#this took me only four days my wrists are killing me

[goonbank]

It's a corn

[gldrushh]

GUILTY AS SIN? | JK | PART 𝐈

"You are stuck in time, and Jungkook doesn't stop running from it until he eventually does, and you learn that grief doesn’t wait for death, that love isn't all that dignifying."

→ Pairing brother in law!Jungkook × widowed fem!reader

→ Genre forbidden love! au, childhood friends to lovers, angst, smut

→ W.C 17. 32k

→ Warnings unrequited love :(, oc is in love with his older brother, early character death of the said older brother who is haunting the narrative, cute childhood sweethearts who are doomed by me, mentions of dealing with grief and acceptance, mention of cancer, a minor scene where harassment is attempted,emotionally troubled! oc, emotionally troubled and detached! jk, simp jk, pathetic man in love, he's so so lovesick, ceo! jk, protective jk, yearning, pining, loads of angst, fluff if you squint, breif yoongi mention, namjin yay!!,rich people party, mentions of anxiety,sexual tension,slow burnish,smut (omg everyone look away), kissing, unprotected sex (raw and deep, next question),dirty talking, oc is insecure,hickies,oral (f! Receiving), he cums in his pants,big dick jk, soft Dom Jungkook, fingering, penetrative sex, creampie, praise, cuddles if you squint again

→ Playlist Guilty as sin, control, killing me softly with his song, do I wanna know?

→ A/N the idea of this one shot came to me at 1 am when I was supposed to be studying for a test that probably my future depends upon and after much much complementing I'm finally posting it. To me, its very experimental and I was just trying to explore my writing style and writing things that I haven't before, like smut 🫠 so please please bear that in mind!! I hope you enjoy reading and if you did please comment!! It makes my whole day 🥰💕💕

P.S: cross posted on wattpad.

| PART 1 | PART 2 |

It is a believed fact that it takes three to four short months to fall in love. 

For you, it took one summer. The summer spent watching him sketch galaxies in the dirt with a twig, summer spent learning the way his laughter sounded after stealing popsicles from the freezer, summer spent holding his hand as they made paper planes under the blazing sun. It was the kind of love that grew roots so deep, you couldn’t separate where he ended and you began.

That summer, you met Minho. The boy next door with a mind as wild as his curls and a heart so warm it seemed to shine blindingly bright. He showed you how to climb trees, told stories he'd crafted all by himself, convincing you that the universe could be held in the palm of your hand. He shared his world with you, and you fell in love with it.

You kissed his cheek on the porch of your house one late July evening, bold and brimming with the kind of confidence only childhood summers could bring. “Now you’re gonna have to marry me, Min Min,” you teased, hands behind your back, your toes curling against the wooden floorboards.

He blushed, a shade of red that rivaled the setting sun, but his grin mirrored yours.

The porch of your house was a witness to many things. Your first steps, held your first scraped knees, your first dog and Minho's new brother; your new friend.

A boy of your age, younger than Minho had appeared from right behind him, his hands clutching onto Minho's flannel, his watchful eyes going everywhere all at once. The kind of boy who never spoke unless he had to, the kind who was more familiar with loss than comfort, lingering on the edges of things, unsure if he belonged.

Jungkook.

Now, Jeon Jungkook.

You and his brother had taken it upon themselves to bring him into your fold, turning your duo into a trio. With time, he laughed with you both, trusted you both, became one of you both.

The three of you were inseparable— in the backyard of your house, in elementary school, in high school. How could you not be? You had tied the promise in the form of handmade friendship bracelets around the wrist of both boys.

Even though what you wanted with minho was far from friendship. A bold dreamer, you always have been. But not so much when you turned sixteen. Sixteen; what a awkward age.

An age of overthinking haircuts, dreams, and the lives your peers are gonna live all at once. Visits to the school councilor are doubled. Relationships happen; Friends part.

But you only grew closer with Jungkook. He didn’t seemed interested in making a move on the timid, short haired girl who passed him notes in chemistry class, neither did he talk much about the future. When you asked him what he wanted to do, he’d shrug and say something like, “Whatever makes sense at the time.” He wasn’t aimless, exactly—just grounded in a way that made you think he didn’t feel the need to plan everything out.

Minho, though, was spiraling.

He now spent more time with the councilor that he spent with you both. Had this bitter look on his face every morning you saw him on the bus stop that will have you sharing a knowing look with Jungkook—Minho had been having a lot of fights with his dad, had been overthinking a lot more because the world seemed so much bigger than he had imagined.

Maybe for the eldest son and heir to a family that ran a company as old as the town itself, the world really was big. But to you, he was just a hopeful boy with all the colors in his eyes. The colors that you loved. The colors that didn't belong in a office, crunching numbers.

Your heart ached for him, but you didn’t know what to say. At sixteen, nobody has the answers.

Seventeen is a different story. It's a starlight dream. It's you acing the college entrance test. It's Minho surfacing back. It's Minho kissing you on that very same porch, promising, “One day, we’ll have our own porch, and I’ll kiss you there every day.”

And he was one to keep his promises.

You married him at twenty-five, in crisp autumn. To your family and friends, it was "About time." To you, it was nothing short of a dream as you walked to promise forever to the man you love, a vision in white. It was nothing big, just a dreamy intimate affair with soft twinkling string lights. Something you both agreed on. Because you were content with what you had, overjoyed actually after picking out a quite cozy apartment for the both of you and landing a job as a humanities professor in a university that wasn't too far from the said apartment. Minho was too and while things weren't the same with his father now, he did what he loved. Ever the artist at heart.

It was like everything you ever wrote in your middle school diary, everything you wished for was now laid under your feet like a carpet unfolding.

You were given a good time before it started pulling away from your feet.

At first, it was subtle. A missed dinner here, a canceled hangout there. Then he told you both he’d taken up an opportunity abroad to manage the family business, something Minho had no interest in, just on the night of your wedding after he had fulfilled his role of the groom's best man, watched you walk down the aisle.

You hadn’t seen the decision coming—not that night, not like this—but you couldn’t deny it either. Jungkook had seemed restless here, especially after finishing college.Conversations with him in those days had been brief, distracted, his eyes darting to the distance even as he smiled at you. It felt as you were trying to talk to the Jungkook who had appeared on your porch the first time. He hadn’t asked for understanding, and you hadn’t known how to offer it. His reasons were vague, more like placeholders for something unsaid. And so he left, quietly, with little fanfare, and though Minho seemed sad to see him go, you could tell he understood.

“It’s good for him,” Minho had said. “He deserves something for himself.”

Relationship happened; Friends parted.

You weren't sure if you understood. While you agreed with Minho, you couldn’t help but feel the loss of a friend now that his calls became less frequent until they stopped altogether. One day, he was simply gone, leaving behind only the memory of the boy who had once trusted you with his rare, precious smiles.

"You’d laugh if you saw me right now. I tried to fix the leaky sink in the kitchen, and now the entire floor is flooded. Minho’s being no help—just standing there laughing."

"Hey, stranger. Our anniversary is next weekend. We’re just doing a small dinner. You should come. Seriously, koo, don’t make me guilt-trip you."

"Saved you a slice of cake, but Minho ate it. You’d better show up next year, or I’ll stop saving you anything."

"Hey, Koo. Just checking in. Hope you're healthy and happy. Would love to hear from you"

You'd text him timely, in hopes that he still knows how to use a phone. But apparently, not.

Still, you had Minho. Your husband, your best friend.

Until you didn't.

Until the carpet was at last, snatched right down from your feet.

The diagnosis came in the spring. It started with a faint weakness in his voice. A shortness of breath he dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Just tired,” he’d say, smiling that same easy smile. But tired turned into tests. Tests turned into results. And results turned into a diagnosis that was oh so cruel.

Leukemia. Early stages. Aggressive.

The months that followed were a blur of hospital visits, treatments, and quiet nights where you held him as he cried. You tried to be strong, for him, for both of you. Told him what the doctor in the sterile white office will tell you. "They've caught it early so we're not at a great risk here." You'd reassure him. "You have yet to get away from me, min min." You'd try making him laugh but he had always been better at that.

Now, suddenly he wasn't. The next two years, your life was just the slow, agonizing process of watching the man you loved fade away, losing every bit of his lively soul to the cancer, holding his hand when he was too weak to hold yours back.

Perhaps it wasn't only Minho who was chipping away. It was you too.

You turned into the woman who knew exactly how to track medication schedules, who could list every side effect of his treatment in order of severity, who spoke with doctors as if reciting a memorized script. You learned how to bite back the frustration when he snapped at you because he was in pain, and how to smile when all you wanted was to scream at the unfairness of it all.

You started to measure time not in days or months but in cycles of chemotherapy, in percentages of remission and relapse. Life was divided into hours spent in sterile hospital rooms, waiting for results that were never as hopeful as you needed them to be, and hours spent at home trying to pretend those results didn’t exist.

You had stopped dreaming. And minho had stopped painting.

Grief doesn’t wait for death— or so you've realized as you often found yourself grieving the life you had built together, the one you knew would never be the same. You grieved the sound of his laugh, which became quieter as the months passed. You grieved the way he used to tease you about your love for terrible reality shows, You grieved the mornings spent tangled together, talking about everything and nothing.

By the time the end came, you had already lost so much of him that you thought you might be prepared.

You weren’t.

And then he was gone.

With an, "I'm sorry. I love you." He was gone.

The house was too quiet without him, the days too long. You withdrew, not just from the world but from yourself, letting grief shape the edges of your existence.

The world moved on, even if you didn’t. They tell you how long it takes to fall in love but not how long it takes to get over it.

2 years, 240 days. And you're still counting.

Time passed in pieces—fractured and unrelenting.

Your family, Minho’s family, even well-meaning friends—none of them knew what to do with the mess you’d become, so they did what people often did. They tried to fix it. To fix you.

Blind dates were their answer, little nudges toward what they called healing. The word had been said so many times it began to lose its meaning. Healing. As if it were something—a destination you could stumble upon.

You didn’t have the energy to argue anymore, so you let them dress you up, hand you phone numbers, and convince you that this—whatever this was—was what you needed.

But your heart wasn’t in it.

Because as the man sat in front of you in the dimly lit bar continued to talk about how his ex couldn't handle his success, the trials of being a man with ambition, you really couldn't even bother to pretend you were interested. He was nice enough—tall, well dressed (consdering the dingy bar) with a confident smile but your thoughts kept drifting, as they often did.

2 years, 240 days since Minho had died.

2 years, 240 days of waking up alone in your bed, his side untouched.

2 years, 240 days of trying to find your way back to the woman you used to be.

“Hey,” the man interrupted your thoughts, leaning forward with an eager grin. “I feel like I’m talking too much. Tell me about yourself. What do you do for fun?”

You forced a smile, your stomach twisting. “I paint. It’s... therapeutic.”

“That’s nice,” he said, reaching across the table to touch your hand. You pulled back instinctively, your stool scraping against the floor. His brows furrowed.

“Sorry,” you muttered. “I just—”

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said, but his tone was tighter now. He leaned back, shrugging as if trying to dismiss the moment. “You know, you should loosen up a little. You’ll never find anyone if you keep acting like you’re still married.”

The words hit you like a slap, your chest tightening as you struggled to process the audacity of his statement. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, ignoring the warning in your tone, “you should give people a chance. I mean, you’re here, right?” He smirked and stood, coming around the table. “Let me take you home. We can—”

“Stop,” you said sharply, rising to your feet.

But he didn’t listen. His hand reached for your arm, his grip firm.

Then, just as suddenly as he’d grabbed you, he was gone.

The man stumbled backward, a hand jerking him by the collar. The force was so swift, so unexpected, that it took you a moment to register what had happened.

And then you saw him.

“..Jungkook?” The name caught in your throat as you turned.

You took in the man standing before you, taller and broader than you remembered, the years etched into the sharp lines of his jaw and the set of his shoulders. His dark eyes were fixed on the man who had dared to touch you, glinting coldly.

His voice was low, dangerous. “She said stop. I suggest you listen.”

For a moment, the world tilted.

You weren’t in a dingy bar anymore.

You were standing at the edge of a memory—the first time you’d ever seen Jungkook, the quiet boy who clung to Minho’s shadow.

And the last.

The last time you’d seen him, a looming figure in an ocean of black suits. A barely recognizable shadow among the mourners at your husband's funeral.

Now, standing before you, he was real, tangible—and so was the flood of emotions crashing over you.

It was so loud, you could barely hear as the the man stammered out an excuse, something about a misunderstanding.

“Leave.” Jungkook snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut and bring you back to the moment.

The man hesitated, his mouth opening as though he wanted to argue, but one glance at Jungkook’s expression and he decided against it. Without another word, he turned and stalked out, muttering something under his breath that neither of you caught.

Silence followed.

Only then did you felt his gaze on you. His presence was larger than life, and you were suddenly hyper-aware of how much had changed. How much he had changed. You hadn’t registered that at the funeral. Now, you didn't know what to say, you could hardly manage to look at him. While he wasn't Minho's real brother, didn't share any resemblance with him, it still hurt you, sucked you back into those times when it was the three of you, when it wasn't.

He too didn't reply right away, his gaze searching your face, as though he was also trying to piece together the version of you he remembered with the one standing before him now. When it landed on the arm you were clutching, the arm that dipshit had grabbed, you saw his eyes glint again.

"Did he hurt you?" It sounded more like a demand rather than a question but you couldn't even deciper the words, too focused on how his boyish tone had turned sharper, harder.

"W-What?" You fumble out like a fool.

"Did he hurt you, y/n?" This time, you heard him.

Letting your hand fall, embarrassed, you shook your head, finally managing to utter something sensible out. “No—yeah. I’m fine.”

He glanced back at the door that man had fled from before looking back at you. Finally, he exhaled, his voice low and quiet.

“You weren’t answering your phone.”

You blinked. “My phone?” You don't remember getting a call from anyone but then you realize your battery had died down as you looked down to see your dead device laying flat. "Oh. I didn't realis—"

“Mom said you’d been gone a while. Told me where you were.” He interrupted. There was an edge to his voice now, faint but undeniable.

You feel more embarrassed now that you know it's because of your mother in law's anxious nature that he is here. Your fingers brushed against the strap of your purse, desperate for something to do, something to hold onto as he speaks again. "Are you ready to leave?"

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out before you could think them through. “I can get a cab.”

His brows furrowed, just slightly, and you noticed for the first time the faint shadows beneath his eyes, the hint of weariness in his expression. “It’s late,” he said simply.

"So?”

“So,” he echoed, his tone calm but unyielding, “I’ll take you.”

You hesitated, your pride and your exhaustion warring within you. Finally, you exhaled out in defeat, reaching for your coat. It's just a thirty minute ride. You reassured yourself. It'll be fine.

The cool night air wrapped around you and so did your coat as you stepped outside, and the streetlights cast long shadows that flickered as you walked toward his car. He opened the passenger door for you, his movements deliberate, and waited for you to slide in before closing it softly behind you.

The drive started in silence.

It wasn’t the silence of old friends, the kind that felt easy and safe. This was different—fraught, taut, like a thread stretched too tight.

You stole a glance at him as he started the engine, too aware of the small space you were packed in with him.

“I didn’t know you were back,” you said finally, your statement sounding more accusatory that you or he would have liked.

“Just for a little while,” he replied, his tone ofcourse, unfazed. “Business.”

Buisness. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at the word. If someone could look like that word, you thought, it'd be the man in the fine tailored suit with eyes fixed on the road ahead and a rolex that didn't look any more cheaper than the car he was driving and you wondered.

Wondered if the lines of his palms—the callouses from late-night basketball games, the way they had felt solid and familiar when he held yours to steady you on the wobbly bike Minho had convinced you to ride—had changed too.

Had they turned forigen, unyielding? Had time eroded their familiarity?

When the car slowed, you glanced out the window, expecting to see the acquinated sight of your apartment building. But instead, the streetlights gave way to a quieter, darker road. You frowned, turning to him.

“This isn’t the way to my place.”

“I know,” he said simply, not bothering to elaborate. "You're coming with me."

You felt your chest tighten, your pulse quickening as unease prickled at the back of your neck. “Jungkook,” you started, the word heavy with protest.

"Y/N." He ends, sparing you a glance that has you sinking back into your seat, arms folded across your chest like a petulant child that you could swear made his lips twitch at the corner, you could swear you saw your old friend who had grown a sassy tounge at the age of fourteen that'd earn smacks at the head from his older brother for a fleeting cruel second there. But that was it. It was gone as fast as it had appeared, summoning the return of the silence that felt like its own living thing.

The house was still the same.

That was the first thing you noticed as the car slowed down in front of the building that loomed at the end of the road like a memory waiting to consume you.

The overhead lights still flickered faintly, casting shadows across the steps where you and Minho had once sat, daring each other to stay outside until the stars disappeared. Even the smell was the same—faintly woody, with the comforting hint of whatever candle Jungkook’s mom always lit in the hallway.

You hesitated in the doorway, the memories rushing in too fast, too loud. It's not like you haven't been here in ages but since the year you celebrated your first marriage anniversary with Minho here, it felt like you have lived a thousand lives.

Lives that haunted you still, made you randomly pause in the grocery aisle and now before this house until you felt Jungkook’s presence press behind you as if silently urging you on.

Clearing your throat, you slipped out of your heels that have been as much as pain as the man you had been on a date with. The floor creaked softly beneath your feet as you stepped inside, the sound jarring. The same hardwood floors, polished to a faint sheen. The same floral wallpaper lining the hallway. The same photo frames arranged along the wall—a collection of childhoods captured and frozen in time.

But as you glanced toward the corner of the living room where the three of you used to pile up pillows and blankets for makeshift forts. The corner was bare now, save for an old armchair, but in your mind, you saw it vividly: Minho’s determined grin as he shuffled the pillows, Jungkook, always following the lead but never quite competing for it. You would snuggle a pillow to your lap, nestled between the two brothers, peeking from behind your fingers and giggling at the the way Minho’s face would light up in triumph when he won another round of rock-paper-scissors.

A type of smugness that came from knowing he’d get to flick Jungkook’s forehead next. But your smile would fade as soon as you would realize that it's your turn next. “Wait, wait!” you’d plead, wide-eyed, deploying the best puppy-dog look you could muster. It was the same look that had, on occasion, earned you extra TV time with your dad. Jungkook would glance at you and chuckle. Relent like your father would and sheild your forehead with his palm that'd have Minho pouting. "Hey! That's not how you do it!"

"Y/N?" A well recognized voice pulled you back to the where you were supposed to be, back from the fort of pillows and blankets.

You turned around and instantly found yourself wrapped up in a tight hug. You managed a small smile, letting your arms wrap around the warm frame of your mother in law, the scent of her jasmine oil and apprehensive energy pulling you in. "Mom." You greeted back.

Mrs Jeon hadn't always been this.. overbearing. Though after the passing of your husband, she had teamed up with your mother and been on a determined mission to make sure you are well and on a road to healing.

The next few minutes, she did what she had been doing best—fussed over you, asking how you’d been, if you’d eaten, if you were warm enough. In that time being, Jungkook had resigned to wherever his room was.

You planned to do the same, especially now that you could see on her face how she is on the brink of asking about the disaster tonight. You showed some obvious sign of weariness, in hopes she'd let it go for the night and tell you where you're supposed to go to bed for.

"Third on the left, my dear. And I'm gonna need you to stay for breakfast, okay?" You wondered if stubbornness was a running streak in this family.

Hours later, sleep had yet to come.

You lay awake, staring at the ceiling, counting the faint grooves in the plaster as if they could somehow lull you into rest. The trick didn't work. It hadn’t worked in your own apartment either—the one you and Minho had picked out together, picked the colors of the walls together, and argued over where the bookshelf should be. Yet, it was still your space. You could control how you faced the memories there, pacing them, deciding when and how to confront them.

There, at least, you’d managed four or five hours of sleep on a good night. Here? In this house that held so much of him, so much of them, you weren’t sure you’d manage even one.

The room you were led to was neat and welcoming, the kind of space that had been carefully prepared for guests. But there was no comfort to be found in the knowledge that two doors down lay Minho’s childhood room, untouched, a shrine to a boy who grew up into the man you loved and lost.

At some point, you gave up.

Sliding out of bed, you wrapped your arms around yourself as you padded quietly downstairs. The house was silent as you made your way downstairs, the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound, the indistinct glow from the kitchen spilling into the dimness. You didn’t expect to find anyone there, but as you rounded the corner, your steps faltered.

Jungkook stood by the counter, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, his other resting on the marble surface. His jacket was gone, abandoned somewhere, leaving him in his dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Tattoos.

They sprawled across his skin, intricate designs etched into muscle and sinew, that you didn't think you'd ever see on him.

Perhaps you thought wrong. Perhaps you never knew. Never knew him.

He glanced up, his dark eyes meeting yours that looked just as caught off guard as yours did. For a moment, you didn't feel comfortable moving from your spot until he eventually spoke.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, his voice quiet.

You shook your head, stepping into the kitchen. “Needed some water.” You said and opened a cabinet, finding the glasses exactly where you remembered, and filled one with water.

Behind you, Jungkook leaned against the counter, his presence impossible to ignore. Funny, how he always preferred to blend in the background as a child, now his mere cologne—earthy and warm—demanded attention, filled the room before he had even entered.

“Do you… do you drink often now?” you asked hesitantly, glancing over your shoulder, at the way his fingers curled around the glass, the tattoos on his hand shifting as he tilted it.

“Sometimes.” he said, his tone vague.

If things were anything like before between you two or anything like before at all, maybe you'd have pushed further, asked him if this was growing to be a unhealthy habit.

Now, it didn’t seem right when there was an ocean between you—a chasm of time. Felt intrusive. And you know it would only sound hypocritical from your mouth—talking about unhealthy mechanisms. Hah.

You ended up only nodding and put the washed glass back so you could go back to counting the grooves in the plaster. Resume your restless attempt at sleep.

But Jungkook spoke again.

"How long have you been going on.." He started suddenly, setting his glass down with a quiet clink. His voice was calm, but the muscle in his jaw twitched as he spoke. "These dates?"

You blinked at him, taken aback by the question. "Uh—for a while now, I guess?"

“Are you willing, or are they forcing you?”

The question, the way he asked it—sharp, direct—left you off balance. So did the way he was looking at you now, his eyes no longer holding the casualty as they once did when he had the glass of alcohol in his hand.

“I—” You faltered. “They just want to help. They think it’s time.”

“And what do you want?”

To go back to your room. To ask him what did it even matter to him, after all this time.

But what came out was forthright honesty. “I don’t know,” you admitted, “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

He stepped closer, his feet padding softly against the kitchen floor—a contrast to his rigid frame that now towered just close enough. Close enough to see how his chest rose and fell with every breath. Close enough to see how his eyes lingered on you, like he was trying to unravel something he didn’t understand.

“You don’t have to do anything for them or anyone,” he said, his voice soft but no less rough. “Not if you’re not ready.”

You opened your mouth to respond, to deflect, to do something, but his gaze held you in place, tracing down from the dark circles that weighted your eyes to your parted lips. All you could feel was his gaze burning on you and hear your own pulse in your ears.

“Jungkook…” His name escaped your lips in a whisper, barely audible.

He lingered for a beat longer, his eyes searching yours, then he stepped back, his jaw just as tight. “Get some rest.” He clipped out before he turned and walked away, leaving you alone again.

You didn't got any sleep that night.

8:00'o clock. The time's a etched number in your brain ever since you started your job at the university.

It's a routine that needs no alarm clock. It's a number you keep waiting for as you blink at the time passing. And you're more than eager when the morning comes softly along with smaller needle stopping at 8, sunlight slipping through the curtains in streaks too gentle to match the weight in your chest.

With Minho, you were the one to wake up first but here you find that the house was awake before you.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted through the air, mingling with the faint sound of voices coming from the dining room. Breakfast was warm and lively, much like your mother in law. She greeted you with a brightness that almost made you feel guilty for your somber disposition.

“Good morning!” she said with a smile that could have been plucked from a painting. Reaching for a plate of toast, setting it down in front of the empty seat beside her.

“Good morning.” you murmured, sliding into a chair.

Across the table, your father in law sat at his usual spot, his attention fixed on his phone, only looking up to give you a nod of acknowledgment. You had never fully understood him, not as Minho’s father, not as a man.

Perhaps, It had always been because of the sore spot between him and your husband, the way his father disapproved of his wishes—choosing art over business, passion over practicality. You remembered the arguments you thought would never hear after the age of sixteen, the way Minho would come home, his face tight with frustration. “He doesn’t get it,” he’d say. “He never will.” You saw the way it wore on him, the way he carried the weight of his father’s disapproval like it was stitched into his very skin.

Even now, as you sat across from him, you wondered if he ever regretted it—if he ever wished he had spoken softer, loved louder. But his face was as impassive as ever, his thoughts a mystery.

“Jungkook left early this morning,” his mother said, breaking the silence. “Something about a meeting downtown.”

You nodded, relief washing over you in a way that felt almost shameful. You hadn’t realized how much you were dreading seeing him until you knew you wouldn’t have to.

“Busy as always,” you said lightly, reaching for your coffee.

The conversation drifted into familiar topics—neighbors, extended family, stories you half-listened to with polite nods. The table felt both too full and too empty, the gazes of all the people that sat there never straying to the right one in the left corner, just right beside yours.

The older woman turned to you, her tone bright with enthusiasm.

“There’s a party this weekend,” she said, her smile widening. “Just a small gathering with some friends and business partners. It would be lovely if you came with us.”

The suggestion made you squirm uncomfortably in your chair. “Oh, I don’t think—”

“It’ll be good for you,” she interrupted gently, her gaze soft but insistent. “Everyone would love to see you.”

You hesitated, the thought of mingling with people, of putting on a brave face for strangers already making you want to go back to bed. “I’m not sure I’d be good company,” You glanced towards your father in law, half-hoping he might say something to discourage the idea, but he couldn't be any less bothered.

“Nonsense!” she pressed. “You don’t even have to stay long. But it would mean so much to us.”

There was no malice in her persistence, no attempt to guilt you, just a genuine desire to include you in their lives. You couldn’t bear to disappoint her.

“Okay,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll come.”

Her face lit up with a smile. “Wonderful. Jungkook will pick you up and bring you there. That way, you don’t have to worry about driving.”

You froze, cup midway to your mouth. "There's no need for that, mom."

"Oh hush." she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “He’ll be coming from the office, so it’s no trouble.”

You nodded slowly, your appetite not too great or you just wanted to get out of here.

8'30. You glanced at the rose gold wrist watch, your first anniversary gift. Your first class is due in an hour, the perfect excuse wrapped around your wrist which you use to excuse yourself from the suffocating walls that always feel like they are closing in on you.

You have come to prefer the morning buzz of the university more—the hum of young adults chatting in the hallways, the scrape of chairs against tiled floors.It was a rhythm you found comforting, predictable in its own way. Here, you were just a professor, the one who explained history and philosophy with hands that only shook sometimes.

The teenage year you would have thought predictable as boring but you— a woman gone through a dubious sets of events found a fellow feeling in it.

Found the task of grading thesis, making power point presentation better than you would have ever imagined.

But Gods, your students need to realize that they can't dump about their toxic ex in every essay. A woman can only take so much.

You were sorting through the said papers in your office when the door creaked open, and a woman peeked her head in, the light from the outside catching in her curly locks.

“You busy?” she asked, her voice light and familiar.

You looked up to see Mira, the economics professor and one of your closest colleagues, walking toward you with her usual warm smile. Mira was more than just a coworker though—being practically family, the wife of Minho’s dark haired cousin who didn’t talk much in family gatherings, and over the years, she had become a friend you could rely on and share lunch with.

“Not for you,” you said, smiling as you waved her in.

She dropped into the chair across from you, setting her bag on the floor. “You look like you didn’t sleep a wink.”

Was it that obvious?

“I didn’t,” you admitted, sighing softly. “I stayed at the Jeons’ last night.”

Her eyebrows rose, but there was something in her eyes—a softness, an understanding—that made you look away for a second. “How’d that go?”

You hesitated, picking at the edge of a notebook on your desk. “It was… fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Jungkook’s back,” you said, and her eyes widened slightly, the topic seeming to catch her attention.

“Really? I didn’t know he was in town.”

“Neither did I, until yesterday.” You shrugged, leaning back in your chair. “Just for a while, though. Business stuff, y'know?”

Mira tilted her head, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. “And how’s that going?”

You frowned, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged, but her eyes stayed on you, curious. “I mean, it’s been years, hasn’t it?"

“Yeah,” you said slowly. "It's fine, I suppose. We didn't talk much."

“Hmm.” Mira hummed thoughtfully as if tasting the question she was gonna ask on her tounge. “Are you okay with him being back?”

Were you okay with him behind back? Okay with him stepping in your vicinity after years of acting like you were not even family, let alone a friend?

“I don’t know,” you admitted finally. “It’s strange seeing him again after all this time. But he’s been… kind. Quiet, mostly.”

Mira didn’t press further, but there was something in her expression that made you uneasy, as if she knew something you didn’t.

You cleared your throat, desperate to change the subject. “There’s a party this weekend. His mom invited me. Please tell me you’re going.”

Mira winced, her smile apologetic. “Date night with the husband. Non-negotiable.”

"Oh." You tried not to show the dejection on your face but it was there. "Lucky you."

She studied you for a moment, her expression gentle. “Are you okay with going?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I feel like I have to.”

“You don’t have to do anything for them. Not if you’re not ready.”

If only he understood how much easier it was to do things for others than to face yourself.

“Y/N…” Her voice softened, and for a moment, she looked like she wanted to say more. Instead, she reached out and squeezed your hand. “You’ll be fine. And if you’re not, you can text me. I’ll make up some excuse to get you out of there.”

You smiled, grateful for her before bidding bye to her for her next class and focusing back on the pending work spread across your desk while simultaneously going through your closet in your mind.

Minho had always said red made the brown of your eyes excel more.

And you have really tried to believe it, looking at yourself from above your shoulder, from the side of your arm in the mirror but perhaps it's not only this red, off shoulder dress that's not doing your eyes justice. It's every color you have once known, once loved.

It's like, it's you that's not doing them justice.

As you stared into the mirror, your eyes flitting from one detail to the next—the slightly uneven tuck of fabric, the exposed skin of your collarbone—it felt wrong.

The little things were missing—his hands fixing the clasp of your necklace, his voice telling you not to overthink it, that you looked beautiful. That it didn’t matter what you wore, because it was you who wore it.

But he wasn’t here.

With a sigh, you adjusted the necklace you had chosen yourself, a simple silver chain that rested delicately against your collarbone. The mirror wasn’t forgiving, but you looked anyway, searching for something familiar in your own reflection. You smoothed your hands over the fabric, told yourself this was just another party, and dodged the doubts of this being a mistake.

The knock at your door came too soon, sharp and punctual, like everything Jungkook had become.

You felt your stomach clench, nerves twisting with something else you couldn’t name. Smoothing your dress one last time, you crossed the small space of your apartment, pausing just before the door.

When you opened it, Jungkook was standing right before you.

He had stood on the edge of cliffs where oceans met skies too, in countless countries at that, walked through streets that droned with history. Scrawled through the wonders of the world—the kind that made poets immortalize them in verse—but nothing—nothing—would ever measure up to this.

To you.

You, standing in the doorway, framed by the soft glow of the hall light, your hair falling in waves that he had memorized long ago.

His chest tightened, the memory of another doorway bleeding into the moment as gaily as if it had just happened. He had been in the room meant for waiting, where your parents had sat moments before, your mother sniffling into a tissue, your father pacing in his polished shoes. Now it had been his turn.

The thought alone of being the second person to see you before you walked away from him for good had made his tie that he had been trying to get the hang off felt too stressed around his neck, his palms clammy despite the air conditioning. He rubbed them on his pants, glancing at the small clock on the mantle every few seconds. The minutes dragged, each one seemed longer than the other.

What would you look like?

The thought ran circles in his mind, only for a creak of the door to startle him back.

Footsteps had echoed in the quiet, minimizing the distance until he could practically feel the nervous energy of a bride bounce against his. "Okay. You can turn around now." He had heard you speak, had seen the skittish smile on your face before he even turned around.

And when he did, he felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room.

The dress hugged you like it had been designed with only you in mind, its soft fabric flowing as if in defiance of gravity. Your veil cascaded behind you, catching the light, and your smile was small, almost shy, as you looked up at him, waiting for his reaction.

“Well?” you prompted, turning slightly, your hands brushing the fabric at your sides. “What do you think?”

What did he think? He thought the universe was wicked for allowing him to witness this and still expect him to let you go.

He had swallowed hard, forcing his voice to steady when he finally said, “You look—” His tongue had faltered over every adjective that came to mind. Beautiful wasn’t enough. Breathtaking felt like a cliché. “Perfect.”

You—Beautiful, Devastatingly, so.

You—who weren’t his to look at this way.

He feels his breath catch, his hands clenching at his sides to keep himself from reaching for you.

Because while that version of you had been a dream, this version—worn, weathered, but still so unmistakably you—was real. And the reality of you had always been what he wanted most.

Fuck. He shouldn’t be here.

He shouldn’t have agreed to pick you up, shouldn’t have stepped into this space, should have kept the distance he had spent years bridging.

But he has always found himself hopeless and running back to wherever you were concerned, hopeless in a way that had him studying for a test he didn’t even have to keep you company or show up.. here. Content to be near you in whatever capacity he could. He told himself it was enough. That it would be enough to watch you from the sidelines, to sit across from you at family dinners.

It wasn’t.

Because Jungkook wasn't a virtuous man. He never had been.

Virtue belonged to his brother—the one who could weave dreams out of thin air, who saw the world in colors Jungkook had never learned to name. His brother—Minho—who had been the light, the warmth that people, he gravitated toward. He had admired Minho, even envied him, resented him in ways he never admitted aloud and kept it in shadows.

When Minho died, the shadow became a man. And that man had spent years running.

Running into work, into unfamiliar cities, into the kind of purpose that left no room for thought. No room for the times when everything was right, when he tasted family and friendship for the first time ever, no room for the last time he tasted it when you walked down the aisle to his brother looking at him like he was the sun and how it burned, how he had burned with nails biting into his palms.

And only men with no integrity burn. Men who are cowards, restless, afraid of thier own greed try to run, in hopes that the distance would save them.

But distance didn’t save men like Jungkook.

Because here he was again, standing before you, the fire still smoldering.

“Hi,” you said softly, your voice pulling him back, creating a doubt in his belief.

“Hi,” he replied, his own tounge feeling heavy in his mouth.

“You’re early,” you said, your tone carefully light.

He cleared his throat, his hands slipping into the pockets of his slacks in an attempt to keep them to themselves. “Traffic was lighter than I expected. Are you ready to leave?"

You nodded and he stepped back, revealing his sleek Mercedes benz parked just right in front. He let you walk before him, watching how your movements were hesitant, as if the ground beneath your feet wasn’t entirely steady. He wanted to ask you if you were okay. He wanted to tell you it was okay if you weren't.

He settled for opening the car door for you.

“Thanks for this,” you said, your gaze fixed on the passing streetlights. “I know it’s probably the last thing you want to do.”

His grip tightened against the leather of the steering wheel with a force that made his knuckles ache. There was a rancorous way that you spoke to him, carefully restrained, that he couldn't even blame you for.

"It's not." He gritted out. "It's not a problem."

He had earned every inch of this gap between you, had spent years building it brick by brick, mile by mile. He's all to blame for. For carving the space between you with every ignored call, every excuse he made to avoid family dinners where you’d inevitably be.

For the leaving the wreckage in his wake—yours, his, theirs.

It wasn’t fair to hate the consequences of his own choices.

But hell, if he didn't outright loathed feeling like he was staring at a wall of frosted glass when he looked at you—where he could see the outline of you, but the details were blurred, distant. Like he had lost the privilge of knowing you from one glance, lost the privilge of having you speak up to him whenever you wanted, call him out, intoxicate him with your laughter that lightened up a room he wasn't even aware was dark. Found it fucking unbearable.

So much that he felt relief washing over him when the venue of the gathering came in view. A grand mansion, framed by manicured gardens and sprawling oaks that seemed to whisper old secrets to one another. It had a timeless elegance that made you wonder how many lives it had seen pass through its doors.

Small gathering, she said. You scoffed internally at rich people and their definition of small.

“Nice place,” you murmured as you walked beside him, your steps careful on the stone path after the car was eased into a parking spot.

“It’s the Kim's family home,” Jungkook said. You nodded, though the name didn’t spark much recognition. The Kims had been mentioned here and there at family dinners—names dropped in passing between sips of wine and shared laughter. You had barely paid attention then, too busy suppressing laughs at the jokes that Minho whispered near.

The front doors were open, the faint scent of fresh flowers and expensive cologne wafting out to greet you. Inside, the space was as opulent as expected—high ceilings adorned with crystal chandeliers, polished floors that gleamed under the soft light, and clusters of well-dressed guests milling about with drinks in hand.

A tall man stood near the entrance, his broad shoulders and sharp jawline making him impossible to miss. Beside him, another man stood with a softer air, his eyes crinkling with warmth as he leaned into the first man’s side.

The taller of the two men turned, his expression lighting up as he spotted Jungkook. “There he is,” He said, his deep voice carrying effortlessly.

"Hyung." Jungkook softened, clasping hands in a firm shake before pulling each other into a brief hug, the kind that spoke of collaboration and respect.

You shifted awkwardly on your feet, your fingers curling around the strap of your purse as you wondered whether to step back and leave him to his conversation or stay and risk being out of place.Would it be rude if you chose the former?

You were saved from your uncertainty when the two of them pulled away from Jungkook and took you in, a gleam of recognition passing through their face. Recognition, shock, then pity. You know how it went.

“You must be Y/N,” the taller one said, his gaze shifting to you with a warm smile.

You blinked, clearly caught off guard by the direct attention. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Kim Namjoon ” he said, offering his hand. “And this is Seokjin, my partner.” You smiled, nodding in acknowledgment before taking the hand of the charming one in the beige suit. “It’s nice to meet you, both. This is a beautiful venue.” You assume that they're the hosts of the party. The Kims that this house belonged to.

“Thank my father for that,” Namjoon said with a chuckle. “Sixty years old and still insists on hosting the most extravagant parties. He’d never let me live it down if I didn’t pull out all the stops.”

“Extravagant is an understatement,” Seokjin chimed in, his tone playful as he glanced at Namjoon. “I’m pretty sure half the flowers in the city ended up here.”

You smiled again, but it faltered when Seokjin's expression changed in a beat.

“We’ve heard a lot about you too,” he said gently, his gaze dipping briefly to Jungkook before meeting yours again.

You tilted your head, curiosity flashing across your face. “All good things, I hope.”

“Of course,” Namjoon assured you. “Your family is well-regarded, and we-we're sorry about Minho. He was brilliant in every sense of the world. We can't even imagin—"

“Thank you,” you said softly, trying really hard to not let the tightening of your throat strain your voice. “He was.”

Jungkook watched as your smile faltered, just slightly, at the mention of Minho. He decided to steer the conversation away but you recovered quickly, offering a polite nod and beat him to it.

There was a brief, loaded pause before you glanced at Jungkook. “I should find mom. She asked me to join her earlier.”

"Yeah, right.” Jungkook said, his voice steady despite the way his chest tightened again when he looked at you.

You walked by Jungkook, brushing close enough that your shoulder brushed against his chest, the faintest hint of your vanilla perfume that was so maddeningly you lingered in the air. He tensed, his breath catching before he could stop it. His fingers twitched at his sides, an almost imperceptible motion, but it was enough.

Subtle as he tried to be, he caught himself leaning slightly, his chest rising with a quiet inhale as though he could take the ghost of your scent and keep it for himself.

"Not as subtle as you think." Seokjin snickered by his boyfriend's side who also raised an eyebrow, his expression knowing and somewhat giving away his discomfort. “Is there something you’d like to share with the class?”

Shit.

Jungkook straightened, his jaw clenching as he avoided their eyes, fixing the collar of his shirt hoping they won't catch on the heat creeping up on his neck too. “Don’t.” he said quietly, his tone low and edged with warning.

"Maybe you don't sniff her like a dog in public? Maybe you have some decorum?" Seokjin judged, proud and loud.

"I have plenty, hyung." The younger male side eyed the older one, his eyes narrowed and the tips of his ears already crimson red like he was a boy caught watching porn for the very first time.

Namjoon sighed, though there was a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Let him be, honey.”

But the look he gave Jungkook was far from dismissive. It was the kind of look that saw too much, that peeled back layers Jungkook wasn’t ready to confront. Gods, he needed new friends.

He turned his attention back to the crowd where you disappeared.

The soft hum of conversations and the faint clinking of glasses followed you as you weaved through the grand hall, your eyes scanning for your mother-in-law’s familiar figure. The air in the mansion was heavier than it had been when you arrived, the brush of silk against silk, the way every movement seemed calculated, observed, and weighed.

You navigated through the crowd like a ghost in a gallery, your steps measured and slow, eyes flicking to the floor more than once to avoid the speculative stares. With rich circles came dirty gossip—whispered words disguised as laughter, false smiles that hid daggers. You’d learned to let them roll off your back, like rain on stone.

The Jeon matriarch had mentioned being near the back, closer to where the banquet tables were set. You followed the direction she’d gestured toward earlier, passing servers who moved seamlessly with trays of sparkling champagne.

Halfway through the journey, your steps faltered as your gaze landed on the centerpiece of one table—a chocolate fountain. Warm, rich, and cascading like liquid satin, it stood surrounded by an array of treats. Strawberries gleamed like rubies in the low light, their surfaces polished and inviting.

You hesitated, glanced around as if expecting someone to berate you for indulging in something so ordinary, but eventually, you plucked a strawberry and dipped it into the cascading chocolate.

You let the sweetness settle on your tongue, closing your eyes for a brief moment. For the first time all evening, you found this place somewhat tolerable.

Free food always making things better.

“Excuse me, miss.” a small voice piped up beside you, tugging on the flowy end of your dress.

A boy, no older than six or seven, stood by your side, his wide eyes flicking between you and the fountain. He looked as if he had stepped out of a luxury children’s catalog, his little suit tailored perfectly, his bow tie slightly askew. “Can you grab one for me? I’m not allowed to reach it by myself.” he asked, pointing at the fountain. His voice was polite, but there was a hopeful edge to it, as if he wasn’t used to asking for things twice.

“Of course, love.” you said, your lips curving into a small smile. You picked another strawberry, dipping it with care before crouching slightly to hand it to him. "There you go."

“Thank you!” he chirped, grinning immediate and radiant, the kind that softened the edges of a hard day.

"What's your name?" You asked him, crouching down to his level.

“Do-yun!” came a sharp voice, the kind that turned your stomach before your brain even processed it.

Who you assumed was the boy's mother stepped forward, her elegance severe, her lips painted in a red that matched the strawberries. She took her son’s hand but not before her eyes raked over you, head to toe, with an expression that left no room for interpretation.

"What did I tell you about bothering strangers?” she scolded do-yun who stared at the skewer in his hand apologetically.

“He wasn’t bothering me,” you said gently, straightening up and having the woman’s eyes flicker to you again, assessing.

“He just wanted a treat.”

Her eyes flicked to the chocolate fountain, then back to you, her lips pressing into a tight smile. “how kind of you.”

There was no warmth in her tone, no hint of gratitude. Just a faintly dismissive air. And with that, she turned, her child in tow, leaving you with the faint scent of something floral and the taste of bitterness on your tongue.

You'd learned better than to expect warmth from people bound by history.

You'd learned not to mind it. To overlook it. To not pay attention to them at all.

"That's her, isn't she?"

“Such a shame, losing her husband so young.”

“Yes, but you know, they weren’t exactly power players, were they? He was an artist, wasn’t he?”

The words hung in the air like cigarette smoke, acrid and inescapable.

A laugh, soft and cruel. “I suppose she’s lucky the Jeons still keep her close. Poor thing, all alone now. Must be awful.”

You stopped in your tracks. The sharp sting of their voices cut through the party’s hum, louder than the music, louder than your own heartbeat.

You could feel your palms start to get sweaty, eyes suddenly unable to meet anyone's.

Breathe. You reminded yourself.

One: Find your breath.

Two: Focus on something neutral—the fountain, the floor, the chandelier above.

Three: Remind yourself: They don’t know you. Their words are weightless.

But weightless wasn’t the right word.

“Though, you’d think she’d be a bit more modest. That dress isn’t exactly… widow-appropriate, is it?”

You tried to focus on your numbers but you lost it.

You turned, your fists clenched, your lips thinned, the polite demeanor cracking away from your face under the weight of your frustration.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “Was there something you wanted to say to my face?”

The women froze, their eyes widening in surprise. One of them, a younger woman with a nervous smile, tried to backpedal. “Oh, no, we didn’t mean—”

“Because if you have an issue with me or my dress, feel free to say it outright,” you continued, your voice clear despite the way your heart hammered in your chest. “I’d hate for you to waste any more time whispering behind my back.”

The group exchanged glances, communicating in a language of their own, you couldn’t care less about. Atleast not in this moment.

“We didn’t mean to offend,” one of them muttered, her tone brittle.

“Of course you didn’t,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “How could I possibly take offense to strangers dissecting my life as if it’s some dinner party entertainment?”

Stupid old hags with no life of their own!

You kept that to yourself.

Then, without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and stormed away.

The chandeliers above blurred as tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not here. Not now.

You weren’t looking for anything specific—just distance, just air that wasn’t thick with judgment and whispers. A bathroom, maybe, though you weren’t going to ask for directions not when your voice felt like it would crack the moment you opened your mouth.

People brushed past you, their scents of expensive perfumes swirling in the air, their muted voices blending into a hum you couldn’t quite focus on. One or two bumped into your shoulder, but you didn’t apologize, didn’t bother looking back.

You just needed to get away—you just needed out of here.

And then, as if the universe wasn’t finished testing you, a firm hand of another one of a frame you jerked into, closed around your wrist, halting your momentum.

You looked up, brows scrunched, eyes glossy and mouth parting, ready to snap but then you were met with a amicable pair of dark eyes.

A crease of his own wrinkling his forehead as he looked down at you. "Is something wrong?" He asked and you almost wanted to laugh mockingly.

Instead, you did what you initially wanted to do. Your eyes flicked to his hand, then back to his face. “Let me go.”

He hesitated for a moment, tounge poking his cheek, grip on your hand loosening but not releasing entirely. "What's wrong, y/n?"

“I said, let me go,” you repeated, your voice firm, frangible at the edges before you pulled your hand away from him and pushed past to walk away without another word.

The next random hallway you stumbled into was quieter, emptier, and for that, you were grateful, stretched ahead like an endless corridor of polished wood and muted gold accents. The noise of the party faded into the background, muffled by the thick walls and heavy doors.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to roam around mindlessly any further. This should be good enough, you told yourself and leaned against one of the walls, your forehead pressing against the cool surface as you tried to breathe through the wave of vehemence emotions that crashed through you.

One: Inhale.

Two: Exhale.

Three: Forget the words they said. Forget them.

But they echoed, persistent and savage, circling in your mind like vultures.

Poor thing, all alone now. Must be awful.

You’d think she’d be a bit more modest. That dress isn’t exactly widow-appropriate, is it?

Your chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, your hands clutching at your dress as if the fabric could somehow hold you together. But nothing could, nothing had. You had tried and tried and tried.. and fuck you didn't wanted to do it anymore.

Turning around, your head tipped back against the wall, the ceiling swimming in and out of focus as your vision blurred.

You shouldn’t have come here.

You should have stayed home, buried yourself in the comfort of your quiet apartment where no one whispered behind your back or looked at you with pity thinly disguised as deference.

Why did they care? Why did it matter to them how you dressed, how you existed, how you grieved?

It shouldn’t have mattered.

But it did.

You pressed the heels of your palms against your eyes, trying to will the tears away. Crying wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t change anything.

Your hands gripped your clutch tightly, the edges digging into your palms, and for a moment, you considered throwing it—hurling it across the hall just to feel something break.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Because even here, in this quiet, empty hallway, you felt the silent expectation that you hold yourself together, that you keep smiling, keep nodding, keep existing in a way that made other people comfortable.

You hated this. You hated being you. You hated being the one who was left behind. And God you hated being alone. No Minho to make a quiet joke about the ridiculousness of it all and pull you toward something fun and irreverent.

Just you.

It will be always be just you. You've never admitted that to yourself but now that you did, you feel such panic rise in your chest that you don't hear him at first. Not until his voice broke through the haze.

“Y/N.”

It was soft, tentative, but it still cut through the silence like a blade.

You flinched, your head snapping toward the source of the voice. Jungkook stood a few feet away, his dark eyes searching yours, his expression shadowed with concern.

He had followed you.

“I told you to leave me alone,” you managed, your voice trembling as you turned away, willing him to disappear.

“I’m not leaving,” he said, his footsteps growing louder as he moved closer with a cautiousness that made you feel like a wounded animal. “Talk to me.” He added, the pleading in his voice almost running free.

"I mean it, Jungkook.. go away." You tried putting distance between the both of you again but far too quick for your slowed senses, he was now standing right in front of you, hands hovering in the air as if he didn't know what to do with him while also knowing.

"And I told you, I'm not leaving." His tone had coarsened and your dam had broke.

“Why now?” you cried, stepping closer to him, your fists balling at your sides. “Why do you want to stay now? You’ve spent years acting like a stranger, Jungkook. Years acting like I didn’t exist. And now—”

You shoved at his chest, your fists pounding weakly against him, but he didn’t move.

“Now you want to act like you care?” you yelled, your voice cracking as you hit him again. “Now you want to be here? Why?”

Jungkook stood still, his arms at his sides, his chest solid and unyielding beneath your fists. He didn’t flinch, didn’t step back, didn’t even try to stop you. He just let you hit him, let you pour out everything.His silence infuriated you, and yet it steadied you in a way you couldn’t explain.

"Why do you care now?" you repeated, your voice cracking, trembling like your hands as they hit his chest incessantly. Each word felt like it scraped raw against your throat. "Where were you, Jungkook? When everything fell apart, when I—when I needed someone. Where were you?"

“I don’t need you now!” you snapped, your tears falling freely now. “I don’t need you to come here and act like you care, like you’ve always cared, because we both know that’s not true."

“Because you left!" your voice cracked, the words laced with betrayal. The hurt from the breach of faith weakening you and your punches on his chest until they finally stilled, your hands trembling still as they curled into the fabric of his shirt. Jungkook caught your wrists, his hold firm but gentle, and for a moment, you fought him, your breaths coming in sharp and ragged. But when he didn’t let go, when he didn’t flinch or step back, the fight drained out of you.

Your knees buckled, and his arms came around you slowly, hesitantly, as if he were afraid you might push him away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. You were too tired now. Empty hands that had been holding onto something for as long as you could remember were too tired, have forgotten the feeling of what it felt like to be held instead.

You allowed to let yourself feel that. You allowed yourself to feel someone else other than the woman you couldn’t even recognize in a mirror as you sagged against him, your head pressing against his shoulder as your tears soaked into his shirt, body shaking and shivering from the quiet sobs that you let out.

"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, angel." You heard him say those words like a mantra against your hair, arms tightening around you, nestling you close against his chest.

For a moment, you heard pain there, raw and unfiltered, pain that felt similiar to your own in ways you hadn’t expected. You clutched his shirt tighter. You didn't wanted to be alone and Jungkook felt and smelled of times when you weren't. Earthy and Warm. Like that one time when he pulled you in to him after the death of milo- your first dog, and didn’t even mind your snort.

You had clung to those memories but it felt better clinging to him. A small, desperate part of you wanting to drag him closer, to cling to what little you had left of the past. The rest of you wanted to push him away, to keep screaming at him for daring to come back after all this time, after all this distance.

The sobs subsided slowly, leaving behind the kind of stillness that felt fragile, as if it might shatter with the wrong word or movement. Jungkook didn’t push you away, didn’t loosen his hold. If anything, he pulled you closer, as though he feared you’d slip through his fingers if he let go.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your gaze searching his face. His eyes shadowed, a stupid perfect strand of his stupid perfect hair falling on his forehead with tension prominent in his jaw and you wondered if there was a time there wasn't.

You wondered if it would make you any more vulnerable that you are right now if you say the words that sit on the top of your tounge, sting in the tears that linger in the corner of your eyes.

“I missed you,” you said softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them. They felt dangerous, like exposing a wound that had barely begun to scab over.

His eyes darkened, a low sound rumbling in his chest—something between a growl and a sigh. “Fuck,” he muttered, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head as he pressed his forehead to yours. “I missed you too, angel."

The rawness in his tone made your chest clench, a part of you craving more, while another part shrieked at you to stop this before it went any further, gather whatever semblance has left of you and walk away, play his cards against him.

But you have never been too good with cards or walking away.

“Then why did you leave?” you croaked. “Why did you stay away for so long?”

His gaze dropped to the space between you before meeting your eyes again, his own breathing now getting uneven. You could feel it beneath you. Rising. And Rising. And Rising.

"I didn’t knew how to look at you and not feel like I'm.. betraying him." His voice trembles as he drews in breath and you're so close you feel the heat of it brush against your temple. "And I can not, not look at you. That became a problem."

Your body stiffened at the confession, the world around you shrinking until it was just the two of you, his voice echoing in your ears.

Your first instinct was disbelief.

This can't mean what you think it does.

This can’t mean what you think it does!

The words replayed in your mind, over and over, refusing to settle. Each repetition twisted something deeper, something buried in the hollow space that had once been you.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, needing space, needing air.

He didn’t move. His gaze followed you, his expression resolute, like he was determined to lay everything bare now that the first truth had slipped out.

But you didn’t even wanted to acknowledge it as something, let alone, a truth. “That’s not—” Your voice cracked, and you forced yourself to start again. "Are you drunk, Jungkook?" You found the thought so repulsing, you could only think of ways to brush this up, put all the blame on the champagne.

From the way his eyes narrowed and brow ridged, you could tell that it was not the champagne.

“Y/N.” he says with a warning. “I’m not fucking drunk.”

“Well, you sound like you are,” you shot back, your tone sharper than you intended. “Because that—what you just said—sounds like something someone says when they’re not thinking clearly. You're not making any sense, Jungkook!"

“It makes sense,” he was starting to get frustated now. “It’s the only thing that’s ever made sense to me.”

And you were starting to get scared. You needed him to stop talking. Anything and everything he said made you physically want to recoil. You took another step back, your arms wrapping around yourself as if you could shield yourself from the weight of unsaid words that are no longer so.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice breaking, hands tempted to cover your ears like a child. His confession felt like a pin pulled from a grenade, and now the blast was unfurling within you. “Don’t do this. It's not fair. It's-It's not fair to him. Or me. Or you."

I know. He admits quietly to himself because he doesn't think anyone knows better than the man who was holding the jagged ends of a once delicate thread. And he hates himself for it because hating you was as unrealistic as the existence of a greater being to him. He had tried. Tried turning to salvation. Tried to despise you for being the one thing that has turned him the best and worst person he can be but he just can't. He prefers hating himself better.

He wants this punishment, that is you. He wants to whisper I'm sorry- I'm sorry for leaving- I'm sorry for coming back in every crook and nook of your body for the rest of his life so you'd feel his expression of regret that could only be a product of love so consuming embedding into you.

Because it's truth. It's his truth, has been for years and years, before he even knew what are the consequences of being a honest person. Now that he is seeing you in front of him—you with a revolting look, a stray tear rolling down your eyes that is nowhere near as angry as it had been before, he understands that it's not a consequence he can take.

He dares to step forward again and even if takes a whole lot of power in him not to pull you into him again, he doesn't and only raises a hand and catches the tear with his thumb.

“You don’t get to do this to me.” you repeat, your voice low and trembling.

And so does his. "I know."

Jungkook didn’t know what he expected you to say, what he hoped for. Forgiveness? Understanding? He wasn’t sure he deserved either.

Yet when you don't pull away, look back at him with the same daring he had stepped forward with, a silence understanding passes between the space that is separating you from him. And he's done being separated from you.

He tilted his head down, his breath stirring your hair when he inhaled deeply, his nose tracing a path down until it rubbed against yours—softly, deliberately—as if giving you time to move away. You didn't and his eyes fell on your inviting mouth again.

Fuck it.

Jungkook surged forward, his hands cupping your face, tipping your face up to him as his lips crashed against yours. The way he kissed you was nothing like the way he had touched you. It was rough, desperate with the way tounge and teeth clashed, filled with years of pent up desire and regret and emotions too tangled to name.

He kissed you like the nights he’d spent staring at the ceiling in places too far from home, wondering if you’d be happier without him there to complicate things, wondering if things had been any different if he said something before. Will you have looked at him like the way you looked at his brother? Would that choice have saved you from years and years of tragedy? Would that have saved him from the weight of his guilt, his love—love that had been a silent, unwelcome presence in his life for so long that it felt like another organ, vital and inescapable?

When he felt you grip him again and kiss him back. Nothing else mattered. The world stopped spinning and he didn't wanted to run anymore.

His hands found your waist, gripping tightly. A low groan slipping from his mouth to yours at the feeling of how you melted against him when he deepened the kiss, tounge proding and exploring all that your sweet mouth had to offer. Gods, he was drunk now.

"Shit." He shuddered as the taste of you finally started to settle in, pulling you closer and closer, then pushing you back until your back met the wall of the hallway.

You should be scared, anxious and pushing him back. The mere thought of someone walking in on you kissing him, your supposed family. Should make you want to end this because you could only imagine the stake they'd pin you on. They'd be not wrong to.

This is traitorous—what you're doing, what you're allowing yourself. But so is a shameful part of you that had always reached for him. Something that whispered to you, so soft it felt like it came from inside your own chest.

It's not so bad. His lips feel good.

But oh, it is. It makes you sick from just thinking how bad it is. Anger, confusion, guilt—oh, the guilt—swirl together and make you so sick.

"W-We shouldn’t.." You gasp against him as your unpracticed lips suck on his in a contradiction.

"No, we shouldn't." He kisses you harder, his mouth only leaving yours to trail a train of kisses along the column of your accessible throat to him, making you whimper out loud that he takes as an sign to nibble and bite.

Your hands find their way to his shoulder and his to your hips. "Legs around me." He licks the length of your neck, narrowing your world down to the feeling of his provoking wet tounge on your skin, his calloused fingers squeezing your hips. It felt all too real now. And despite you being balant enough to start this in the first place, you're not sure if you're still feeling bold. What you are feeling is this sinful, unexplainable craving seeping into your bones, curling around your ribs, making it hard to breath and think. Or maybe it's him.

Whatever it is, you get yourself to pause his eager hands and hungry mouth and speak, your breath coming in short, hot puffs. "Jungkook.. I don't think-" He straightens up and the vulnerability in his voice and eyes is gone as he squeezes your hips tighter.

"Finally gave me that perfect mouth of yours and now you want to walk away? Do you like tormenting me, angel? Do you like knowing that I'd fuck my fist to only the thought of you when you do?" He growls against your ear and you feel yourself flush so hard you're sure he even feels the heat coming off you in ripples.

"Please, baby." He pleads unapologetically, fingers tugging you closer even when all of you is pressed against all of him. "I want you." So bad it hurts.

Gone is the man who had once been so armored, seemed so unreachable and untouchable. And left is Jeon Jungkook, who looks like he will crumble to the ground if you pull away now.

You wouldn't want that. But the words came anyway, right from where shame twisted in your stomach, tangling with the guilt that clawed at your throat. "Do you still want me even if I'm nothing like the woman I used to be?" It came out breakable and in segments, and the second they left your lips, you weren’t sure what to except as a answer.

For a moment, all you could hear was the ragged rhythm of your combined breathing.

You swallowed hard, pulling back slightly to meet his gaze. The intensity in his dark eyes was almost unbearable, raw and unrelenting as they searched yours.

"Don't ever say that again." he bit out, every syllable heavy. "I want you always. I want you with my every breath. There's always been only you for me, understand?" He added with a brief grind of his hardened arousal against your front, making you mewl.

The words, though, hit you like a physical forcek, breaking through the walls you’d built around yourself, the ones you’d convinced yourself were impenetrable.

Before you could respond, he moved.

His mouth fell onto yours again and with practiced ease, his hands slid to the backs of your thighs, lifting you like you weighed nothing. "Now. Legs around me, baby." he murmured in the kiss, and though your mind was a whirlwind of what seemed like every single thought you've ever had, your body obeyed.

You could barely figure out to where he was taking you, too engrossed in the kiss that you steered towards a softer, mellow one, fingers tangling in the hair that has grown a little bit on the nape of his neck. Feeling like you both were two audacious college students trying to find a space in a messy party where you both won't be interrupted.

When he halted in his steps, you assumed that he found it as he kicked it open with a firm nudge of his boot, the room beyond dim and quiet but he barely give you time to register anything else, his movements urgent and frantic as he carried you over to the bed in the middle after swiftly locking you both away. You bounced on the silk mattress as he set you down, though his intentions were grave, his actions or the way he held you was gentle, tounge swiping over his glistening lips like chasing the taste of you that made you want to give him once more.

Audacious, you were.

Your eyes on his face, shadows played along the planes, softening the hard edges of his jaw, but his gaze burned. Dark and piercing, it held you in place as if daring you to look away.

You didn’t.

Your eyes followed the sluggish movements of his hands as he reached up, his fingers deftly working the knot of his tie. The fabric slid free, whispering against the buttons of his dress shirt before he cast it aside, forgotten on the nearby chair.

Next came his jacket. He shrugged it off with practiced ease, the broad span of his shoulders rolling beneath the fabric. Your breath hitched as he discarded it, leaving him in the crisp white shirt that clung to his frame, the outline of him barely hidden.

And then his hands moved again, this time to his wrist.

You watched, mesmerized, as he undid the strap of his watch, the silver buckle catching the faint light. He pulled it free and set it down on the nightstand, the movement so fluid it felt almost rehearsed.

It wasn’t until he turned his wrist slightly that you noticed it—the worn thread of a bracelet wrapped around his wrist, faded from time and use but unmistakable.

The one you’d tied around his wrist when you were kids in an action of promise to stay friends for years to come.

But he still wore it.

He still wore it.

Your fingers twitched against the bedspread, the urge to reach out and touch him almost overwhelming.

And as if understanding your anticipation, he soon followed you down, your breath catching as he hovered above you. You waited for him to kiss you again because god help you, you liked a little too much but he only pressed a chaste one, smirking subtly at the pout that subconsciously formed on your lips that soon parted in a gasp when he started to suck on your neck again, this time with the intention to claim the spot with the scrape of his teeth.

He hummed against your skin, the sound deep and satisfied, before he drew your flesh into his mouth again, harder this time. The sharp pull sent a jolt of pleasure-pain coursing through you, thighs clenching together.

"My angel." he said softly, yet nothing was soft about the way he pulled down on the straps of your dress. The fabric slipped, baring the smooth skin of your shoulder, and he pressed his lips there, warm and firm, before trailing lower, his mouth following the path he’d just uncovered. "My undoing."

The red fabric gathered at your arms as he pushed it further, exposing the tops of your collarbones and the swell of your chest. His gaze flicked up to meet yours then, dark and questioning, seeking permission even though his hands were steady, his intention clear.

You nodded, perhaps with too much enthusiasm and earned a chuckle from him that you were sure was the reason for the wetness pooling between your legs.

You had missed that sound. You had missed him.

And he was hell bent on making up for lost time as he dived face first into your chest, humming again when he took in your pebbled nipple in his mouth, swirling his tounge around the roundness of you.

"Oh shit." Your back arched, hands finding their way to his hair again. Pulling and tugging. Urging him on until his hand was fondling the other, abandoned tit. Squeezing under his rough palms that made the heat lowering your stomach worse—all of it felt too much, too soon. And yet, it wasn’t enough.

It had been so long.

Too long since someone had touched you like this, with a reverence that made you feel seen, whole, wanted.

You told yourself it was natural, that anyone in your position would respond this way. That it wasn’t about him—it couldn’t be. But your body betrayed you before your mind could even catch up. Your legs wrapped around his waist once more as you ground yourself against him. Against the print of his bulging length you could feel pulsing against you.

"Fuck yeah.." You cursed low, head falling back on the pillows and Jungkook looked up, his own cock twitching at the sight of you, at the feel of you. Of everything he has ever wanted. Of everything he thought he would never have. But here you were straight from his flithest wet dream that would have him taking more cold showers that he could keep count of.

A goddamn miracle for him, this wasn't a dream.

"This here needs some attention too, hmm?" He rasped, hands slipping down from the curve of your waist, to bunch up your dress to your hips. Wasting no time in finding the wet mess you made of your panties. "Look at this." He grunted, hand cupping your clothed mound. "So wet."

You exhaled out like you'd been freed from shackles that felt too heavy and a whimper followed right after when he disposed you of them, exposing your deprived cunt to the cold air that had you clenching around nothing. "And so fucking responsive." He breathed against your bare sex after moving his head down.

You hadn’t expected that. You breath was bated, cheeks were flushed and heart was pounding at the view alone of his face between your thighs.

Then again, he was all about surprising you today.

Though, it didn't make it any less overwhelming.

The way his hands gripped your thighs, firm yet careful, as if he were both anchoring you and holding himself back. His fingers dug into your skin just enough to leave the faintest imprint, a reminder of where he had been, where he was. Your legs draped over his shoulders, trembling with a mix of anticipation and disbelief, as though your body was still catching up to the reality of this moment.

Never in your wildest dreams, it would have come to this. Come to Jungkook licking a greedy strip up from your folds.

"Jungkook—oh God!" You gasped and he groaned, feeling all of his restraint and the plan to savor this, to savor you, slip away from his tightening hands. One taste of you and he wanted to grasp every drop of like it would be his last.

And so he did.

Burying his face in your wanting pussy like a man with purpose, he lapped. His mouth wrapped around your clit, tounge swiping and licking with a reverence because you were something sacred, something he had put on a pedestal so high, others in his life barely mattered.

"Oh- mhm. Feels so good!" You moan out, mind in a haze of pure fog and he takes it as his cue to plunge his digit inside your dripping core. You're sure you've got no mind now. Grunts of his own leaving him at the thought of your heat wrapping around his aching cock instead.

He felt no shame in that. No shame in what he was doing right now. Because then you moved, your body arching toward him as if to erase every doubt. Your fingers found their way to his hair, tugging as selfishly as he fed on you, flatenning his tounge on your slit to take all he can get, to give you all he can.

A shaky exhale brushing against your folds. The sound was low, guttural, and filled with more longing than he knew how to contain. "Does it, baby? Sweet pussy's feeling good?" His fingers—knuckles deep now—worked you faster, curling and testing ways to get you closer to the edge.

This was more desire that he knew he was possible of as his hips started to rut on their own, seeking friction in a way that was both instinctual and helpless. Brain flat lining. Face drowned in the essence of you. Desperate, as you pulled on his hair. Pathetic, as he chased his own high from just the taste of you, from just how you enveloped his curving fingers. Ecastic, when you finally reached your breaking point from how he alternated between broad strokes and targeted flicks, making you come all over his mouth that kindles his face, that he swallow all because he refuses to let anything go to waste.

"Ah fuck—Oh lord!" You fingers tear in his scalp and hips bucked against his face, eyes rolling back until they whitened.

Oh.

Oh.

It was in this moment, with your thighs braced against his shoulders and his name spilling from her lips, that Jungkook knew.

He would never be the same again.

That he too would be coming in his pants like a high school boy.

It wasn’t enough—nothing would ever be enough—but it was all he had, and it drove him to the edge faster than he would’ve liked to admit. The tension inside him snapped before he could stop it, his body tensing and toes curling because he found everything else secondary to the sheer joy of watching you fall apart beneath him.

"Oh shit, y/n. Shit. Shit. Shit." He whimpers against your cunt, his hips finally slowing down their mindless movement. His forehead pressed against your thigh as he caught his breath. His chest heaved, his heartbeat thundered in his ears, and his entire body felt like it was vibrating, the aftershocks of his release making his muscles twitch.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry, and shifted slightly, pressing a kiss to your clit before leaning back up to feel another wave of release threatening to overcome him when he sees your content expression, hands loosening their grip in his raven hair, half lidded eyes meeting his own before they trail down. "Y-You.." You didn’t know what to say, couldn’t have spoken even if you tried.

A lazy smirk made it's way to his lips that caught the light before he licked whatever remnant what was left of you on his fingers.

"I'm a starved man, angel. Cut me some slack." He panted, pinching your bud in emphasis and moved back up before you could even process it, the warmth of his breath retreating, replaced by the cooler air of the room as he straightened. The absence of his lips against you left you gasping, your chest heaving, your pulse thundering in your ears or maybe it was you still riding your orgasm or maybe it was the knowledge that he came in his pants from just eating you out.

Then he was there again, his hands sliding from your thighs to the mattress on either side of you, bracketing you in like a secret he refused to let escape.

"Hi." He breathed against your forehead.

You felt a shy smile twitch on your lips. "Hi." You reply just as breathlessly.

He presses another kiss, this time to the tip of your nose. "I'm gonna fuck you now, yeah?" You couldn’t reconcile it.

How could he say things that made your cheeks flush, your body respond in ways you couldn’t control, while his lips brushed against your temple with a tenderness that felt like an apology?

How could he make you feel like you were unraveling and being held together all at once?

You wanted to know. "Mhm. Please." You mewl, hands softly going through the beautiful mess that you made of his hair.

"Please, what?" He demanded, lips on your cheek.

"Please fuck me." You whine and he bumped his nose against your face, chest rumbling from a sound so feverish that you can't help but grind against him again. Coaxing his cock back into hardness with your bare cunt against him, from the realization that you shared the insatiable urges with him.

It got his hand trembling when they reached down to unbind his belt, pushing the fabric down his hips to reveal predicament he's made of his boxers that were bounding his hard, leaking cock but hell if he had it in himself to care.

He had been bidding his time for far too long. Waited enough—longer than any man should have to wait for something that felt this inevitable, this right, this his.

Ridding himself of the last piece of clothing on him, other than the white dress shirt that flexed against his coiled muscles, he took himself In a fist, groaning when he pumped himself in one slow stroke. Eyes never leaving your wide ones like you weren’t sure if you should be impressed, intimidated, or both.

Your breath hitched audibly, and your chest rose and fell as your eyes darted from his face to the undeniable evidence of his arousal. Heat bloomed across your cheeks, but you couldn’t seem to tear your gaze away, couldn’t stop the thought that immediately took hold.

"You're too big." Your throat dry, and your fingers fisted the sheet beneath you, trying not too think too much about how thick he would feel down your throat. The sounds he'd make when you would lick him just right.

"And you're gonna take every inch." He said it like a statement, a prominent vein popping in his neck when he finally let go of the locked gaze and focused instead on compressing the tip of his angry, veiny cock to your slick folds.

"Won't you, angel?" He asks with a confident smirk passed your way for a second before his breath wavered again, brows scrunched together and if it wasn't for his tip nudging inside you, you'd thought him endearing.

But once his tip is actually is in, you're left with no thought. Rendered speechless, eyes falling shut when he starts to jab inch by inch.

"Dear lord—" You gasp out loud. The sheet beneath you not providing much semblance so you switch to his shoulders. And you swear, he feel him shake when he is finally all in. Closes his eyes and relishes in your heat stretching around. "Fucking hell." The sensation was overwhelming—heat and softness so consuming it felt like his mind short-circuited, every thought dissolving into static.

But you feel that its your pussy that feels like it's going to split apart any moment now that's stopping him from moving. And partly it is. "You're so..tight." He hisses out and squeezes your hips with great roughness.

"Been long since you've been fucked, eh?" He muses, dark hungry eyes devouring yours when he makes an attempt to move inside you like he was testing your limits. Your mind reels, caught between the sharpness of the initial sensation and the overwhelming desire that followed.

He felt impossibly big, like your body wasn’t prepared for the sheer intensity of him, and for a fleeting moment, doubt crept into your thoughts.

It’s been so long.

The thought came unbidden. Your body had grown used to quiet nights and cold sheets, to the impersonal hum of a vibrator and the absence of warmth.

"Been so long." You confirm, nails clawing at his shoulders, mimicking the roughness that only spurs him on. His lashes fluttered shut, his forehead drops to your shoulder and with a whine of disagreement from you, he pulls back fully just to (to your satisfaction) bury himself back to the hilt.

An unadulterated moan from you broke the silence, a sound so sweet it made him want to come right there and then again. But he'd much rather have you convulse first. Priorities.

His jaw clenched, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he started to move his hips against yours, slow and deliberate, like he needed to feel every inch of your.

Your legs tensed around his hips, pulling him closer. You couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop the way your body reacted to him, your mind a dizzy blur of heat and need and overwhelming sensation.

He pulled back again, the drag of him leaving you feeling empty, only to return with the same slow, measured thrust.

“That’s right,” he muttered, his voice rough and uneven, barely coherent through the sounds your free spilling moans and the fact that his face was buried in the crook of your shoulder. “You’re—fuck, you’re perfect.” His voice unrefined at the edges, raw with honesty and disbelief, like he couldn’t believe you were really here, with him, like this.

Your hands slid down his back, clinging to the flexing muscles beneath your palms. You suddenly didn't like that his shirt was still on. Wanting to map out his bare skin with every graze of your nails. But with each thrust, pleasure sparked at the base of your spine and spread outward, your thoughts scattered like autumn leaves.

"Yeah- Oh mphm! Just like that!" He flourished in your cries of encouragement, his grip on your hips tightening, his fingers digging into your skin as he was afraid he'd lose control too soon.

And you wanted nothing more. "F-Faster! Please go faster!" His pace was unhurried but devastating, every pull and thrust deliberate, designed to drag you to the edge and keep you there, teetering. You couldn’t take that anymore.

And Jungkook couldn’t take keeping you unsatisfied. His lips found the corner of your mouth, brushing against it in a fleeting kiss before moving lower, his teeth grazing your jaw. His hands moved to your thighs, urging them higher, wrapping them around his waist as he drove into you with more force, more intent.

“taking me so well, was made for this cock.” Were made for me. he praised, his voice sounding like a backdrop to the obscene sounds his hips snapping against yours as your own body moved with his, meeting him with the same intensity, the same desperate need. "Yeah." He grunted, punctuating his words with a squeeze to your boob. "Fuck me back. Use me. Feel me."

All you could possibly do was feel him.

He felt like fire and electricity all at once, a heat that spread from your core to the very tips of your fingers and toes.

“Jungkook…” you whispered again, your voice catching on the syllables when his head tipped forward, his forehead pressing against yours, his damp hair brushing your skin.

He whimpered in response, a deep, guttural sound that reverberated through you, and he pistoned his cock harder, pulling a cry from your lips that you couldn’t hold back.

"I-I missed you." You can feel tears gather in your eyes again. You don't even know why. Why you're repeating what you've already admitted. Why the words feel more vulnerable now. All you know that you missed him and the coil is tightening in your stomach.

Jungkook, too feels like he will break down any moment when he stares down at you. But he’s got a impending orgasm to deliver.

He kisses your eyelids, is tempted to lick the tears that slowly make their way down to your chin but doesn't. He's not sure he'll be able to handle the taste of your despair without feeling like he has to chastise himself for ever being the reason for it.

"I know. I know." His cock thrusts with renewed vigor. "I missed you too. I missed you." He says through his gritted teeth, feeling how your walls fluttered around him.

"Gonna cum now?" He knows what your answer will be. There's a smug underline tone in his rasps that gives him away. How he takes pride in knowing that he's the one to make you release all this tension; once on his mouth; then on his cock that is pulsing with an reoccurring ache.

You can only manage to nod, lips tightly tucked between your teeth, hands scratching and marking on his once crisp shirt that is now crumpled from the fate of your hands.

"Gonna soak my cock, huh? Go ahead, baby. Go ahead and come with me." He demands, his hand slipping between you to rub tight circles against your puffy clit that is just enough to tip you over at last.

"Koo.. ah..oh god!" The name you've always called him with a fondness falls unintentionally from your lips when your walls tighten for the last time and you release all over his cock that is now stuttering with it's every thrust.

"Oh fuck. Call me that again." He all but snarls. Cock turns firmer inside your heat that hugs him. And balls screw up.

"Koo.." You whine and that's all he needs before thick ropes of white hot cum is spilling inside you, filling you to the brim. "Mhm, take it all. There's my girl. Pussy looks so good stuffed with my cum." He grinds the best his spent body can into yours that still welcomes him and fuck if that doesn't make him never want to leave.

And he doesn't, for a moment, when he collapses onto you. Just not enough to crush you under his weight. Just enough to latch his lips where ever he can find and whisper words of affection. "Could'nt fucking breathe without you." He's yet to get enough of you. This life won't suffice, he thinks. Then finally pulls out his softening cock from your slick hole with a hiss.

You too feel the loss the of the connection that had pulsed faintly between you, leaving you achingly empty.

He moved with the same carefulness, reaching for the tissues on the bedside table. The room was quiet save for your mingled breaths as he knelt beside you, his touch impossibly tender as he wiped at the inside of your thighs. You shivered under the cool press of the tissue against your skin, the sensation making you acutely aware of the aftermath—the way your body still quivered, the way your breaths still came uneven.

You stared at the ceiling while he did so, the edges of your perception blurred as you tried to silence the tingles that still hummed across the length of your legs. A reminder of how throughly he had disentangle you, how throughly his very essence had penetrated into you.

You were ruined by him.

There was no going back from this. You knew that.

What scared you was the realization that you didn’t want to.

You just didn't know how to admit that out loud where everyone and he could hear you.

Your eyes seeked out for him as if that alone could answer all your questions. He returned back against you without a question. Hands finely adjusted the strap of your dress and drew you closer to him with a soft voice, hoarse from the strain of everything he’d given you. "Come here, angel." Bundled you up in his arms and then only did he breathe out.

Your breath stayed differing. “Why do you call me that?” Your voice was curious but tentative. “I don’t think I’ve ever asked you.”

You felt his lips curve up against your temple. "You were wearing this really pretty white dress the first time I met you." he began, his voice quiet, almost wistful. “Had these frills on the sleeves. I thought you looked like an angel."

You tried to piece together the memory. “That was so long ago."

It might be understood that it takes months to fall in love but Jungkook had been falling all his life.

[thepencilnerd]

take a slice

Summary: No one could imagine a more cunning or manipulative player than Shuntaro Chishiya—until he meets you. complete fic on my ao3 here <3 Word Count: 3.8k Contains: Depictions of violence, unresolved sexual tension, emotional constipation

A/N: because I binge-watched Alice In Borderland in the span of two days and I am very late to the party (but never too late for self-indulgent fan service)

Chishiya spots you across the same floor, your black silhouette nearly lost in the shadows of the night. It’s only your movement that catches his attention, the dark outerwear a sharp contrast to his bright white jacket. You and he are the only players scouting from this vantage point, watching from above while the chaos brews below.

The night is eerily quiet—the calm before the storm, as they say. Your gaze locks onto his, and for a moment, time seems to freeze. Chishiya feels his heartbeat falter, a fleeting hitch he quickly tamps down.

Before he can fully process it, you’ve already vanished around a corner, just as a rain of bullets peppers the area behind you.

A boy’s voice echoes from below, frantic. "The only way to clear this game is to work together!"

Bullshit , you think.

There must be a reason behind the attacker's anchoring position, Chishiya muses.

Of course.

When you finally make your way to the safe room, you’re welcomed by four unfamiliar figures: the spree-killing horse, the brunette boy from earlier, a girl with a bob, and the blonde. 

Chishiya strikes swiftly, the crackle of his taser breaking the stillness. The masked attacker crumples to the floor, their face hitting the ground with a muffled thud. You waste no time, stomping down hard on their wrist, sending the gun skittering from their hand. Before they can recover, you grab the weapon and fire a single round into the crown of their skull. 

When you glance up, you catch the faintest trace of a smirk ghosting across the blonde’s face, but it’s gone just as quickly.

In the seconds that follow, the two other players in the room hastily slam their hands on the red buttons lining the walls.

GAME COMPLETE. CONGRATULATIONS WINNERS. 

Turning around, a pair of wide eyes greets you. 

“Thank you,” the boy finally speaks, addressing you and the blonde in a shaky voice. 

You respond with a nod, glancing over at the girl and seeing her return the acknowledgement. 

“Don’t mention it.” The blonde’s condescending tone from behind you is paralleled only by his burning gaze, locking onto you immediately. He almost misses seeing you slip something from the dead body into your pocket. 

You feel his focus linger on you as you leave the room. 

The night air is thick with tension, the distant cries from nearby arenas only amplifying the silence with each footstep behind you. You don’t bother turning around; you already know who it is.

Chishiya steps into your peripheral vision, his pace unhurried, like a cat stalking in the shadows. The forest buzzes with the threat of unseen dangers, but all his attention is locked on you.

"You didn’t have to kill him," he says, his voice casual, almost amused, as though discussing the weather.

You don’t stop walking. "You didn’t stop me."

A quiet chuckle escapes him, barely more than a breath. "True." His tone remains light, but there’s an edge beneath it, like he’s testing you, challenging you. "Still, you’ve got a certain efficiency. Impressive."

Your expression stays neutral. And yet, Chishiya’s presence beside you stirs something strange—a shared awareness, as if you’re both circling an invisible boundary neither of you are quite ready to cross—yet.

"You took something," he says, breaking the silence again, his voice calm but probing. His gaze stays forward, unreadable. "From the body."

You glance at him briefly, just enough to meet his eyes, which glint with curiosity under the moonlight. He’s trying to figure you out.

"And what if I did?" There’s a challenge in your voice now.

Chishiya’s smirk returns, faint but unmistakable. "Nothing. For now."

The tension between you tightens, pulling you closer in the silence. The game isn’t over. Not between the two of you.

As you continue walking, he trails behind, but soon loses sight of you in the dense trees. Shadows shift, swallowing you whole. He barely has time to catch his breath before a sudden force slams him to the ground, knocking the wind from his lungs. The disturbed soil and decaying leaves soften his fall, but his back still hits the earth with a solid thud.

Your knee digs sharply into his sternum, pinning him down. One hand tightens around his throat, not enough to choke him but enough to strain his breath. The cold, unforgiving edge of a blade presses against his cheek—a silent threat.

Chishiya’s indifferent expression makes your skin crawl, yet his stoic, unflinching gaze cuts through the moment like a dagger—piercing both hot and cold at once. Neither of you speak. It’s a game of cat and cat, both of you testing the other's resolve in this tense, silent standoff.

For a fleeting moment, he wonders if you can read each other’s thoughts.

You feel him gulp beneath your hand, his pulse quickening under your fingers. Both of his hands remain raised in surrender by his ears, calm, unwavering, and empty of any weapon or defense. His eyes flicker to the deep scar on your neck, lingering there for just a moment.

The air between you thickens. What feels like minutes pass in the span of heartbeats.

Without warning, you spring up and disappear into the night.

Chishiya stays on the ground for a moment, catching his breath. He sits up slowly, eyes tracing the path you took into the darkness. His chest rises and falls unevenly, the phantom cold of the blade still lingering on his skin. Silence wraps around him like a fog, but his pulse betrays him—racing, driven by more than just adrenaline.

For the first time in longer than he can remember, he feels something—a strange tug deep in his core, like something vital slipped away the moment you left. A curiosity stirs, mingling with the remnants of tension, a silent acknowledgment that this game isn’t over.

It’s only just begun.

Chishiya’s lips twitch into a faint smirk. Your piercing gaze and the scar on your neck are seared into his mind. He knows he’ll see you again. And next time, he won’t be caught off guard.

“You look like you have something on your mind.”

Kuina sits down across from Chishiya, her curiosity piqued as she watches him stare off into the distance. The evening air is still, a rare calmness settling over the Beach after a chaotic night.

Chishiya leans back, crossing his arms, a faint hum escaping his lips. “Just an interesting game tonight,” he replies casually, but there’s a lingering spark in his gaze that betrays more.

Kuina raises an eyebrow. “Must’ve been some game, then.”

“Perhaps,” Chishiya says, his voice smooth and unhurried. The rush of endorphins from the near-death experience still thrums faintly through his veins. 

The cause? A player whose actions were as cunning and unpredictable as his own. The thrill of narrowing down their motivations felt like a puzzle finally worth solving.

His mind drifts back to the game, replaying each moment like scenes in a movie. The chaos, the desperate shouts, and the blaring alarms all felt distant—mere background noise compared to the razor-sharp focus he'd found himself drawn to. That focus was centered on one person.

You had been an anomaly from the start. There was a precision in the way you moved, calculated and unfazed by the panic unraveling around you. It was as if you thrived on the chaos, embraced it even, letting it fuel each step you took. While the other players were scrambling to find shelter or allies, you seemed to anticipate every move, predicting the patterns before they even unfolded.

And then, the moment that had truly hooked him: the kill. Cold, efficient, and executed without a trace of hesitation. You weren’t just surviving; you were playing the game in its purest form—adapting, evolving, always a step ahead. There was no hesitation in your actions, no unnecessary flourish—just the unyielding will to end a threat. It wasn’t just about self-preservation; it was about winning. And that’s what made you different.

Chishiya’s curiosity flared the instant your eyes met his in the aftermath. For the briefest moment, he’d seen a flicker of something—recognition, maybe even a hint of challenge. Like you were silently asking him if he had what it took to keep up.

It was absurd, really, to feel anything in the Borderlands beyond the mechanical urge to survive. But something had shifted tonight. For the first time in what felt like forever, the game had become more than a series of calculated risks and rewards: it had become interesting.

Chishiya’s gaze shifts back to the window where lights scatter the sky. His fingers tap idly on the armrest of his chair, a rhythm betraying the restlessness he tries to mask. He’s always prided himself on being detached, keeping emotions and sentiment far from his calculations. Yet here he is, preoccupied with thoughts that don't have a place in his carefully constructed logic.

"You're quiet," Kuina observes, her tone carrying a hint of amusement. "More than usual, I mean."

Chishiya’s smirk is faint, barely there. “Am I?”

She shrugs, leaning back in her seat. “You’ve been lost in your own head since you got back.” 

Chishiya’s expression doesn’t falter, but there’s a slight shift in his demeanor—a barely perceptible sign of vulnerability, quickly smoothed over. “Maybe I’m just considering... possibilities,” he replies, the words coming slower than usual, as if he’s testing how they sound. 

Kuina’s eyes narrow thoughtfully. “Possibilities, huh?” She tilts her head, studying him. “That’s one way of putting it. Or maybe… a person?”

Chishiya’s silence is uncharacteristic. He feels the pull to dismiss the notion immediately, to scoff at the idea of being distracted by a person, much less affected by them. But instead, he pauses. It’s enough for Kuina to catch on, her curiosity piqued.

“Interesting,” she murmurs, a teasing smile curling on her lips. “You’re actually thinking about someone, aren’t you?” When he doesn’t respond, she presses further. “It’s a girl, right? Did she do something to catch your eye?”

Chishiya finally meets her gaze, his own guarded but not entirely dismissive. “She’s... unusual,” he admits, the words coming out almost reluctantly. “Not like the others.”

Kuina arches an eyebrow. “Unusual how? Smart? Dangerous?”

“Both,” he replies without hesitation. “Efficient, focused. But there’s something else.” He uncrosses his arms, feeling oddly exposed, as though admitting to these thoughts makes them more real, more tangible. “It’s like she’s not playing the same game as the rest of them.”

Kuina studies him for a moment, then lets out a soft laugh. “You’ve got it bad,” she says, shaking her head. “I never thought I’d see the day you’d be drawn to someone for more than their utility.”

He scoffs, a ghost of his usual arrogance returning. “Don’t get carried away. I’m only interested because she might be useful.”

“Sure,” Kuina says with a knowing grin. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Chishiya falls silent again, but the truth gnaws at him. He knows it’s more than just her utility in the grand scheme of escaping this hellhole. It’s the way she challenges him—forces him to reevaluate his strategies and makes him wonder if there’s more to this game than just surviving.

He hates how that thought clings to him, even as he tries to push it away.

Chishiya shifts in his chair, feeling a dull ache radiate from his chest. He’s been operating on a different level since encountering you, and the physical reminder feels almost like an anchor to what he’s been trying to navigate.

He glances at Kuina, who’s still watching him with an amused expression, still probing. “You look like you’re plotting something.”

“Just considering my next move,” he replies, a hint of a smirk returning to his lips. “The game is full of variables, and I need to prepare for them.”

“Variables, huh? Is that what you call her now?” Kuina teases, leaning forward, her elbows resting on the table.

“Focus,” he snaps lightly, but there’s no real heat in his voice. Instead, his mind races ahead to the next game, and how he can draw you in, maybe even observe you more closely. He’s already picturing the scenarios—the players, the setting, the stakes.

What he really wants is a way to see you again. To understand the force that pulls him toward you, the complexity that makes you more than just another player. The anticipation churns within him, exciting yet unnerving.

“What if I made a move to recruit her?” he muses aloud, considering the prospect. “She could be an asset. If she operates outside the norm, that could change the dynamics of our strategies.”

“Or it could blow up in your face,” Kuina counters, her tone light but her gaze serious. “You’re not exactly known for your emotionality, Chishiya. What if she doesn’t want to play?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he replies, brushing off her concern. “I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

But the truth is, he knows that this isn’t merely about the game anymore. It’s about the way you make him feel—like a player in a game he thought he understood, now suddenly complex and exhilarating. Chishiya can’t shake the thought that if he wants to unlock the potential you represent, he’ll have to make a move soon.

He allows himself a moment of vulnerability, resting his chin on his hand as he reflects. “What if I want to see her again, Kuina? What if it’s not just about strategy anymore?”

Kuina’s eyes widen, clearly surprised by his admission. “Wow. You’re actually admitting you care.”

Chishiya rolls his eyes but can’t help the smirk tugging at his lips. “Don’t get carried away.”

“Sure,” she says, leaning back with a satisfied grin. “Just remember, sometimes the best strategies are the ones that come from the heart.”

With that, Chishiya’s mind drifts again, calculating and assessing. He’ll be ready for the next game. He’ll be prepared to take any risk to find you again, to unravel the mystery of what you truly are: a partner, a rival, or perhaps something more. As the night draws to a close, the shadows deepen, but a flicker of determination ignites within him.

He will see you again.

A few days have passed since the last game, but the adrenaline still courses through your veins, lingering like a ghost. You survived, but the victory feels hollow, overshadowed by the memory of the indifferent blonde boy who’s drawn you in more than you care to admit.

Your thoughts drift back to that game—its intensity still vivid in your mind. It was like no other you’d experienced, where survival felt more like a dance with death than a struggle against it. And he was at the center of it, moving through the chaos with a calculated grace that caught your attention long before you understood why.

It wasn’t just that he was calm under pressure. Plenty of players had nerves of steel. It was his indifference, the way he seemed detached from the dangers around him, as though nothing could touch him. Where others flinched or panicked, he merely observed, as if the unfolding chaos was a puzzle to solve rather than a life-or-death situation. That kind of control was rare in the Borderlands, and in some strange way, it felt like a dare, an unspoken challenge that made you want to test him, to see if there was anything that could shatter that composure.

You remember the moment you locked eyes across the chaos, the way the world seemed to fade into the background. It was brief, but in that instant, it felt like a silent conversation—an understanding that went beyond words. There was something sharp in his gaze, a spark of curiosity that mirrored your own. It was as if he was evaluating you, sizing you up just as you were doing to him. For a fleeting moment, you wondered if you were seeing a part of yourself reflected back in those cold, calculating eyes.

But it wasn’t just his composure or his gaze that drew you in. It was the way he acted in those crucial seconds when lives hung in the balance. While others scrambled to save themselves, he made moves that seemed almost playful, like he was toying with the danger rather than simply evading it. There was a thrill in watching him maneuver through the madness with an ease that bordered on arrogance, as though he was always three steps ahead of everyone else—including you.

And then there was the moment when the game ended. You had both survived, of course, but there was something in the way he looked at you afterward, something that lingered, a faint smirk that hinted he had seen more than you’d intended to reveal. It wasn’t pity; it was as if he recognized a kindred spirit, someone who understood the game on a different level. For the first time in what felt like ages, you felt truly seen. 

That feeling unsettles you even now, as you sit by the fire, staring into the flames. It’s not that you seek validation in the Borderlands; you’ve learned long ago that the only approval that matters is your own. But there’s something about his quiet confidence, the way he seemed to acknowledge you without saying a word, that’s hard to shake. It makes you wonder if he was as unaffected as he appeared or if there was more beneath the surface, something hidden behind that cool exterior.

You clench your jaw, frustrated with yourself for even thinking about him this much. He was just another player—albeit a skilled one—and you’ve dealt with plenty of them before. But there’s a part of you that can’t ignore the way his presence lingers, like a splinter in your mind, a question that refuses to be answered.

Why did he make such an impression on you? Was it his composure, his intelligence, or the quiet thrill of crossing paths with someone who didn’t play by the same rules as everyone else? Or was it the way he seemed to see you in return, as if you were more than just a piece on the board?

You realize that you don’t know the answers—and perhaps that’s what’s most intriguing of all. There’s an unfinished quality to your last encounter, a feeling that your story with him isn’t over yet. It’s as if the game itself has drawn a line between you, daring you to cross it again.

You shake your head, trying to dismiss the thoughts that have become stubborn visitors in your mind. Why does he occupy your thoughts so much? Is it his calm indifference, the way he moved with calculated grace? Or is it something more that stirs a curiosity you can’t quite define?

Pushing the thoughts aside, you focus on your routine, an independent existence in the Borderlands, where survival means mastering skills few have the patience to learn. You've carved out a small camp nestled within the trees, camouflaged by foliage, a sanctuary of sorts amidst the chaos.

Every morning, you rise before dawn, the cool air biting at your skin as you check your traps. The gentle sounds of the forest waking around you are a familiar symphony, one you find solace in. You harvest small game—rabbits, birds, whatever you can catch—and meticulously prepare them, savoring the simple act of cooking over a small fire.

Hunting and foraging have become second nature. You collect wild herbs and edible plants, storing them in makeshift pouches crafted from scavenged materials. Each successful hunt reminds you of your resilience and strength. 

But even as you focus on these tasks, your mind drifts back to him—the blonde boy from the game. The way his piercing gaze seemed to see right through you, as if he was calculating your every move. It’s unsettling yet exhilarating, a contradiction you can’t wrap your head around.

The sun climbs higher, and you take a break from your chores to wash your hands in a nearby stream, the water refreshing against your skin. As you splash your face, you catch your reflection in the rippling surface, a mix of determination and uncertainty staring back at you.

You spend the afternoon working on camp, reinforcing the makeshift walls and clearing away debris that threatens your space. But even as you work to distract yourself, you can almost feel his presence lurking at the edge of your thoughts, his smirk dancing on your mind like a memory that refuses to fade.

Eventually, you settle on a log outside your camp, a piece of driftwood you dragged from the riverbank. Pulling out your small notebook, you begin to sketch the maps of the Borderlands, noting down resources and potential hideouts. It’s practical, a way to keep your mind sharp, but each mark on the page feels like a tether to the games, to the players who dance around you like shadows.

You reach into your pocket and pull out the small, crumpled piece of paper you took from the body during the game. You’ve looked at it countless times since then, trying to make sense of the chaotic scribbles. It’s a series of numbers and symbols—coordinates, perhaps, or some kind of code. Whatever it is, it’s not immediately clear, and that only deepens your curiosity.

You flatten the paper against the rough surface of the log, comparing it with your sketches. Could it be a location in the Borderlands? A clue to something hidden or an upcoming game? The patterns don’t align with any familiar maps, but something about the markings feels deliberate, as though there’s a message buried within them. You trace the lines with your finger, committing them to memory, trying to see what the original owner had seen. What was so important that they’d die with it?

Your mind drifts back to the moment you took it. The blonde boy’s eyes had flickered towards you—just for a heartbeat—when you pocketed the paper. Did he know what it meant, or had he noticed the same curiosity in you that you now feel?

As you draw, memories of the game resurface: his calculated moves, his indifferent demeanor, and the strange thrill of standing against him. There’s something magnetic about his presence, something that both fascinates and frustrates you.

In the fading light of dusk, you close your eyes for a moment, letting the sounds of the forest wash over you. The call of distant birds, the rustle of branches—each note a reminder that you’re alive, that you’re here, navigating a world filled with peril and unpredictability. But still, the thought lingers. Will your paths cross in the next game, or will you remain a ghost in his memory?

With a sigh, you shake your head and return to your sketches, determination settling in your chest. It doesn’t matter. Yet, in the depths of your mind, a part of you yearns for that inevitable meeting, that chance to unravel the enigma that is the blonde boy.

As darkness settles over the forest, you tuck your notebook away, the images of your maps a promise of the journey ahead. Tomorrow will bring new challenges, new games to navigate. And if fate has its way, perhaps it will also bring him back into your orbit once more.

[hanjisick]

Orders.

genre. mafia au. bodyguard!lee know x fem!reader

desc. your father is an elite, high ranking official in a mafia family. after your first kidnapping, a bodyguard was hired to ensure your safety.

warnings. nsfw. fingering & sex. torture. kidnapping. murder. violence.

wc. 10k

✉️ : this is my first writing after a 9 month hiatus. i apologize for the unannounced break and i will be answering and writing again shortly. enjoy! :)

You sit in a wooden chair, wheezing and thrashing from days of sleep deprivation and torment. Your body aches, wrists bruised and bloody from the ropes, and you almost feel like giving in and spilling Daddy’s secrets— allowing them to kill you and the family.

But you knew better than that. You knew that you'd be saved.

The gunshots and cries for help weren't unexpected from above the dark bunker.

With an ear-piercing creak, the door swings open and the shadow of a man emerges through the doorstep, shoes squeaking with fresh blood underneath.

He doesn’t let out a single word as he kneels to grab your face and examine it. Your attention follows the ring on his finger. An insignia that he is part of the family. You can depend on him.

But still, you wince, sharply inhaling as his fingers aggravate your wounds.

“Don’t get their blood in my wounds, I don’t know what kind of freaks they are,” You grumble, voice husky from days of screaming.

You let him turn your head, retaining eye contact with the floor as you grit your teeth.

“Relax,” he mumbles, “I don’t bite.”

He leans closer to examine your wounds. “You took a lot of hits. How many people are here?”

He draws back as you reply, “Can’t tell you exactly.”

“About four of them grabbed me while I was leaving the house— stupid on their part, no wonder you were here so shortly,” You trail off before catching yourself back on topic.

“But I’ve only seen three different men since I’ve been here. Only to beat me and interrogate me. Don’t worry, I didn’t say anything to put Daddy at risk.”

“I heard two other unrecognizable voices. That would make nine people in the building that I know of. Of course, there could always be more. How many did you shoot?”

“Six,” he responds before looking down at your scrapes and wounds again.

You feel him caress your cheek once more, his cold skin sending shivers down your spine.

“You’re in bad shape.”

“If there’s more here, we need to get out as soon as possible. We can worry about my wounds as soon as these people aren’t on our ass.”

You struggle in your bounds, the ropes burning your already bloody wrists, “Could you untie me, first?”

“Don’t move.”

You obey his command, halting as he unties the ropes, uncovering the painful burn marks and blisters.

“That fucking hurt,” you rotate your wrists, “I could’ve gotten out without your help eventually, though.” Your voice is rough, breath coming out in harsh, sharp drags.

“Sure, you would’ve.”

You stumble to your feet as he pulls you into him for safety. He reeks of gunpowder and high-dollar cologne— presumably something that Daddy has made sure that he has the money for.

“Stay close to me, when we get to the front, you go out first and then I’ll leave right after.”

You follow the unfamiliar man out of the maze, almost slipping on the floor blanketed in blood.

You adjust to the bright sunlight— and it feels gentle against your damaged skin. It seems like time has stood still while you were captured. “Did Daddy order you a car?”

“Yes,” he answers, “Some men are waiting out front to take us to the closest hospital— which isn’t too far.”

“I’m being hospitalized?” You follow him into the backseat, finally slacking for a moment ontop of the fresh leather.

“It’s not my choice to have you taken to the hospital, it’s the orders.”

“Do I have a statement to tell the nurse?” You look at him in concern.

“Am I supposed to say, ‘Oh, I was kidnapped by Daddy’s enemies! By the way, he’s in the mafia! Who wants to arrest Daddy?’”

“Tell them you fell down the stairs.” His flat tone contrasts your own, remaining unfazed.

“How would that cover up my wrists' burn marks?” You hold up the bloody and bruised dents, “Nobody gets these from falling down the stairs. There's way too much blood— and some of it isn’t even mine.”

He raises an eyebrow, looking over to the burn marks on your wrist and then back to you.

“Then tell them you accidentally burnt yourself while cooking.”

“Are you even listening to me? Are you stupid?”

He doesn’t respond for a moment, not seeming to care about the situation.

“It’s not hard to pay them to be silent.”

“How about I tell them that I was heavily bullied at school and a couple of classmates did this to me? I think that could work.”

You two arrive at the front entrance of the emergency room, he follows behind you, strolling through the automatic door.

“I’m fine, really, I was just beaten by classmates,” You lie through your teeth to the front desk, “My boyfriend took me here to get it checked out.”

He raises an eyebrow.

You comply with the nurses as they check your weight and interview you.

“I don’t have any stab wounds, at least I don’t think so— I don’t remember what they did to me. I was held captive for a few,” Your voice trails off as you wince at a sudden pang.

You glance down at your bleeding side and are unexpectedly whacked with all of the distress that you had been repressing at once.

Your vision starts to fade, face pale as a ghost.

The man rushes over as they carry you to a bed, and he kneels beside you to review your condition. Your body is pale and cold, breathing jagged and rapid.

You hear the whispers of the staff panicking. One nurse checks your pulse, and another elevates your legs.

“I need my blood sugar up,” the first words that come out of your mouth sound weak and painful.

You look over at the man beside you.

You need to lie. But you don’t even know his name.

“Boyfriend,” you determine, “please get me a sugary drink from the vending machine.”

A subtle smirk forms upon his lips, but it vanishes as soon as it appears.

“Fine,” he rises to his feet.

You hiss as the nurses sterilize your wounds, shrieking and thrashing on the mattress at the sting. You try to stay still, but the pain is intolerable.

Footsteps echo and you find the man returning with a chocolate bar, which he holds out to you. He brings it close to your lips and holds the chocolate against your mouth for you to take a bite, “Slowly.”

“I told you to get me a drink,” You disregard his command, biting the chocolate quickly, almost aggressively.

His lips turn up, amused by your action.

The nurses finish stitching up your deep gashes and bandaging your wounds, recommending that you stay the night.

“Pay for the bill with Daddy’s cash and let’s get out of here,” you state coldly, “I need to shower and get all of this blood out of my hair. I don’t want to stay here.”

“As long as you can walk by yourself, we can leave right away.” He replies. The man takes out a wad of bills quickly counts the money and pays for the bill.

You stay speechless until entering the car.

“Who are you?”

“I’m your bodyguard. Your father hired me to look out for you after the kidnapping.”

You nod in acknowledgment. “Will you be staying at the estate with me? Or is it a ‘only when I leave the house’ kind of deal?”

“My primary duty is to protect you from anyone or anything that could harm you, whether that be outside or inside the house. I could go wherever you wish me to follow you, and I will be there.”

“You won’t sleep in bed with me though, right?”

He stays silent for a moment.

“You are correct, I am here to protect, nothing more. I will not sleep next to you. I am merely your bodyguard and take your orders.”

“Good boy,” you grin, “I bet Daddy will pay you very nicely. Why else would you take this job? How much does he give you? Either way, I’m sure you have enough to buy a mansion.”

The bodyguard holds back an eye roll. “I will have more than enough money. Not only that but he also provides me with a home.” He adds with a smirk.

“Good.” You reply.

You fall silent, allowing him to drive, taking in the past few days.

You were never worried about surviving, You understood that Daddy would handle it. But you didn’t expect to be as hurt as you were.

He could’ve saved you sooner.

“When we get home, order the chef to make me something sweet, I deserve a treat,” you state, “I’m going to shower and you are not allowed to enter my bathroom under any circumstance. Even if I’m dying.”

“You would die before letting me enter your bathroom? I get it.” He retorts.

Once you both arrive at the estate, you stumble out of the car. You don’t linger for him.

You’re welcomed by a handful of workers as you enter the home, but ignore them as you make a beeline up the stairs and towards the bedroom.

The door locks behind you and the room is silent. You feel the weariness creep on as your wounds sting. You lean against the door, sliding down.

After a moment of peace, you head towards the shower to comb the dried blood out of your hair.

You scrub your face carefully, avoiding the stitches above your eyebrows.

You wash your body entirely, removing the blood stains with soap, water, and a wash rag. Then you comb out the dried blood.

Once you finish, you dry yourself off and dress in a plain, silk nightdress.

Leaving your bedroom, you turn to look for your guard. He is at the doorway of your room when you walk out. His eyes roam around your body for a brief moment, examining the nightgown.

“Do you require assistance?”

“Did you place an order for something sweet, like I asked?” You peer at his suit, moving in to adjust his tie.

He follows your hand as it moves, eyeing you for a few moments before he utters, “I did, the chef will be bringing it to your room once it’s prepared.”

“Good boy.”

You look up at his face once you are pleased with the positioning. You grimace at his sharp, cold face. The blood was dried, brown, and unpleasing. The man’s hand relaxes on the gun holstered on his hip.

“I order you to come into my bedroom.”

His eyebrows crease. He understands his role as your bodyguard— nonetheless, he doesn’t get a kick out of being ordered around in this tone.

He takes a deep breath. “Your wish is my command.”

The room is massive, a silk-covered canopy bed sits in the center of it. He pays no mind to looking around, concentrating on the job at hand.

“Sit down on my bed,” you demand, steering towards the bathroom and pushing open the double doors.

He obeys your orders without question, crossing his legs, and keeping his hand resting beside his gun.

The bodyguard keeps a close, attentive eye on the doors, supervising the way that you soak a washrag with warm water, squeezing out the excess.

You sit beside him, grabbing his chin and leaning into his face. He tenses.

“Relax, I don’t bite,” you smirk, reiterating his first words from the moment he met you back to him, massaging the dried blood off of his face, “No guard of mine will have a messy appearance.”

You can tell that he feels uneasy, but he can’t reject you. If you wish for him to relax, he will make an effort to relax.

You can’t help but notice his complexion when he isn’t scowling. The apathy melts away as you wipe the dried blood, giving you a new perspective on his appearance.

“You’re handsome,” you state bluntly, “Especially without blood covering your face.”

You toss the rag into the laundry basket carelessly, waiting for a maid to take care of it.

“Thank you.”

“What is your name? You never told me.”

His eyebrows arch slightly at the question.“It’s Minho.”

“I am Y/N,” You reply, holding out your hand to shake his own. His grip is firm and warm.

He keeps a stoic face as he glances at your face and back at your hand, as if he is searching for an ulterior motive behind this handshake.

The food.

The bell rings and the sound of it shatters the stillness of the room. Minho’s head jolts towards the door, hand back on his gun.

He rises instantly, opening it to reveal the maid with a tray of sweet snacks.

He takes it from her. “I will bring it in.”

“What a good boy, Minho,” you praise, clapping your hands together as he sets the tray on your lap.

“I don’t take you for a man who enjoys sweet food much. Do you like sweets?”

“Sometimes.”

You unwrap a piece of high-dollar chocolate, “I command you to open your mouth.”

Minho can’t deny you, it would be disobeying your orders.

He opens his mouth as the chocolate is positioned between his lips.

You relish in the chocolates with Minho and once finished, you set the tray on the floor for a maid to pick up at sunrise.

“I don’t think I mind you being around all that much, Daddy makes good decisions.” You lay down on the mattress.

“Your father does make good decisions.”

His gaze wavered on your face until you drifted off to sleep. Only then did they slowly trail down to your body.

The way your body was built captivated him. Minho was glued to your sleeping form.

He stayed in the room, taking a seat on a chair in the corner to watch you.

He didn’t know how long it had been since you had dozed off, but by the way that the room was now pitch black and noiseless aside from your figure rising and falling, he would imagine that it had been a couple of hours.

“How long are you going to sit there?” Your sleep-filled voice questions him, causing him to snap out of his daze, hand reaching for his gun out of instinct.

“Do you sleep? Are you allowed to sleep?”

“I will only remain in the room as long as you order me to. I do sleep,” He replies, “Now is there anything else you need my assistance with? Or can I return to my duties?”

“So you’re only staying in the room because I ordered you two hours ago?” There’s a tinge of dismay in your voice, but it was masked by sleep, “You can leave if you want, I don’t mind.”

Minho felt a sudden pit in his stomach. You sounded disappointed by his statement.

Your words are perplexing him, and he can’t conclude what you want from him. To stay or to go?

“Should I stay for a bit longer?”

You were already asleep again once he had responded.

You and Minho both wake to a maid opening the blinds and ringing a bell. You groan, stretching your body.

“Miss, let’s get you dressed for today.”

She pulls your nightgown up above your head as Minho’s eyes wander toward your laced underwear.

“What’s on my schedule for today?”

He quickly forces his gaze to look away and stares back at the maid.

“We want you to heal from your injuries, miss,” she answers, “we will start with a nutritious breakfast to encourage recovery, and attend to your injuries, and then you will speak with Daddy about your incident.”

The maid buttons your fitted dress, glancing in Minho’s direction, “Your bodyguard will need to be there for your conversation with Daddy.”

“He will?”

“He needs to tell Daddy what he witnessed from the facility.”

You nod, following her lead down the stairs and towards the breakfast table.

Minho follows suit, remaining at your side the entire time and he watches you eat, staying observant and cautious.

“Are you hungry?”

This question catches Minho off guard.

“No.” He adds in a dull tone— but in actuality, he is starving. He was entrusted to watch over you. He shouldn’t eat on the clock.

“Maid, go order,” You look Minho up and down, “A side of crepes. Blueberry crepes. And two cups of coffee.”

The maid hurries to the kitchen to place the order, and it is brought out a couple of minutes later.

He stares at the crepes being placed on the table, and his belly grumbles. “Thank you.”

The maid carries the mugs of coffee to the table. But it doesn’t take Minho long to catch sight of her cunning smile and the perplexing liquid that the maid slipped into the mugs of coffee.

He stares quietly, calculating his next action.

“Don’t drink it.”

“Why not?”

Minho’s sight narrows as you bring the cup of coffee to your lips.

This time, his tone is warning and direct. “It’s better that you don’t.”

You halt your sip at his harsh command.

The maid pulls out a handgun swiftly after realizing that she has been caught, aiming it at you.

A switch swiftly flips inside of him.

He lunges forward, grabbing the woman’s wrist and twisting the gun to the right, snapping a couple of fingers in the process.

It’s a rapid movement, and he had little time to think before shooting her in the head, watching the life leave her body. His face is apathetic and almost casual.

The maid’s blood spilled onto the floor as the others ran to clean it up.

“He passed the test, we can keep him. A promising guard so far,” Daddy compliments from behind you, “Urgently acting to protect. He knew that she was mindless and weak. He comprehends crises well.”

The older man slips a wad of cash into the breast pocket of Minho’s suit. “Good on protecting her. That was a setup with a stupid maid who was just aching to betray us. You will have the same fate if you are wavered by another team.”

“I think he’s a good boy. He won’t betray me.”

“Y/N, meet me at my office. Guard, follow her.” He swiftly turns away to lead the two of you as you eye Minho.

“You can relax now. No more tests.”

He nods in understanding, heeding silently towards the office.

“Tell me about what you saw at the facility.”

You nod. “Four men had taken me from our garden entrance and used Chloroform to knock me unconscious. I woke up in their van, where my hands and legs were tied. I heard them talking about what they planned to get out of me. They had intentions of murdering me if they got to a week of no answers.”

Minho listens to your explanation with hawk-like eyes, paying close attention to all the details and descriptions.

You clear your throat, running your fingers across your bruised wrist, “I was tied to a chair in their questioning room, and they used forms of torture for me to open up.”

“I was deprived of sleep and beaten if they caught me closing my eyes— trying to get my lack of sleep to cause me to open up about your activities.”

Daddy nodded solemnly, leaning into his chair.

“Waterboarding was their favorite method, but they enjoyed beating me. I assume that was mainly for fun.”

You continued, “Minho appeared and killed a couple of them and saved me, but most are still alive.”

“Still alive? You didn’t find and kill them, bodyguard, why?” Daddy’s intense eyes moved toward Minho, who appeared unbothered.

The fact that he missed a few guys is enough to drive him crazy.

“I had to get her to safety as soon as possible.”

Daddy merely nods. “I will send my men after them. Y/N, did you get any names?”

“They wouldn’t tell me anything about themselves, but I saw a couple of signs of their rival gang.”

“Guard,” he veered towards Minho, “Describe the faces that you saw. I need as much information as possible.”

“They look to be between the ages of 20 to 30, their faces covered in scars. One man had dark skin, and his facial scars were faded. His most notable feature was a slit across his brow. He wore a dark suit. I left him alive but with a bullet in his arm. The other man had a lighter skin tone and his scars were similar to knife wounds. He had gotten away.”

The boss nods.

“Good. I can work with that. Never let my little girl get into trouble like that again, alright?”

The second the words ‘my little girl’ leave his mouth, Minho can’t help but gaze at you. He observes your reactions and motions.

His heart beats by hearing his boss call you that, and his attention is now focused on every single twitch that you make.

“The nurses will be waiting in her bedroom shortly. Be good and do as they say.” He adds, snapping Minho back to him.

“Guard, do not let her go against any of the nurses' rules. She can be convincing. Do not give into it.”

“Yes Sir.”

You roll your eyes, turning away to leave the room.

“Stay safe.” That is the last utterance of the boss before you drag Minho out of the room and towards the bedroom.

“Sit on the bed,” a nurse commands you, and you quickly obey.

She dabs at your abdomen stitches with antiseptic soap and your eyebrows furrow.

“You can’t move around much, got it? No exercising for three weeks until we get these stitches out.”

You agree as she moves on to your wrists, rubbing cream into them, “You’re going to visit us twice a day for six days until the healing is almost complete.”

She yanks a bandage off of your face, causing you to groan in pain. She rubs another ointment on it before substituting it with fresh dressing.

Minho supervises each step that the nurse takes, noticing how she takes care of your body as if it’s her most precious gift.

She turns to Minho, “I need you to make sure that she’s well rested, drinking enough water, and not doing many straining activities. Take her back here once again in the evening, and then we will see her again this time tomorrow morning, got it?”

“Yes, I will take care of her.”

“What about him, nurse?” You eye the small cuts across his face and hands.

She smiles and leans over to you. “He is well trained. Trust me, he’ll survive a few scratches.”

Your eyes narrow. “I order you to treat his wounds to the best of your abilities.”

She sighs. “Yes ma’am.”

She moves towards Minho and checks his wounds, patching the ones that were newly caused. She brushes his face softly with an ointment.

“I don’t like it when my guards don’t keep up a good appearance,” you try to explain away your worry for him, “and being injured will only slow you down when protecting me.”

The man stares straight ahead, listening carefully. “I’m fine. I’ll recover just fine. I don’t need much care as you do.”

“Let her rest now,” the nurse tells Minho, “order the maids to bring her a glass of water and have her sip on it until lunchtime.”

Once she leaves, Minho turns towards you, “I’ll make sure the maids bring you water. You need to stay hydrated”

Once water is on your table, your gaze returns to Minho

“Now, I order you to sit down on my bed with me.”

He examines you with a neutral expression and waits for you to say what you mean, not wishing to assume or take anything wrongly.

“Sit down with me,” you demand again, patting the spot beside you, waiting for him to follow suit.

As soon as you ask him to, Minho does not waver. He sits down beside you, body brushing your own.

You turn to meet his cold expression with intensity. “Do you like your job so far?

Minho is taken off guard by your switch of topic. He stays where he is sitting, but turns his body as well and faces you.

“I enjoy my duties.”

“Good. Because I’m fond of you. You’re handsome, and you are good at your job.”

He stares at you with slight surprise. “Thank you.”

Your hands grab for his, playing with the ring on his finger.

Then, you reach your hands higher, tugging his sleeve up to reveal a cluster of scars littered across his forearm.

“How long have you been in the business?”

“Since I was fourteen. I was trained from a very young age.”

“Have you always been in Daddy’s family?”

“I was loyal to your Daddy from the moment I knew what this life was like. I haven’t had a moment of doubt.”

“Good. That means you won’t leave us, right?”

“I will serve your family until my last breath. You have nothing to fear about that.”

“What a good boy,” you reach to ruffle his hair, landing a swift kiss on his sliced cheek. “That’s exactly what I like to hear.”

Minho stiffens.

“I order you to take off your jacket. I want to see your body. To see if you’re strong enough to be a good guard.”

Your words are sharp as a knife and they cut deep through his defense system. His jaw clamps and his breathing accelerates.

Minho swallows his breath, nodding his head. His movements are rigid, starting to cautiously peel off his jacket. It takes him a moment to unbutton it, but once his jacket is off, he stays there, waiting.

You slide his jacket to the floor, touching the muscles of his bicep through his button-down. “You’re fit. That’s good.”

Minho yearns for you to keep feeling him. To keep praising him. He swallows. Your words sound like a honey trap to him, and it’s working as intended.

“I order you to take off your tie.”

“Yes.”

That is all that he says, slowly slipping his tie from underneath his collar and tossing it aside.

Unexpectedly, you’re climbing on top of his body. “Take off your button-down.”

He unbuttons his shirt as your eyes sear into his chest. He is now only wearing a black undershirt.

“So many clothes,” you sigh out, groping his bare arms. You run your hands across his biceps, listening to him shudder underneath the touch.

“Take off your undershirt now. I want to see your chest.”

You can feel the heat radiating off him as he shivers. His body is now sensitive, and your hands are making it worse for him.

Your orders are evident, and he hastily lifts off his undershirt, waiting for what is next.

You can see his whole chest with all of its blemishes, with every muscle covered in sweat, exposed for you.

Your hands travel down his chest and abdomen, feeling each ragged scar with your bruised fingers. The delicate contact causes his breath to catch and a soft groan leaves him, fighting to not show that he relishes in your touch.

“Let me kiss you.”

He stares at you for a moment before his eyebrows slightly shift— his way of showing you that he approves of that request.

Minho leans in slightly and closes his eyes, gently placing a timid kiss on your lips.

You smirk against him, pushing him to lie against the bed frame and deepening the kiss. Your hands reach for his dark hair, clasping a handful in your grip.

He kisses you deeply and wraps his arms around you to pull you in closer, offering full control to you. His breath speeds up.

You pull away after a moment, lips brushing against his as you catch your breath, but only for an instant before moving towards his jaw, sucking marks onto his skin.

Minho quivers at your touch, his breathing speeding up once more as you leave red and purple blemishes on his skin. He bites his lip to stop himself from groaning.

Your mouth moves from his jaw to his neck, leaving kisses and hickeys all across him, making sure that he is covered in them.

Your hips grind against him, breathing heavily with anticipation as you make your way to his chest.

Your hands and mouth are touching all of him, and each sensation triggers a reaction that he tries to conceal.

Your lips hover back to his lips, staring at him longingly. “Do I have to command you for you to do anything to me? You don’t have to ask. You have my permission. Do whatever you want.”

You can see his gaze shifting from your eyes to your mouth, to your neck, and then towards your chest.

You swiftly lift yourself off of him to let him remove your dress, leaving your body as bare as his own.

You grasp onto his neck, bringing him in for another deep kiss. Minho remains silent as he kisses you, allowing you to leave him as many marks as you desire.

“What are you thinking, Minho? Speak to me.”

He takes a moment, letting out an unstable breath. “I’m thinking of what you are doing to me. I,” he stammers, “I want to make you feel good.”

“Then do it. Please.”

“I don’t want to harm you,” he breathes out, “you’re injured.”

“The nurses said to not do,” Minho presses his eyes shut as you bring your hips up to meet his, “fuck, anything straining.”

“Remember what Daddy said? I can be convincing.” You sneer as your bodyguard fails to keep his cool composure, but the aching cock pressing into you is giving his true desires away.

You eye his internal struggle between following your orders and his cravings, or the nurse and his boss.

“I don’t want to hurt you. I can go relieve myself in the bathroom.”

“I like being hurt.”

You notice his lip twitch at the comment, and you decide to provoke him further, grinding into him, and set a steady rhythm with your hips.

He groans as his head drops back, tugging onto your hair and trying desperately to control his breath, “Please, Y/N, I just want to take care of you.”

“You can take care of me in another way.”

“I need to follow orders.”

“Then I order you to fuck me.”

His eyes pinch shut as he tries to clear his head and reason with himself.

Perhaps if he were gentle, it would be alright.

But how long could he remain gentle when you were splayed out in front of him, willing to take anything that he gave to you?

He made his decision, gripping your shoulders gently and flipping you, pinning you to the bed, and surveying your face for any discomfort.

When he finds none, he impatiently unclasps his belt, throwing it to the floor along with his dress pants, leaving him in just his boxers.

You hold yourself up by your elbows, thighs pressed together and mouth watering at the man in front of you.

His hands were delicate, although they could easily snap you in half, as he unclasped your bra, leaving your top half bare.

Minho stopped to take in the view for a moment before grabbing at one of your breasts, his mouth attaching to the other.

Your whines were like music to him— something that he wanted to hear more of.

Your back arched in pleasure as he moved one hand down to your thigh, caressing it for a moment before slowly slipping his hand into your panties.

“Try to stay quiet, darling, I don’t want any staff checking on us,” He hushed you with his lips attaching to your own once again, feeling your wetness all over his calloused hands.

His thumb brushed against your clit and you whimpered into his mouth, clenching around nothing.

Minho then plunged two fingers deep inside of you and curled them. He was becoming lost in pleasing you, overlooking his own ache between his legs.

Your thighs shook beneath him, feeling him brush against your g-spot brutally. “Minho please, please just fuck me. I want you inside of me so bad.”

At your request, he slipped his fingers out, feeling your cries against his lips from the loss of friction.

“Yes ma’am.” He pulled away from your lips, replacing them with his now dripping fingers, lapping it up with his tongue.

Next, your ruined panties were yanked off of you, with his boxers soon to come after.

One hand gently relaxes on your hips, cautious to avoid aggravating your injuries as he uses the other to guide himself inside of you, a deep groan followed by your whines.

He gives you a moment to handle the stretch, but you hardly need it, already begging for him to move.

Minho cautiously thrusts, taking in a deep breath and furrowing his eyebrows in concentration. 
This is the ultimate test of patience for him. He needs to be as gentle as possible with you.

Ultimately, he sets a slow pace, hands locating themselves on either side of you, letting out uneven breaths as he tries to control himself from how good you feel around him.

“You really do care, don’t you?” Your hand reaches to cup his face, gazing into his eyes that are hazy with pleasure.

He keeps his response short, too concentrated on the waves of bliss through each thrust, “I do care.”

“Is it because you’re my bodyguard or something more?”

You study him, watching his adam’s apple move as he swallows deeply, inhaling sharply. He halts his thrusts for a brief instant.

“Both, maybe. I can’t tell.”

That was enough for you to continue, grabbing another handful of his hair and bringing him in for another hungry, deep kiss.

With each deep thrust, Minho’s mind got hazier and hazier, losing himself to pleasure bit by bit. You could feel it by the way his rhythm became rough and desperate, and his pace picked up.

One of his hands left your side, creeping towards your throbbing clit, causing you to let out sobs, all of which he ate up with his mouth against your own.

“Are you gonna cum for me?” He coos, knowing that you’re too lost in bliss to respond.

He takes your whines as a ‘yes’, his thumb rubbing circles faster, coaxing your orgasm out of you.

Your walls fluttered around him, squeezing your eyes closed and letting out a lengthy, drawn-out moan as his pace picked up even further.

“Just like that. You’re so good for me, so, so good, fuck,” he talked you through your orgasm between his thrusts, chasing his own high.

His brows crease, hips stuttering at how good it felt to have you gripping so tightly onto his cock. Finally, he let go, his load spilling inside of you and seeping out.

Both of you took an instant to catch your breath, coming down from your highs.

His hands slowly traced your curves in contentment, paying attention to the way your chest rose and fell.

Finally, he has a justification to gape at your body up close.

From your jawline to your hickey-covered chest, down to your bruised sides and stitches near your abdomen, and— Oh fuck.

Your wounds.

Minho slowly pulls away, feeling a sense of post-nut clarity and fright.

His hand slides away from your body, staring at you with concern.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, your own anxiety suddenly displayed on your face, “Do you regret it?”

“No! No,” He panics, “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?“

Back in reality now, your wounds ache and your head pounds with exhaustion and overexertion.

His mind calculates the solutions to the situation— ways to explain to the nurses, to fix you, to help you feel better.

It was his shortcoming, after all. He let his urges get to him.

“Let’s run you a bath.” He pulls himself up, tugging on his boxers and heading towards the bathroom.

You hear the tap turn on, lying in bed trying to catch your breath. Your breath is harsh from both adrenaline and pain, but you can’t help but feel as though the latter is more of the cause.

You had slept with a small handful of men, primarily Daddy’s men, but none of them were quite like Minho.

He was tough but breakable. He was still kindhearted at his core— something that wasn’t all that common in the business.

You could tell from the way that he ran the bath, bare muscles glistening from sweat, running his hand through the water to make sure that it was the ideal temperature. How concerned he was about your protection, even through his pleasure.

Not many other men that you’ve met throughout your life have been the same way.

You’re quite fond of the man that you have just met.

You hear the water shut off and footsteps coming towards the room. He holds a faint smile as his steps come towards the bed. Your gaze slowly wanders to his physique.

“It’s ready for you.” He says in a slight whisper.

“I order you to pick me up and bring me to the bath.”

He nods at your order, hooking his arms underneath your thighs and back, his strong grip securing you.

You inhale the powerful stench of gunpowder stuck to his skin, finding comfort in your bodyguard’s presence.

“Will you wash my hair?”

Studying his expression, it’s hard to read, but you let him carry you and place you into the water.

‘I do care,’ you recall his words.

‘Is it because you’re my bodyguard or something more?’ ‘Both, maybe. I can’t tell.’

Perhaps you had feelings for the man, especially while he massaged shampoo into your scalp with tough hands, making sure to rub your temples.

“Have you ever been a bodyguard before?”

When Minho hears your question, he hums while he proceeds to wash you, working on scrubbing the areas where he touched you earlier. “No, you’re the first one I’ve been a bodyguard for.”

“I did things for your father before this. Not as a bodyguard, a more, I guess, dangerous role,” he dismisses the question.

“Is that so?” You fall to silence as he continues to wash you, taking his time and guaranteeing that he gets every part. He hesitates when he washes around your injuries— every stroke and movement of his hands is smooth and temperate.

“Let me relax for a minute alone,” you murmur, “You should put your clothes back on, the maids should be here any moment to take my order for lunch. They won’t find it suspicious that I’m bathing, but they will question why you’re with me.”

Minho nods and pulls away from your body.

He stands up and his feet splash on the wet floor. He takes a double take at your closed eyes.

The way your body floats in the bath is something that catches his attention. You look very pleasing in such a vulnerable position.

He leaves the room, cracking the door to make sure that you are safe.

Minho buttons up his wrinkled shirt, pulling the jacket over it and smoothing it out to ensure that nobody suspects anything.

Minho’s eyes turn to the maid who enters the room with the ring of a bell.

His demeanor is unfazed, a hand on the gun in his pocket once more. He holds eye contact, his stare intense.

He would make sure that there wasn’t another incident.

“Where is Miss Y/N?”

“She is bathing at the moment.”

She nods, walking towards the bathroom and knocking on the door.

You hum, allowing her to enter.

“What would you like for lunch, ma’am?”

“I don’t know, surprise me.”

A few seconds go by as you immerse yourself entirely in the water before rising back to the surface.

“Minho,” you call out, “What would you like?”

You hear the faint sigh that Minho gives as a response back to your question.

“I’ll just have a sandwich or something, whatever you have is fine.” He replies to both you and the maid as she exits the bathroom, fulfilling her duty of reporting your lunch choice.

The bedroom door shuts behind her.

“Minho!” You call out once again, “I order you to take me out of the bath.”

A few seconds pass before you hear Minho’s footsteps come near the bathroom once again. He grabs a towel as you stand, body bare and dripping with water.

His eyes have an intense focus as he reaches out his hand.

Minho pulls you up from the bath wraps the towel around you, making sure to cover all of you, and begins to dry off your hair.

“Minho,” you begin, “Daddy can’t know about what happened. He’d shoot you dead on the spot.”

Minho pauses for a moment, his eyes darting across the floor.

He is silent for a moment. “I won’t reveal anything to him.”

“Good boy,” you cling to the towel covering your body, “Go fetch a maid to dress me. While she does so, I want you to change out of that suit and shower before lunch.”

“Then I’ll go shower now. I’ll be back.”

You hum in agreement, stepping towards your bedroom as a maid rings the bell.

You drop your towel, letting her sift through your drawers to find decent clothing.

She eyes a hickey on your breast, along with the other injuries across your body from the kidnapping.

“Your injuries look agitated, Miss Y/N, are you sure that a bath was the best idea for you?”

“Don’t question me,” you grumble, “I took a bath because I wanted to.”

“Yes, miss.” She pulls the dress above your head smoothes it out, and clasps a necklace behind your neck.

“You’re all set for lunch.”

The moment that you come out of your room, you can feel his presence. He is leaning against the front door of the room with an unreadable expression.

He has another suit on, a fresh one. Minho’s previously muskier, dark scent has been replaced by a new, sweeter fragrance.

“First shower at the estate?” You question, “Our soaps are quite lovely and mild on the skin. You smell wonderful.”

Minho’s lips curl at the compliment, looking you up and down, “Seems that we both are putting our best foot forward.”

You look around to see if anyone is watching before leaning to ruffle his damp hair and leave a kiss on his cheek, taking the man by complete surprise. He makes an effort to regain his composure, but you can see that his cheeks are blushed from the touch.

As soon as you lean in to lock arms, you feel him lean over to you to whisper something.

“I would love to do that with you again.”

You froze in your spot, heat rushing to your thighs.

You must regain your composure, caught off guard by his blunt words, something unlike the ordinary nature of Minho.

He takes a seat across from you, watching every move that the maid makes to be sure that she doesn’t try anything— he has learned his lesson.

“Pressed Italian Picnic Sandwiches and tea,” The maid states, setting the plates on the table.

You scrunch my nose up. “What’s in it?”

“Artisanal prosciutto, aged provolone, and sun-dried tomatoes inside of a crusty ciabatta,” She doesn’t hesitate to list the ingredients, “and a fragrant blend of rare loose-leaf teas with fresh cream and sugar cubes.”

She sets the teapot and cups out, along with a carton of cream and a bowl of sugar cubes.

Minho’s hand rests on his gun, waiting for her to leave before taking a sip of tea.

You follow his action, dumping a couple of cubes into your tea and bringing it to your lips.

I finish my lunch with Minho.

“Let’s go back to my room now. I'm exhausted.”

Minho nods his head and you both finish up the meals quickly.

You both leave the dining area and stroll back to your bedroom.

As soon as you get back into the room, you feel Minho close the door behind you.

You don’t hesitate to climb into bed and lie down.

The guard looks over at you, observing the way that your chest rises and falls as you breathe. He notices every movement that your body is making.

“I command you to lay down with me.” You lean back against the bed, your body still and eyes focused on his unmoving body.

He slips off his shoes silently, slipping into the canopy bed.

You grin, curling at his side, pressing against his body.

His breathing is deep and steady as he struggles to get into a more comfortable position.

Your mind began racing with questions about the mysterious man that you were slowly falling for, burying yourself further into the sheets.

“Minho,” you start slowly, “How did you become tangled with our family?”

Minho stays silent for a few moments and you feel his body shift a little against yours.

“I didn’t have a lot of money or family growing up,” he kept his answer short and simply, “the moment that this job came my way, I took it. The people connected to this business have always stayed on the down low, so this is an easy job to keep."

“Daddy seems to like you,” you grit your teeth.

Minho turns to you on the bed and sits up a little. He looks at you from top to bottom, reading the worry on your face with ease.

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

“He will kill you on the spot if he finds out. He’s done that to almost every man who has flirted or slept with me.”

You pause for a moment. “God forbid the one he hired as my bodyguard.”

“I am not so easily killed.” The words leave his mouth with a tinge of arrogance.

“I trust you.”

“Good.”

There is stillness between you both for a time, but he breaks it by grabbing your chin and leaning in to kiss you. You soothe into his touch, smiling against his lips briefly before he pulls away.

“I order you to stay here. Like this.”

It’s not difficult for you to drift off to sleep beside him, and as always, Minho pursues your request, keeping a close eye on you. You relax, your breathing slow, and he notes all of the occasional twitches and movements that you make in your sleep.

A couple of hours later, the door is knocked on by a maid.

“Dinner order?”

Minho jolts awake from the knock on the door, a hand swiftly placed on your shoulder to protect you from any threats before turning his head towards the noise.

His voice is full of sleep. “Repeat that?”

As she opens the door, there is a look of inquiry on her face, one that she won’t ask to ensure her job and health.

“Is she asleep?” She questions instead, glancing over at your peaceful figure.

He turns his head towards you to double-check, observing your napping body.

“Yes.”

“Alright. I’ll advise the chef to prepare her dinner later tonight.”

She gives a sharp nod to the guard and scurries out of the room, quietly shutting the door to not disturb the girl.

Minho’s eyes rest on the door for a moment, fully alert now with a hand resting on his gun.

Eventually, he turns over to you. He has his eyes on you for a few seconds before leaning down to kiss you on the forehead, letting out a small sigh.

You stir at the warm touch, scrunching your face up and stretching your body.

“What time is it?” You ask groggily before burying your head into his neck.

“Dinner is in about half an hour. You hungry?”

“Not really,” you pull yourself up and rub your sleep-filled eyes.

He notices your body shiver as you pull yourself up. Minho lets out a short exhale.

“Did you sleep?”

“A bit.” He doesn’t look away or turn his head as he admires the way you stand and stretch your body, smoothing your dress of its wrinkles.

You walk towards your vanity mirror, plopping down in the chair to readjust your necklace to the center. A few marks on your collarbone catch your eye.

“The nurses will be in shortly.” You grit your teeth. “I hope they don’t notice.”

“They won’t notice.”

His figure can be seen from behind you in the reflection of the mirror. His lips are turned upwards as he watches you fix your appearance.

You pull out a couple of foundations and concealers, working on concealing the marks left from earlier.

“The maids wouldn’t, but the nurses will tell the difference between a hickey and a bruise. Especially since these are fresh.”

Even though you are busy with your makeup and covering up the bruises, Minho’s eyes are never off of you. It is a feeling that you will have to get used to— always having a watchful eye on you.

Once you were satisfied with the coverage, you rose from your seat quickly.

“Get up, we’re going to dinner.”

“So bossy.” He retorts. “What will you have?”

“I want to go out, let’s go somewhere fancy. Daddy will pay.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You want to go out when you have had a beating just two days ago?”

He asks it like he thinks it’s an absurd idea, almost condescendingly, yet his tone of voice is soft and full of concern for you, causing your stomach to flip inside out.

“I’m tired of staying inside already. This estate is suffocating,” you pull on your slip-on shoes.

“That’s how I got myself into this mess in the first place. I left the house and got kidnapped. That won’t happen with you here.”

“I guess you’re right. We’ll go somewhere nice.”

“Good. I’ll go tell Daddy.” You leave the door open for Minho to come after but don’t wait for him, yet you can tell that he follows behind silently, attending to the way your body moves in the dress as you make your way down the halls.

The door is slightly ajar, so when you knock, it pushes open with a creak, revealing your father inside.

Minho stands behind you like a shadow, his lips pressed into a straight line, gaze locked on your father, keeping his distance from the both of you.

“Come inside,” the older man invites both of them with a welcoming grin, “sit.”

You can sense that your father has something on his mind, which is never a good sign.

“I was going to call you to my office shortly, anyway.” Instantly you assume the worst.

You sit down, taking a seat in front of him. Minho is still standing in the back, his priority on you and your father.

The man looks over at Minho. Their eyes lock for a moment. “Guard, go lock the door. There is a conversation that needs to be had.”

Minho nods and he turns his head, locking the door behind him.

He turns his attention back to you, who is frozen in your seat, breath hitching.

The elite man fiddles with a pen at his desk, clicking it to drown out the tense silence.

The silence in the room seems so heavy that you wonder how neither you nor Minho is feeling sick. Judging by the thick atmosphere between the three of you, it is easy to tell that he isn’t pleased right now.

He fidgets with the pen and you wait for him to finally speak.

“Do you find my daughter to be precious, Guard?” He addresses Minho with a stern voice, finally setting the pen down at his wooden desk with a smack.

“Yes sir,” Minho replies flatly.

“Are you willing to protect her at all costs, even at your life?”

After moments of silence, he answers back confidently. “Yes sir. I am.”

A hand comes to rest at his side, toying loudly with a handgun, which he eventually pulls out of his pocket.

Tears begin to well up in your eyes, yet Minho stays concentrated. There isn’t a single sign of fear on his face. He is unshaken, calm, and collected as if he had been foreseeing this exact scenario.

“Do you know why you were assigned to guard my daughter, Minho?”

“I know the reasons.”

“There was a leak to the rivals from a previous staff member that I had a precious daughter in my life,” He turns towards you, “the one that I had climbed to the top of my career to protect and assure her safety and security.”

He cleared his throat before darting back to Minho, “It took less than a day for her to be taken from my hands and placed in the hands of one of my greatest enemies.”

Minho pays attention to every word that he speaks and clears his throat, waiting for your father to continue.

“I care for my daughter more than anything in the world. Which is why I had appointed the most valuable, honest, and competent man in the family to ensure her protection.”

Minho nods.

“Please don’t kill him, Daddy.”

The boss meets you with cold eyes, disregarding your words to proceed with his lecture. “You are my most prized possession. I would hurt anyone or anything to make sure that not a single person touches you. The men who kidnapped you are all taken care of, wiped out by my command.”

He continues. “I know everything that goes on in your life. Every meal, every kiss, every injury, the staff must report every minor thing that occurs in your day. I have eyes on you at all times, and you’re more than aware of that.”

Your shoulders stiffen. He knew.

“Minho,” his stare is burning into the other man, “I’ll get to the point. Did you sleep with my daughter?”

He doesn’t blink. His body tenses up and his voice remains neutral.

“Yes.”

The boss turns the safety off of his firearm and you dig your head into your hands, unable to observe the scene that is about to unfold.

The gunshot is fired, but the man deliberately aims to the left of Minho, grazing his cheek with the bullet before standing up instantly from his seat. The guard doesn’t react with more than a blink as the blood pools at the cut.

“I trust you, Minho. You are a good man. If there is a single person who I would choose to give my daughter to, it would be you.��

Finally, Minho takes this as a sign to let his guard down for a moment as his shoulders drop, lip quivering slightly. It was evident that there was more emotion that the guard was holding back, especially when he took a moment to look away.

“You have my approval.”

Your eyes widen.

“Take care of my daughter. If you break her heart, I’ll feed your own heart to her for supper.”

“Understood.”

“Take her to dinner,” a wad of cash is pulled out from one of the drawers, “buy her flowers and anything else that she asks for.”

“Yes sir.” He responds, “I’ll make sure that she gets the treatment that she deserves.”

You run to embrace your father, to which he places an arm around you, rubbing your back before pulling away.

“Get yourself dressed more sufficiently, I will have a car ready for you soon.”

Minho follows you out of his office, letting out a breath that he had been holding in once the door was closed.

“Did you hear that?” Do you know what this means?” You beam at the man before grabbing at his cheeks and pulling him in for a kiss.

He lets out a surprised noise, hesitantly wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing back.

When you break the kiss, he stares back at you with the first big smile that you’ve seen from him displayed on his face.

“Let’s get you ready.”

[aceecee]

Insatiable - Chapter Three

TW: mentions of reader gaining healthy weight (implied that you have started to go back to your own weight), trauma effects from years of torture and starvation, obsessive and possessive behaviour, mute reader and not by choice

AN: not my best writing, it's a little choppy but I still think it has good bits

WC: 4.1K

Masterlist

Perhaps she was the apology he needed from this cruel world.

Your first year after your rescue had gone surprisingly well. You’ve settled into your new life well.

You had knocked on the door when you were ready and the two of you proceeded to have a one sided conversation, since you know your throat was slashed wide open so you couldn’t even talk. Just a reminder.  

~~~

He found himself glaring at the girl before him. At least she had the inkling to look a little sheepish at the development. He softens a little at the sight of you bundled up in the bed you had woken up in. The coldness of the room had begun to take its toll on your weak body, the temperature was adjusted accordingly. He knows it’s not your fault, that you’re just a victim but he needs something to blame and unfortunately you’re the only one around. 

“Wait here,” he tells you gruffly. He leaves the room to find a tablet so you could type your thoughts. But then he remembers how small your wrist had been in his hand, would you even have the strength to type? He pushes those thoughts away, he can’t afford to be gentle right now. It would just have to do. When the doctor wakes up, he’d have him examine you to determine if this was temporary or permanent. 

He comes back with a tablet which you take with no questions. It pleases him that you’re aware of your purpose. However, that’s quickly shot down.

“What’s the name of the organisation that took you?”

[I don’t know.] 

“Why did they take you, specifically?”

[I don’t know. I think it’s to do with my evol.]

“What is your evol?”

[I don’t know. I was told I could control plants but for some reason it doesn’t let me die.]

“What was their goal?”

[I don’t know. They just tortured me and injected something in me.]

When you hear a huff from the man,you want to chuck the tablet at his head. It's not your fault. Did he seriously expect the awful people that did this to you, to tell you every little detail of their plan. 

Oh here’s your daily dosage of the injection. Now just there all pretty while we explain to you why we’re doing this! 

The headache he’d been feeling before had become like a raging storm. The only lead he has, the one he has spent days waiting to wake and she can’t talk. So, he found a solution only to realise she doesn’t even know anything. If he believed in Gods, he would be convinced this was their doing. But no, this world has proven time and time again how much it hates him. 

Did she just roll her eyes at him? 

The girl turns over the tablet to face him, typing away. When it faces him, he sees the words, ‘Dr Patricia Evans’, on it. His eyebrow raises in a silent question.

It’s the doctor that would inject me. I first met her when I was admitted to the hospital after an incident with my evol. I should’ve died but my evol healed me. That’s probably when I was noticed. 

“Why didn’t you just tell me that from the start?”

The tablet in your hands goes flying at the wall, when he sees the words ‘You didn’t ask’ staring back at him. It now lies in pieces on the floor. 

You know you shouldn’t antagonise the very man that saved you from a cruel life and could kill you in fifty different ways but the truth is you’re tired. You’re over this. You didn’t ask to be put inside a damn game. You tried to be better. To be a good person. And look where that got you. 

His anger is scary. He’s staring at you with dead eyes and you can’t read him. Your usefulness has expired and you wonder if he’ll actually succeed in killing you.

You want to go back. Back to those four yellow walls. The realisation sinks in and leaves you mortified. It had become your home. A routine followed that was rarely diverted from. There you could simply sink further into your mind. But here? Here was unknown. Here you had to be awake and aware. 

Maybe he sees your inner struggle or most likely he needs space so you don’t end up like that tablet because he just leaves.

~~~

He comes back an hour later with another tablet and a bowl with porridge. Which you gobble up like the gremlin you are. You were starving!

If there was one thing you kept in both lives, it was always keeping good appearances but a lot changes when you’ve starved for years. You don’t care that he’s eyeing you as you scarf down the food, it’s not you that he’s in love with. Appearances don’t need to be kept when you already look like a rat anyways. 

You hand him back the empty bowl and spoon which he exchanges the tablet with. A scoff escapes him when you hug the tablet close to you.

“I can break as many as I want. I paid for them.”

You don’t respond. 

Oh wait you can’t.

He drags a chair from the corner of the room towards you, the screeching noise causes you to block your ears. Even without your extra sensitivity in your hearing, the noise would cause anyone’s ears to bleed. There’s a smug look on his face to your reaction. Crow bastard… 

He finally sits down in front of you.

“What’s your name?”

The question gives you pause. You can’t trust him. You’re not her. You’re just an unfortunate background character in her story. You begin to type on the tablet.

[You can call me Lilly.]

Unbeknownst to you, he’d seen all your reactions, your inner battle was easy to read. He’s not stupid, he knows the name is fake. But fine, if you want to be difficult, he’ll play along. 

Sylus simply nods and starts to ask more questions, all of which you’re careful in responding to and he makes sure to make you believe that he’s bought your lies.

All the recent drama has you tired and the meal in your stomach isn’t helping, so you find yourself drifting off.

Sylus is left with the familiar sight of you asleep. He stays and watches. 

Bird watching was a hobby of his after all. 

~~~

The doctor was inconclusive on your injury. He was fine after he woke up and despite his fear of you, he still examined you. He had no idea whether your body would heal properly or if you would ever speak again but he told you to rest your voice. You tried to talk after it and all that happened was your throat drying up and blood making its way out of your mouth. You haven’t spoken a single thing in the last year, not even a sound has escaped you. But it’s not of your own volition. 

A lot has changed in the last year. You now have access to his money and resources, so you’re well fed. It took months for your body to accustom to the normal amount of food that should be consumed daily. It hurt to see delicious food in front of you that you physically couldn’t eat. 

~~~

It’s dinner time. As usual you’re scarfing food down like you’re in a competition,

Three pairs of eyes watch you.

“Jeez, you eat like you just got out of prison-oh wait, you kinda did,” Luke says. He doesn't have to take the ugly mask off for you to see the smug grin under his face.

No longer armed with your words, you settle for a death glare instead. 

Sylus snorts, making sure to turn his head away when you give him a look of betrayal. Et tu?

It’s made worse when the third annoyance snatches a bunch of fries off your plate.

[Give that back before I break your fingers.] You type out.

“Don’t wanna, think of it as us helping you with portion control,” Kieran teases, shoving the fries into his mouth.

It’s silent as you furiously type on the tablet. The words are directed to Sylus.

[Can I kill them?]

“No.”

[Pretty please?]

~~~

You’ll forever be grateful to him. You had to watch your body deteriorate and now you get to watch it fix itself. You still remember the ugly tears you had cried when you saw your first weight gain. The sheer elation you had felt gave you hope for the first time in all these years. 

Maybe I’ll be okay. 

You start off each morning by staring at your reflection in the mirror. Your hair now is much longer, it reaches to your knees. One of the first things you had done in this life when growing up was to cut it. Something that mummy and daddy from the previous would’ve never allowed. The thought of growing it out used to gross you but now you’ve decided to stop running from your past. You’ve come to appreciate it long.

It’s healthier too. You’ve started applying oil to it every week, hell you even take hair supplements. It’s nowhere near as thick as it used to be but that's okay, if you’ve learnt anything these last years, it’s the ability to wait. The twins like to braid it from time to time and despite your fear of touch and the dislike of people touching your hair, you let them.

Your face is much fuller. You find yourself turning around and examining every part of your body. You nearly look like you again. It’s the greatest gift you’ve been given.

You try not to think anything of it when Sylus walks by you one day, stopping to give you a once over. He only lets out a hum of content before walking away. (He really likes walking away and you love watching him leave)

Your relationship with him is simply a transaction. He uses your gratefulness to manipulate you, so you’ve become his tool. You’re well aware of it. It was exactly the type of thing you would have done in your first life. Ironic that it is now you who is reduced to a pawn. But you don’t care, you have a purpose now. 

You’ve informed him of every single thing you know about when it comes to your evol. He’d been interested in the fact that you could feel the earth around you. The constant torture had left your body much stronger and as a result your endurance had doubled. You can feel the power inside you now. Plants sway when you walk by and you can feel them and manipulate them to your doing, it’s now as easy as breathing. You can also easily replicate what you had done to your backyard now with ease and to think the very notion had once taken your life.

But you don’t use it. 

You don’t know why but every time you try to, you’re left disgusted. So, its use is only left for emergencies.  

He doesn’t push you to use it either. Yet another thing you have to add to the long list of things you’re grateful to him for.

~~~

You follow the tall man.

If he feels your glare at his back, he says nothing.

Why does he have to be so damn tall???

It’s so difficult keeping up with him. Mr Daddy-Long-Legs is already down the corridor and you’re struggling to keep up with him. You only have one crutch holding you - you’re far too weak to use both - and the asshole isn’t exactly waiting for you. 

He can feel the little bird glaring at him.

He smirks when imagining the look on her face. What a feisty thing she is. Perhaps he’s struck gold.

It was clear that she was not comfortable with the room so a new plan had been devised. She’d live with him and her treatments can continue there. None of this had been told to her but it pleased him greatly when she followed him with no questions. 

He leads her to the car parked outside. Wordlessly, he takes the crutch from her and puts it in the backseat before opening the passenger’s door for her. Following his example, she gets in without a word. 

~~~

You stare in awe at the building in front of you.

It’s exactly the type of building where a vampire would reside.

You had to give it to him, the dragon had taste. 

You’d sooner waste years trying to find a way to die than let him know that. 

He leads you inside and gives you a tour, which you’re happy with since you had been too busy ogling him in the game to notice the surroundings back then. 

To no one’s surprise, his mansion is huge. You have half a mind to ask for a map. He leads you down a long corridor.

“This is your room. Try not to trash it,” he hums. You take time to look him over. He’s wearing a deep red suit.

He hands you something, you look at it. It’s a phone.

“My number is already saved there. Let me know if you need something.”

He’s so damn sexy in that outfit and that deep baritone of his voice isn’t helping. It takes everything you have not to jump him.

Don’t do it girl, it’s so not worth it.

Then he turns around and you find yourself staring at his butt.

No, it’s so worth it.

You really want to bang your head against the wall. This is the thanks you give your saviour??

“Oh and it’s not just you and me in this place.”

If fate had liked you even a little bit, then the white-haired man would not have noticed your mental struggle but the smirk on his stupid handsome face tells you that’s not the case.

You don’t bother acknowledging him, instead you open your room door and walk inside. Making sure to close the door behind you. 

The extra roommates are not a shock, you’re already aware of who they are.

If you could whistle you would. Goddamn the room is amazing. 

As much as you had tried to forget the money from your first life, a part of you felt relief upon seeing his wealth. You had missed it.

Your room in your first life was huge but it lacked soul. You had no happy memories to put on the walls. All your hobbies were ones you despised. You didn’t even bother putting up any trophies won from basketball or the academic awards you had won. Why would you when the right people never cared about them?

The furniture and decorations had been minimalist and not chosen by you. Your mother had called an interior decorator when you turned thirteen, a pudgy woman who hadn’t even talked to you and instead did what your mother wanted. You don’t blame the woman, she just listened to who had the money.

The room you had in this life wasn’t even half as big as your old one but you could tell it was lived in. The people you loved and in turn loved you were all over your walls. You had pride in all the things you had come to accomplish and your parents had entrusted you with the decoration. Something you had involved her in and she proved your judgement right by decorating it to your likes.

A small smile escapes you when you remember the millions of questions she had asked. Your parents had allocated you a budget, so instead of just outright buying the furniture you wanted, the two of you had to be smart and buy second hand. An option that had been entirely new to you. She had even goaded Caleb and…Zayne to help with reassembling everything. All four of you spent your school holidays cooped up in your room, bringing it all together. 

Unbeknownst to them, you had worked at a cafe to save up money for a fancy new place that had opened. You took them there as thanks. The boys dressed up in suits and you two in dresses. The staff had been amused but more than happy to accommodate four children. They had drained your bank account that night and you all had eaten way more than a child’s body could handle. All four of you were at sleep's door when your mother came to pick you up.

Your past self could never imagine having such fun. It’s why you hold that night close to your heart. 

You suppose this is now the third bedroom you’ve had. It’s big and spacious but not plain. There’s a big poster bed right in the middle. Purple silk sheets encase the mattress. You count six pillows on it. The big quilt is made of a fluffy texture, it’s soothing to run your hand over it. You can’t wait to sleep in it. 

There’s two nightstands to the sides of it. Black oak and each has three draws. Even the handles are fancy. You wouldn’t put it past him if they were actual gold. There’s a red velvet ottoman to the foot of the bed, you sit on it and take in the rest of the room. It doesn’t feel real.

There’s a sitting area, two red armchairs right in front of a fireplace. A small coffee table between them. The fireplace isn’t on and while it looks like something from your time, you can see that it’s new tech by the buttons on the side. There’s bookshelves as well but they are empty.

There’s a desk as well. The tech on it looks a little out of place compared to the decor. You had left the phone on there.

The only lights are coming from the vintage lamps on the nightstands but there are lights on the walls. They look like candle holders. There’s various artwork on the walls.

The room has two doors inside it. One is closed but the other is open. It’s a walk in wardrobe and you don’t have to physically go inside to see that it’s huge. There are no clothes in there.

Then the other door must be the bathroom.

Your feet feel the texture of the rug on the floor. Yet another soft thing. Some tears escape your eyes. It all feels so safe. 

How am I supposed to pay him back for all this?

It’s decided to worry about this later when you become all too aware of how grimy you feel. All you had in your cage was a sink to wash yourself and the doctor had wiped you down while you were asleep but that was over a week ago. 

You take a deep breath, will yourself to get up and slowly make your way to the closed door. You’re right, it is a bathroom. It has a cold marble floor and the walls are tiled. There’s a separate bath and shower and while the bath looks really comfortable, you don’t trust yourself to be safe around it. You settle for the shower instead. 

There’s adjustments that can be made to the room on the wall, you turn on the floor warming. Cold isn’t exactly good for your body. 

The bathroom is stocked, the sink cabinet has all sorts of hair tools. There’s skincare in the drawers, pads and tampons and more. The shampoo and conditioner is in the shower. The hospital gown is discarded.

The warm water that cascades down you is a solace. You just stand there, face right under the showerhead and let yourself feel. 

You have no idea how long you were in there but you come out a new woman. You had scrubbed yourself in every nook and cranny. There’s now no doubt that you’re clean. If only you felt that way inside.

You wrap yourself and your hair in a towel. It’s the soft and fluffy kind. You wouldn’t be surprised if it would cost an arm and a leg. Sylus only does the extreme.

The steam from the shower has the mirror all fogged up but it’s fixed with a wipe from your hand. The condensation still remains but you can see the girl in it clearly. It’s a small improvement. 

The start of many, you hope. 

~~~

Thirty minutes later, you’re all dried up and ready for bed. When you had exited your shower, you found a silk shirt and trousers on your bed. The discomfort was brushed off, you don’t mind being watched if you’re taken care of.

You’re in bed a mere five minutes later and despite the insomnia you had developed, you’re out like a light.

The exhaustion of the past years has finally caught up to you.

He watches her sleep on his phone, her peaceful expression puts him at ease. The camera’s had all been placed strategically, he’s excited about whether she’ll discover them. 

It’s dawned on him that she has nothing now and that she’ll have to rely on him satiates the sick man inside him.

“Sleep well, little bird.”

Dream of me.

~~~

It’s 8AM when you wake up the next day.

It’s hard to believe that you have finally gotten a full eight hours of sleep.

You’re not sure if the rest of the house is awake - if you remember right - their operations function at night. 

You’re a slave to your stomach so after quickly washing your face and brushing your teeth, you make your way to the kitchen.

You also spend twenty minutes lost before you find it.

There’s no other words to describe the kitchen other than black and seek, though you suppose many of the rooms fit the description. 

The pantry is stacked and the kitchen has everything. You eye the shaved ice machine and note it for the future. 

A couple of minutes go by with you making a mental note of where everything is.

It’s quiet, the only sounds are of eggs breaking and a spoon clanging against the bowl. The stove is turned on and sizzling can be heard.

You hear footsteps, they are all the way down the hallway. A second pair joins them. They walk in a similar pattern but the second pair drags their feet just a little.

You prepare yourself to meet them.

Amusement fills you at the sight of the two masked men, one wearing a baggy black t-shirt with red plaid trousers and matching slippers with the other wearing a hoodie with black sweatpants.

Do they wear those to sleep?

“Something smells good,” one murmurs. They must still be half-asleep. 

Their bodies perk up when they notice you, standing in front of the stove with the handle of the frypan in your hand and a spatula in the other. 

They stare.

You stare back. 

The staring competition is broken by you looking down to flip the pancake. 

Seems like Sylus hadn’t informed them of your existence. 

It’s still quiet as you plate the pancake. The only other sound is of you sliding it down towards them.

A peace offering.

~~~

Turns out they were aware of who you were and also what you had gone through. It explained their out of character silence in your first meeting. The silence quickly went away when they realised you weren’t as fragile as you thought and could handle them. Then the teasing began.

Your heart tugs when you realise that they’re just kids. No kid with a happy life ends up working for a criminal organisation. You don’t ask about their past and they never talk about it but you have an inkling that you three might have a lot in common. 

It’s why every tease, jab and joke on you never has serious consequences on them. 

Sometimes they catch you watching their antics with a sad look in your eye, almost like you’re reminiscing. They don’t inquire about it. 

~~~

Your first meeting with Mephisto isn’t anything special.

Sylus introduces him to you and to his shock, the bird lands on your shoulder.

The two of you share a look.

You nod at him.

He nods at you.

And just like that you become fast friends. He’s the only one you allow to touch you and the only one you give affection to. 

~~~

A year goes by fast.

You spend it recovering and learning the ins and outs of Onychinus. You’re not able to fight yet but your intellect is something to be desired. You end up becoming an accountant of sorts. All four of you learn how to use sign language as well. A reprieve, communication is much easier now.

It all changes after Sylus calls you into his office.

[03jyh23]

💬⌇like i need you part one┆ jeong yunho

│part of goes to waste the series based on my favourite keshi songs

│listen here

│part two

non-idol!yunho x non-idol!reader

│synopsis: yunho's love for you burns fiercely. as lovers turned exes, he's left shattered when you leave, moving out of the apartment you once shared. his nights become a blur of desperation, calling you relentlessly, begging for another chance.

│genre: lovers to exes, angst

│(!)trigger warnings:  alcohol abuse, smoking cigarettes, emotional abuse, panic attacks, mental health issues, toxic relationships, vomiting, self-destructive behavior, emotional trauma

│words: 6.1 k

│reminder: what you’re about to read is purely fiction, so let’s keep it separate from reality.

!minors do not interact!

— hi there! after an unholy amount of time I decided to continue with goes to waste series, i missed writing pure angst so much so... enjoy!!

love, mon♡

│taglist: @skittyneos │ @kyeos4ng │ @vcutparis │ @hoeforalbedo │

│ @ateezswonderland │ @jycas│ @velvetskize │ @e3ellie │

│ @sertralinehoe │

"Yunho, we’re better off alone," you said with a voice that trembled as you were packing your suitcase in a hurry. "I can't do this anymore," you choked out the urgency to leave was overwhelming; you needed to get out of this apartment. The suffocating weight of guilt and pain made every breath a struggle. Your perfect life with him had become a beautiful prison, and you were desperately clawing your way out. Yunho was crying, his pretty eyes red and swollen from the endless stream of tears. Despite his emotional turmoil, his breathing remained eerily calm, almost as if he had resigned himself to this moment. Each piece of clothing you hastily stuffed into your suitcase, Yunho took out and threw on the floor, his actions a silent but desperate plea for you to reconsider. The room was filled with a tense silence, broken only by the sound of clothes hitting the floor and the occasional sniffle from Yunho.

"I need you to stay," he said, his voice determined as he grabbed your wrist to stop you from taking any more of your belongings. His grip was firm but not painful, a testament to how desperately he wanted to hold on to you. "Please," he whispered, his voice breaking as he grabbed your wrist. His touch was tender despite his desperation. "Baby, please don't go. Whatever I did, I'll fix it. I'll be better, I swear to fucking god, I'll do anything." The raw pain in his voice made your heart shatter into a million pieces. The intensity of his gaze bore into you, pleading for you to reconsider, to see the love and pain in his eyes. The room seemed to shrink around you, the walls closing in. His voice wavered slightly as he continued, "Please, don't leave. We can work this out." The sincerity in his tone was undeniable, "I don’t even know what I did wrong, please talk to me," Yunho said, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions.

"I feel like I'm drowning, Yunho," you confessed, your voice barely audible. "Every day, I wake up and I don't recognize myself anymore. I've lost my dreams, my ambitions... I've become nothing but your girlfriend, and it's killing me." The words felt like poison on your tongue, but they were the truth you'd been avoiding for months.

"That's bullshit!" Yunho's voice cracked with emotion. "I've never tried to stop you from being yourself. I've supported every fucking dream you've ever had!" His free hand clenched into a fist, but even in his anger, his grip on your wrist remained gentle. "Four years, baby. Four fucking years of building a life together, and you're just going to throw it all away? Throw me away?” His eyes blazed with a mix of anger and desperation, his free hand clenching and unclenching as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. "You will either tell me the truth or you are not leaving," Yunho said, his voice firm and unwavering. The intensity in his eyes bore into yours, making it clear that he wouldn't back down. "I can't let you walk out of my life without understanding why. Don’t you think I deserve to know the truth?" His grip on your wrist tightened slightly, not out of anger but out of sheer desperation. "Please, just tell me the truth," he pleaded, his voice softening as he searched your eyes for any sign of honesty. "I need to know why you're doing this. I need to understand."

"You're suffocating me with your love," you whispered, tears streaming down your face. "You're so perfect, so goddamn perfect that I can't breathe. Every time I fail, you're there to catch me. Every time I fall, you pick me up. How am I supposed to grow when you never let me face anything on my own?"

Yunho's eyes widened with realization and hurt. "So loving you too much is my crime?" His voice was soft, broken. "Baby, if you need space, I'll give you space. If you need time, take all the time in the world. Just... please don't leave like this."

"It's not that simple," you said, your voice trembling. "I need to find myself again, and I can't do that when every part of my life is intertwined with yours. I wake up to you, I fall asleep to you, I breathe you, I dream you. I've lost myself in you completely."

"Then let me help you find yourself again," he pleaded, his eyes full of unconditional love despite the pain you were causing him. "We can figure this out together. I'll do anything, be anything you need. Just don't throw away everything we have."

"That's exactly the problem," you whispered, gently pulling your wrist from his grip. "You'd sacrifice everything for me, and I can't bear that responsibility anymore. I need to learn to stand on my own two feet."

Yunho took a step back, his hand falling away from your wrist. He looked like he wanted to say something, to argue, to plead with you to stay, but no words came out. Instead, he just stood there, stunned and heartbroken. Yunho looked more vulnerable than you'd ever seen him. "I love you so fucking much it hurts," he finally said, "And if leaving is what you need... if it will make you happy... then go. But know that I'll be right here, waiting, hoping that one day you'll find your way back to me."

You grabbed your only half-packed suitcase, some of your belongings still scattered on the floor where Yunho had thrown them. He observed you, his broken breaths the only sound in the room. "So you don't love me anymore?" he asked, but you couldn't answer him. You knew if you let yourself think about it, if you let yourself feel, you would stay - and that wasn't an option. At the threshold, you turned back one last time. The sight of him - your beautiful, loving Yunho - standing there with tears streaming down his face, still looking at you with nothing but love and understanding, nearly broke your resolve.

You looked down at the floor, unable to bear the heartbreak etched on his face. "I'm sorry," you said, your voice trembling. "I didn't want it to end like this, but I can't keep pretending. It's not fair to either of us.”

"Please..." his voice cracked with desperation, "Tell me you still love me. Even if it's a lie, just say it one more time." His eyes were pleading, filled with tears as he reached for your hand once again. "I need to hear it. Just once more. Please, baby." The raw vulnerability in his voice made your heart shatter all over again. You couldn't bring yourself to look at him, knowing that if you did, if you saw the love and pain mixing in those beautiful eyes of his, you’d drop your bag and stay.

You finally broke down and started to cry, a lump forming in your throat as you decided to keep silent. Your hand slipped from his grasp, and the loss of contact felt like losing a piece of yourself. The tears streamed down your face as you watched his fingers curl into empty air where your hand had been just moments before. Your silence spoke volumes - it was both your answer and your goodbye.

As you closed the door behind you, the sound echoing through the empty hallway, you could hear his muffled sobs. Each step away from him felt like a knife in your heart, but you kept walking. Sometimes love isn't enough, and sometimes finding yourself means losing the person who helped you become who you are.

"Hi Y/N," loud music in the background makes it hard to understand Mingi's voice through the phone. "Could you please come pick Yunho up?’’ the tone of his voice makes it clear that something bad happened, and your mind starts racing with scenarios. "I don't know what’s gotten into him, but he's been drinking non-stop and has already poured liters of alcohol into himself. I've tried everything to get him to leave with me, but he refuses."

"Did he tell you what happened?" you asked as you got up from the sofa, taking the towel off of your freshly washed hair. The urgency in Mingi's voice made your heart pound faster, and you couldn't ignore the knot of worry tightening in your chest.

"All night he didn't say much," Mingi replied, his voice strained. "Just kept mumbling your name and saying he needed you. Please, just come. I'm worried about him." You could hear the genuine concern in Mingi's voice, and it spurred you into action.

"I even called San to help," Mingi added, "You know he's fucking strong but even he couldn't force Yunho up. Poor guy’s so tired he's skipping gym tomorrow. If only Yunho wasn't so goddamn tall, San would've easily picked him up and left with him on his back." Mingi's frustration was palpable, and it only added to the sense of urgency you felt to get to Yunho. You felt your heart sink at the thought of him being in such a state. Despite everything that had happened between you, the idea of him suffering tore at your conscience. Your hands trembled slightly as you grabbed your keys.

"Could you bring his coat with you?" Mingi added, his voice tinged with concern though an edge of irritation was starting to creep in. "It's freezing outside, and this idiot came wearing only a denim jacket. He's going to get sick at this rate."

"Mingi, I..." you sighed heavily, fumbling sounds echoing through the phone as you frantically searched for something to wear. Your heart was already racing with anxiety at what you needed to tell him. "I moved out last week."

The silence that followed was deafening. You could practically feel Mingi's shock radiating through the phone. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely controlled, each word carefully measured. "You... you moved out?"

"As in... you moved out from yours and Yunho's apartment? Alone?" Mingi's voice grew increasingly strained with each question. "Only you moved out? He stayed?" The confusion in his voice gave way to something darker, and you could picture him pacing back and forth, running his hand through his hair in frustration as he tried to process this.

"Yes," you replied, "I moved out last week. Yunho and I... we broke up." The words felt like glass in your throat, cutting deeper with each syllable.

Mingi's breathing became audibly heavier on the other end. "I had no idea," he finally said, his voice now ice-cold. "Yeah, then I guess, um... don't bother coming?" The bitterness in his tone was unmistakable, and you could hear muffled cursing as he turned away from the phone.

"Mingi, please," you begged softly, "I can't just leave him like that."

"Well, haven't you already left him?" Mingi exploded, his voice rising sharply. You could hear the raw anger in his words now, no longer bothering to mask his feelings. "You know what's fucking hilarious? My best friend - my brother - had been drowning himself in alcohol all night, and I had no idea why. And now it all makes sense." His voice cracked slightly with emotion. "Yunho loved you, hell he still loves you, more than anything in this world, without a single doubt. Do you even realize that?" Mingi's breath came out in a shaky exhale, and when he spoke again, his voice was trembling with barely contained rage. "You know, he would never, ever leave you," he said, each word deliberate and cutting. "I've watched him pour his entire heart into making you happy. Every single day, he'd talk about you with stars in his eyes. He'd move heaven and earth just to see you smile. And now..." His voice broke. "Now I'm watching him destroy himself because of you, and it's tearing me apart."

The silence that followed was suffocating. You could hear the distant thump of bass music and Mingi's ragged breathing. "Yunho is in a really fucking bad state right now," he continued, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. "And even though every fiber of my being is screaming not to let you anywhere near him again, he needs you."

"So if you ever truly loved him - if any part of what you had was real - you'll come and help him get through tonight," Mingi's voice was now deadly serious. "We're at Newonce. And let me make something crystal clear: if you don't show up, don't even think about trying to talk to him ever again. I swear to god, I won't let you breathe the same air as him after this."

You hurriedly grabbed your coat with trembling hands and rushed out of your apartment, your mind spinning with a mixture of worry, guilt, and fear. You could feel tears welling up in your eyes, and you didn't even know why it was happening. Did your actions really set Yunho on edge? Was he really coping that badly? You felt a knot tighten in your chest, making it hard to breathe. The thought of him in such a state because of you was almost unbearable. You had hoped that leaving would somehow make things easier for both of you, but now it seemed like you had only caused more pain. The tears spilled over, running down your cheeks as you struggled to find the strength to face the consequences of your actions. You frantically waved down a taxi, your hands shaking as you gave the driver directions to Newonce. The ride felt endless, each red light an eternity as your imagination tortured you with images of Yunho's state.

When you finally pushed through the club's doors, the assault of pulsing music and strobing lights felt like a mockery of the heaviness in your heart. You fought your way through the crowd, scanning desperately for familiar faces. Then you saw them - Mingi standing rigidly by the bar, his face etched with concern and barely concealed anger, San leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and an icy stare that cut right through you, and Yunho... Your heart nearly stopped. He was slumped over, looking more broken than you'd ever seen him.

"Yunho," you called out, your voice catching in your throat as you rushed to his side. His head lifted slowly at the sound of your voice, and for a brief moment, his eyes lit up with that familiar warmth that had always been reserved just for you. But then reality seemed to crash back in, and his gaze clouded over with pain and confusion that made your chest ache.

"Y/N?" he mumbled, his voice thick and slurred. "Is it really you baby? Are you really here?"

"Yes, it's me," you whispered, gently placing a hand on his shoulder, trying to ignore how he instinctively leaned into your touch. "Let's get you home, okay?"

Mingi watched the interaction with barely contained fury simmering beneath his concerned exterior. He stepped closer, his tall frame looming over you, eyes dark with warning. "You better take good care of him," he said, his voice low enough that only you could hear. "He doesn't deserve any of this. And if you hurt him again..." He left the threat unfinished, but his meaning was clear. San remained silent throughout the exchange, but his piercing gaze never left you, his usually warm eyes now cold and unforgiving.

You nodded mutely, Mingi's words and San's silent judgment pressed down on you like a physical burden. Together, you helped get Yunho to his feet. San helped you guide him to the waiting taxi, his movements efficient but distant, refusing to acknowledge your whispered "thank you" as you settled into the backseat. Yunho immediately clung to you, his head resting in the crook of your neck, his lips millimeters from your skin, his breath tingling against your collarbone. He looked at you with his big puppy eyes, and you found yourself once again lost in them, unable to tear your gaze away.

"Your hair's wet, baby," he mumbled out, his voice slurred but filled with concern. One of his hands ran through the ends of your damp hair, his touch gentle and familiar. "M-My baby's gonna catch a cold." You felt a lump forming in your throat as you watched him, despite the alcohol coursing through his veins, Yunho's instinct to care for you remained strong. It was moments like these that made leaving him so incredibly difficult.

The drive back to his apartment was filled with a heavy silence, broken only by Yunho's occasional mumbling of your name. Each time he said it, the sound was like a knife twisting in your heart, carrying all the love and pain you'd caused. When you finally arrived, you helped him inside, settling him gently onto the bed that still held so many memories of happier times.

As you looked around the apartment, your heart sank at the state of disarray. Unwashed dishes were piled high in the sink, a reminder of how things had fallen apart. The curtains were drawn tight, casting the room in a gloomy shadow that matched the heaviness in your chest. Your clothes, the ones you'd left behind in your hurried departure, were still scattered across the bed - a t-shirt here, a sweater there, like abandoned pieces of your shared life. On the desk, your framed pictures remained untouched, frozen moments of happiness that now felt like they belonged to different people. Empty soju bottles lay on its side near the bed, and beside it—your heart clenched—sat an ashtray. The sight stole your breath. Yunho had quit smoking the moment you moved in together. Now the scent of cigarettes mingled with his familiar cologne, making your chest ache. The half-filled ashtray revealed how much he'd changed since you left, each stubbed-out cigarette marking his pain.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your vision blurring with tears as you brushed a strand of hair from his face. Your fingers lingered for a moment, remembering countless times you'd made the same gesture in love rather than guilt. "I'm so, so sorry."

As you stood there, battling with your conscience, Yunho's hand suddenly shot out and grabbed your wrist. "Please," he mumbled, his voice thick with need, "just stay with me." Before you could protest, he pulled you down with surprising strength, causing you to fall onto his chest with a soft gasp. His arms immediately wrapped around you, holding you close against him. The familiar warmth of his body enveloped you completely, and you felt yourself melting into his embrace despite your better judgment. His heartbeat thundered beneath your ear, strong and steady, a rhythm you'd fallen asleep to countless times before.

"Just for tonight," he whispered into your hair, his grip tightening slightly as if afraid you'd disappear. "Please, baby... just tonight." The desperation in his voice made your heart ache, and you found yourself unable to pull away from his warmth, from the comfort of being in his arms again.

You knew you should leave, that staying would only make things harder in the morning, but his embrace felt like coming home. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, and even in his drunken state, his touch was gentle, reverent. The scent of his cologne mixed with the trace of alcohol filled your senses, bringing back a flood of memories you'd tried so hard to suppress.

"I miss you," he breathed against your temple, his words slurring slightly. "I miss you so much it hurts." His confession hung heavy in the air between you, raw and honest in a way that only alcohol could bring out. You felt tears prick at your eyes as his words hit home, knowing that come morning, this moment of vulnerability would only add to the pain you both carried.

"Oh god, I am so in love with you," Yunho whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and desperation. His hand traced your jawline gently as if trying to memorize every curve and contour of your face. The warmth of his touch sent shivers down your spine, and you could feel his love and longing in every delicate caress. "I don't know what I'd do without you," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "You've become my everything, and the thought of losing you forever terrifies me."

You felt a lump form in your throat as you listened to his heartfelt confession. The sincerity in his words made it difficult to hold back your own emotions. "Yunho," you began, your voice trembling slightly, "I..."

But before you could finish, he placed a finger on your lips, silencing you gently. "Please," he said, his eyes locking onto yours, "just let me hold you for a little while longer. Let me pretend, even if it's just for tonight, that everything is okay."

You nodded, unable to find the words to express how you felt. As he pulled you into his arms, you buried your face in his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. At that moment, it felt as if time had stopped, and the world outside ceased to exist. All that mattered was the two of you, holding on to each other as if your lives depended on it.

And maybe, in a way, they did.

"I love you so much," Yunho slurred as he leaned closer, his breath hitching with quiet sobs as it mingled with yours, "I... I don't know what I'll do without you," he continued, his voice breaking completely as he struggled to speak through his tears. "It's killing me. It's killing me, and I can't... I can't breathe without you." A heart-wrenching sob escaped his lips. His gaze shifted to your lips, and before you could process what was happening, he closed the distance between you. The kiss was gentle at first, hesitant and tender, filled with all the unspoken words and emotions that had built up between you. His lips were soft against yours, tasting faintly of alcohol, cigarettes, and something uniquely Yunho.

As you melted into the kiss, his hand moved to cup your face, thumb gently stroking your cheek. The familiar gesture made your heart ache with longing. The kiss deepened, becoming more desperate, more needy, as if he was trying to pour every ounce of his love and pain into this one moment.

When you finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Yunho rested his forehead against yours. Tears were streaming down his face again, and you could feel the wetness on your own cheeks. "Please," he whispered brokenly, "please don't let this be goodbye."

You reached up to wipe away his tears, your heart breaking at the sight of his vulnerability. The warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips reminded you of all the reasons you'd fallen in love with him in the first place. At that moment, surrounded by the quiet darkness of an apartment you shared for years and the weight of everything unsaid between you, you found yourself unable to form the words that would either heal or destroy what remained of your relationship.

Instead, you found yourself drawing him closer, letting his warmth envelope you completely as his breathing began to even out. His grip on you remained steady even as sleep started to claim him, and you knew that come morning, everything would be different - but for now, this moment was all that existed. And just like that, you let yourself fall asleep.

Your half-conscious state was violently interrupted as Yunho suddenly jerked upright, the movement nearly throwing your aching body off the bed. Through bleary eyes still heavy from crying, you watched him stumble to his feet. Before your sleep-addled mind could fully process what was happening, he had already bolted to the bathroom, the sound of retching echoing through the apartment.

"Yunho?" You followed him, heart racing with concern. He was hunched over the toilet, his broad shoulders heaving violently as he emptied the contents of his stomach. The sound of his retching echoed off the bathroom tiles, making your chest tighten with worry. Without thinking, you reached out to rub his back in a comforting gesture, but he flinched away from your touch as if it burned.

"Don't," he spat out between heaves, his voice raw and bitter, laced with a pain that went deeper than physical illness. "Just... don't fucking touch me. Not now. Not like this."

The venom in his voice made you take several steps back, your hand still suspended in the air between you. "I'm just trying to help—"

"Help?" He laughed, a hollow, broken sound that seemed to bounce off the walls and pierce straight through your heart. He wiped his mouth with the back of his trembling hand, finally turning to face you. His eyes were clearer now, the alcohol haze replaced by something far more terrifying – complete and devastating clarity. "Where was this fucking help when you walked out on us? When you decided I wasn't enough? When you left me alone with nothing but silence and unanswered messages?"

"That's not... that's not what happened," you stammered, feeling hot tears begin to well up in your eyes, blurring your vision. "You know that's not what happened. It was more complicated than that."

"Do I?" He stood up abruptly, towering over you in the cramped bathroom, his presence filling the small space with an almost suffocating intensity. "Because I don't know shit anymore. I don't know why the person I love more than anything in this goddamn world decided to throw everything away like it meant nothing. I don't know why you're here now, playing nurse to my drunk, pathetic ass, acting like you give a fuck about what happens to me!"

"Of course I give a fuck!" The tears were falling freely now, hot trails down your cheeks as your voice cracked with emotion. "How can you think I don't care? After everything we've been through? I love—"

"DON'T!" he roared, slamming his hand against the wall with such force that the mirror rattled, making you jump backward. "Don't you dare say those words. You lost that right. You lost it when you..." His voice broke, and you could see tears forming in his own bloodshot eyes, threatening to spill over. "Just get out. Please, just... get the fuck out before I completely fall apart."

"Yunho, please," you sobbed, reaching for him desperately, your fingers grasping at empty air between you. "Can we just talk about this? I never meant to hurt you like this—"

"To what?" he cut you off, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that felt more devastating than his shouts. "To come back here and make me feel like the biggest fucking idiot for still being in love with you? For making me think, just for a moment, that maybe there was still hope for us?" He ran his hands through his disheveled hair in frustration, tears now streaming freely down his face, catching in his stubble. "God, I'm such a pathetic piece of shit for still wanting you after everything."

You stood there, chest heaving with uncontrollable sobs, watching helplessly as the man you loved tore himself apart in front of you. The worst part was knowing that you were the reason for his pain, that every tear he shed, every broken word he spoke, was because of choices you'd made, paths you'd chosen to walk away from.

"I said get out!" he shouted when you didn't move, his voice breaking on the last word like shattered glass. "I can't... I can't even look at you right now. Please, just... leave. Like you're so good at doing. It's what you do best, isn't it?"

That final jab felt like a physical blow to your chest, knocking the air from your lungs. You stumbled backward, barely able to see through the thick veil of tears as you fumbled to grab your things. The last glimpse you caught of him through the bathroom doorway was an image that would haunt you forever – the love of your life slumped against the cold tile wall, head buried in his trembling hands, broad shoulders shaking with silent, devastating sobs.

As you fled his apartment, the violent sound of something shattering against a wall followed you out into the hallway, the crash mixing with your own heartbroken cries in the empty corridor. Each step away from him felt like walking on broken glass, leaving trails of both your shattered hearts in your wake.

Your hands were shaking so violently you could barely hold your phone, fingers trembling as you tried to unlock it through the blur of tears. Each breath came in sharp, painful gasps that felt like shards of glass in your lungs. The sound of whatever Yunho broke is still echoing in your head, mixing with the memory of his broken sobs, and oh god, oh god, what if he hurts himself? The thought sends another wave of panic crashing through you.

You manage to find Mingi's contact through pure muscle memory because you can barely see the screen through your tears. "Please be awake, please be fucking awake," you whisper desperately as the phone rings. Your free hand is pressed against the wall of the hallway, trying to keep yourself upright as the edges of your vision start to blur. The panic is closing in, making everything feel distant and too close all at once.

"Hello?" Mingi's voice is rough with sleep, but it's there, thank fuck it's there. "Do you know what fucking time it is—"

"M-Mingi," you choke out, and something in your voice must sound absolutely fucking wrecked because he immediately goes quiet. "I... I need... Yunho, he's..." You can't get the words out between your gasping breaths, each inhale feeling shorter than the last.

"Hey, hey, breathe for me," Mingi's voice shifts instantly from sleepy to alert, concern evident in every word. "Where are you? What happened with Yunho?"

"I f-fucked up," you sobbed, sliding down the wall because your legs couldn't hold you anymore. "I think he's still drunk, and we... there was... I heard something break after I left, Mingi, he's so fucking broken and it's my fault, it's all my fault, and I can't... I can't breathe, I can't—"

"Listen to me," Mingi cuts through your spiral, his voice firm but gentle. "I'm getting dressed right now. I'm coming over. I swear to fucking god if both of my best friends end up in the hospital today—"

Another crash echoes from inside Yunho's apartment, followed by what sounds like a strangled scream, and you let out a broken wail. "Please hurry," you begged, your voice barely recognizable to your own ears. "Please, Mingi, I'm scared, I'm so fucking scared—"

"You need to get out of there," he says firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Stay on the line with me until you're in a taxi, okay? I'll make sure you get home safe."

"But I can't—I don't want to be alone, I don't wanna leave him" you choke out between sobs, clutching the phone tighter.

"I know, but trust me, this is for the best right now," Mingi's voice softens with sympathy. "I'll handle Yunho. Just please, get yourself home safely. Don't hang up until you're in that taxi."

You nod numbly, forcing yourself to stand on shaky legs. The sound of your footsteps feels thunderous in the empty hallway as you make your way to the elevator, Mingi's steady breathing on the line anchoring you to reality. Your trembling fingers somehow manage to open your ride-sharing app, and you hear yourself giving your address to the driver in a voice that sounds far away, even to your own ears.

♡│if you enjoy my writing please consider supporting me by tagging and reblogging│

[miniwheat77]

Blood. (141 x Reader.)

!sexual assault, groping, violence, blood, THIS IS SENSITIVE MATERIAL YOU’VE BEEN WARNED!

The first time it happened, you brushed it off like it was an accident.

He’d finished talking to you, sent you on your way and where he was standing. His hand brushing over your backside.

In your gut it felt wrong, but you brushed it off.

The second time. It was much different.

He was scolding you for something stupid, a new recruit had messed something up under your watch and he’d reached out, groping you through your shirt. You shoved his hand away, mortified. But he only moved closer. “It’s okay. You’ll learn to be good.”

Just as you were getting ready to bolt away, he gripped your wrist and forced you closer. His lips right near your ear. “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll have your job. And you don’t want that right? Be a good girl.” He breathes. Breathing in the scent of your hair. You trembled as you left his office that day.

The commander was hungry to be higher than everyone else, and why it was you he chose to harass you’d never understand.

You were making your way out of his office. Trembling. Tears pooling at your waterline. You made your way to your friends car. She told you she’d take you off base for the day. When you asked for the day off, you payed the price. Just as you reached her car, your phone rang. You lifted it up, seeing his name flash across the screen. You took a deep breath, answering it. “I’ve got a gift for you when you come back tonight darling. Don’t be afraid when you come into your room.”

You hang up the phone. Resting your arm on the top of the car. Burying your face into your elbow and letting out a sob. Your friend looks at you sympathetically. “Y/N..” she breathes. She’s the only other person who knows. She’s tried to convince you to tell others plenty of times, but you won’t budge. Scared of what he could do. Knowing what he’s capable of. “Hey, everything alright?” You hear Gaz’s voice. But keep your face buried in your arm. You hear her sigh. “No. No nothing is alright.” She answers for you. “What’s going on?”

Gaz and Soap had just gotten off of watch. “It’s the commander.” She crosses her arms. You wipe your eyes, looking up at her. “Just.. don’t. It doesn’t matter.”

Soap moves closer. Seeing just how distraught you are. “He.. he’s been…” she freezes.

Gaz looks up. “Is he touching you?” He looks at you.

You drop your head again. Gaz and Soap exchange glances. Soaps jawline hardens as he grits his teeth. “For a couple months now.” She answers for you. “Take her off base. We’ve got it.” Soap pats the top of the car. “Wait- what are you going to do?” She asks. “Don’t worry, he won’t do anything anymore.” He’s answers. “Just.. take her out.” He nods.

The both of you get into the car.

“What do you think they’re going to do?” She looks at you. You turn your head to the window.

“Don’t know. Hopefully kill him.”

“What are we going to do?” Gaz asks Soap. “We’re going to get Ghost and Price first.” He opens up the door to Captain Price’s office, thankful when Ghost is sitting there. “Boys?” Captain Price raises an eyebrow. “Commander Mason has been assaulting Y/N.”

Soap crosses his arms. Price’s face hardens immediately. “What?”

“We seen her out in the parking lot. Fucking distraught.” Gaz answers. “Are you sure?”

“About positive sir. Said it’s been going on a couple months now. Assuming he’s been threatening her rank.” Price nods his head. “Alright. Come on.” He stands up from his chair, and the four of them walk down the hallway together. Price goes in first and the others wait outside.

He knocks at the door. “Come in!” He calls. Price steps inside, being sure to leave the door open. “Ah, Captain. What brings you in here?”

“I’ve just been informed that you’ve been inappropriately touching people on my base.”

Price can see him stiffen up immediately. “What?”

“Y/N is lying.” The words leave his lips before John can answer. “Weird… I didn’t say who told me, did I?”

His eyes are wide. He’s just sold himself out and he knows it. “This has nothing to do with you, Price. I suggest you stay out of this. This discussion is over.” He goes to walk out the door, but Soap steps into the doorway, leaning up against the frame.

He’s got a knife in his hand and he’s moving it back and fourth. “Don’t think you’re going anywhere, buddy.” Soap smiles. “Tell the truth.” John crosses his arms, leaning up against the desk. “I.. I don’t know what she told you but it’s not true.” He backs up into the wall behind him. “See… that’s where you’ve got it wrong. Because she didn’t tell us anything. Someone else did. But since you jumped to conclusions, you’ve just incriminated yourself so much more.” Gaz shakes his head. “You’re supposed to be someone girls can trust. How many women have you done this to hm?” Soap has moved and the other two men have walked in, Ghost still blocking the door. “You’ve got it all wrong. Look.. we can call Y/N in and she’ll clear this whole thing up.”

John shakes his head. “No. She’s… out. And.. you’re never gonna see her again. Not ever.”

“Yes I will.”

“No. You won’t.” John draws his gun. Seeing the panic flare in his eyes. “Let’s take a walk.”

———

When you got back to base, you got out of her car and made your way back inside, dread in your chest. He probably talked them down. Probably told them you were lying and they believed him. So he’ll be waiting for you in your room, like usual. He’s probably going to hurt you this time.

You open up your door, but it’s quiet. You take a deep breath.

“Y/N.”

You spin around, seeing Captain Price standing there. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Come with me?” He asks. You nod your head. Following him. You follow right along side him. “Why didn’t you come to me sooner, darling?”

You look at your feet as you walk. “I was scared.”

He nods his head. “I’ll always believe you, you know that?” He sighs. “I want you to know that I’ve got your back and I’d NEVER let anyone do that to you. None of us would.” You follow him outside, it’s starting to get dark. The sun has disappeared behind the mountains around you. He leads you out to the garage, where he opens the door of the Humvee for you.

“Where are we going?”

“I’m going to show you something.”

He reaches across the center of the Humvee, slowly resting his hand on your thigh. He’s trying to soothe you. “I’m sorry about what he’s done to you. And I want you to know it’s not going to happen anymore.” You rest your hand on top of his. Squeezing it slightly. You’re not scared of him. He never scared you. He’d never do anything to hurt you. Nobody in this task force would.

He pulls up to pretty much the middle of nowhere. Getting out and moving around the other side to open your door for you. You follow him up to what looks like disturbed ground.

“What is this?”

“It’s a promise I’m making you.” He turns to look at you. “What?”

“Nobody is going to hurt you ever again, not as long I’m around. No matter what they say to you, they can’t hurt you. They can’t fire you. Can’t get you into trouble, if something happens, you come straight to me.” He looks at you. You nod your head. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Because if they do.” He turns to look at the ground.

“They’ll end up here.”

Your eyes widen when you realize what he means.

“Thank you Captain Price.” You breathe. “I’m just.. so glad that it’s over.” You sigh.

“Us too. Now let’s get back. I’m going to help you move your room. I know you’ve got some bad memories in the last.”

“How do you know that?”

“He told us everything.” He turns away from you. Bile growing at the back of his throat.

“You’re safe now, and that’s what matters.”

[strawberri-elixir]

Sleepless nights

╰⇢ 17. Back pains

Warning: none 😋

note: little longer that usual ☝️tomorrow will probably be the last update for the next few days (I have the first part of my final exam on thursday so i’m cramming 🌝)

i’ll be gone forever the rest of the day to study 😔

"Okay! I guess it's just the three of us." You pushed through your front door, mentally cursing Maki for not being able to join you in your last minute cram sessions. Yes, she had good reason, but she also was the reason you felt a familiar heat creep up your face whenever you looked at your best friend.

Yuta heads straight for your room, flopping down onto your bed, letting out a big sigh into the mattress. “I’m not excited for this upcoming week.” He was obviously referring to your final exams.

“Me neither.” You took the opportunity to jump on top of him, a small groan coming out of the boy. “But I know we’ll do fine.”

“You’re going to actually break my back.” The dark haired boy shifted his head to look at you from the corner of his eye.

You weren’t given time to react when you felt a weight slump on top of you. Toge had made himself comfortable on top of you, and on top of Yuta. “This is actually kind of comfortable.” He mumbled.

“You two are heavy.” Yuta started shifting side to side, hoping to get at least one of you off of him.

“You love us anyways.” You let out a small laugh, latching yourself onto the boy under you, snaking your arms under him and holding him in place with your legs. “Toge hold on! He can’t get rid of us if we’re holding on!”

Following your command, you felt a pair of hands brush past your waist and cover your hands, holding onto Yuta. All you could hear was the soft chuckle coming from above you, and the loud groans from below you.

Soon enough, you felt yourself tilting to one side before eventually tipping over. Yuta had managed to successfully push himself up enough to topple the two of you off of him.

“Oof.” Toge let go and turned onto his back.

“Okay, study time.” Yuta pulled both of you up, leaving the room to carry all your backpacks to the kitchen. “Up you go.”

You let out a dramatic sigh of defeat, pushing yourself up and dragging your feet down the hall.

“I’m bored. And tired.” You groaned, throwing your head back. The three of you had been studying for god who knows how long, your backs were killing you, your wrists were cramping, and your vision was failing you. “You’re staying over right?” You look up in front of you where the two boys were looking at their screens.

“Yeah.” Yuta mumbled his response.

It was clear that all of you were done with studying, you have been revising non-stop since four in the afternoon. One glance at the clock and you could easily see you had passed the nine hour mark. The fact that all of you were able to remain focused was a mystery to you.

The only break you got was a short trip to the convenience store for more snacks and dinner on the way, but other than that, you were running on straight caffeine and the desire to get a good grade and shove it in your teachers face.

You let out a small yawn, staring at the course material in front of you, all the letters and numbers blurring together to make a big blob. It wasn’t much longer before your eyelids felt heavy and you decided to give them a break. Resting your head in your arms on the table, closing your eyes and letting the darkness consume you.

“Y/n’s asleep.” Toge nudged the boy next to him, nodding in your direction.

“I got it.” Yuta finally shut his laptop, removing his glasses before walking over to your side of the table, gently moving you into an easy position where he can pick you up. “Do you mind getting the bed ready?”

The platinum haired boy nodded, walking down the hallway towards your room where a bunch of things were messily scattered around your bed. He made quick work of everything (he just pushed most of it towards your closet), before fixing up your pillows as Yuta walked in with you on his back.

“We’ll both take the mattress.” He carefully lowered you onto your bed, tucking you in and making sure you were cozy.

“Mhm.” Toge nodded in agreement before taking his spot on the bed.

Yuta quickly followed, turning off the lights and settling down next to Toge, both of them silently looking up at the ceiling. “You’re a streamer right?” The dark haired boy spoke under his breath. “Toginu to be more specific. Correct?”

Toge snapped his head to the left, staring at the boy in disbelief. How did he find out? He’s never mentioned it before. “Are you one of those crazy stalkers?” Was the first thing that came to mind.

“Nah, just a casual fan I guess.” Yuta chuckled. “Y/n is a huge fan, but I’m sure you knew that.”

“Yeah…” He turned to look back up. “How’d you find out?”

The boy looked at him with a smirk. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. But don’t worry, nobody else knows.”

“Good…” Toge sighed. “That actually saves me the trouble of having to tell you, I promise you, I was going to. But I also felt like I owe it to Y/n. But you know, with my feelings, I couldn’t do it.”

“I get it, it’s fine.”

It felt like a weight was lifted off of his shoulders. Toge let out a sigh of relief, thankful he no longer had to worry about anything around his friend.

“Welp, I’m off to bed, night.” Yuta casually turned over, pulling the blanket over his shoulders.

“Night…” The boy responded. It wasn’t long before sleep consumed the both of them, feeling better than they did when they first stepped into your house.

Masterlist | Next

fun facts:

— you’re a HEAVY sleeper. once you’re out, there’s no hope to wake you up for the next few hours

— yuta found out that toge was a streamer by accident (toge left his phone to go to the washroom and got a twitter notification)

— yuta unironically gets back pains from his terrible sitting posture and the heavy ass backpack he carries from one end of the school to the other every day

taglist:

@sur-i-ki @aespaforlifersyall @camilo-uwu @butterflyqueen234 @shinsukeee @tanchosanke @meguemii @lees-chaotic-brain @you-always-made-me-blush @jayathelostdragon @chilichopsticks @polarbvnny

@instantmusico @sad-darksoul @hellyyy06 @rosieandthethorns @zellwa @iluv-ace @h3xi2g0n3 @morgyyyyyyy @bellaabee082 @koiir @g0rep1ty @k4romis @beaniedoodz @seventhcinema @macimcnaron @pumpkin6969 @wowowwin @neigee @someonethatisnobody @vndl-1 @yoyo-yui

@blehtotheblehtothebleh @c4ttheart @blogforblorboscreaming @creative1writings @tiredjxnna @mint129106 @mentallyunstablemanlover @anianurst @milesmorals @sleepytoges @azulsmermaidprincess @toges-cough-syrup @liveincans @jals-stuff @yievieslxt @yell-lemonade @inupibaldspot @hyssoplampflickers @lilysaltwater @ayxnxr @lovley212 @delightfuldragoncollection @strxkbylightning @saesofficialwife @izanaslvr-444 @defnotriri

Bold means i can’t tag you for some reason :[

[tinyundercover]

pepper & felix

part five

Pepper doesn't know how to handle his emotions.

MASTERPOST word count: 4.4k

Pepper stood behind the toaster, peeking around to examine the kitchen. It was late morning, and the sun was beginning to shine in through the window. Felix wasn’t up yet. Good.

He stepped out and craned his neck to examine the cabinet above him. One of the doors was cracked open by an inch, as usual, and he vaguely wondered if Felix had been leaving it open on purpose. It left a strange feeling in his chest as he tossed his hook up.

It had been four days since he had accepted the salad from Felix, but Pepper hadn’t felt comfortable enough to approach Felix again. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to. He was still a borrower, after all, and even if Felix seemed kind, it was hard for Pepper to entirely trust him. Besides, what would he even say to him? Hey, Felix, I think you might actually be my soulmate. Yeah, I know I’m the size of your pinky and you could kill me with the flick of a wrist. Wanna hang out?

He huffed as he clambered up into the cabinet, scooping up his hook and thread with him. Containers and jars loomed over him, and he began to ease his way between them.

When his soulmate had contacted him a week ago to tell him that he had found a tiny man living in his walls, Pepper had panicked. There was no way his human soulmate had actually caught a borrower at the same moment Pepper had been caught… unless…?

That realization is what led him down a path of watching Felix from the walls, anxiety nibbling at his chest. It had to be a coincidence that Felix liked to sing, too… or that his soulmate had caught a borrower the same night Felix had caught Pepper… or that his voice had sounded so familiar.

He hadn’t left the walls for three days straight. Even if Felix had been nice enough to let him go, it didn’t mean that Pepper wasn’t slightly traumatized from the whole ordeal. And he just couldn’t face the fact that Felix might actually be his soulmate.

When he had realized that he was running short on food and he just needed to run out and grab something, he finally decided to reveal himself to Felix. Running entirely on adrenaline, he had lingered by the bookshelf, ready to bolt just in case Felix decided to change his mind and grab him up anyways.

But… Felix had apologized. He had offered Pepper fresh vegetables, which was very hard to come by for a borrower. And he didn’t even try to touch him once.

Pepper held his breath as he wrangled with an open packet of crackers, hoping he wasn’t making too much noise to wake Felix up yet. He paused briefly to listen for footsteps before yanking out a round salted cracker, twice the length of his arm.

It only took a minute to break it into four pieces and cram it into his bag. He still had a bit of space left inside, so he began to search around for something else he could fill his bag with.

Just as he was examining the label on a box of tea, he was alerted to the sound of footsteps entering the room. Felix usually didn’t open this cabinet before he left, but Pepper ducked behind a jar of peanut butter, just in case.

He listened cautiously to the sound of Felix moving around the kitchen, and his shoulders tensed. It was astounding just how big one person could be. Pepper wasn’t going to forget soon just how easily Felix had trapped him in a fist.

Pepper shifted uncomfortably. If Felix really was his soulmate (and what more evidence did he need, really?) then what was he supposed to do about it? He had lived his entire life as a borrower, avoiding humans. He couldn’t imagine trying to… to date a human. Or even befriend one, for that matter. It wasn’t his fault that the universe had forced him to have this telepathic connection with a human.

And Felix wasn’t even supposed to know that borrowers existed! Pepper didn’t want a human to even talk to him again, let alone touch him. Soulmate or not, Felix was a human, and Pepper could not trust him.

He caught his face turning red and he shook his head, running his hands through his black hair. The last week had been filled with nothing but confusion and stress. All he wanted to do was sink into his hammock and sleep for five days, but no, he had to go on his stupid borrowing trip so he didn’t starve.

Pepper rolled his eyes and, listening carefully to the sound of Felix’s footsteps, he snuck through the cabinet once more. He approached an open box of green tea, thankful that the sound of the kettle outside would cover up the small noises he made as he pried open the box and tugged out a packet.

As if the universe was against him, he was alerted too late to the sound of the cabinet door swinging open. Shit. Cursing under his breath, he ducked behind the peanut butter jar again, but not before the light from outside caught on his small form.

There was a distinct pause in Felix’s movements, and Pepper’s heart pounded. Then—

“Is that you?”

Pepper’s eyes darted around the cabinet, as if Felix could possibly be talking to someone else. 

Would it be impolite to ignore Felix, especially after all the human has done for him so far?

Stomach twisting with anxiety, he peeked around the jar, stiffening under the curious gaze of blue eyes outside the cabinet. “…Sorry. Didn’t think you’d notice me.”

Pepper had almost forgotten just how massive Felix really was. The human took up the entirety of his vision outside the cabinet, and from this close, Pepper could see all of the little details on his face. Being at his eye level did help to calm the borrower’s nerves, because at least he didn’t feel completely helpless from up here.

Felix’s hand was still lingering on the cupboard handle, as if he was afraid to move it. His lips twitched into a soft smile, and Pepper’s gaze lingered on them for a moment. “You’re okay. Um— what are you doing up there?”

Pepper clutched the tea bag closer to his chest, and Felix’s gaze danced to it. “Oh,” the human said. “You—”

“I can put it back,” Pepper said hurriedly, his heart racing. He had totally forgotten that what he did was typically considered stealing by human standards. 

Felix’s eyebrows shot up, and he glanced at the open box of tea. There were four boxes in total, with dozens of tea bags inside. “Oh— it’s okay, I don’t care at all. Take as many as you want, honestly.” His features softened, and he reached in to pick out a teabag between his forefinger and thumb. “And— listen— you don’t have to hide. From me. I don’t mind if you hang around here.”

Pepper’s stomach had dropped at the sight of Felix pinching up a teabag; he had instinctively thought the human had been reaching for him. Once the human’s hand had retreated, and Pepper’s heart rate went back to normal, he actually processed what Felix had said.

“Oh.” He peered closer at those wide blue eyes. “That’s… good to know.”

Felix suddenly seemed unsure about something, chewing his lip. His large hand lifted to the cupboard handle, and Pepper secretly hoped he would just close it and walk away. “Are you gonna stick around up there?” Felix asked, a bit awkwardly. “I need to leave for class in a second, but if you need a hand, I could— um, I could help you down.”

The borrower immediately stiffened, alarm bells filling his mind. He briefly remembered the feeling of being held tight in a fist, and he found himself backing away into the wooden cabinet wall behind him. “I’m— I’m gonna stay up here, yeah. No help necessary.” His voice wobbled.

Felix wasn’t blind, and he immediately understood that he had overstepped a boundary with Pepper. He flushed, taking a step back. “Right, no worries.”

The human left the cabinet door open as he finished preparing for class, brewing his teabag in his thermos and answering a few quick texts. Once his bag was on his shoulder, ready to go, he approached the cabinet again, where Pepper had barely moved aside from shoving his tea packet into his bag.

“Okay, I’m heading out.” Felix’s large hand rested on the cabinet door. “Do you want me to leave this cracked open?”

“…Yeah. Thanks.” It was strange, to have a human openly consider Pepper’s needs.

Felix bid him a quick farewell and closed the cabinet door, leaving it hanging open with more than enough space for a borrower to get out of. Only once Pepper was alerted to the sound of the front door shutting did he feel comfortable enough to approach the cabinet door and latch his hook onto the edge.

His mind was still racing, an hour later, as he entered his room under the floorboards with a bag packed full of crackers and tea. What would have happened if he had accepted Felix’s proposal of picking him up? He’s sure the human would have just safely deposited him on the counter in a matter of seconds, but a darker part of his mind whispered thoughts of being shoved in a pocket or dangled in the air. 

Felix would never do that, Pepper scolded himself… but twenty-two years of human horror stories were difficult for the borrower to forget.

As Pepper made a beeline for his pantry (a small divot in the wall covered by a handmade curtain), he froze, ears pricking towards the sound of soft breathing. His stomach chilled, and he spun to his left, staring at his hammock.

A tan arm dangled from the side of the hammock, and a bushy head of black hair could barely be seen amongst the pillows and blankets. Pepper’s heart immediately swelled, and he couldn’t help but exclaim, “Basil!”

“Wha…” A pair of brown eyes appeared, blinking sleepily down at him. It only took a second for Basil to process what she was seeing.

“Oh! Pepper!”

By the time she swung herself over the edge, Pepper had already raced forward, throwing his arms around his older sister in a tight hug the moment her feet hit the floor. 

She was a bit shorter than him, but just barely. Her arms were strong as she held him tight, and Pepper was comforted by the thought that she must be eating well.

“What are you— what are you doing here?” Pepper grabbed her shoulders to look at her, eyes shining. “God, it’s been so long.”

With no way to communicate with other borrowers, Pepper hadn’t been able to talk to Basil in almost a year. 

“I wanted to visit!” Basil explained excitedly. “I just got here an hour ago, and man, when I saw that your place was empty I got so scared that you died— but I realized your pantry had fresh food in it so you must still be around.” Her eyebrows raised approvingly. “Where the hell did you get all those vegetables? You must have improved your borrowing skills since I last saw you!”

Pepper laughed as she gently punched his shoulder. He suddenly felt the need to change the subject. “So, you just decided to take a nap in my bed?”

“Hey, it took me four days to get here, I deserve a nap.” She sent him a grin before peering at the bag on his shoulder. “What’d you get?”

When Pepper showed her the contents of his bag, she laughed. “Dude, you drink tea now?”

“It’s good for you,” he said defensively, although he was smiling. “And it’s got caffeine. Here, let me make you some.”

As Pepper expertly cut open the tea bag, Basil rambled to him about how the last ten months had been for her. She, coincidentally, had also picked up sewing clothes as a hobby. Her dark green pants, reminiscent of human cargo pants, were apparently her “greatest accomplishment” so far.

A family of borrowers had also moved into the house she was living in, after having been kicked out of their old home due to pest control. Basil had some sweet stories about how she had helped to babysit the kids from time to time. Pepper smiled as she talked, his heart warm at the thought that his sister had been happy and thriving.

He handed her a small cup, made out of aluminum foil. The tea inside was cold, obviously, but that was something that didn’t bother most borrowers.

Basil sent Pepper a suspicious but playful look as she took a long sip of her tea. She pondered for a moment. “Meh.”

“You don’t like it?” Pepper laughed after taking a sip of his own tea.

“It’s fine, but I wouldn’t waste space in my bag for it,” Basil said thoughtfully. “I’d rather grab some chocolate or something. That has caffeine, too, I think, and it tastes a thousand times better.”

Pepper blinked as a fond memory resurfaced in his mind. “Aw— remember when we were kids, and we still lived by the bakery? And you nabbed that brownie? I miss that.”

Basil lit up instantly. “Oh my god, yeah! I was, what— thirteen? I was so proud of myself.” She grinned. “Does the human here have any chocolate?”

Pepper hesitated. “Oh, uh— he actually eats super healthy, honestly. I’m not sure if… he’d have that.”

“Ohhh. Is that why you have cucumber in your pantry?” Basil teased. Pepper rolled his eyes in amusement.

“Yeah, actually.”

Basil had already stood up, tossing her aluminum cup aside. (Pepper noticed fondly that she had drank all of her tea.) “Anyways, let’s go borrowing. I’m sure we’ll find something cool. And if we don’t, I can just make fun of your lame climbing skills.”

“Wha—! I’m a great climber!”

“Let’s test that,” Basil snickered. 

—

After a long trek through the walls with lots of complaints from Pepper (“I literally just got back from a borrowing trip!”) and interjections from Basil (“Womp, womp.”) the pair of them finally emerged onto the counter, peeking around the toaster.

“He’s definitely not here, right?” Basil prompted. Pepper nodded.

“Yeah, he has class until four, and then he’s got some friend thing. He won’t be home all day.”

Basil side-eyed him. “How do you know that?

Her brother blinked rapidly. “I overheard him on the phone yesterday,” he lied, knowing full well that Felix had told him all of that telepathically. Basil nodded in understanding, although her brown eyes remained curious.

Pepper allowed her to take the lead as they trekked across the counter, approaching a fruit bowl. He hadn’t mentioned his soulmate situation to her yet. He wouldn’t even be sure how to begin, honestly.

Would she think of him differently, if she knew? 

He watched her warily, as if she might start shouting at him. Basil, like every other borrower, was not very fond of humans. If she knew that Pepper had such a strong connection to a human, would she be upset with him? Scared, even, that he might put her in danger?

His stomach squirmed as Basil tossed her hook up to the edge of the fruit bowl. “Have you heard of soulmates?” He asked suddenly, trying to sound casual. Basil climbed up into the bowl first, and Pepper followed. 

Basil shot him a glance from where she was examining a grape. “What, like, the hands-clasped-over-your-chest thing? The mind connection?”

Pepper blinked in surprise. “Yeah, actually.”

She nodded, yanking a round green grape off of its stem. “Yeah, I actually used to talk to my soulmate, when I was twenty-one. It didn’t last long, though.”

Pepper stared, dumbfounded. “Wha— seriously? Wait— what happened? You never told me this!”

“It just wasn’t a big deal,” Basil said offhandedly, shoving the grape into her bag. “I mean, we talked for a few weeks, and it was nice. But she lives halfway across the country, and… I don’t know, once we realized we would never actually see each other, we kind of just… moved on.”

Pepper’s heart sunk. “I’m so sorry.”

Basil shrugged. “Like I said, it’s no biggie. That’s just how life works. Soulmates aren’t for everyone.” She suddenly straightened up, brown eyes wide. “Wait— don’t tell me— are you talking to your soulmate?”

Pepper flushed, busying himself by picking up a grape as well. “Yeah, actually. For two or three weeks now.”

“Holy shit.” Basil grinned, punching his shoulder. “That’s awesome, man. Don’t get too attached though— do you know where they live?”

Pepper’s mouth opened, then closed. Basil was still staring at him expectantly, but before he could answer, the front door opened.

Shit. On instinct, the two of them lunged over the edge of the fruit bowl, scrambling to hide behind it. Basil sucked in a quick breath at the sound of human footsteps, leaning closer to Pepper, and he held her arm protectively.

“I thought you said he wasn’t gonna be home all day,” Basil hissed under her breath, brown eyes peeking around the fruit bowl. Pepper’s stomach turned.

“He was supposed to,” Pepper explained anxiously, peeking around the bowl as well. He craned his neck to observe Felix as the human hung his coat up on the opposite wall. “He must have come home early.”

“You think?”

Pepper’s stomach was doing cartwheels. He wasn’t particularly afraid of Felix— at least, not in the same way Basil was— but he did not want Felix finding him right now.

The human hummed quietly as he set his thermos down, only a few feet away from the fruit bowl. Basil’s grip on Pepper’s arm tightened.

Felix briefly glanced in their direction, and it was that moment in which all three of them realized a fishhook was still dangling innocently on the edge of the fruit bowl.

“Motherfucker,” Pepper said under his breath.

Basil was also mumbling a string of curse words, inching closer to Pepper as Felix squinted, leaning closer to the bowl. His next words made both borrowers freeze.

“Pepper? Are you around?”

Slowly, ever so slowly, Basil turned her head to stare at Pepper.

Pepper’s throat went tight, panic suddenly seeping into his veins. He watched as Basil pulled her hand away from him, taking a step back, intense brown eyes flickering around the room as if she was searching for an explanation, or perhaps an escape route. He swallowed hard, sucking in a sharp breath.

“Please, don’t panic,” he said quickly. Overhead, Felix spoke again, voice gentle but curious.

“You forgot your hook.”

Basil was frozen, speechless. Pepper’s heart was sinking into the floor below. “Basil, please, just… stay here. Please.”

Hands shaking, Pepper sent Basil one last miserable look before stepping out from behind the fruit bowl. He vaguely heard Basil’s small, shocked gasp as Felix’s gaze landed on Pepper.

“Oh, there you are.” Felix relaxed microscopically now that he knew where Pepper was. He had been a bit anxious that Pepper had gotten hurt or lost somehow, indicated by his abandoned hook. 

“…Hey,” Pepper said stiffly, reaching towards the thread of Basil’s hook. It took a moment for his shaky hands to unlatch the hook and tuck it under his arm. “Sorry, I… I forgot this.”

“It’s fine,” Felix assured, blinking at Pepper’s uncomfortable behavior. He hoped Pepper still wasn’t uneasy about his offer to pick him up this morning. “It seems important to you, so I just… wanted to make sure you didn’t lose it.” 

“Ah,” Pepper said hollowly. It was difficult not to turn and look at Basil, as he felt her intense gaze bearing into him. He would never reveal another borrower to a human, no matter the circumstances. “Well. Thanks.”

Felix hesitated, fighting the urge to peer closer at the shaking small man. “Are you… alright?” 

Pepper was trying to figure out what to do, heart racing. “I, um… yeah, I…” Pepper spared a glance to the side, and his stomach turned to ice.

Basil was gone.

Fuck. “Sorry, I— I have to go.” Spinning on his heel, Pepper rushed towards the toaster. He sensed Felix’s surprise as the human spoke.

“Oh— ah, okay, then—?”

Pepper had already squeezed his way through the crack in the wall and was now staring around, heart pounding. Where did Basil go? How did she just sneak off like that? How was he supposed to explain this to her?

“Basil!” He called out helplessly, hoping Felix wouldn’t be able to hear him through the walls. “Basil, I can explain! Where are you?”

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and there— hidden in the shadows of the walls, was Basil.

A needle was gripped firmly in her hand, pointed at Pepper. Brown eyes narrowed, dark and fiery. “What the fuck was that.”

“Listen, it’s okay,” Pepper said hurriedly, stepping towards her. Her grip on her needle tightened.

“You’re— friends with that human?!” Basil demanded, aghast. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“We’re not friends, exactly, he–”

“He’s probably looking for us right now!”

“No–!”

“What, are you his pet, or something–?”

“He’s my soulmate.”

Basil stilled, her needle wobbling. “He…” Her gaze flicked to the wall, as if she could see Felix through the wood. “He’s your soulmate?”

Pepper’s heart pounded against his chest. His throat was tight as he miserably said, “Yeah. But… but he doesn’t know.”

At Basil’s bewildered expression, Pepper hurriedly began to explain everything; how his rocky relationship with Felix began by being caught and trapped, only to be released with an apology. How he realized quickly that Felix and his soulmate were actually the same person, and had since then struggled with his own feelings, terrified of Felix but subconsciously being drawn to him as well.

Basil didn’t speak throughout his entire story. Her eyes remained dark and focused, her grip on her needle unrelenting. Once Pepper finished with the reassurance that he hadn’t told Felix anything about her, she spoke up, voice cautious.

“Why don’t you leave?” Her brow furrowed. “He knows you live here.”

“I know those are the rules, but–”

“This isn’t about the rules,” Basil interjected, making Pepper jump. “You need to leave so you can't talk to him again. This… this isn’t normal.” Her features hardened even further, brown eyes narrow, glistening slits. “I’m not mad at you, Pepper, I understand that this is fucked up, and it’s not your fault. But– just because he’s your soulmate doesn’t mean you have to put yourself in danger just to talk to him.”

Pepper hesitated, stomach doing backflips. “Felix isn’t dangerous.”

Basil choked on her breath. “Pepper. Are you even hearing yourself right now?”

Silence stretched between them for a moment. Pepper hesitated, trembling, while Basil stared. Finally, his older sister muttered, “I’m sorry, Pepper, but I can’t stay here.”

He blinked, alarmed. “What– you can’t go back home now! It’s too far, you just got here–”

“I’m not going home,” Basil corrected. “I don’t know where I’m gonna go, yet. But I can’t stay in this apartment with… him.” She held her other hand out expectantly, although it shook. “Give me my hook.”

Pepper couldn’t speak. Silently, numbly, he stepped forward, setting the hook gently into his older sister’s hand. She relaxed microscopically, sending one last glance at the wall before backing up. “I just… I just need time to think about this. I’m sorry.”

He nodded mutely, standing rigid. 

“Please stay safe. I care about you.” Her lips tightened. “I’ll– I’ll see you around.”

She backed away, sending him one last hollow stare before spinning on her heel and vanishing into the darkness after a matter of seconds. Her light footsteps faded quickly. Pepper swayed on his feet, mouth dry, mind racing. 

Misery sank into his bones, cold and heavy. Thoughts of his frightened sister floated around his mind, followed by memories of Felix’s kind demeanor, a terrifying human that had all the power over Pepper and chose not to use it. 

Basil was wrong.

His feet moved before he could think about, making a beeline for the crack in the wall, stumbling out past the toaster. “Felix!”

The human jumped, his mug clattering in surprise. He had just dropped a tea packet into the hot water. “Pepper– you scared me–!”

Pepper barely processed the fact that the human was towering over him, as he craned his neck to meet those startled blue eyes. “I trust you,” he insisted suddenly, eyes wide. 

Felix stiffened, blinking down at him. “Wha–”

“I can’t believe I’m actually telling this to a human but— you’ve been so kind, and considerate, and— and you don’t treat me like a pet, and you— you—“ Pepper’s words came out in a rush, heart pounding. Felix was frozen. “This is hard for me, talking with you— but I know that you’re trying to make it easier for me, and— and I appreciate that.”

Pepper suddenly found himself walking towards Felix’s hand, which was still resting on the handle of his mug. Pepper’s stomach twisted unexpectedly, but he fought through it, approaching the massive fingers that outmatched him in size. “Pepper,” Felix said in a hush. “What—”

Fueled by adrenaline, Pepper placed his tiny hand onto Felix’s finger, meeting the human’s gaze. 

Felix’s eyes were wide, shocked. His shoulders were rigid, as if he was scared to even move a muscle. 

The skin underneath Pepper’s hand was warm. The borrower sucked in a breath, but kept his hand still. This was the closest proximity he had shared with Felix’s hand since he had been snatched up a week ago.

“I just need you to know that,” Pepper confessed, the realization of what he had just impulsively done creeping up onto his face as a blush. His heart pounded. 

Felix blinked rapidly, unable to tear his gaze away from the tiny palm resting delicately on his finger. Pepper was visibly nervous, willingly touching Felix for the first time since the human had held him against his will.

“I…” Felix was terrified to even breathe wrong, lest he frighten the borrower and ruin the moment. “I don’t know what to say.” Appreciation filled his hesitant voice, laced by surprise and worry. 

Pepper was still blushing, hard. He tentatively pulled his hand back, acutely aware that he had just touched a giant and survived. “It’s okay. I’ve just had a weird fucking day.” He dragged his hand down his face, shoulders shuddering. After a moment, he asked quietly, “Is it alright if I… hang out with you, for a bit? I don’t want to be alone right now.”

Felix’s blue eyes were soft, kind. “Yeah. Of course.”

----

EEEEEEEEEEEE I AM SO EXCITED ABOUT THIS CHAPTER!! Pepper is finally starting to feel comfortable with Felix, but poor Basil is terrified that her brother is so close to a human </3

TAGLIST: @smallsday @compact-katrina

[bitethedevil]

Living with The Devil You Know (Raphael x Tav): Chapter 11

Chapter: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen

Read this fic on AO3 (Link)

Fic Summary: Tav broke their agreement by handing the Crown of Karsus to Mystra instead of Raphael. Not only that, but she also robbed his house and killed his incubus. Raphael is patient and he is determined to get his revenge.

…Tav isn't too bothered. She will figure something out eventually. Until then she just has to find a way to live peacefully with a devil.

Chapter Summary: Tav is having a hard time adjusting to freedom. Her mind is haunted with a certain devil, and she remembers a situation with him that happened before she was released from her imprisonment.

AN: This is not the final chapter. I know what I said, but I wanted to torture Tav some more. After thinking about it, I'm not sure how many chapters are left at this point, but I'll try to give an estimate as I come closer. After getting more time on my hands, I thought a bit more about this fic and got a bit more inspired again. I think I was getting a too stressed out with real life stuff and became too eager to end it due to that. I just know that I don't want to stress or rush it, because I have grown stupid attached to these two. On the other hand, I also don't want to draw it out for too long either (I'm thinking 15 chapters would be my limit). What can I say? My creative process is a mess lol.

TRIGGER WARNING: Gore and Blood

Tav isolated herself for days after she had been freed. She did not feel like talking to anyone. All she felt like was being alone, and gods, did she feel alone. It did not matter how many days went past, she still expected to wake up in Raphael’s bed and that it had all been a dream. She was waiting for the hammer to fall.

Though, the hammer had already fallen, so to speak. She was free. There were no longer infernal chains around her wrists, so why did she still feel so trapped then? She was trapped in her head, replaying every interaction again and again.

One in particular took up a lot of space in her mind. It was two nights before she had been freed.

When she went to bed that night, Raphael was still not home. She began to worry. Not for him, of course, Tav had told herself. It was more the fact that if something had happened to him, then what would happen to her and Hope?

She managed to fall asleep but about an hour later she was woken by the sounds of things crashing to the ground. She flicked her wrist and lit some of the candles in the boudoir to figure out what was going on.

She saw the silhouette of a winged and horned person. Someone who she hoped was Raphael, though he had never arrived home in that manner. Her heart started racing.

“Raphael?” she asked quietly.

She saw the head of the silhouette turn towards her and two orange eyes looked at her, though they quickly squeezed shut and she heard what sounded like a groan of pain. She recognized the groan, and it was Raphael.

“Go to sleep,” he ordered through gritted teeth and grabbed something from a drawer.

She squinted at him. It was difficult to see what was going on in the darkness. She did not like that harsh tone of his or the fact that he sounded like he was in pain.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

She heard more sounds of stumbling about, which prompted her to get out of bed and investigate. She casted Dancing Lights and walked closer to him. His back was turned to her, and she saw blood on the floor.

“Did I not tell you to go to sleep?” he hissed. “Leave me.”

“What happened to you?” Tav asked confused and stared at the blood on the floor.

Raphael started walking out of the boudoir and away from her. She noticed that he was slightly limping.

“Where are you going? You’re injured. Get in the pool!” Tav said and followed him.

“Tav, I will not tell you agai—” he interrupted himself with a yelp of pain and dragged himself to the nearest chair and sat down.

Tav finally got a look of what was wrong with him. The whole left side of his body was wet with dark blood, and he was holding a hand over the left side of his face. There were green shards of what looked like shattered glass, impaling the whole left side of his body. Some of the shards were tiny, while others were the length of her forearm. He was breathing hard.

It suddenly made sense why the restoration pool would not do. The shards would need to be pulled out before anything could heal.

“Go…” he said, this time sounding more defeated than angry, avoiding her eyes with the one that wasn’t covered by his hand.

He was not playing with her for once. She could hear it in his voice. He sounded like he was in genuine pain. It tugged at her heartstrings despite herself, and she cursed the feeling internally. How could she feel sympathy for a monster like him?

“Fuck…” she cursed under her breath and the façade she had so carefully held up the last few days fell, as she saw Raphael’s do the same.

She saw how tense he looked and the way he was hiding his face from her. He reminded her of a wounded animal that was protecting itself in a moment of weakness.

“Let me help,” she said.

“I do not need or want your help,” he growled stubbornly. “Go to bed.”

“I don’t care, you’ll get it regardless,” she said quietly. “Sit still.”

She heard a groan of annoyance, but he did not move. His one exposed eye followed her around as she gathered supplies around the house. Raphael had already brought a pair of tongs from the drawer in the boudoir, so she went to get a rag, a plate for the shards, and two bowls of water: one with normal water, the other with water from the restoration pool.

She returned to him with the supplies and put them on the small table beside the chair he was sitting in. He watched her every move.

She grabbed the wrist that he was holding over the left part of his face and tried to pull it away. She did not manage to move it as much as an inch as he held it there.

“Raphael,” she said sternly. “I need to see your face. You have blood dripping down your neck. Let me see.”

“I will do it myself,” he said stubbornly, though it was clear that he was in a lot of pain.

Tav became frustrated with him.

“If it’s vanity, I really could not care less,” she said and pointed to the burn scars on her own face. “I cleaned and took care of my own scars when I got these and trust me it was not a pretty sight either. Move your hand.”

He was scowling at her, but he slowly removed his hand. Tav winced and inhaled sharply when she saw his injuries, which made him quickly move his hand back over his face and roll his eyes.

“I told you,” he said. “I’m aware it’s a grim sight and I will take care of it myself.”

“To the Hells with how it looks,” Tav said frustratedly. “It looks painful. It was a reaction out of sympathy, not disgust. Move your hand.”

Raphael’s eye twitched in annoyance, but he moved his hand away so she could get a proper look. One of the shards had almost sliced a piece of his cheek off, and the piece of skin was loosely dangling. Another larger piece had just missed his eye and was lodged into his cheek right below it, which had made the area around his eye bruise and swell up.

She moved her hand to his face and gently turned it. Her hand hovered above the shard that was under his eye. She looked into his eyes before doing anything.

“Do you need anything to bite down on?” she asked. “This is going to hurt.”

“Please,” he said and brushed the idea away with a hand gesture as if she was ridiculous for asking.

“Now is not the time to play brave,” she said frustratedly. “If you move while I do this, you might lose an eye. I can knock you out with a spell if you want. It will make it easier for me.”

“No,” he said. “Proceed.”

She sighed.

“You need to be completely still,” she said. “I’m not strong enough to keep your head from moving.”

She put her hand on his opposite cheek to hold his head steady as she could. She carefully tightened her grip around the shard and started slowly pulling it out. Raphael winced and groaned in pain.

She hated hearing those sounds of genuine pain from him, and it stressed her out.

“Shhh. It’s almost out, it’s almost out, it’s almost out,” she said and pulled.

They were both breathing faster before she finally got it out. Her reaction to his pain annoyed her to no end. She tried to crush those feelings of sympathy in her mind. He was not worth her pity, she reminded herself.

She looked at the shard once it was out and then at Raphael’s face.

“That was the worst of it…” she said. “Now it’s just the smaller bits and then I can clean it.”

Raphael closed his eyes for a moment.

“Your commentary is highly unnecessary,” Raphael said. “You are not a healer, so I would rather not know. Just get it over with.”

“I’ll have you know I studied medicine during my apprenticeship as a wizard,” Tav said quietly, and plucked another smaller shard out of his face.

He winced slightly.

“Did you now? Why would an evocation wizard be taught medicine?” Raphael asked skeptically.

“Alright, ‘studied’ might be an overstatement,” Tav admitted. “The medicine books were the only ones I had not read in my teacher’s library, and when I got bored of my own studies, I sort of sifted through them.”

“How reassuring…” Raphael drawled.

Tav let another shard drop onto the plate with the others.

“What is this stuff anyway?” she asked. “Is it just glass?”

“It is a type of glass, yes,” Raphael said. “It was either enchanted or laced with some kind of poison. Hence the p—” Raphael groaned as a shard that had dug deeper was pulled out of him. “Pain…”

Though Tav took no pleasure in seeing his pain, it was nice to hear him talk without all the theatrics and mind-games for once. It was all just him. They both had an unspoken truce from the game they usually played.

“Can I ask what happened?” Tav asked.

Raphael sighed tiredly at the question.

“You make a lot of enemies in my line of work and especially with my status in the Hells…let’s keep it at that.”

“Do you mean people who are jealous or…?” Tav asked.

A smile tugged on his lips.

“In a way, but not quite,” Raphael said. “Though I have to admit it is somewhat flattering that you would think that is the case…”

“It wasn’t really my intention to stroke your ego,” she said. “It’s just an observation that you seem pretty well off. What is it then?”

Raphael opened his eyes and looked up at her while she cleaned his face.

“You know what I am…” he said.

“You’re a devil…” she answered while dabbing his wounds with a wet cloth. “And, well…if you want to be technical about it, you’re a cambion. Though I always thought you would incinerate me if I pointed that out, so I never did.”

“Clever girl,” he purred. “Why do you think that is?”

She did have her theories. She clearly remembered his little fit back when they met him at Sharess’s Caress about him ‘not being a mortal’.

She wrung the bloody cloth into the bowl of normal water before dipping it into the water from the restoration pool.

“Do you want an honest answer to that?” she asked before dabbing the water unto his face. His wounds quickly healed.

“I only ever want honest answers, mouse,” he said.

Tav paused her movements for a second and looked him in the eye. She wondered just how honest he actually wanted her to be. Then again, she had avoided his wrath for this long, so what the hell? She was not going to pass up the opportunity to give him a piece of her mind.

“I think you like to posture as more than you are,” she said. “You create your own little world where you are the highest and most important person, and you pull other people in, such as myself, to fulfill that perfect image in your head…Do you want me to continue or is that growing expression on your face my cue to shut up?”

Raphael looked slightly offended at her bluntness but gestured for her to continue.

“I think that we mortals buy into it, but I am not so sure about the other devils of the Hells,” she said. “I would also add something about your seeming issues with your father, but I am not quite feeling suicidal yet, so I won’t. Was that honest enough for you?”

Raphael still looked somewhat miffed, but he could not help but smile at her candidness.

“There is some truth to it, of course…” he said. “Mortals hate me because they fear me, and devils hate me because they foolishly see me as below them. It was a devil who did this to me. Someone who saw me as an easy target for their anger. They were wrong.”

It was sad, in a way. He was unwanted everywhere he went. Though with all the things he had done, it was still hard to truly feel bad for him.

“Hm,” Tav hummed. “And yet you cling to the devil part, don’t you? I know I’m pushing my luck with how much it takes for you to finally snap at me, but have you considered that you might have more luck with at least the mortals if you weren’t such a cruel asshole?”

Raphael chuckled.

“There is nothing for cambions on the Material Plane,” he explained. “Nothing but a life in hiding from the world, if they are lucky enough to even survive, that is. In both places, one thing is true for those like myself: you either make others fear you or you will have to live a life of fear yourself, always looking over your shoulder.”

“What a depressing way to see things…” she mumbled as she worked on removing the shards from his shoulder and upper torso.

“Perhaps,” Raphael said with a shrug, looking down at her hands as she worked. “But I would not have lived for as long as I have, did I not see my circumstances for what they were.”

She looked up and met his eyes briefly before she went back to working on his shoulder.

Cruel circumstances did not excuse cruel actions. Tav knew this, and yet she found herself once again annoyingly sympathetic to what he was saying. Had it not been the exact same thing that drove her to kill her father when she was younger? She was done being afraid and it drove her to kill him and unfortunately her mother too.

It was not the same as torturing souls or keeping an innocent cleric locked in one’s basement, obviously. And yet. Perhaps she really was no better than him, when it came down to it. She had done awful things. She killed her parents, ignored Hope’s pleas to be released…Hells, had it not been because of her companions’ opinions on the matter, she had almost sided with the Absolute and killed the entirety of the Druids Grove back then.

She was not a good person. She never had been. She had seen it as practicality. She had to kill her father, or it would never stop. She had to leave Hope behind, because it was not worth the possible risks that she had so carefully calculated in her mind. She was not practical, she was cold, and it was a survival mechanism, much like Raphael’s, that she learned the day she burned her childhood home down: Fear or be feared.

She finished pulling shards from his upper body and sat on the floor to start on his leg. Raphael noticed her quietness as she was deep in her self-loathing thoughts.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Hm?” she looked up at him briefly. “Nothing. Just concentrating.”

“You are being awfully quiet.”

“Mm. You should try it sometime,” she said and immediately bit her lip. It just flew out of her mouth, and she realized that she was getting way too comfortable and uncensored with him.

He simply laughed.

“I have told you before, but I will gladly tell you again…I much prefer you like this,” Raphael noted. “When you are not pretending to be something that you are not.”

She looked up at him with a tired look. He seemed genuine.

“Then stop forcing me to pretend,” she said and went back to pulling pieces out of his leg.

“I’ve never forced you,” Raphael said. “And yet you insist to play a game that you cannot hope to win. I can’t say I haven’t enjoyed it…However, if you keep at it, you will one day find it difficult to find where the pretending ends and where you start, little mouse.”

“So, I’m just supposed to roll over and take it?” she asked with a huff.

“If you knew what was good for you, yes,” Raphael said smoothly and looked down at her. “Though I’m rather enjoying seeing you cling to the idea that you could win.”

She rolled her eyes and continued to work in silence. He was infuriating, but at least he was being honest. She could see out of the corner of her eye that he was studying her face while she worked.

“I want to ask you something, if you would indulge me,” Raphael drawled. “Despite all your resistance, did you ever find yourself falling for it?”

Her brow furrowed and she glanced up at him for a short moment.

“Did I ever fall for you, you mean?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“I hate your guts, if you should ever be confused about that,” she said coldly.

She heard a short chuckle from him.

“Hate does not necessarily exclude love and you avoided answering my question,” Raphael pointed out. “Which is an answer in itself, is it not?”

“I would be more careful with what I say if I was in your position right now,” she said through gritted teeth while trying to pry a large piece of glass out of his leg. “My hand might just slip with the with the next piece I’m pulling out.”

Raphael winced slightly as the piece was pulled out.

“And you?”

“What about me?” he asked.

“Did you ever fall for me?” she asked, still focused on his leg.

He was quiet for just a short moment too long.

“I have told you before,” he purred. “Love is no more than a pointless distraction, and one that I cannot afford with who I am.”

She looked up at him while dabbing water on his leg.

“I can’t help but notice you didn’t say yes or no,” she said and then mimicked his voice and repeated his words: “’Which is an answer in itself, is it not?’”

“Careful, Tav,” Raphael warned with a smile. “You would be wise not to mistake my leniency with you for weakness.”

She had mostly just said it to be annoying, so she was surprised when he did not argue with her point. It was a part of his game, she had concluded, nothing more.

Once she was done with his leg, she poured the remainder of the water from the restoration pool over it, and it healed quickly. She got to her feet and used her hand to gently feel up and down his side.

“Any pain?” she asked. “Did I miss any pieces?”

Raphael shook his head.

“You can stop fussing, dear,” he said with a smile.

“I’m not fussing,” she said stubbornly. “I’m just not sure anyone would know how to get me out of this hellhole if you should suddenly decide to die.”

“If you say so,” Raphael said.

Tav recalled that they had almost the exact same conversation back when he almost killed her in his sleep, and he took care of her to make sure she survived.

“Well…” she said with a sigh. “If that’s all, I’ll go back to bed.”

Raphael got up slowly from the chair. It was clear that he was still slightly dizzy from the blood-loss, but other than that, he looked a lot better than when he arrived home.

She gave him a kiss on the cheek to signal that the truce was over. He wrapped his arm around her waist.

“Goodnight,” she said, looking up at him with one of her fake smiles.

“Goodnight, dearest,” he said quietly with an amused smile that showed he knew what she was doing. He placed a kiss on her forehead.

She was laying on her sofa, slightly drunk on wine, as the same pieces of conversation kept playing in her mind. She felt so trapped. She missed him, but if she admitted that to herself, all she would feel was self-loathing.

He had kidnapped her, trapped her in the Hells, fucked with her mind at every given opportunity. He still was, even now that she was free. It was easier to hate him, as she should, and she truly did, despite all her confusing feelings. She heard his voice in her head:

‘Hate does not necessarily exclude love…’

“Shut up…” she mumbled to herself and closed her eyes.

‘Love is no more than a pointless distraction, and one that I cannot afford with who I am.’

‘I do not wish for you to be under my roof anymore. You have been a distraction for too long.’

“Shut up, shut up,” she mumbled, and she felt tears starting to form in her eyes again. “Shut up.”

Her brain sent her back to the conversation the two of them had one evening about love. It was when Raphael revealed that he had once made the ‘mistake’ of falling in love.

‘I thought devils didn’t—' she had said.

‘They don’t,’ he had interrupted her and smiled. ‘Not in any way you would understand at least. Our definition of love is quite different from what you mortals would find ideal or even healthy.’

“I don’t care,” she mumbled tearfully to her own brain who was torturing her.

‘She was a mortal woman. A human…like yourself.’

She mournfully remembered how the wording of that statement had given her butterflies in her stomach, and then emptied her glass of wine with shaking hands.

[djljpanda]

Hey I’m new here! And I find it amazing about your writings! Here’s my request, it’s about Wally Darling being the king of hearts, the au it’s from Neonross, so far what I know the AU (cuz it’s in process) it’s about kingdom that it’s divided from hearts, cloves and diamonds kingdom. But it’s unknown about the spade kingdom. (Possibly disappear or extinct by the others kingdoms)

I have been imagine a lot what if… or how about… Wally Darling! King of Hearts! X Y/N! Last descendant of spade kingdom? Where the reader is an undercover last royal lineage of the spade kingdom and it’s planning a revenge towards the king of hearts… but somehow it’s turning the otherwise as they fall in love with Wally.

@neonross On Tumblr

I apologize if I didn't do Wally's personality well. But I tried my best I hope you like it.

You were the youngest sibling, really just one year younger. But your older sibling was to be the rightful heir of the spade kingdom. You were fine with the fact you didn't have to do any boring royal duties. Everything was good until you had to leave for some position items that are found outside of the kingdom.

The Spade kingdom is the only kingdom that is far from everyone. It's a kingdom that was taught in positions and is very much fit for war, said to always have competitive or insane rulers.

You may say you fit that rope but you didn't care. You know what the three kingdoms did to your family and all you really want is some revenge. Took you awhile but you are ready to put your plan in motion.

When you were younger you had heard your parents mention one of the late Queen Ambrosia friends, the sorceress Poppy and how yet she is too trusting for her own good. So you decide to start with Poppy, you have seen her walk around the market but as you try to walk up to her you see a child hungrily looking at the red apples. So you gave him an apple only for the owner to hold on to your wrist where you told the child to run. The owner kept you there as you both made a scene. That was until Poppy came forward and stopped the commotion by telling the owner that she will take off the issue. You had walked with Poppy where she thanked you for your kindness to the young child, "Well we should never let our future generation to be hungry as for what they will do for us" "What a kind one you are. I haven't seen you around here before...Where do you come from?" "Ah sorry I'm Y/n-no last name from some farming land more south in the hearts kingdom" "That explains why you would want all your family's apples to go to everyone I expect".

You were taken back to Poppy's place where she had offered you tea which you expected. You say there explaining how you want to live a better life not wanting to be stuck in the farm lands forever. Poppy felt very bad and after thinking it over she spoke up, "Well I guess our majesty King Wally had been needing someone new to take care of the rose bushes and the apple trees. Are you up for the offer?" "Yes that would be my great break", you said not helping but smile as Poppy laughed at your antics.

The next few days you started to maintain the garden as you thought how to get close and kill the king. As you were lost in thought while picking apples you heard a charming voice which made you look down to see the king. "I heard you are my new gardener, would you mind if you would give me an apple" "Oh well here you go your majesty", you said coming down to give the king his apple. "Oh please call my Wally" "Well my name is Y/n", you said holding out your hand which Wally took. From that day forward the king will visit you. He would even help you with the apples and roses. Would even listen to your suggestion about the garden, "Cause if we have blue flowers the red ones will pop more. Same goes for the green and yellow apples the red ones will pop" "I see". Would even bring along the queen of clubs Julie and the king of diamonds Frank. You loved the fact all the four kingdoms are all in one place but they don't know that.

You started to hate yourself because why are the royals still alive. You would break everything in your room as your guilt started to hit. So one night you thought to just get it over with but you heard Wally yelling so you wanted to check out now. But when you got there you saw an assassin and Wally pushing him off. The assassin looked at you and not wanting someone else to kill Wally you thought this would be a good way to get your frustrations out.

Wally watched you get rid of his assassin. His eyes were stuck on you as you finished with the assassin and came up to him. You rubbed his cheek asking him if he is alright. Wally said he was and he was amazed by your strength on how you can be deadly but so sweet. When he is with you he feels more safe. He trusted you more and from that night all those feelings became love.

You enjoyed the fact that Wally was getting close with you. If you kill the king of hearts it would send a message to every other Kingdom. The perfect time to kill him was the heart kingdom banquet that was coming up. A banquet where all the royals and their courts come together and just hang out. Before the banquet you had used some undetected poison in the king's drink. But once you were done Wally himself came up to you. "Are you going to the banquet?" "Oh well I'm not really part of your court" "But you are my close friend" "Friend?" "Definitely. I love your skills, your intelligence, I'm happy to have met you". The conversation was short but you didn't pound on it too much.

At the banquet you stood as everyone else sat and talked. You had never been more disgusted in your laugh, just watching them laugh and having a good time just made your blood boil. That was until Wally made a speech about his late mother. The words he spoke of her felt genuine and even Poppy had started to tear up. Hearing his speech made you think of your family and why you are doing this all in the first place but in a small moment you had a change of heart. You knew which drink had poison, it may be undetected but how can you be a good poison maker without knowing your poison.

After the toast you thought about what could happen. If they did kill your family why be like them when you can be the bigger person. So many thoughts ran through your head as you swallowed the drink. Your knees began to become weak as your life flashed before your eyes. The last thing you heard was Poppy asking you if you are okay.

You woke up as you sat up looking around the room. You felt stupid that the poison wouldn't have worked next time you would use something else. But you stopped when someone came into your room. "Oh my goodness you are alright I was growing more worried", you looked down as you didn't want to see the king's face. As he walked up to you but there he had some roses. "You did my request?" "Well yes they do make the red ones shine". You look at the colorful roses, "Why save me when I'm just a gardener" " Because why would I let someone like you die. I know you are here for a reason as from what Poppy told me. You big break just started why would you let it go to waste. Also you had saved my life the second time around so I might need you there for the third?", Wally kept talking as you just sat there and listened.

You were stuck in bed due to the poison messing up your legs. Many have visited you but the one who surprisingly visited the most was no other than the king. He would come and tell you about his day, to bring you food, tell you all sorts of stories. You had still wanted to hate Wally but it was getting harder to do so. Maybe instead of killing Wally first you find out why he along with the other kingdoms kill your family. But while you were stuck in bed you felt yourself becoming sick again, love sick. You didn't think killing a king would be this hard, he is the king of hearts after all but you will find a way you promised yourself that.

[writing-until-i-drop]

Wildflowers For A Hangman Ch. 10

Summary:

Daisy, a career novelist, moves in with her college best friend Phoenix who has been permanently assigned to Top Gun with Dagger Squad. She finds herself instantly connected with a cocky pilot who's soft only for her and Jake can't help but want to know everything about her. When the past comes knocking at both of their doors, will they stand together or fall apart?

Or: The Dagger Squad can't cook and Jake falls in love with a woman who makes a mean lasagna while they work their personal trauma.

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x writer!femOC | 18+ (eventually) minors dni. Fluff, smut (eventual), idiots in love, past trauma.

A/N: Daisy makes a deal with the devil, Jake and Natasha worry.

AO3 Link

Previous Chapter

Maverick had agreed to let Jake have the day off so that he could go with me to the prison. His hands were shaking more than mine but he was doing a good job at playing the stoic guard dog, holding my hand, and glaring at the swarm of FBI agents who were briefing me on what was going to go down. Rudolph Lance would be chained at his waist, wrists, and ankles, there would be an armed guard standing outside of the room, and I would be going in alone. 

Jake didn’t like the alone part one bit but there wasn’t another option. I on the other hand was perfectly numb, nodding through the briefings and thinking about what I was going to have for dinner. I wasn’t going to make this a big deal, that would just give Rudolph Lance a weird kind of power over the situation. 

“Are you ready, ma’am?” I nodded, still numb.

“Hold on,” Jake grabbed my hand, looking at the agents and guards around us. “Can I get a minute alone with her?” One of the agents, which I had forgotten the name of, nodded.

“Just a minute, son.” They cleared the room and Jake fixed me with a hard stare, analyzing me. I just stared back at him, my face blank. 

“Just say the word and I’ll take you home right now.” I shook my head, “Just making sure, baby.” He reached around his neck and pulled over his tags, “I can’t go with you but I’m right here.” The tags were heavy around my neck, the warmth of the metal seeping into my chest as I tucked them under my shirt. 

“I’m here with you,” Four words that meant three words, I hoped he heard them all the same. “I’ll see you on the other side, pretty boy.” 

“I’ll be right here, Wildflower.” Agents and guards refilled the room, sweeping me away. Inmates shouted as I passed their cells, pounding on the doors. The guards kept me moving, one of them placing a hand at the small of my back. Jake’s dog tags hung over my heart, I focused on the feeling of the metal against my skin to keep myself calm. The numb feeling I had been relying on wavering the closer we got to the end of the hall where the agents had said Lance would be. 

“Okay, Ms. Prentiss.” One of the agents stood between me and the door, it wasn’t a cell, it was more like an interview room where prisoners on death row could speak with their lawyers. “The cameras will be recording the conversation, all you have to do is sit and talk until he gives up the names.” 

“And if all of this is bullshit?” I asked, knowing that all of this could be for nothing. The agent patted my shoulder,

“Then he still gets a needle.” That was good enough for me. I exhaled, shaking out my shoulders,

“Okay, then let’s do this.” 

I paused at the mouth of the room. Wearing an orange jumpsuit, chained to the table and the floor, was Rudolph Lance. He was older than I remembered, his dark hair streaked with gray, a scraggly beard reaching his chest, and a few crude tattoos now adorned his arms. He turned to look at me and suddenly, I felt like a twelve year old girl once again.

“Well, well, well, if it ain’t the kid.” The voice that had haunted my nightmare was unchanged. I took a deep breath, steadying myself, and took a seat. The door closed and locked behind me,leaving me alone with the monster that killed my parents. “Little Daisy Prentiss.”

“Rudolph Lance,” I glared at him. “They said you wanted to talk.” The man stared me down for a few minutes, saying absolutely nothing and then he smiled, chilling me to the bone.

“No need to rush, kid. We’ve got all day,” The bastard wanted to draw this out as long as possible. The FBI analysts had been right, he wanted to torture me. “You go to college?” 

“I did,” I nodded, biting the inside of my cheek. Lance shifted in his chair, giving me a go on look that I ignored.

“Come on, Daisy. I’ve got information that put you on a flight from wherever you ran to when mommy and daddy died,” I dug my nails into my thighs to keep from screaming. “So, you answer my questions and then I’ll give you the information you came for.” 

“Fine,” I gritted out. “I graduated with honors from Embry-Riddle with a degree in English literature.” He barked out a laugh,

“A useless degree,”

“I’m a published author.” He made a noise of interest so I continued. “I write crime novels where my detectives always catch the bad guy.” Lance nodded, 

“Got anyone special in your life?” I debated whether to tell him the truth or not.

“I push people away. Apparently I have abandonment issues and a whole heap of trauma.” I glared at him while he laughed, “Doesn’t really give much of a chance for someone special.” 

“No, I suppose not. What about your brother?” I bit my cheek so hard I tasted blood, eyes squeezing shut.

“Ask me about anything else,” Tears burned my eyes, “You don’t get to ask about him.” 

“‘’Fraid that’s what I want to hear about. How’s Harvey?” What did I do? Did I walk out, refuse to say another word, and ask Jake to take me home? Leave all those families without their answers? Or did I make a deal with the devil? I sighed, placing a hand on my chest, feeling Jake’s tags, begging that they would give me strength for what I had to do.

“He’s got a wife and kids, he doesn’t remember a single second of that night.” 

“He know you’re here?” I shook my head, keeping my eyes trained on the table. “You’re a good sister.”

“Fuck you,” I spat. “You don’t get to say that to me.” He laughed again and I smacked my hands against the table. I stared down the monster and all of the numbness that had been in my mind slipping away. “Tell me the names, admit to what you did to them, to my fucking parents,” I hit the table again. “Or I walk out of here and I’ll throw a party when they put that needle in your arm.” He stared me down but I didn’t flinch, even if I was shaking like a leaf in the wind. “So what’s it going to be?” 

“You’ve got stones, kid.” I didn’t enjoy the tone he was taking, like he was proud of me for losing control. “You FBI sons of bitches got your pens ready?” He called out, looking at the cameras. He began listing names that meant nothing to me, taking his time to make a comment disparaging each of them in some way and then he set his eyes on me. “And last but not least. Jill and George Prentiss.” My parents. I thought there would be a movie moment, where I instantly felt better than I had in years, but that didn’t happen. 

The guards escorted me from the room and brought me to Jake, who wrapped me tightly in his arms.

“I’m right here,” He whispered, kissing my forehead. I didn’t say anything, I couldn’t think of the words, any words, to say. 

X

Daisy slept the whole flight home, her hand in mine. She hadn’t said a word since she came back from speaking with Lance, just giving me nods and shrugs. I had texted Phoenix in warning and sent Mav one asking for a second day off, which he had responded to just before take off.

Mav: Already approved it, you need more just ask

Hangman: Thank you

When we got back to the apartment, Phoenix had pepperoni pizza and beer waiting, but Daisy pushed right past her and headed to her room.

“Should I call Harvey?” She asked, running a hand down her face. She looked tired, dark bags under her eyes, “I don’t know what to do.” I hesitantly pulled her in for a hug, surprised when Phoenix returned it, squeezing me tight. “She’s going to be okay, right?” 

“She’s going to be fine, Phoenix. She’s got us,” I rubbed circles between her shoulder blades. “We’ve just got to be patient with her.” 

“Thank you, Jake.” She whispered, “For being here for her.” I sighed, resting my chin on top of her head.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I promised her. “I’m going to take her some dinner and that’s where we’ll start with figuring this whole mess out.” Phoenix nodded, pulling back and wiping her eyes. 

When I got upstairs Daisy was in the shower, so I put dinner on the desk and sat on the bed to wait for her. It didn’t take long for her to finish and she reappeared in an oversized shirt with her wet hair brushed behind her ears.

“Bob keeps sending me dog pictures and I’ve never been much of a dog person but they’re really cute.” I couldn’t help it, I burst out laughing, crossing the room to kiss her soundly on the lips. She smiled into the kiss, wrapping her arms around me. “We should get a dog.” We. I kissed her quick, three more times on the lips.

“I’ll get you a whole litter of puppies if it’ll make you happy, Wildflower.” Daisy slipped her hands under my shirt, resting on my bare back.

“You’re here with me, right?” 

“For as long as you want me, baby.”

Next Chapter

Taglist: @dizzybee03 @littlezee80 @cinderellasmissingshoes @carolina-on-my-mind03 @mizzzpink @beltzboys2015-blog @writtingrose

[dontmindme-imjustfangirlin]

it's MY turn to share my ratgrinders theory

this has been stewing in my head for weeks and it has little to no support from what we've seen thus far but it speaks to me and may not be coherent but here it is. this got suuuper long so everything is under the cut.

what if the ratgrinders aren't evil or manipulative, what if they're just traumatized and in way over their heads and scared?

i just keep picturing them running in parallel to the bad kids' freshman year. just another group of six kids with powers and abilities they can't wait to learn to harness, to use; to make the world better and to help. arthur aguefort stands in front of them on the first day and tells them an adventurer is a violent wanderer. he romanticizes the adventure, the glory, the prestige. they go to their first classes, and kipperlilly sits two seats behind a goblin her height with a briefcase trying to hand out business cards with his phone number on them; hakinvar, oisin sits a row away from abernant, adaine in material components; ruben ducks his chin down to avoid his brotherdaduncle? henry and completely misses the tiefling girl stomping past the bard class door; mary ann boredly watches on as a half-orc three times her size sings at her barbarian instructor; ivy rolling her eyes when a braggart of a child cold-cocks a fellow freshman; lucy sits beside a redheaded girl who, in the rush of first-day jitters and habitually shielding her little brothers from her parents' vitriol, forgot to bring a pencil to class. of course lucy has one to spare.

i wonder how they met. who found whom first. if kipperlily, type-a and organized, presented everyone she met with a perfect four-year plan. day one to graduation laid out in color-coded sections, the school years broken down by quarter. maybe she found mary ann first, and mary ann went along with her because no one else had bothered to approach. ruben was two feet tall at best and could barely see over the crowd; he kept getting his feet stepped on until a frost genasi gently caught his wrist and healed his bruises with a soft burst of chilly, bracing wind. oisin's horns caught on ivy's bow as they passed by, and he apologized so profusely and earnestly she could only laugh. maybe kipperlily and ivy went to the same middle school, and kipperlily was so excited to see a familiar face she marched right up to her and oisin. maybe lucy noticed the strawberry plush keychain swinging from mary ann's backpack and approached to tell her how much she loved it. she had a matching watermelon, you see. they laughed, hopeful, right there on the sunny turf of the bloodrush field. they decided to call themselves the high-five heroes.

they were so excited to take on the world. they thought they were ready. and then the screaming started.

they'd been at school for less than a day, and the cafeteria was destroyed. the half-orc mary ann watched disinterestedly had been killed. the redheaded cleric lucy gave that pencil had died, too, blood staining the wood of the no.2. the lunch lady who smiled at ivy despite the grimace on her face had been killed. the counselor who said "welcome to aguefort" to oisin with a calming smile had been killed - murdered - by their principal, who immediately took his own life as well in order to bring the two students back.

an adventurer is a violent wanderer. but death and violence found them without warning, and without much wandering at all. the world was a vast and dangerous place. kids died on the tiled floor where they ate lunch. girls were going missing; the most recent one to go missing, penny luckstone, bore a terrifying resemblance to kipperlily.

the far haven woods were not very far at all, but they were safe. they were close to home. they stomped on rats and small elementals and this was not the glory they dreamed of, the rush of adventure or the thrill of wandering this vast world. this was not making the world better. but then even home was not safe anymore. the coach of the bloodrush team pulled half his athletes into a cult and tried to kill their fellow classmates. their assistant principal ended up being an evil dragon and defeated by the aptly named bad kids.

the bad kids, who for their part spent their freshman year murdering people in car chases, doing sick kickflips in abandoned mithral mines, releasing devils from gemstones, tearing up arcades, getting themselves arrested, and saving the missing girls and the world. as sophomore year rolled around, maybe the high-five heroes looked at each other and thought, surely we can do that. they thought they were ready.

their path hadn't been a glorious one, but they grew stronger nevertheless. mary ann never grew taller, but whenever she flew into a rage, she was scrappy and fierce and relentless. ivy's arrows always flew true. oisin bolstered their numbers with fey, elementals, constructs, once even the faded visage of one of his draconic ancestors. kipperlily ducked and wove between rats and put them down with quick slices, so rapid and humane they never felt them. ruben tuned his guitar to folksy ballads and inspired them to imagine they could be more than rat exterminators in the forest behind the school. and dear, sweet lucy, their glue, who kept them safe and healed their wounds.

sophomore year included a project worth a whopping sixty percent of their grade. this did not surprised the high-five heroes like it did the bad kids. preparations for this were baked into kipperlily's plans from the first day of school. ideas for projects were tacked up on her bulletin board and home and in sticky notes in all her binders. i wonder if the high-five heroes really cared what they did, just so long as it was something more that indiscriminately killing rats in the woods. lucy was a cleric; surely she heard whispers of the forgotten one, the god of giants whose name was stricken from the giants' records. maybe the name was hidden so well she had no idea why this god was one best left forgotten. maybe she thought even gods of rage deserved redemption, kindness, a second chance.

sophomore year flew by in a blaze of research and magic. oisin and kipperlily spent long nights in the library and on a rotating series of floors reading tomes of religious history. lucy prayed and communed with her goddess for information, snuck ancient giant texts out of the library and translated them for all to read. ivy and ruben weren't scholars, but their suggestions were occam's razor slicing through thousands of dusty pages of arcane theory and religious treatise. the simplest explanation is likely the right one. mary ann was as quiet as ever, but after long nights of reading, the high-five heroes would awake under soft, fluffy blankets, a plush nestled right up beside them.

when did things start to go wrong? when did ruben's lyrics take a turn to the dark and angry, the romanticizing of self-harm? when did kipperlily go cold and controlling, her thin-lipped smile an iron veneer over anything beneath? when did ivy's attitude turn disinterested and condescending? when did mary ann go into a rage and sneer, all teeth and claws? when did lucy realize they had passed a point of no return and return to the woods to revive the rats they killed, a small penance only she could offer?

what happened that night in the forest? the night lucy died? was it a ritual gone wrong, the culmination of a year of research trying to contact a dead god? was it a channeling or communion turned possession? something dark and evil came to the far haven woods that night. it took their dearest friend from them. was it a rage, this god possessing lucy and forcing the rest of the high-five heroes' hands? was it a gambit, the giant god of rage returning to snatch lucy's soul from her body as collateral?

learn my name, the god whispered that dark night. bring me back, and i will bring her back. you need my name to get her back.

they thought they were ready. they were so, so wrong.

what else could they do? where could they go? they could hardly tell anyone they killed their cleric trying to contact a dead god. arthur aguefort may have helped, but he is gone, running amok across time with his daughter. principal grix would disintegrate them all if he knew what they were doing.

maybe this, too, is where the ratgrinders' (or at least kipperlily's) disdain for the bad kids comes from. when two of their number died, arthur aguefort killed both a teacher and himself to bring them back. he stopped time for half a day to let them rest and defeat the dragon kalvaxus. he smoothed everything over after the bad kids broke out of jail. he risked war with a neighboring country - the second in as many years - because one of his students was detained illegally. the ratgrinders had none of the bad kids' chances or resources or connections. for the long, dark summer of no sun, that resentment festered. they needed a plan to get her back. kipperlily likes to make plans, and she has friends - angry, traumatized, terrified friends - ready to do whatever it took to get lucy back.

maybe the ratgrinders weren't ready before, but for lucy, they would do anything.

i just. do you see my vision?

[bigoltrashpile]

Learning to Share

The lovely @galacticroyal93 has once again commissioned me! Thank you so much you're the greatest!!! This one is for all four yandere Papyruses kidnapping and then...loving the same person ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) So if you are a minor please go away, but if you're over 18, then enjoy!!!

You stared up at the ceiling blankly.  It was Friday.  The fifth day of your capture.  You sighed and rolled over, trying to find the will to get out of bed.

It had started normally.  You had become friends with Slim, a friendly skeleton monster, and you had quickly become a part of each others’ lives.  You and him had hung out whenever you could, and soon enough, you met his cousins.  Apparently he had a lot of them, eight all together in one house.  They had seemed normal enough…

But then some of them started to get attached.  Too attached.

The tall skeletons, Papyrus, Noir, and Hound, along with Slim of course, had begun vying for your attention.  Papyrus and Noir would show off and try to impress you, while Slim and Hound would try to get you to smile, and try to share any food or drink they could with you, just to see you happy.

It was nice!  For a while.  Then, things started to get…weird.  Papyrus would somehow show up wherever you were, Noir seemed to have a few things that looked suspiciously close to things you had lost, Hound somehow knew your favorite drink order, and Slim, although still sweet, would pull you a bit too close when anyone else tried to talk to you.

Definitely strange.

Well, five days ago, you figured out why.

You had been trying to find a good recipe to cook for dinner, when you heard something strange behind you.  

A footstep.

You lived alone.

Instantly, you stiffened up.  Your hand moved slowly away from the recipe book, to the knife block.  You grabbed a knife, and whipped around.

Almost faster than you could blink, a hand caught your wrist.  You were met with a very familiar sight.  Noir.  He smirked down at you gleefully.

“AT LEAST WE KNOW YOU’RE NOT COMPLETELY DEFENSELESS,” he chuckled.  “WELL DONE, SWEET THING.  A VALIANT EFFORT.”

“N-Noir??  What are you doing in my house?” you demanded.  You tried to sound tough, but couldn’t stop your voice from wavering.

“ISN’T IT OBVIOUS?  WE’RE HERE TO TAKE YOU HOME.”

“We?  Home??” you gasped.  You finally looked over Noir’s shoulder to see the other three skeletons behind him.  They were moving boxes out of your room, almost like they were helping you move.  Forcefully.

Using your distraction, Noir took his chance to grab the knife from your hand.  “WOULDN’T WANT YOU HURTING YOURSELF,” he explained casually.  Without looking, he threw the knife.  It stuck in the wall with a loud SHUNK.

You were doomed.

Noir leaned down, his fangs almost touching your ear.  “Now…We Can Do This The Easy Way, Or The Hard Way,” he whispered.  “Either You Come Quietly, Or I Knock You Out And Throw You In The Trunk.  Your Choice.”

“A-are you going to hurt me?” you squeaked pitifully.

“I Don’t Want To Hurt You,” Noir explained.  “But I Will Do What I Must.”

Shaking, you had gone with him quietly.  You were crying silently during the long drive, sure that they were going to do…something to you.  You weren’t sure what.  Kill you?  Sell you for your soul?  Was your friendship with Slim all a lie?  Had he just been kind to you to get to this moment?

Thankfully, once you got to the skeletons’ house, they explained.  Or more accurately, Hound had hugged you tight and kissed you, and then the others explained.

They were in love with you.  All four of them.  They had for months.  Not only did they love you, but they were basically obsessed with you.  They had been stalking you for a while, keeping tabs on you, protecting you, and just falling further and further in love.

They had tried to work things out, and eventually came to a very tenuous agreement.  They would kidnap you, bring you to their home, and share.  For a while.  They would each get you for one day out of the week, and after a  little while, you would decide which of them you would be with forever.

It was definitely a daunting decision.  They were all crazy, obviously, but…they were undeniably very handsome.  And very caring, and thoughtful.  On Monday, the day after you had been taken, Papyrus had treated you to a delicious, homemade dinner.  You had eaten it together under candlelight, which was very romantic despite his “dating outfit” having basketballs for shoulders, and him checking his dating manual every five minutes.

On Tuesday, Slim and you had done a few jigsaw puzzles while watching your favorite movies.  Afterward, you made cookies together!  Slim had eaten lots of the dough, but you still got a few cookies safely into the oven.

On Wednesday, Noir and you went outside!  It was the first time you had seen the sky in two days, and even though he squeezed your hand threateningly every time you talked to someone, walking in the park with hot chocolate had been lovely.

Yesterday, Hound had insisted on playing some games together.  You had started with some card games before moving on to Mario Kart.  Hound was surprisingly good at the game, and you had only won a single race.  Despite that, he was a good sport, and was perfectly happy just sitting on the couch with you.

But today…who would have you on Friday?  Would the order start over, and you’d have another day with Papyrus?  Or would you get the day to yourself?  Yeah, that didn’t seem likely.

Finally, you forced yourself out of bed.  It was still your bed, the skeletons had moved everything from your room to their home, and you had to admit that having all the same things was…comforting somehow.  You got dressed and went downstairs for breakfast.

Just like the other days, Noir and Papyrus were already awake and cooking food.  They chatted idly, turning when you walked in.  “AH, TK!” Papyrus beamed.  “GOOD MORNING!”

“G-good morning,” you muttered.  You sat down nervously.  “Um…what’s for breakfast?”

“WE HAVE MADE WAFFLES AND BACON,” Noir said proudly.

Your stomach rumbled.  “Good, good……Um…what’s the plan for today?”

Noir furrowed his brow.  “PLAN?”

“Yeah, who’s going to have me for the day?”

“all of us do.”  You jumped at Slim’s voice right behind you.  He always moved so quietly!  Slim rubbed the sleep from his eyes and plopped down next to you.  “mornin’, hun~”

“What do you mean, ‘all of you’?” you asked.  “Are you all going to, like…have an hour each?”

“nah, figured we’d do a group date or somethin’,” Slim shrugged.  “go to a movie, or smash bros tournament, maybe.  ‘course goin’ out would be nice with so many of us to keep an eye socket on you.”

Right.  Even if you went out, there was no way to escape.  You pushed the thought from your mind.  “Oh.  Well, I guess that sounds nice!”

“‘s’long as i don’t have to do any running i’m game.”  You jumped again.  Hound was just as sneaky as Slim!  The sharp toothed skeleton pressed a kiss to the top of your head.  “good to see ya angel~”

“You saw me yesterday too!” you laughed softly.

“and bein’ asleep was too long without ya,” he responded.  He sat down next to you, on the opposite side of Slim.

Soon enough, the food was ready, and Noir and Papyrus brought over plates of thick, fluffy pancakes and crispy bacon.  All five of you eagerly dug in, the skeletons chatting and arguing a bit as they did.

You closed your eyes happily.  There was just something so…peaceful about it.  Even though they had kidnapped you, you felt safe around these skeletons.  They loved you, you knew that now, and just having them near you was such a comfy feeling.  If they hadn’t kidnapped you, this would be a dream come true.

“what do ya think, tk?”  The sound of your name snapped you back to reality.  “that sound okay?”

“Huh?”

They all laughed softly at your absent mindedness.  “WE WERE JUST WONDERING IF BINGING A SHOW WAS OKAY WITH YOU,” Papyrus smiled.  “WE CAN MAKE A BLANKET FORT IF YOU WANT!”

“Y-yeah, that sounds good!” you smiled.  It would be nice, cuddling with all the skeletons.  Although, with that thought in your head, how would you do that?  There wasn’t a bed big enough for five people, so you’d have to make do.

After breakfast, the skeletons went to work, leaving you locked in the house alone until that evening.  While you were alone, you doodled yourself and the four of them in a giant bed together.  It wasn’t really feasible, but the thought of it made you feel warm.

That evening, the skeletons came home, and were all eager for your movie night.  They eagerly placed a few mattresses on the ground of your bedroom and hung up blankets.  Well, you, Noir, and Papyrus did.  Hound and Slim “supervised”.

When everything was set up, you got dressed.  Papyrus insisted that you all wear pajamas, and so you were wearing an old t shirt and some soft shorts.  The others were wearing lazy clothes as well, and it was a welcome surprise to see them in more casual attire.

Papyrus started some cheesy reality show that you could all make fun of, and they all settled in around you.  Papyrus was behind you, acting like a backrest.  Noir was to your side, leaning against your left shoulder.  Hound’s head was in your lap, using your thighs as a pillow, and Slim was on your right, leaning much more into you than Noir.  He was almost like a slug squishing into your side!

It was stupidly cozy.  You and your four…captors.  You had to remind yourself that they were your captors.  Not boyfriends.  They were keeping you prisoner.

You shook your head.  You would worry about that later.  For now, you could pretend, right?  It was probably the Stockholm syndrome talking, but you wanted to pretend that things were back to normal.

Just for a while.

About an hour into your binge, you were all laughing and chatting happily.  You half expected to fall asleep, but the four of them kept you too entertained.  It was really pure domestic bliss.

Well, maybe except for Hound’s hand creeping further and further up your thigh.

You had tried to ignore it at first, to give him plausible deniability.  But you couldn’t ignore it anymore.  His hand was getting closer and closer to the junction of your thighs.

And the worst part is, you weren’t sure if you wanted to stop him.

Sure, you knew it was wrong.  He had kidnapped you and kept you captive for five days, and now he was trying to make the moves on you?

But on the other hand…his fingers felt so nice as they danced further and further.  You shuddered softly as they finally reached your clothed sex.

You bit your lip to hide your moan.  Just that soft touch felt amazing.  It had been way too long since you’d gotten some action…what could it hurt?

Hound’s eyes met yours.  He quirked his brow in question.  You gave him a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

A wicked grin spread across his face.  His fingers continued their back and forth motion, feather light, just enough to tease.  Fuck, you needed more.  You spread your legs as much as you could with Hound’s skull still on your thighs.

“AHEM, REMEMBER WHAT WE AGREED, HOUND,” Papyrus’s voice cut through into your little world.  You squeaked and snapped your legs together.

Hound just smirked.  “i don’t know whatcha mean, didn’t actually fuck her, did i?”

“WELL…NO, BUT THE INTENT WAS THERE!”

“AND WE AGREED NO SEX BEFORE SHE ASKED,” Noir growled.  “WE’RE NOT ANIMALS.”

“hey, tk wanted it too!” Hound huffed, finally sitting up.  “didn’t ya, angel?”

Your face warmed.  “I-I mean…yes?”

“a yes with a question mark ain’t good enough,” Slim scoffed.

“Fine then, yes.”  You covered your face, embarrassed.

Instantly, four pairs of hands were all over you, gently slipping under your clothes.  “Well Darling, Why Didn’t You Say So Earlier?” Papyrus whispered in your ear.  You shuddered as his hands found your breasts and tweaked your nipples playfully.  “We’re More Than Happy To Help You~”

“THIS WILL BE THE PERFECT CHANCE TO PROVE I AM THE BEST CHOICE!” Noir grinned.  You could practically feel his smugness coming off of him in waves.

“psh, as if, i’m gonna make ‘em see stars,” Hound interjected.  His hands were right back to your pussy, this time not even trying to be subtle.

Slim didn’t say anything, but you could hear a faint growl coming from his chest.  Before you could say anything, he grabbed your shirt and tore it off of you.

You shrieked and tried to cover yourself, but Papyrus grabbed your wrists in his strong hands and pulled them away.  “Don’t Be Shy,” he purred.  “We’ve Wanted This View For Months~”

You bit your lip, refusing to meet any of their eyes.  While you did, Hound took the chance to get you out of your shorts.  “let us see every inch of ya, angel,” he hummed.  “i can’t wait to taste ya~”

As soon as the shorts were off your hips, all four of them froze.  Slim moaned softly.  “fuck, you smell so good,” he panted.

“And You Look Divine,” Noir agreed.  He gently moved his gloved hands to your hips.  “So Soft…So Beautiful…”

“fuck!  i can’t take it anymore!!”  Before you could even ask, Hound dove between your legs, threw your legs over his shoulders, and licked right up your pussy.  You let out a shocked moan at both the pleasure and the change of position.  Papyrus still had a grip on your wrists, so you couldn’t brace yourself against anything as Hound began to eagerly eat you out.

His long, magical tongue almost seemed like it had a mind of its own.  Your eyes rolled back as it slipped inside you.  It was almost like a tentacle, seeking out your most sensitive spots while his thumb rubbed your clit in tight circles.

“stars,” Slim moaned.  He was rubbing the front of his pants, where an orange glow could be seen.  “you’re so fuckin’ hot, be nice and loud,” he begged.  You had no choice but to oblige when Hound’s tongue found your g spot.

Hound grinned against you as he attacked the spot over and over again.  Fuck, you were so close, you couldn’t hold back any more!

You came against Hound’s face.  Hard.  You let out breathy pants as your orgasm washed over you.  Hound moaned as if he was the one who had just cum as he drank up everything you had to give him.  

He pulled back only after you had fully come down from your high, panting and relaxing against Papyrus’s chest.  “that was better than i ever imagined,” he purred deeply.  “you’re the tastiest fuckin’ dessert i’ve ever had~”

“I Hope You’re Warmed Up,” Noir smirked.  He pushed Hound out of the way as he made his way to your front.  “Because The Main Event Is Just Beginning~”

“M-main event?” you squeaked.

“what, you think we’re gonna let him have all the fun?” Slim scoffed.  “that was just the appetizer.”

“You Aren’t Going To Leave Us Hanging, Are You?” Papyrus whispered.  He ground his boner against your ass, and you could feel just how hard he was from Hound’s little show.

Well, it would be cruel just to leave them all like this…  “Okay,” you finally said.

A wicked grin from Noir was all the warning you had before you were flipped around.  Now you were facing Papyrus, and he looked just as shocked as you.  “LAY DOWN,” Noir ordered his double.

Papyrus seemed to get what Noir wanted and grinned.  He fully laid down, bringing you with him.  “It’s Okay, Sweet Thing, We’ll Take Good Care Of You,” Papyrus smiled.  He lifted you up, pulling off his pajama pants before gently lowering you onto his cock.

You gasped and shook as he filled you up.  Sure, Hound’s tongue had done a good job of stretching you, but Papyrus was so long!  It felt like you would never stop your descent, he just kept going deeper and deeper~

Finally, you bottomed out, and lay panting, chest to chest with Papyrus.  The skeleton brushed some hair out of your face.  “Well Done, You Take Me So Perfectly!  I Just Knew You Could Do It!”

Just as you were about to speak, something hard prodded against your ass.  You yelped and turned your head to see Noir’s pierced cock nudging at your entrance.  “Just Relax,” he almost ordered.  “It Will Make This Easier.”

You nodded, before Papyrus grabbed your chin, bringing you in for a kiss.  His tongue invaded your mouth, thoroughly distracting you as Noir slowly pushed inside you.

Fuck!  It burned, but still felt amazing!  You weren’t sure if Noir was using some kind of magic to help him, but as he filled you up in new ways, you didn’t care.  You slowly began rocking against Papyrus, using his ribs like handles to ground yourself.

Papyrus pulled away from your kiss to moan.  “Fuck, Do That Again,” he demanded.  You moved your hand in the same way, and Papyrus let out a shuddering breath.  Oh, you liked that sound~

Finally, Noir settled inside of you.  He growled, his tight grip sure to leave bruises.  Finally, he pulled out, before slamming back inside.

You screamed.  You weren’t afraid to admit it.  Having both of their cocks filling you at once, it was almost too much.  Both of them began moving in unison, as one pulled out, the other pushed in, making sure you were never empty.

Just as you were getting used to this, you felt something else at your lips.  You looked up to see Slim.  His honey colored cock was in front of you.  He almost looked embarrassed, but he didn’t even need to ask.  You took him into your mouth.

Slim gasped, an even prettier sound than Papyrus’s.  He put his hand on your head, not to force you down, just for something to hold onto.  His cocks even tasted like honey!

As if he didn’t want to be left out, Hound grabbed your hand and held it to his cock.  It felt almost like a tentacle, similar to his tongue.  You happily moved your hand around it, wanting to make all of them feel just as good as you did.

Noir and Papyrus started to move faster.  It was almost like they were as pent up as you had been.  Papyrus was practically drooling as your hand on his ribs gripped even tighter.  He clumsily rubbed your clit, as if returning the favor.

“You’re So Fucking Perfect,” Noir snarled.  “Taking Us All So Well…”

“you feel amazing,” Slim chimed in.  “i wanna make you feel this good too~”

“such a pretty human,” Hound panted. “We Love You!”

“can’t believe you’re finally ours!”

“wanna see ya cum with all your holes filled~”

“You’re So Fucking Tight~”

“Squeezing Us So Perfectly-”

“cum for us, please honey, please-”

It was all so much!  The knot inside you was tightening further and further, and it only took Noir reaching around you to pinch your nipples and-

You exploded.

You screamed around Slim’s cock as you came.  Your vision turned white, and your body moved against your will.  You thrashed and squirmed, but all their hands held you tight.  Your screaming quickly caused Slim to cum, and he pulled out before painting your chest with his magic.

The others were soon to follow, Noir and Papyrus cumming deep inside you, while Hound’s magic joined Slim’s on your chest.  You almost didn’t register it as you rode through wave after wave of pleasure.

You collapsed on Papyrus’s chest.  “Holy shit…” you panted.

“You Can Say That Again,” Papyrus grinned.  “Thank You.”

“all right, my turn with her pussy.”  You were unceremoniously pulled off Papyrus and onto Slim’s cock.  You choked out a gasp as he filled you up yet again.  “sorry honey, we’re not stopping ‘til you pass out~” Slim winked.

You were fucked.

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

Later that night, you were sleeping peacefully in your bed.  The skeletons had cleaned you up and tucked you into your clean sheets.  You were truly perfect, taking all of them multiple times, until you couldn’t cum any more.  What had they done to deserve you?

“Well…Who Do You Think Won?” Noir whispered as they slowly shut your door.  You deserved plenty of rest after that.

“me, obviously, i made her cum first,” Hound bragged.

“but did ya see how her legs shook after she sat on my face?  i think i won,” Slim interrupted.

“I’D SAY WE ALL WON!”  Papyrus held up a piece of paper.  The others all stared at it, not quite knowing what they were seeing.

It was a doodle of all five of you sleeping together in one bed.  Around it were several notes, like “two mattresses?” and “at least fifteen feet wide” and “california king mattress” circled.  It was a very cute doodle, clearly made quickly, but…

The thing they noticed was that you looked happy.  Very happy.  Even though it was a rushed drawing, the peaceful smile on your face stood out.

“WELL, I SUPPOSE THAT SETTLES IT,” Noir shrugged.

“maybe sharing won’t be too bad,” Slim mused.

“I, FOR ONE, CAN’T WAIT FOR THE REST OF OUR LIVES TOGETHER!”

They all couldn’t agree more.

[spencerreidswhore187]

Checkmate (Part Three)

By @spencerreidswhore187 for @sackofpissandshit

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

Summary: Spencer finds out that reader is not who he thought they were. (Lots of angst)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Unsub (g!n) Reader

Word Count: 2.6K

TW: Death, kidnapping, mentions of assault, hospitals, strong-ish language and Frank Kafka

A/N: Hi! Thank you to everyone who liked, commented, reblogged and followed Checkmate (Part one and two), it means the world to me. I ate like six Wispa chocolate bars (the superior chocolate) whilst writing this and I swear I have never typed so fast. I also, finally, proof read so yay!

“Reid-”

“You can’t stop me, Emily,” Spencer said, pulling the tubes out of his arms, indifferent to the pain, “I need to see them. I will see them.”

JJ tried to persuade him “This isn’t a movie or one of your novels, Spence please, y/n tried to kill you. You cannot see them.”

It was silent, the team avoiding making contact with Spencer and his bloodshot eyes and dishevelled hair. He looked insane when he spat “Don’t say their fucking name, I am going. We all know they won’t talk to anyone else.” You would have grinned, were you there. Spencer could have sworn he saw you throw your head back and laugh in the corner of the room. It was an ironic twist of fate, the way you’d both reacted to the truth. You had become soft and timid - growing a conscience and your Spence had grown twisted and harsh. 

Spencer hated himself for it but he wished you were with him.

Emily stood dumbfounded, she did not know what to expect when Spencer awoke but surely it was not this. This was not Spencer. Is this what love does to someone, she wondered.

Spencer was unrecognisable as he walked towards the exit of the monotonous hospital room, his face unreadable. Emily recalled the way it used to light up whenever your name was mentioned. 

Spencer paused in the doorway, looking over his shoulder, “

Emily would let him go - against protocol, or not - they both knew that. 

They needed you to talk and the only person you would speak with was Spencer.

——————————————————————————-----------------

Agent David Rossi slammed his hands against the tables in frustration, “We know what you did, y/n. We have evidence,” you made no move to speak, “ you can either make a deal with us and tell us who you are working for or spend the rest of your life rotting in a cell.” 

Tara and Rossi took turns trying to interrogate you but you weren’t listening, you had forced yourself into the corner of your mind, reliving your favourite memories in a futile attempt to dull the throbbing pain in your heart.

It had been three years, eight months, two weeks and one day since you met Spencer Reid. You’d had left a meeting with Ben, black and blue because you had refused to kill a group of children whose worst crime had been staying up past their bedtime, and had gone straight to August.

August had been your first love and your third kill. When Ben had found out about them he had forced you to slit his wrists. 

You rested your head against his gravestone, crossed-legged and book in hand. It was late and you were exhausted but you could not bring yourself to leave - perhaps it was pure stubbornness: everyone had always left you so out of spite, you refused to leave them. Or maybe it was fate. If you had left you never would have met Spencer. 

“Yours,” You had read aloud, “now I'm even losing my name - it was getting shorter and shorter all the time and is now-”

“Yours,” a tall, brunette stranger interrupted. He was beautiful; he looked like you, broken. Alone might as well have been tattooed on his forehead. The stranger raised the book in his hand and you recognised the cover:

“Letters to Milena,” you had smiled. It was the same novel resting in your lap. He wore a matching smile on his face, it looked like the first time he had smiled in a while, it was certainly the first time you had.

He sat down at the grave next to August’s, the stone read ‘Maeve Donovan’. 

You extended your hand, “Y/N L/N. Hi.”

He took your cold hand in his, it was much larger but fitted in yours so comfortably, “Spencer Reid,” he replied. 

That night you talked for hours in the graveyard, eventually forgetting the reason you were both there to begin with.

When you got up to leave and return to the real world, he had grabbed your wrist, releasing it immediately and apologising profusely, a jolt of electricity had run up your arm, “I, er, maybe we could go out sometime…together…like an, um, date?” 

You had grinned, feeling alive for the first time in years. At that moment you weren’t Y/N, The Phantom Menace, you were just Y/N, someone who at long last believed in hope. 

You’d been alone in the dull interrogation room for around an hour when the door at last creaked open; there he stood. 

Spencer’s breath caught in his throat - how could you sit there looking so beautiful, like something he’d never seen. Perhaps you were a fallen angel, a plague on mankind. That’s the only explanation Spencer could concoct that would validate how someone as deadly as you could look so heavenly. 

He wanted to grab hold of your chin and press his lips against yours, he wanted to feel the warmth of your body pressed against his. This endless loop of thoughts made Spencer feel sick, he forced himself to remember who you are and what you’ve done. It didn’t matter though. 

You watched him analyse your face, maybe you were delusion or maybe he still cared and was checking to see whether you were hurt. Whether you were okay. You weren’t, neither of you were. 

You didn’t say anything as he slowly approached the steel table you were handcuffed to. You didn’t say anything as he took a seat across from you. You didn’t say anything as he reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

Soon the silence became unbearable for Spencer.

“You tried to kill me,” he whispered. 

You didn’t know how to respond. You hated that things would never be the same; you missed the way you would lie in bed and talk for hours, the mornings where you would drape yourselves across the sofa and race each other to finish the crossword first. 

“I’m sorry,” you replied, hesitantly. 

“That’s not good enough.” 

A tear, a lone bead, trailed down your cheek. You hated he could see you cry, you yearned to wipe your sorrows away. 

“Why are you here, Spence?”

He scoffed, “Oh, are we back to Spence now? When will you stop playing these games, y/n? You won. Is that what you want to hear,” his voice slowly raised into a shout, “Checkmate. You broke me.”

Spencer closed his eyes tightly, remembering how Garcia had told him you were the one who made the call. 

 “I need you to explain something to me.”

“Anything,” you breathed. 

“Tell me what you meant by ‘the men who kidnapped me.’” 

“Spencer-”

“Tell me,” he glowered, “and then we are done. You won’t ever have to see me again.” 

You choked back a sob, you had been injured, nearly killed, countless times by countless people but nothing hurt like this. Spencer ignored the tears streaming down your face and the way your voice shook as you finally spoke, it was so convincing and he knew if he let himself believe it, there would be no turning back. 

“When I was eight years old, I was walking home from school. My parents, well, they weren’t home much but it was my birthday and they had promised me that there would be this huge cake and lots of presents. I was so excited. I don’t know why. I was five minutes away from the house when a van pulled up beside me and these two men grabbed me and drove off. 

“They used to laugh at me. They would drink and stare at my tied-up body making jokes about how my parents told the police to stop looking for me after just a few hours of looking. They would tell me how easily I could be found if someone actually cared about me. 

“After a few years, they got bored of me and made me run errands for them. At first, it was drugs and then they would make me steal, rob small shops. If I didn’t then they would, um…” Spencer stared at the surface of the table, he didn’t think he’d be able to stop himself from uncuffing you and then escorting you out of the FBI building if he did.

You continued, “It was easier to do what they said. I thought that if they let me go far enough, maybe I would get caught. Anything…anything would have been better than being with Aidan and Steven Keith. At least that’s what I thought.” 

Spencer’s mind was racing with a thousand possibilities. He hates it when you cry, he hates it when you’re hurt, he sat frozen, not knowing what to do. 

“They got in, um, trouble with Be-the leader of this local gang. Some drug deal gone wrong I think. They tried to trade me as a gesture of good faith - I was seventeen. I killed Steven and thought I had escaped but they found me in an alley. 

“They started training me to be an assassin, sending me out to do their dirty work. I didn’t want to, at first, I swear it, Spencer. But then it became a way to disassociate. When I held that little blade I became a completely different person, it was the only way I could survive. I wanted to escape but I couldn’t get away from him.” Him? 

“And then…I met you.” 

Spencer remembered the day you brought him back to life in that graveyard. It had been two weeks since Meave died and he wasn’t sure what he expected when he went to visit her for the first time but it sure as hell wasn’t you. You were mesmerising. 

“After our second date I told, um, him that I was done. I told him I had money, I tried to give him everything in exchange for my freedom - a life with you, Spence, would have been worth it. He wouldn’t let me, though. We ended up meeting less and less frequently and I managed to convince him that there were worse ways to ruin his enemies' lives than death. 

“I thought I was done. I was happy, we were happy; I foolishly believed we could lead a normal life. 

“He told me five more people and then I was done. I did the jobs without hesitation, it’s not like they didn’t deserve it. 

“It was supposed to be our last meeting, earlier,” you weren’t aware of what time it was anymore, the hours just rolled into one another, “and he revealed my loving boyfriend had lied to me. That you were a profiler for the FBI. He didn’t give me a choice, I had to…I had to kill you.” 

Spencer couldn’t breathe. He forced himself to inhale, hold, and then exhale. He had more questions he needed answering. 

“So you did not kill Sheppard, Daugherty, Smith, Chen or that bastard Keith?”

“No.”

“Why should I believe you? Why should I believe anything you say?” He did know why he was being so harsh. It was like Spencer had become two different people and he was standing mute watching this cruel figure shout at the love of his life. He wished more than anything that you could just stop loving someone, and turn it off like a switch. Spencer feared he would love you forever. 

Mirroring your conversation earlier, he asked: “How did they end up dead then?” 

“I told you before, I don’t know.”

‘Then think!” 

“I can’t-shit.” The realisation hit you like a ton of bricks. It was Ben. He had lied to you - every life you thought you had spared, you had been wrong. He had been playing you the whole time. Perhaps you were a pawn after all. 

Spencer seemed to come to the same conclusion as you. 

“It was him, wasn’t it,” he asked.

There was no point lying, he knew your tell, you knew that, “yes.”

“What’s his name.” 

“I can’t-”

“I won’t let him hurt you y/n, sweetheart. If he comes after you, if he touches a hair on your pretty little head, I will kill him. And…I will sleep well.” He knew that it made him a hypocrite and no better than you but he didn’t care. The thought of someone hurting you made him feel nauseous. 

You whispered, “Ben. His name is Ben.”

With that, Spencer got out of his chair and went to open the door. He heard your voice call his name “Spence” from behind. 

He paused but he could not bring himself to turn around and face you.

You continued anyway, “Spencer, Spence, I wish the world were ending tomorrow. Then I could take the next train, arrive at your doorstep in Vienna, and say: ‘Come with me,’” Your voice cracked, you couldn’t disguise your sobs as you watched Spencer. “‘We are going to love each other without scruples or fear or restraint. Because the world is ending tomorrow.’ Perhaps we don’t love unreasonably because we think we have time or have to reckon with time. But what if we don't have time? Or what if time, as we know it, is irrelevant? Ah, if only the world were ending tomorrow. We could help each other very much.” 

You hoped Spencer would come back, you foolishly hoped he would hold you but you should have known by now that hope is a myth, a horrid, twisted lie. 

‘I love you, still. Always,” you promised the vacant room.

As he, at last, left the interrogation room, Spencer���s facade slipped - his composition crumbled. Heartbreaking, he leant against the door. He was exhausted from pretending that he didn’t care. As the tears started spilling down his cheeks, Spencer slid down the wall, drawing his knees up to his chest. Harsh sobs echo down the corridor. 

Why was it always him? Why couldn’t he live a perfect life for once - it didn’t even have to be perfect, it just needed you. 

By the time Spencer heard the voices of Emily and Rossi in the distance, he had already decided. He was going to find this ‘Ben’ and he was going to destroy him for what he did to you. 

—————————————————————————————————---

Ben scrubbed at the blood that stained his knuckles, intently watching his reflection in the mirror above the sink basin. 

He didn’t look away when he heard a gentle knock at the door, “enter,” he called. 

The new girl, Beth something, walked in, twisting a dark curl around her finger. 

“What?” He demanded. 

“Y/N’s been arrested, sir,” she said, “and the agent is still alive.”

 “Stupid bitch,” Ben scoffed, turning round to face the timid girl. 

“She was foolish enough to get arrested and keep her dickhead boyfriend alive? Did she think she’d get away with it or what? I should have gutted that brat when I had the chance.” 

Ben grinned at the thought, his rotting teeth on display. Beth took a subconscious step back at the putrid display. 

“How long will her sentence be?”

“For life, Sir.”

His nasally laugh engulfed the pair, “Good. Y/N’s fallen right into my trap - it’s all going to plan, Brittney,” the destruction Ben planned to bring excited him, “Checkmate.” 

A/N: Thank you for reading! Part four will be uploaded soon ◡̈

——————————————————————————————————

If you would like to be added to the tag list comment or message me.

Taglist: @sackofpissandshit @ara-a-bird @princess-ofthe-pages @catsinaspacesuit @skull-centric

[frozenjokes]

Quite A Rotten Love, This Is

“My deepest apologies to the council, and equally to our noble familied witnesses,” Cub was not sorry, nor was he the type to grovel, but he knew his place here. He knew his place quite well, just as well as he knew what it was like to sit in the stands, raised platforms overlooking the defendant of the court. He knew he’d be walking out of here with a slap on the wrist; less than, if he played his cards right, but ah, Cub was never the most delicate with his words. “Really, I am quite embarrassed with myself, letting my whims get the better of me like this. I only want the best for our kingdom, however, I see now that chasing those ambitions has endangered our clan.”

The council, the bears that oversaw that governing of the Bear Clan, held narrowed eyed expressions, neutral, bordering on hostile, an expression Cub wore quite well himself. But Cub could see beyond their practiced neutrality; these bears knew him, especially the nobles in the witness stand. There may not even be a vote on his sentence. Why sentence Cub at all? He’d hardly done anything wrong, the opposite really, even if the law saw things differently.

He was a scientist. A man of research, a man of the court, and he took his job quite seriously. His work surrounded that of the Rot, the very corruption which ensnared Armello’s current king, driving him to madness at the cost of the rest of his country. Rot was nasty business, truly, and the Bear Clan in particular despised it, but Cub saw potential where his peers could not, he knew if he could just figure out how to harness it-

Armello’s king was dying, withering away at the hands of the very power he had wielded for so long. The Clans of Wolf, Rabbit, Rat, and Bear were all quite aware, and as the king’s madness grew, so did attempts to seize the throne, heroes storming the castle in the name of their Clan, then perishing on the halberds of the king’s royal guard.

Fools.

Fools, all of them who turned to the Wyld as their savior. Now, their logic was not unsound, not at first glance. The only way to cure an affliction of corruption such as the Rot was to destroy it, and the only known way to destroy the Rot was to expose it to a concentrated source of the Wyld’s power; spirit stones, as they were so aptly nicknamed. But these coveted stones were rare, only forming in the depths of Rot-infected dungeons, or if you were superstitious, entering a spirit stone ‘in your time of need..’ Yeah.. Cub had reason to doubt that one. However, to cure an infection, you needed four stones, and if the afflicted host was already too far gone, the absence of their Rot would kill them instantly, proving a massive waste of resources.

That is.. unless you had four stones in the throne room, shattering Armello’s corrupted king to pieces under their divine light. He would die instantly. Cub was certain. However, good luck getting near the castle with your precious stones, as even carrying them beyond the walls of Castle Town will count as treason- well, to be fair, most anyone entering the walls of the king's home town was treason these days.. It’s safe to say the king had noticed the uptick in assassination attempts and trusts little of the neighboring Clans. But the king’s guard were not infected with Rot; not most of them anyway, so the spirit stones alone would not be enough to breach the castle walls.

But the Rot was different. The Rot made you strong.

Near the beginning, when the king’s madness had only begun and the guard was not so heavy, an assassin had made it into the king’s chambers, and in the absence of his guard, the king fought the intruder himself.

The assassin was eviscerated. Cub had seen countless photos of the king on his balcony, his large mane soaked in the blood and viscera of the young Wolf Clan member who had made it inside. But you wouldn’t have known their race, not from the body that had been tossed into the castle square, splattering- no, shattering on the bricks, black steam wisping off the creature’s managed remains. The emblem on the destroyed armor was the only indicator of Clan, only DNA tests able to confirm the exact race. A wolf; not surprising when the bearers of their Clans’ name tend to be most invested in their politics, but interesting enough. That was besides the point.

If one could accrue enough Rot to face the royal guard, then the king himself, and recover from the infection at a cost less than that of their life- this was ideal, and in Cub’s opinion, a no brainer. In all honesty, the king’s successor did not have to survive the fight so long as the king was dead, however, it seemed to be a well accepted notion that the king’s killer would rule in his stead, securing the place for their Clan. Would it stop the infighting among Clans? No, and there would be many more deaths before peace in Armello was restored, however, the Bear Clan’s influence taking the king’s place would be a very good start. Perhaps the other Clans would be so grateful to them for disposing of the old bastard, they would accept their rule without question? Unlikely.

However, Cub would very much like to find a cure for Rot corruption that doesn’t involve the death of the host. After all, he was quite skilled in the art of magic, in the Wyld as well as the Rot, and he had a few ambitions of his own..

“Hey, do I get to know your name yet, or are you just going to sit there sulking until we starve to death?” The prisoner, Scar he was called, that had landed Cub on the court’s floor in the first place spoke, breaking him from his thought. Now, it wasn’t as if Scar ever stopped talking, but being addressed directly was a little harder to ignore.

“My name is not relevant to our mission, and given the innumerable ways I outrank you, you would not be addressing me as such anyway. If you must call me anything, then call me Sir.”

“I’m not calling you that. Feel free to take a step off your high horse though, because we're both on equal footing now. They blew up the dungeon entrance and everything, a whole spectacle of a cave in, yeah? I mean, not the most reliable form of capital punishment if I’m being honest. Listen, I know you’re in a bad mood and all from having your people turn their backs on you or whatever, but this ain’t my first rodeo. You’re in good hands!” Scar held out his arms for emphasis, though given he was a rat, his wingspan was hardly any longer than the width of Cub’s body.

Cub turned his scrutiny from the floor to Scar directly, taking the Rat Clan (well perhaps ex-Rat Clan) member in. Scar’s past was written all across his skin in marks more permanent than tattoos, both ears were in shreds, and even half his tail was gone, the stump looking fresher than most of his other scars. A thief, some kind of rogue, and a nasty one at that, though Cub got the feeling Scar’s prime was behind him, and not just because of their shared predicament. He stank of rot, as obvious as the bulging veins on both of his legs, though the right was far worse than the left, hence the cane Scar used to get around. He was not corrupted yet, still in the stage of weakness that would haunt him for a while longer, though many bears had thought otherwise, given he had clearly lost his mind. Waltzing into Bear Clan land, the place where Rot was most despised, then attempting thievery of all things- truly, there most definitely was something wrong with Scar and it had nothing to do with his sickness.

“As stated in our sentence, we are not on equal footing. I will continue my research, and you will be my assistant.”

If Scar responded, Cub didn’t hear it, the deep, dull throb of his broken chest drowning out all other noise. He tried to push it down, repress the all encompassing pain of their betrayal, but the memories overtook him regardless.

He knew his place. He knew with an unshakeable certainty that this one flub, this one mistake in which he had the misfortune of getting caught, would not end in consequence. He was loyal. He was theirs. And he knew he was right, even if the rest of their Wyld-riddled brains couldn’t see it.

And yet.

“We’ve set a close eye on you in recent weeks, Cub,” a council member, one he did not know well, but whom he trusted regardless; he’d had no reason for mistrust- everything up until now had been cordial, even if he could sense discomfort at his various dissertations from time to time, “You’re passionate about your work, we all know. We’ve heard you speak. However, matters like those of Rot are delicate. We, the citizens of Armello, are delicate. You, Cub, are delicate. Yet, you do not treat yourself as such. You do not respect the boundaries we’ve agreed upon to keep the Bear Clan safe, to keep us from becoming like that of Rat and even Wolf, noble as they pretend to be.”

Cub was not worried. Cub had not been worried. “I understand we have had disagreements.. ones that have been settled, and terms I have ignored in pursuit of my craft. Wrong as I am, I hope to appeal that I only push the boundaries of your word for the sake of our future. The council knows better than I, yes, however, I hope you understand my frustration in such tight restrictions. Some days it feels as though I am left to wonder, how am I really meant to study Rot when I’ve never been allowed to speak to those who suffer from its affliction.”

“You like the Rot, Cub?” The council member straightened just slightly, their tone edged, and the others of the council came to attention in turn, their practiced expressions growing colder, as typical for a court of law. Cub considered this typical. He had not been worried. Though, the question had confused him. It was odd. Loaded.

“As a tool, I believe Rot to be key to our success. We’ve all witnessed the power in its corruption, and if we can harness it, overtake the king in his castle then free ourselves from its grip.. well. Not only do I believe we can use it to take power, but keep it as well. To find a cure without the cost of a corrupted’s life.. Our influence, unimaginable.” The following silence itched under Cub’s skin, the glares of the council still cold and unyielding. Perhaps he would be punished after all. Perhaps he had judged the room incorrectly. Fine. He could handle it.

“You did not react when I told you that you were being watched. You don’t believe yourself to be guilty?”

Cub steeled himself, keeping his expression firmly neutral. “I acknowledge my transgression for the crime of seeking out the infected prisoner. While I do not believe my work requires such intense supervision, it does not surprise or bother me to know this was taking place. My only wish is to serve you, the Bear Clan. I know I have yet to convince you of the Rot’s power, so in the meantime, whatever brings you the greatest comfort is more than okay with me.”

They were going to force him to cease his research. That’s where this was going. Possibly worse than the worst case scenarios he’d imagined in his head, and the threat of secret supervision was planted in order to keep him from continuing in secret. They knew he would try. They knew him far too well. Perhaps Cub had bared too much of his heart, though he never imagined they would seize it in this way. Grief and anger swirled in his gut, pushing apart and dizzying him with the feeling, but his neutrality did not change. He would accept this sentence with grace. While Cub believed strongly that the Wyld alone would not win them this battle, in the end, he would do as he was ordered.

“Must I give it all up?” There was nothing neutral about the words that slipped from his lips, tore apart his facade, and left his heart and lungs broken and bleeding for the world to see. A grave error, one he recognized and fiercely regretted the moment he spoke, but there was no going back now. Is this what they’d been waiting for? Was he always doomed to crack at their feet?

“We don’t believe you can,” a new council member spoke, one he was far more familiar with, one who he thought maybe, eventually, he might learn their name. Their cold hostility sent the first sparks of fear down Cub’s spine.

“I would do anything-“

“Quiet. It is no longer your place to speak.” The faces above him were stony. Every face, even beyond the council. Cub felt his breath catch in his throat, audibly, for everyone to hear. Relentlessly, he was plowed over. “You are infected, Cub. Not in skin, nor in smell. In mind, however, we all agree. You are dangerous, you have been for months, and now, you’ve shown how far you’ll go to pursue this mad fantasy.”

He hadn’t done anything wrong! He wanted to scream it, to argue, to wail and lash out and convince them, and they knew it, the council let the silence linger, waiting for Cub to speak, waiting for him to break the order he had been given, to prove to them just how disloyal he was. But he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t. He would do whatever they asked of him, accept any punishment. Infected. He was not infected. He would show them. He would show them, and he would not say a word.

(One transgression. One, in all his time of studying Rot, with the strictest restrictions placed on his research, one time he had disobeyed. Had the council been waiting? Looking for a single excuse they could use to rid of him? Cub perished the thought.)

He bent on a knee, waiting for their order. “You will continue your study, but you will not do it here.” Cub’s head snapped up, hope lighting his heart, but at once he wished he hadn’t, the council’s eyes boring into him as if the motion was a clear admission of guilt. He was only confirming what they already knew. That this is what he wanted. This. The Rot. Still, he did not speak. “You will be escorted to where our territory borders with the king’s, and you will research the Rot directly, as you have desired for so long. With the assistance of the infected rat of whom you betrayed your council for, you will be sealed in one of Armello’s dungeons with three days’ rations. Do as you wish with the time, as your whims are more important to you than the security of our Clan.”

And they had gone on, but Cub was no longer listening. This was worse. This was worse. Scar had been brought in, hissing and spitting and wielding his rotted legs like weapons, useless as they were, but the rat was still feared for the illness that would never spread simply by contact, and certainly not through heavy armor. If they’d listened to him, they would know. They wouldn’t have to be so afraid.

He might have cried, though he didn’t remember. Regardless, Cub was certainly crying now. If Scar noticed, he said nothing, continuing to ramble on like the world hadn’t just come crashing down.

“Do you like the stars?” Scar asked the question out of nowhere, completely unrelated to whatever he’d been babbling about before. Cub frowned, adjusting the pendant that kept his cloak in place.

“Astrology is one of my passing interests, yes. Anyone with so much of a desire to practice spellwork knows to pay their respect to the moon. The night lends us her power, an ultimate force of good.” Cub hadn’t slept on his last night. He wouldn’t have been able to regardless of if he spent the hours in bed, so he chose to sit on the roof of his small home, small only because he hardly spent a moment inside. His real home was the lab, but he was no longer allowed access. Regardless, he intended to savor the stars he would never see again, and pray to the Wyld to lend him strength enough to accept his fate with grace.

“Uh, yeah. That! And it's pretty. That’s what I like.”

“The night sky is beautiful, yes.” Cub heard Scar shifting on his feet, but whatever he wanted, Cub was determined to ignore it.

“I thought you might be a fan because of your- uh- shoulder thing, shoulder wrap. Cloak. Thing. I mean, I can’t see it very well in here, not much light gets through the fallen rocks, huh? But on the way here I mean, sitting in that carriage, I was looking at it. All blue and silver and kinda glittery? Goes well with your fur. Looks expensive. I can see why you wanted to take it with you. Your staff too, now that’s worth quite a bit isn’t it? What’d it cost to get your paws on a spirit stone?”

Cub was tiring quickly of this conversation, extremely uninterested in how the rat would have pawned off all his belongings, but at the same time, dwelling on the way his legs shook on the court room floor.. that was worse, decidedly.

“The stone is used, inactive as you can probably tell. If it still emitted light, we may have an easier time seeing.. though, you’ve probably never seen an activated stone in person. Still, it did cost a pretty penny for mere aesthetics. Spiritually though, it was worth the gold. Contrary to popular belief, the Wyld and its many mysteries are deeply important to me.”

“Well stranger, I have no reason to believe otherwise. I’m not here to fight you, you know. I intend fully on seeing the stars again, especially since my last night was spent in a jail cell.”

“Naive, aren’t you.”

“People tend to think so, and maybe they’re right. You’ll just have to decide that for yourself.” Scar’s eyes glittered in the low light, sharp with something like mischief, but distinctly perceptive, “And, Sir, I’m willing to bet I’ve seen more spirit stones than you could hope to dream. I bet that just turns your stomach, doesn’t it. The grubby hands of a thief holding one of your precious stones between his infected legs.”

Cub grunted, though his surprise didn’t show externally. “Congratulations. Perhaps you’ve slowed the rate of your infection, though, I was never cleared to test something like that directly. You’d think..” Cub huffed, but stopped there.

“Think what?”

“Nothing.”

“No really, continue.”

“We all have thoughts we don’t mean, but they are just that. The things we think are separate from the ways in which we act, and even in the face of death, I will not succumb to anger. They’re protecting their land, and will continue to do so with precise vigilance. My sentence, harsh as it is.. no matter my intention, no one can read minds. As my last act, I will remain loyal. I will respect their decision.”

Cub sensed movement, but didn’t look up. The clumsy click of Scar’s cane grew louder, but Cub stayed still, acknowledging the other with no more than a flick of his ear. He did not move either when Scar ducked into his field of view, disrupting his violent glaring at the floor.

“Hm.” Scar said, as if making forced eye contact in the dim light had revealed some grand insight. Cub met his challenge, though Scar didn’t seem to care, pulling back, “I don’t remember asking.”

Cub growled, but Scar was already walking away, humming to himself. Scar turned, but if he saw Cub’s bared teeth he gave no indication, tapping the opposite wall with his cane, “So the bear does feel emotion other than sorry for himself, that’s nice to know. Listen, given the circumstances I guess I understand, but your failure to realize how the dynamic here has changed.. I deal in difficult people, stranger, but your brand of ignorance just grates my nerves.”

“You have no idea who you’re speaking to.”

The taps of Scar’s cane grew louder, more aggressive. “Oh, I have a pretty good idea, actually. You’re an exile. An outcast. The worst kind too, the kind that grasps at their nobility like it will save them from a knife to the throat. Will loyalty save you, stranger? Or will you keel pathetically, choking on your own blood before you even make it down to die as your council intended. If you’d like to cry of rankings, I’m miles above you, for goodness sakes, and I hardly have weeks left to live! But I intend to live them, hear me?” Scar smashed his cane so hard against the wall Cub was sure it would snap, but it didn’t, and something was wrong here, beyond anger, something was wrong, but when Cub reached for his staff-

“Idiot,” Scar snorted, and Cub looked up to see the silhouette of what Scar was really holding, the length of the staff ridiculous next to his small stature, though he seemed to have zero trouble abusing the rocky brick wall with it. Cub stood with a snarl, but he couldn’t even find his footing before Scar was on him, punching the air from his lungs with a sharp jab from his own staff, then throwing his whole body at Cub’s chest, forcing him back to the ground. Cub hit his head as he landed, and maybe that’s why he failed to notice the dagger at his throat for so long.

“Do you think I make empty threats, stranger? Do you want to die?”

Cub let out a strangled noise, but Scar’s dagger only pressed harder on the exhale, fear sending sparks down his spine as the pressure cut beneath his fur. He couldn’t use magic like this- couldn’t speak any incantations- “No- No-No I don’t- I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die, please.” Cub had never heard those noises leave his mouth, but at this moment he was unconcerned with appearances.

“You don’t want to die? It sounds like you do. Tell me again, where do you rank out here? You’re an exile, an exile! Who has the power here? Do you really think it’s you? Do you want to die?”

“No! No! Please, whatever you want, I don’t want to die-“

“Good! Good! We aren’t going to die, you hear me?”

“We- I don’t-“

“Do you want to die?”

“No!”

“Then we aren’t gonna! So tell me, what’s your damn name?” Scar didn’t take well to the short pause, using his other hand to increase the pressure on Cub’s neck without pushing the dagger further, “What is your name?”

“Cub! Cub- My name is Cub,” he wheezed unable to do much more than comply, “Cub. Not- I promise.”

Scar chuckled as he softened his grip, still firm, but Cub found the laughter more frightening than anything else Scar could have done next, “You promise? What’s that mean? Wouldn’t have thought you were lying, silly.” Scar made a grand gesture of rolling his eyes, and Cub thought he might just pass away right then and there.

“People- correspondents in the past- they think it’s a funny name-“

“Oh, ‘cause you’re a bear.”

“Yes- that-“

“Is it a nickname? Something your friends called you that stuck? Just curious, I mean, I’ve known a few Pinkies in my time, it’s a somewhat common nickname. Rabbits don’t really do that. Wolves? No idea, but I think if I was nicknamed Puppy I would want to die!” Scar barked a laugh, the dagger bouncing as his chest did, and Cub had never known a greater terror.

“It’s- Legal name. I’m called Cub.”

“Oh! Interesting. You know, they might’ve called me Pinkie since I’m always picking out my hair, but quite honestly, I much prefer Scar. It’s a bit cooler in my opinion, though I’ve known some pretty scary Pinkies. Scar is not my legal name, if you were wondering.”

“That’s- That’s really great-“

Scar smiled, something far too genuine looking to be real, especially the way he had Cub now. What was it going to take for him to let go? “Look how engaged you are now! Oh, this is just delightful, much much better than before. I mean sure, I think anyone has the right to be a little moody, grieve a bit, yadda yadda, but you were just uniquely insufferable about it, so I’m glad we’re on the same page now. Are we on the same page?”

Given that the dagger had not moved, Cub was not about to disagree. Actually, he may never disagree with anyone ever again. “Yes. Yes, same page. I got it.”

“Mhm!” Scar seemed to be satisfied with himself, removing the dagger from the immediate vicinity of Cub’s throat, though he didn’t move from his spot on Cub's chest, and Cub was far too frightened to try and sit up. “Now, just in case you need a reminder, you will not be blowing me up with magic the second you get the chance, because I’m your ticket out of this, got it? I’ve killed quite a few Rot creatures in my time, and there’s no way you’re taking down a Bane without me, especially if you’ve never fought one before.”

A Bane. Creatures of Rot, often thought to be manifestations of pure evil. They rose from the dungeons from time to time, clicking their beaks and trailing rotted feathers wherever they went. Drawn to sound, just one beast could wreck an entire town, and while the king’s guard did their best to keep the creatures at bay, there were too many, they were too strong. Self proclaimed heroes had been known to face off against them one on one, but even in victory, Cub couldn’t imagine how they’d escape Rot sickness with so many open wounds exposed to the Rot for so long. He had known teams of three to handle them with some success, but even then, these guards were often overpowered.

Cub didn’t even have any armor. Surely Scar didn’t either- maybe he wore something light under the red cloth that hung loosely around his chest and legs, but Cub could see enough patchy fur to know it wasn’t enough.

“Hey,” Scar broke through Cub’s spiral, a hand finding the side of Cub’s face, thumb rubbing gentle circles through the fur on his cheeks, “You’re scared,” he said, gently, as if everything Scar was doing and saying wasn’t utterly terrifying. “You’re in good hands, Cub. Good hands. Now, I’ve got an idea, but they hardly had a cot in that prison cell and I’m exhausted, so I’ll tell you what,” Scar clicked his tongue, flipping the dagger in his fingers before tucking it back at his belt. “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you? You’ve lost everything.”

Scar paused, seemingly giving Cub the opportunity to speak, but words were failing him right now, and honestly, Cub wasn’t even sure he had anything to say regardless. So he nodded, somewhat feverish, and Scar smiled, the hand on Cub’s cheek remaining as it was, petting the fur like he was comforting a child.

“Rest, then. Grieve. We have time. Three day’s rations, but they gave us enough for two bears; I eat quite a bit less than you do. We’ve got a little wiggle room here, yeah? So today, we rest. Tonight we can work out a plan, and tomorrow maybe, we can put it to action. You bears have a pretty good internal clock, right? That’s what I’ve heard. How does that sound?”

“I- Yes. That sounds good.”

“Good,” Scar hummed, hand moving from Cub’s cheek to his neck, a gesture that made him impossibly more tense. It took everything in Cub not to flinch as Scar traced the place his dagger had been, pulling back to examine his hand with thoughtful precision, “Not bad. It’s shallow, but if you like you can heal it. Might as well. Do you need your staff?”

“No,” Cub spoke, feeling breathless. Scar didn’t move from his place on Cub’s chest, watching intently. He cocked his head when Cub stayed still, and Cub wished he was anywhere else.

“Go on, then.” Well. Guess Scar wasn’t going anywhere. Cub swallowed hard, bringing his hands slowly, very slowly, non-threatening, to his throat, speaking the soft incantation for healing. Scar seemed intent on making everything as stressful as possible, leaning in with keen interest, and generally making Cub question all his life decisions up to this point. Maybe the council was right. Maybe Rot had made this rat crazy- Cub couldn’t see how anyone in their right mind would act this way without the influence of an infection.

But still, when it was over, Scar did not move. He seemed interested in Cub’s cloak, which he’d probably already dirtied by stepping all over it in his boots. Emotionally, that was a bit of a blow, but given The Everything Else, Cub was shocked he even had the state of mind to be concerned for the cleanliness of his possessions.. ah well. Scar had expressed interest, and if the crazy knife-wielding rat wanted a closer look at his clothes, Cub wasn’t about to stop him.

And then Scar took off his boots, plopping right down on Cub’s chest to pull them off and haphazardly throwing them across the room. Yeah. Sure. Alright. Scar was entirely unconcerned with whatever Cub was thinking however, the other hardly acknowledging him as he kneaded Cub’s chest with his feet, testing how it felt on his paws, which, gross, but maybe he liked the garment because it was fur lined? Regardless, whatever Cub expected Scar to do next, it was not attempting to burrow underneath.

“What- What-“ was really all Cub could manage, unsure how to stop this immediately without triggering Scar to drive a dagger into his stomach, so instead he laid with his paws somewhat raised, baffled and frightened and extremely distressed. At last, Cub attempted to sit up, but Scar didn’t like that at all, grabbing fistfuls of his fur and whining like a child.

“No! No, stay! Stay, come on, stay, stay please?” At this point Scar was halfway under the cloak, legs sticking out awkwardly, kicking and nearly nailing Cub in the snout.

“Stop- Stop this. This is- This is not- I- professional?”

“Maybe not, but I bet I’ll have the best sleep of my life under here. It’s cold, isn’t it? Maybe you’re not cold, but you’ve seen me! My hair is so damn thin- I need a big ol’ bear cloak! If I stole this off you, there’s no way I’d sell it! Well. Maybe I would. Blue isn’t my color and money’s always tight, you know how it is. I’ve got a family of three to feed!”

“You have kids?”

Scar cackled, and Cub was growing increasingly concerned about the sharp things hanging off the rat’s body as he wiggled around. “Goodness, no! At least, I don’t think so! That pup’s life would be far worse off with dad in the picture. Got family, though. They’ll be looking for me. Once we get out of here, I’ll figure out how to find them again. With any luck, we’ll see each other real soon.”

“Ah. That’s good then..”

“What? Our imminent rescue?”

“That you don’t have kids.”

Scar barked another laugh, settling completely now under Cub’s cloak. So this is how it’s going to be, huh? Huh. Wow. Yeah, Cub could not think of a single way this could be any worse. A Bane could rise up from the depths and swallow him whole, and that would probably be better than the company of.. whoever this was. Family, huh? Cub shivered at the thought of anyone remotely close to resembling Scar in body and mind. What a fucking nightmare. Rescue, though.. did Scar really think his family would find them? Find a way to dig them out? Probably not.. he didn’t seem too optimistic, and given he already had some sort of plan.. for Wyld’s sake, Cub was doomed.

Cub closed his eyes. He was tired.. more than tired actually, he was exhausted. He couldn’t remember a time where he’d felt so utterly defeated, broken down until the only other option was sleep.

Well. Maybe he should try. He wouldn’t be of any use fighting creatures of Rot or, Wyld forbid, a Bane, on twenty four hours of no sleep. Not that the floor of a musty old dungeon cave would be any good for a nap, but it would have to do. Cub never did have to be comfortable to fall asleep; long nights in the lab were proof enough, dozing hunched over on his desk.

Though, he would much rather be alone, thank you very much.

“Scar. Scar. Take my cloak if you want it. I’ll remove it for you, and you can sleep elsewhere. No need for this.”

Scar did not answer. Given the slow rise and falls of his chest, Cub got the sinking feeling he wasn’t going to. Quick to fall, isn’t he.. Could Cub get away with waking him up? Vividly, he imagined Scar startling awake, wide eyed with a paw immediately to his belt, driving his dagger into the closest assailant..

Well. So be it.

It was chilly, and at the very least, Scar hidden away against his chest provided a bit of warmth, as much as a man of his stature could, anyway. Alright. For now, it was alright. Cub inhaled deeply, fighting for control over his own breathing. Now was the time for sleep. Tomorrow would be the time for dying. Somehow, miraculously, if he made it out of here, then he could think about what was next.