, it’s too real. He reminds himself there’s no point in coughing.

(How can he still feel so tired?)

Less than a fortnight after his own birthday, the child is born. He takes as much as he brings.

It’s quick - it seems barely minutes have passed before his wife’s cries were replaced with the newborn’s. Kicking and crying, a typical protest at being dragged away from safety and into this wretched world.

He waits outside (a shinobi has no place at a birth, after all), mission-worn, resting his bruised forehead on his clasped fists whilst his eyes are screwed shut. He knows better than to expect a perfect outcome, even if her determination wouldn’t accept anything less. But still, his ears strain of their own accord for the slightest hint of her voice camouflaged by the baby’s.

“It’s a boy. A healthy, beautiful boy,” the nurse says kindly, breaking him out of his prayer. Her eyes avoid his, and he can’t help but read too much into the hesitance in her words. So he attempts to ready himself for the impossible, but she continues. “Hatake-san, your wife-“

His breath hitches.

“She’s a fighter.”

The scene is alien, when he finally meets his new family, hunching over her bedside. She holds the infant close against her breast, nursing him with an exhausted, but enduring glow on her weary features. The tenderness that she’d previously only ever shown him seems to define her whole being now. The skill, the nonchalance, with which she’s transformed so flawlessly from a woman, from his wife, into a mother leaves Sakumo unable to do anything but watch awkwardly. It’s too pure an image, too different from all the ones he’s grown accustomed to. Completely natural whilst somehow equally ethereal. He knows he’ll sully it the moment he interrupts.

Luckily, she does it for him. She’s always been stubborn. Dragging him back for his sake, like she always does.

“Your son,” she states matter-of-factly, before dissolving it with a giggle. “Come meet him.”

He nods. Her smiles always were infectious. So much so that they both forget that it’s a miracle she’s still here. His large, marred hand brushes over the baby’s tiny head, his soft, clean silver hair, silver just like his. This is the son of the White Fang. Cruelly ironic, the visceral reminder that this boy was his, even in all his innocence and all his father’s battle scars.

Father - yes, he was a father. How long will it be, until his son sees his father for what he is? How long will it be until he turned out the same way? Fatherhood - his head suddenly feels too heavy to hold up, to bear it, just like his son’s.

As if she knows, she interrupts his internal doubt. “He looks just like you. If I were feeling just a bit pettier, I’d say it’s unfair,” she jokes. “Well, it’s not like it’s a bad thing.”

“No,” Sakumo dismisses quickly, and points to a mark next to the boy’s mouth. A black dot, placed so specifically it feels intentional. It’s easy to miss, but it’s there. Unwavering, unremovable. Just like her. “This is yours.”

Almost in agreement, the baby’s tiny fist clenches around his finger. His eyes widen, and she laughs. “Mm. And look - you’re his.”

He doesn’t say anything. He can’t say anything - only marvel at how, for the second time, someone was just able to pull him away from himself and so close so simply and so impossibly.

He straightens his back.

“What do you think of the name Kakashi? You know, scarecrow to your crops?”

He grins. Strange how she always re-ignites his courage.“…It’s a good name.”

It’s dreamlike after that. The child grows quickly, and every day they both find new things to smile about, to love, about the baby and each other. Kakashi looks more and more like his father each day, and it exults his mother, even if she pretends otherwise. Each mission has Sakumo more reluctant to leave the sanctuary she created when she kisses him goodbye, but he returns quicker each time too. Their smiles are more motivation than he ever thought possible.

Nothing so idyllic would last so long, even if a child can convince you otherwise.

It isn’t long before her smiles disappear when she thinks his back is turned. When her colour disappears, her fingers tremble and she becomes lighter in his arms as Kakashi grows heavier in hers.

Her infinite determination is only finite at delaying fate. Suddenly the always blunt, smart-mouthed woman is reticent, subdued. She’s never been good at apologising, but it’s all she seems to do now. To him, to Kakashi - even he, with his curious, intelligent eyes, seems to understand more for his age than he should. He becomes equally silent.

“Look after him, for the both of us, Sakumo. Watch him grow up. Please.” Of course he assuages her fears, even as his world falls apart, and as Kakashi takes his first steps a little ahead of them.

It’s earlier than normal, but by that point they come to expect it. His tiny feet tremble, and he thinks he might stumble, but he doesn’t let his parents see. He doesn’t cause more concern than he has to.

She takes her last breath before his first birthday.

Less than a fortnight after his father’s birthday, the child turns one. He takes as much as he brings.

The grooves around his eyes become deeper. The smoke feels real again. Sometimes he wishes he could choke on it.

Still, he’s here. He’s waiting. Maybe he’s supposed to atone a little more before seeing her, too. The smile comes of its own accord, when he considers just what she’d say when she finds out he didn’t keep his promise quite like he was supposed to. Maybe she’ll forgive him, though not before scolding him. It makes the uncertainty of this vacuum more bearable, just barely. Afterlife, when he does let himself ponder it, is one thing.

Her.

He’s not so proud to pretend that he has the nerve to face her without having something more to tell her about Kakashi anyway.

Would things have turned out differently, if she - He stops himself. He won’t make excuses. He still would have taken the mission, and he still would have failed it. He still wouldn’t regret failing it, either. And it still would have ruined the village, and ruined it for them in turn. He still would have had to resolve it, resolve it in that excruciating way. He has no right to put that burden on her absence.

It’s so foolish, devoid of foresight - but he never considered that he’d be the one raising a child alone. It’s cruel, when the realisation bites him. He’d never let himself ruminate on it, but the assumption had always been there. Underlying every farewell, every strike of his tanto, every homecoming.

He’d definitely die first.

That would have been easier, selfish as it sounds, but then, he’s never been destined for ease. Neither had she. But he can even accept that, if it means, somehow, in some twist of fate - it’s too sentimental, but he grants himself an allowance this time - that Kakashi would have to bear a little less.

(Don’t get him wrong. He knows the fact that he’s here, that the fire is right there, waiting, to burn up his optimism incinerates that hope.)

The child catches on quickly.

Kakashi gives up crying for his mother, and soon gives up looking for her at all. It’s a response to that look Sakumo gives him, that maps his face involuntarily before the carefully chosen smile replaces it. It’s easier for them both if he pretends the last expression is the first.

Regardless, they manage, even if their home no longer feels like a home. There are sympathetic drop-ins on the poor widower and his baby, and again when the missions restart. Eventually he burns less food, Kakashi’s sleeping habits are less chaotic, and the house feels a little less empty. Soon, they’re affectionately thought of as the Hatake boys. You rarely see Sakumo without his pup.

The Hatake boys are nothing if not adaptable. Especially Kakashi. He grows quickly, too quickly.

He takes after his father, that’s what everyone says. And Sakumo lets himself believe it - the physical similarities are obvious, the boy is smart, precocious and he shows so much interest and talent for his pre-destined shinobi path that it’s mournful.

He knows he’s being idolised a little too much, but instead of quelling it, he succumbs to that wonder, that innocence in the boy’s eyes. God knows if this world has its way, it won’t be there much longer. And Kakashi’s in too much of a hurry to grow up, so he has to protect what little of it remains.

It’s no wonder, though. He tries to shield him, from the praises, the adulations - hero, legend, genius - but it’s futile. Just as he’s about to explain that such words are tentative, that they might have a time limit, they both hear it again.

“Look! It’s the White Fang!”

“And his son! I bet he’ll be just as great.”

It’s forever chasing them. Kakashi’s not the kind of boy to ever outwardly hesitate, but he’s thoughtfully silent now.

He insists on wearing a mask by the time he’s four. It’s bizarre, but apparently ‘the quintessential shinobi wears a mask’.

(How the hell does he know the word quintessential?!)

But his logic is sound. Still, Sakumo can’t help but think it’s a response, cleverly disguised like the boy’s already learnt to disguise so much. Did he want to invite less comparison? So far, it hadn’t really helped. Or had Kakashi caught him glancing at the black dot near his mouth one time too many, that unforgettable, enduring reminder of her?

Regardless, he doesn’t fight back, even though it’s damn near impossible to find masked shirts for children and his homemade attempt makes Kakashi chortle in an unusually carefree outburst. He’s never been good at denying him anyway, just like he was never good at denying her. That’s another thing - the more he looks like him, the more Sakumo’s reminded of her.

He holds onto his hand after pestering him to take him to the training grounds, and to the academy entrance exam - flooring the invigilators, to Sakumo’s pride and horror - and back home again, tugging on his shirt, a familiar demand to hoist him on his back when witnesses are out of sight. He has that uncanny way of making him and only him feel needed, even if he’s too proud to say it. Just like her.

Kakashi’s independent, mature, self-sufficient - even a little arrogant. But it’s impossibly endearing, just like her. He’s blunt, too matter-of-fact and never understands why it’s a problem, no matter how many times he’s reprimanded, but it’s chalked up to his maturity and his talent rather than a personality defect. He’s too logical, and causes adults and children alike to scratch their heads in confusion and infuriation. It’s all too familiar. His mother’s influence is just as enduring in him as it ever had been, but it’s as subtle as that damn beauty mark.

The mask, too. How typical of her, how perfect it is, Sakumo thinks, when it finally dawns on him. It’s his way of revealing himself to others on his - and only his - terms. He controls how much you see of him, whilst he sees right into you.

The child catches on quickly.

The fire rustles again, but it’s remarkably hearth-like now. Cosy. Sakumo lets himself smile, and open his eyes again. There was an optimism, a warmth, in those days as well. It still hurt, but they managed, even enjoyed themselves. They made quite a team. Kakashi seemed more like a man than a boy, even when he was that young. It seemed natural to others, and Sakumo supposed it was, partly. But he tried so hard too.

Things had looked up for a while, as they so often do, when you hold so much promise. When you’re not a pariah. It all changed so quickly. He knew it would, from the moment he turned his back on his duty, even if he didn’t know what it would entail. But it never felt wrong either.

It felt hopeless instead. He’d have been a bastard either way. Better to be a bastard who made a mistake, whose softness led to a screw-up, than a heartless bastard who’d throw his friends away for bureaucracy, for a convenience. For something as constructed as a code of conduct.

Kakashi could recite every rule of Shinobi Conduct before he even entered the academy (Sakumo doesn’t even remember letting him learn) but had only stared up at him blankly when Sakumo tried to tell him he needn’t worry so much. His rigidity, his insistence on his black and white view of the world - though he always used words beyond his years, it was a stark reminder that he was still only a little boy. A little boy that didn’t understand he was a little boy was a difficult thing. A dangerous thing.

Still, he trusted that the boy, little as he was, would understand one day. That he wasn’t leaving him behind because he regretted it. But because it was hopeless, because he’d become unfit for his purpose, both as a shinobi and a father, whether it was right or not. Because though it hadn’t felt wrong, he still had to deal with the consequences. Maybe one day the land they were expected to throw away their lives for would be more forgiving. Maybe it’d take his death for them to start to see it.

(Did he die for honour, responsibility, cowardice or anger?)

The child raises himself.

He’s the talk of the town now that’s he entered the academy. A prodigy, they call him. He’s set to graduate and be a full-fledged shinobi within the year. Classmates and teachers alike fawn over him, though he’s somewhat aloof to it all, which only makes them flock closer.

(He’s too young!) Her disapproval seems to float from that world to this one. And he can’t disagree, even though there isn’t much he can do about it. It seems Kakashi’s born for it, that he’d have nothing if he didn’t have this. So he supports it, fully. Besides, Konoha needs all the talent it can find.

Even if it means depending on children.

His self-reliance is bittersweet, but Sakumo won’t deny that it makes it easier to leave. That even if he doesn’t come home, he can worry a little bit less.

Isn’t that what fatherhood is? From the moment it’s possible, to help him feel his independence, feel every risk whilst concealing your own fear, so that he knows he might bear every pressure of this wretched world, prepare him so that he won’t collapse under it and, if he’s lucky, become a man that others can rely on too? He knows he can’t protect him forever. And that there’ll be a day, sooner than he’ll expect (it always is), where he won’t be there at all, because he’ll be damned if he has to go to his own son’s funeral instead.

Still, he would have liked to protect the boy’s childhood just a little bit longer. But he’s always so insistent on giving away what little of it he has left. It’s hard not to be bitter - when he sees the children of civilian families running around without a care in the world. But that’s the point, he knows that. Someone has to sacrifice so they can even exist at all. To be the one to do that is an honour, in one way or another.

The missions are relentless. The boy knows that each goodbye might be his father’s last. He doesn’t have to explain it. Kakashi is always calm, always accepting, always mature, careful to give him a casual send-off. It’s curious though, the intense, hopeful stare Sakumo feels bore into his back as he walks away.

The missions go well. Sakumo cements himself again and again as a hero, the revered White Fang, and invites commendation wherever he goes. Kakashi works harder, bearing pride and pressure on his tiny shoulders to meet his aspirations.

The mission is a failure. Behind enemy lines, espionage and destruction. It’s doomed from its inception. Mistakes pile up, and eventually his comrades get themselves captured. All his training has taught him that it can’t be helped, that he must carry out his mission and toss them aside. But he can’t abide. It’s never been in him to turn his heart to stone, not completely, but it’s even more impossible now. When the little boy��s at home, waiting for his own special report. When he’s watching and analysing his every move. When he’s picked Sakumo as the model he puts all his energy into emulating. He has to learn it’s okay to break the rules sometimes, lest he learns that lesson himself the hard way.

So, thanks to Sakumo’s doing, no lives have been lost. They’re grateful, for now. But experience fills him with apprehension. The worst is yet to come. There’s just something in the way his heart palpitates without explanation, why the journey home is forebodingly silent.

He’s right. The consequences are dire. Not just for Konoha, but through the entire land.

He turns from the Leaf’s White Fang to a disgrace overnight.

How precarious it all is, being a hero, he thinks with a sardonic smile. How fickle they are.

The smiles and praise become glares and blame, from strangers and old friends alike. Save for a few, but it isn’t enough to influence the rest of them. The close-knit community, the idyllic home he’d risked his livelihood countless times to protect almost seems an illusion now. Maybe it’s naive of him, that he never realised that ‘home’ could be conditional. That all the good you’ve already done could be wiped away so easily by one mistake that there was no point trying to do good in the first place.

He only indulges the bitterness for a little while. It’s immature. A man should take responsibility for his actions, good and bad. He knows what he did, and he knows it directly led to more damage and destruction. He knows it’s his fault. He knows he ended up hurting the very thing he was supposed to protect, and he knows it was him who elected to take on that responsibility in the first place. He knows he has no right to self-pity.

But he also knows he doesn’t regret it - the action, not the situation. He knows that if he had the choice to go back, he’d do it again. He knows wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he knew he was the kind of man that could turn his back on his friends, no matter what he’s been taught. He knows he has to set an example.

And an example he is. Kakashi’s quieter than usual, at first. He acts as if he doesn’t hear the angry muttering, he doesn’t notice that the missions are dwindling down, that the lines chiselled around his father’s eyes span further and that his clothes hang a little looser. That hurts most of all. That he’s suffering, but he refuses to dwell on it. It’s either for Sakumo’s sake or because that’s what a shinobi does. He doesn’t know which explanation is worse.

Everyone has their limits, most of all little boys. He should have expected this sooner. Kakashi doesn’t badger him to come to the training grounds like he used to, but Sakumo’s the one insisting this time. He still has to try. Even if it takes more from him than it ever has before. But he has to feel like he can still do something, anything. The range of which seems to decrease by the day. When the boy topples to the floor after a badly timed kick, he slaps away his father’s hand.

“Why?! Why did you do that? You went against orders, and everything went wrong! They all say these horrible things now! You’re not supposed to-” Kakashi stops himself, panting. His little body struggles to keep up with his rage and his words.

Strange, Sakumo thinks, as his dreary eyes meet the boy’s tearful ones. His reprimands match those of the adults he’s no doubt heard, but he’s never sounded more like the child he is. How can he understand? It must feel like a punishment, for all the pride and admiration he’s held for him until now. To have it snatched away like that. He can only apologise, but a father has no right to expect forgiveness from his son. Still, Kakashi lets him hold him close, just this once.

Then one day, it happens.

Cruelty is cruelty, no matter the source and no matter the recipient, and it isn’t long before the son bears the sins of the father. Kakashi does the best he can to take it in his stride, as usual, but when Sakumo asks if he can walk him to the academy, the sacred, persisting ritual comes to an end.

“I can go myself. Don’t worry,” he dismisses, gently enough, but he barely glances back before disappearing, before Sakumo even responds. It seemed so long ago, when he’d say the exact same words but he’d smile under his mask and grab his hand. Now he seems like an adult, resigned and reluctant. Hurt and tired. Bearing so much, for everyone else’s sake. For Sakumo’s sake

Whether it’s out of self-preservation, pity - or worst of all, an attempt to spare his father from the villagers’ scowls, it’s unacceptable. They all mean the same thing. Pretending he’s still needed, that his existence isn’t superfluous, is exhausting both of them. And he’s slipped one level further. Kakashi never mentions it, but he knows being Sakumo’s son is akin to damnation now.

He’s holding him back. Kakashi’s still the talk of the academy, but it’s opposite in nature now. There’s no more talk of his progress, of his graduation, of the illustrious road he was so sure to have ahead of him. It’s all snatched away in an instant. Kakashi has no future as long as Sakumo keeps breathing. What father can live with himself knowing that?

Everything is so difficult now. Standing takes all he has. He feels like a fraud for even doing that, for anything he says, anything he does. A soul-sucking, lacklustre performance. Every bodily function only spirals him down further into an abyss. He’s a ghost among the living. He’s always wondering why the hell he’s still here. He’s been able to convince himself, to a point, that he should still fight, he should still eat - but it’s undeniable now. He’s a burden.

And as burdensome as he is, the most important thing still remains.

He’ll do whatever he has to for his son. That much he can do.

Anything that Sakumo regrets is out of his control. He’s never been able to control anything where it counts. Not her death, not the mission, not sparing Kakashi from any pain. He’s even failing at his own modest goal - to ensure that the boy has the tools to bear anything and everything he might have to. So he can’t say he regrets this. What he regrets is far beyond anything he can express. This is the only thing he can do now.

Kakashi rejects his offer to accompany him before he even makes it. But he hangs on for a second, long enough for Sakumo to whisper one sentence.

“I love you, kiddo. I’m sorry.”

The little boy stops - silently studying his father’s expression. But he doesn’t have the same energy he used to either, to draw any real conclusions from it, to have the patience for his father’s random lamentations.“What are you sorry for? I’m fine. See you.”

It’s surprisingly easy to put things in order. The note is succinct, but it’ll do what it’s supposed to. Lift the sins that stick unfairly to Kakashi’s scrawny back, if nothing else. His possessions have dwindled, his paperwork is minimal, the deeds on the house are finalised. He’s determined to leave this world with as little fuss as he deserves, as he can manage. It’s the least he can do.

Then, Sakumo kneels, and takes out his tanto. The tanto that’d accompanied him as long as he could remember. Something he inherited from his father when he became a genin. Something he’d give to Kakashi as a graduation gift.

Who says a gift can’t be posthumous? It’s the same blade that’s going to wash away his and its sins. It’s ready for a reset with new honour, a new owner.

He inhales. He closes his eyes. He plunges the blade into his gut. It sinks in smoothly. The pain starts, spreading slowly and surely through his body like electricity. He exhales. He glides it along. It moves easily. Everything empties and he is exalted. His body, his being, his soul. His sins. His virtues. His love, his hate. His joy and his rage. His life and his death. He’s gone now, fading away into the whiteness. The warrior’s body is meek, inconsequential as it falls unceremoniously on its side.

And just like that, the boy is pure once again. He’s his own, as he should be. He’s no longer just the son of the hero-turned-pariah (maybe it was better to have never been a hero at all?), but Kakashi. Kakashi the prodigy. Kakashi the genius. Kakashi who he trusts will understand all this one day. That his father isn’t so wrong in what he did, but he knows he still has to do this, he still has to make up for it. They’re all just victims of circumstance. That he’s sorry, and that he loves him more than anything, but the last thing he needs is a father like him. He’s already doing so well. And he’ll do better now. After all, he’s never needed him.

The child raised himself.

The fire’s rustling becomes louder as the flames grow larger. A welcome distraction, Sakumo chuckles to himself. It’s almost as if he’s not supposed to concentrate on his mistakes and shortcomings.

(Or maybe the embers somehow know he doesn’t really want to)

Everything had seemed so urgent back then. Hasty. Not like now, where he’s neither here nor there, there’s no past and no future.

It must have seemed cruel, on the surface, he admits that. And his justifications probably seemed like excuses, like cowardice. He has the clarity to see that now. But it didn’t make them feel any less true, not at the time.

It was the best thing for Kakashi, how could it not have been? Not only that - he pauses, before he finally lets himself admit it. It was a relief. He was just so tired.

(But he’s still tired now. It’s just more bearable.)

Did any of it work? Or had it all been in vain? As much as he held out hope that when Kakashi did come here - and he would - he’d have been older, lived a long life of love. Where the village respected him, praised him, honoured him. Maybe with a family too.

(…Could any of that have happened if he’d stayed alive?

No. The answer has to be no.)

Or had he ended up too similar to his father?

Regardless, he knows why he’s here now. No matter how it turned out after, he did what he did. And he has to take responsibility for it. It’s all so much more demanding than he thought it would be. He chose death to take responsibility, and now he has to do the same for his death.

But then again, a father has no right to expect forgiveness from his son.

Especially not one like him.

The flame settles down. It’s calmer now, like its wish has been granted, like it’s satisfied.

It won’t be long now.

And as usual, he’s right. Soon, he hears footsteps. They’re measured, relaxed, but emphatic.

“That you, Kakashi?” Sakumo affirms, but he doesn’t know why. He already knows. Just like Kakashi doesn’t seem surprised to see him, or even be here at all.

“So this is where you’ve been,” Kakashi answers just as superfluously.

The deep voice should have thrown him, it should have been unfamiliar, but everything seems to make sense. Everything is natural. Everything is easy.

He’s a man now. Another superfluous statement, one Sakumo doesn’t voice. But here he is. He’s grown, a different person from the one Sakumo knew. But it still seems like he knows him, like he never really stopped knowing him. As if time has been the obstacle between them. He looks more like him now, even though he’s still wearing that damn mask. It’s amusing, the way his stubbornness appears to have persisted for no reason at all. It’s typical. There’s a scar across his eye. There’s a story there, as there always is. He carries himself with a rare combination of decorum and drudgery. Subtle acquiescence, controlled to his core.

“Will you tell me your story?”

He knows it’s only a pale substitute for not laying witness to it himself, but Kakashi seems happy to oblige. He agrees, joining him at the fireside. It rustles in approval.

“Yeah. But it’s a long one. I want to tell you everything.”

Sakumo agrees.

Kakashi’s smile is so relaxed, so wide that it’s visible - that he may as well be that same little boy again. It’s even a little bit contagious. “So, Dad…”

The conversation flows like water. Kakashi is unrestrained, serene, even as the terrible stories come out of him. Though they’re not all terrible. Some have Sakumo hanging his head in shame, others have him laughing out loud with a freedom he hasn’t had in years. Some are ridiculous. Some are stupid. He talks as if they’re not - as if they’re just that, stories. Happenstance.

But still, the terrible ones are the most memorable ones. It’s shocking, how much he’s been through. How many times he’s been failed, how many times he’s failed. How he’d been through more before puberty than most had been through by their deaths. The boy was always destined for that, though. He’d graduated not long after Sakumo died, and was promoted again within a year after. It’s only a few years after that that he makes jounin, the same rank as his father. Most everyone important to him is gone by then too. He’s made a name for himself as a legend, as a hero, even as the disgrace’s son. And he’s made sure to pass on all the lessons he’s learnt.

He doesn’t expect sympathy, or pity. He’s long made peace with it - well, to the extent he can. He’s just never had anyone to tell this to, without judgement. With ease. Where it’s streamed out of him without thought. Where he’s not using his pain as a warning for others, to try and protect others. Just the kind of acknowledgement you want from your father.

Gone is his cocky demeanour - Sakumo knew it would probably have to some day, but he’d hoped he wouldn’t have to go through so much to learn that lesson. Instead, there’s a humility about him, an ease. If she were here, she’d say Kakashi’s even more like him, and scoff at the injustice.

It’s like he’s happy to be here. Sakumo doesn’t know if it’s just the situation. Kakashi doesn’t seem like he’s ever done this before - but then, how could he? It’s the comfort you can only have with a father, and Sakumo’s grateful that he’s still considered one. But he can’t help but wonder if Kakashi’s smiling because he’s happier to be dead.

He acts older than he is, sometimes. He always did, but it has more weight now that he’s grown. Sakumo points it out, but Kakashi just chuckles.

“This job ages you. I feel older than I am.”

He can’t argue with that.

Soon, the conversation turns to other things. Philosophies, mutual experiences, women. He’s a little more subdued on that last one. He hesitates now, he’s more cryptic. There does seem to be one, Sakumo figures that much, though Kakashi’s reluctant to call it that. He isn’t as open out there as he is here. It’s no wonder. Everything that’s meant anything has been snatched away regardless of his will. Still, it seems that she’s a source of infuriation and confusion. She’s stubborn, but endlessly kind. She sees through Kakashi’s reluctant attempts at distance, and he’s drawn to her, whether he likes it or not. He shows absolutely no regret for being dead, but the only clue of it is when he talks about her. Sakumo lets it end there.

Eventually, they both have to acknowledge it. How miserable their lives have been, how they’ve died so young. A cursed pair. The burden of the suicide hangs over them both, their stories and their fates, like a cloud, in this strange place that has no sky.

“You did the best you could. You knew what the consequences would be, but you chose your friends anyway,” Kakashi says first. He’s only stating facts, but they’re heavy on his tongue. His gaze is locked on the fire ahead, and his voice takes on a gruff timber, one that ensures Sakumo of the depth of his words. He pauses. “And I understand you. I’m proud to be your son now.”

Sakumo’s eyes widen.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

It’s all he can say. After everything, it’s too much, too difficult to accept. It took hearing it to actually realise it, for the weight he’s carried on his shoulders for so long to begin to dissipate. It’s not entirely dissimilar to the first time Kakashi had wrapped his tiny fist so fiercely and as-a-matter-of-factly around his finger all those years ago. Where his confidence and courage promptly returned. He never knew he needed it so badly, that it would be more freeing than his death was - forgiveness - even if he was never going to ask for it.

It’s a miracle, but somehow, it’s happened. He’ll never admit it has anything to do with him, but Kakashi’s grown. He’s grown well. He’s learnt everything he hoped he would, and he’s more than he could have ever hoped. It wasn’t easy. Life had put him through the wringer to say the least - that much was obvious before Kakashi even joined him at the fire. But he did it. He managed.

A father’s most important and most horrible duty is to leave their children to the wilderness - was that how the old adage went? He can’t remember. But they have to, because he won’t be there forever, because the world will eat them alive if they don’t. You offer up your only son up to the world, in the hopes it won’t chew him up and spit it out, and that he might come out better for it. It’s as much of a horror as it is an honour. He didn’t mean to leave him that viscerally, and he’s still so sorry - but he can’t deny that for the first time in God knows how long, he feels lucky. He doesn’t deserve Kakashi’s forgiveness, for him to grow up to be the man he is, but here he is.

Still, Kakashi’s a little too eager to come here. It’s the most wrenching thing about this, that he seems too comfortable, that he seems to have been waiting for his death. It’s the only thing he can’t accept, as a father. He doesn’t want to accept that his son’s life has been that miserable, with so little to show for it. Even if he seems satisfied to be here.

Before he can even voice it, a light emerges, starting at Kakashi’s core and soon engulfing his entire being. The fire beside them stills for a moment, but then it sizzles with a vengeance. He turns to his father in shock, looking for an explanation in the wordless way a child does.

Sakumo provides it immediately. He’s not sure, but he wants it to be true. “My guess is… It’s too soon for you. There must be something you still have to do.”

He doesn’t offer any explanation as to what, but it has to be true. He should get more than he has. He can’t be so happy to come here. They both could’t have been in such a hurry to die. It’s too tragic, too terrible. A son shouldn’t be lonelier than his father.

Kakashi ruminates on it, and he suddenly looks like the young man he is. Not a tired war veteran. It’s even more obvious how untimely this all is.

But it hasn’t been meaningless.

“I’m grateful we had a chance to talk. Thank you forgiving me. Now I can move on, and finally see your mother again,” he continues. I’m proud of you too, Sakumo thinks, just like he thought so many times during the boy’s childhood, and countless times during this strange meeting. But he has no right to say it. Still, Kakashi looks at him with those same wide eyes from all those years ago, heeding his words with the same awe.

The harsh, green glow rips Kakashi away from this world and back. Just like his birth. Sakumo smiles and stands, the stretch alighting and aching through his soul - it feels physical, even though he’s no longer corporeal. Tall, encouraged, proud and determined.

(It’s been so long since he last stood.)

It won’t be long now. He has his own exit now.

The fire suddenly quickens, expanding, expanding, expanding, fighting for its last breath, its rustling turning into a desperate roar, sparks flying out past the wood - until at long last, its energy dwindles. It hisses in protest.

Instead, there’s a new warmth. Somewhere, somewhere far away yet somewhere so close. An amused, feminine hum of his name travels through his being and invigorates his soul. He smiles.

The flame flickers out.

親はなくても子は育つ

Even without parents, children grow up.

#sakumo hatake #kakashi hatake #naruto #hatake kakashi #hatake sakumo #kakashi #naruto fanfiction #fanfiction #pfwrites #anyway i'm finally done #i'm so sorry if you were expecting something super long given how long i've been talking about this #but consider that i'm stupid can't write and can't concentrate and it'll make sense #i would love to know your thoughts on this cuz i'm trying a lot of new things here #and this is a very vulnerable thing to share for me #because the themes and ideas have been in my head for so long #also read my author's notes in the ao3 link if you want more context because THEY ARE LONG #i'm thinking of writing a kakashi POV version which i'm sure'll be less depressing... probably #but not sure yet. let me know if you think i should #btw i know my music taste is extremely roast-worthy #also tmi but i have zero relationship with my father and i'm neither a father nor a son why do i have so much empathy for fatherhood???

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alottanothing · 4 years ago

Text

Left to Ruin: Chapter Fourteen

Summary: Ahkmemrah prepares for his marriage to Nouke. A week after sending his brother to the cells, the pharaoh’s guilt sees him visiting Kah in search of salvation.

Previous Chapters

Word Count: 2715

Warnings: just some good ole angst

Tag List: @xmxisxforxmaybe, @r-ahh-mi, @theultraviolencefan, @hah0106, @rami-malek-trash, @diasimar, @sherlollydramoine, @flipper-kisses, @ivy-miranda-2390, @txmel, @sunkissedmikky, @concentratedsassandcandy, @babyalienfairy, @edteche2 (Let me know if I missed you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list)

A/N: This is one of the shortest chapters of this whole story, maybe the shortest. However, I feel like there’s still a great deal of importance to the scenes, especially the ones between Kah and Ahk. Also, thanks for all the love last chapter! The comments, and tags and like and reblogs are like candy to me! 🍬 ☺️Again, as a disclaimer, I am not an ancient Egyptian expert and google only knows so much. So yeah, I took so historical liberties while writing this to make my life easier, but tried to keep it as “authentic” as possible.

Over the course of several days, the pharaoh's daily routine was exceedingly more arduous than the one he was accustomed to. Those long hours were a blur of official greetings and ostentatious dinners meant to welcome the important dignitaries who had traveled from afar to partake in the union of their king and soon to be queen. Merenkahre insisted on a week to properly allow all the guest to make their journeys and get settled; then on the seventh day, all of Waset would honor their new queen.

Truthfully, when his father asked for a week's time to prepare for a grand festival, Ahkmenrah agreed readily, entirely too wrapped up in the notion of marrying Nouke to realize how long seven days would actually be. Those days moved so sluggishly. A week was absolutely too long to be away from her, but duty often eclipsed what his heart desired.

However, duty also lent him distraction from his yearning heart. Families began arriving two days after the pharaoh proclaimed his desire to wed the servant girl Anuksumn. Boats lined the shores of the Nile, crowding the market harbor as families—along with their entourage—made their way to the palace with enough fan fair to rival that of the pharaohs.’ Despite their raw pomposity, Ahkmenrah showered them each with unyielding kindness as he welcomed them to stay in his home—as was expected of a king.

The ruse of playing host grew old after only one evening of official dinners and introductions; proving to be all work and no play. The stories his guests told during their feasts lacked zeal. Mostly, everyone spoke of their own accomplishments and their supposed generosity to the cities they governed. A few guests were genuine—able to steer topics away from themselves. Apart from those cherished few, every man, woman and even child invited to celebrate the impending nuptials held themselves above all others. And while no one dared to speak outwardly with such hubris, Ahk could read each of them as clearly as the hieroglyphs scribed onto the walls.

Somehow, he mustered a smile and played his role perfectly all the while wishing to be miles from the noise of the palace, tangled together with Nouke under the stars.

After the second evening of myriad stories of uninspiring nature during dinner, Ahkmenrah snuck beyond the walls of his royal sanctuary and returned to Nouke’s farm with news he’d promised to bring.

“It is all very official and exhausting,” Ahk tutted with a mild scowl. Just thinking about what awaited him at the palace bled into the serenity of laying with Nouke in his arms, nestled among the cushions, their garments left in a forgotten heap nearby.

“Trust that I cannot wait to bring you home once and for all. However, I am also not ready to share you yet.” He smoothed the hair away from her face as she looked at him from where she laid on his chest. “I want to enjoy having you all to myself a while longer.”

Nouke smirked and kissed him softly.

“Mmm, I’ve never thought of you as a greedy man…” she teased as she traced the outline of his lips with her fingertips.

Ahk grinned and kissed the pad of each rough digit before speaking, “You will find that I am exceptionally greedy when it comes to you. I want you to be only mine, now and forever.”

“Now and forever,” she agreed with a breathy murmur.

Her eyes stayed fixated on his until she drew him into an affirming kiss that built lazily in a slow, sensuous expression of worship before passion swept them away for a second time.

What she gave, he took—her name a low hum tumbling from his lips. What he gave, she took—holding him close enough for their hearts to beat in perfect synchronization. They made love in a symphony of wanton expressions whispered into the night air with breathless praise until they reached that glorious peak together. And when morning came with the harsh break of day—golden light pulling them from the depths of their slumber—it was too soon.

He left his bride to be with a kiss and the promise it would only be a few more days until they could spend their lives together.

It was that night he’d spent tangled with the woman he loved—his best friend—that Ahkmenrah held in his mind the days that followed. He clung to images of Nouke like a valuable life source; granting him the energy to masquerade through every dinner and introduction that remained.

***

“I have made the arrangements for you to collect your bride tomorrow at mid-day,” Merenkahre said from his usual seat at the council table.

Ahkmenrah blinked out of his thoughts, suppressing a yawn, doing his best to fend off his exhaustion a while longer, and grinned.

“After which,” his father continued. “You and your desired bride will be wedded with an audience of your advisors and guests of your choosing. Festivities will then commence before twilight.”

The pharaoh's sudden influx of enthusiasm was difficult to keep from his features when he nodded, not wanting his excitement to mar his kingly composure.

“Perfect,” he said.

Idly, his eyes skirted around the table, mentally noting which of his advisors he wanted in attendance until his sweeping glance stopped on the empty chair reserved for the Consul of Montu. A pang of guilt bit into Ahkmenrah with enough potency to taint both his enthusiasm and his resolve the longer he stared at the barren spot.

The presence of the vacant seat was suddenly crushing with guilt, and a frown fought to twist onto his features. Almost a week had passed since banishing Kahmunrah to the cells with only his name and no titles. And not one of those days went by without Ahkmenrah brooding over the punishment he’d bestowed upon his brother.

Even with ample distractions at hand, his mind could not surrender how they parted. The scene in his memory stirred a sense of betrayal—his betrayal to Kahmunrah. Ahkmenrah never wanted to be a ruler who dealt with his problems by burying them in a cell to be forgotten. Or worse yet, a king who executed and silenced his problems. How Kah would have preferred I run things.

The council meeting finished quickly when the pharaoh could find no other topics to discuss suddenly too laden with grief to proceed effectively. With the men gone, the walls of the council chamber became a meditative space for him to ponder.

The day that would follow was to be one of the happiest of his life, and yet, Ahk felt that joy abruptly strangled; his guilt and the anger he held on to, like beasts he needed to slay.

The fury in his soul for what had been done to Nouke and Setshepsut remained deep and unsated, tormenting Ahkmenrah with unease. Wrath could devour a good man if it was left to fester. Already the infection was spreading. Ahk’s torrid heart wanted Kahmunrah to know punishment for the things he’d done, and still, the pharaoh’s mind screamed and begged for him to let the past be covered in sand—forgotten.

With right and wrong poised so precariously in his head; he wasn’t sure which side of the scale to leap onto.

Minutes passed, the oversaturated colors of sunset vanquished by the black of night when Ahkmenrah finally relinquished a slow, weighted breath. He rubbed his temples hoping the added pressure would deter the ache beginning to swell in his skull as his frenzying thoughts became too much to fathom.

Letting go of his anger and forgiving his brother was the only way to ensure growth could come from all that transpired. Holding onto resentment would only permit stagnation. Ahkmenrah had no choice but to face his brother.

***

Of all the buildings located on the palace grounds, the cellblock was not constructed with intricate detail or grandeur of any kind. The stone structure was far from the central palace, a narrow edifice with almost no windows and lit mostly by mounted torches along the length of the corridor. It had been years since the pharaoh found himself in the dismal confines of the cellblock. He’d visited last with his father during one of his lessons, and Ahkmenrah liked those walls even less now than he did then.

The sting of guilt surfaced again as he took in the bleak accommodation once more. How could I have condemned my brother to live in such squaller?

The man on guard, stationed just outside the doorway, greeted the pharaoh with a shocked expression and hasty bow.

“My king!” The man did his best to chase away his shock, but his confusion was still obvious in the glow of the torch he held. “What business brings his majesty here?”

“My brother,” Ahk stated cooly. “I wish to speak to him.”

The man nodded and directed him to which of the long line of cells housed his brother.

Ahkmenrah counted his steps as he went, focusing on the numbers to distract himself from the dismal interior and the shame it all provoked. In the darkness, his brother was only a silhouette, perched on the back half-wall of his cell, and Ahk could feel the tendrils of Kah’s bitterness reaching vengefully through the bars.

“And so, the mighty pharaoh descends from on high to look upon the lowly and condemned.” Kahmunrah’s voice was cold, dripping with resentment. “What do I owe the pleasure of this visit? Surely my sentencing is not through already.”

The urge to recant a snide comment—to fight fire with fire—swelled on the tip of Ahkmenrah’s tongue, but he swallowed it. He refused to let any word passed his lips without having thoroughly thought it over first.

“Or have you come to gloat?” Kah gibed when Ahk struggled to piece a rational sentence together. “I overheard the guards talking about your impending nuptials to that servant girl I exiled. Congratulations."

A frown worked onto the pharaoh’s face taking note of the unabashed hate in his brother’s tone—a knife in his belly.

“It pains me you think I would come and rub my good fortune in your face. Have you ever known me to be so arrogant?”

Kahmunrah stood and moved into the singular beam of torchlight flickering through the bars of his cell. Without his usual golden raiment and accessories, Ahkmenrah had difficulty recognizing the man before him. His threadbare garments were a stark contrast to gold and gems, and they caused another wave of guilt to beat against Ahk.

“No,” Kahmunrah finally responded, looking as though the truth was akin to poison on his tongue. “You are the golden son—kind and humble.”

Kah spat at his brother’s feet, “Weak. You are weak for a king.”

Ahkmenrah closed his eyes and let out a long meditative exhale to carry away the influx of anger. Venom soaked words would only kindle the flame of hate. Not acting on impulse was an arduous task, but Ahk had come to purge the contempt out of his system as calmly as he could.

“If you are attempting to provoke me, brother; I am sorry to disappoint you.”

Kah’s lips curled into a sneer, “Just as I said, weak.”

Ahk shook his head with disbelief, “Is it not tiring to hold onto all of that anger?”

The pharaoh’s own wrath was exhausting to carry day to day. How Kahmunrah managed to live all of his life in a perpetual state of ire was a feat to be admired, or respected at least.

“My anger is all I have thanks to you.”

Something cold and abject worked through Ahk with a chill. The truth of his brother’s words biting into him with such force, Ahkmenrah’s sure footing faltered and he leaned against the stone wall behind him for aid.

“Yes,” the pharaoh husked out. Even his whisper echoed eerily in the long corridor to haunt him.

It took him a minute or two to find his strength again, incrementally able to hold himself with the sturdy wall to brace against. Ahk’s focus was on his brother, looming threateningly just past the bars of his cage. Ahkmenrah found he could not look into his eyes—his guilt beginning to swallow him completely.

“I did not want this for you, my brother. Do you not know that? I gain no pleasure from seeing you like this. In fact, I have felt nothing but guilt for days.”

“Good.”

Ahkmenrah sighed and swallowed the lump in the back of his throat, and willed himself to meet Kahmunrah’s glower.

“I’m sorry..." Ahk said. “I am sorry you were denied what you thought was rightfully yours. I’m sorry for what I have done to you.”

He paused long enough to blink away the tears beginning to brim his eyes before he continued. “But…you left me with little choice. And for that too, I am sorry.”

Kahmunrah’s black eyes never turned away, nor did his expression of cold hatred ebb. It was staggering to see such emptiness behind living eyes, and their piercing leer did little to allay the lingering guilt. Still, Ahkmenrah continued.

“Do you want to know what else?" he sighed. “I forgive you…I must.”

Slowly, the heavy veil of the pharaoh’s anger started to slip away. The gravity of his words would be lost on Kahmunrah, but the salvation Ahk felt releasing years of tension almost made up for his brother’s apathy.

“I do not want to live my life as you have: harboring grudges and wishing ill upon others. And it is my hope, one day, you could do the same. I want that for you.”

Ahkmenrah half shrugged and his eyes dropped their focus to the shadowed void behind Kah as he considered his brother’s previous observation.

“Maybe that does make me weak…” The pharaoh’s voice faded as the remaining pieces of his anger crumbled and drifted away.

All at once, his mind was overrun with a thousand thoughts that made the ache in his head begin to pulse again. The silence that filled the narrow cell block was sullen and heavy, but Ahk used it to sift through the teeming thoughts in his head quietly.

Kahmunrah sulked back to the shadows of his cell, this time sitting on the ground, his back propped against the wall. Ahk sagged against the wall behind him as well, folding under the weight of his thoughts until he sat, mirroring his brother.

“I want so much for us to be brothers…” Ahk confessed softly.

A single, mirthless chuckle cracked Kah’s silence.

“Well,” he stated in a low voice, devoid of sympathy. “Take a lesson from someone who knows all about disappointment, little brother. And learn that we do not always get what we want.”

A sad smile ghosted over Ahk’s lips as a solitary tear spilled down his cheek. It was foolish to hope his brother would ever change, but Ahkmenrah would never give up.

With a deep breath to build his strength, Ahkmenrah stood feeling, more or less, lighter. All the poison was at last purged from his system, but a hint of disappointment remained as he realized how ruthlessly his brother continued to cling to the bitterness inside.

Sleep beckoned the pharaoh with a yawn, the promise of rest alluring for his frenzied mind. However, one thought dug its hooks too deep in the forefront of his mind to go without seeking an answer. The question alone made Ahk’s stomach churn, but he was much too exhausted to fight his curiosity.

“I dread thinking you may have had a hand in what happened all those years ago regarding the disappearance of my tablet. Framing Nouke’s family to be rid of them—to hurt me.”

He paused, feeling his stomach slosh again, “The assassin even….”

That night flashed so vividly in his mind; the man over him with a knife drawn ready to take his life. Ready to kill a boy of fifteen who’d known no enemies apart from one... Ahkmenrah glanced into the black of Kahmunrah’s cage. No response came from its depths, the deafening stillness causing a chill to prickle over the pharaoh’s skin. And as he left, Ahkmenrah could not decide if Kahmunrah’s silence filled him with more confirmation or fear.

Next Chapter-> Chapter Fifteen: Together Again

#Ahkmenrah #Ahkmenrah x Original Character #Ahkmenrah Fanfiction #Night at the Museum #NATM #NATM Fanfiction #Left to Ruin #Rami Malek Character #Rami Malek Character Fanfiction #Rami Malek Fanfiction #Rami Malek

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annerly-san · 4 years ago

Text

Our Happy Ending | Risotto Nero | Chapters 1-7

A03 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25862377/chapters/62838787

The warmth aroma of freshly baked bread and the wafting smells of the starting day’s espresso carried itself in the air of Naples.

She inhaled with great vigor before contently letting her breath out with elated content.

It was the smallest things that she appreciated in her life.

Whether it was the sun shining brightly as it peered over the horizon and began its way across the clear blue sky to reach its pinnacle straight above her head, the wind gently ruffling the loose fabric at the hems of her sleeves, or the quiet scratching of pen against paper as she wrote out fantastical stories where she could aptly convey the best imagery and tales that her mind could muster.

A street musician was playing in the background of the patio she sat in.

The server had arrived with a freshly baked cornetto-- a golden brown that shone with the glisten of butter on top-- as well as a cappuccino with a gracefully drawn flower in the foam of the milk.

Her pen inked the final letter of the word she had just finished writing before she allowed for the pen to be set down against the notebook.

Gratefully thanking the waiter, she wrapped the band of the notebook around the cover as to bind its contents neatly together before stowing the book into her bag.

The sensation of light, bubbly foam transitioning to warm, creamy milk and then hot, bitter espresso glided over her palette as she took a sip of her cappuccino. The croissant, not going unattended, was soon picked up, peeled back to reveal its many flaky and steaming layers, and nibbled at.

The solace of this routine gave her an ease of mind as she finished up the last of her breakfast -- leaving her payment on the table before clutching her satchel and heading towards the streets.

She wondered where she would go today.

Perhaps the seashore and the rhythmic clashing of waves could lull her to a new productivity as she put her pen to work on the final chapters of her novel. Or maybe the gentle ambience of a meadow by the orchid of lemon trees and its growing fruits would provide the relaxation to conclude her story with a satisfying end.

Her recent novel about an underdog of a high-crime syndicate working his ends off for his greedy and self-serving superior had been a massive hit with the masses. The most recent book had the gang-member killing his capo in retaliation for the endless bloodshed and crimes that he had stained his hands with by the order of the higher ups.

The story was intense and interlaced with drama and the general reception of the mafia novel had been so well-received that she was urged to write the sequel or a follow-up to the poor man’s tale.

Her mind wandered as she walked down the busy sidewalk-- catching glance of her reflection in a boutique’s window as a strange inspiration struck her.

Maybe she would write to the tale of him returning to his family. A father coming back to see the wife and daughter that he had left behind as a means to keep her safe from the mafia.

The thought prickled at her heart with a gleeful delight and a resonating ache of reflection as she wondered if that was why her father had abandoned her mother so long ago. Her mother had long since passed, but her lips remained still on who her father was and why he had left them. The curiosity of her mind grasped at straws and drew traces in her imagination as she pondered if there was ever a chance she had a father entangled in the mafia.

She found herself smiling happily at the notion and, by extension, the idea of a father leaving his family behind for their safety. The reflection of herself smiled back-- lips parted slightly and turned upwards in a faint smile. But as she stared in the glass, the corner of her eyes noticed a pair of intense red irises surrounded by an obsidian sclera glowing in the background of her reflection.

Alarmed, she turned around.

There was nothing.

Perhaps it was just a figment of her imagination, but she couldn’t not help but feel the quickening pace of her heart and slight shivers running down her back. She turned back to the glass to only see herself and nothing else.

Blinking the remainder of the daydreams from her mind, she turned back to the direction that she was walking in and continued strolling down the street-- telling herself to calm the rapidly growing pace of her heartbeats and the prickling sensation on her back that made her feel like she was being watched.

She found herself at the entrance of an alleyway as she immediately began to panic.

This was one of the furthest places from a shoreline or meadow that she had hoped to be in to continue writing the extension of her novel. In hindsight, the moment she felt some sort of discomfort and indication that she was being followed, she should have immediately gone to a busier place with the police nearby.

She needed to leave.

While she didn’t dare enter the alley, she somehow managed to walk down a more quiet street with less foot traffic. Internally hoping that good luck and fortune would grace her, she turned around only to bump into an invisible force that caused her to stumble backwards from the collision.

She felt herself being dragged into the darkness of the alleyway.

A scream grew in her throat, but before it could leave, a hand almost twice the size of her entire face clamped over her mouth and forced her stumbling backwards in the direction of its force.

Her back was slammed against the brick wall of the building and she felt the stinging press of a thin cold metal at her throat.

A knife.

A jolt of scalding cold blood pulsated through her veins as her body tremored uncontrollably from fear.

The fear that she had hopes to convey in the eloquent words of her novel were nothing compared to the actual reality. No matter how well and fluent she was with her words, they were reduced to simple lines and phrases that bordered on the threshold of incoherency.

“P-please, if it’s money you want-” She looked down at her side and stumbled to grab her wallet from her satchel. “Y-you can have it! P-please! I-I’m just a novelist!”

The blade pressed against her throat with greater pressure as a dull sting broke across the surface of her skin and a disturbing sensation of warm fluid was felt trickling down her neck.

Her eyes pressed shut as she retreated back to feeble resignation of being held at the mercy of her aggressor.

Shuddering and forcing her eyes to pry open, she was met with the eyes of the reaper.

Towering above her, she had to strain her neck at an uncomfortable angle to meet his eyes. And those eyes.

Haunting.

A pair of crystalline rubies floating in a pool of endless obsidian.

Eerily beautiful.

Had she not been so initially encaptivated by the intensity of his eyes, its contrasting play of colors that elicited fear and radiated threat, she would have sooner noticed the sharp features of his face. His expression was solemn. Nearly devoid of human emotion to the extent where she would be compelled to believe in tales of demons and grim reapers that were sent to fetch the souls of humans to torment in the afterlife. The grim death glare that he had would have been sufficient on its own to send her into a horrible mess of tears and intelligible pleas for him to just kill her quickly as to not have her suffer whatever amount of torture and torment he was capable of.

But with that ominous look on his face, the overbearing presence that radiated off of him to the point of suffocating her, as well as the knife that was drawing blood from her neck, there was simply too much simulation for her brain to handle.

And as often the case in dangerous situations, the fright, anxiety, pain and shock caused the blood pressure in her body to drop. Combined with the quick intake and exchange of oxygen in her lungs as a result of hyperventilation, she felt light-headed.

There was a sudden brightness that there wasn’t supposed to be in a dark alleyway as the sensation of falling flooded into her senses.

She fainted.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~END CHP 1 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Risotto wasn’t sure what to do with the unconscious woman.

He had the orders to kill her.

But from his judgement, the lady seemed to be a completely innocent civilian.

Was the information incorrect?

The orders from his capo were based on an arguably flimsy correlation. The murder of one of Passione’s capo’s by a lower-ranked gang member that had defected was linked to a similar description in one of the recently published novels about mafia drama.

He was ordered to find the author and eliminate her if she was indeed the culprit that spurred the treacherous deed to fruition.

“...It seems that the two occurences just happened to be coincidental.”

He examined her. Having caught her right before she crumpled to the ground and saving her from a potential concussion from hitting her head on the concrete floor.

Risotto made sure to scrutinize her carefully.

There wasn’t a trace of violence or ill-will evident. The way that she passed out at the slightest threat and his appearance was also proof that she had no prior exposure to violence or threats of any kind.

It was either she had no hand in the betrayal and murder of one of Passione’s capos, or she did play a part-- but was unaware.

While the members of Passione were ordered to avoid civilian casualties the best they could-- and Risotto would rather not kill an innocent civilian unless he was forced to-- the prospect of her potentially involved in the capo’s death made him lean towards the choice of gathering more information on her before doing anything decisive.

He took ahold of her a little better-- easily picking her up and holding her body to rest horizontally in his arms. Using Metallica to attract microscopic iron filaments in the surrounding alleyway, he cloaked the both of them in iron to conceal their visible presence before heading off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a dull ache that awoke her.

Her limbs felt weak and she had a strange shake in her hands. There was little to no energy left in her.

Adjusting her eyes and blinking a few times to clear them of the foggy layer that had obscured their vision, she made out her surroundings.

She was resting on a bed in what seemed to be an apartment room. She tried to sit up.

“You’re awake.”

The abrupt sound of a low and deep voice startled her as she yelped in surprise only to flinch at the sudden pain in her neck.

“The cut isn’t deep, but you should be fine,” the voice continued. “I’ve cleaned it and wrapped it already for you.”

She was suddenly aware of the gauze wrapped around her throat as her fingers gingerly touched the wrapping as her stomach sank.

The prickling sensation of eyes staring into her back was present again. There was a reluctance to verify the identity of the person that was speaking to her.

That timbre. That cold tone. It was unfamiliar to her, but she had an inkling as to who it belonged to.

She forced herself to turn around and look at her reaper in the eyes.

There were those eyes again. The eyes were considered the windows to the soul and often the first place where people would focus their attention when they stared at someone’s face for the first time.

Those brilliant red and black eyes tantalized her with coinciding emotions of crippling fear as well as dangerous curiosity.

Her abductor leaned against the wall by the windowsill locking eye contact with her.

She was surprised that she could still speak.

“D-did you need something from me?”

She wasn’t sure if she imagined the slightest quirk of his lips into a smile.

“That’s the first thing you choose to ask?”

She wasn’t sure how to respond, but it didn’t seem that he was expecting an answer from her.

“I want you to write a story for me.”

If he had not taken ahold of her fear and attention by suddenly approaching the bedside to place himself close to her, she would have questioned the absurdity of his request.

Before she had the time to inquire, he already continued speaking.

“What do you need to write? I’d like for you to have it done for me by… tomorrow morning. Does that sound fair? It can be a short story” He seemed to be freely speaking now. The words flowed from his lips naturally as it swayed in sync with his thoughts. “Can you write the story exactly how I ask for it? I want it to be about someone. And I want something very specific to happen to this man in your work.”

She didn’t register his hands enveloping hers as he placed a pen and notebook in her hands.

Going purely off of the texture, size and feel of the items, these weren’t hers.

Where did he put them?

The pen had fallen out of her hand, bouncing off the bed and rolling to a halt on the floor. She was shaking too much it seemed.

He let out an almost silent sigh before picking it up for her.

“I won’t hurt you.” His voice made her shiver. His voice was gruff, low and deep. It made the ribs in her chest vibrate with each syllable that he enunciated. “But I need you to do this for me. I also can’t have you go anywhere until you finish either.”

Those intense eyes captured hers again.

She wasn’t sure how to interpret the emotions in his eyes. Was there sincerity? A sign that she could trust him to his words?

The endless black voids of his eyes answered with nothing.

She looked at the pen he held out for her and took in carefully.

This was a compromised situation.

If she did as she was told, it could only increase the percentage of her leaving unscathed. But that didn’t necessarily mean that she was given an absolute guarantee either.

She cautiously uncapped the pen and tried to stabilize her hand over the notebook. The pen pressed against the paper-- leaving a pooling circle of ink on the otherwise pristinely clean page.

She inhaled sharply before letting in an uneven exhale.

Looking at him, she mustered the courage to ask.

“W-who is this person I’m writing about…?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Risotto had phoned Melone and Ghiaccio to uncover more information on the woman before he decided his next course of action.

“She’s a civilian. It doesn’t seem that she’s even remotely aware of Passione, much less the capo’s death,” Risotto reported. “Can you provide me any other information?”

The results were interesting.

The novel that the woman had published was written a good amount of time before the capo’s murder which could only mean that the only possible link would be that the defector took inspiration from the novel a month after it was published and took to betraying the gang.

She was also blood-related to a higher-ranked official of Passione that had passed away a couple of years ago during a drug deal heist. There was no motive that could have spurred her to create discord within the organization.

Risotto hung up.

He’s come across something valuable. He only needed to affirm it.

Walking back into the bedroom of the apartment that he had reserved for instances of missions such as this, he took a quick glance at the bed to see that the woman was still out cold.

Arriving at the nightstand, he cleared away the roll of gauze, scissors, and antiseptic before taking note of the woman’s satchel which he had set on the floor earlier.

Opening it, he noticed the notebook which seemed to be her journal of notes, stories and excerpts that she wrote in.

The outlines were detailed; it listed everything from the characters relationships to symbolism to plot development and even chapter to chapter layout.

He noticed the small movements on the bed-- an indication that she was stirring closer to consciousness. Risotto quickly stashed the notebook away. He would look through it at his leisure later.

As she began to stir awake, he began to ponder the various prospects of her ability.

A novel that correlated to a gang member’s betrayal. A blood relation to a potential stand user.

He needed to test her abilities and confirm it for himself.

Watching her stumble to sit herself up and look around, he leaned against the wall-- spectating with mild amusement. The look of horror in her eyes as she met his, the fumbling of her words as she asked him what he needed something from her made him, and the nervous fidget of her fingers gripping for the comfort of something that wasn’t there drew out the rarest and faintest of smiles from him.

“I want you to write a story for me.”

He would test his theory.

There was a pending assignment for the assasination of a politician that had been lobbying for certain policies that would levy power against Passione. This was a perfect opportunity.

He found a pen and empty notebook on the shelf nearby and handed it to her-- watching as she took it in shaky hands.

She dropped it.

He would need to be a little more careful when speaking to her.

The intimidation that he was so used to pressuring on others always served him well in this field of work. This was probably the first time that it happened to put him at a disadvantage.

Risotto let out a soft sigh as he picked up the pen and placed it in her hands.

“I won’t hurt you.” Given how their first encounter played out, he didn’t place blame on the high amount of guard and caution she put up to defend against him. He tried to soften his tone. “But I need you to do this for me. I also can’t have you go anywhere until you finish either.” He stared at her in the eyes, internally commending her for her ability to hold his rather daunting gaze.

He noted the way she tried to steady her hands almost feeling some penance of guilt for putting her in such a compromised situation.

But he couldn’t help but feel a touch of pride and satisfaction for her as she looked straight at him and asked, “Who is this person I’m writing about?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ END CHP 2 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She never liked politics in the first place.

The name of the protagonist that her abductor wanted her to write about sounded familiar, but she wasn’t in touch with the exact details of his office or campaign.

“Have him die of a heart attack or something.” He had told her. “Car accident, anything really…”

The pen was making a trail of flowing ink on her paper as she thought.

She sat at a desk with pen in hand and a blank notebook opened and resting in front of her. Her kidnapper sat in a chair by her side as to watch her write.

Her mind was semi-occupied as to why this man had specifically requested this story of her, and the other part of her mind, the writer’s imagination, wondered how the politician should die, what death he deserved and how to play it out.

Maybe the man hated this politician. Psychologically, a method of coping is to simply project your more unacceptable wishes and desires into other mediums such as art or writing in order to create some sense of ease to cope with an unfair reality.

Regardless of his reason, she was asked to write.

It wasn’t an unreasonable request to demand of her.

“What does he look like?”

Her abductor raised an eyebrow before pulling out a photo and handing it to her.

The image was that of a man in his early thirties with bright eyes and a wide smile. Dressed in a plain dress shirt, he seemed to be in the middle of a political rally lobbying for the good of the common folk.

“...he looks like a nice person…” she commented to no one but herself.

“Does he now?”

She almost forgot that he was there and dropped the image in surprise. The paper floated down and landed against the notebook, and she left it there for reference.

“He doesn’t seem like the type of person that would have a lot of enemies…” she pondered as she stared at the fallen photograph on the desk. She had already immersed herself into thought and paid no heed to the intent onlook of the man at her side.

“What if he got poisoned? Who would poison him? A political rival?” she began to mutter to herself. “But that wouldn’t make for an interesting story, don’t you think? What if he got murdered by someone who didn’t support his campaign?” Her pen met contact on the paper as words slowly started to appear with each loop of her hand.

Unintentionally, her thought processes ran too close to reality. A large hand had grabbed hers preventing her from writing any further.

“No.”

Despite being startled by the sudden interjection, the grip on her pen and the stability of her hand floating above the paper did not falter.

“I-I’m sorry?”

His gaze was unreadable. Despite his overbearing strength and ability to snap her wrist with ease, the hold on her hand was surprisingly more gentle than what she thought he could be capable of.

“Don’t make it a murder. An accident. Do something like that.”

“B-but-” she wasn’t sure what compelled her to fortify her mental resilience to dispute him.

“But?” He didn’t seem to mind the pushback against his commands. She interpreted the slight tilt of his head and the relinquish of his grip on her wrist as an unspoken urge for her to continue.

“...That won’t make for an interesting story…”

He laughed.

She felt her face redden. It was unclear as to whether that could solely be attributed to embarrassment. He had a low pitch laugh that seemed to reverberate in his chest.

The sound caught her breath.

“W-what’s so funny about wanting to write something interesting?” she mumbled to herself. She placed her pen down and placed her balled-up hands down on the desk. “I’m an author after all...”

He let out a couple more chuckles before picking her pen with one hand and her hand with the other. Carefully uncurling her fingers and setting the pen in he asked, “Why don’t we come up with an interesting way to kill him together, hm?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He found her intriguing.

“What if you made him jump off a building?” This was the tenth suggestion that he had made for her so far.

The utter look of dissatisfaction that she gave him was enough to make him chuckle again. When was the last time he managed to laugh like this?

“...that’s it? ...you’re unbelievably boring…”

He raised an eyebrow at the whispered comment.

“I’m boring?”

She must have not meant for him to hear that as she flusteredly denied her words and stated that she’ll write about a politician jumping out from the twentieth story of a building.

Risotto grabbed her wrist again.

“How would you go about killing him then?” he asked.

“W-well. I just think that there should be a reason-” her words came out in a stammer. “M-maybe I’d make him drink a little too much and get into a car accident.” The nervousness was out of her tone now. “He kills an innocent pedestrian which makes him lose his favor with the public.” She had turned towards him with a inquisitive look in her eyes-- seeking his opinion. “He then spirals into despair, and flings himself off of the tallest building he could enter! What do you think?”

There was a strange, but alluring, sparkle in her eyes as she poured forth her imagination and ideas to him. He gave her a rare smile.

“I think it’s great.”

The corners of her lips turned upwards into a wide smile expressing her joy. She made a content hum of agreement as turned back to the desk and immediately began to write-- completely immersed in her own world.

Risotto left her to work. The scratching of pen against paper filled the room as he left quietly so as to not disturb her.

She had an endearing smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ END CHP 3 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She didn’t notice the blanket on her shoulders at first as she stirred awake. It slid off and pooled around her waist as she sat up straight on her chair, wiping the drool that had pooled down her cheek while she was sleeping.

Her neck and back ached. It was an all-too-familiar sensation of the times she fell into a trance of high concentration and wrote until her head hit the table from pure sleepiness and exhaustion.

The door creak helped pull her from the morning grogginess and daze.

She blinked a few times at the man who stood in the doorway-- taking a few moments to recollect the events of yesterday.

He walked over towards her, setting down a plate of pastries on the table.

“I-It’s finished-” she began as she picked up the several sheets of paper covered with her writing on it. The last page, which she had denoted with an elegant print of the word ‘finish’, was taken from the top of the stack and neatly placed at the bottom and handed over.

“Thank you.” He gratefully took the story and pulled up a chair to sit beside her. “I brought you breakfast. Eat up.”

“T-thanks.” She picked up a blueberry lemon scone with large crystals of sugar baked into the top and took a bite. The refreshing combination of tart lemon and sweet blueberries tingled in her mouth as she watched him read her work with an intense interest.

She watched the rise and fall of his breaths as he read. Those crimson irises moved back and forth in his dark shadowy sclera as they traced over the lines of her words. She watched as he would raise a brow or quirk his lips as he reached the different parts or climatic events of her work.

The blueberry lemon scone, as delicious as it was, was deprived of her attention as she was solely focused on him reading each penned word.

She watched as he arrived at the last page; eyes lingering on the final word before he shuffled the papers back in order and looked up at her.

“Thank you for this. It was very well written.” His voice was soft, as if he was careful to not break the comfortable lull of silence they had between the both of them.

The praise gave birth to a warm blossom in her chest as elation filled her heart and lungs.

“I’m glad to deliver,” she spoke with a smile.

He captured her attention with his eyes as he leaned in and asked, “Can I ask for you to stay here for a couple more days?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ END CHP 4 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She thought that she would be able to leave by now.

After he had finished reading her work, he keeped content with what she had produced and didn’t ask for her to write anything more.

The two of them sat at the dining table in silence as she drank her coffee and ate the rest of her scone. He sat across from her reading her most recent novel-- the one about the underdog in the mafia killing his boss. He was close to the end; the book was probably already started on before he had gone to abduct her that day.

Did he kidnap her because he liked her work?

Her mind tried to grasp at any reason without regard to how flimsy the logic was. Why else did he simply kidnap her to write a story for him? There wasn’t any further attempt to maim, hurt or kill her. In fact, he seemed to be extremely civil once she agreed to his request to write him a story of his choosing.

She took a sip from her coffee again as her mind wandered off.

“What happened to him at the end?”

She looked up to see that he had already finished the novel. He was a quick reader.

The tone was inquisitive. She smiled.

“What do you think happened to him?” she asked him back.

He scoffed. “The likelihood of him being hunted down for killing his capo and brutally killed is nearly a hundred percent.” The book cover closed shut with a soft thud. He set it on the table and slid it towards her.

She let herself smile at his immediate response grounded in reality with no leeway for creative freedom. “But that’d be boring, don’t you think?”

“You say that a lot,” he mused.

A faint smile was barely visible on his lips. She couldn’t help her mind from wandering about what his own story was to lead him here today.

It was contagious. She couldn’t help but follow in his steps as her smile widened further.

“But wouldn’t you agree? As close to the truth as reality would have it, a story -- with its infinestinal possibilities that extend beyond the scopes of the real world-- should be interesting!” She waved both hands up to exaggerate her point. “If we can’t live out the dreams that we seek in reality, shouldn’t we at least be able to escape to a world of our creation and mold it however we wish? And that world should be at least interesting!”

She was proud of her speech. It was rare that she could verbally string together words and convey herself beyond the medium of pen and paper.

Her listener was watching her with interest and she felt even more pride swell up in the fact that she managed to provide enough entertainment for him to continue smiling.

“That makes a lot of sense,” he contemplated. She noticed the mild distraction in his eyes as he seemed to be speaking to a different matter.

She let out a sigh, picking at the last of her scone.

“My editor told me to write a sequel for him… I don’t want to do that at first… I always like to leave the endings up for interpretation by the readers. Did he get caught? Did he escape? No one knows, and therefore anything could happen.”

She noticed the small shift in his attention. He seemed to be pondering something.

He finally looked up at her after some time, capturing her attention with those hauntingly alluring eyes. Lips parted, his low voice smoothly articulated his next few words.

“Can I ask you to write another story for me?”

She was surprised that her kidnapper-- an intimidating, gigantic man with red and black eyes-- could come up with something of this caliber.

He sat next to her as he told her about each character to write about.

“Formaggio. He has a buzz cut. Short guy.” His large hands almost entirely enveloped the pen she was holding as he drew a -- shockingly good-- sketch of a man with an easy going smirk on his face.

“His name is Formaggio...?” She wondered how he decided to name someone after cheese. He was more creative and less boring than what she had originally given him credit for.

He continued. “This one is Melone.” He drew a man wearing a transparent mask covering his right eye and his tongue deviously sticking out. “He’s… interesting… says ‘Di Molto’ a lot.”

She resisted the urge to laugh when he was trying so hard to draw and explain these characters to her.

“Ghiaccio… short-tempered… has a problem with metaphors and analogies and gets angry when he takes them too literally…”

She listened attentively as he continued to draw and explain the various cast of characters that he wanted her to write about.

There was Pesci, Prosciutto, Gelato, Sorbet, Illuso, Formaggio, Melone, and Ghiaccio. She found the description of them to be very endearing.

“What would you like for them to do?”

There was a pause as he seemed to gather his thoughts.

“I want you to write a story where they find the man in your novel.” He seemed to want a short one-shot story on the capture of her previous protagonist.

“Ahahaha! How could you ask me to kill my other character off like that?” She burst into laughter as he spoke of his request. “Ok, ok! I’ll do it.”

It’s been awhile since she wrote a more light-hearted comedical piece. This was a good change of pace. There were apparently some fantastical elements that he wished to capture as well. Using a power called “a stand”, each character had their own stand which they could utilize to get the job done. She was told in detail how each of the powers worked.

He stared at her intently as she took notes.

As she neared the end of her complex web of story mapping and outlines, she felt a small poke at her shoulder.

“When they’re done with the job, maybe their boss can give them a raise.”

The pen twirled around in her fingers as she chuckled. “They did do a good job-” The tip of the pen met the surface of the paper again as it was noted down. “But what would they do with the extra money?”

The man beside her was silent. Taking a glance at him, she noticed he looked a little abashed as he mumbled, “...maybe they can get their leader a present.”

She laughed at the unexpected answer. “Which one’s the leader? Is it Prosciutto? Ghiaccio?” She was ready to have the team get a solid gold nameplate embossed with ‘Best Leader’.

She looked at him for an answer.

It was interesting to see him get a bit flustered as he avoided her inquiring eyes.

“...Just have them stop complaining and fighting for a week or two after they get the raise…”

She couldn’t suppress her mirth as she grinned widely and giggled to herself-- writing down that the team would celebrate their pay raise, giving their leader his much deserved credit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ END CHP 5 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The man who caused this entire situation to unfold was still on the run.

No one was able to catch him.

After reading the novel and asking the author of the man’s situation once the deed was done, it all made sense.

A day or two after Risotto had asked her to write on the politician’s death, everything played out in the exact manner of the story she wrote.

He was dumbfounded.

It was good foresight on his end to have her stay in the apartment for a little while longer while he confirmed his theories.

He took a deep breath.

The ability to change reality based on writing… It was a formidable power.

It was a power that he should keep to himself as leverage against his enemies down the road-- especially since no one else knew of her ability aside from him.

It was an hour after dawn broke and Risotto knew that she would still be sleeping in from staying awake all night on the story he commissioned from her.

It gave him enough time to do several things.

Upon giving orders to the rest of the team to chase after the man who had killed the capo, Risotto left the base to pick up a few items before proceeding to the apartment.

Passing by the bakery, he picked up a variety of pastries-- specifically asking for blueberry lemon scones. His eyes caught the shining glint of a gold and black metal pen with red crystals in it on display at a store and decided to purchase it on impulse. He asked for it to be wrapped nicely and tucked it into the bottom of his bag where it would be safe and secure for the rest of his trip. Right before he left the shopping district, he picked up a small bag of freshly ground espresso to bring back to brew.

It didn’t take long for him to arrive at the apartment.

Unlocking the door as quietly as he could, the slight creak of the door was unavoidable as he stepped inside.

He set the bags on the dining table before taking a quick peek into the bedroom.

She was asleep in the chair again.

Her face was completely flush against the table with her hand still somehow clutching the pen upright.

Risotto let out a small sigh as he walked over towards her and removed the pen from her grip.

Carefully, he picked her up and placed her on the bed-- pulling a blanket over her as she snoozed through the entire operation.

He walked over to the table and rearranged the papers and tools.

The story seemed finished.

A curiosity and rare excitement filled him as his eyes lingered on the papers that he had rearranged and set nicely on the table.

He shook his head.

He can wait.

Risotto made sure that she was comfortable in the bed before he headed back out to the dining room.

She was out for another two or three hours, and it gave Risotto enough time to run out again and grab some groceries to fill the fridge with.

Since she couldn’t leave the apartment, he asked her what kinds of food she liked so he could at least bring her some sustenance and not leave her to starve to death.

She had told him that she liked to make pasta; it was like making a story since the process is the same but you could make as many dishes as you want by simply changing the ingredients, sauce and pasta shape.

He bought around five different types of pasta.

Arriving back home, he started to begin brewing coffee as he heard her begin to move about in the other room.

He started to put all of the produce away and laid out breakfast on the table for her in anticipation for when she came out.

As he began to put the bags away, he realized that he had left the gift-wrapped pen at the bottom of one of the bags completely forgotten.

He tucked it away in one of his hidden pockets, making a mental note to remember to take it out and give it to her before he left.

She walked into the dining room trying to rub the sleep from her eyes.

“Good morninggg-” she droned as she stumbled towards her chair at the table.

“Good morning,” Risotto greeted back.

“Oh, a scone! A blueberry lemon scone!” She picked up the scone that he had set out on a plate for her and watched her take a bite at it. “M-mhm! My favorite…”

Risotto let himself smile as he walked over with a just-brewed, hot cup of espresso. “Here. To wake you up.”

The cup was eagerly taken with much gratitude and sipped from. A few blinks of her eyes restored her full consciousness.

“Oh, thank you!” she hummed.

She had warmed up to him considerably in the past couple of days. Given how he had abducted her from the normalcy of her life, wounded her in the process, made her follow through with his requests and refused to let her go home, he was surprised with her more friendly and easy-going behavior.

“Oh, the story you wanted is done!” She got up from her chair and rushed back to the bedroom-- emerging only seconds later with the stack of papers that Risotto had cleaned up for her earlier.

He was handed the pages with an eager look of anticipation. She sat down at the table and picked up her coffee cup again; her eyes didn’t leave his as she seemed to sit at the edge of her seat, waiting for his reactions as he started to read the words she wrote for him.

Risotto rarely laughed.

These past few days were interesting as he found himself letting his more scarce emotions show.

Her story made him laugh several times.

The way that she happened to depict each one of his team members impeccably down to their smallest habits or features made him feel as though he had been by their side watching them bicker in the moments before they stumbled into the man they sought to capture.

It wasn’t before long that he had found himself deep into the fantastical world of writing that she had written; his mind let go of his surroundings for the first time as he completely immersed himself following his men through their journey.

There was a slight frustration at the end when his eyes reached the clean print of ‘finish’ at the bottom of the last page.

His eyes narrowed and he let out a sharp breath.

“U-um-”

Risotto didn’t notice the attempt to grab his attention at first as his eyes began to flip back through the story for a second time.

“U-uh, Signore-?” She was fumbling with her words, but Risotto’s attention was solely focused on the print of the pages. It wasn’t until he heard a small squeak and a slightly louder voice call for him that he realized that she was attempting to get his attention.

“Mr. Kidnapper?”

He quirked his eyebrows at the title she had given him as he looked up to see the interesting expression on her face. Risotto couldn’t suppress the coy smile that grew on his.

Was that what she decided to call him?

In all fairness, he never did once tell her his name. And he did indeed kidnap her.

A low chuckle rumbled in his throat before he set the papers down to lock eyes with her.

“Risotto.” He watched as her eyes widened and she tilted her head just the slightest bit. “My name is Risotto.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There were a few times in her life that she was left speechless and without the constant distraction of her mind running amok with how to phrase, describe or speak of certain things that happened around her.

This was one of those times.

Her kidnapper typically would read her story and comment on certain things after he finished reading-- providing her a great joy in how he would relay his appreciation of certain characters, plot choices and decisions she made throughout the work.

Perhaps the singular instance of his feedback on her work, a rare instance in which her reader would tell her their thoughts on the story, made her feel needy to garner his thoughts immediately after he read it.

To her mild horror, he didn’t say anything and started to re-read through her pages again.

She knew that this man didn’t express much emotions, so she took immense joy at the instances in which he would let out a small chuckle or show the faintest smile on his lips.

The chair must have turned into pins and needles as she watched the very evident dissatisfaction and annoyance grow on his face near the end of the last page; he had immediately turned the page over and started to re-read the entire thing again.

“U-um-” She wanted to ask him what was wrong.

Did she write an unsatisfactory ending? Was there something that he didn’t like?

Her anxiety spun uncontrollably as the mere thought of him being dissatisfied made her stomach uncomfortable as she could nearly feel the blueberries and coffee churn in the pit of her abdomen.

“U-uh, Signore?” She tried to get his attention again. She could feel the trembles and shivers of anxiousness manifesting itself in physical form as she failed to get him to respond to her yet again.

He didn’t tell her his name. How was she to call for him.

Without thinking too much, she said the most immediate thing that came to her mind.

“Mr. Kidnapper?”

He finally looked up at her.

Did that actually make him respond to her. A mixture of shock, embarrassment and satisfaction at finally getting him to look up must have made for the world’s most silly face.

The small upturn of his lips into a coy smile and the tilt of his eyebrow in mild amusement obliterated any coherent thought from her mind as her ears were enveloped with the sudden thundering of her heart.

The low chuckle that resonated in the silent room sent radiating shivers down her spine.

To her, it seemed like an eternity before he decided to speak.

“Risotto.”

Risotto? Her eyes widened and her head tilted in mild confusion.

“My name is Risotto,” she heard him speak again.

“R-risotto,” she felt his name annunciate on her tongue.

He smiled at her-- interlacing his fingers in front of him as he leaned in slightly towards her. “Yes?”

Despite her lips moving to mouth the words she wanted to speak, her voice came out unsteady and the only thing that could be heard was a jumble of mumbles and stammers that lack comprehensible composition.

“It was a good story.” He seemed to already know what she wanted to ask. “I thought that there would be more to the end, that’s all.”

Ah, so that was it.

She was still flustered. Her cheeks were still hot as she marinated and stewed her emotions.

Tucked away in a corner of her notebook was a small blurb for the story’s ending. She had left it out of the sheets of the story that she had presented, but wrote it to give her some amount of closure and peace of mind.

Walking back to the bedroom and finding the folded sheet of paper that she had tucked away in the nightstand, she handed it to him shyly.

The change in his expressions were encaptivating as he saw his eyes glimmer with faint amusement when he took the paper from her.

But before he had the chance to open it and read the contents, his phone rang.

She watched as he quickly stood up and left the room to answer it, slightly bothered by the postponement of watching him read and react.

She barely heard his voice in the other room, but it didn’t seem as though he spoke much. He soon came back.

“I have something to attend to, but I’ll be back to check up on you in the evening.”

There was a slight disappointment that befell her as she felt an irksome prickle in her chest that closely resembled annoyance.

“O-oh ok-”

“Do you need anything? I brought you some groceries earlier this morning, but if you want, I can get you whatever else you’d like.”

He had put his phone away and was preparing to depart.

A small portion of her mind wanted to ask him if she was allowed to go home finally, but there was a strange reluctance to form that thought into words.

“N-no, I’m alright. Thank you,” she managed to say instead.

She watched as he made his way towards the door-- an uncomfortable feeling clenched at her chest.

“Ah.” His grip on the door knob slackened as he turned around to face her. “I almost forgot this.”

Reaching into a nearly unnoticeable pocket on his coat, he pulled out a meticulously wrapped parcel and held it out for her.

“I got you this.”

Her eyes widened as she took the gift into her hands with pleasant surprise.

“O-oh! T-Thank you.”

He smiled before turning back around and closing the door shut behind him.

There was almost no time for her to react otherwise.

She stood there for a few moments, simply staring at the door before she was brought back to reality.

A smile found itself onto her face as she clutched the box fondly.

She wondered what he got her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ END CHP 6 ~~~~~~~~~~~

Risotto was surprised to get the call from Ghiaccio telling him that they managed to catch the guy.

He had just read the story detailing their mission just moments prior and was shocked at how quick the execution was.

“AND WE FINALLY GOT THAT FUCKIN’ PAY RAISE-!” he heard Ghiaccio scream to him over the phone. “IT’S ABOUT TIME WE GOT SOME FUCKIN’ RECOGNITION FOR ALL OF THE FUCKIN’ WORK WE DO!”

Risotto had to hold the phone several centimeters away from his ear to avoid going deaf as he continued to listen to Ghiaccio explain the success of them being able to trace down the traitor. The boss, surprised that the team had gone out of their own accord to hunt down the traitor for him, wired a good sum of money straight into the team’s account alongside an email expressing his thanks.

Risotto was sure that good fortune such as this would have never graced them if he had not an external force in play.

“I’ll be there in an hour,” was his response.

He hung up the phone and made his way back into the dining room area where he saw her anxiously looking at him to ascertain the situation.

“I have something to attend to, but I’ll be back to check up on you in the evening.” He avoided looking at her and kept his words brief.

The cold and calculating side of him spoke words of reassurance that he didn’t need to feel anything for tricking her into doing stuff like this for him. She would technically be dead by now if it weren’t for him.

But those words did nothing to console him as a strange guilt rooted itself in his mind.

Her stuttered words imbued with confusion nagged at a conscience that he had thought he lost many years ago.

He found himself with his hand on the door and ready to leave before he knew it.

Right as he began to turn the knob, he could feel the slight press of a box against his leg.

Her present.

“Ah. I forgot this,” he muttered to himself. He let go of the doorknob and pulled the present out from his pocket. “I got you this.”

He watched as her expression morphed into appreciation and gratitude as she took it from him-- happiness evident on her face.

Risotto felt a smile unconsciously manifest onto his face. It was unfortunate that he couldn’t stick around for too much longer.

He opened the front door and left.

He watched as his men cheered and celebrated around the center table.

Risotto had taken out the whisky-- pouring it into the rarely used glass cups that was only taken out for extremely special occasions.

“Let’s make a toast to celebrate our achievements today.”

Glasses were raised as everyone took a swig of the strong alcohol.

“Pesci, Pesci, Pesci, you got to learn how to drink.” “I’m sorry, bro!” Pesci was already queasy when he took the first sip and Prosciutto was already criticizing him for it. “It burns my throat…”

Formaggio laughed as he pat Prosciutto on the shoulder. “Cmon, don’t give Pesci a hard time! We’re supposed to be happy! It’s a celebration!” He was on his second cup already and had gotten twice as loud in his festivities.

Prosciutto sighed as he leaned back against the couch, leaving Pesci to swirl his cup around and watch the amber drink race around the clear glass.

“Fine.” He ran his hand through his blonde hair, careful to not undo and mess up the tight braids that held his hair neatly back. “This is a rare celebration. To think that we were the ones that caught the bastard…”

“Right?” Illuso smirked as he leaned forward to input his fair share of the gossip. “All the other teams that the boss sent couldn’t catch the guy. But we-” he put heavy emphasis on the ‘we’. “We did.”

“OF COURSE WE DID!” Ghiaccio slammed down his glass on the table. “WE’RE BETTER THAN ALL OF THOSE OTHER BASTARDS! WE’RE THE HITMAN TEAM! THE BOSS SHOULD HAVE SENT FIRST!”

“That is our job, after all,” Sorbet mused as he poured Gelato some more whiskey. “I don’t know why he chose to send every other team besides us?”

“He doesn’t trust us, probably,” came Gelato’s begrudging answer. The lighter haired man stared at the whiskey in his glass with distaste. “This turn of events definitely helped us though.”

“Wouldn’t that mean Risotto telling us to go catch the guy was rather risky on his part then?” Melone mused as he reclined back in his seat.

Suddenly all eyes were on him.

Risotto took a sip of the whiskey in his glass and didn’t answer.

He couldn’t tell them that he made things play out in this exact fashion. He had already sent them out to gather information on the man yesterday afternoon before he had even commissioned the story. From having the man successfully evade the other teams that the boss had sent, giving Risotto the ability to gain permission from the boss to send in his team, and having his team flawlessly capture the target leaving the boss completely satisfied with the work done, everything played out perfectly.

He smirked as he pondered over the thoughts.

His team took that for an answer as they all looked at him in awe.

He knew that he had his secret little author to attribute this success to. Risotto would get her something nice later.

Speaking of which, despite thoroughly enjoying the celebration of his team’s success, he wanted to get back to her as soon as possible.

He excused himself from the room and proceeded up to his office to finish up some paperwork before heading off.

He entered the office quietly, noting that there was something on his desk for him.

It was a small, wrapped parcel waiting for him on his desk, and he wondered if one of his men had left it there.

Unwrapping the parcel, he was met with the sight of a mahogany name plate with the words, ‘Best Leader’ embossed on the gold plate.

Risotto let out a perplexed chuckle wondering if this event had any correlation to the writings that had essentially dictated his day thus far.

Pulling the small sheet of paper out from his coat and unfurling it, he looked down at the neat print of the paper tucked in his hands and read:

‘Together, the team put together their funds and before their leader arrived back at base, they placed their present on his desk for him. In the best wrapping job that they could muster, the nameplate that they had picked out for him to commemorate their success. This would be the one of their first steps in attaining the respect that they deserved.’

Risotto smiled as he tucked the paper away and arranged the nameplate to a good spot on his desk.

“You could have had them just shut up for a week,” he mused.

~~~~~~~~ END CHP 7 ~~~~~~~~~~

#Risotto Nero #jjba fanfic

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