#if you were here you would find it morbidly amusing

[jaynovz]

.

[akunoniwa]

Prying

AN: i feel kinda evil bc the ending is sorta abrupt but this shit was getting too long babes... unless?

Synopsis: In which you and Dottore discuss pet names in conversation at first, putting them to good use not too long after...

Pairing: Il Dottore x fem!reader

Warnings: MDNI, Dottore finds your humiliation to be v irresistible..., use of 'master', 'daddy' (once! hear me out lmao), etc., mirror sex

WC: ~5.2k (she's long-winded, sorry, i think...)

You don’t understand the appeal.

As soon as you mentioned off-hand to Dottore that you didn’t understand why some thought it was hot to refer to their partners as ‘daddy’, he wouldn’t let you live it down. Not only did he find this addictingly humorous, but he also found himself curious… Perhaps you just never put it to proper use. Before you mentioned it, he didn’t have any opinions on the matter, let alone knowing it was a matter to begin with. But the fact that you were basically telling him that you would feel so degraded, so violated if you were to actually call someone this… He wanted to know, he wanted to weaponize this somehow, jokingly of course… He thinks.

“It’s just… Like, that’s how you address your father as a young child… Ya know?” You turned your head in the crux of your pillow towards him. You both lay in a leisurely type of bare, simply winding down from the day. Dottore had long set his book down, charmed by this topic.

“Well, wouldn’t it just… I’m not sure, darling… Some people are just so desperate to feel small, but I couldn’t tell you why or when it began. Sounds morbidly incestuous, to a degree.” You scanned his defined profile as he looked at the ceiling in thought, more committed to this investigation than you expected.

“Right? Like, why not ‘master’ or even… I dunno, someone not related to you?” You were waiting for this very reaction from him, a smirk pushing his fine smile lines to be visible.

“You never seem to call me any of those things…” Somehow the smirk dressed itself as a pout before your eyes.

“I– You never asked…? I don’t want to just randomly address you as something that might make you feel… Uncomfortable.” You must’ve forgotten who you were speaking to, a man who never seems to falter, a seasoned masochist. Even still, you stood your ground… In truth, the prospect of calling him anything other than his name simply embarrassed you, but you tried to keep that close to your chest in secret.

“I suppose you’re right.” He chose to respect your reasoning, “What if I asked?”

“Then I guess… If that’s what you like, I would do it.” You spoke matter-of-factly. In addition to the inherent embarrassment, you honestly found it hard to want to call anyone, any of those names, as you don’t usually give in that easily. This was something that only added fuel to his enduring fire, your playful resistance, the process of melting away your pride and dignity… All for him.

“You don’t even use my official title anymore. It’s almost funny, you’re the only one I like hearing my given name from, though usually, it’s only in here that I hear it.”

“Because you asked, you buffoon. You asked me to call you that because you told me you liked it.” You couldn’t keep a hold of your laughter any longer.

“Did I?” He remembers the day he did so, but found too much enjoyment in teasing you as he stroked his chin in faux thought.

“Maybe you should call me ‘master’.” Your giggles were running circles around the room.

“Would you like that?” He turned his head to you, his eye contact haunting you briefly, “Unlike a certain darling, I wouldn’t feel embarrassed to honor your filthy little wishes.”

“I said I would!”

It was his turn to chuckle, his deep voice resounding gently above you like its own duvet, “But you’d be reluctant, as you just informed me. Unfortunately, I find it amusing when you’re out of your comfort zone because I can tell when you’re just being your shy, bratty, self. You’d tell me otherwise.”

“Then we can both be masters.” Your laughter caved like a burst dam, dying at the thought of how ridiculous that’d be.

His face was hysterical, lips pressed so hard they’d lost their color as he tried not to let his laughter free, “I don’t know how that’d work… I don’t think we’d get anything done. Would we both be on our knees or just in a stalemate of power stances?”

“Stop– Stop talking.” The laughter was making your stomach tickle, unable to stop as he continued the hypothetical.

He rolled on his side to face you completely, “If we’re both standing in the power stance, how would one bend the other over their knee? It’s a logistical failure, darling.” His hand snuck over to gather a tear from your reddened face as your giggles died down. Perhaps being a buffoon wasn’t so bad if he got to hear your true laughter emanate from your infectious smile.

“I’d say we fight for the title, but… You’ve told me in various ways how you prefer to be the loser in that situation.”

“Try it,” you suggested, “Just try calling me master once, I wanna know how it feels.” A delicate, mischievous smile still lounged on your face.

An opening unlike any other, he’d overpower you with what you thought would be your pedestal. The sounds of blankets shifting flooded your ears as he moved to straddle over you, his powder blue hair hanging in ornate waves around his face.

“Is this not cheating?” You placed your hands on his blazing chest above you, your eyes lingering on how his arms flexed to hold himself over you.

“Only if you tell me it is… Master.” He didn’t hesitate, his eyes a deep, sappy scarlet, “You make the rules.” He referred to you like this so languidly, so heavily as he awaited what you might do next.

“I suppose I’ll allow it… I don’t feel very masterly when you’ve got me caged like this.” You took a liberty only the one ‘in command’ would, experimentally pinching his raised nipples for a reaction.

His long lashes fluttered as if a moth were shaking off dew. God, he wished you’d never stop, but he didn’t want to say that just yet, “Wouldn’t a master simply… Take control?”

He bent his arms to allow for his upper body to lean into you, his lips, taut once more in his trademark smirk, nearing your left ear, “Or… are you already stepping down?”

He felt your right hand slide down his front, anticipating your touch to collide with his exposed length, unfortunately the only thing he couldn’t conceal. He was easily aroused by you, though he was discovering… Toying with you like this, almost a perfect balance of submission was making his body rage for you. His willingness to even think someone had the higher ground was only because of you, finding that… Maybe he didn’t mind being controlled by you. But what really riled him was the thought of that pretty word leaving your mouth, so exasperated, barely able to think about anything beyond him.

Your hand sunk slowly against his searing, rigid body, not surprised to find he was already hard, his cock pronounced as it hung over you. You’d debated on touching him or not, but something about taking him into your hand was addicting… Just stroking his length, pulling on him deliberately from shaft to tip, as if you had him caught on a leash of your touch.

His voice, no matter the words or sounds that he used it for, was the key to your demise, deep with an alluring timbre. Quickly your mind was reminded, that he is the Second Harbinger… People find this man to be deplorable and menacing, his voice is only heard making barbaric commands or bickering with other deplorable, menacing Harbingers. All for good, supported, reason. But here, on top of his usual stony tone, grew flowers through the cracks of his demeanor, pollinated as you stroked him. His lips were so close… His shameless, sodden groans fall right into your ear. He was effortlessly always in control, knowing how susceptible you are to him.

“Don’t you want to tell me what to do, Master?” You wanted to punch him as he whined this into you, though not without defiance, his tongue shocking the helix of your ear, a trail of ice left behind. He wouldn’t dare allow himself to miss how your breath lurched in your throat.

You responded with a harsh enough pull on his cock to only remove your hand altogether, “You’re too good at this…” Not that you could mind too much. You pushed his chest in a way to urge him off of you, to which he easily obliged as you both switched places. His length pressed against his lower stomach as you sat over him to grind your pooled wetness along the underside.

“How long do you want to play pretend, darling?” You felt his hips gyrate up into you ever so slightly, “You clearly cannot get out of your mind, too busy wishing I was taking over it.”

You thought for a moment, wondering how you could catch him off guard… How you could make him lose himself, even for just a second. Your uncertainty was making it difficult, “How about…” You hesitantly removed yourself from him to retrieve a toy from your bedside drawer, laughing inwardly, almost nervously at his impending reaction.

He wouldn’t mind what you brought, his intrigue piqued as you revealed your futile efforts to best him in his own game. Your choosing a dildo could mean a few things in this situation… Did you want to fuck him? Was he to watch as you fucked yourself? He waited with bated breath, already missing your heat against him.

You returned to your position, a buzz of pleasure shooting through both of you at the continued contact. He’d do anything at this point, just wanting to see how far you’d go so he could obliterate you equally and more afterward.

After briefly taking it into your mouth, you dragged the wet tip along the center of his front, all the way up to his chin, “Would you suck cock for your master?”

A foreign feeling, not unlike pleasure, barrelled through him as he saw the look he was waiting for in your eyes, “You’re asking me?” Chills trickled through his body, all the way up through his nose as a pleased sigh.

“Be good for me… All you have to do is open your mouth…” You strung him along, though he was too turned on to care, parting his lips to allow you to slowly push into his mouth. He could feel your legs tensing on either side of him, your clit throbbing against his cock as he did so… This was so good.

“I wanna see your eyes.” You weren’t so much dominating him but rather he willingly entertained you by playing along, this is what he told himself anyway. Looking into your soul as his lips clung to the rubber so sweetly, his dextrous tongue working with more enthusiasm than you expected… You didn’t think he’d look so pretty doing this.

Once his spit generously coated the dildo, you dragged it from his mouth, depriving his twitching length of your sopping pussy as you sat between his opened legs. Opening your own, wide enough that he could see the lustrous stage you’d set. You easily slid the dildo, gleaming with his saliva, into your beckoning cunt as he was made to watch.

Well played, he thought… You looked so beautiful as your cunt clung to the dildo that was just in his mouth, your contorted face making it evident that you simply wanted to be filled… Your pace was slow with purpose as you imagined him fucking you like this… He wanted so badly to be inside you, to hear your abashed, small, voice call him dirty things. You swore you saw his cock jolt with impatience. 

His right hand lunged unhurriedly towards his sex, but you swatted it away, “You’re only allowed to watch.”

His lovely voice shaped as a threatening laugh met your ears. Threatening as in he’d let your antics wrack up to be used against you at the right time. His eyes were forced to shade themselves as he looked down over his toned torso, watching you intently. The only way you would be able to dominate him would be by his own hand… or cock. You had so many opportunities to learn from his example, though your mind was probably checked out at that point.

His movements to resist your words ceased, watching as you increased the pace of your self-assault, glorious sounds of your wetness snapping into his ears. His lower lip tucked between his teeth, your left hand playing mindlessly at the soft skin of his upper thigh… He couldn’t help but feel the fault lines of his heart threaten to burst at the lovely sight before him. It felt like his gaze alone was propelling your hand, the tension was caustic and heavy.

You brought yourself to the edge of your release, movements shaky as you caged over him like he’d done to you before. You only had to bring the toy to his lips for him to gladly collect your sweet, his moans, deeper than the Chasm, almost infusing with it as he did. He loved how your eyes branded him as you watched… Maybe you were learning something after all… How to adeptly destroy him, one glance at a time.

Setting the dildo aside, at this point, you just wanted to kiss him. His lips were glossed with a brew of spit and cum, but that only made it more enticing. Like leaves brushing against each other in a gentle breeze, your lips found his. His whole body felt particularly sensitive, your nips at his lips almost a tickle as you teased him. That is, until he captured your face between his hands, lifting his head to press up into you. It felt like the kiss had been placed into a kiln, searing and intense as he was exposing how much he just needed to have you. His heart attached to yours like jumper cables, reinventing what yearning felt like as his tongue swam against yours, disregarding aesthetics and grace.

You both were only left more of a mess than before. As you parted, briefly a salty thread of combined spit, like a spider web, hung between your lips before snapping silently.

His hands pressed down along your curves as if shaping clay, pausing at your waist. Your arms were growing tired, and you couldn’t keep your mind off the gravitational pull of your throbbing cunt, knowing how his cock merely sat in wait. You wanted to lay on his chest… For some reason, his grin only grew.

“Was it worth it? Do you feel transformed, master?” He batted at you with his words like a cat playing with its prey, knowing it was his turn, whether you decided that or not.

“You did well, darling.” You commented in a voice that mocked his own, causing you both to laugh in unison for the second time. Your head dropped in a forfeit as he squeezed your sides.

“Making fun of me, now… I see.” He clicked his tongue, returning to the program that he would see through to the end, “Go stand by the stool in front of the mirror.” He ordered as his hands dropped in time with a sensation of excitement in your stomach, starting with his interpretation of this act.

You obeyed, the kinetic flow of wanting to please leading you to where he directed. You were made to observe your naked body, though distracted when he approached from behind and sat beside you on the stool, “I want you to lay over me, your pretty ass perked for me.”

He could see a familiar gleam in your eyes that sent him universal, knowing you were following his every word like footsteps in snow. Bridged over his legs, his right hand found your plump ass as if it were a magnet, caressing your supple skin. You knew what his intentions were, though, bracing for how and when he’d deliver his first blow.

“Do you truly think, darling… That you’d be able to overpower me without me letting you?”

Whatever your answer was, he wanted to feel the recoil regardless, “You’d just tell me your submission was ‘playing along’ even if I did.”

His hand lifted but a few inches to collide with your ass cheek, gathering your flesh in his hand like a duvet, “It’s against your nature...”

You reeled in how he assumed his harsh demeanor so effortlessly, “Do you think the other Harbingers know you’d clearly bow to my will under your guise of controlling the uncontrollable?”

This clap to your ass felt more personal, making you wince as a squeak snuck out of your throat, “I don’t give a single fuck about those insolent boors. I’d not admit your curiosity in them, though you know I’ll just hit you harder.” Your eyes locked on his own in the mirror as he had well already caught onto your antics.

“So it goes… Perhaps I do wonder about them.” You pushed the topic over the cliff, the punishment he’d give could only really be a reward.

He tried to not allow his heart to be swayed by your taunts, “You think they aren’t familiar with your pathetic moans coming from my office?”

“If they’re anything like you, that’d only intrigue them further, I would think…”

Smack.

This time you gave him a moan of rejoice, growing addicted to the sting, his hand falling over the crest of your ass to explore your cunt. Your wetness overflowed to coat your clit as it threatened to drip, loving his aggression.

“Hmm… I’ve barely grazed your desperate cunt until now, and it seems you’re trying to insinuate something foolish. Then tell me, my sweet, insatiable, darling, what or who is it that you want?” His middle and ring fingers pressed into your soaked, petal-like lips, coaxing you to answer. 

You were debating… Should you weaponize another man’s name to provoke him… It feels like foul play, as you really had eyes for no other madman but himself, he knows this well. But what if…

“You’re always hanging around that opulent-looking one with glasses… Pantalone, was it?” You chose to improvise listlessly with war anyway.

He gritted his teeth, eyes diverting away from you for the first time. He knew you were just trying to play the cards you had, God, he knew. But something inside could not prevent the inherent, possessive tendencies from making some kind of appearance. Of all the Harbingers, of course you’d choose Pantalone as your mode of combat. He’s such a duplicitous excuse of a man.

His two fingers plunged into your hole, he watched as the muscles in your back tensed, feeling your front wriggle over his legs, “I see how he looks at you, darling. He is so acquainted with wealth, he’s used to having everything available to him… He sees you with me and knows his ability to be conscious of his own existence will be compromised if he even thinks about touching you.”

His hand retracted to instead give your weeping clit a generous slap, the wetness enhancing the sound, then sinking back into you. His lithe fingers felt so dizzying as they paced against your spongy walls, how could you think of anything but that?

“Really, I brought it up because the thought of them seeing you like this turned me on, not because I want to fuck them.”

“Invariably, if they somehow saw me like this, you’d be the only logical cause… Look in the mirror, look at yourself.” His free hand slid under your face to push your cheek in the mirror’s direction, “Who are you bent over so pitifully for right now? It almost sounds as if you’d like an audience…” He noted where your eyes were as you followed his roaming hand at your backside, “Tell me.” He demanded, swatting your ass once more. He couldn’t chain back the grin on his face, waiting to see which title you’d attempt to christen him with.

You weren’t about to give in to what he wanted most, your pure humiliation…, so you opted to at least repay him equally, “You, Zandik… Master.”

“Really…” His fingers returned to your sopping cunt, more so as a reminder rather than a means of pleasure, “I think you know what I want to hear… I’ll give you another chance.”

Your face cringed slightly, though that wasn’t enough to disguise the way your hole clenched around his stilled fingers at the thought, “Fuck…”

He hunched down to ensure his words were clear, “You brought this up… It was eating away at your mind so badly that you thought it was safe to bring it up to me? It’s at the tip of your little tongue, darling… Your face is such a tender shade of red…” His hand pumped slowly into you, as if to lure it out of you with his feigned compassion, “Tell me, pretty baby, whose fingers are inside you right now.”

Your eyes looked to the supposed heavens for a moment, “I hate you.”

He scoffed sharply, “That sounds more in character… You’d be such a contemptuous little brat for me…” He gathered your hair haphazardly, pulling your head upwards, somehow amplifying his ministrations, “Go on, who’s got you bent at his will.” His tone was low though infected with his shit-eating grin.

“Fine– You… Daddy.” Your voice had almost entirely checked out. You knew he wouldn’t let you leave this position until you did so.

He laughed a riot right into your ear, though hissed like the snake he is afterward at the sheer pleasure of winning, maintaining his pace, “You look as if you could hurl, darling, but I don’t think I’ve felt your cute cunt clench around me quite so hard… You’re dripping down my fingers, I ought to make you clean this mess up.”

You whined as he increased his pace, egging you on, “That’s right… So fucking tight…”

In actuality, he didn’t care much for the pet name but rather just your adorable embarrassment, so he decided he wasn’t convinced, “Why not embrace it a little more…” Getting you close to the edge, retreating his hand only to prod at your lips, “Why not taste your humiliation, since you hate calling me ‘daddy’ so much? Hmm?”

You were shivering as the denied orgasm left you high, though not so much dry, taking his slender fingers into your mouth. Your tongue weaved between them so as to clean them completely, his eyes sharp, jabbing into your face as he watched. That feeling again, as if an hourglass had been flipped, all the blood rushed to his core as he fucked your mouth with his hand. When he was satisfied with your work, he slowly dragged his soaked fingers along your back to trace back down. You shook at the chilling trail it left.

“Hmm,” There was an arrogant triumph to his voiced sigh, “So sensitive, too… It drives me crazy, darling.” He moved to grip your waist, urging you off of him, “I wonder… Would you suck cock for your master?” His words wagged their fingers in your ears as he adjusted you to sit on your heels before him.

“And you say I talk shit?” You ran your hands flush up his parted thighs, observing how cute his folded tummy looked as he sat, watching you. His faint happy trail, the glazed plains of his pale chest in contrast to his florid, angular face. For a moment, he said not a word, realizing how desperately he required your touch, in any capacity. His cock leaned heavily to the side, as if in its last attempt of an exhausted taunt for your lips. Your hands closed in on him, his eyes fluttering as they gently pulled at his flushed length.

“I love it when you moan for me…” You mentioned as an aside before taking his swollen tip between your velveteen lips. His head fell back, and a groan, like a smoke ring, hovered to the ceiling.

His fingertips pushed their way through your hair, though with no other intent but seemingly to distract himself from losing himself too soon. He played with your hair almost domestically, petting you along as you took as much of his throbbing cock as you could. You could tell he so badly wanted to buck into your mouth, your hands gripping him at the pivot of his thighs and hips as he writhed… You wished he’d let you in on this kind of raw desperation more often, as this version of him played in your mind so sweetly.

“Such a good girl for me, fuck.” He’d never called you that before, but the sensation it conveyed in your brain felt as if your soul had fallen out of the window of your body. He had you where you couldn’t refute it, making you swallow that, too, without resistance, “I knew you’d like that…” He laughed wickedly despite his exasperated state, and it felt so good, “My good girl…” He almost sang it down to you the second time, making your chest waver, coasting your hands upwards against his tense torso. He untangled his hands from your hair, easily blanketing yours against his waist, effectively lulled by the lush of your touch.

His fingertips dragged down the stretch of your arms, over the horizon of your shoulders to round back to your face, causing you to pause in wait. Your eyes lazily gravitated up to his own, his face was tipped as he peered over his nose in his lecherous way, “Come here, darling, where you belong…”

Upon your standing, he twisted you around between his hands to face away from him, then pulled down at your hips to finally lower your pliant, sobbing cunt onto him. The friction of his firm chest against your back alone was tantalizing enough, his hot breath steaming your skin from behind making your body slack in his grasp. A hand left your side, gripping his length to align himself. The initial pleasure of his tip making contact with the magma that was your arousal against him was suffocating, your eyes heavy with refined lust, though you couldn’t tear them away. He lowered you onto his cock at a meticulous speed, so dreadfully slow, you swear you could feel his pulse. His groan of contagious desire shot through your spine as you watched him disappear inside you as he left you to sit completely full of him for his own amusement.

“Look at you, pretty darling, how you like to watch yourself take my cock so beautifully.” His wet lips played on your shoulder blade to leaf between his words, “How I wish this very image were branded into my mind…” Moving towards the crook of your neck, your head inadvertently swayed to the side to allow access, his hands forcing your hips to grind in his lap. His teeth brushed over the sensitive base of your neck, your shoulders raising as he teased your skin. You felt as if you were losing your grip on a certain aspect of consciousness, the way his thick length stirred inside you, brushing and shocking every nerve.

“Keep moving just like that…” He instructed in a whisper as his hands left to tend to your breasts, adding yet another layer of dizziness as he pinched and kneaded. He loved the way the soft skin of your ass brushed against his inner thighs, your cunt tied and bowed around his shaft so perfectly. He’d pause at your neck here and there to peek at your face, a delirious focus on maintaining your movements… Your precious sounds that now flowed shamelessly from your lips, he truly could never get enough of you.

You tried to lift yourself, needing to be properly rearranged from the inside out, but he halted your attempt, unraveling a whine, “I know, I know… My good girl has been working so hard…” His eyes fixated on how your slick literally overflowed, trickling down to his balls in a lewd stream. How you squeezed around him upon that name… It was too much for him to bear, “You really do like that, huh darling?”

“Mmhm…,” is all you could manage, your thighs twitching impatiently, an indescribable feeling winding up your body, “God, please just let me move.”

“I didn’t even have to ask you to beg, you sorry little thing.” He guided you to lift, your vision flickering at the sheer strength of the awaited friction, “Tell me more… How much do you want me to fucking destroy you?”

You gave in to his game, unable to resist, “So badly, Zandik, please.”

Finally, your hole just barely reached the precipice of his raging cock, holding you there, “I could make you cum just like this, giving you only what you barely need as you wished I’d fuck you right– Please what?”

“Fuck… Please, please fuck me, I need your cock… Please.” You squirmed as your voice was hoarse and almost unfamiliar to even yourself as you pleaded.

He slammed you down onto him easily, given how soaked you were, hardly able to wait himself, “When you’re this wet, I would think my cock is the only thing you need.” He talked both you and himself into oblivion, sticky slick between both his and your thighs accentuating the frantic collision of your bodies. His fingers were soldered to your waist, gripping you as he moved your body at his pace, watching as your breasts flailed rhythmically in his thrusts’ wake. He wished there was a way to consume the buttery noises you were making on top of him as his own bled into them.

You adored how his lips hung open, how his brows tensed upward as he exhibited both complete focus and abandonment, his mind devoted only to the way he fucked you in this moment. You found him infuriatingly handsome as it is, but to see him so breathless, his vast vocabulary reduced to exclusively vile taunts, he was utterly ethereal like this.

His lips curled up as you eyed him so intensely, forcing you off of him, the sudden vacancy in your cunt making you want to scream. He stood behind you, feeling up your front as he did so, “I can’t describe the feeling I get when you look at me like that, darling…” He turned you to face him, hastily stealing your lips for a kiss that dug into your chest like his nails did your back as he searched your skin hungrily. 

Upon stopping, he moved to hold your chin in place, your face displayed in his hand like a gemstone gleaming in the prongs of a ring. His swollen lips were still close, his crimson eyes had a glow to them, almost, cascading a dense shadow of need over your features, “However I may call you, you will most importantly, always, be mine. …And I hope… I will always be yours, darling.”

[ty-bayonet-betteridge]

trick or treat! :3

as far as i can tell we don't share fandoms. i dont rememebr when we became mutuals. i mean ur a FIXTURE in my notes now i cant imagine tumblr without you but. i dont know what to do in this situation.

uhhh okay. i just glanced through my drafts and heres something nonfandom i wrote while i was on an airplane to visit family in Oregon and then never posted anywhere.

My dearest friend,

How has Oregon been treating you? I suppose the question is extraneous, for as I pen these words I am currently thirty eight thousand feet above the ground, and I suspect I will reach you well before this letter does, though I hope, regardless, that it finds you well. I write to you from the cabin of an airfaring vessel, maintained by the American Airlines shipping company. The crew of this vessel is myself, the captain, his first mate, and two attendants, accompanied by some thirty-odd passengers, though there is room for dozens more. We are en route to Dallas, for the line to meet you in your home is at best indirect and, perhaps more accurately, greatly circuitous. Still, the inconvenience is nothing compared to the pain of being without you, and thus I undertake the journey with hope in my heart. I heard that you have little experience with travel aboard such vessels, and as such I thought you may find it interesting to hear of some of the things my eyes and ears have captured during my journey.

Where to begin? I think you would garner some amusement from meeting the attendant for our section of the vessel. I admit his name escapes me at present, though I have, against my will, learned a good many other details about the man. He is fifty-one years of age, and this is but his sixth day with the company, and the first outside his homeland of Texas. It is also the greatest altitude that a flight of his has achieved, and he is brimming with excitement, enough so that he has disregarded some of the company's regulations for the crew's safety. He also fears for his health, for the physicians describe his solid build as "morbidly obese," and many of the men of his family perished of a heart condition before they reached their sixtieth year. There is still some hope within him, however, as his mother is ninety-seven and, according to him, in fine fettle.

My fellow passengers are an odd lot. Despite the infection that, at present, continues to plague us, I appear to be the only one on board taking the minimum precautions to limit the spread of disease, and I worry that illness will befall us upon reaching port. Still, they have their charms, particularly the gentleman seated beside me; though he did not offer me his name, we have made pleasant conversation on the state of our travels. I told him of my plans to see your side of the nation, and he told me he was on much the same sort of mission, for he has family in California he has not seen in some years. He is an amusing travel companion and I have no regrets for having spoken to him, though from the occasional off-color remark I suspect that we would come into conflict should our friendship continue.

The most striking feature of the journey, of course, is the views of the landscape from above. Even from a great distance it is possible to see with some detail, and I happily observed my old hometown for some minutes as we ascended. It is striking the perspective it gives you; the lakes and grounds are neatly divided, not into perfect squares but into shapes still regular enough to tell that they were sculpted not by the Lord's hand but by ordinary men. The only feature of the landscape that retained its irregularity was the mighty Ohio, which snakes across the Earth uncaring, indifferent to our plans for the world. Of course, a good deal of the land was set aside for farming, and thus presented the image of a patchwork quilt when viewed from sufficient height.

The trip's greatest splendor has become apparent now that we have reached our cruising altitude, however, for now we cut our way through the clouds. While the gray and windy conditions of our travel has created some unfortunate rockiness to the journey - severe enough that I have not been able to exit my seat for the duration - it does create the illusion of total blankness outside our window, a pure white void, as if the world were an artist's canvas, and all he chose to draw was the wing of one plane. I cannot express how jarring this effect was to witness firsthand; the eye accustoms itself to seeing such solid emptiness in paintings and pictures, but the disbelief upon seeing it with one's own eye is difficult to describe.

There were areas in which we reached a delta between the clouds, and from here I gained a newfound appreciation for the magnitude of the skies. As I gazed down to the earth, I saw a cloud so far below us that to fall onto it, were it solid, would still shatter every bone in the body as if falling from a large cliff face. This cloud itself was suspended an impossible distance above another cloud, dipping suddenly downward, a sheer drop to rival the greatest canyons; and at least twice again that distance below the clouds was the Earth itself. When I looked up, there were at least that many clouds above us as well; there were, in fact, enough that I could not see the end of them, and for all I know they had no end. How I marvel at the men who brought the human race into the skies that we might explore such vast, untouched brilliance for ourselves!

There are some five hours remaining before I will arrive in Oregon with you, but I treasure the thought that I will soon be at your side. Until then, I will hold you in my thoughts. Give my best to dear Delilah as well.

Until next time, my dear friend.

[pagetreader]

"Although I agree, I must confess I wish it wasn't so. The only reason I don't seek a wife is because I may not live to see another tomorrow...as morbidly morose as that sounds."

"It's not morbid to be a realist," she answered, "A prepared man is a man better off than the one who lives carelessly. That's what my father used to say anyway."

"I'm afraid you won't find excitement here with me, madam. My own friends call me dull and bookish."

"To me, dull and bookish can mean observant and clever, both intriguing traits in my opinion. Perhaps your friends could stand to learn a thing or two from you."

Appraising him once over, she offered a playful little wink, her amused smile still dimpling her cheeks.

To hear he was guilty of such waste was a rather surprising thing, especially considering the reports of Continental Soldiers having stolen from loyalist homes last winter. She wondered if he knew how cruel his fellow soldiers had been to those who couldn't defend themselves against armed rebels disrupting the peace.

Smile, Alice. Keep smiling.

"I know you must think me a hypocrite... As an officer, I'm well-fed and given proper boots and clothing. I want for nothing."

"I think you human, sir. We as a race have been inclined to want what we don't have since creation. It is for that very reason we find ourselves here."

Whether she meant 'here' as in the state of the world as a whole, or the war itself, she hadn't made clear. She didn't need to. To her, they were rather interchangeable at the moment.

"See? I told you I'm bound to bring disappointment. In barely no time at all, I've already ruined the atmosphere with my gloomy concerns."

"On the contrary, Ben, I find your forthright outlook to be much more stimulating than the redundant pleasantries that often accompany such banquets."

Make him feel good about himself. Give him reason to seek your company.

"Would you care to dance?"

Atta boy.

Taking his hand, her eyes were alight with enchantment as she took his hand.

"I would love to."

"Unattached, but who has the time for such pursuits in the midst of history being made, hm?"

Benjamin arched a brow, though he offered an uncertain smile. "Although I agree, I must confess I wish it wasn't so," he replied. "The only reason I don't seek a wife is because I may not live to see another tomorrow...as morbidly morose as that sounds."

"Ben. If that's the case, then please, I insist you return the informality and call me Alice."

Oddly, he hadn't expected her to reciprocate. A brief stab of alarm swelled between his ribs -- had he misstepped? -- and embarrassed, he offered a sheepish smile. "If you insist, madam."

"I'm drawn to what I think will excite me, Friday-faced chub or otherwise."

She was...decidedly forward, for lack of a better word, and with a self-conscious laugh, Benjamin replied, "I'm afraid you won't find excitement here with me, madam. My own friends call me dull and bookish."

"You're right. It is a waste, but the soldiers need something to keep their spirits up. If you'll indulge me, what would you suggest be done in lieu of this extravagance?"

Guilt pooled into his chest, and shoulders hunching, he murmured, "You're right, of course -- it is necessary to keep everyone's spirits up -- but whenever I see others in town starving, it makes me feel oily, monstrous to be part of such decadence. Uplifting or no, it still doesn't change the fact others are destitute and living in ruin. And as men who're fighting for this very country, we should not elevate ourselves."

Shoulders hunching, Benjamin added, "I know you must think me a hypocrite... As an officer, I'm well-fed and given proper boots and clothing. I want for nothing." And yet it wasn't true. He did want, but what his soul yearned for was something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

Breathing a soft laugh, he muttered, "See? I told you I'm bound to bring disappointment. In barely no time at all, I've already ruined the atmosphere with my gloomy concerns." He turned and offered her his hand. "Would you care to dance?"

[why-am-i-here-someone-save-me]

Caged (Part 5)

TWs: Slight amnesia, edgy teen Zhongli, Morax literally just got appointed archon and has no idea what he’s in for(rip), [Name] is very confused, Morax being lowkey kinda threatening

How long had you stared unseeingly at the walls of this cavern now? Days? Weeks? Months? Years? You didn’t know anymore.

All you knew was how much you wanted it to end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t uncommon for you to collapse of fatigue within you lovely little ‘cage’. You despised those moments. When you would have them, you’d always wind up in the same accursed room, the same yellow and gold fineries, and the same you lying on the bed. You would try to leave most of the times you found yourself here, but were never able to. The doors always remained unmoving. So you chose to simply stay as far away from the bed as was possible in the room. It was surprisingly easy due to the size of the area, but it didn’t make you much happier. A cage was still a cage, regardless of its size or grandure.

Maybe a part of you noticed; maybe you ignored it all together, but in the future you would think back to these days and wonder how you failed to notice that the glowing mark atop your hand had disappeared. You would wonder how you hadn’t even noticed when the same marking appeared once again, this time on your inner wrist. You would wonder, but deep down you already knew the answer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was for this repetitive cycle of misery, that when you woke up one time in particular, you didn’t immediately notice anything different. When it hits you your eyes widen a bit in surprise. You were on the bed.

You woke up on the bed.

You glance at yourself and are met with the sight of a fine white robe, a robe that you were rather familiar with. Quickly your mind begins racing, trying to figure out what it’s seeing, to identify what happened. The cogs in your mind spin rapidly, only to be brought to a jarring stop.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Amber.

You were well acquainted with the color amber at this point. It had been the same color that kept your so very trapped in that cavern. It had been the same color that the light had been as it seared your hand. It had been the same color as the marking upon your inner wrist.

It was the same color as the eyes that were staring back into your own.

The man before you wears a set of robes black and white with familiar amber color accents, a hood obscuring a bit of his face from you. You would, many months later, find it morbidly amusing how you hadn’t noticed the patterns on his robes so closely resembled the ones of the pillars that kept you trapped for so long.

You suppress a shudder at the heaviness of the presence that the man gives off.

Was this even a man? He felt ever so slightly off, as if he were not quite what he appeared to be. The tiny voice in the back of your mind screamed out that something about him was wrong.

“Good to see you awake again. No problems I presume?”

You shake your head a small bit. The man is familiar, incredibly so, yet you can’t quite place the memory of who he is, even where or when you met him. It’s incredibly frustrating, because you know that you should know him, but the name simply continues to elude you. There’s a feeling in the pit of your stomach that you can’t shake; a feeling of just desperately wanting out. Despite that, you know it would be pointless to try to run. You have no idea what is outside the doors to this room, and you also have a sneaking suspicion that your fellow occupant isn’t going to be too keen on helping you out with the matter. You space out slightly as you try to remember whatever you can. It’s frightening, how much of your memory seems to be of the cavern and this very room. You know that you had more things happen in your life, yet the knowledge of what they are is foggy and distant.

Your stomach twists painfully as you realize that most of your memory is too hazy to recall. The only thing that remains clear is of your ‘imprisonment’ and the feeling of longing.

“You look downcast. Is something troubling you?”

You know you shouldn’t answer this man. Something deep within you screams at you to not trust him. But your voice surprises you when it answers without your input.

“I… I feel as though I know you. But I can’t remember where I know you from… I can’t remember where I came from.”

“Amnesia? I see… Well, perhaps it best not to worry yourself over it. Fretting about the matter will not make any difference.”

You hate how his words make sense. Absolutely despise it. You want to protest, but the words die in your throat.

“Although, I can provide you with insight as to one of your grievances. You said I am familiar, yes? That would be because you and I share a contract.”

A part of you swears you see his eyes glow at the statement.

“I am Morax, the god of contracts. However, as of recently, I have been given a handful of new titles. Rex Lapis, the Lord of Geo, Liyue’s Archon, and a few others. To be quite frank, I do not particularly care for them, but I suppose I have formalities to humor. I admit, there is something I’d like to know.”

Your blood runs cold at his next words.

“Do you remember our contract, [Name]?”

Taglist(Tags are open!): @nicebonescomrade @numwoon44 @bamboowritess @nookiesposts

[smxmuffinpeddling]

The first time Benja officially met the infamous Princess Namaari (infamous through his daughter’s repeated grumblings about said princess of Fang), she placed a blade in front of him with her head bowed. Her face is somber and her strong shoulders weighed down by an invisible force.

Chief Benja had sensed this sort of presence before from old warriors or generals that have overseen countless battles. More recently he has caught this presence on his daughter in moments where she thinks he isn’t observing the woman she has become. It made him sad to see these haunting expressions on people so young. The princess of Fang appeared to be burdening herself with more ghosts than most.

“And what would you have me do with this, Princess Namaari,” Benja asked in his most patient tone as he eyed the blade placed on the ground before him. He had a sneaking suspicion based on rumors and Raya’s own stilted recaps of what transpired before and after he was turned to stone. There was a lot to process, but Benja could only make judgments based on what he could see before him.

“As the Chief of Heart, you have the power to punish war criminals,” Namaari responded, eyes still on the ground. Chief Benja sighed from deep within his bones and set aside the tea he brought to share when the princess requested a private meeting with him. She continued, “The talks of peace would go much smoother if the people of Heart received justice for the wrongdoings committed against them by Fang. It would mean the most coming from you.”

“And you think the best way to do this is to offer yourself up for persecution?”

“Healing can't begin if the other tribes feel Fang hasn't paid the price," Namaari reasoned, almost casually. As if she wasn’t offering her young life to him on a platter. "If it helps the people of Fang… of Kumandra,” Namaari corrected herself, resigned to the fate she envisioned for herself. “Then yes.”

“Does Raya know you are here?” Benja inquired out of curiosity. Namaari’s gaze snapped to his for the first time. They held gazes for a moment, guilt creeping up in Namaari’s expression as she looked away.

“No, she doesn’t.”

Chief Benja hummed to himself, stroking his beard in thought. "What you say is not without merit." He busied his hands by setting out the cups for tea. It would be a waste to let it grow cold after all. "I admit, I have been approached by some of my people regarding this very topic.”

Namaari nodded, unsurprised. “Would you prefer to do it publicly then?” Her shoulders seemed to slump even more at the thought.

Benja couldn’t help chuckling morbidly as he poured tea into two cups. “Now you’re just laying it on thick.”

Her brows knit together and her mouth twisted, ignoring the cup he offered her. “I’m serious about this, Chief Benja.”

He responded with a look conveying that he was taking her gravely seriously. “Drink. I made it myself.”

The princess seemed to notice the offering for the first time and accepted it hesitantly. He politely took a sip first and she followed. He allowed his Fang guest to breathe for a moment. “What do you think?”

“I think I should pay for the hurt I’ve caused,” Namaari was quick to answer.

“About the tea, Princess Namaari,” he corrected with a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Oh.” If the princess deflated anymore in front of him, she’ll blow off on the breeze before their meeting concluded. “It’s excellent.”

The smile on his face grew warmer. “Glad to hear it.” They continued to sip until he poured them a second cup.

“Raya told me that you came together to save Kumandra.”

“I did not make it easy for her,” Namaari said, the tea turning bitter on her tongue.

"You were only a child."

"Not the second time," Namaari confessed with a pained expression. The tightness of her knuckles threatened to shatter the cup in her grasp.

He reached for the sword and she straightened at the gesture. The sword matched the one on her other hip. Beautifully balanced, and a lot lighter than what he was accustomed to, he held it respectfully in both of his palms.

“To hate and blame is the easy path. The hardest thing is change and forgiveness.” Namaari’s eyes widened in surprise when he handed the sword back to her. She took it instinctively, a frown pulling the corners of her mouth down.

“Princess Namaari, the punishment you seek will not be carried out by me.”

“I don’t understand,” Namaari protested.

“You know what I see when I look at you?” Benja’s gentle expression crinkled his eyes. The look on her face made it clear she expected insults and then some. “Someone who understands better than most the consequences of their actions. Of how important it is to our people that we come together or we’d fall apart. When I look at you I see hope.”

“Hope?” Namaari tilted her head as if the concept eluded her.

“Hope that the future of Kumandra will be safe in the hands of someone who changed, and grew. Kumandra was a dream of mine, one I realized might have been a naive one that night,” he admitted. “The real work comes now, and we need examples like you to inspire hope in others and lead.”

Namaari opened her mouth to say something but she merely looked down into her reflection on the sword instead, eyes growing wetter. He could see her cheek jump from her gritting teeth and he reached out to lightly grasp her shoulder.

“That is what dragons do,” he made sure to look into her eyes reassuringly. “They inspire light in humans to be better, and in turn, that light spreads to others. I will not extinguish the light growing in you, Princess.”

At that moment, the Fang warrior simply looked like a little girl again, barely holding in her overwhelming emotions. “But how will I atone for my mistakes?” Namaari whispered, lost.

Benja squeezed her burdened shoulder before leaning back, finding his tea grew cold. “My daughter has already passed judgment on you, and I trust her.” His pleasant smile turned into a sly grin. “And something tells me she would not be too happy if she found out you came to me for your punishment.”

At that, Princess Namaari finally made a sound of amusement and her gaze grew a little warmer at the thought. “I suspect not.” The sword was fastened back to her hip and her shoulders did not look as heavy as they did when she approached him. Hands forming a circle, she bowed towards the Chief of Heart and muttered a shy thanks.

The second time Chief Benja met Princess Namaari, her hand rested on her blade’s hilt as they stared each other down.

“I think you have some explaining to do, Princess Namaari.” His grin was sharp, particularly enjoying this. She did not look as amused as he did.

“I’m sorry, Chief Benja,” Namaari’s grip grew white-knuckled but her resolve flashed in her eyes. “But... I’m in love with your daughter,” she said it like it was her greatest sin to date. A sin she looked ready to die for.

Earlier that day as Benja was taking a stroll through Heart’s gardens in a rare moment to himself, he stumbled across quite the sight. He spotted his daughter in an intimate embrace with the princess of Fang. He was surprised but managed to not make a noise, slowly backing up to allow them privacy. However, before he could slip away, he locked eyes with Namaari over Raya’s shoulder. He might’ve laughed at the size her eyes grew in panic, but he was already gone. He felt glad that his daughter was letting others into her heart, even as he tried to push the image from his mind.

The princess evidently did not forget, charging up towards his sanctum with determined steps.

“I know you’ll want my head for daring to overstep my welcome in your home. But I’m serious about her and I don’t care if you doubt my intentions. I won’t ever back down again when it comes to her!” she declared fiercely.

Benja finally broke character when a laugh escaped him and he gave into it. Namaari was visibly confused that Raya’s father wasn’t trying to strangle her right now as he doubled over laughing. It took a few seconds for him to calm down, facing the young woman while wiping a tear from his eye.

“Have you told Raya that you love her?” he asked with genuine curiosity. Namaari’s demeanor quickly changed, from ready for a fight, to flushed and stammering.

“I- no. Not yet.”

A few stray chuckles were still escaping him as he moved towards his weapons chest. “You should. And all that other stuff you just said.”

“You’re… not angry with me?” the other woman sounded surprised. He perused through his collection in an unhurried fashion.

“I’ve told you before that I trust my daughter’s judgment.” He selected one of his new swords made for him after his daughter inherited his last one. “Though there was always one thing that bothered me.”

Namaari brought her guard up again at those words, taking a fighting stance once Benja made a few test swings with his new sword. “What would that be?”

“Raya once told me you were the most skilled fighter she’s ever faced.” His shoulders popped as he rolled them, loosening his muscles. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a proper challenge besides my daughter, and I’d like to remind her who the fiercest warrior in her life is,” he said with a confident grin.

Namaari visibly gulped but she squared up, drawing her dual-wielded swords to face him. And he felt proud of the fire he saw in her, glad that his daughter chose someone who was not only willing to die for her but to live for her.

The next time Chief Benja and Princess Namaari met in secret, thankfully there were no blades involved. They were sipping tea together in companionable silence, though the Heart Chief could tell the woman was nervous about something.

It wasn’t often she was nervous anymore. Over the years she’s grown to be a capable and charismatic leader, accepting the love that was given to her and giving love in return. Intricate Visayan tattoos spread over her arms and shoulders highlighting the assured way she carried her burdens. Her hair, once asymmetrical, was evenly shorn on both sides of her head, with the hair on top braided down the center. (Raya had told him in her smuggest tone that Namaari mimicked women she admired, even while Raya stared at her beloved from across the room with her dopiest grin. They were so in love Benja had to laugh at their expense.)

“Jade for your thoughts,” he nudged before she lost herself in her thoughts.

She put her cup down and cleared her throat. “Chief Benja,” she started before he waved at her formalness.

“That's Benja to you,” he reminded her not for the first time.

“Chief Benja,” she stubbornly asserted with a smirk. He smirked back. “You’ve always been kind to me. More than I deserved at times, and I have nothing but respect for you.” She took a deep breath, maintaining eye contact with him. “It would be the greatest honor of my life if you extended another kindness and allowed me your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

Benja regarded her, feeling misty-eyed and bursting with sentiments. His little girls have grown up so fast.

Namaari continued, growing nervous at his silence once more. “In return, I can offer fifty serlot kittens, copies of Fang’s most sacred dragon scrolls, and as much gold and metal every cart in Fang can hold, as well as-” Benja cut her off with a deep laugh and a hand on her shoulder.

“Does Raya know you’re here?” he inquired with a raised brow. This time, she matched his smile.

“She does, actually,” Namaari tilted her head knowingly towards the door, where they promptly heard a muted curse and feet hurriedly walking away at being caught. They shared a chuckle at Raya’s antics.

“Namaari,” Benja’s voice dripped with pride. “There is no one else in Kumandra I trust more with my daughter’s heart.” Namaari’s eyes widened at his words. Even after all these years of fighting for approval, she was still surprised when it was imparted to her. “You have my blessing.” He raised his glass in a toast to them. “I’m only surprised it took you so long to ask!”

Namaari was as relieved and light as he’s ever seen her, glowing from the inside out. “For a long time, I didn’t feel worthy of her. I still don’t sometimes, but…” She placed a hand over her heart. “She still wants me, and I think that’s finally enough.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Benja approved warmly. He rubbed his beard suddenly as a thought occurred to him. “Oh, because I suspect you’ve been dying to hear me say this,” Benja’s expression went from overjoyed to deadly serious in the span of a breath. “If you hurt my daughter I’ll kill you.”

Namaari was surprised for a moment before she smiled gratefully. “Thank you. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” They clinked their cups together in agreement.

[omnicenos]

My upcoming surgery

Not many will read this but I know some of you were curious, so here goes.

I am ‘healthy’ fat. I am considered to be firmly in the ‘morbidly obese’ category, but my health is great. I got an EKG day before yesterday, and my heart is strong. My blood pressure is normal. My triglycerides tend to be slightly over what the doctor would like them to be, but my bad cholesterol levels aren’t normally elevated. My blood sugar is normal and has been on every test. 

But…I’m just so tired of being so fat. I don’t even care if I’m ‘skinny’, I’d settle for just…big, but not like this.

I can’t go horseback riding because, come on, the poor horse. I can’t go whitewater rafting once a year with the fam anymore because if I fall out, aint nobody gettin’ me back aboard without a crane. Did you know amusement park rides have a weight limit? I do now. Not only do I exceed it, but I don’t fit in the restraints anymore and haven’t since before the pandemic. If I sit on the same piece of furniture for a few weeks, it breaks down. I had to buy a $400 special computer chair that can handle my weight. My bed is a mattress on the floor because I can’t afford a frame sturdy enough to hold me. Clothes are hard to find outside of expensive specialty stores and, for some reason, most graphic tees can be bought in very large sizes? Cosplay has gotten VERY difficult because I do full-body builds and I’m just…too big now. WAY too big. Like I can’t even fake it big. My feet hurt just from walking around the grocery store. 

I’m hungry. I’m hungry all the time. You know that tired old joke about eating Chinese food and two hours later being hungry again? That’s me, but with ALL meals. Between being this heavy, and having a hypermobility disorder, exercise is extremely difficult. There are reasons I ballooned this much.

I know this surgery is not a ‘magic bullet’ and that I’ll have to perform major lifestyle changes if I want this to work. I am aware I’m going to have to start exercising once I’ve lost enough weight that it no longer hurts to do so. But the surgery, while not magic, will be one helluva tool.

I am also aware of the drawbacks.

This is permanent, there is no going back. They will remove 3/4ths of my stomach and it will be gone forever, period. My hair will fall out three to six months after the surgery. (it SHOULD come back. Should.) I have to take vitamins for the rest of my life. I have to eat mostly protein from then on. I will have to eat many small meals throughout the day since I won’t be able to ‘store’ food anymore. I will never again be able to have carbonation.I will have ugly, saggy, loose skin once I’m thinner. (The surgeon did point out to me that this would be true whether I lost the weight by surgery or by diet and exercise though, so whatever. I got this fat, I pay the price once I lose it, I guess.) 

All in all, I just want this over and done with.

[lazarettta]

Misthios VI

Pairing (Spartan! Reader x Mother Miranda)

Word Count (1.4k)

Rating (T)

“Yeah, life was more intense before the world became so modern and technology dependent. It was simpler back then...but it wasn't always so great.”

“But you were a mercenary, right?” Daniela asked, staring up at you wide bright eyes and too morbidly fascinated with the conversations current topic but you figured out a while ago that these women weren't at all human, looking like one didn't count in your books, and that they were not saints, “A Misthios? Did you ever lose a fight?”

“Oh yeah, lost a couple,” you laughed, glancing at Alcina for a moment but like her daughters she was listening raptly to your stories though she was far more regal and less obvious about her own curiosity than her daughters were. “Most of those were when I was younger and for a merchant to kill a kid was just bad for business, so I usually got a good beating and yelled at before I was let go.”

“That's...” Daniela made a face, not impressed, “Lame.”

You chuckled, shrugging because she wasn't wrong, “It was, but when you're hungry...you take risks like that, had too.”

“So...how did you end up surviving the streets if you were caught and beaten all the time?” Cassandra asked, speaking for the first time in a few hours or so—being the most reluctant to fully interact with you but even she couldn't deny that it was nice to talk to another immortal that wasn't in the village. Not that the other Lord's really talked to them anyway.

“I said I was beaten, never said I gave up. Taking odd jobs all the time for drachmae teaches you things...I used those skills to survive and eventually I was making a name for myself—and then the villagers just came looking for me with their monies. Help me this, help me that...I had to learn a hard lesson that not everything could be solved with words, y'know?”

On the other side of the door, Miranda stood and listened as your voice carried over the roar of the fire as you answered any of the questions the Dimitrescu daughters asked while their mother remained steadfast and quiet in her chair closer to the fire. Miranda had been standing outside of the study for close to an hour now, just listening to you reminisce and never shying away from a question and more than once Miranda caught herself smiling behind her mask every now and then. She too remembered a few of those stories, ones that you've told her plenty of times...others she has experienced right by your side.

It stung a bit when you omitted her from those particular stories, how flawlessly you did so really—Miranda hated it, really. She hated how persistent part of her thoughts were, reminding her that she could've had this with you with children of your own shared between the both of you. And more than once did that vision lay itself out for Miranda—for her to have everything she's ever let slip between her fingers. Those pesky intrusive thoughts weren't new but harder to shake off now that she physically had you...but could she keep you?

~~

You were in the middle of telling the story about being hunted by a albino bear when you saw Alcina tense up from the corner of your eye before the Lady of the castle was rising to her feet and that was the only warning you received before the double doors were opened and Miranda walked in, wearing her robes sans her gold encrusted ravens mask. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun but there were a few strands loose in the back. You hadn't even realized you were also on your feet until Miranda stopped a few inches away from you, closer than you expected and it amused her to make you squirm a little.

“Hello again.”

“Hi.”

Miranda held your gaze a little longer, hers eyes flickered around your face as if trying to commit it to memory before she turned to the Countess, “Lady Dimitrescu.”

“Mother Miranda.” Alcina nodded, her eyes flickering to yours momentarily before she addressed her daughters who were watching everything and everyone closely, “Alright girls, story time is over. Go finish your tasks for the day.”

You weren't surprised by the complaints and grumbling from the three daughters but you weren't surprised when they didn't outright protest—Alcina didn't seem the type to put up with backtalk, especially not from them. However, when Alcina herself stepped out of the room, you were surprised not expecting to be alone with Miranda this soon. You weren't sure if you were ready to do this with her yet, but time hasn't always been your friend lately, has it?

Once the doors soundly clicked shut, emphasizing that you were both alone, you had no idea what you should be doing. You rubbed the back of your neck, a nervous tick that you've carried with you since you were a teenager, “Ah, there's still some tea left, do you want any?”

Miranda glanced at the tea tray sitting on the coffee table, shaking her head, “I prefer coffee.”

“I don't think this castle knows what a coffee maker is, to be honest.”

Miranda shared your small smile, hoping to put you at ease for what she was about to say next, “No, but my house does.” Miranda's smile grew a little when your shoulders tensed beneath her heavy stare.

“Oh, you took care of that problem already?”

“It took care of itself, really.” Miranda shrugged, shifting her wings slightly catching your attention and this time it was Miranda's turn to tense, but whatever she was going to say next was caught in her throat when one of your hands came up to her shoulder, at the bend of her wing.

“They've grown,” you murmured quietly as you have a better look at them, you saw the night before but you were distracted. But you couldn't bring yourself to actually touch her—you didn't have that right anymore, and you wanted to slap yourself for forgetting that. You cleared your throat, shoving both of your hands in your pants pockets and took a step back—but Miranda followed you, causing you both to freeze. Her expression mirrored the surprise you felt to some degree and you knew that she didn't mean to do that and it furthered convinced you that it wouldn't be a good idea for you both to be completelyalone.

“I think it would be best if we talked here.”

“No.”

“Why not? We're already here and alone—”

Miranda sighed heavily, her eyes narrowing slightly, “Because I'd rather have this conversation in the privacy of my own home than someone else's. Preferably not where it echoes either, or have you gotten quieter when you're upset, hm? Do you want the entire village to know our business?”

Eyes downcast you licked your lips and you didn't see Miranda's glare waver, but she had a point—there were things you'd rather not have overheard. You exhaled heavily, get your shit together (Y/n)! “You're not carrying me.”

Miranda's grin was predatory and smug, “It'll be quicker. I won't drop you, I promise.”

“The last time you made me a promise, you ripped my heart out. Do you remember that?”

“(Y/n)...”

“I gave you everything, Miranda! And you threw it back in my face by marrying some bastard Prince behind my back?! I was fucking humiliated and broken because of you! So, no...keep your promises, Miranda. And no, you are notcarrying me.”

The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them but you couldn't find it in yourself regret them—the relief of getting them off your chest felt too good. You weren't sure were that flash of emotion came from as you'd been relatively good at keeping your cool but Miranda had always made you emotionally charged whether you wanted to be or not—both good and bad. And right now old memories were resurfacing and old feelings were warring against the new ones.

“There's so much you didn't know, (Y/n)! I—”

A tray was dropped down the hallway outside of the study startling both of you and reminding Miranda where she was.

“...right,” Miranda clasped her hands together in front of her to keep from fidgeting with her rings, “I'll speak to Alcina and see about you procuring one of her horses for a few days.”

You didn't verbally respond and you watched Miranda cross the room back to the door. She paused at the door, poised to turn as if she wanted to tell you something but after a second or two, you were alone. You sat down on the edge of the coffee table, combing one hand through your hair, “Fuck...what am I doing?”

[elmidol]

Dirt You Created [Tyki/Reader] NSFW

originally written October 23, 2013

A/N: As stated, I am going to be posting a few of my older one-shots on here from DGM. I do plan on writing some new ones rather soon here, beginning with Tyki/RC. I am scheduling a batch of them now, which will all include this A/N.

These ones are unedited and include (y/n), which I no longer use in my current writing. Nothing wrong with it; just a personal preference. I do also want to state that there may be instances of mentions of face reddening and such, which I now know is not inclusive.

Fic Warnings:  contains rape (not from Tyki; the Tyki/Reader portion is consensual); sex; canon-typical violence; slight plot; 

Title is based on the song “Whore” by In This Moment

It had been a great honor to even look upon the gentlemen and ladies who entered your masters' home. You, a lowly servant girl, had been cleaned and primmed to look presentable. Still, you were not to speak to a single soul save for when you were spoken to, and even then short, simple answers were to suffice. Perhaps that was what had sparked your interest the most. The inability to speak to the man who garnered so much attention from the gathered guests. Even the hosts, your employers, paid him special attention.

Accustomed to being treated as nothing more than furniture, you were unsurprised and only slightly affected at the sight of the mistress's daughter emerging into your room along with the attractive gentleman. Their lips were locked together, smacking noises issuing from the pair as they further entered what the young lady referred to as a 'closet' and made their way to the bed. The girl placed the man's hands on her chest, his hands groping and caressing the mounds that were hardly concealed by the front of her dress. Why, if you had had such an outfit, you thought, you would have treated it with far more respect. As it was, you averted your gaze and set about to sorting what rags you did own from your position on the floor.

It was nice to be tucked away in a corner while the two enjoyed themselves on your bed. You shuddered at the idea of such sullied sheets you would be forced to occupy. Your eyes wandered about the ground. Perhaps you would slumber there for the night. You continued your silent nature when the master's daughter slipped out from the gentleman's embrace. You did not doubt there had been a lack of penetration; such young ladies kept their virginity intact even if every other part of them were whored out. She left your room after whispering to the man that her parents would doubtless be looking for her.

The gentleman chuckled, stretching out on the mattress and watching as the door was closed behind the female with whom he had just enjoyed himself. You paid him little attention, although your eyes did dart towards a certain portion of his anatomy. You had never before seen one so large despite the many lovers the young lady had brought into your room. The task of sorting out your clothing complete, you raised your head to observe the man. He had reached behind himself, slipping his arms under the pillow that he moved around his head. He paused, his brow furrowing, and withdrew a tattered photograph.

"Please put it back," you said, your voice cracking initially from its lack of use.

The man, clearly startled by your presence, did a double-take. His eyes widened and a hue of red crossed his features. He returned the photograph to its previous position then quickly set about covering himself up. As he tugged up the zipper, you moved over to the side of the bed and took the photograph. Clutching it to your chest, you watched as the man kept his eyes trained on you. His gaze wandered up and down your body a few times before returning to your face.

Not once did he speak a single word to you. You were quite used to this as well. Most aristocrats regarded you as nothing more than the help; as though that made you less of a human. Instead he was much too preoccupied with fixing his clothing, ensuring that he looked quite presentable. The man was nearly finished with this task when two of his male friends poked their heads into the room. They teased him for his latest bounty quite a bit before the shorter of the pair caught sight of you. He shifted into the room, walking over to you and touching you, appraising you as though you were cattle.

You stood with your chin slightly raised in the air, not uttering a single word. To do so would only incur punishment; be it from this man or from your master later. It did not surprise you that there was only minimal protest from the two other gentlemen present when their companion began tugging at his belt. He undid the front of his pants and wrestled you onto your already dirtied bed. You stared up at the ceiling, aware that the two other male parties in the room were watching as your virginity was taken by force. You refused to cry, to do more than grit your teeth and wait for it to all be over.

Likewise, when after the guests had all left and you were alone with your master and his family, you said nothing as your master berated you. His daughter had used you as a scapegoat to get out of punishment yet again. She had said that she had caught you entertaining men in your room. And your sheets had been her proof. When your master had his wife shove two fingers into your opening, she withdrew them to find, indeed, a man had been inside of you.

For weeks did you struggle through their punishments. Perhaps such cruelties would have continued had it not been for strange men appearing at your master's door, stating that you were to be taken away. That you were a potential. Potential what, you hadn't the slightest idea. Nor did you particularly care. You followed them out of the home you had known for a good portion of your life.

In silence did you endure your first years within the Black Order. Training to become a better fighter, to prove that you were indeed worthy of the Innocence that had chosen you. All the built-up frustrations from the years in your former master's home and your rape, you used it all to fuel your resolve. Those in Central even commented on how you impressed them. Regularly they began to have you sent out on missions. You learned to defeat akuma, the creations of the Millennium Earl.

When news of the Noah family arrived, you were not the least bit concerned. In your mind, you would view them as nothing more than an enemy to defeat, much like the akuma. Your first encounter, however, had left you nearly dead.

You had not believed that you would ever see his face again, much less in that sort of setting. The gray-skinned gentleman's countenance was unmistakable. Your knees had buckled when he had stepped into view, the organ in his hand being consumed by the carnivorous butterflies known as Teez. He had mocked you in a lilt, stating that you were quite young to be an exorcist. Too pretty, he had said.

Gritting your teeth in the anger that consumed your heart, you had launched yourself at him in a fury. The Noah, eyes wide, had just enough time to block your attack. The mace-like Innocence that you had nearly met the side of his head on your next attack. He ducked at the right time, his hand thrusting forward. You had felt the limb enter your body--go straight through your body as though you were made up of nothing other than air. This was it, you had told yourself. I'm going to die.

The instant he had looked up into your face, however, his hand--which had been on its retreat, ready to snatch an organ--froze. You stared at him, your face quite expressionless, and your eyes were trained on his. "...you recognize me, don't you?" you asked, your voice quiet and neutral. "You don't have to stop on account of our past, Mister Mikk." His limb trembled while inside you, his face assuming a morbidly amused expression. He reminded you quite of a Jack-o-lantern. "Or would you prefer to just stand aside and watch...an akuma could do it."

Tyki straightened his posture, covering the bottom half of his face--his twisted grin--with his free hand. It took him several seconds to get himself under control. When he had, the man removed his hand from your body without stealing a single cell. "I had been told your contract was terminated for promiscuous behavior." You snorted. You pretended his words fell on deaf ears even though your heart ached at the memories they invoked. "When I told Earl Markuson of what had occurred, he had said it didn't matter."

"It doesn't," you said in a deadpan. Tyki blinked at you, his lips twitching then pressing tightly together into a frown. "Oh, I see." You rolled your eyes. "You had a shred of decency in you and were able to feel guilt."

"I--"

"You don't even know me." You cocked your head to the side, adjusting your grip on your Innocence. "And besides, Mister Mikk, we're now enemies." Your mace had met his arm with a sickening smack.

By the end of the battle, it was you who had been injured the worst. A broken arm, several lacerations on your legs. Your Innocence had been damaged, although you had managed to keep it from being destroyed. Komui had fussed over it but repaired it all the same. It would not be the last time either. On five different occasions did Tyki Mikk damage your Innocence and leave you injured. During each occurence, the man had tried to start up a conversation, met only by your silence.

This sixth incident had you baffled. Tyki Mikk had approached you wearing his human skin. He had offered to pay for an outstanding bill the hotel you were vacationing in demanded you settle. You, having no money to your name, could only watch in silence as Tyki handed the coins over to the manager. You pressed your lips tightly together and frowned. Once the bill had been paid, you turned on your heel and left without a word to the Noah. Tyki swore under his breath and hurried after you, much to your dismay.

When he caught up, his hand seized your wrist and tugged lightly so that you were forced to stop. Without looking over your shoulder, you listened to what he had to say. "I had thought you'd done it before." You were not quite sure to what he was referring for several seconds until the realization dawned on you. You snarled; as though whether or not you were a virgin made rape any less brutal! You snatched your arm away. "Look, it's...(y/n), right?"

"Nope."

Tyki made a noise of confusion that had you turning your head to look at him. A light blush came to your cheeks upon noticing how flustered he had become. He looked nothing of the suave gentleman you had seen at your former employer's estate. You put your hands on your hips, shaking your head and hating yourself for even speaking to him.

"Look...what the hell do you even want? Forgiveness? It doesn't even matter anymore."

Tyki sighed, withdrew a cigarette from his pocket, and lit it. He puffed a few times on the smoke stick while watching you. You raised a brow. "I'd been worried he had knocked you up. That it was the reason you were forced to leave."

"Oh." You rolled your eyes again. "Your friend doesn't have some bastard child out there, you don't have to worry." He was frowning again. For some reason this was beginning to annoy you. "If all it is is that you can't get over the fact you only watched, forget about it. I was nothing more than dirt to you, right?"

He started to protest then, reluctantly, admitted that this was true. You nodded. It hurt to hear the words aloud like that even if you had always known them to be true.

"Alright, so--"

"You were just so pretty. I was going to do something, but then..." His words had the effect of silencing you. Your mouth was open mid-sentence yet no words were coming out. Feeling suddenly dizzy, you moved over to the wall of a building and steadied yourself by placing your hand upon the brick.

Tyki closed the distance between himself and you. His mouth met your cheek. When you did not push him away, he grew bolder and sealed your lips with his own. This shocked you out of your reverie. You jerked backwards, earning a moan of disappointment from the Noah. All the same, Tyki backed away from you without another word. He tipped his hat to you then left.

You had switched hotels after that, hopeful that the man would not track you. When, however, you continuously received gifts during the remainder of your vacation, you were at a loss of what to think. Sometimes you cried, sobbed and screaming into your pillow, at the roses and jewelry Tyki left for you. Other times you could only stare at the items. Once or twice you managed to throw away the gifts into the garbage without a shred of emotion.

It drove your comrades absolutely insane the way the Noah would flirt with you, would leave you trinkets, roses, and invitations to parties whenever you were on missions. You had attempted several times to get it through to Tyki's thick skull--via your mace--that you were not interested--maybe a little, although you refused to admit this--in his romantic feelings. Your comrades, likewise, interjected whenever the dark-haired man would so much as speak a single word to you.

After a mission, while your comrades were at either a strip club or sleeping, you had ventured to a bar. Upon entering, you had caught sight of a familiar gentleman, who was sulking despite several women attempting to gain his attention. You wove your way past the flirtatious ladies, ignored their protests and swears, and tapped the man on the shoulder. Tyki disregarded the contact, no doubt assuming it was from one of the other women who were around.

Sighing, you said, "Hey. Mister Mikk."

His head whipped around. Tyki visibly perked up at the sight of you then, after a moment, frowned, and turned away. So he was back to sulking, was he?

"You do know Akin was teasing you, right? He and I aren't a couple."

Tyki turned again, sliding off the barstool and grabbing you by the arm and led you out of the bar. A few of the women groaned audibly, while others lived out their disappointment quietly. "Are you still mad at me, (y/n)~?" he asked, a playful lilt to his tone.

"I have...never really cared enough about you to be mad," you stated honestly. He frowned at your answer. You averted your gaze and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "Don't get all upset, Mister Mikk. You said yourself you thought I was nothing but dirt."

"You were just a maid," he argued.

You jerked away from him as though he had burned you. And, with his words, he sort of had. "So that makes me less human? Man, I'd hate to know your thoughts on the homeless."

"That's..." He fell silent, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Okay, that's a good point. I care for the homeless."

"Just not maids?" you asked, incredulous.

Tyki smiled sheepishly at you. "I do now."

That day had been the start of several less violent meetings. After missions, regardless of who was the victor, Tyki and you would meet at a neutral location. He would deal a hand of poker that the two of you would play. From time to time the pair of you made it to ten hands before one or the other had to leave. During the games you were mostly silent, although you did speak to him on occasion.

When next Tyki deigned to kiss you, you did not pull away. Nor did you return the gesture. Since your rape, and possibly due to it, you had not been intimate with a man. His hands were gentle yet venturous, although he was careful to respect your body language; at the slightest tense of a muscle, he would back off from you. This was perhaps one of the reasons why, after nearly a year of knowing Tyki as a Noah, you returned one of his kisses.

Shyly, clumsily, you pressed your lips back against his. Tyki made a noise of startlement that preceeded a moan of delight. You allowed him to lead you to his hotel room, to begin to take off your clothes even though the actions made you feel ill; you could not help but remember the previous occasion of fornication. He, however, sat on the bed with you standing in front of him when the two of you were stark naked. His eyes ran up and down your naked body, a stream of compliments leaving his lips.

"Mister Mikk..." You swallowed, fighting off the feeling of nausea. Your eyes were glued on his erection, which had your legs tensing in apprehension.

Tyki blinked. "Oh, (y/n), you can use my first name~"

"T-Tyki... I..." You placed your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself when the world around you spun. "Oh, fuck, I feel so sick..."

The Noah released a frustrated sigh when you leaned over to the side and vomitted on the ground. "That really...killed the moment." All the same, he held back your hair and moved behind you, rubbing your back soothingly. When the contents of your stomach were emptied on the ground, you leaned back against him. You could feel proof of how turned off your throwing up had made him. His flaccid cock pressed against your thigh, where it twitched and began to enliven as you cuddled closer to him.

Tyki wrapped his arms around you, scooping you up and tucking you into bed with him. The man climbed under the covers with you. You said nothing as his hands wandered about the contours of your body. You could only look at his face, watch his eyes, which were glued on yours. He started to move closer, his lips searching for yours.

"My mouth probably tastes like vomit, Mister Mikk," you said. He groaned, raising a hand and massaging his forehead.

"You're killing me, (y/n)!"

All the same, he backed off. You later supposed that you had fallen asleep first. When you awoke, you found that during the course of the night Tyki had wrapped his arms around you as well as hooked one of his legs over yours. You attempted to wriggle out of his grasp, felt him tighten his hold, and then stopped moving. You watched the man as he slept for several minutes, slowly but surely untangling his limbs from yours.

When at last you were freed and dressed, you took the pen and complimentary notepad provided by the hotel, and wrote Tyki a short note. You placed the note where you hoped he would easily find it then snuck out of the room.

A month transpired during which time you did not see the man again. It was when your mission was complete and you were sinking into your bed to sleep that you encountered Tyki Mikk. You openly gawked as he used his ability to choose to enter your room. Startled, you chucked a candlestick at his head. Tyki ducked, held up his hands, and said:

"Hey, hey, (y/n)~ Don't be like that~"

You held your blankets up to your chin, quickly moving to hide your Innocence from view. "Make sure the door is locked." He blinked. Growling in frustration, you motioned towards the door that connected your room to your comrades'. "Lock it, would you, Mister Mikk?"

Tyki turned and did so. This gave you just enough time to stow away your mace in a location you doubted Tyki would search. With that task complete, you drew your knees to your chest and watched as the Noah closed the distance between the two of you. He climbed onto your bed, soon showering you with kisses. First on your forehead, next your eyelids, your cheeks, and finally your lips. He nipped at your bottom lip, his tongue swirling along it. Face red, you began to return the gesture.

You could feel him reaching past your covers with his ability, could feel your clothes being pulled from your body. The blankets shifted as he moved under them, his bare skin touching yours. Your hands shot up, palms flat on his chest as he shifted between your legs. Your eyes were wide. His erection brushed against your lower lips, and you swallowed hard.

"Mi-mister Mikk, I--"

He silenced you with a kiss. Pulling away for air, he said, "Tyki~"

"Tyki, I don't think--"

"That's not my strong suit either~"

You furrowed your brow, confused for a moment, your mind being preoccupied by other things, namely the way his body felt pressed to yours.

"Look, I'm an exorcist and you're a Noah--"

"--we'll worry about fighting tomorrow. I'm only aiming to destroy the Innocence~"

"You...you've broken my bones several times, and--"

His tongue thrusting forward into your mouth effectively shut you up. Tyki's fingers began to slowly explore your body as his tongue probed the contours of your mouth. You ran your tongue along his, your hands running up and down his chest before sliding towards his abdominal muscles. His fingertips ghosted over your entrance as one hand teased your breast. You shuddered, gasping loudly when his fingers found your clitoris. He rolled the nub with his thumb, which he had slickened with your juices.

"Ty-Tyki!" He groaned at the sound of his name coming from your lips. The man wrapped your legs around his waist and rocked forward. His erection slid against you, along your lips and clitoris, in a way that had your body aching. Your lips quivered and your eyelids fluttered. Again did he roll his hips into yours. This time you bucked up against him.

Tyki wiggled a single finger then a second into your entrance. He scissored you, stretching you to accomodate his size. You moved against the fingers that thrust in and out of you. Your hips rolled against his digits as they curled and uncurled. When he removed them, you released a disappointed groan. Tyki soon silenced you, practically knocked the air out of your lungs, when he thrust forward, entering you with his cock. It hurt initially. You rested your forehead against his shoulder as he adjusted his position and moved in and out of you a few times. His hands, massagining every portion of flesh they could grasp, helped to ease your pain.

The next time Tyki ventured to visit you in such a manner, you were crying in your pillow. When you saw him, you hissed with anger and rage. Your nails dug into his back, you swore at him, you whispered words of hate as he angled you onto his dick. "You killed him, you fucking bastard!" you said through grit teeth, your hands pulling at his hair.

Tyki said nothing in response, only kissed you as you abused his body. You knew that he could choose to forgo the pain, to only delight himself with your body. That he could use his ability to ensure your nails and teeth did not dig into his flesh. Yet somehow you found that he respected you too much to do so. You bit at his collarbone as you rode him, your walls clenching around his erection, which was buried so deep inside of you. The sensation of him moving within you, of his hands on you--this man who had mere hours ago murdered one of your comrades--had you hating yourself for a moment. You felt sick--you felt like you were less than dirt; a product created by the man you were fucking.

After the two of you had come down from your orgasms, you told him to leave. Tyki, after a kiss on your shoulderblade, obliged.

Such was your relationship with the Noah. The two of you fought one another, never moving in for the kill, always for the injury or insult. And each night afterwards you would comfort one another with your bodies. What made you feel as though you were more than dirt, more than a piece of furniture, however, were the gifts Tyki would leave for you. Not always materialistic objects either. At times his words would touch your heart. The way he remembered your birthday when not a one of your comrades had.

Resting your head on the man's chest, you allowed yourself to close your eyes. No doubt he would be gone by morning and a note would be left for you to read. That was how it had to be, however, lest your comrades discover what you did with your enemy.

"Mister Mikk," you whispered.

"Tyki," he said with a sigh.

You rolled your eyes, flicking your tongue out against his nipple. You heard and felt his moan from your position. "I love you too."

Tyki flipped you onto your back, his body soon engulfing yours. You could tell how happy you had made him by how thin the line between his white self and black self was as he made love to you.

[jooniyah]

Poison Apple

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

AU: Yandere!au, Moneylender!Taehyung 

Genre: Angst, Mature, Smut

Warnings: NON CON, Hard Yandere behavior, forced witness, kidnapping, implied forced pregnancy, emotional abuse, violence, character death, voluntary starvation, degradation and physical abuse, manipulation, profanity, smut, blood, knives, guns, and murder. 

Word count: 22.35k

I was angry with my foe: I told it not, my wrath did grow. And I waterd it in fears, Night & morning with my tears: And I sunned it with smiles, And with soft deceitful wiles. And it grew both day and night. Till it bore an apple bright.

                                                - William Blake

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

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

 Author’s note:  This is the longest fic I’ve ever written. I’ve been mulling it over in my head for years now. Please don’t come at my throat, it is non-con yandere. Enjoy!

*****

“Baby?” you chirped, watching your husband absent-mindedly stare at the windows. You huffed, turning off the stove and brandishing the ladle at him.

    “Honey? You didn’t tell me if it tasted good.”

He didn’t respond, clutching the half-eaten pork rib, lost in thought.

    “YOONGI,” you called out, shaking him by the shoulders, “Look at me.”

He snapped out of his trance, looking at you with bewildered eyes.

    “Huh?”

The confusion on his face served to make him look even more lost.

  “So, you never listened to my rant about Hoseok’s pork ribs?” He looked blank. “What happened to you, Yoongs?” you asked, clearing out the counter and perching on top of it next to him.

He sighed heavily and hung his head with a faint “Nothing.” As you stared at the soft whorl of his thick black hair, a rising panic bubbled up in your chest. It had been so long since your husband had talked more than five syllables with you. You had jumped out of bed on finding him missing one night, only to find him curled up on the terrace in the biting cold. Over the course of days, his eyes had become bloodshot. He had suddenly become a light sleeper, waking up startled on the slightest of noises. Now, looking at him, you found he had become gaunt and morbidly pale. What was it that ate away at his soul like this? He hadn’t been to his office in days, and he had switched off his work phone. You drummed your fingers nervously on the counter. Was he… was he trying to hide something from you? If so, what was it? You couldn’t help biting your nails in apprehension. Was it an affair? Was it guilt that had made him unable to look at your face? Had he cheated on you? No. You couldn’t think of marriage-killing stuff like that ever happening between you guys.

  “Baby,” you tried again, reaching out to entwine his bony fingers in yours. “You can tell me anything, you know that, right? Just tell me, baby, it is killing me to see you like this.”

He remained silent, the only acknowledgment of your words being a slight squeeze of your fingers. You waited in companionable silence, holding his hand and looking at the rays of light flooding in through the windows. As you were watching little particles dancing in the sunlight, there was a harsh squeal of tires outside. Like a bullet from a gun, Yoongi jumped off the counter and dashed to the windows. He looked out and jumped back as if he were electrocuted. He tugged the blinds harshly and ran to you, clutching your hand and dragging you off the counter.

“Baby, wha…”

He turned around and you saw his countenance had grown paler than ever, all the blood drained from his face. He urgently shushed you, pulling you flush against his body and sprinting to the door. Just as his fingers circled the doorknob, the door flew wide open, crashing against the wall with a heavy thud.

Men kept storming in, all heavyset and brawny. As they closed in on you both, Yoongi slid himself in front of you, shielding you as much as he could. The men advanced towards him, causing him to back further until you were pressed against the wall. Suddenly there was a hush inside the room, and you peeked out to see a tall man entering your home in unhurried strides. The men parted like water, allowing him to amble easily towards Yoongi. He had a shock of dark hair, which was long enough to dance on his eyebrows as he walked. He was dressed all in black, his suit contrasting with his pale complexion and lending a mysterious air to him. He had broad shoulders and a slim waist, accentuated by the perfectly fitting suit.

One of the men brought him a chair, which he turned around and placed about an arm’s length from your husband. He draped his legs on the sides lazily, holding on to the top of the backrest and resting his chin on his forearms. He looked innocently at your husband, his dark eyebrows suddenly shooting up as he caught sight of your lithe body shielded by Yoongi’s lean frame. You had no idea who all these men were, but something told you they were not good news. You closed your eyes and held on to your husband’s shirt, wishing they would all go away quickly. There was a tense silence in the room that hung around like dark clouds. A rich sonorous voice cut through the silence, causing you to peek again to see who owned it. To your surprise, it was coming from the stranger seated on your chair, it was unbelievable that such an orotund voice could emanate from the willowy man.

 “Well, well, Min Yoongi, you seem to not own a calendar.” The man tsked in lazy irritation. “You know I hate irregulars.”

You could feel your husband tense up, and his chest heaved with his sigh.

“ I need a few more days, Taehyung.”

The stranger addressed as Taehyung threw his head back in mock surprise, widening his eyes and cupping his cheeks.

“Oh! I would have never come if I knew I could count on your word.”

The mockery in his eyes instantly morphed into a dangerous glint, and he pushed the chair away violently as he stood up. He moved forward and bunched the collar of your husband’s shirt, leering at him with rage. His eyes moved over to your terrified ones, and he whistled.

“Look what a doll we have here.”

He thrust his arm behind Yoongi and yanked you out, clutching your forearm in a painful grip.

 “No! Leave her alone!”

Yoongi was screaming, trying vainly to catch hold of you. The Taehyung guy was stronger than you thought. He never budged as you jumped and thrashed about, trying to get his hand off your arm, where you knew bruises were stirring. Yoongi charged forward with gritted teeth.

“This is only between you and me.”

Taehyung smirked. “I beg to differ.”

Two burly men clasped their arms around Yoongi’s shoulders, throwing all their weight on him to keep him locked in place. You turned to see your husband struggling against their hold, mouth snarling with his exertion. Long fingers circled the collar of your soft white nightshirt, bunching the material up and pulling you closer to their owner’s body. Taehyung’s tall frame dwarfed you, his long black bangs brushing his eyebrows as his fiery eyes stared at you. He leaned over, his nose nuzzling against yours.

“How is this just between me and him,” he breathed, eyes never leaving yours, “-when he has such a doll of a wife who clearly needs explaining?”

Your eyes quickly darted to Yoongi’s figure, when the man in black cupped your jaw and shifted your focus back to him.

“Whatever is your problem with him?” you spat at him through clenched teeth.

There was a deep hearty chuckle, which reverberated throughout his body. His eyes crinkled in amusement and he leaned back a little to survey your face.

“You don’t even know what your husband has been up to behind your back?”

You drew a sharp breath, which felt like cold ice slicing through your innards. What had Yoongi done?

  “Y/N don’t look at me like that. He makes it sound so bad. It really isn’t,” Yoongi pleaded in a hoarse voice.

  “Shut him up,” Taehyung ordered, and the command immediately earned Yoongi a box to the ears and a knife to his throat. Pulling the overturned chair back upright, Taehyung sat down in front of you. His slim legs were too long for the chair, which caused him to slide further in the seat with his legs jutting out, making him look like he was made up entirely of legs.

“Wanna sit on my lap while you listen, sugar?” he asked, patting his pants.

You crossed your arms, glaring at him. His casual tone was really riling you up.

  “Just get on with it. And don’t call me ‘sugar’ ever.”

There was another deep chuckle. He leaned back and stretched lazily, causing two legs of the chair to hover mid-air.

  “Alright, sugar. I would love to tell you all of it, but I’m in a bit of a rush.” He winked at you as he drawled, “ Pity I am not free tonight.”

Your eyes narrowed in impatience and he loved the way your face twisted in annoyance.

  “Long story short, your husband owes me 50 million dollars.”

Your mouth fell open, disbelief coursing all over you. No, this had to be a mistake. Yoongi hadn’t ever mentioned being in debt. He hadn’t even been having trouble with his company. Or had he?

  “You look surprised, honey.”

You were still frozen in place, not quite comprehending why Yoongi would have borrowed so much money. You looked at your husband, hoping that he would say that it was all a misunderstanding. But Yoongi had gone silent, his eyes were downcast.

“Yoongi?”

Nothing but a small nod to prove that Taehyung was indeed telling the truth.

  “50 million dollars, Yoongi?” you asked, your voice incredulous. “What were you even thinking?”

    “I hoped I could pay him back,“ Yoongi mumbled softly.

Taehyung crossed his legs, one hand ruffling his long unruly hair and the other gripping the chair. He gazed at you; he could almost hear the wheels turning in your head.

  “Well, sugar? Which of you two is going to give me my money back?” He flicked his wrist and looked at his watch. “I want it now.”

    “I … We don’t have that much money with us right now.“ Sweat blossomed on your forehead. “This is the first time I’m hearing about this.”

  “Sorry I broke the news that your husband doesn’t trust you, love. But I don’t give a fuck about your trust issues. I need my money. Now.”

  “Please, just give us some more time. We will pay you back somehow.”

  “And how would I trust you, considering your man is already penniless? How would you pay me back?”

  “We will … we will figure something out. Please, just trust me.”

He pursed his plump lips like a playful child, crinkling his eyebrows at you. Something about your doe-eyes softened him. He had almost skipped coming; the original plan had been to send only his men to your house. But now, watching your wide eyes pleading to him, he was glad he had decided to come himself. He remembered the loaded gun inside his coat pocket, which he had intended to use before he had set his eyes on you.

  “Alright. Let’s see how trustable you are. You have three days.”

You heaved a sigh of relief.

  “But I’ll take the bastard with me.”

The relieved smile was instantly wiped off your face.

  “But…” you sputtered, hands flailing wildly. “I don’t have any idea how I…”

  “He hid his debt from you. Now he has left you to clean up the mess all by yourself, huh sweetie?” He tilted his head to the side. “Are you really willing to do it for a man who didn’t even trust you, his wife?”

   He could see your face flinch as his words cut through you. He decided Min Yoongi was a fool to have fallen headfirst in his trap, especially with you not knowing. But then, Yoongi would probably not have borrowed as much if you had known and stepped in to curb the snowballing of his debt. It would have foiled his trap. He smiled. He was happy that Yoongi had managed to get neck-deep in trouble.

“Don’t worry, Yoongi. I will come fetch you as soon as I can, honey.”

Taehyung’s eyebrows shot up as he caught the moment’s hesitation before the word ‘honey’. He knew it was uttered for his benefit. The word was your shield, a magic circle you drew around yourself, thinking it would help ward off his flirtatious advances. Underlining you were Yoongi’s, a taken woman. You really thought you could hide behind it? His heart warmed. You were too adorable.

Swinging his feet off the chair, he rose and strode to Yoongi. He stared at the bloodshot eyes that glared back at him.

  “Let’s go, loser.”

You helplessly watched your husband being dragged out by the collar.

   "I love you, Y/N. I am sorry,“ Yoongi shouted across his shoulder, as he was manhandled roughly out of the door. All the men poured out of the apartment, leaving you standing alone. Your eyes welled up as you looked at the empty doorway.

   "I love you too.”

*****

You had no idea where to start. There were only three days to get all the money ready. Frankly, you were clueless. Yoongi had never been intent on saving. Almost all his earnings went back into his business. Your job as an interior designer paid well, but nowhere near millions of dollars.

It was a stupid idea, to begin with. Borrowing 50 million dollars from a goon? What even had got into Yoongi? How were you expected to pay all of it back within 3 days? It was absolutely impossible. That Taehyung guy was evidently setting you up to fail.

Your brain felt like it had stopped working. Nothing you thought of seemed to make sense. ‘Okay okay, Y/N,’ you told yourself, ‘fucking get it together.’ Your head was pounding. Every minute reminded you that you were getting closer to the deadline. It only made you even more nervous.

Your stomach tightened in a knot. It felt like you were going to be sick. ‘No,’ you muttered, ‘think of something that’ll help.’ You closed your eyes as you massaged your throbbing temples. You could visualize the sands of time rapidly falling down your 3-day sand clock.

Back at his office, Taehyung couldn’t stop thinking about you. He had never been a man of romance; his only encounters had been with easy women looking for hookups in bars. As a unique exception, he found himself obsessing over a woman who was neither easy nor available. He twirled his pen in his hands as he thought about your beautiful doe eyes. He could swear he could still smell the faint berry scent of your hairspray.

As he looked out the window, lost in thought, your visuals came rushing to him. He remembered your high nose, your slender neck, and the sharp angle of your chin that could cut his heart to shreds. Your full figure that the thin nightshirt had done little to hide. The faint gloss on your lips that had allured him. He couldn’t remember the last time that he had ever noticed another woman this much. Was it because he hadn’t been laid in weeks? He didn’t think so. There was something about you that not only inspired lust but also made him fiercely protective. He had never felt that way with any other woman. He was a man who fucked once and then closed the door on the woman for good. But with you, he wanted to own your pretty eyes. He wanted to be the man your eyes searched for in a crowd. He wanted his hand to be the one you reached for. He wanted to worship you and protect you with his entire being. Your heart, your smile, your soft hair, your lithe frame, he wanted all of it.

He looked at the gardener watering the lawn. As he eyed the little droplets of water spraying from the hose, his mind wandered to the fantasy of seeing you wearing that thin nightshirt, drenched in water so he could see everything you had to offer. A heady sensation overtook him so hard that his eyes rolled back in his head. He shook his head and looked down at his pants. Just thinking about you had brought on a hard-on.

*****

If someone had told you two years ago that Yoongi would fall in debt and lose all his money, you would have laughed in their face. Yoongi was not a newbie to the business. He was the son of the richest businessman in the county. His family was old money, and they were wildly popular in elite circles. There was not a party that his mother wasn’t invited to. People stood in respectful silence if his father walked past them. As the only son and the heir of the Min family fortune, Yoongi had a lot of expectations to live up to.

He had been burdened with expectations ever since he had been born. While other children went out on hikes and summer camps, he had the best tutors in the nation mercilessly hounding him with business tactics. While his friends read Rowling and discussed magic, he was forced to read dry books on management and debate with his tutors. He had found early on in his life that there were two kinds of people around him. The ones who wanted to be friends with him to bask in his achievements, and the ones who genuinely liked him for who he was. Like the boy who came every day to play Chess with him. No wait, there was only him, no one else was on that list. He wasn’t sure which category his university friends fell into. No one felt genuine, at the same time, no one felt utterly fake. That was one of the reasons Yoongi had a hard time trusting anyone. All that was set to change one day, thanks to his mom.

Yoongi had never kissed a girl in his life. It was not something he was proud of. Not that he wasn’t interested though. He had a bevy of girls swarming around him all the time, trying their best to catch his eye. To them, he was a gold mine that assured them a luxurious future. He was also exceptionally handsome and that sealed the deal. But he found none of them were really interested in him as an individual. He had once found an attractive girl in a frat party and had thought his first kiss was going to be with her. She had seemed smart and funny too. Until she had flashed him a gorgeous set of pearly whites saying “… so I heard you’re going to inherit the whole of the Min family estate, huh?”

It was on a late evening that Yoongi stood in his porch, nursing a Baccarat wine glass and wondering if he would step into his 24th year on Earth never having kissed a woman. That was when a car skidded to a halt before him, and you stepped out. He watched you alight and smooth your pencil skirt, an unhurried look on your pretty face. You reached again into the car to fetch your sleek briefcase and looked at your watch. A smile graced your features. Yoongi was impressed. A punctual woman. You walked with the brisk tap-taps of your heels and sailed past him without a glance. As you crossed him, he could smell the lingering flowery notes of your perfume. His phone dinged in his pocket announcing it was time for yet another overseas call. As he turned back to reach his room, your perfume lingered in a corner of his mind long after the traces of the scent had vanished.

Yoongi’s mother was an elite socialite. Her name was uttered with reverence in the high circles. She had a web of powerful friends which she relied on for anything of importance. Like when she wanted to re-decorate her office in alignment with the latest trends. She had asked Mrs. Park for ideas, and the lady had provided her with your number. You had been struggling to land a project fresh out of your apprenticeship. Mrs. Park had tried you out for her daughter’s new apartment and had found your work commendable. She had readily advised Mrs. Min to hire you, whispering conspiratorially into her phone, “She doesn’t charge as much for her work, but I think she should. She really is a steal at her price.” And so, Mrs. Min had called you to her place.

And that was the start of your new project. Mrs. Min was not a person who traveled to offices that didn’t belong to conglomerates. So, it came about that you visited her once in two days, bringing your designs and seeking her inputs on them. You found her very friendly, she listened to your explanations patiently without trying to interrupt like a know-it-all. She hadn’t any airs, contrary to what you had expected when you had first met her.

Yoongi hadn’t seen you on your previous visits. Understandable, considering his jam-packed schedule. But one innocent question to his mother told him who you were, and on what days you were expected to visit. It started as a mild curiosity on his part. He simply thought you were interesting and wished to see more of you. Increasingly, his schedule adjusted to your visits, and he often walked in on you, dropping business news to his mother while sneaking a look at you. He lived in a condo, away from his parents. But he needed to meet his father and discuss business several times a week. And given his sudden interest in you, it was a pleasure for him to drop by at his parents’ home.

Things came to a head on a stormy Friday night. You had stayed far too long in Mrs. Min’s chamber, poring over the plans and jotting down her suggestions. She had caught you staring at the empty glass on her table and had excused you to fetch yourself a drink.

  “Ask the maid to hand you wine, my dear,” she urged, “We have a splendid collection.”

So, you found yourself wandering to the cellar in pursuit of a drink. Maybe it wasn’t necessary to bother the maids, you were sure you could get a glass yourself. You reached the pitch-dark cellar and felt around for the light switch. When you switched it on, the lights lit up all the shelves in a wonderful ambiance. Rows and rows of bottles were stacked on the shelves, the light catching on their glossy bodies and illuminating them. Taking all of it in, you whistled under your breath as you saw bottles dating back decades.

  “I’ll be damned.”

Picking an elegant Chateau Latour, you poured some of the crimson liquid into a crystal glass and set it on the marble counter. There was a stool that you pulled and sat on, kicking off your heels. You were not a woman who wore ridiculously high heels, but the heels that day had not been exactly comfortable. You bent down, massaging your slightly sore feet, when a shadow fell on you, darkening your vision and casting a long shadow on you. You raised your head and saw a man standing before you. He hadn’t seen you; he had come in to pick a bottle for himself. You quickly rose to your feet and the sudden movement caught his attention. With a swift turn, he swung around to face you.

Yoongi had never seen you up close. It felt like a dream to him. The dim light from the shelves fell on you, highlighting your cheekbones and lending a captivating air of mystery to your features. Your eyes glinted and sparkled, the light from the bottles making it seem like you had swallowed all the stars in the sky with your eyes. He cleared his throat, running his hand through his hair as he racked his brain for a suitable line to say.

“Mr. Min, a pleasure meeting you.” Stepping forward on your naked feet, you offered him your hand.

“Likewise,” he said, giving your hand a firm shake. He smiled at you, little gummy smile and all.

“A fine collection you have here,” you ventured, nodding at the shelves.

He nodded proudly, gesturing to another row of shelves at the far back.

“We have our finest wines here, dating back centuries.”

You smiled politely, suddenly remembering your haphazardly strewn heels and the bare state of your feet. He saw you shuffling awkwardly, and his eyes landed on your feet. His eyes widened. He had never seen such dainty little toes before. With a sheepish smile, you bent down and picked up the heels, slipping your feet into them and effectively disturbing his appreciative gaze on them.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it then,” he muttered, reaching out to pick a bottle. When he turned and left, you found you had held your breath the entire time. Sighing, you finished your drink and proceeded to return to Mrs. Min’s office. A good two hours later, it was pouring with rain outside. As you filed all your papers and returned them to your briefcase, you worried about having to drive through the pounding rain. Mrs. Min seemed to read your uneasiness.

“Would you be able to ride in this downpour, dear?” She craned her head to watch the sheets of rain. “I think you’d better stay the night here.”

“Oh, that’s alright Mrs. Min, I’m sure I would be fine.”

“At least, let me send one of my people with you.” She paused and decided it wouldn’t do to send a maid or manservant with you at that hour of the night. The drivers had retired to their beds already. Wait-her son was still home.

“Let me find Min Yoongi and send him with you.”

Without waiting for an answer, she went off to her husband’s study where Yoongi usually stayed up till the wee hours of dawn, working on company matters. She was back in a couple of minutes, with Yoongi in tow.

“Allow my son to drive you,” Mrs. Min patted her son’s fine back. He nodded at you, not an over-enthusiastic nod but a crisp let’s-get-on-with-this nod. You started to feel he didn’t want to do anything with you, and it made you feel awkward.

The short ride to your apartment happened in two moods. You were nervous that Yoongi was miffed at having to drive you; Yoongi was nervous that you seemed cold and imagined you hated being alone with him. Neither of you guessed that the tension in the air between you had nothing to do with annoyance or hate.

As Yoongi nosed his car into the parking lot, you worked up the courage to say in a small voice, “Uh, would you like to come in and wait the storm out?”

Yoongi’s grip on his steering wheel tightened. He could feel his heart hammering away. The moisture in his palms started to make the steering wheel slippery. What was this? He was completely baffled. Did you want him to go in and sit with you? Or was this one of those cheeky invites to-, he shuddered, - to go in and kiss? Your intent gaze, as you waited for him to respond, was not helping his confusion in any way. Before he could think more, he found his voice saying “Sure.” He was surprised at how calm he had sounded because on the inside he was anything but.

Once inside, you made straight for the couch, nothing about your face suggested flirtation. He exhaled and calmed himself down, sitting across from you, watching you as you kicked your heels off happily. He looked around at your apartment, everything was neatly arranged, not a thing was out of place. His eyes were drawn to your biggest asset that occupied a large portion of your hall: your bookshelf.

“Virginia Woolf?” His eyebrows shot up as he scanned the shelf.

You said nothing, words refused to come out.

“Language is wine upon the lips.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, hearing those words from him, of all people. The word 'wine’ instantly took you back to that cellar, where he had stood before you, framed by that insanely beautiful light as if he were a revelation.

“Y/N?” His lips curled in a grin. “I never thought quoting Woolf was the best way to earn a woman’s reverence.”

Your cheeks flushed crimson, and you racked your brains for a witty reply.

“When you consider things like the stars, our affairs don’t seem to matter very much, do they?”

His grin widened, breaking out into a hearty chuckle. He nodded dramatically, eyes shining in amusement. You regarded him with an interested gaze.

   "I never thought you’d have read Woolf.“

He rolled his head back lazily. “Ah, you’re the first and last person to know.”

  “I’m honored.” You smiled at him as he scanned your shelf again.

  “Charlotte Bronte.” He jerked his head at you with a raised eyebrow.

  “She’s my favorite. I am crazy about Jane Eyre.”

He pursed his lips comically, pressing his index fingers together as if he were meditating.

  “She wasn’t beautiful, Rochester was not handsome, they had a 20-year age gap,” he counted out on his fingers, mischief on his face.

  “That’s the beauty, isn’t it? Heroes and heroines are usually described as beautiful and handsome respectively, but this time the book focused on love, just between two normal people.” You paused and looked ahead, stars in your eyes. “Helen was my favorite character; she was wise beyond her age. I feel so strongly drawn to such peaceful tranquility.“

He closed his eyes and decided that you were the smartest woman he had ever come across, second only to his mother. As both of you discussed more about literary characters, he found himself wishing that the storm would never abate. He wanted more of your presence, he wanted to hear your voice talk about things he had secretly loved all his life.

The time came for him to leave, and he grumblingly got up to bid good-bye.

” I’ll ask one of the drivers to fetch you your car in the morning,“ he said, slipping into his coat. “And allow me to say that this was the best night of my life.”

Blood rose to your cheeks, making you feel feverish. “That makes two of us,” you said, heart brimming with happiness on seeing him smile.

Long after he had left, you found yourself staring at the doorway. With a sigh, you closed the door, knowing that you loved every moment he had spent with you, but there was no doubt you would have loved it, even more, had things gone a little bit differently.

*****

Ever since that fateful night, Yoongi found himself making pleasant small talk with you whenever you visited Mrs. Min. And each time, he found himself wondering if he was more than just interested in you. He could feel the way his pulse quickened on seeing you, the way all the hair on his arms stood up when you brushed him accidentally. He started noticing your little habits. He loved the small twist of hair that fluttered while you walked, the little tear-shaped earrings you wore, the small jingle of your metal bracelet when it hit the table as you worked. He was amused at the way you wrote the number 5, starting at the bottom and ending at the top. The lone dimple on your left cheek that flashed only when you grinned in genuine pleasure always left his knees weak.

Yoongi had no experience with women, and he found it maddening that he didn’t know how to properly flirt. So, he turned to his chess-mate for help. The guy was quite helpful, but Yoongi was doubtful if his suggestions were a bit too cheesy. He began to panic, unsure if you preferred the corny lines his friend fed him, or the poetic ones aplenty in the old literary gold you were clearly fond of.

So, it was a very confused Yoongi that was sitting with you a few days later on the stone bench in his mother’s lawn. His mother had gone out on an urgent errand. You had already parked your car on the porch when the news of her being away reached you. It turned out you were at a free end that evening, which Yoongi decided to benefit from. The stone bench felt warm from all the sun’s rays that had fallen on it throughout the day. You had been talking about your work day, and he had been listening happily.

Suddenly, without even knowing it happened, he dipped his head down, capturing your soft lips in a hesitant kiss. It was pleasant for a moment until he realized he was supposed to deepen it. He started panicking. He knew tongues would be involved, but how on Earth was he going to achieve that feat? Sweat started running down his neck, and his breathing became labored. You noticed his discomfort and leaned back, opening your mouth to form “What…” He saw your mouth open and took the chance to dive in again, relaxing thankfully when there was no opposition from your side. When both of you finally broke the kiss, he was so embarrassed that he couldn’t bring himself to look at your eyes.

He was certain you had hated it. He knew he had been sloppy, and he vowed to blame his kissing abilities if you never wanted to see him again. While he was internally kicking himself, you put your little hand in his large ones, with a mild “Are you alright, Yoongi?” When he didn’t answer, you added wickedly, “That was a hell of a kiss.”

His head shot up, indignant at first, the annoyance quickly morphing into merriment as he took in your coy wink.

  “Trust me they’ll get better.”

When there was no reply, his confidence plummeted again. He started to stammer “I didn’t imply-” before he was silenced with another searing kiss.

*****

It was the night of your sixth date when both of you were cuddled up in one blanket, feet dangling from the roof of his balcony. Yoongi was content with you at his side, your sweet-smelling hair cascading down your shoulders and brushing against him. He wanted to say something and seal the moment. But what should he say? Taking your index finger in his hands, he started tracing the delicate bones as he worked up his nerves.

Closing his eyes, he blurted out, “Design our home.”

You looked at him, startled. “Do you want me to be your designer?”

He shook his head, pressing the bridge of his nose with his thumb. “No. I am asking you to own my home and make it beautiful by being in it.”

He was screaming at himself for not phrasing the words better. He made a mental note to go kick his chess mate’s balls off for suggesting the damned line. There was a heavy silence, so heavy that it suffocated him. He slowly opened his eyes. Just as he decided he had lost you forever, a tinkling giggle reached his ears, leaving him dumbstruck. The giggle amplified into more giggles, finally breaking out into peals of joyful laughter. As the laughter subsided, you wiped your streaming eyes and replied: “Only if you promise to remain this cute.”

*****

The next day, Yoongi took you to his parents and announced the engagement. He had proposed again properly, with a beautiful ring, but you had told him you really preferred the first version of his proposal. Mrs. Min took the news very well, she smiled as she hugged you and pecked you on the cheek. “I knew it was just a matter of time before he fell for you,” she whispered with a twinkle in her eyes.

After four glorious months of being engaged, you had a beautiful white wedding that Mrs.Min organized with aplomb. You had no parents, so your best friend Hoseok happily agreed to give you away. Your friends did everything they could to soothe the pain of your parents not being there to see your happiness. There were festoons engraved with Yoongi’s and your initials, adorning every nook and corner, declaring your love to the world.

As you walked down the aisle with a proud Hoseok beaming all over his face, Yoongi felt like he could choke with happiness. You grinned at him as you reached his side, tilting your head to allow Hoseok to peck your cheeks. Hoseok then shook hands with Yoongi, winking at him and slapping his back. And then the magic moment arrived.

All the words that the minister said felt like cotton candy. It all just blew away, and only the sweetest words remained- “I do.” You had tears in your eyes as you accepted Yoongi as your lawfully wedded husband. Yoongi’s mother passed down her own mother’s wedding ring, a beautiful solitaire diamond ring that glittered and shone. Yoongi smiled through tears, whispering “In case you ever foolishly forget: I am never not thinking of you,” as he slipped it on your finger, claiming you as his own. The wedding kiss had tears from Yoongi’s cheeks and yours falling onto the lips, strangely tasting sweeter than the choicest nectar.

As he walked out of the church, he was filled with a deep pride. You loved him. You were his. You were Mrs.Min.

*****

The Min family welcomed you as one of their own with open arms. As a wedding gift, Yoongi’s parents gifted you a charming house, a skeleton of a house really. It was yours to design and furnish, yours to apply all your designing skills and turn it into your home. Your days passed happily, enjoying the lavish affection your husband showered on you, and doing what you loved when he went away for the day.

Your clientele grew, as you were now part of the elite club. There were commissions from Mrs. Min’s friends to help alter and redecorate their offices and homes. Yoongi worked all day, managing his father’s businesses and clients. But when he came home, all his stress evaporated away, leaving only fierce embers of love. He was doting, sweet, animalistic, feral, subtle, blunt, all thrown into one perfect balance, leaving you gasping and deliciously wanting for more.

Just as life seemed that it was all sunshine and happiness, tragedy struck. Your father-in-law was involved in a bad car accident, which left him severely injured. The days were filled with frantic phone calls from investors, grim faces of doctors, alcohol-sprayed hospital rooms, and the slowly fraying nerves of your husband. Your mother-in-law never lost her composure, she went about her duties robotically. She tended to her husband, watching as his body struggled to recuperate. She witnessed his body slowly shutting down one part at a time. She read to him, prayed at his side, slept at the bedside, never leaving him. But on the day she saw him breathing his last, your mother-in-law broke.

Min Sung-Hee had been a proud woman, who had defied societal conventions and broken ties to marry the man she loved. His demise was a severe blow to her, she had never thought her husband was even capable of dying. She had clung on to the gossamer hope that he would recover, and when he failed to do so, the thread snapped. She was left unhinged.

You brought her to live with you, but nothing was helping her steer towards sanity. Each night, you were kept awake with the heart-breaking howls and sobs that reverberated through the walls. Her eyes lost their luster, tired wrinkles covered her face the way moss silently creeps on rocks and obscures them. On a particularly desolate night, you found her holding a knife, face impassive. When you tried to call her name, she paid no heed. Suddenly, with a blood-curling yowl, she hurled herself at the mirror, shattering it and sending shards flying all over the place. You screamed for Yoongi as she kept banging her head on the broken mirror. Your screams disturbed her and she flew at you, knife aimed straight at your throat.

There was a rush of footsteps behind you, and a strong hand pushed you to the side. Yoongi wrestled his fragile mother as softly as he could, prying the knife away from her and locking her in a tight hold. You were trembling when you ran down to fetch a glass of water, the eyes that had looked at you had been devoid of any recognition.

It was very painful but Yoongi knew he had no choice but to send his mother to an institution. He didn’t want you to be afraid in your own home. He was scared for you, and for his mother’s safety too. He wanted her to get the best care, and an institution seemed to be the best way to go. He reasoned with you, telling you it had to be done. It was not an easy decision, but when Yoongi saw his mother’s cold manic eyes looking back at him on the way to the institution, he knew he was doing the right thing to protect his family.

*****

Yoongi inherited his father’s businesses and everything his parents owned. Financially, you were richer, but emotionally you felt poorer. You had grown to consider Yoongi’s parents your own, and their absence scarred you deeply. The playful Yoongi was gone, replaced by a serious man who had to suddenly take charge of his father’s legacy and shoulder responsibilities that were thrust upon him.

Gone were the days when he would rush home from work to lift you as if you were his precious child. As the days passed, he became more and more trapped at his office. You longed for those magical days when there were four of you at the table, when Yoongi’s eyes had been filled with mischief and fun. It was hard to focus on your designs, but you trudged through them zealously. Yoongi still loved you, and you just had to wait for him to get a hold of his business responsibilities.

Indeed, there was a brief period when Yoongi returned early, brought you flowers, and even took you out on dinner dates. That was after he had hired Wo Bin, his new manager. For months, Yoongi was all praise for his manager. He left Wo Bin in-charge whenever he had other pressing matters to attend to. He grew to trust the man, even letting him handle a few acquisitions all by himself. He once brought Wo Bin home, and you were amused at the shy, bespectacled man who your husband had often spoken so highly of.

But it was just a matter of months before the relaxed Yoongi disappeared again, and an even more stressed husband returned to you each night. You tried asking him gently, but he remained silent, not even trying to explain. You assumed it was a deal gone bad, which your husband would surely recover from. But weeks rolled by, and Yoongi’s moodiness showed no signs of abating. If anything, he had only grown even more remote, stubbornly refusing to answer your questions, and skipping meals several days a week. You prayed and begged, but he simply shut his mouth tight, refusing to respond. That was when panic set in, gnawing at your chest. Was he guilty of something? Had he cheated on you?

Many such tumultuous thoughts had been flittering in your mind as you had grilled pork ribs on that fateful day, trying to cheer your husband up. That had been the day your world turned upside down: Taehyung had stepped into your house, tearing your husband away from you, giving you just three days to pay him fifty million dollars.

*****

“What?!”

Your scream echoed through the small glass-paneled office. Seated across you, nervously twiddling his thumbs, was Bong Ju, Yoongi’s legal advisor.

“Yes, Mrs.Min. The Min corporation has indeed filed for bankruptcy.”

You felt as if all your blood had evaporated and clouded around your face in a red haze. This was the worst thing to ever happen. Your husband was not around, the company was dying, your only relative was in an institution, and you had to cough up 50 million dollars within 68 hours. Three hours had already been wasted in Bong Ju’s explanation of the debts, there was no more time to lose.

“How the heck did the company fall so deep in debt? Last quarter’s reports were so good!”

Bong Ju shook his head vigorously. “Yes, there is nothing wrong with our company.” He paused and scratched his head. “ In fact, we would have still been an incredibly profitable company, if it weren’t for Wo Bin.”

“Wo Bin? The executive manager? What did he do?” Your knuckles were white from gripping the handles of the chair too hard.

“He struck deals with ridiculously high prices, there were so many useless acquisitions for millions of dollars. He also embezzled millions of dollars in company funds. He absconded with all the money.”

“You couldn’t trace that bastard?”

“No, Mrs.Min. He well and truly vanished. All the investors found out and they threatened to sue the company. Mr. Min had no option but to settle and avoid a legal battle. He had to file for bankruptcy, that was the only way he could pay them off.”

“And how did Taehyung come into all this?”

“He loaned Mr. Min most of the money to reach a settlement with the investors. Kim Taehyung charges exorbitant interests, but Mr. Min went ahead and borrowed huge amounts of money. He never expected to be dragged this deep into the mire.”

You buried your head in your hands. There was a serious urge to tear at your hair, which you controlled with the last of your patience. How on Earth were you expected to save the company? There was no way in Hell you could raise all the money and still salvage the company.

The man stayed mute for a few minutes, scared of setting you off again. He saw you chewing on your lip, horror written all over your face. Timidly, he cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses.

“You could… ”

“I could what?”

“Er… Mrs.Min, you could uh… try mortgaging the Min estate?”

He wiped the sweat on his forehead as he watched your face in apprehension. He was almost ready to jump out of the window than sit in that stifling atmosphere with the wife of his employer shooting daggers at him.

“Do you think that will cover it? It’s 50 MILLION dollars!” you yelled.

“Maybe, you have other assets? Like your home? I am sure you could mortgage your home too.”

You slid down a bit on your chair, massaging your temples. Your home? This man was asking you to mortgage your home? But it was your dream home! You had designed every tile on that building with love. You fanned your hot cheeks. This was about Yoongi, not the house. You could always design a new house. Swallowing the bitter taste in your mouth, you nodded. You remembered something else too.

“I have two million dollars in my savings deposit.”

You bit your lips and controlled the tears that were threatening to fall. You had put aside some of the money you earned in a deposit. It was meant to be used when you had babies. Every month, you had giggled happily while transferring money to the deposit. It had been your secret; you had never dreamt that you would be required to withdraw all of it for a reason other than your babies. It was all you had saved, just for your future children. You sniffed, deciding it had to be done to save Yoongi.

“ Withdraw the money, and start the work to mortgage our home and the Min estate.”

The man obligingly stood up, nodding.

“I will start on the course of action, Mrs.Min.”

You watched as he bowed to you, turning to leave. A thought struck you out of the blue.

“Just a minute, Bong Ju.” The tone made him turn abruptly. “Why did you not suggest mortgaging the property before, to my husband?“

There was a heavy silence. He took out his handkerchief, wiping his bald head as he licked his lips.

"Well, you see Mrs.Min,” the man advanced to you in slow steps, “Mr. Min didn’t want you to know about the financial crisis. He had hoped to resolve it before it snowballed into a full-blown nightmare.” He saw the uncertainty on your face. “You… uh, you would have come to know if he ever mortgaged the estate or the house, your signature would have been necessary.”

You deflated, wishing your husband had just believed in you and told you about his monetary struggles. Taehyung’s words repeated in your head. Had Yoongi really not trusted you enough? You shook your head. No, that couldn’t be the reason. You couldn’t lose your head over this; time was running out.

“Well, there’s one more thing, Bong Ju.” You looked at your hand, a deep sorrow weighing your heart down. With tears blurring your eyes, you slid your wedding ring off. The diamond glinted at you, looking even more radiant through your tears. You extended the ring to the man.

“Mortgage this too, it is a family treasure.”

The man looked uncomfortable. He eyed the ring on his palm warily. “Are you sure, Mrs. Min? I think-”

“Just go.”

He left without a word, leaving you alone, swirling in the emotions that were choking your lungs.

*****

You were pacing around your study, wondering what was happening to Yoongi. There had been a phone call exactly at midnight. A low raspy voice had said, “You have two days,” before cutting off abruptly. The call had left you wide-eyed and worried.

Now, as you paced impatiently, you wished you could turn to someone for help. Your mother-in-law was sure to have stowed away some money in security deposits. But how could you ask her? She barely recognized you, she would surely have no recollection of her deposits, whatsoever. On an impulse, you dialed the number of the institution in which she was housed.

You listened to the dial-back tone, nervously biting your nails. God, you smelt like a tramp. You hadn’t showered, hadn’t eaten a morsel, or even had a sip of water. The line crackled and a high-pitched voice answered.

“Klammer Institute.”

You sucked in a deep breath. “Hi, I am Min Sung-Hee’s family. How is she?”

“Oh, Good morning Mrs.Min. I am afraid she has been catatonic; Dr. Stevens upped her dosage last night to see if she responds.”

“Oh.” Your heart fell. But this was to be expected. “Is it possible for me to speak to her?”

“Let me see if she will talk, hold on.”

You waited; the answer already clear as day. It was the most foolish thing ever to expect any good outcome from this. Were you losing your mind too? It wasn’t like you to cling on to fruitless threads like this. You heard the woman speak to your mother-in-law, announcing your arrival. There was a rustle, and then silence.

“Hello?” you ventured after a few seconds of the deafening silence.

“Hm?” the voice sounded painfully feeble.

“Hey, Ma. I am Y/N. How are you?” You held your breath.

“Y/N? I don’t know any Y/N.”

“I am your daughter-in-law,” you began to explain patiently before she cut you off.

“Where is Min? Give the phone to him.”

She was asking for her husband, the poor darling. You didn’t have the heart to tell her that he had died. You were an idiot. What had you expected? A miracle?

“He… He isn’t around right now, Ma.”

“Tell him I am so lonely. Why did he leave me here? I feel so…” There was a pause. “Who are you again?”

“Never you mind, Ma. Please rest. Let me speak to the orderly.”

After inquiring more about your mother-in-law’s health, you cut the call with a sigh. There was no possible way you could ask your only relative for help. You felt even worse than when you had placed the call.

*****

There were only 12 hours left for the deadline to end. You had not showered in three days. There were tired dark circles around your eyes. You hadn’t slept in more than 30 hours, and it was making your eyes sting to look at any light. The same white nightshirt you had been wearing when Yoongi was dragged out by goons clung to your famished body. You had moved out of your house and had taken up a room in a mediocre hotel. Luxury hotels charged so much it made your ears burn.

There was an urgent knock on the door, and you sprinted to open it. Bong Ju was standing outside, a big black suitcase weighing his arm down. You practically ripped his arm off, pulling him into the room and banging the door shut.

“Well?”

You could hear your pulse throbbing in your ears. He nodded swiftly, rushing to the bed and heaving the suitcase on it. He threw it open, wiping his eyebrows in the crook of his elbow. There were stacks of crisp banknotes, arranged neatly and secured with elastic.

“There’s 50 million dollars in here, Mrs.Min.”

You looked at him with a faint sense of foreboding. “Did everything… did it all just fetch- only 50 million dollars?”

You had mortgaged your entire life. And it had all amounted to just covering your ass?

“I naturally had to avoid much negotiation, you see. Time is of the essence here and we couldn’t possibly waste it in bargaining.”

You nodded. Everything felt like water slipping through your fingers.

“And the ring?” you managed to whisper.

“It fetched 75 thousand dollars, Mrs. Min. And solely because it was an heirloom.” He lowered his voice and added, “The appraiser was an old friend of mine.”

You huffed in impatience. Who cared if he had pulled strings to get you the money? It was his job. Also, he was partly responsible for the mess your company was in. What kind of legal advisor couldn’t advise the CEO not to trust a stranger too much? You narrowed your eyes at him. It sickened you to see his greasy smile. Did he expect you to appreciate him or something? Dick.

“There’s only 11 hours and thirty minutes left.” You leaped to the bed and clamped the suitcase shut. Lugging it behind, you bolted through the door. You heard the man mutter something behind you. No time to listen. If you had turned and lent an ear, you would have heard him hiss at you:

“Mrs.Min, you are in your pajamas!”

*****

You hailed a cab, not caring in the least about the stares from all around you. A cab screeched to a halt in front of you.

“Where to, miss?” He took in your disheveled appearance. “What the hell, lady? Problems with the family?”

You jumped in and slammed the door shut. Your knuckles were aching from your hold on the suitcase. It contained your whole life.

“I need to go to the South Boulevard.”

He turned from his seat, eyeing you warily.

“That’s not a very safe neighborhood,” he shrugged, “not a place for a young woman like yourself.”

“That’s alright. I need to go there.”

“Where exactly, if I may ask?”

“Uh, Kim Taehyung’s mansion. Do you know it?”

“Oh, him.” There was a long pause. “I know that place.”

There was no more conversation after that, and you rode in silence. You chewed your nails, wondering if you should have actually counted the money for yourself. What if that sleazy Bong Ju had tried to steal some for himself? Wiping your eyebrows, you looked out the windows. Now you had no way of knowing if you really had 50 million dollars in your suitcase. It would not be safe to count the money inside the cab. You looked at the driver’s face in the rearview mirror. Suddenly you were filled with distrust that spanned to every living thing around you.

The cab ground to a halt in front of a sprawling mansion. You stumbled around with trembling fingers for change to cover the fare. As he reached his palm out to take it, the man suddenly stilled. He opened the door and stepped out, much to your alarm. He removed his coat and extended it to you.

“Take this.” He raised an eyebrow in the general direction of the mansion. “Can’t go in there in just your pajamas, lady.”

The suspicion rolled off your body and evaporated into thin air. You wrapped yourself in his coat and stammered your thanks. You stood watching the cab pull away, and shook yourself as it disappeared out of sight. 'Okay, Y/N. Time to go into the monster’s den.’

Dragging the suitcase, you charged through the gates, not paying attention to all the armed men walking around. They paused and stared, but didn’t stop you. You wouldn’t lie, all your nerves were tightly wound, almost to snapping point. You walked with your calf muscles burning, storming through the lawns and making a beeline to the enormous oak door. On reaching the door, a man with a rifle thrust his weapon at you, blocking your way.

“Where do you think you’re going, sweetmeat?”

Disgust rolled up your throat and you gritted your teeth. The man’s sweaty odor was enough to make you want to puke.

“Let me through. I need to go in to pay up my debt.”

He ran his eyes all over you, making you squirm in your nightclothes. With a sickening smirk, he lifted his rifle and allowed you to pass, calling behind you, “Boss is on the second floor. Also, nice ass.”

*****

Puffing and heaving, you reached the second floor. There were a lot of guards outside the first door, and you decided that was where Taehyung probably was. Not paying heed to the guards, you pushed the door open. Sure enough, there was the devil, his legs propped on his table, his eyes scanning a file. A gun was strewn on the table carelessly.

Taehyung looked up and saw you standing framed by the doorway. He couldn’t believe you were there, wearing the exact nightshirt that had haunted him in his dreams. He could see the damp spot on your chest, where your sweat had moistened the cloth and turned it deliciously translucent. Your hair was damp with sweat, all those little wisps of hair had stuck to your forehead like a wreath. The way your chest heaved with each breath sent a sharp ache down his groin. He looked at the suitcase in your hand, and his lips stretched in a sly smile.

“Brought my money back, huh, sugar?”

He manspread his legs on the desk, his crotch as clear as day. He was enjoying the way your eyes grew wide. The bob of your throat as you swallowed nervously sent his mind spinning with images of making you gag around him. He picked his gun and spun it as he regarded you with an arrogant smirk.

You glared at him and threw the suitcase on the table, opening it wide to show him the stacks of money.

“Take this and let Yoongi go.”

He threw his head back with a sigh. He inhaled slowly, closing his eyes. Crossing his heels on the table, he lazily toyed with his gun.

“Oh, baby doll, I wish I could.”

You tensed, electric jolts going haywire in your brain.

“What? What the fuck do you mean?”

“I don’t think I can let him go, baby girl.”

“Fucking take the money and give me my husband, KIM TAEHYUNG!”

He swung his legs off the table, watching you as he swiveled sideways on his chair. Two guards rushed in on hearing your screams. Taehyung blew on the muzzle of his gun with disinterest.

“And what if I won’t?”

You threw your hands up in despair.

“What the fuck more do you want?”

He got up and ambled around the mahogany desk. He precariously sat on the table with one leg on the floor, supporting his weight. He still had the gun in his hand, rubbing it in slow strokes on the side of his pants.

“Ah,” he said, looking beyond you at the guards in the doorway. “There’s no problem here, Wo Bin-ah. You can wait outside.”

In a flash, you spun on your heel to look at Wo Bin, standing there with a rifle. He wasn’t wearing glasses, and he towered over you, his chest puffed up.

“What? Wo Bin? You? You! You!” You lunged at him, arms outstretched in rage. He jabbed your chin with the butt of his rifle, sending shooting pain throughout your skull. Head swimming, you saw his blurred outline walk out of the room.

As you clutched your jaw, there was a deep chuckle behind you.

“Confused, honey?”

You turned and glared at Taehyung.

“What is that.. what is that scum doing here?”

“He works for me.”

“What?!”

“Hmm.” He hummed softly, rubbing his temple with the gun. He took a step towards you. “He’s been with me for years.”

“How- what was he- Where is Yoongi?” There was a sudden panic coursing through your veins. You needed to fetch Yoongi and get out of here.

“You’ll get him if you give me what I want.” He was now talking slow steps towards you.

“I already brought you the money, dickwad assbutt.”

He chuckled again, shaking his head.

“I want you.”

You froze, jaw hanging open.

He drawled lazily. “Min Yoongi is a penniless loser. He has nothing left in the world.” He came nearer. “But you just made me 50 million dollars richer. I have everything. I am so much better than him, sugar”

His eyes blazed at you. “Be mine.”

He reached out and tugged at your coat, brushing his fingers against the fabric. When you didn’t move, he circled you and stood behind you. Ghosting his arm around your waist, he spooned you from behind. He bent slightly to take a whiff of your hair. Mmm. Berries. The movement thrust his entire body snug against you.

His hands were reaching your chest, almost groping you. Suddenly, you were aware of a hard bulge pressing against you.

“NO,” you shouted shrilly at the top of your lungs, wriggling vigorously to get out of his grip. His arm tightened around your midsection and you scratched and clawed at his flesh until he hissed and released you. You pushed off his chest, screaming. His fingers clawed at the air and found your coat, holding you back as you tried to run. He held on to your coat in a vice-like grip, not allowing you to advance. With a wild shrug, you got out of the coat, catapulting to the door in the momentum. Without looking back, you ran out as if your head were on fire.

Taehyung spat out on seeing the angry red nail marks on his arms. He shouted to his men, commanding them to run after you. He would not let you get away. He ran out like a madman, slamming himself against the balcony when he saw your figure darting across the lawns. The men were chasing you, but you were running like the wind. He gritted his teeth, seeing you jump across the hedges like a hare.

He roared to a guy, shouting at him to get his car. He was going to get you, no matter what.

*****

You ran faster than you had ever run in your life. The adrenaline pushed your limits, sending you blazing through the boulevard. You cut across lanes, doing your best to not go down the obvious route. It had been almost half an hour on the run before your lungs gave out. You squinted your eyes, making out the towers of a suspension bridge that stretched over the sea, and you knew where to go.

You were thoroughly spent when you wheezed and stumbled to the bridge. The cars were whirring past, oblivious to the skimpily clad figure trudging along the bridge. It was illegal to walk on the bridge’s deck, you knew, but you didn’t care. It would be lucky for you to get into prison, at least you would be safe there. Reaching the hard left of the bridge, you gripped the railing and peered down.

The sea was lapping at the visible parts of the bridge’s foundations. The water looked frightening, stretching out in such a vast expanse that made you feel insignificant. You looked around. Cars were still moving back and forth, no one seemed to have seen you loitering on the bridge. There was no time to lose.

Throwing your leg over the railing, you hoisted yourself on the suspender cables that had the lowest elevation. You kicked your feet off the railing, resolving to not look down at the deep, deep sea splashing around down beneath. A sick panic climbed up from the pit of your stomach as you dangled from the railing, with nothing to support you but your hands. It was so hard to hold on to the metal, the afternoon sun had heated it to scalding point. Pain shot up your shoulder joints, causing you to wince in agony. The three-day starvation was quickly catching up, and you felt like you were going to pass out.

There was immediate death beckoning to you from below. The drop itself would kill you. A vague newspaper fragment floated to your mind’s eye. There had been a passage once on the newspaper about this bridge, and you knew this one was 75 feet high. Sweat rolled down your forehead, forming fat beads on your eyelashes. No, you could not let go, you would plummet to your death. The drops of sweat flowed into your eyes, stinging them and causing you to curse out loud. You had to get a move on before your arms gave out.

A few feet away, there was a small platform jutting out from under the deck of the bridge. Blinking away the salty drops blurring your vision, you swung your arm out to catch the next rail. Oh God, was it difficult. Fuck those action heroes who did it above safety nets and made it look easy as pie. You were sure your arms would tear off from all the strain. Muttering a fluent string of curse words, you heaved your body from rail to rail, never looking down.

It felt like ages before you reached the damned platform. It was made of metal, and you squealed in pain as it scorched your bottom. The thin pajamas were not helping either. Biting down on your tongue, you rolled on your bottom, wishing the heat dissipated quickly. The platform was very small, it was probably never intended to provide sanctuary for a human. The strip of metal was long, and you decided to align yourself along the length of it. There was no support on the sides, you could easily roll over and fall into the crashing waves.

You lay still, holding on to the edge of the platform for dear life. The sun was beating down on your face mercilessly. You were sure you’d be sunburnt beyond recognition if you stayed here long enough. A little farther, there were a couple of ships moving slowly against the horizon. You were watching them when you heard cars whiz past the deck, causing the platform to vibrate hard. Closing your eyes, you wondered if any of those cars carried Taehyung or his gang of goons.

*****

Taehyung couldn’t believe he had let you slip that easily. He had moved every piece in the game so carefully. How could he have lost you after so much effort? His men were combing the streets for you, dozens of his cars were patrolling the land. No one had gotten any whiff of you so far. But they would. He knew it was just a matter of hours before you would be back in his arms, nightshirt and all.

As he rode in stony anger, seated in the back of his car, he remembered the first time he had seen you.

Taehyung’s family was not old money, they had no old family ties with the rest of the elite. His father had been a part of the mafia, and the family thrived prosperously. But it still wasn’t enough to grant Taehyung the privileges Yoongi’s family enjoyed. He was invited to a lot of social gatherings, yes, but somehow he was always on a lower rung on the social ladder.

There were many events that Taehyung was excluded from. He and Yoongi never mingled. The tension in the room whenever he was in an elite gathering always made Taehyung queasy. He felt like everyone looked down on him, even if he had as much money as the rest of them. Their stares and whispers served to infuriate him, making him feel deeply resentful towards affluent families like the Min clan.

It was one such night when Taehyung had stormed out of a party hosted by one of Mrs.Min friends. He had felt passively insulted, and he had gone in an attempt to prevent screaming his head off. It had begun to drizzle, and just as he decided to turn back, he saw you.

You were walking towards the crosswalk, a book in hand. You were probably returning from a library. There was a serene vibe about you, and it drew him in completely. He watched as you waited for the light to turn green, turning your head up to feel the rain patter against your forehead. The little curve of your lips as the drops streamed down your face made his heart beat faster. Suddenly you seemed to remember about the book, and hugged it to yourself, covering it with your jacket. He stood rooted to the spot, unmindful of the rain that had begun to wet his clothes. He followed you till you reached your home, and smiled to himself after you closed the door behind you. He was going to get to know you.

It was incredibly easy to follow you around, thanks to your cute obliviousness. He soon found out all your favorite books, restaurants, coffeehouses and pubs. He never got tired of tagging behind you. It was a pleasant feeling to follow you when you flitted like a butterfly before him. Until you drove into the Min house one evening.

Taehyung parked a few blocks outside the gates, watching you each day as you drove in and out that wretched house. He was mad at you for consorting with that family. Every time, he calmed his rage by telling himself that you were just there on business. He would tell you to cut off all business ties with that snobbish family after he started dating you.

It was on a particularly windy night that he waited outside the gates, muttering impatiently under his breath. A storm was brewing, and he chided you in his mind for staying in too long. What would you do if it rained hard? The roads would be slippery, not to mention the low visibility that would threaten your safety. He was too caught up in his worry that he almost missed the sleek black car that sailed out of the gates. Just as he was about to dismiss it thinking it wasn’t your car anyway, he caught a glimpse of the riders. You. In Min Yoongi’s car.

Gripping the steering wheel tight enough to make his fingers numb, he turned on the ignition and tailed Yoongi’s car stealthily. He felt like his nerves could pop from all the rage. That was his woman in that bastard Yoongi’s car! A part of him wanted to see reason. It was raining hard, and you needed to get home. Maybe the Yoongi fellow would drop you at your house and get lost soon.

But all the amiable feelings drained out of his system when he saw Yoongi getting out and following you into the house. Hot angry tears pricked his eyes when you closed the door and locked it behind you. He ground his teeth, looking at his watch every five minutes, hoping to see Yoongi get out. Tough luck, there was no sign of Yoongi leaving in a hurry. He was shaking with anger for a good two hours before the door opened again. That was when he knew he had to destroy Min Yoongi.

Just like he had feared, you fell for that rich snob. He watched you go on dinners with Yoongi, and he knew time was running out. It was a rude shock to him when he found out you were engaged to Yoongi. So soon? God, that slimy wretch Min was moving so fast to secure you. Taehyung had no choice but to witness you grow closer and closer to Yoongi. And before he knew it, you were married. It was the first time in years he drunk himself to oblivion and passed out on the floor of his bar.

*****

Taehyung had been miserable for months after your wedding. He had been invited to the wedding of course, and he had watched another man put a ring on you and claim you as his own. There was a deep void in his heart, so deep that he couldn’t spend one waking moment without thinking of you. He wanted you, he was not going to let the wedding deter him. You had flown out of his reach, but he resolved to get you back. He was going to ruin Min Yoongi. The game had just started.

It was a stroke of luck for Taehyung when Yoongi’s father died and left his son to take care of all the businesses. Taehyung was a smart man, and he pounced on the opportunity to dig Yoongi’s trench. He plotted carefully, weighing his options. Finally, he decided to infiltrate the enemy lines and place a Trojan horse in the Min camp. That was how Wo Bin got to work in the enemy’s company.

Taehyung was proud of Wo Bin. The man was excellent at his job. He meticulously followed Taehyung’s instructions and went on to win Yoongi’s confidence. When Wo Bin completed two successful acquisitions for the Min Corporation, Taehyung knew that the time was ripe.

Slowly and steadily, Wo Bin drained the coffers, striking extravagant deals and sabotaging the company from the inside out. He convinced Yoongi that the deals were futuristic, and no harm was going to befall the company due to them. He could sense that Yoongi was uneasy, but he came up with ridiculously complex theories and shut him up for good. One weekend, when Yoongi was away at Melbourne for a deal, Wo Bin moved in for the kill.

Taehyung made sure that he was the first person who called to console Yoongi when he returned from Melbourne and found himself neck-deep in debt. Taehyung started moving with the utmost caution to secure his traps. He struck up a cordial relationship with Yoongi, calling on him and arranging friendly meetings to 'cheer him up’. That was how Yoongi wound up in a bar with Taehyung, drinking away his sorrows and slurring his words as he told Taehyung of how badly he had been cheated by his manager.

It was not until he made Yoongi sufficiently drunk that Taehyung turned on his smooth charm. He buttered up to the man, gushing on how he wished to help. He was fishing for a reaction and Yoongi promptly gave him one.

“Really? You- you will lend me money to settle off my investors?”

Taehyung smiled smoothly, turning his glass in his hand. God, the man was so gullible.

“Sure. If that’s what you want.”

“I can’t believe this. 5 million dollars? Are you sure?”

“Hey, it’s just a few millions. The important thing is that I’m getting to help you out.” He struggled to keep the victorious smirk off his face as Yoongi fell for it hard. This was going perfectly according to plan.

So Yoongi borrowed the first 5 million from Taehyung. But to his surprise, it was becoming increasingly difficult to settle all his investors. The prices kept climbing up, and within no time he found himself borrowing 5 million more. And then the 5 million turned into 10 million and he felt like it was just in a blink of an eye that his total loan amounted to 50 million.

Taehyung had finally trapped Yoongi for good. As all the memories flashed in his mind, Taehyung grinned to himself. He had succeeded in reducing his enemy to dust. And he would soon have his reward: You.

*****

You lay terribly cramped on the platform, unable to move in fear of falling down. There were sure to be sunburn on your face. The fingers that had held on to the sides of the platform were now numb and senseless. You watched the sky turn orange, pink and purple, the colors amplified by the sea. Finally, the sky wore a deep blue cloak and stars came out twinkling. A chill breeze picked up salt from the sea and blew around you, smelling like fish and seaweed. The coldness wrapped around you like a blanket, engulfing you in the overwhelming smell of the sea. You could almost taste the salt in the air. There was a ship below which looked spectacular, decked in lights. The lights made you feel warm, and you kept wondering about all the lucky people who would be in that bright, cheerful ship.

You didn’t know when you had fallen asleep. But dawn was beginning to break according to the hues of the sky. You woke with a jolt when you dreamt of falling, and it was in sheer horror that you watched your slipper drop down the platform. You peeked over the edge and saw your slipper hurtling down. It became a speck as it touched the water, and a chill ran up your back when you saw the faint ripples that swallowed it and became calm again. You had to get out of there.

Where could you go? You had no home. Taehyung probably had men at the hotel you had stayed at previously. Yoongi still was in danger. You smelt like rotten fish. God, you had to wash up. The salt in the air had made your skin annoyingly sticky. The sun would soon be up, cars would start moving, and soon the platform would heat up again. Getting up and fighting the killer cramps in your legs, you held on to the suspender cables. Balancing your weight on the tips of your toes, you scanned the deck. There was very little traffic.

Making sure to grab the cables, you jumped up and caught hold of a rail. Good. Now all you had to do was pull yourself up. Easier said than done. After 30 minutes of cussing and panting, your feet were on the deck again.

This side of the city was clearly under construction. It was probably noon, but heavy rain clouds were gathering above you. As you jogged on, you could see trenches dug out and sealed off with construction tape, probably for road works. Some of them were pretty big and connected to successive trenches, almost like a muddy subway along the road. You were too absorbed in jogging to see a car tailing you. In a couple of minutes, two more cars joined it. The first drops of rain fell, and you decided to cut across the alleyways and wait out the rain.

Just as you turned and entered a lane, you ran smack into a car. The hood was hot, and you leaped back. The headlights blinked at you through the sheets of rain.

“Sorry. My bad.”

You attempted to walk around when you saw three cars blocking your path from the back. They slowly receded to a distance and blinked their lights and you turned again to see someone stepping out from the car before you. Him.

“Well, quite the chase, baby doll.”

He draped his arm over the door, watching you. The rain made your shirt transparent, causing it to stick to your body in the most delicious ways. The cold had made your nipples harden, and the nubs were poking against the shirt. His mind went into a frenzy as he took in the way the raindrops beaded on your face.

“Let’s go home now.” He advanced towards you, extending his arm.

“No.”

“Now now, baby girl, it is useless to keep resisting.”

“I will resist until I die.” Tears mixed with the rain, flowing down your face in torrents.

“We have all the time in the world for that.”

He pulled you against him, sniffing your hair loudly, making you cringe. With a harsh shove, he sent you flying into the car.

Your wet clothes were ruining his car, but to hell with that. He had found you. Reaching over a slender finger, he clicked the lock on your side of the door in place. The outline of your body was still visible through the sheer clothes, making his mouth water. God, was he going to have fun with you.

You had no way of escaping. The door was locked and the car was zooming past the trenches. Your eyes wandered to Taehyung’s side. And then you saw it. His side was unlocked. But how to get over there? Unless… ugh. But that was the only way to do it.

It was a surprise to Taehyung when you slid closer to him, face stony. He was even more surprised when you threw a hand over his lean, firm thigh. When you threw a leg over him and made a move as if to straddle him, his eyebrows shot up. Your eyes were closed, so he could not read the expression on your face. The wet clothes soaked through his pants and gave him gooseflesh. Eyes still closed, you slowly rutted against him, holding on to both his shoulders. Oh, Sweet God, how hot you looked, grinding against him, hair plastered against your forehead and water dripping from the ends of your locks onto his shirt. A sharp pang of want shot through the length of his dick and he moaned out loud. Before he knew it, you were gone.

As soon as he had closed his eyes with a moan, you had clicked his door open and jumped out, rolling on the muddy sloshy road.

When he found out and yelled to the driver to stop, he was too late. You were nowhere to be found. The beating rain made it harder to see. Muddy rivulets were running everywhere, dark brown and dirty. His body trembled in murderous rage on realizing that you had deceived him. Bitch. He pulled out a glinting object from his coat pocket. He gritted his teeth as he twirled your wedding ring in his fingers. The diamond sparkled and glinted at him as if laughing at his folly. He could almost shoot himself for being so foolish as to believe your little stunt. When Kim Taehyung flew out of his car, he was fit to murder.

*****

It was fortunate that there was no proper road where you had fallen. You had quickly rolled into a trench and stayed there. From your vantage point, you could see the trench extending on either way like a mini subway. You couldn’t stay there; the goons might check out the trenches too. So, with your head lowered, you crawled forward, palms splashing in the mud and splattering bright brown stains all over your clothes.

A good many yard later, the trenches grew deeper, meaning that you could now stand and still not be visible by anyone who wasn’t looking into the trenches. But by now, gravity had found its way and all the runoff from the rain was pouring into the dugout pits. As you walked further, you found with growing alarm that the water level was almost to your knees and still rising. The walking turned into wading, and the water never ceased flowing into the pits. A few blocks farther, the pits came to an abrupt end. There was no way to move forward. And when you turned back, there was no way to go back either.

The open tunnel was filling fast, and the muddy walls looked like they were going to collapse and fall in, burying you alive. The road was a few feet above your head, there was no way you could jump out of this muddy maze. The water was now up to your chest. So, this was it. This was how you were going to die. Drowned in a trench, muddied beyond recognition. But hey, better than being ravaged and killed by Taehyung.

Arms outstretched, you fumbled blindly around, even as your chin dipped in the water. Just a few more minutes and you’d drown. Helplessness made you wilder, and suddenly your fingers found purchase at a rock jutting out of the mud. Stepping on it, you heaved your weight on it, launching yourself a couple of inches upwards. Okay great, your chin was out of the water. But it soon would be in the water again. Shifting all your weight on one foot, you swung the other foot hard at the crude wall on your side. No harm in seeing if you could get out. It might fall in, but you would die either way.

On the third hit, your foot lodged well into the wall. Moment of truth. You shifted your weight to the foot on the wall and heaved up. When you opened your eyes again, you were still alive, the wall supporting your body and not crumbling as you had feared. One more swing. Another. Another. In a few minutes, you were lying on the mud outside the trenches, spitting out dirt and sputtering. There was a dump truck some feet away that looked deserted. Carefully scanning the path for any suspected goons, you hurried to the truck, crawling underneath, tucking yourself there and hoping to stay hidden till the rain stopped.

From under the truck, you could see a couple of cars whizzing past on the dirt road along the trenches. Suddenly, one of them stopped and three guys got out. They walked the length of the road and turned to leave when a guy abruptly turned and peeped into the flooded trench. The howling wind made it unable to clearly hear his voice, and you could only catch “… would have drowned if she had.” The men shrugged and walked back to the car, disappearing from view a couple minutes later.

There was only blank silence in your head as you lay under the truck. There were no thoughts, your mind was completely numb. Too much had happened in too little time, so your mind just blocked all the emotions out. Every part of your body screamed in agony. Damage was a sure thing if you threw yourself out of a speeding car. Throw in a muddy adventure with a near-death experience and you had one hell of a pain cocktail. The rain started to grow lighter, and soon you had to get going again. But where to? Damn the pounding headache that kicked in to add to your misery. Where could you go?

*****

Jung Hoseok had been stirring his coffee and looking out the window for a long time. He liked the rain, but only when he was not getting wet in it. The street looked deserted, everyone was probably huddled around the fire in their homes, sipping hot drinks. He turned to his wife Bo Na, who was reading a book.

“Leaves on the trees outside are all clean and green.”

She nodded, too engrossed in her book to comment. He looked out again. “Seems like they all had a shower and dressed up fresh.” She nodded again.

“I married an idiot.”

She almost nodded, caught herself and scowled, hitting him with the book. He laughed, pulling the book playfully.

“I wanted to check if you were paying attention, hon.” He was still laughing when he looked outside again, and the smile slowly faded.

“What is it, Hobi? What do you see?” His wife was now paying him attention.

“There’s a person all muddied up, walking down the street. Poor bugger. Homeless, probably.”

“What?” His wife stood up and craned her head to see better. “Oh yes, poor thing.”

Hoseok looked at the figure as it drew closer and suddenly stood up, toppling his coffee.

“Holy shit. That’s Y/N!”

He rushed to the door, yanking it open to reveal a figure completely caked with mud, with hair matted and dried up in brown clumps.

As soon as the door opened, you fell forward, sagging against him bodily, effectively passing out.

It was eighteen hours later that you opened your eyes. You were in bed, and a dull ache in your head made you wince. When you tried to turn, a jolting pain shot through your arm, startling you. And then all the memories came flooding back. You shot up in bed, looking down at yourself. Everything was clean, your skin, palms, clothes, feet, everything. The pajamas were not yours, they were baby blue, not the soiled mess you had been wearing before. There were Band-Aids on your arms, and you smelled fresh. Your hair felt soft and mud-free and you caught the familiar whiff of coconuts. Bo Na’s shampoo.

There was a pitcher of water on the bedside table. Just as you leaned over to reach it, a man came bounding inside, crushing you in a hug.

“Y/N! You scared me shitless! Thank God!”

“Hobi,” you managed to whisper, “How long was I out?”

“18 hours. What the hell were you doing, digging a tunnel to China?”

“Hobi - I …” you paused, lowering your head. “I’m hungry. Starving.”

“Oh yes, wait a sec. Let me get you something hot.”

When he returned, Bo Na was with him, a worried look on her face. Both of them wisely held their silence as you gobbled up all the pasta ravenously. When you were done, you fell back on the pillows, sighing contentedly. But guilt immediately set in, chilling your heart. Yoongi. Would he be starving? Would those bastards have provided him food? Water? Involuntary tears welled up and rolled down your cheeks.

“Hey,” Hoseok advanced, flicking a tear away with his finger. “What is it? What happened?”

And you told your friends what had happened, not leaving out a single detail. They listened with eyes that grew wider and wider in shock. Your voice caught several times, and Hoseok sat beside you, rubbing small circles on your back. When you finished, Bo Na’s mouth was set in a straight line.

“The sick bastard.”

She reached out and took your hand, squeezing it. “We will find Yoongi, Y/N. Let us go to the police.”

Hoseok shook his head. “There’s no proof to show that Taehyung did everything Y/N just said. No offense Y/N, I believe you completely. But the police might not. There’s no proof.”

“So?” Bo Na crossed her arms. “So, what else can we do? She already paid him back.”

“No proof of that either.”

You sat up, interjecting them. “But Bong Ju is a witness. He knows I went to Taehyung and paid the money back.”

“That’s right. So, what do we do now?”

Your forehead creased in thought. “Maybe… I’ll go to him and ask him what we should do? He might suggest something.”

“That’s like relying on crumbs, Y/N. No solid plan.” Hoseok stared into your eyes with frank honesty.

“I know, Hobi. But we can’t go to the police. Taehyung might seriously injure Yoongi if he knew we went to the police.”

“True, again. Well, in that case, let’s go to Bong Ju’s. I’ll drive you there.”

“That might risk your life, Hobi.”

“No probs. You are my best friend. Now come on, get dressed. Bo Na, lend some clothes to Y/N, honey.”

*****

You didn’t have your phone to look up Bong Ju’s number. You found him on the yellow pages and called ahead to let him know. When you turned to hand back the phone to Hoseok, he looked at you quizzically.

“What was that for?”

“What was what?”

He sighed. “Why call him? You know thugs are scouring the place to find you.”

You bit your lip. “I wanted to make sure he was at his place. Didn’t want to risk your neck twice in case he wasn’t.”

“Right.” Your friend still shook his head and went to the door. “Let’s go Y/N.”

When the car pulled up outside Bong Ju’s house, you had a sudden bout of anxiety. Would there be an ambush? You weren’t even sure if Bong Ju was genuine after all. You stepped out, whispering to Hoseok to wait down the street.

“I’ll be back in a bit.”

He nodded and eased the car down the road, and you turned to look at the house. As you took a step forward, you caught a movement out of the corner of your eye. The whole street was deserted, despite it being a fine day. Something felt odd. Maybe you should turn back? What you saw next made up your mind.

The window overlooking the street was open, and there were shadows on the wall of the room. Several round ones, like human heads. And one distinct one. A gun. Time to get the hell out of the place. You turned on your heel and pelted down the street, hearing a loud crash behind you as the door swung open. Burly guys ran out, hot on your heels. Shit, how much more running could you do?

You raced to the car, but there was no Hoseok in it.

“HOSEOK??” you screamed at the top of your lungs.

The guys were closer now, you had to make a run for it. Where was Hobi? You jumped in and searched for the keys. They were gone. “Shit, shit, shit. Not now” you were boiling with rage. Where the hell was Hoseok? A guy reached the car door and thrust his hand at you. Anger made you braver than ever, and you bit his arm with all your might. Kicking the door open and hitting his groin with a hard kick, you pushed him aside and fled down the street. By then, you were familiar with fleeing successfully. Taking detours through alleys and narrow lanes, you threw the guys off your scent and hid out in an apartment’s parking lot for some time, just to make sure.

*****

You had to take elaborate round-about lanes to go back to Hoseok’s. Taehyung’s stupid sons of bitches were everywhere, cropping up like mushrooms. Maybe your friend had already returned home. But Hoseok’s car was not in the garage. He had not come back. At least his car had not.

Maybe he had called Bo Na and informed her of his whereabouts. As you stepped in, the carpet muffling your footfalls, you heard Bo Na sobbing into the phone.

“I will send - I will send her.” There was a pause to accommodate a violent fit of sobs. “Please let him go.” A longer pause. “No no no, have her, take her, do whatever you want. Just give me my Hoseok back.”

You stood rooted to the spot, stunned. She sobbed and pleaded, emphasizing how much Hoseok meant to her. To be precise, how less you meant to her. With a final nod that the caller would never see, she hung up and turned to see you staring at her, openmouthed.

“Y/N! I - I never meant…”

“Save your breath, Bo Na.” You cast a hard glare at her. But inwardly you were shriveling up with guilt. It was true that Hoseok was in danger because of you. That was a hard fact. When you spoke again, your voice was barely a whisper.

“I’m sorry I inconvenienced both of you. And I’m sorry Hobi is in trouble because of me.” You wiped the corner of your eyes. “I will go to Taehyung. I’m sorry for all this. You will never see me again.”

“Y/N, it’s not like that -”

“It’s alright. I will get going now.” You turned and made for the door, and you had cleared the doorway when she ran up behind you and clutched your arm.

“Y/N, please. Please listen to me. I’m sorry.” She pulled your arm again. “Let me help you.”

“You’ve helped me enough, Bo Na.” As you tried to shrug her off, she held her ground and hissed angrily.

“Shut UP! Fucking shut up and listen, okay?” She loosened her grip, exhaling slowly. “I talked to one of my friends who knows someone who works for Taehyung. There’s no solid proof but it seems like Yoongi is not in Taehyung’s mansion right now. He’s somewhere else, in one of Taehyung’s luxury cottages. I got the general description of the place without asking the address straight out and raising suspicion.”

There was no word to describe your feelings, so you grasped her by the shoulders and blinked away tears. “Tell me more.”

She gave you a small note on which she had scrawled her friend’s description. “Don’t go to Taehyung’s. He will never take you to Yoongi. Go to the cottage.”

You nodded, staring at the paper in your hand.

Her voice broke again, and she whispered again.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I could never apologize enough. But wait, let me get you something.” She ran off and returned with a drawstring bag. “I’ve packed a flashlight, knife and a lighter in here. Take my car.”

She held out the bag, and you accepted it wordlessly. She tossed her keys, nodding at you in silence. With a hug, you turned and walked out.

*****

It wasn’t difficult to find Taehyung’s cottage. But getting in would be a whole other story. There were armed guys outside the gates, and it was not a quaint little place you had imagined it to be. The building was massive, almost the same size as his mansion, the only difference being more trees and shrubs on the grounds. It most certainly could be called a chateau. The sun was casting long shadows, it would soon be twilight. You decided it would be easier to wait and slink in the shadows after darkness fell.

While you waited in the car, you formed a mental image of how you were going to get in. There was barbed fencing on the walls, but whatever, you could scale them. Something had changed you. Jumping over fences and tackling armed guys was completely out of your league. But you found yourself not scared in the least. The man you loved was trapped in there. Your best friend was held somewhere too. Nothing would scare you off.

It was a full moon that shone down at you when you scaled the wall, silently cursing as the barbs tore through Bo Na’s jeans and drew blood. The drop from the wall was equally efficient in drawing more curses as you limped into the shadows. Once positioned in the shadows, you slowly slunk from tree to tree, staying in the shadows and moving whenever the coast was clear. Your adrenaline made your vision crystal clear; every sense was on high alert. Hands trembling, you scaled a wall again and landed on the corridor of the second floor with a soft thud.

Digging out the flashlight, you gripped it without turning it on. Yoongi had to be somewhere dark. Maybe this place had a basement. If you ever had a captive, you would surely have him tied up in the basement. Trying to make the least sound possible, you softly padded down the stairs until there were no more steps. But this place was no basement. It was only an empty dark space with no rooms, only pillars. Just as you turned to go back up, your foot hit a hard metal object on the floor, and you had to clamp your mouth shut to avoid screaming. You knelt down to inspect, running your fingers on the floor. It was a trap door.

So, there was a basement. But there should be another entrance to the basement, you were sure. Taehyung the high-and-mighty would not prefer jumping down a trap door. An entrance had to be inside the cottage itself, from where anyone could get in. Well, in that case, maybe there wouldn’t be guards guarding the trap door. It was probable they were posted near the other entrance. It would be an advantage for you. The door was a heavy bitch that refused to budge. Your ears buzzed with the effort as you heaved it up, panting and wheezing. You peered down and saw a dim light down below, and cracked marble flooring. There was no ladder to climb down.

It was a gamble to jump down. There might be someone there, who might see or hear you. There was also the light to be wary of. Lying down, you crawled and balanced yourself on your arms till you could hang your head down the entrance. There was no one as far as you could see. It was a tough call, but you decided to jump.

The sound of your shoes hitting the marble was like a gunshot, at least to you it sounded loud enough. You ran like the wind and ducked in a corner, waiting to see if someone had heard you. The basement had a marble corridor that outlined four rooms. The doors were all shut, and a single worn-out light illuminated the whole area. The steps leading down to the basement was at the very end of the corridor, they probably led up to some unused room in the cottage. Your worry was none of these. The doors. Yoongi was behind one of them. But there were four. What if you opened the wrong door?

A quick sweep of your eyes told you there were no guards around. At least for the moment. With a beating heart, you raced through the corridor, having a quick look at all the doors and reaching the stairs at the end. You crouched under the staircase, revisiting all four doors in your mind. Two had been unbolted, so they could be eliminated. The door closest to the stairs would probably be the one. It was easier to reach from the stairs, and the bolt had looked like it had been oiled recently. You decided to risk it and open that one.

*****

Taehyung was generous with his guys; he took good care of them. It made his goons like working for him. They were unfazed by his unscrupulous deeds. Hell, he was a rich bastard who paid them well. His guys were loyal to him and were ready to move Heaven and Earth to get him what he wanted. And now he wanted you.

Taehyung’s guards were not picked easily. They were former soldiers, dishonorably discharged army men, martial artists and such. Only the best of the bad lot served him. They were already fuming that a woman had outrun them not once but thrice. They had their best men combing the county for you. And the best gunmen patrolled the corridors of the cottage.

One such guard had just finished his patrol on the first floor. He methodically went down the stairs, even if he knew there might be no one down there. He stopped in his tracks when he saw a dull light cutting through the darkness. The trap door was open.

*****

It was incredibly dark inside the room. There was an old musty smell that slapped your face as soon as you opened the door. You could not make out anything in the darkness. Should you risk using the flashlight? Just as you weighed the options, a faint clink of metal on metal reached your ears. It sounded like a metal chain. Restraints? Your heart skipped a beat and you punched on the flashlight. The bright beam illuminated a long chain of metal. You ran the beam along the chain and stopped when it hit a figure curled up in a ball.

“Yoongi?”

Your whisper caused the figure to move, and the person sat up, facing the opposite direction as the chains clinked with his movements. It was Yoongi. It was your husband. You ran towards him, a sob catching in your throat. There was a muffled mumble that sounded like your name. You raced to him, slamming onto his back in a tight hug. He was handcuffed, a gag was muffling him, and there was blindfold in place, obscuring his sight.

“Baby, baby,” you sobbed, tearing at the cloth and freeing his eyes.

The gag went flying too, as your fingers gripped it and yanked it hard. You draped yourself on his back, hugging his neck like a koala. He winced in pain, and you drew back in horror.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” you crooned, squatting before him and taking in his face.

There were ugly black bruises around his eyes and more fresh purple ones along his cheek. His shirt had dried blood stains on it, and you lifted it gently to inspect his abdomen. There were bruises all over him, fresh and old, in varying colors ranging from blue to black. Your eyes fell on the metal chains and then your heart sank. Bo Na had anticipated ropes and had armed you with a knife. But these were metal. You couldn’t cut through metal with a knife. You leaned over and nuzzled your forehead against Yoongi’s.

“I’m sorry baby. I - I thought I could save you.” You sobbed out a bitter laugh. “At least I am with you. I let you down.”

He shook his head, wincing as he did so.

“No.” His voice was raspy. “I failed you. I was a fool. I couldn’t,” his face contorted in pain, “-I couldn’t protect you.”

You set the flashlight down, pulling him gently towards you and cradling him against your bosom.

“No honey, don’t say that. I love you, baby.” His face felt so bony. “God, they’ve starved you.”

You leaned in to kiss him, and you were gently brushing his lips when the light suddenly came on, blinding you and flooding the room with radiance. A man stood framed in the doorway, looking at you with cruel eyes. A slow grin spread over his features as he took in your startled eyes. Without a word, he stepped back, closed the door and bolted it, trapping you in with Yoongi.

*****

The door closed behind the guard, leaving Yoongi and you stunned. There was a sound of metal dropping on marble. And the next thing you saw was wisps of some vapor seeping into the room, curling around, the fine mist clearly visible in flashlight’s beam. The vapor grew in volume, oppressing the air around you and making you dizzy. And that was the last thing you remembered seeing before collapsing into unconsciousness.

When you came to, you were in a different room. A bright one. Your vision was hazy, and your mind was still groggy. You could feel your body, there were no ropes or restraints. Gingerly supporting yourself on your arms, you tried to sit upright. The sudden movement gave you a terrible headrush, and the room started spinning.

“Slowly, my princess.”

That voice. That damned deep voice again. You snapped your head to the side to see Kim Taehyung standing there in a full black suit, leaning casually against a glass wall. As your vision cleared, you saw that the glass was a partition. You jumped up and pounded on the glass. There, on the other side of the glass was Yoongi, head bowed and hands restrained. A long chain was wound around his waist, and the other end was attached firmly to a loop embedded in the wall.

Taehyung looked like he was enjoying himself.

“You came for me.”

You gritted your teeth in anger and snapped, “I came for Yoongi.”

“Yoongi! Yoongi!” You yelled yourself hoarse, balling your fists and hitting the glass. But he didn’t look up. Fear crawled all over you, and you shouted even louder.

“He won’t hear you, love. The glass is soundproof.” Taehyung did not move a muscle. “Maybe you’d like if I made him look your way?”

You did not answer, lips pursing up and trembling as sobs threatened to tear out of your body.

“Well, use your words, sugar.”

“Please, please just…”

He looked down at his shoes, bored. “Please what?”

Tears blurred your vision again. “Please let him go.”

“For what in return?”

“I - I gave you the money.”

“Oh, for God’s sakes, Y/N. I don’t care about the money.”

“But… but you wanted…”

“Yeah yeah but I got more than twice my money back. You are a great borrower.”

“What?” You wished he wouldn’t talk in circles. “What do you mean?”

“Who do you think gave you the mortgage on all your estates? Your house?” He paused for dramatic effect and reached into his coat pocket, dangling his trump card with a smirk. “Who bought your ring?”

You gasped, your lips forming an O, completely unable to believe it. Kim Taehyung got you to pledge all of your worldly possessions to him, and took the money you made from pledging it too? How cruel and twisted could a man be?

He enjoyed the look on your face, letting you work out things in your head before speaking. As you stood there stunned, he typed something on his phone. In a few seconds, the door on Yoongi’s side opened, and a guy came in. He landed a swift kick on Yoongi’s middle, waking him up from unconsciousness. There were two more kicks, and then the guy went out and closed the door behind him.

You watched Yoongi raise his head and take in the surroundings. Then his eyes landed on you. He instinctively rushed to move to the glass, but the chain around his waist jerked him back, making him bend over in pain.

Taehyung didn’t want Yoongi stealing his thunder. He cleared his voice, keeping it smooth and silky.

“You know, you made it so easy for me. Bong Ju told me it was a piece of cake to get you to mortgage all the property. Pity you wouldn’t agree to mortgage yourself though.”

“Bong Ju? He’s your man too? You bastard!”

The man simply chuckled. He dug his hands into the pockets of his pants.

“The important thing you have to consider now is,” he walked a couple of steps towards you, whispering, “I bought you out.”

He paused as he swung to take a look at poor Yoongi, still fighting the chains and grimacing in pain.

“You have nothing in the world, nothing except that loser over there. And I’ll take care of that too. But trust me, you won’t be orphaned. You’ll be mine. You’ll be a queen.”

There was nothing left to do except beg. You knelt down, tears streaming down your cheeks. “Please, please just let him go, Taehyung.”

His eyes flickered and he swallowed thickly. “Oh, I love it when you say my name.”

You stayed down on your knees, clasping your palms together as if in prayer. “Please don’t do this, Taehyung. Hoseok and Yoongi did nothing to deserve this.”

He snorted. “Hoseok? Oh, that bastard is already home. And as for him,” his eyes swung at Yoongi with venom, “He has done a lot to deserve this. He stole you from me. He married you and gave you his name.” The nerve running down the middle of his forehead almost popped in his murderous rage. “I could kill him for that.”

“Please, Taehyung. I’ll never cross your path again. Please stop this. I love him, I love Yoongi.”

“SHUT UP!” His voice made you jump, as the veins of his throat stood out due to the exertion. “I had him alive for so long as leverage, to draw you here. But I don’t need him anymore.”

“But- but”

“Enough of this chit-chat. Get here, tell me you’ll be mine.”

“No.” You stood up, furiously brushing the tears from your cheeks. “I’d rather be dead.”

You took a weak karate stance, it was hopeless, but you were not going to give up. He feigned surprise, crossing his hand over his heart.

“Oh, darling. How cute you are!” He came closer, clasping your hands in his. “Don’t be naive. Let me give you a tip.” He pulled you closer, pointing his finger at the tied-up Yoongi.

“Look at his forehead. Look closely.”

Your breath hitched in your throat when you saw what Taehyung pointed at. It was a red laser dot on Yoongi’s forehead, it was certainly from a gun’s laser sight. But there was no one else in the room apart from you, Yoongi and Taehyung. Who was aiming at Yoongi?

Taehyung loved the mix of fear and confusion on your face. He pulled you snug against him, rutting his hips slowly as your husband’s mouth moved in silent screams from the other side of the glass. The sounds were completely blocked by the glass, and Yoongi’s face turned red as he yelled himself hoarse.

Taehyung enjoyed this little show. He was going to claim you before Yoongi. He was going to show that bastard who owned you. All those times his family was insulted in social gatherings came tumbling back, making him lose his mind. Min Yoongi was going to die a loser, knowing that his wife was claimed by his rival.

Yoongi started crying, trying his best to pull himself closer to the glass. His face was covered in tears, wet and red from all the struggle. He closed his eyes and pulled himself forward, trying hard to stop the chain from crushing his midsection. You could almost hear him groan in pain, teeth bared as he charged towards the glass, hitting his palms against it in helpless anger.

The hand around your waist tightened. “Poor boy. Look at him strain. I think he deserves to see a good show before dying, don’t you?”

Your voice cracked down to a whisper. “Please don’t do this, Taehyung.”

“Wow, you sound so sexy with my name rolling off your tongue.”

He pushed you against the glass so Yoongi could see you closer. Your husband could not stand up, not without the chain breaking his ribs. He remained crouched, hands against the glass and eyes pleading, hot tears streaming down. The glass was the only wall that separated Yoongi and you.

Taehyung pushed himself against you, trapping you between his body and the glass.

“Someone brought a knife in a rucksack, hmm?” His hot breath fanned the shell of your ear. Your eyes were looking down, solely focused on the man who was on the other side of the glass. A strong leg pushed your knees apart, grazing your core. “Naughty little girl.”

“Taeh-”

“Shhh.” He grabbed a fistful of hair, sniffing it with deep breaths. “You don’t want him to die, do you?” His hot tongue licked a line along your jaw. “Then stay quiet.”

His large hands roamed your upper body, finding purchase on your breasts, gently kneading them as he moaned in lust. The glass vibrated against your body, as Yoongi beat against it, mouth moving in what clearly were angry expletives. This was the worst kind of torture a man could ever be subjected through, and you wanted to die and be gone before Taehyung went any further.

Fresh hot tears rolled down your closed eyelids when you felt the bulge pressing against your back as the man ground his hips against you. His hands continued kneading the soft flesh, and he twisted the nubs of your nipples, making you gasp and keen into his chest. He trailed soft butterfly kisses on your shoulder blades, one hand reaching between your legs and cupping your hot clothed core.

“Please, please don’t do this to Yoongi.” Your voice was heavily impacted by the sobs that racked your body.

“Oh baby,” he kissed your shoulder as he murmured, “you need privacy?” His cupped hand massaged your core, making you tremble. “This is the last he’ll see of you. Do you really want to cut that time short?”

“N-No.”

“Then just be a good girl and stop talking.” His hand gripped the zipper of your jeans, and you crouched down instinctively, delaying it as much as possible. He laughed lightly. Your crouched position was in level with Yoongi’s tired body on the other side.

“Want to save his neck some pain? I’m game.”

He knelt down, pushing his body against yours, spreading your body flush against the glass. Yoongi looked so miserable that you just couldn’t face him. The laser dot was still very much in place on his forehead. Taehyung tried prying your legs apart, but you just wouldn’t budge.

“Y/N, honey, I would love more foreplay. But not now, just open your legs.”

You didn’t reply. Nor did you move. A violent push sent your head banging against the glass, and two very strong hands dragged your jeans down, ripping the zipper open in the process. Yoongi threw himself at the glass, face utterly contorted in pain, the chain taut as it cut against his flesh.

Taehyung’s hands mercilessly tore the denim away from your legs, the big palms kneading the flesh of your bottom. You pressed your forehead against the glass, looking defeatedly at your husband crying on the other side.

Taehyung was practically salivating at having you in his grasp. This was an encounter he would never forget. His cheeks flushed at the sight of your bare legs and rotund butt. The white underwear was simple, but to him, it was incredibly hot. The fact that Yoongi was just on the other side, watching all of it in humiliation made him heady with lust. He dug a finger under the waistband and ripped the underwear off. You were wriggling far too much for his liking. He thrust an arm against the back of your neck, pinning your head in position, as he took in the view. He licked his lips and aligned his hips so he was spooning you. He was aching to be inside you already. The glass was made of special reinforced material, and he smirked at Yoongi lazily as the crying man pounded against the glass, pleading him to stop.

You had no choice but to stay put. You had to distract your mind from what Taehyung was doing. Your eyes focused on the red dot on Yoongi’s forehead. You just could not look Yoongi in the eye. Not when he was crying and screaming what looked like your name from the movement of his lips. You just wished it would be over soon.

There was the unmistakable sound of fingers unbuckling a belt. And then the sound of a zipper being pulled down. Within seconds, you could feel hot muscle pressed against your back. You were amazed that you still hadn’t shriveled up and died. The hand against your neck was removed. Just as quickly, you were pulled back, dragged by the waist and pushed down on all fours. You tried to keep your hips flat against the marble, but a sharp volley of slaps rained down upon your butt before your hips were forced into position.

Taehyung’s grip on your hips were as tight and hard as iron. You tried raising your body, only to be pushed down again with brutal force. Losing no time, Taehyung rammed himself inside you. He had been hard for so long, and the relief as he plunged into you drew a feral moan deep from his chest. You were too tight, and he grabbed your hair as he hissed at you.

“Fucking let me in, Y/N.”

He received no reply, not that he expected one. He could sense your body heaving, as strong sobs shook your entire being. He saw you raise your head a teeny bit, just to look at Yoongi in dismay. He picked up his pace, sending your head banging against the glass as he dove into you with each snap of his hips. He maintained an unforgiving pace, punctuating his thrusts with moans that almost chilled your blood.

“See how well I fit you, Y/N? You were made for me, baby.”

You had to say it. You couldn’t take it anymore. You had been waiting for Yoongi to be the first one to know. But it had to be said now. It couldn’t wait longer.

“I’m pregnant.” Your whisper came out sounding incredibly hoarse.

Taehyung’s hips stilled. There was a heavy silence, Yoongi’s hands beating the glass was the only mild noise in the otherwise quiet room.

“What?”

“I’m - carrying Yoongi’s baby.”

Taehyung’s jaw clenched. “Does he know?”

“I haven’t yet-” A big hand clamped your mouth shut as he hissed urgently in your ear.

“He shouldn’t.”

You remained silent, and he started thrusting more viciously.

He punctuated each word he spoke with a thrust. “Do.you.understand?”

You had to tell Yoongi. You knew that. Taehyung might kill Yoongi anytime. You did not know what to do. Should you die too? But if you did, the only other living piece of Yoongi would die with you. Whichever way this went, Yoongi had to know.

Taehyung was watching you as he plunged himself into you. Yoongi should never know about the baby. He should die a loser. He had to make sure it remained that way. He saw the red bleary eyes of the man opposite him. He read defeat clearly in those eyes. That should not change.

You tried to make eye contact with your husband. It was incredibly mortifying to look at him as another man pounded into you. But you had to convey the message. You had meant to tell him previously, but you had been unexpectedly gassed and knocked out cold. As soon as you saw him looking at you, your heart broke into a million pieces. The man staring at you was not your husband. He was just a shell of the man he had been. All the light had gone from his eyes. He was in a way already dead.

You mouthed the words urgently, but he just stared at you blankly.

“Baby, focus.” You prayed that he could make out the words. “I’m.” You pointed at yourself. “Pregnant.”

He still looked blank, there was no recognition. Taehyung was still going at it, and you decided to hazard a mime by pointing at your belly.

Just as your hands pointed to your belly and Yoongi’s eyebrows shot up, there was a splash of red all over the glass. You recoiled in fright, confused and scared. And then you saw. The red trickled down the glass, clearing the field to reveal a sight that would be burned into your memory forever. Taehyung finished with a long drawn out moan, spilling himself inside you. His lips curled in a sick smirk. His sniper certainly deserved a raise. And a bonus.

*****

Three years later

You had grown to be scared of the bedroom. Not only because of the things Taehyung did to you but also because of the nightmares. It was always the same horrible image of Yoongi’s bloodied face maimed beyond recognition. The blood splatters on the glass. The vacant eyes and the raised eyebrows that had stilled forever. It came back to haunt you every night, there was absolutely nothing that could erase it from your mind.

Every night was a battle. The bedroom made your heart wilt, it left you scared of sleeping. Every time your head hit the pillow, it made your chest tighten and burn like it was on fire. Just the thought of the approaching nightfall made your evenings anxious and dismal. It had been three years already, but you still half-expected Yoongi to come back and hug you, quoting Woolf in your ears in the softest of whispers. The only little part of Yoongi that was still alive was your daughter. Your baby girl made with the love that overflowed between Yoongi and you.

Taehyung had originally intended to destroy the baby. He did not want that man’s child growing up in his house. Those eyes and dark hair reminded him of his enemy every time he saw the child. He did not care for the girl; she was just a nuisance for him. But he knew that she was the only thread tying you to the world. If he snapped it, he might have to lose you too. So, he gritted his teeth and bore it, trying his best to steer clear of your daughter.

He had married you and given you his name. It was forced, of course, you had had no say in it. But much to his chagrin, the little bastard girl did not take his name. You had flat out refused to give her his surname. She remained the only Min in your world, the only little comfort in your otherwise horrible life.

It made your skin crawl whenever you felt Taehyung’s touch on you. It kept reminding you of the first time he took you in that room, letting your husband watch in humiliation. You could never ever forgive Taehyung for that.

Taehyung’s patience was wearing thin. He had let you keep that little horror, the mini version of Yoongi he so despised. He had given you ample time to get adjusted to him. What more was he expected to do? Just watching you tend to your daughter made him boil in rage. It was his child that you should be tending to. He was at a loss to understand how you still were not with his child, after all his efforts and precautions. He badly wanted to trap you and make you finally his. What better than a child to seal the deal?

*****

It was a cold winter morning. The lake near Taehyung’s winter villa had frozen and become a sheet of hard ice. The ice hadn’t properly frozen yet, there were still brittle patches of ice on the lake. You had made sure to lock the doors so your daughter wouldn’t wander out. You were in the process of baking some cookies for her when you heard Taehyung, your husband, shouting for you.

“Y/N!”

The sound came from the bedroom. Untying your apron and wiping your hands, you walked automatically in the direction of his voice. Ignoring him would only result in punishments, and you weren’t in the mood for them. These days, he had also started spanking your daughter if you didn’t toe the line.

The familiar tightening of your chest made your breath catch as you entered the bedroom. You stood there in complete shock, eyes wide and jaw hanging. The whole closet had been rummaged; all the clothes were strewn on the floor. Your eyes wandered along the strewn things on the floor until they stopped on finding what they had been scared to find. Your heart started beating fast, you were sure you were going to be sick.

Lying on the floor was an old shoebox, the contents of it scattered around. You had used it to keep little odds and ends, but the main object that you had hidden in it was missing.

“Searching for something?”

Taehyung held his hand out, rattling the pills in the little pillbox. His eyes were fiery, he looked like he was about to snap. Taehyung had two distinct tempers. One was the hot rage that would make him scream, hit you, overturn tables and break everything around him. The other was a cold mean streak, the one that made him plot so vehemently for the downfall of the entire Min clan. You were fearful and frightened, at a loss to know which side of him was going to pounce on you.

He stepped towards you slowly, eyes glinting murderously.

“Three years. Three years I’ve tried and you’ve just been taking these behind my back?”

He threw the pillbox down, sending it ricocheting off the floor.

“You think I’m a fool, Y/N?” His voice was rising to a dangerously high pitch. “You had the nerve to do this? After I let you keep that - that bastard’s child?”

One thing Taehyung had accomplished in three years was making your mouth never dare to answer him back. You stood motionless, unable to get a word out. You had been so sure that he wouldn’t find those birth control pills. You had hidden them successfully for so long. How could this happen?

“You answer me right now, bitch!”

His large fingers closed around your throat, threatening to choke you.

“I- I won’t carry your child.” The hold around your throat grew tighter.

“Oh, you won’t?” He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.

“I’d rather die than have your child.”

His hands left your neck abruptly as if he had touched something disgusting. There was a mean glint in his eyes as he stepped back and stared at you without breaking eye contact.

“We’ll see about that.”

He stormed out of the room. leaving you standing amid all the mess on the floor.

*****

You were back in the kitchen, fuming at Taehyung’s audacity in asking you to have his child. Who did he think you were? It was only because of your daughter that you suffered his existence around you. You had thought of poisoning him numerous times. But the clever bastard had made sure that you would have not a penny to your name if he died before you. You couldn’t be on the streets, not with Min Yoongi’s daughter. No. A good chunk of Taehyung’s money was what he conned and acquired from the Min family. It was your money, and your daughter’s. You just had to put up with him until you found a way out of all the mess.

You were whisking eggs, muttering to yourself furiously, thinking about what would happen later with Taehyung. He would surely give you hell. It made you tremble with anger. Just then, you thought you heard something. You looked out of the window, hearing the far-off voices of Taehyung and your daughter carrying through the wind. You couldn’t see from the kitchen window, and you hurried to the porch to see.

There, walking on the frozen lake with your little daughter by his side, was Taehyung. He was laughing and smiling down at her, letting her swirl around as she held his fingers. He was leading her to the middle of the lake. The part which hadn’t frozen over completely. The part which had a thin sheet of brittle ice.

“No!” You raced out of the house, not minding the cold air biting your bare arms. “Min Ha Neul! No, no! Come back!”

Ha Neul giggled on seeing you. She probably thought you were running to play with her too. She felt Taehyung tugging at her sleeve gently, and she followed him closer to the thin expanse of ice.

You pelted down the snow at full speed, shouting at your daughter to get away from the ice. Before you could reach her, it happened. Ha Neul was standing on the ice one moment, and gone the next. The ice cracked around her feet, plunging her into the horribly cold water.

“No! Baby!” You tripped on the slippery ice and fell, your leg suffering a nasty twist in the process. You couldn’t move, and you lay on the ice, pain shooting up your ankle. Your shouts were hysterical.

“Taehyung! Please! I’ll do anything! Please!”

The man had crossed his arms, standing away from the deep icy crater. When he heard your scream, his mouth twisted in a sweet smile.

“Are you sure?”

“God, just please get her out! I’ll do anything, I promise.”

There was a splash, and Taehyung disappeared too. You dragged your leg and crawled towards the hole he had jumped through. Within seconds, he returned, carrying an unconscious Ha Neul in his arms. He looked at you and flashed you a sickly-sweet smile. He had gotten his way.

*****

“Ready?”

Taehyung was lying on his side, hand supporting his head as he looked at you from the bed. His face betrayed no sign of depravity. He looked angelic, bangs brushing his brows as he eyed you eagerly. He was wearing his boxy smile, so bright and joyful that no one could ever guess what a monster he really was.

You were standing a little farther from him, near the little wastebasket in your bedroom. You had been completely defeated. There was no point in rebelling against him. You nodded wearily.

“Do it then.”

Your eyes welled up as you opened the pillbox in your hands, emptying all the pills into the wastebasket. You idly watched all the pills fall in slow motion, it felt like they were taking away your dignity with them. Finally, you tossed the box in, turning to Taehyung and holding up your empty hands.

His smile grew even wider. He stretched his hand out, extending it to you.

“Come here, baby”

You walked into his arms, and he pulled you onto him in a tight embrace. With a deep satisfied sniff, he inhaled the smell of your hair. His palms rubbed soft circles on your back.

“We’re going to have such beautiful babies, darling.”

[fierypen37]

First Blood

First Blood

 Winterfell hadn’t changed much in the fifty-some years since Daenerys had set foot there. Maybe some cosmetic changes in technology, the vehicles, the buildings—but the people were the same. Stubborn, at times backwards, and gallant to fault. The weather was what she liked best. Winter never really loosened her grip on the North. Even in summer, there were occasional snows. Overcast on most days. Perfect. Daenerys tired of whiling away daytime hours indoors.

Here there was fresh, clean air. Wind rustling through the trees. One of the few places where true wilderness remained. Daenerys had been running through the night for almost a week since she’d landed at Eastwatch and hadn’t encountered a single soul. As such, she was lonely. As such, she was thirsty. It ached in the back of her throat. Made her restless, irritable. In the over three hundred years since she’d been turned, this was the part she loathed. Her thirst meant violence, or at the very least compulsion. As primally thrilling as it was to bring the full brunt of her skills and strengths to bear, her soul had never become callous to the violence. Missandei’s mate Grey often teased her about it, in his usual laconic good-natured manner. Finding prey would be simple. But first she needed to make herself presentable.  

Perhaps it had been childish to run across the continent, but it scratched some wild itch to chase after the waxing moon. To feel the rush of air on her skin, her bare feet barely touching the ground. It made her feel woven into the fabric of nature instead of torn from its weft and warp. Daenerys slowed to a human’s pace outside a chain of stores. Florescent lights were eye-wateringly harsh, and the salty smell of humanity sharply painful, but Daenerys endured it. Another of the modern era’s conveniences, a square of plastic linking her to over a century’s worth of wealth.

In no time at all, she was groomed and dressed in a fashionable dress. Like most things, style was cyclical. This scarlet dress reminded her of those popular in the 60’s. Flowing with a beaded hem, complimented by black leggings and black ankle boots. Black and red, Targaryen colors. Strange how people of this day accepted dragonriders and wargs as part of their history, but scoff at anything else beyond the natural. Safety could be found in ignorance, she supposed. If the world knew about vampires, then some morbidly curious scientist would experiment on them. Monster-hunters would slay them.

“Anonymity is better,” Daenerys concluded aloud. She scrutinized her appearance in the mirror. The features were unchanged in the centuries of her undead existence. Nothing to give away what she was until thirst or strong emotion made her fangs extend. Dissatisfied, Daenerys deftly braided a couple strands and tied them at the back of her head. In a nostalgic mood, I suppose. The throwback dress, the braids—a reminder of her first husband, Drogo. By habit, Daenerys sought the fringes of town. Casting out her senses, she heard sound of boisterous male laughter, the drone of television, the sharp whiff of alcohol. A bar. Perfect.

The Night’s Watch—amusing. The defunct protectorate who guarded the Wall had become a part of northern folklore. This bar would be a simple place for lorry drivers, alcoholics, and locals. They had come for a drink, and so had she. A bell tinkled as she shoved open the door. A U-shaped bar dominated the center space, ringed by stools. Booths against the walls. Polished paneling and wood flooring. Rustic iron light fixtures. Televisions played the latest rugby game on a low volume. At the far end were pool tables and a dartboard where a loud group of friends shared a game. No cigarette smoke, for which she was grateful. With the acuity of her senses, it grew noxious.

“Be with you in a moment,” a low voice said, rich with a northern accent.

Daenerys took her seat on one of the barstools. The bar was immaculately clean. None of the usual gummy stickiness in such places. The pickings for her meal were slim. There was the group of young men. Little chance she could separate one without talk. Perhaps I should have chosen a larger city. Farther south where there are more people. The only other people in the bar were a mother and daughter—the girl looked about ten years old—sharing a plate of fries. Habit and manners dictated Daenerys feed on men—usually. If she could avoid it, she did not kill them. Finding someone healthy and discreet was difficult.

A young man appeared from the swinging metal door from the back, carrying what looked to be a heavy crate of bottles. The black t-shirt did little to hide the breadth of his chest or the corded strength of his arms. He set them down and approached where she sat. The smell of him was salty and musky, exuding youth and masculinity.

“What can I get you?” he asked. Perhaps it was her thirst, perhaps it was loneliness, perhaps it was the hand of the gods, but inwardly Daenerys trembled like a struck tuning fork. Handsome and fit, gleaming with the sweat of exertion he looked . . . delectable. The color of his eyes too, was unusual. A stormy grey. In an unforgivable number of seconds, she mastered her ogling. Daenerys licked her dry lips.

“W—White wine, please,” she said.

“Arbor gold?”

“Yes.”

“Comin’ up,” he said.

Daenerys watched him pluck a glass from the racks behind him, uncork the bottle and pour. With him focused on a task, she was free of study him. Curling black hair tied severely back, a neatly trimmed beard. Thick dark brows, with a line carved between them even when relaxed. A face prone to scowling, then. What did he have to scowl about, as comely as he was? With easy grace, he set the glass on a black napkin.

“Enjoy,” he said, then returned to his work. In this life and the one before it, Daenerys had always commanded male attention. To be dismissed so quickly smarted. Daenerys sipped the wine. It was delicious: cold, crisp, sweet. Daenerys pretended to peer at her smartphone while she watched him. One of the young men at the pool tables wended his way to the bar, his gait a bit unsteady. He was reasonably attractive. Tall, thin, blue eyes, black hair.

��Another pitcher, Snow,” he said.

“You and the lads have had enough, Theon,” the young man—Snow—said in that calm, stern voice.

“Come on. One more! It’s Maron’s last night as free man,” Theon wheedled.

“He’s getting married, not shipping off for war,” Snow said dryly.

“Still! Come on! We’re getting a rideshare home. One more!”

“I keep your keys if you get another. You can come get ‘em in the morning.”

“Deal!” Theon promised. Daenerys’ mouth flattened. A bachelor party? There was no way she could make a meal of one of them. She finished the last of her wine. It wouldn’t appease her thirst, but the taste was pleasant. She best continue her search for a meal elsewhere. She tossed cash on the immaculate counter and slipped back into the night.

 “In a couple minutes, you’ll set down the bottle and walk back to where you’re staying,” Daenerys said, a command to an enthralled victim. Hypnosis was one of the little mercies of her existence. Most of her meals never felt any aftereffects from a feeding other than soreness where bitten. The drunk was a lucky find. A lorry driver off his shift, wandering in this stretch of woods between the Night’s Watch and the car park. The command was wordy, but specificity was crucial. If she had said ‘go home,’ then if the man lived a thousand miles away in the Reach district, he would walk until he made it there.

“In a couple minutes, I’ll set down the bottle and walk back to where I am staying,” he repeated, the words slurred. Daenerys took his right wrist, saliva filling her mouth at the prospect of relief. Her fangs lengthened. She bit in, the warm skin giving way like wet tissue paper, and at last tasting the warm metallic taste of blood. The man grunted, but didn’t resist, still caught in her thrall. She drank slowly, savoring it. Drinking in the heat and life from his artery. The neck vessels were larger, but more painful and more obvious. Daenerys’ favorite was the juicy one near the collarbone. Daenerys listened to the steady thud of his heartbeat. It was a delicate balance perfected over the last centuries, to drink without draining, to satiate without killing. Few of her kind bothered. Humankind was for amusement and food, that was all.

With her senses, she could hear the valves of his heart closing and opening, she could feel minute changes in volume pumped out with each beat. She gulped, feeling the last of her thirst ease. That’s enough. No worse than donating blood at the blood bank.  

Daenerys dabbed her mouth with the black napkin from the Night’s Watch. Not a wasted drop. She patted the man’s head. It was so strange when she drew a victim in. She could feel them in a sense. Stephen. His mother was ill with a chronic heart condition. He never saw his kids. Lonely and depressed, he drank on his time off, slipping into an inebriated muddle in front of the television. Alcohol soured the taste of the blood, but Daenerys couldn’t be picky.

“Sleep well, Stephen.”

The attractive Snow remained stuck in the forefront of her thoughts. It was damned annoying. When you lived long, things such as physical attractiveness seemed so banal. And yet . . . and yet he lingered.

“I’ll go back,” she resolved. Go back to the bar. This Snow would leer at her, or say something rude, and she could thusly dismiss him as a typical specimen of his species. Maybe then she could rest without him pestering her. Daenerys unleashed her speed, flying through the woods in seconds. An unusual scent reached nose, and she pulled up. Daenerys keen eyes raked the forest. Wolf. Not just any wolf, but a descendant of ancient direwolves. White as snow with garnet red eyes. Like a wierwood tree. In a breath, Daenerys felt as if she was three hundred years younger, watching a direwolf tearing out a man’s throat in her defense. Those red eyes watched her. Calm and curious, one predator to another.

“Ghost! Ghost, to me!” Snow called.  The wolf’s aloof stillness evaporated into a grinning, wagging pup loping back into the clearing on the Night’s Watch.

“There you are! You big fluffy goof,” Snow’s gruff voice was rich with affection. A needle of longing pierced her. A companion. There had been no one since Daario. Lovers were more trouble than they were worth—vampire or mortal. Daenerys watched the man and his gorgeous dog disappear around the corner.

“Damn it,” she whispered. She was intrigued.

[randominagines]

Request: hiii, how are you? Can you write a Peter Pevensie X female reader in which she is at Miraz's castle and she is maybe Caspian's bf or sister idk and they save her and Peter likes her. A happy ending if possible. Thanks a loooot

Requested by: anon

Pairing: Peter Pevensie X fem!reader

Setting: Caspian's time

Warning: violence, blood, death of minor characters (very minor), what if, angst

P.s. if you find any mistake please correct me, English is not my mother tongue and I want to improve. Reblog, if you can, it helps a lot, thank you💕

P.p.s. gif belongs to the creator

Worthy

Miraz's Castle was a proper maze: Peter was running through the corridors hoping to find the way out without having to ask Caspian. He was still mad about his deviation, thanks to him the plan was totally screwed up.

"Wait, we need to take someone with us" Caspian said and suddenly stopped, he turned left and crossed a small aisle, Peter and Susan couldn't see where it led.

"Can we stop waisting time?" Susan whispered while following him, Peter was about to go ballistic. The aisle eventually ended up and led to a big brown door.

"What on Earth are we doing here?" Peter asked, his voice filled with frustration and his hand almost squeezing the hilt of his sword.

"My mentor, Doctor Cornelius, he has an apprentice who appears to be my best friend, I want to take her with us" He said while slowly pulling the handle of the door down. Peter and Susan exchanged a look and checked if someone was around. The heavy door opened with a mild squeaking. Caspian looked inside and tensed up: she seemed to be nowhere to be seen.

"Maybe she escaped"Susan whispered while taking a look inside the room. "Impossible, she knew that she would have endangered Cornelius, she couldn't even know that I sat him free" Caspian said nervously, he was starting to panic: she was the only person, besides Cornelius, that he really cared about.

"Let me check" Peter impatiently said and pushed the door, he took a step inside and before he could see anything he felt the cold of a blade's tip behind his back.

"Not another step" A female voice firmly said, he let go of his sword and raised his hands. "Y/n, it's me, Caspian" The boy whispered and the girl immediately turned back.

"Caspian, I thought you were dead" She said and hugged him, the boy gently caressed the back of her head, in an almost fraternal way. Peter turned around and, as soon as she unknotted the hug, he saw her: he didn't know what to expect, but he certainly did not imagine that she would have been that beautiful. Her Y/e/c were intense and fixed on his, her Y/h/c were morbidly framing her face, she had pink lips and she looked fierce. Peter noticed she was not wearing an elegant dress: she was wearing a pair of beige colored trousers and a white big shirt tucked in her trousers, a pair of boots completed her outfit. She was probably ready to escape or fight.

"These are..."

"I know who you are. You are Queen Susan, the Gentle" She interrupted Caspian and pointed at Susan, she nodded. Then the girl turned toward the blonde boy again.

"And you must be King Peter, the Magnificent. You are in every single illustration of the ancient books but I thought you were just legends" She said intensely looking at the young King, Peter smiled.

"Well, we ruled a lot of centuries ago, Y/n" He joked and she gave him a hint of a smile, she liked how her name sounded when told by him.

"I'll explain everything, Cornelius must be waiting for us, we have to go now" Caspian said all the rest of them nodded, she took her sword and they left the room. They crossed the castle while the noises of the soldiers preparing for the battle was filling their ears.

"What's the plan?" She asked, Caspian looked at her as if she had made a mistake by asking that thing. "The plan has been delayed, but we open the gate now and let our army in" Peter said and she opened her eyes wide.

"Not to be a party killer, but I guess you just lost the surprise element and Miraz is not the kind of man who make prisoners" She said and Susan looked at Peter in concern, he kept walking toward the gate. "Peter!" She called in his name in order to draw his attention.

"Our troops are just outside, come on" He said and while crossing the entrance courtyard to reach the gate. The three of them followed him.

"Now Ed, now, signal the troops!" He screamed while grabbing his sword and killing one of Miraz's men. She took her sword too, ready to fight, while looking toward the tower: she saw a boy and thought that he must have been King Edmund.

"I'm a bit busy, Pet" He answered while fighting against a man. She looked around and realized that Miraz's army was surrounding them, there was no time.

"Peter, it's too late. We have to call it off while we can" Queen Susan screamed trying to make him think clearly but he was already spinning the wheel to open the gate. Y\n looked at Caspian: they knew they were screwed up. They grew up in that castle and they knew that it was a impossible to take.

"No, I can still do this. Help me" The King screamed and they started to help him.

"Exactly who are you doing this for?" Queen Susan asked while y\n and Caspian exchanged a look filled with confusion.

As soon as the gate opened, all sorts of creatures y\n had never seen before flocked inside: minotaurs, centaurs, mice as big as cats, dwarfs, fauns. She didn't thought that Narnia's population still existed. She was fascinated.

"For Narnia!" King Peter screamed raising his sword. She did the same together with Susan and Caspian and the battle begun.

It was impossible to win, too many men were surrounding Peter's army, but they still fought with such a passion. At a certain point, a man pushed her on the floor by hitting her back, she lost the sword; she turned around and saw the man pointing a sword toward her face. Y/n was about to kick him when an arrow came out from his chest. His body crumbled on the floor and she saw Susan behind him, her expression concerned.

"Stay behind me" Queen Susan kindly told her while Y/n was standing up and picking up her sword. Another man ran toward them and she pushed Susan aside before stabbing him.

"Or you stay behind me, your Highness" She said and took a quick bow, she was surprised. Y/n turned left and saw King Peter looking at them with an amused smile on his face.

The battle went on for a time that seemed infinite, but they were losing. At a certain point the gate started to fall down: a minotaur stopped the heavy gate and king Peter looked at him in concern, he finally had realised.

"Fall back, we need to retreat. Get her out of here, now" He started to scream while commanding to a centaur to save his sister. He took Susan on his back and ran toward the exit. Caspian and Y/n stole two horses and reached Peter.

"Take this, your Majesty" Y/n said while passing him the reins. He took them and nodded in gratefulness. Caspian jumped on the back of the other horse and was about to take her when a man hit her on her aarm with his sword, a deep cut opened on her skin. She screamed and took her sword

"Get the hell out of here, I'll bring her" Peter said and Caspian looked at him as to warn him to be careful to her; he started to ride toward the exit, Cornelius following him on another horse.

Y/n killed the man stabbing him in his chest and Peter pulled her on the horse. She crossed her arms around his torso and felt his heart pounding under her hands.

"Fall back" He kept screaming while riding toward the gate. As many creatures as possible followed them, others were laying on the floor. She looked around and felt her heart heavy: they lost. As soon as the King crossed the gate, the minotaur let himself go. The gate crushed on him with an unpleasant thud: many were still inside. Peter stopped the horse and turned to look at them: she could feel his chest raising and lowering quickly as if it was hard to breath for him. She looked at him and noticed his watery eyes. She gently squeezed her arms around his torso and leaned her hand on his shoulder , as to comfort him.

"Peter..." She whispered as to invite him, he looked at her and touched her hands before turning back to a scene he would never had forgotten.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everyone was painfully quite during whole way back. Y/n kept hugging Peter with her head was still resting on his shoulders. The wound stopped pulsing at a certain point, because Peter had ripped the edge of his own shirt to bandage up her arm.

Arriving at the rock building and witnessing the argument between Caspian and Peter had been even worse. The air was tensed up after the fight and the general mood was on pieces.

"Are you okay?" Queen Lucy kindly asked Y/n while she was during her own wound. "Yes, your Majesty, it's just a cut" She said while stitching the wound. Luckily Cornelius has taught her how to medicate. As soon as she was done, she went outside: Peter was sitting on a rock, his eyes stuck on the horizon.

"Your Majesty, are you okay?" She gently asked while sitting next to him. He looked at her, his deep blue eyes filled with sadness.

"Please, call me Peter" He said with a calm voice and took her arm, he gently caressed the fresh bandage. "Does it hurt?" He asked and looked at her, she shook her head.

"I'm fine, I stitched it" She said and he gave her a glimpse of a smile before letting her arm. "This is my fault, I have rushed this and a good King doesn't act like this" He whispered looking at the rest of his army.

"Peter, you did what you thought was best, but you are human. A mistake doesn't make you a bad King" She said and caressed his arm, he runner his fingers through his own hair before looking at her.

"You helped me calming before, and you are helping now, thank you" He said and smiled at her, she did the same. "Peter, you will fix this, don't dwell on today and do not feel like you need to prove your worth, your people are already aware of it" She kindly explained to him and took his hands into hers, he looked at them and caressed them with his thumb. She felt weird, she didn't even know him, only through the books Cornelius made her read, but she felt the deepest connection to him.

Peter looked at him and felt in peace, he didn't expect to find himself in front of a stranger and perceive her as so close to him. He got closer to her, he felt the desire to kiss her. She closed his eyes, but before their lips could meet, a noise coming from the inside drew their attention. They quickly looked at each other and stood up; they walked toward the source of the noise, their swords in their hands. They entered the stone table room and Edmund was immediately by their side, maybe he had heard the noise too. They finally saw it: a big wall made of ice was standing in front of Caspian, and inside of it, Jadis was staring the Prince while reaching out her hand toward him. The kings and Y/n quickly moved: while reaching him, three creatures stopped them. Peter killed a creature that resembled a wolf, Edmund crossed his sword with a dwarf while y/n stabbed another creature with hers. She turned back and saw Peter standing in front of the wall, Jadis now talking to him with her hand extended toward him.

"What happened" Y/n asked helping her best friend to stand up, he looked at her and hugged her. She gently caressed his back, he was like a brother to her. "Jadis was tricking me into setting her free by offering me the power to succeed" Caspian explained and she immediately turned her face toward Peter: she was doing the same to him.

"Peter, you don't need this" She screamed and walked toward Peter. he didn't even turned, he seemed in a trans. Before she could do anything, Edmund stabbed Jadis from behind. The frozen wall broke into a million pieces and exploded. Caspian protected y/n by pulling her away. Peter kneeled down and covered his head with his arms. She looked at him and saw the disappointment in his eyes, he felt lost.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Peter, wait" Y/n called him but he didn't stop, he was desperate. She reached him a took his arm. "If you don't start believing in yourself things won't sort out" She said and he looked toward the forest, his eyes were filled with tears.

"I keep screwing things up and Miraz's army is now surrounding the building" He said, his voice was a mix of anger and sadness. She put a finger under his chin and raised his head, now they were looking at each other.

"Listen to me: I've read anything about you, you saved Narnia when you were practically a kid, you have been the greatest leader for this people. You are their King: they love you, the believe in you and they will follow you. You don't need to prove that you are worthy of your title and this competition against Caspian is only going to make thing worse. Put your shit together and show them why you are King Peter the Magnificent, because you really are" She said without stopping looking at him in his eyes, her voice gentle but firm and her hands holding his. He did not say anything, he just hugged her. She was initially surprised, then she held him back.

"Maybe I needed this, you are all right" He whispered and she caressed his back. He moved back to look at her for a moment, then he crushed his lips on hers. She immediately melted into the kiss: Peter's lips were soft and warm, his scent was strong but pleasurable and his hands were gently caressing her waist. She runned her fingers through his blonde locks while opening her mouth and letting his tongue in. He pulled her closer, now their bodies were attached and she could feel the beating of his heart against her chest. The kiss became more passionate when she bit his lower lip, he growled while she smiled and stopped the kiss.

"Easy your Majesty, there are more important business to handle right now" She joked and he smiled on her lips. "You are all right, y/n. I have an idea to buy us time. Come with me" He said and gave her one last quick kiss on her lips before taking her hand into his and walking toward the building. She looked at him in concern.

"Do I need to worry about this idea?" She asked while keeping up with him and caressing his hand with her thumb. "Probably" He said and smiled, she shook her head: that boy was going to make her crazy.

[patchun]

WBaWC Deep Dive: Part 1/2

Lots of philosophical ideas are presented and explored in this game. In this post I aim to point them out. ZUN stated this in his SCooW interview:

"There isn't any sort of obvious theme to the story this time. It's mainly just an introduction of "there's a world like this out there". There's a variety of things going into that world, particularly satire, but if you ask what the work wants to show you, there isn't much in particular. "Here's this world called the Animal Realm, and here's these various elements spread throughout it."

And after doing a ton of digging... yeah, I think he's right. I was kind of hoping there would be something unintentional, but because the perspectives of the human and beast spirits aren't really shown, and only the spirits of their rulers, taking an actual message away from this game is very difficult. That said, I feel with this game more than any other, it's very easy to identify why certain decisions were made. Why is the first boss a stillborn child? Isn't that pretty random? No, let's look into it.

The story this time is quite complicated, so you may not be able to see the whole picture if you just play as one character. To be fair, you may not be able to do so even if you clear them all. (lol)

This will obviously be based on my own interpretation. Long post ahead.

Eika Ebisu. The soul of a stillborn child, and a master of stacking stones. Importantly:

She and the rest of the stillborn child spirits at Sai no Kawara stack stones as work every day. They stack stones as work, in Shinto mythology this is as repentance - because they brought sorrow to their parents by dying too early. Kind of morbidly amusing, I guess, but ZUN makes it a point to say this:

She's also a god of fortune who's able to change simple, pointless work into something that's enjoyable and worth doing, and who can make the best out of any bad situation.

Her ever-cheery demeanor, bright intellect, and penchant for constantly holding exciting new events like stone-stacking contests makes her the Sai no Kawara's resident idol, beloved by all the children's spirits there.

With the spirits of stillborns, yes. I feel like it's more hopeful to portray them as having fun in the afterlife, you know?

Being a god of fortune, Eika is able to make stone stacking FUN. The simple labor of stacking stones for these kids is no longer labor for repentance, but a game, thanks to her (NOTE: labor.) For that reason she is the resident "idol". She is probably the most healthy idol in the game, according to the ideology ZUN seems to be presenting, but we'll get into that later. There's more to this character.

In philosophical discussions of animal rights, when we ask "what is it that makes humans worthy of moral rights", we try to find a criteria. Something that humans have that nothing else does. That criteria then needs to be defended as being a good reason for humans to have moral rights. Used to, sentience was the argument made for human uniqueness. Humans are sentient and conscious, while animals are, in Descartes' scummy terms (sorry, I hate Descartes) "mere automata". We worked on this assumption from that idiot for years, but recently it has been scientifically proven that animals, at LEAST mammals, birds, crustaceans, cephalopods, and reptiles, are sentient, and it is summarized in a document called the Cambridge Declaration of Consciousness.

So this proves a problem for those who believe animals aren't worthy of moral rights. So then, what else do humans have that animals don't? Why are we special in deserving moral rights? Well, that would be our intelligence, right! Even the smartest animals are only about as smart as a five year old (this is not actually true but let's just pretend it is, they're smarter). But then, if intelligence is the criteria for moral rights, then what exactly is the system here? Does that mean that children are less worthy of moral rights than adults because they aren't as intelligent? Does this mean that people who mentally disabled and not viewed as "intelligent" by parts of the populace should be less deserving of moral treatment?

This has been a veryyy simplified summary of the discussion, but here's where it gets even more interesting. You see, here, two controversial ethical topics meet - abortion and animal rights. Because if you want to argue that sentience OR intelligence are the criteria for moral rights, then in either case, early fetuses absolutely do not have moral rights! This is a problem for anti-abortion arguers, which is a funny intersection in my opinion. I bring this up because, of course, while Eika is not an aborted fetus as far as I know, she is still a fetus. She is quite out of place in a game where the rest of the opponents up to Keiki are animal spirits, right? But no, the fetus and children in general actually have a very philosophically interesting place in animal rights discussions, because oftentimes to argue that animals are not deserving of moral rights you also have to take away the moral rights of children. In case this whole thing has left you confused, the side I took was that sentience IS the criteria for moral rights, meaning both animals and children have moral rights, while fetuses don't.

Now, what does Eika tell us about this? Well, nothing. Just that ZUN seems to have thought about it, really. But there are two keywords that apply broadly to WBaWC as a whole when talking about Eika:

Labor

Moral value

So let's continue.

Urumi Ushizaki. Seeing a farm animal after a stillborn child really set off some alarms. Her name translates to "moist beauty". Not sure I needed to know that, but I came across it in my research so now you do too.

She carries a stone carving of a baby. Once she gives the baby to someone to hold, she makes it heavier and submerges them in the river. She was an awe-inspiring youkai who took advantage of humans' kindness. However, since she's forbidden to attack humans in Gensokyo, she currently runs a fishery at the Sanzu River.

If one tries to cross the river without a shinigami's permission, they'll be attacked by creatures like extinct giant fish and plesiosaurs. Nowadays, she spends her time domesticating those giant fish, and makes a living wage by sometimes selling them in Gensokyo.

A baby then a cow with a baby. Urumi is the "Parental Guardian of Ancient Fish". She apparently domesticates them and makes a living wage (interesting terminology?) sometimes selling them to Gensokyo. But, it's implied that as a fisher, she actually cares about these fish. In Reimu (Wolf)'s story:

Reimu: I'm fine, thanks. If it's just fish I'll have to deal with, I'll filet 'em no problem.

Urumi: That so? Fine by me, then. I won't hold back when I turn you into food for my beloved ancient fish!

When Reimu threatens her fish, Urumi gets defensive. She refers to her fish as "beloved" and suggests valuing them over the protagonist, even though she isn't supposed to attack humans. In the SCooW interview, ZUN is asked, more or less, what's up with the fish in the Sanzu river? He responds:

It's full of fish that died, or went extinct. They can't go to Hell or the Netherworld after they die, you see... since fish and insects are in a bit of a separate category, the way I think about it.

So, remember that distinction we made earlier when talking about Ebisu? How the animals that have been proven to be sentient are mammals, birds, reptiles (cephalopods, crustaceans)? That excludes fish and insects, and here, ZUN makes that distinction as well. Fish sentience is still pretty up in the air at the moment. But that said, if there's any unintentional message in WBaWC, I suppose it would be here.

The fact that Urumi is able to domesticate these ancient fish in the first place implies a certain degree of sentience, and moreso, even without that, Urumi pretty clearly ascribes moral value to her fish in Reimu (Wolf)! In almost all routes, she defends her fish and suggests she'll feed the protagonist to them, but Reimu(Wolf) makes it the most clear that she actually cares about them. Which, when you think about it, of course you'll care about the things you domesticate.

Also Urumi's design is so cool and yet no one draws her anymore. Justice for Moist Beauty. There is more to be said about the livestock theme of this character, but we'll get back to that when we talk about Yachie's profile.

Kuwaka Niwatari.

Her true identity is that of Niwatarijin, the god of wild chickens from before they were domesticated. People tend to think of chickens as being sort of weak and cowardly, but she's a polite and just god who values equality and altruism above all. She's quietly considering what she can do to help raise the status of chickens, who've been reduced to a food source for humans.

If you've been following along so far, you probably understand already where this is going. A few words may stand out here. Domestication, equality and altruism above all, status, and "food source for humans."

Kutaka is probably the blatantly nicest character in WBaWC, who tests you because she's worried that if you go further, you'll be hurt (after winning, of course, the protagonists insult her). There's not just a ton to say about Kutaka's character itself, but there is this tidbit in ZUN's interview:

Chickens don't usually have a very positive image attached to them. Calling someone a "chicken" certainly doesn't make them sound strong either, right? And the only other common impression of them is as food, so I tried to give her a dignified feeling.

So, ZUN has deliberately designed Kutaka to be dignified, noted that she is a character who values equality and altruism, and included that one of her motivations is to raise the status of chickens who have been "reduced to a food source for humans." What's fascinating is that by creating Kutaka this way, he has given us a message - ZUN believes, to a degree, that Kutaka's motivation is a just one. Kutaka is intended TO raise the status of chickens. So let me say this. To those of you who made fucking chicken wing jokes after this character was revealed:

STOP. FUCK YOU. STOP.

If you'd like to repent, you can start by stacking stones. Trust me, it's fun!

Now, all of this is cool, but part 2 is where it's going to get interesting - when we finally get to Yachie's profile, the description of the "Animal Realm" of Hell. I'm excited, but I need to make dinner. Part 2 coming soon.

[hanatriestowrite]

Aquila Favonia (A Genshin Impact Fic)

A snippet of a new fic based off of @gayturtledoves wonderful ghost Vennessa AU. Please go give them some love! 

The traveler's ability to find strange new treasure surpasses Kaeya’s own.

Kaeya is proud to admit this, however, he was concerned to see how careless Lumine is with these priceless treasures. The things she finds range from bags of wheat to historical artifacts, yet she treats both as if they are worth the same: they were just gifts for her to give. Kaeya isn’t going to lie and say that he isn’t morbidly impressed by her flippancy and generosity. Especially since he has watched her give Klee of all people the one of the Wanderer’s Troupe Top Hat-- the one that had been lost for decades-- just because the young spark knight had asked nicely.

Kaeya reminds himself to pull Lumine aside one day to teach her why it is not wise to give historical artifacts to children even if they are Klee. Or maybe he will let it all slide and watch as Jean has her fifth aneurysm watching Klee wreak havoc on Mondstatd with one of the only relics of the Wanderer’s Troupe left.

Both ideas amuse Kaeya greatly.

Nevertheless, when Lumine visits the Ordo’s headquarters asking Kaeya to check out some trinkets from her latest treasurer hunt, who was Kaeya to refuse.

“And we found this strange device on our way back from Liyue.”

There are various treasures strewn about Kaeya’s desk taking up the space that would have otherwise been used to do the paperwork (Kaeya wasn’t exactly opposed to this arrangement but it would only fuel Amber’s belief that he was nothing but a slacker). Lumine holds one of the treasures for Kaeya to see.

It was definity Liyuen. The red tassels hanging off the side and the use of bronze were a dead giveaway. There aren’t many places in Teyvat that use bronze as liberally as Liyue.

Kaeya squints to see the engraving etched onto the device. “It looks like… some kind of dial? Maybe a sun-dial.”

“That’s what Paimon said!” The little fairy huffs, glaring daggers at her traveling companion.

“I just wanted a second opinion, that's all,” Lumine says. She looks slightly apologetic. But that didn’t last long. “I would never doubt your intelligence.”

The teasing lift in her voice almost has Kaeya smiling.

Paimon crosses her arms. “Liar! If that was true you would’ve stopped Albedo from insulting Paimon.”

Albedo? So they finally met the elusive Chef Alchemist.

“The Albedo? As in the most charming man of all of Mondstatd?” Kaeya asks. Lumine is covering her mouth trying not to laugh. Luckily for her Paimon seemed too occupied with her anger to notice. “I don’t believe it. He would never insult anyone, an absolute peach that man is if I do say so myself.”

That seems to confuse Paimon a bit more than Kaeya expected as her brows crease together. “A peach? How can Albedo be a peach?”

“It’s a figure of speech dear.”

“Oh. I knew that.”

Kaeya snorts. “Of course you did.”

Lumine takes this as the perfect opportunity to divert the conversation. She starts to pull out a large box from behind her seat. It was long and skinny, far too skinny to contain much.

The box itself wasn’t anything impressive. It was simply a plain wooden box. Aged for longer than it should have. The sides showed signs of rotting. Despite this, it was a very normal wooden box.

“I know you said to stop bringing you stuff,” Lumine starts, placing the box between her and Kaeya “but I noticed your sword was starting to chip so…”

There was a surge of warmth that erupts in Kaeya’s chest. He knows that the Traveler was fond of him, but to pay such careful attention that she had realized his sword was starting to wear and to gift him a new sword was more than Kaeya had ever thought she would do.

Lumine cracks open the box and Kaeya can’t help but lean in interest.

The sword is beautiful. A long thin blade that looked as delicate as it was sturdy. It was white as snow, not a single blemish stained its steel. The hilt and the guard were carved intricately into feathers. Although the box seemed like it had been left uncared for in ages, the sword was in perfect shape.

"Pretty isn't it?"

Lumine's voice snapped Kaeya out of his thoughts.

"Yes, it’s lovely," Kaeya admits, "but Lumine I couldn't possibly accept this-"

Lumine laughs, her eyes crescents. "Well, you're going to have to. I got it just for you."

Read the rest on here on my AO3!

[kisskissbanggang]

Death Warmed Up

[<15Min Read/~4K Words - Coffee Shop Au - Felix x Neutral Death!Reader - Fluff, Minor Angst - Dogs, Death, Coffee]

[Originally slated for the skzwriternet Cozy Collab, but here it is! Hope you enjoy.]

Nets: @skzwriternet​ @kwritersworld​

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You stared at the assignment you had found on your desk. This was late… by two years?

The notion was fully ludicrous. Even with a file like this, there was no way that it could reasonably have been delayed by two whole years. Then again, the idea of getting saddled with an interesting case intrigued you. It sort of felt fancy — important, even — to see this in your inbox when you sat at your desk. You flicked through the file again. Felix Lee, 21 years old: living on Borrowed Time since he was 19.

You hadn’t been an Arbiter very long, and you mulled over just how little Borrowed Time you’d really seen since your appointment. There was the tiny old grandmother — Jane, you thought her name was — a matriarch of her household and a staple of her community, but even then her Arbiter, Bill, could only find her a year from scraping together everything he could. He had told you all that when he did finally meet her at the end, he was in tears along with all her family, and she was the only one smiling. The fact that this kid could be afforded two years was a feat in and of itself, to a point that you were morbidly curious who the previous Arbiters were. The most recent was Jisung, a surprising name to find. Jisung was nice, he liked to maintain how he looked when he died in the mid-nineties, nose ring and flannel and all… and he currently worked as a first-level Arbiter, watching day-to-day activities between humans and the world around them. When you got transferred into the department you’d had no idea that he used to be up on this level. The previous Arbiter’s name was Chan: a name you didn’t recognize and had never heard around the office. Whatever had happened, you didn’t want to hear it. You didn’t want to get distracted by excuses. You needed to see for yourself.

◇─◇──◇──🍂──◇──◇─◇

It was a surprisingly balmy autumn afternoon when you finally found the cafe. Even with all the extra instincts and wherewithal you were afforded by your position, you still had to search around for the little coffee bar, a humble cubby hidden away in an alley off a side street in the bustling city. Some trees lined the sidewalk outside and the orange leaves managed to drift on by, and there was a young man sweeping them off the stoop of the cafe before he turned to go back inside. You opened your portfolio and pulled out your file again. You examined it closely. Could that have been him? The guy now cleaning up behind the bar? There was no way that was him. You stepped closer down the alley.

Thankfully, even if the young man in the window did look up, he wouldn’t see you in this plane you were currently occupying. Your body was only as real as your conscious willed it considering you were already dead, and right now you were perfectly content watching the barista bustling about behind the counter. A little old man with smart half-moon glasses waved from where he sat in his cracked leather armchair by a tall bookshelf, getting his attention.

“Felix, dear, could you top me off?”

Well, there, then. This was the guy.

He didn’t seem so special.

Felix didn’t look like his picture. That was your first hint. The photo was always a snapshot of the client at the time the referral was made to Arbitration, and he looked much worse for wear a couple years ago, laying in a hospital bed and hooked up to a spiderweb of tubes. Here, now, Felix stood tall and healthy, slim but fit under his apron, a modest but present definition in his arms showing through the rolled sleeves of his shirt as he set about making a new drink for the tottering old man. A spray of freckles adorned his dainty nose and rested among the golden glow of his cheeks, and he even had a little satisfied smile curling at his lip as he got the foam just right on the old man’s coffee.

You still didn’t see what all the fuss was about.

A dog ran up to Felix behind the counter, a panting golden retriever asking for pats, and your heart begrudgingly melted. In fact, there were even more dogs you hadn’t noticed. A small scotty rested at the feet of the old man. A tiny chihuahua slept in a basket on the counter that barely roused as Felix stepped over to add the drink to the man’s tab. A sleek sheepdog sat up from behind the counter to let him by, and a basset hound raised its head from where it sat in another chair when Felix set the warm cup on a small table by his elderly customer. Felix pet the dogs in a round and wiped up a string of drool from the basset with the corner of his apron before he returned to the counter and washed his hands.

Fine, so Felix was good with dogs.

But being good with dogs didn’t automatically mean you were entitled to Borrowed Time.

◇─◇──◇──🍂──◇──◇─◇

You returned with gusto the next day, ready to confront this supposedly difficult client. Your getup was simple, fully materialized now and dressed as a package courier. This form was common when working on this plane, even popular with other people in your department like Jisung, the previous Arbiter, who actually did use to deliver packages back before he died. It made sense in getting a feel for who a client really was. This was a blue collar worker that people were used to seeing and seeing through, and could really show who a person could be, given the right situation. And you really wanted to see who Felix could be.

You strolled into the cafe, large box in hand with a clipboard sitting on top and a pen tucked behind your ear. Felix perked up when you let it thunk onto the counter, the weight taking care of the poignancy.

“Delivery,” you boredly greeted. “Can you sign for this?”

“Er,” Felix stared — at you, the box, and back at you, “what is it? I wasn’t expecting anything.”

You laughed out loud as you held out your pen to him. “I don’t know, I’m just delivering it. Can you sign for this, please?”

Felix bit at his lip before he grabbed the proffered pen and signed, and you looked amused as you stood and watched him slice open the box with a pair of scissors from under the counter. What surprised you was that this old trick — this misdelivered box of assorted mugs and pens — only made Felix laugh.

“I didn’t order these!”

“That’s too bad,” you shrugged sympathetically. Admittedly, his smooth and deep voice was pleasantly unexpected, catching you off guard. “They’re addressed here and you signed for them.”

Felix’s eyes widened as he plucked out a piece of paper. “There’s an invoice?! With a balance on it?!”

But he still only laughed. You were a bit stumped.

“I guess I’ll pay this before I return it,” Felix shrugged. “I’d hate for someone to get a late bill on a mistake like this.”

You were puzzled, to say the least, as you turned to leave, but then Felix stopped you.

“Hey!” He called. “I feel bad that you had to come all the way here just for this to not be mine. Can’t I at least get you a drink on the house? Do you like dogs?”

The most astounding thing of all was you felt yourself heat up at his offer. This was well and truly bizarre, but you needed to check this out as well. There had to be fine print. You should’ve looked closer at the file.

You dumbly nodded as Felix gladly directed you over to a seat at the bar by his register. When he asked what you liked and you added a dumb shrug to your list of unintended responses, he shrugged in return and said he’d love to surprise you, then. Felix ground some beans down to a dense powder, pressed it into a puck, and pulled a couple espresso shots. You found yourself intrigued, having never seen or paid any attention to someone doing this by hand before. He steamed a small pitcher of milk until a modest head of creamy foam sat on top and carefully poured it in the center of the shots. He proudly slid the cup over to you on a saucer.

“A flat white,” he humbly presented. You silently nodded your gratitude and tried it. This was utterly confounding. The same misdelivery stunt got a shoe thrown at you by a client a few years back. You had to put the cup down as soon as you tried a sip.

“Is everything alright?” Felix worriedly asked. The fluffy lab originally sleeping on the rug in the center of the cafe got up to check on you, his wet nose leaving a slight print on your uniform pants.

“Er, yeah,” you gulped down the hot drink on your lips, “this is just really good. Are you sure I can’t pay you?”

Felix raised a hand to deny you. “Wouldn’t dream of accepting it. I’m sure you’ve been working hard all day anyway.”

“Sure have,” you stiffly lied. “Well, I can at least tip you.”

You conjured a wallet with a sizable bill inside, more than enough to cover the coffee as you quickly downed the modestly sized beverage. Felix beamed as you waved goodbye.

Fine.

So Felix was nice. So Felix was really nice. Felix was really nice, and kind, and he made good coffee.

But you’d have to try anyway. There was something in him that could convince you that he wasn’t 100% good, even though that shouldn’t have been a reason from the beginning.

◇─◇──◇──🍂──◇──◇─◇

You returned two nights later, but you didn’t enter the small side street. Instead, you paced in front of your parked bike out on the sidewalk, over and over again, working up the nerve. After a while, though, you knew it was time. You would goad Felix into dropping the act, into showing who he really was under all the sugar and sunshine. After making sure the sizeable package was sitting precariously on your handlebars to match the one on the back of your bike, you revved the little engine as Felix swept the stoop for the night. You barreled down the street, apparently unable to see much in front of you beyond the shoddy headlight. This was fine. This was easy. You’d done this before, and a saint of an old schoolteacher beat the snot out of you with their cane for it a while back. Felix noticed you at the last second, eyes widening comically as you reflexively honked.

You couldn’t do it.

Your finger barely squeezed the brake, but the front axle jackknifed and sent you ass over elbows onto the pavement.

Everything went white for a second and you definitely did not miss being alive in this moment, because this invariably sucked. And now Felix was there.

“It’s you!” Felix gasped and immediately offered you a hand up. “You scared the daylights out of me!”

“Uh,” you stammered and groaned, “I can say the same.” You could not wait to leave this plane and not feel the pain radiating in your hip and back. But right now, Felix was already pulling you into the cafe and fretting.

“Are you in a rush? You should at least sit down a moment.”

You sighed and let Felix seat you in a comfy chair by a heater in the small cafe, only lit by warm lamps at this time of night. The basset hound watching from a basket on the low windowsill came to sit at your feet as Felix hurriedly set about making you a hot cup of tea. He rushed over, light on his feet and pushing the warm mug into your hands. You nearly spat as you looked closer at the ceramic cup. “Is this—?”

“From that box you brought me the other day? Sure is.” Felix let the force of his belly laugh carry him into a chair beside you. “The funniest thing, really. I tried calling the phone number on that invoice and only got busy tones, and I tried looking up the business and only found dead websites. I figured I could always use pens and mugs, so now I have a supply and a funny story.”

You could crumple into dust, honestly. You set the mug on the little table by your chair, albeit a tad roughly. “I’m so sorry,” you shook your head, “but what is your deal? You’re literally the happiest person I ever met.”

Felix’s eyes pointed sharp into you. There it was.

But he wasn’t angry. He seemed embarrassed.

“Well,” he sighed, even still attempting to maintain his persistent smile, “it’s a long and tired story. I was really sick a couple years ago and I pulled through when no one thought I could.”

“I’m sorry—” you meekly interjected, but it was too late. The shine in Felix’s eye finally dulled, if only a little. You’d cracked him.

“It’s fine,” Felix reassured you. He gently patted your knee before he got back up to his feet. “You go ahead and enjoy your tea. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Of course, yeah,” you babbled as you got up and followed him anyhow, “I’m just glad I didn’t hit you.” You set the mug on the bar and sat down as he walked behind the register. The chihuahua in his basket drowsily got up and walked into your hand for pets.

“I was going to say the same,” Felix nodded tiredly with a worn smile. “It’s happened before. I guess I should put some lights up outside. A cute delivery boy almost ran me over with his bike about a year ago, too.”

“Delivery boy?” You asked starkly. Felix caught your look before falling right back into stride. His grin seemed to get its warmth back.

“Yeah,” he nodded amusedly. “He had an adorable nose ring, I remember I was terrified I almost ripped it out when he helped me up.”

Felix looked confused at the very least as you choked on your tea.

“I’m sorry,” you sputtered out. “You know I — it’s weird that — I just remembered I need to be somewhere. Thank you again, for everything.” You dug out entirely too much money for the tea and clapped it down onto the counter before grabbing your things and sprinting out the door.

◇─◇──◇──🍂���─◇──◇─◇

Jisung looked caught as you slapped Felix’s file on his desk. “Hi,” he squeaked as you towered over him.

“What happened when you tried to crack him?”

The young Arbiter let his head drop back with a hard sigh. “You got the file? I knew he couldn’t last long.”

“You only gave him another year, you had to know this was coming.”

“He was just so—? He’s so nice, and genuine, and warm?” Jisung blathered on as he sat back up and flipped through the file. “He was never the same since what Chan did. He was the most amazing turnaround I’d ever seen.”

“So you gave him a year—“

“I didn’t.” Jisung shook his head. “Look closer at the file. I put him back in the queue for Reassessment.”

“What do you mean you—“

“Look,” Jisung insisted. He grabbed your sleeve and dragged you down the hall. “I put him back in Reassessment and was lucky to only get demoted. After what Chan did, I couldn’t bring myself to do more.”

“What are you showing me?”

“Here.”

Jisung shook out his hands and you found yourself standing beside him in a graveyard. This was a pleasant enough place to end up. The grass was neatly trimmed and there were trees and benches to sit on. The orange and red leaves scattered around looked like confetti, a graceful celebration at the end of life. Jisung stood between two headstones.

“I made the mistake of looking at what Chan did, except Felix’s family wasn’t gone yet when he had the file. They were on their way out, though. He saw that they were leaving soon, and Felix would be alone with his grandfather at his cafe. His grandfather would be all alone after losing all of them, and that would be after everything Felix would go through, getting sick and getting better and learning to live again. Chan saw a horrible ending to an awful story and put a stop to it, and he got banished for it.”

“That’s not fair though,” you shook your head, “no matter how much you or he wanted it.”

“But look at him!” Jisung reeled. “That decision made one of the brightest humans I’ve ever seen. When I put him back to Reassessment, I just spent time around him before I was called back. I suggest you do the same, no matter what you choose. I hope this helped.”

Jisung haughtily folded his arms before he vanished. You finally looked more closely at the headstones. Those years were much too close together. Your heart hung low in your gut.

◇─◇──◇──🍂──◇──◇─◇

Felix grinned wide when you returned to the cafe. He immediately set about making you a drink.

“I was wondering when I’d see you again.”

“You were?”

This was feeling familiar, like you were home or at a friend’s house, while you sat yourself in an easy chair and let the panting sheepdog sit between your feet so you could scratch under her chin.

“Yeah!” Felix brightly called over. “Because you asked why I’m like this, I sort of only gave you half an answer.”

“I’m sorry again,” you lamented.

“It’s fine,” Felix said adamantly as he set a warm mug in your hands. He gestured grandly before sitting down. “A latte. Now, I only gave you half an answer. The fact of the matter is that I spent a good while tied to tubes and machines with nothing to do and no choice in the matter. Now, all this time later, I’m just happy to be here, because I know the day after could be any day now.”

“The day after?”

Felix nodded. “When you come away from something like that, later it just feels like a day. One big day, or week, or whatever is tangible, but it definitely wasn’t forever. It feels like one big day to me. This, in the grand scheme of things, is the day after that, but the day after this, when everything actually does end— I’m expecting it. And I’m not scared, but I’m going to be enjoy my time here as much as I can.”

“You’re not scared?”

“Not anymore,” Felix shook his head in determination. “I had to cope with my own loss like everyone else was getting ready to cope with losing me. I didn’t get to have that luxury of not expecting it anymore, because I know what it looks like and I know what’s coming. To do anything else would be a disservice, so I’d rather walk into it with a clear mind and a full life.”

You thought of Bill and Jane, how she was the only one not crying at the end. It was hard to place exactly how you felt, sipping your coffee made with loving hands in this small cafe full of an inordinate amount of golden afternoon sunlight for being so hidden away from the main road. Felix fit here — cosmically, almost, in the least dramatic way you could muster.

“I’m really glad you feel that way,” you said, hoping that the added sincerity hidden behind the sentiment was felt.

The shimmer in Felix’s eyes told you it was. “I am, too. And I’m especially glad you’re back, because I like seeing you around. I don’t think I’ve given away this many free drinks since that delivery boy last year.”

“I like seeing you, too, Felix.” You finally admitted it, and it was true, even more so as Felix’s shining smile grew even more. You did like seeing Felix, and you would continue to see Felix as much as you were able, all the way to the end.

[jinmukangwrites]

Nightwing BTHB: Slowly Running Out Of Air

Star / Done // Moon / Requested // Eye / Next

Ao3

Summary: Dick wakes up chained to the bottom of a pit. Then, it starts filling up.

Warnings: Kidnapping, Hopeless Situations, Permanent Injury, Amputation, Blood, Drowning

---

To nobody's surprise, waking up is absolutely a bitch. 

He groans and shifts, trying to find his bearings, and the first thing he notices is that there's a rattling of clinking metal as his foot moves. Morbidly curious, Dick peeks his eyes open; all he sees is his own hand and a metal wall. 

Dick's head pounds like one of the seven dwarfs got stuck in his skull and is trying to mine themself out through his eye sockets. Dick wouldn't be surprised if that dwarf was named Grumpy. 

One thing this is helpful for is that he can immediately tell that he's Nightwing. There's no other time in his daily life he would wear black gloves with blue stripes going down his middle fingers. 

His causon immediately rises with this new information. Nightwing waking up somewhere like this—with a headache, on the ground, with the sound of what's most likely chains, is never good. 

He risks shifting again, making it seem like he's groggily beginning to wake up from whatever drug he's been hit with just in case someone is watching. There's definitely chains clinking down by his feet, specifically his left ankle. 

He peeks his eyes open to better survey his location, however all that he discovers is more rusted metal walls and floor of the same material. The wall is rounded and about a foot and a half from his face. When he stretches his leg that's not connected to the chains, he hits the wall behind him. He glances up, and sure enough the walls around him expand upwards what must be a little less than fifteen feet. There's a grate laying over the mouth of the walls, showing more ceiling higher up and shrouded in shadows. 

He's chained to the bottom of a metal pit. 

This doesn't sound good at all. 

He closes his eyes and stills, trying to figure out where he is and what he was doing to end up here. He was obviously doing something on patrol… perhaps a mission? He's not sure, the drugs in his system, while milder than most he's woken up with before, is making it really hard to recall much of anything. Honestly, the last thing he remembers is getting a phone call from Jason. 

He slows his breathing, stilling so that he looks asleep to anyone watching. 

Come on Dick. Just retrace your steps. You got a phone call from Jason... You answered… there was a hole in your sock. He wanted… what did Jason want…

"Big bird?" A voice calls, the tones becoming distorted as it echoes down the metal pit. "You up?"

"… Hood?" Dick tries, opening his eyes and looking up. Jason doesn't sound hurt or particularly startled, but Dick can't see anything above him other than the grating and the ceiling. 

"I've been up for the past half hour," Jason's explains, "m'not hurt. But no one's come yet."

Dick nods to himself. So they've been captured together, but their captors might not be watching. "You in a pit too?" Dick asks, slowly working himself up so he's sitting. 

He grabs onto the wall for balance when he gets to his feet. There's a heavy shackle definitely around his ankle, one that's not coming off without the key or very specific tools. It's tight too, he can feel it squeezing awkwardly against his tendons and bone. The chain connecting the shackle to an eye-hook in the floor looks several feet long, wound up in a neat pile on the floor to his side.

"No, tied to a chair up here," Jason answers as Dick begins to take stock of himself. He's been close to completely disarmed of anything useful. The only things he can find stock of is a few wingdings, some smoke pallets, his escrima sticks…

The things that are missing include his stash of small explosives, his rebreather, and his lockpicking set. Three things he's usually good at remembering to pack. 

"Do you know what happened?" Dick asks as he bends down to inspect the chains and the eye-hook. The chains are almost a half inch in diameter and expertly wielded. The chains have bits of rust here and there, but none that would suggest breakage any time soon. The eye-hook is probably his best bet, as it's thick and heavy-duty, but clearly just screwed into the floor. 

"You don't remember?" Jason scoffs, amusement in his tone. Dick grins, Jason either doesn't know or he, himself, needed some time to recall. "We were going through the Narrows before we got sniped by tranqes."

Dick brings his hand up to the bit of skin that's exposed to his neck where he immediately feels a sharp pinch of pain from what's definitely irritated skin thanks to a barbed dart being yanked out from it's target. 

That's right. They were sniped. It was just a simple patrol together, just for the heck of it, and next thing Dick knew he was collapsing to the ground with his body feeling floaty and far away. 

He huffs. "Why can't Gotham criminals ever be normal?" 

Jason snorts in response. 

Dick kneels down by the eye-hook and wraps his hands around it, looking for the best grasp despite the awkward shape and angle. Once he feels like he has an okay enough grasp, he begins to turn. 

It doesn't budge. 

"How stuck are you?" Dick calls before trying again at the hook. 

It still doesn't move as Jason answers—it must be glued in somehow. "Pretty stuck. Chair's bolted to the ground, used way too much duct-tape, took everything useful."

Dick opens his mouth to ask how likely Jason thinks he'd be able to escape on his own, but then something groans within the walls of the pit. 

"The hell?" Jason murmurs. 

"Uh, Hood?" Dick calls anxiously, walking over to where the noise came from. He places his hands on the wall and frowns at the distant rumblings under his fingertips.

Jason answers with a frustrated and cautious voice. "There's a TV on the wall in front of me, it just turned on."

Dick hums and looks down at the seam where the wall meets the floor. He frowns when he notices small sections of grating; thin but strong graphs of wire cover small little holes in the wall, barely three inches in diameter. 

However, when he turns around, he counts about 8 of these holes. 

"The quality is really bad," Jason continues, "but I think it's of you."

"What's going on?" Dick looks up and sure enough, what looks to be a small and cheap looking knockoff of a GoPro sits taped to the grating above him. 

Before either he or Jason can say anything more, the almost mechanical groaning in the walls becomes louder and then Dick finds out what those little holes near his feet are for. 

Water pours through each hole, immediately sloshing around his shoes. Panic and understanding shoots adrenalin through his veins, he kneels down in the water that's already around his ankles and forces one of his wingdings into the middle of the eye-hook, using it as a handle for him to better turn. 

At least the water isn't cold. 

"Wing?" Jason calls, and Dick grunts as the hook stays stubbornly in place. "What's going on? I can't see anything."

One of Dick's hands slips in the water and he curses, bringing his hand up to see the fabric of his gloves cut through. "They're filling it with water."

"You for real?!" 

Instead of answering, Dick tries again to break the eye-hook. Nothing works, all he does is cut the skin of his palms. 

He swears colorfully as he stands back up, glaring down through the water that's now to the middle of his shins and contemplates kicking the hook, however he has a feeling that all he's going to accomplish is gaining an aching foot. He looks up at the grating. 

"Let's say, hypothetically, that I managed to throw a wingding at you, would you have any chances of catching it and getting out?" 

Jason's silent for a beat. "Maybe. If you throw it right at me. Also I hate that you call those that."

Dick rolls his eyes and adjusts his footing, looking at the chain and trying to calculate how heavy it's going to be. He should be fine. He just needs to rise with the water to a point where he can reach the grating. Once Jason's free, he should be able to help get Dick out of this literal death trap.

He explains his plan to Jason, and while it doesn't sound as thought out as it should be, it's still all that they've got. 

That water slips over his knees, up his hips, to his chest, and eventually above his shoulders. 

Once it became impossible to stand any longer, Dick forced himself to begin a steady tread despite the chain around his ankle. He knows the higher the water rises, the more heavy the chain will become...

But he's strong. He's good at swimming. With the amount of times he's been tossed into various harbors, he has to be. 

"Wing?" Jason calls around when Dick has risen with the water to about the halfway point. Dick's left leg already burns from the strain of the chain, but he's been doing alright so far. 

"Just focus on escaping, little wing," Dick calls, kicking his unshackled leg furiously as the weight on the other drags him under for just a moment. 

The water continues to rise, and soon it becomes almost unbearable to continue swimming like this. But he has to. If he doesn't, he'll sink and drown. 

Eventually, just as his legs are beginning to go numb with strain, he manages to hook the tips of his fingers around the grating above him. With a shot of adrenalin, he realizes that this is it. This is his last shot. It all amounts to these last moments whether he'll manage to escape, or if this is where he dies. 

It's moments like these where he never feels more alive. 

He forces his hands to get a better grasp as he already holds one of his meager stash of wingdings in his grasp. He works to lift himself up into the small few feet of air above the water, but he only goes up a couple inches before he's violently stopped by a tugging on his left leg. 

Dick's stomach sinks. 

"Uh, Hood?" He calls, forcing the coming panic out of his voice as the water steadily rises higher. The ripples tickle his Adam's apple.  "I can't- I can't get higher. You're going to have to help me aim."

"Alright," Jason says, his voice calm, which must mean Dick's unsuccessfully managed to keep his cool. "Follow my voice, I think I'm to your left."

Dick nods slightly to himself, but not too much because his chin would dip in the water that way. Working the grate like it's a set of monkey bars, Dick turns step by step until Jason tells him to stop. He keeps one hand white knuckled on the bars and then brings his other hand up as far as it can go, the wingding resting in his dripping fingers. 

The shackle digs into his ankle as he tries to tug himself more upwards. 

"Okay, a little to your right," Jason instructs, and Dick does as he's told. "Kay, aim up, alright?"

"Yeah," Dick gasps, his chin slapping the water. "Right."

He throws the wingding to the best of his limited abilities. He knows he misses when Jason makes a small growling noise. 

"Put more power into it."

Dick can't help it. He lets out a burst of hysterical laughter. Power? He can barely move as it is, the only power that he's going to get with his hand just over the bars of the grate is going to come from his wrist. 

Regardless, Dick brings his hand down and grabs another one of his weapons. He counts in a blink of an eye that he only has five. 

He tries again, following Jason's instructions, and this time he gets closer to his younger brother, but it curves to the left and lands itself, apparently, into the screen of the TV. Breaking it.

"You're fine, big bird," Jason says, "you're gonna be fine. Let's just try again."

Dick can't respond. The water is brushing against his upper lip. If he could respond, he's sure he might laugh again at how hopeless this all is. 

He tries again, and all he can hear is Jason saying it slid under his chair before the water completely rises above his ears. Dick's just managing to strain and keep his nose above the surface, but already if he breathes too loudly droplets will try to suck into his lungs. 

He has two wingdings left. He can barely properly aim, and he can't even hear Jason all too well either. 

He sucks in a breath and holds it just as the water rises over his nose. 

He tries. He really tries to keep his calm and aim at Jason once again with muscle memory. He's been in deathtraps before. 

Yet, the second he lifts his second to last wingding, the water stops rising right near his elbows. Just above his head. 

And how cruel is that? 

He doesn't know if he can risk this. If he aims and fires his last two wingdings completely blind like this and misses, then it's over. 

He can hold his breath longer than most. But it doesn't matter how long he can hold his breath if he's chained down just below the surface. 

Dick looks down at the shackle around his ankle, then feels the sharp wingding in his hand. 

He needs to buy time. For himself… for Jason. He needs the shackle off so he can rise above the water and aim. 

Before he can let fear talk him out of it, he lets go of the grating above him and allows himself to sink further into the water with the weight of the chain. 

His ears are ringing and he can practically feel his pulse trying to burst from his neck, but he keeps his breath locked in his lungs and he keeps his eyes trained on his ankle. 

Before he can talk himself out of it, he lets the adrenaline drive him as he plunges his own weapon into his ankle, right below the shackle. 

Blood bursts from his leg like a cloud. Agony hits like a truck. But he keeps cutting, he keeps cutting because he has to. The adrenaline helps numb it a little. But it's all he can do to keep from screaming and sucking in the blood stained water as he hits the bone. 

It takes a good few tugs and a few more desperate slices for him to finally feel the weight of the shackle and chain drop. Before he can allow what just happened—what he's just done—to hit him, he kicks up and forces himself to swim until he reaches the surface. 

When he reaches air, he's not sure if he's coughing, sobbing, or screaming. 

It hurts. It hurts. And soon enough, the water will drain him out of every single drop of his blood.

With shaking hands, he lifts himself so he's as close to the grating as possible. He has just a second to process how scared Jason looks on that chair, like he's trying to understand or process what just happened. Dick wonders if he knows what it means for Dick to be above the water. Dick wonders if Jason thought he drowned. Dick wonders if Jason saw the whole thing on the screen of a shattered TV.

Dick allows himself just a moment to mentally apologize to Jason before he gets his whole arm out of the grating and aims with perfect precision straight into the tape holding Jason's arm to the chair. 

Right then, it feels like all the strength seeps out of him. He almost falls back into the water, wheezing, but he keeps his grasp strong and closes his eyes. 

He's okay. He's okay. He's-

Water laps into his mouth and he can taste blood.

Now he knows it's sobs escaping through his teeth. 

He holds on and forces himself to ignore the blood tasting water, ignore how weak and nauseated he's becoming. He holds on until there's a sound of a gun firing on the padlock keeping the grate down. He shifts to grab the lip of the pit as Jason lifts the grate. For a second, he slips and almost falls back into the water, but then strong hands grasp under his arms and heft him out.

Next thing he knows he's on his back in a puddle of water and blood and just trying to catch his breath. 

"Holy shit, fucking- Wing? Can you hear me?" 

Jason's panicking. Dick's coughing water. He's screaming water when Jason begins to wrap a torn piece of cloth from his leather jacket around his leg. 

A tourniquet. 

Dick writes as the agony in his left leg becomes blinding with each twist Jason makes in the cloth. 

"Jason- Jason I couldn't-" Dick tries to explain, but his brain is woozy and his chest really hurts. "I didn't-"

I couldn't breathe. I didn't think. I couldn't get out. I didn't want to die. 

"My leg- my leg, Jay- I can't-"

I can't breathe. 

"Just hold on, you're going into shock-" Jason says, his voice so much weaker than what it normally is. "All of our stuff is in here- I already pinged B."

No. No, not B. Dick doesn't need Bruce. Dick doesn't need Alfred. Or the Batcave. Or the medbay. A few pills of advil. A pat on a shoulder. 

He needs- 

"Hospital," he gasps through clenched teeth as Jason bundles up his jacket and puts it under Dick's feet to elevate them. 

Foot. Foot and mangled remains of his left leg. 

"Jay-" 

"Okay," Jason agrees, standing up and running to the other side of the room where—sure enough—all of their missing items lay. 

Dick stares up at the ceiling while Jason calls for an ambulance. He listens to the shakiness to his tone and how he seems to stumble over answers he must be being asked. If Jason's this startled… it must be really bad. 

Dick wants to look, but at the same time he knows he'll throw up the second he sees. 

He takes a deep breath and tries to fight the armada of problems trying to assault him. The drowsiness. The confusion. The nausea. The pain. The shock. 

But eventually, Jason's voice becomes a drone, and soon Dick's eyes are slipping closed.

He hears his name shouted before he falls unconscious.

When the black settles, the pain doesn't go away. 

-o-o-o-o-

When Dick wakes up the first time, it's chaos. Shouting voices, a mask pressing against his face. He tries to open his eyes and figure out what's going on, but then something nudges his leg and he sees stars. He tries to crawl back to himself, but it's like he's pinned with sharp needles through butterfly wings. Before he can even try to open his eyes again through the tears, something pinches the inside of his elbow, and Dick loses himself again.

-o-o-o-o-

The second time he wakes, it's quiet. He feels like he's eaten so much honey that it has replaced his blood. His arms are heavy as he brings them to his face to rub at his blurry eyes. 

As he rubs at them, he can feel the tugging of tubes running up his nose. The pull of a needle within the crook of his elbow. As he looks around, slowly realizing where he is—slowly remembering why he's here—the heart monitor picks up speed. 

Of course, that's when a body he didn't notice until now shoots up like they have been trying and failing to catch some shut eye. 

"Bruce," Dick calls weakly as Bruce zeros in on him. Dick's throat hurts. Everything hurts. He can't feel anything below his knee.

Thankfully, as he weakly holds his arms out, Bruce gets the message. Before Dick knows it, he's being gathered into Bruce's arms so he's sitting up and clutching to Bruce like his wrinkled suit jacket is his lifeline. 

"How bad is it?" Dick asks with wobbling lips and a wobbling voice. 

Bruce stills, then his arms tighten around Dick, and that's when Dick knows it's bad. A sob tears through his throat and he closes his eyes, pressing against Bruce. He wants to crawl away and not exist. He wants Bruce to make everything okay again. 

He doesn't want to open his eyes to look. So he keeps them closed and allows his tears to stain Bruce's tie. 

"They…" Bruce starts, sounding terribly unsure, "you were in bad shape. Shock. Infection already setting in. You lost a lot of blood... They couldn't save anything below the knee."

Dick wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all. He knows he was panicking back there, but he also purposely cut at his ankle to… to save his leg. 

He lost it anyway. He wants to laugh. Instead he sobs harder. 

Bruce tries to reassure him with the hopes the doctors have for a prosthetic, tries to explain he already has Lucius Fox on making one fit for Nightwing, but Dick can only cry and weep and mourn until eventually, he's practically boneless. He can barely keep his eyes open as Bruce lays him back down and tells him to get some more rest. 

"Sleep, Chum, everything will get better."

Dick can't find it in himself to believe him. He sleeps anyway, if not to just pretend his entire life isn't over.