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sissylittlefeather · 1 month ago

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Free Fallin'

Chapter 1

A/N: Welcome to my new series!! I have had this one in my head for over a year and I'm finally feeling confident enough to bring it to life. I'm kind of in love with how this first chapter turned out, so I hope some of you love it too. Please just give it a chance.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, there's no smut yet but there are references to drugs, alcohol, and suicide. Also Elvis is dead.

Word count: -3.1k

Disclaimer: this is FICTION. I am not here to challenge anyone's belief about the afterlife. This is just storytelling.

The smoke curls in the moonlight, swirling and drifting into itself like something otherworldly. Stevie swipes her hand through the white cloud and then takes another drag, blowing it straight up. She’s sitting in the sill of her open window looking out at the city as it spreads out below her shitty apartment. The music from her record player floats in the air and through the open space, probably annoying the other people in her building, but she doesn't care. The melody is sad and soulful and she needs to feel it in her bones. She takes another deep drag and the music stops.

“Goddamnit.” There's no one else there, but she still says it out loud to herself. Stubbing out the cigarette in the chipped ashtray, she pads barefooted over to the turntable and flips the record over. When she drops the needle, the smooth sounds play again and she sighs, grabbing the empty glass from the windowsill and walking to the kitchen to fill it again. But the bottle of whiskey is as empty as the glass.

“Fuck.” The exclamation is twofold: first, she realizes just how much she's had to drink and second, she's out of whiskey. She stumbles to the door and pulls on her black combat boots clumsily. Then, she grabs her old leather jacket to hide the fact that she's not wearing a bra under her tattered Guns N’ Roses t-shirt. As she looks for her keys, she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her eyeliner is heavy and smudged, dark auburn hair sticking up wildly in several places, and her face, once on the cover of several magazines including Rolling Stone, now looks gaunt and malnourished. She looks away from the mirror to return to the task at hand, finally finding the keys on a shelf in front of a framed photo of her and her mom when she was a toddler, somewhere around 1983. She stares at it for a beat and then lays the photo down on its face. Her mother is dead now, but she doesn't need her judgmental stares from beyond the grave in the form of an old photograph. And as much as she doesn't want her mom to see, she doesn't want that little girl with the broad smile and hazel eyes seeing what she becomes either. She spins the keys around her finger and then heads out the door, closing it behind herself.

It won't take but a minute to fetch some more booze, she assures herself. What could possibly happen?

******

Elvis sits in the waiting area yet again while the Board takes their time in calling him back to see them. He's the only person in the room, so he knows that's not the holdup. This is just more of their corporate bullshit.

“Elvis? They're ready for you.” The secretary calls to him with her ear pressed to the phone receiver. “They said hurry.”

He doesn't even try to hide his eye roll and then heads through the door. This room is as white as everywhere else in heaven. It's horribly cliche, but some stereotypes happen for a reason. He walks to the chair behind the small desk in the front of what feels like a courtroom of some kind. The Board sit pompously in their white robes, the floor raised so that they're significantly higher than he is there at the desk. He's hesitant to sit down, but it doesn't look like he has much choice so he settles in the chair uncomfortably.

“Mr. Presley, you're here because you've submitted yet another request for a role change. Is that correct?” The man who speaks sits in the center of the line of people, his gray beard moving as he talks.

“Yes. That's correct.” Elvis is trying to be on his best behavior. He needs these people to trust him.

“Your request is denied–”

“Now wait just a damn minute!” A lady to the right of the man in the center gasps.

“Mr. Presley, that is completely inappropriate.”

“No. What's inappropriate is me being a Greeter for the last 35 years. I'm ready for more. Please make me a Guardian!” Every member of the Board laughs except for one man on the very end.

“Mr. Presley, you are nowhere near ready to be a Guardian.” Elvis looks at his hands in frustration. The man on the end can feel him actively trying to suppress his reaction. He watches Elvis curiously while the Board chatters amongst themselves for a bit.

“What if we put him in Collections?” Elvis whips his head up to see who said it and finds himself staring into the eyes of the man at the end of the row. “He could be an asset there.”

Elvis nods his head frantically. Anything would be better than what he's been doing for the last three and a half decades. In the beginning, he loved it, loved the idea of welcoming new souls when they made it beyond the pearly gates. So many of them had been so happy to see him that there had been a certain kind of joy in the role, even if it was a little monotonous. But as the years passed, less and less people recognized him and even fewer were happy to see him. Some had been downright hostile and rude about the fact that he was there at all. At first, it confused him, but then he started paying more attention to the things being said about him on earth. It's no wonder they thought he didn't belong in heaven. The things his old friends and other people had said about him were slanderous lies or bits taken out of context and it made him into a villain. It broke his heart and he spent several weeks refusing to leave his room, begging for something to take the edge off the pain. But there are no mind-altering substances in the afterlife. There is only the sharp sting of reality as it exists. Enduring that had been a lesson of its own. Now he was on the other side of it and desperate for some way to prove himself. He was convinced the answer was to become a Guardian and go back to earth. Even if he won't be recognizable, he can at least prove to the Board and himself that he wasn't the monster they've turned him into.

But not if they won't approve his request. This is his fourth time to make it and they turn him down every time. He's not exactly sure why they think it's so comical that he keeps asking, but he's getting real sick and tired of them.

“Collections? You think he can handle that?” The man in the center with the gray beard asks the man at the end of the row. Elvis hates when they talk about him like he's not there, but if it means something new to do, he'll sit through it.

“I do. He needs a challenge. I think that's a good place to start.” The rest of the Board deliberates for a while on this compromise. Elvis’s heart is in his throat in anticipation. Finally, the oldest man in the center holds his hand up and the other members fall into silence.

“Put him in Collections. See how he handles it.” With that final statement, the Board turns and files out through a door on the back wall. The last one to exit is the man that had argued for Elvis. He turns to look back and Elvis mouths “thank you.” The man just tips his head in acknowledgement and then disappears. The secretary appears and takes Elvis back to the waiting room. She tells him he will receive instructions for his new assignment soon and should return to his room to wait. His leg shakes with a blend of nervousness and excitement. He hasn't had anything new to do since he's been here.

******

Stevie sits at the red light nodding until someone honks and she wakes up and realizes it's turned green. She knows she shouldn't be driving, but the store is just far enough that walking is out of the question, especially in her current state. Besides, the feeling of the wind on her face with the window down gives her the illusion that there's a world outside of her, one that doesn't hurt so much.

After she gets what she needs at the store, she waits at the parking lot exit, turn signal blinking to take her back home. But there's a deep ache inside her that begs her not to go back to that place. Not alone. So she ignores her signal and turns the other way toward the bridge. She loves the water, especially at night, the waves lapping quietly against the concrete.

That's how she finds herself here, a bottle of whiskey in one hand, a cigarette in the other, looking out over the river. She leans over to peer down into the cold waves and wonders briefly what it might be like to plunge into them. Would anyone even notice?

******

Elvis paces the small amount of floor there is in his quarters. It's nothing like the space he was accustomed to at Graceland or in LA or even his suite in Vegas. He could turn on the tv and watch the happenings on earth. It's an election year in America and he's been following the progress, hoping that the sitting president will be re-elected, being the first Black president and all. Still, he's too nervous for that today.

Eventually, there's a knock on his door and an envelope slips in through the mail slot. Inside it are instructions for him to report to the Collections department for training and his assignment. He goes immediately without another thought.

In the Collections office, he's told he is going to earth to collect a difficult soul. This will be his main job. Go to earth, bring the soul back to heaven. Elvis nods. Seems easy enough.

“Alright, now that you know what to do and how to do it, you need to be fully equipped.” The angel in charge of training him speaks like he's about to give Elvis the best Christmas gift he's ever received.

“Equipped?”

“You're going to earth, aren't you? You'll need to get back.” He's dropping hints left and right but Elvis is not picking them up.

“Yes. And? How do I do that?” The trainer sighs exasperatedly and then walks to a large closet. He turns and sizes Elvis up and then slides a thick, flat box big enough to hold a suit in it out of the closet and sets it on the table in front of him.

“Open it.” Elvis assumes it'll hold some kind of garment, so he pulls the lid off unceremoniously while the trainer purses his lips.

When he sees what's inside, though, Elvis's attitude changes entirely.

Wings.

White, feathered, humming with energy, glowing a little, and almost alive, but unmistakably wings.

He looks up at the trainer, his eyes wide and reverent and finally the man is satisfied with his response.

“These are mine?” He holds out a trembling hand, but is afraid to touch them.

“Yes. They will be yours forever unless you do something to lose them.” Elvis looks up at him.

“Like what?”

“That you'll have to ask someone else. I'll leave you alone to put them on.” With that, the trainer turns and leaves Elvis alone in the room with the box. He looks down at it again and sighs. Wings.

The thought occurs to him that he has no idea how to put them on, but that doesn't seem to matter. He gently lifts them from the black box and whimpers in shock as they start to almost crawl up his arms. The wings are alive as they move along him, brushing his cheeks with warm, living feathers as they make their way back to his shoulder blades. He stands in awe, humbled by the experience of being claimed. And then searing pain rips through his back and he stumbles backward, groaning loudly. There's another shooting streak of pain identical to the first on his other shoulder.

“Goddamnit!” He falls to his knees and the pain settles into a dull ache. When he recovers, he stands and tries to adjust to the shift in his weight so that he doesn't fall over backwards. There's a strange tingling sensation coming from a place he's never felt before, like a phantom limb. But it's not phantom, it's the wings, and they're real. He imagines moving one the same way he tells his arms and legs to move and the wing extends. When he does the same thing with the other, it bumps into the wall and there's a sensation of pain, like stubbing your toe on something.

“Ah! Shit!” He instinctively pulls the wing back in close to his body. The trainer comes back in, beaming with pride at how quickly the wings took to him.

“You'll get used to them.” Then a thought occurs to Elvis.

“I'm gonna be on earth. Won't these kinda… stand out…?” The trainer laughs quietly and shakes his head.

“Humans won't be able to see them. Did you ever notice an angel when you were on earth?” Elvis shrugs and shakes his head.

“Guess not.”

“Your first assignment is almost ready. Let's go.”

Elvis follows the trainer out of the room to the Hub that allows travel between the planes. He's heard of this place, but never seen it. It's like a giant celestial train station if there were no trains, just circular pads to stand on and evaporate. The trainer leads him to one marked with the name of a city and then situates him on the pad.

“Her name is Stevie Rivers. You'll know her when you see her.”

“How?”

“You just will. And remember, you are there to collect her. Nothing else. Don't be a hero. Collect.” Elvis nods. It doesn't sound like a hard job. “Alright, good. You ready?”

“Ready as I'll–” The trainer hits some kind of button and Elvis feels himself start to shift. It almost feels like melting and it's a rather unpleasant sensation. But it's over as quickly as it starts and he opens his eyes.

It's dark.

His eyes start to adjust as his other senses pick up on the sounds of quiet waves and the smell of wet earth. His clothes have changed too. The white suit he wears in heaven is replaced with dark jeans and a black leather jacket. Earth clothes. And rather grungy ones, really. Oh well, he won't be here long. He looks around for this woman he's supposed to be collecting, but he doesn't see her at first. Then, his gaze lands on a car parked across the bridge from him. He moves until he catches a glimpse of her. She's sitting on the edge of the bridge, feet dangling over the side. Without thinking about it, he moves a little closer to her, close enough to hear that she's singing. His heart almost stops. Her voice is hauntingly beautiful, edgy and seductive, and he's drawn to her like a siren. It's the kind of song that makes your bones ache and your soul vibrate and he has to actively stop himself from approaching her. The trainer’s words echo in his brain: collect her. Nothing else.

It almost hurts to think about this beautiful, sad girl dying so young. It's too familiar, too real, and he feels a weight settle in his chest. His wings wrap around him and he shakes with sobs. No. This is not an easy job.

He's thinking to himself about going back to heaven defeated when he hears a sound. A scream. And then he's running.

******

Stevie finishes her song and then tosses her cigarette in the water. She knows she shouldn't litter like that but right now, she doesn't care about anything. Another long pull from the whiskey bottle and she's ready to go home. She turns and tries to set it on the ledge, but in her drunken state, she only half does and it starts to fall. Her reactions are slow, but she tries to catch the bottle, twisting her body. But when she does, she loses her balance and screams.

There's no one to hear her as she falls off the ledge towards the water below.

Or, at least, that's what she thinks.

She hits the icy water with a crash and her second scream is swallowed by the waves. It's too cold and too dark and she's too drunk to swim. She starts to sink, memories of her life running through her like a movie: her mother’s laughter as they dance to an old Elvis record, one of her mother's shows that's too loud for her little kid ears, a surprisingly nice day at the park where her mother smokes cigarettes and argues with a man she thinks might be her father, cleaning up her mom and making sure she doesn't OD in her sleep, a stage with burning lights and a crowd of thousands as she pours her soul into the microphone, press days and autographs and tours and recording sessions, and then nothing at all.

Elvis dives into the water without thinking. It's cold, but he manages to get her to the surface and his wings take over, pulling them both to the safety of the bridge. He lays her on the concrete and pats her face.

“Stevie? Come on, honey. Don't do this.” He leans over and blows into her mouth, not even sure what he's doing, but he has to try. A couple more breaths like this and she finally coughs and splutters. He turns her on her side so she can spit up all the water in her lungs.

When she comes to, Stevie opens her eyes and is met with the strangest sight she's ever seen. He's weirdly familiar, but she's too drunk to place him. And the wings. Giant and white and spread out behind him like some kind of angel.

“There you are, honey.” He caresses her face gently, brushing his thumb over her cheek.

“Who are you?” She whispers, her voice hoarse from coughing.

“I'm–” Suddenly, there's a strange pulling sensation behind his navel and he feels the unpleasant melting sensation again. He wants to scream, but he's paralyzed until it ends.

Stevie blinks a few times. She sits up and looks around frantically, but she's alone on the bridge. A shiver runs down her spine that has nothing to do with the water. He was there. He was real.

Where did he go?

******

What happens now?!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

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pennyellee · 1 year ago

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CHAPTER VII - mágoa

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

chapter warnings: minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behaviour, angst, mentions of God, violence, bloodshed, history class on lacrimosa yall, nudity, blood, manhandling, slapping, mentions of suicide, gun use, genitalia cupping, gaslighting, anxiety, strong language, threats, misogyny, old social norms, lies-lies-lies, bone crunching, physical violence, suicide attempt

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count: 12K

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

m.list CHAPTER I CHAPTER II CHAPTER III CHAPTER IV CHAPTER V CHAPTER VI CHAPTER VIII

mágoa (n.) a heartbreaking feeling that leaves long-lasting traces, visible in gestures and facial expressions

A pinch of sadness went through Y/N when she heard his words. She gave herself to him. Without any fight, simply accepting that this had to be done for her to build a strong base where he would trust her enough to let his guard down. After this day, her mind was barely holding up, therefore she went down the hill willingly rather than by force.

Her eyes were about to close slowly when he was taking the white sheet on which they consummated their marriage. Although her eyes were narrowed, she saw a significant portion of it being painted red with her blood. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she laid there, boring her eyes to the ceiling of the room rather than perceiving the reality.

The flames of the fire danced and flickered, casting a warm glow upon their entwined bodies. They laid there — he basked in the afterglow, and she in her own sorrow. He was caressing her hair while she laid on top of his naked torso where he moved her to rest just a moment ago, trying to not think about what had happened. She cared no more. Her mind and body were exhausted. Yoongi put a soft kiss on her forehead before he broke the serene silence.

“A bath, shall we?” Her body felt the mix of exhaustion and vulnerability as she went to get up, a soreness radiated in between her legs. Y/N could not wait till she would spread her limbs in the hot spring water. Yoongi gently swept her to his arms and carried her out of the room.

The corridor was softly lit by lanterns, their warm glow casting a gentle illumination. Paper windows filtered the moonlight, creating patterns of soft shadows on the wooden floor as he was taking her to the spring. He hoped it would ease her pain and relax her muscles so he could be a little more selfish and take her again and again until dusk.

Her naked nipples stiffened and reacted to the sudden change of temperature. Yoongi was yet again trying to control his urges to press her against the wall and take her from behind. But he knew better. She was sore, vulnerable, and he knew the time was ticking and soon a bigger wave of realisation would hit her.

The steam from the heated water mingled with the crisp air, creating a comforting atmosphere that embraced them. She could feel the cold wind hitting her body before Yoongi stepped inside the natural bath surrounded by ancient rocks, swiftly setting their bodies into the hot water. Y/N breathed out from the sensation of the water balming her sore muscles. She took a moment to embrace the peacefulness of her surroundings, momentarily forgetting the true nature of her situation and to whom is her naked body pressed to.

Her eyes snapped open when the nerve hit her senses, breath hitching in her throat, tears still struggling to dry on her cheeks. An epiphany. She tried to pull herself away from him, covering her chest when he pushed her against him even tighter.

“None of that, my love,” he whispered into her ear, nabbing at it and pecking her head. “You are finally doing so well, baby,” he spoke, his lips still pressed to her hair.

The soothing warmth of the water against her skin and the unsettling reality of her vulnerability in Yoongi’s embrace — it overwhelmed her from every perspective. His words, though tender, served as a reminder of the power dynamics that governed their relationship. She felt a surge of frustration and sadness, a silent plea for autonomy in a world that seemed determined to deny it and her resilience was coming back to life again.

“Yoongi,-” she said urgently, her voice carrying over the soothing sounds of flowing water. “When is it going to happen?” Y/N inquired, lifting her head up, her eyes searching for answers.

“It is already happening.”

The night had unfolded in shadows and whispers, and as the moon’s soft glow seeped into the bath, reality grew more elusive.

The infamous Yakuza, believing themselves five steps ahead of the Min clan, found their fortunes turned by the cunning moves of the young Kkangpae. The cards he tossed when luring out the enemy’s leader were not in their favour. Cut the snake’s head and it will die; Yoongi wished to see them all perish.

The headquarters of the Japanese clan, once a fortress of power, now stood vulnerable in the absence of its leader. Yoongi’s calculated manoeuvres had left them exposed, ripe for his seizing. From Japan to the north of Korea, with Hong Kong looming as the next conquest, the throne beckoned to him now.

The Kkangpae had played a dangerous game, and the stakes had never been higher. He realised this when the enemy held his beloved, poised to snuff out her life with vengeance. That urgency drove him to expedite matters. Within an hour, united soldiers of the Min and Wang houses moved to three different locations, armed and prepared for the Yakuza’s onslaught.

Yoongi knew the moment they set foot on his territorial grounds their intentions were not congratulatory. But one of the decoy. On that note, another three units secured warehouses, guarding the ammunition and the snow, as they called it, to maintain prosperity.

Y/N had underestimated him and the measures he would take to ascend the ladder. No man had dared challenge the Yakuza and lived to tell the tale, let alone dismantle the cruel syndicate over the span of a single lifetime.

The last of them were already en route to join infiltrators in Fukuoka, where all of Yamamoto’s warehouses lay, along with Tokyo’s headquarters. The command was clear: at the stroke of midnight — fire.

“Is Mother with Bó Chéng and Xiaoli, safe?” Her voice trembled. Y/N is no fool; her gut warned of temporary alliances and impending bloodshed once the Yakuza descended the stairs. This time, between Wangs and Mins. Yoongi never confirmed such a cruel assumption, yet, she knew.

He nodded solemnly, understanding her concern. “They are safe, love. I made sure of it,” he reassured, his voice a comforting anchor amidst the chaos. Yoongi’s eyes held a mysterious depth as he spoke, and the weight of his words lingered in the air.

The Kkangpae had unleashed a force that even he hadn’t fully anticipated, and the consequences were now playing out in real time. His vision was clear — The Min clan, a rising phoenix from the ashes, disrupting the status quo, plunging the city into disarray.

For years, no Korean clan had dared confront Japan’s Yakuza, the threat of annihilation keeping them in check. Hence, Korea’s underworld always stood divided until the former Kkangpae Min initiated revolutionary acts against both southern and northern enemies.

As the First World War unfolded, Yoongi’s father saw an opportunity to cover the blood traces left behind by the clans on the battlefield. The alliances formed, the battles fought—all of it became obscured by the larger narrative of global conflict. The revolution against both parties became a rallying cry for those long oppressed by the Yakuza.

The clan of Min knew if they wanted to succeed in this power play, attacking the northern foes was first in order before they could stand a chance over Yakuza and their international allies.

The war with its sweeping chaos and diversion, became a canvas for the Mins to redraw the lines of power. The world may be at peace now, the syndicate clans were nowhere near the fine line. A Cold War between the fighting clans arose and took its place now that they could not horrendously murder each other without drawing the attention of the upper world.

Not today.

His father’s revolutionary act set the stage, and Yoongi intended to finish it. With satisfaction, he watched as the wheels of change turned, irreversible.

The war ended over two decades ago and yet Yoongi still expected the unexpected. Hong Kong sought alliance with Tokyo. A marriage would seal it. Lineage was sacred, heavily valued. The syndicate, with its watchful eyes and ears attuned to the pulse of the underworld, murmured in speculation. Rumour was spread of Wang Zemo’s eldest daughter to be betrothed to Yamamoto Itsuki, the Yakuza’s heir.

Yoongi had just celebrated his 18th birthday when the murmur began. The girl, barely a decade old, promised to the Yakuza. No official betrothal could happen as she was still too young to be wedded.

Years went by and when she reached the 18th year of her life, Yoongi anticipated another bloodthirsty war to begin now that the arrangement could take place. But nothing happened. Holding her portrait in his hand, looking at the black and white photograph with a fresh cut on his eye, imagining how cherry red her lips must be and how he is going to drown in her eyes once he sees them for real. He saw opportunity, a golden ticket in this dangerous game.

Therefore, before her twenty-first birthday, Yoongi was already ahead of Yakuza, sipping tea with Wang Xiaoqing, the Triad leader’s older sister. His intention was clear from the beginning — the young gal in the portrait, undyingly beautiful.

Instead of wielding guns and knives at the northern enemy in China he was resolute in overthrowing the Triad by this calculated move of taking her and creating a powerful alliance in order to end Yakuza’s reign. He could have had any woman from his clan, but no woman ever spiked his interest as much as Wang Y/N.

He settled his mind on the path God presented him. He played his pieces, aiming for the Triad’s allegiance. The men of the Wang Triad, fiercely loyal to their established traditions, would not willingly follow an outsider — with or without war. To secure his grip on the Triad’s allegiance, Yoongi needed more than a coup; he needed a legitimate claim to leadership.

He played his pieces, aiming for the Triad’s allegiance. The young Kkangpae began his cockiness by taking the young woman to keep at his premises right before Yakuza would announce the engagement and followed the union.

Yoongi, the architect of this narrative, understood the power of perception. A move that seemed personal had far-reaching implications in the complex web of alliances that governed the criminal underworld.

The elderly woman was the smartest human he ever met. As she also held a mutual disdain for the house of Yamamoto that ran deep, an animosity fuelled by years of oppression and subjugation. The Yakuza’s supremacy over other clans, their unabashed acquisition of shares, land, and women, irked her. It was a political dominance that had cast a shadow over both Seoul and Hong Kong’s criminal underworld for far too long.

A shrewd strategist that Wang Xiaoqing was, recognised the potential for a successful revolution in Yoongi’s carefully laid steps — the blockade of docks, the seamless integration into the Yakuza’s business affairs, the subtle theft of opportunities, and the meticulous infiltration into their other operations—it was a game of chess played with finesse. Lastly, his determination on not letting Wang’s oldest daughter marry into Yakuza and form an alliance that could be a threat to his own kin.

Taking her niece would be a move that went beyond the surface, resonating with the desire to break free from the chains that bound them to the Yakuza’s dominance. Nobody dared to take what Yakuza claimed as theirs. Until him.

In the dimly lit warehouse where he was solely because the Luen’s shipment of ammunition to Taiwan got rampaged by Yakuza soldiers. Their attack on the shipment had disrupted his plans, leading him to intervene personally.

The captured Yakuza soldier, now a pawn in this unexpected confrontation, was brought before Yoongi for interrogation. The improvised setup within the warehouse served as the backdrop for the intense questioning that aimed to unveil the motives behind the Yakuza’s brazen attack that Yoongi already knew. It was their way of sending a message, a warning to the clans to not climb the ladder too high.

However, that’s not what aches Yoongi’s heart whenever he remembers that night. It was her, clad in her signature red qipao, in a dishevelled state, most likely chilled to the bone, lip split open.

The date on which Yoongi would arrive to collect her was settled two weeks from that day, but there she was, standing in the warehouse, most likely looking for a shelter from the cold.

In the silent exchange, Yoongi saw a glimpse of vulnerability and strength, a combination that both intrigued and captivated him. She looked straight to his eyes for what felt like hours without flinching away. The spark he felt that ignited between them in that warehouse would become the member of an unspoken understanding—a realisation that love, in its rawest form, had found its way to his heart.

He recalls how his breath stammered when he saw her for the first time. No matter how long she’s been running, no matter how the chilly wind ruffled her hair — she looked magnificent. All the love letters scribbled down that he had never sent to her were hidden in the drawer of his desk. He might give them to her one day once she will be ready to reciprocate his love.

Yoongi was convinced that it was destiny that she came upon the warehouse, as if God was leading her to his arms, where she belongs. At least according to the young leader of the clan. Y/N’s arrival to his land was unexpected and it certainly changed the whole trajectory. And that was one of the pivotal moments when he decided to rethink his steps.

This unforeseen encounter planted the seeds of a different kind of connection, one that deviated from the cold calculations of alliances and power and dark intentions loomed over the young Kkangpae Min.

Yoongi used to see marriage as a means to an end, a pragmatic choice made in the pursuit of power and influence. The emotions that typically accompanied such unions were to be set aside in favour of the greater goal at hand.

But her presence started to overshadow the original intentions of the alliance. How she fought him, stood her ground — all just made him want her more. As he found himself captivated by her company, the cold calculations of the former plan began to waver and he was decided.

The Yakuza’s move was thought-through, he did not expect any less—a challenge issued with violence and bloodshed and in the midst of celebration, chaos erupted. Min with his bride long gone to safety. Masked assailants, clad in the insignia of the Yakuza, stormed the hotel and one would think this is the end. But this conflict was nowhere near the grand finale.

At the time of the awaited attack of Yakuza men, echoes of screams of agony and crackling fire were far too loud. A clear symbol of the arising power of the Min clan. The two generations of Yamamoto's men, father and son, now lay as nothing more than ashes.

The night, which should have been a tender moment of intimacy, became the stage for a chilling chess move. As Yoongi and Y/N shared the vulnerability of their union, the Min clan, under his orders, descended upon the Yakuza with a relentless fury.

The sound of gunfire and explosions echoed in the night, a symphony of retribution that played out against the backdrop far away from their marital chamber. While Yoongi claimed the innocence of his wife, he orchestrated the downfall of those who dared to challenge his dominion.

The puppeteer of this grim performance, ensured that their legacy was erased, their power dismantled, and their grip on the criminal underworld shattered. In just one night, the war that lasted years ended.

Infiltrating the Yakuza was a meticulous plan, and his true intentions were hidden even from those closest to him. As the Min clan annihilated the Yakuza in cold blood, the night drew to a close and only those who would bend the knee and pledge loyalty were spared.

The night had witnessed the birth of a new order and the song of the dead echoed whilst the former empire shattered into pieces.

Morning arrived with a soft glow, painting the room in shades of muted light where Yoongi’s fingers traced gentle patterns on her naked back.

“Breakfast is ready,” he whispered, pressing a lingering kiss on her forehead. She nodded, wordless.

The table boasted an array of dishes, their enticing aroma filling the air. Yet Y/N could not eat yesterday nor today, the food simply did not go down her system.

Yoongi’s gaze remained fixed on her from time to time, while he was reading today’s paper the maid delivered together with the breakfast. His eyes, like a silent observer, bore witness to the aftermath of a night. Y/N’s eyes were bloodshot, cheeks stained with dried tears, her neck bearing bruises. Exhaustion weighed heavily upon her, yet he held onto the hope that all would settle now.

Yoongi sighed and reached into the pocket of his black vest.

“I have not read it,” said he once they finished eating breakfast and sat down in the lounge room. Y/N’s eyes moved to meet him, anticipating his next step. She did not want to speak to him. She did not want to look at him nor she did not want him to look at her.

“I appreciate that,” said Y/N, avoiding his eyes. Yoongi sighed again, reluctant to relinquish leverage over her, yet compelled to address the matter at hand. Deep down, he hoped the contents of the letter would bring her solace, perhaps even warmth towards him. Now, he stood as a fool in the pouring rain.

He carefully handed the letter, urging her to open it.

“Thank you,” she whispered, tearing open the envelope and extracting the yellowed paper within.

She looked at Yoongi one more time, and when she saw him spreading out the newspapers, she was glad he gave her at least some degree of privacy. Her eyes fell upon the cursive symbols of her beloved aunt’s handwriting.

The memories flooded back as Y/N read the words on the aged paper, transporting her to a time when life was less complicated. Yet, she remembers clearly the moment when the complications started to appear. She read the words, screaming at her whilst detailing Wang Xiaoqing’s declining health, her world halted.

The air grew heavy with a mix of medicinal scents and the weight of impending loss. Her aunt, a pillar of strength, lay frail on the bed, and Y/N’s heart ached at the sight.

As she recalls her last moments with her while reading the neatness of her handwriting Y/N finally sees the truth. Her breath caught in her throat, vision blurred by tears. Clutching the paper tightly, she read the words repeatedly, struggling to accept their meaning.

“I need you to understand, my dear,” her aunt’s voice, weakened but filled with determination, echoed in the room.

“There are things, things I have kept from you to protect your mind and soul.”

Her aunt reached for her hand, the warmth of their connection grounding them in that vulnerable moment. The intricate dance between clans, the bloodshed, and the sacrifice her aunt had made to shield her from the harsh realities of their world.

“But it seems that my judgement was clouded—” In that moment, the room seemed to hold its breath, as if bracing for the revelation that would reshape the very foundation of her understanding. The vulnerability in her voice resonated with the unspoken sacrifices made for the sake of protection. Or at least that is what she thought she was doing by allowing Min Yoongi to take her into custody and use her as a leverage over the clans in negotiation of dominance.

“We do not have much time I fear,” her aunt continued, urgency etched into her every word. Y/N held her hand tightly, afraid to let her go.

“Once you burn me to ashes, I need you to run and not look back, Kai will help you get away—” a strong cough interrupted her speech and Y/N rushed to get her some tea to ease her throat. A bony hand landed on her forearm, stopping her in motion. Her eyes watered again at the sight of the state God let her aunt get in. Her fingers were turning purple and Y/N knew what that means. Oxygen was leaving her body and the end was near.

“Auntie—” she went to protest, at the time not understanding why she needed to run in the first place. But she listened carefully to her aunt closely when her sore and painful voice mapped out her next steps.

Back then Y/N wanted to believe it was a sacrifice born out of love and the desire to break free from the cycle of violence that had ensnared their family for too long. And her aunt presented her a chance to not be in the middle of the fire.

Peace was a fragile illusion. Min Yoongi may be a titan among the outside world, yet within the confines of his own home, his dominion was about to face its greatest challenge.

Yoongi, engrossed in his reading, spared his wife the intrusion of his gaze, allowing her the solitude to grapple with the weight of her aunt’s revelations. Not having a clue what the dying woman could write.

The revelations echoed in the silence of the room, and when Y/N finally looked up from the letter, her eyes met Yoongi’s. The vulnerability in that moment transcended the complexities of their current situation, forging an unspoken false connection on his side rooted in pain and the unravelling of hidden truths. In a burst of fury, she lashed out.

“You’re a fucking liar.”

An anger radiated from her, the heat rushing to her head. Yoongi’s eyes locked onto hers; he didn’t flinch at the sudden eruption of anger — it was nothing he didn’t already get used to. Instead, he folded the paper with deliberate care, setting it aside.

“Am I?” His response was laced with a hint of amusement, a calculated provocation that stoked the flames of her anger.

The contents of the letter, as it seems, are not what he hoped for. Nonetheless, he wondered whether he would fight this battle. Sooner or later she would learn the truth. It’s the timing that was not perfect and he knew it’s going to be hard to put the fire out.

“You manipulated her into agreeing—” Yoongi sucked the inner side of his mouth and released it with a loud click of his tongue, trying to compose himself for what is to come as she now knows.

“—with a choice, dove. A difficult one, yes, but she made the decision on her own accord,” Yoongi interjected, his voice maintaining a disconcerting calmness.

“You lied to her!” A wry smile played on Yoongi’s lips as he met her accusing gaze. Y/N was hanging on the farthest end of the branch and soon enough she would fall. Yoongi’s gaze remained fixed on Y/N, his calm demeanour a stark contrast to the storm brewing within her.

“She would not have approved if she knew of your intentions!” Yoongi leaned against a nearby table after he stood up, his gaze unwavering. He realised that what she is implying is true. But he also knew that this is not the world where Wang Xiaoqing would be stupid enough to give him her hand. She knew what it would mean.

“Power comes with a price. Your aunt understood that and made the necessary sacrifice.” Y/N scoffed at his words, incredulous. Yoongi’s response was a wry smile, a silent admission of guilt that he would never voice out.

“And what of my sacrifice? What about the life I wanted, the choices I never got to make? You took them from me!” He reached out to her, his fingers gently tilting her chin up to meet his gaze. Yoongi looked at her trembling lips and caught himself thinking how good they felt against his last night.

Y/N, caught between anger and grief, searched Yoongi’s eyes for any sign of remorse. Yet, all she found was the unwavering resolve of a leader who had chosen duty over sentiment.

Her patience was wearing thin, her anger boiling over like a cauldron on the verge of eruption.

“I did what I had to do for the survival of our clan—” she struck out, her hand connecting with his cheek in a resounding slap. Her whole body was shaking with grief, anger and hatred.

Yoongi’s head pivoted slightly at the sudden intrusion he did not expect. Yet, even as she railed against him, hitting him repeatedly, Yoongi remained steadfast. All the curse words she sent his way were only bypassing him. He knows she wouldn’t do this in normal circumstances. But to stop and think for a second — there were never normal circumstances to begin with.

“You took everything from me!” Her voice was a plaintive cry, a desperate plea for justice in a world gone mad.

“I gave myself to you!” She screamed furiously. Yoongi’s eyes, usually calm and collected, flickered with rage. She glared back at him, tears streaming down her face. The reality of her situation sunk in, and Y/N felt a profound sense of betrayal.

“You’re fucking liar Min Yoongi. You never fucking needed to-” Yoongi’s jaw tensed, the anger in his gaze burning like a smouldering ember. His calm façade cracked, revealing the storm of emotions within while she aimed to hit his face again.

“Are you done?” He forcefully grabbed her wrists, stopping her, holding them tightly while he pulled her towards him. She shook her head, trying to break free from his grasp to make more damage. Y/N refused to yield.

“Fucking listen to me, Y/N,” he spoke through gritted teeth, his voice a low growl.

“Yes, I lied to your aunt because I knew where your ambitions lay and where she wanted you to be.” His grip tightened as he continued, his words cutting through the charged air. She shook her head in disbelief, struggling to break free from his hold as he violently pulled her back.

“I knew she would never give me her blessing to marry you!” Y/N’s eyes widened with a mix of surprise and realisation of his confession, confirming the contents of the letter.

“So you fucking tricked her,” she gritted through her teeth. Min Yoongi never intended to send her overseas, just like he promised the dying woman. All this time, she blamed her aunt for choosing her path, unaware of Yoongi’s manipulations.

“I could have slaughtered the whole Triad. Think of this as me being merciful.”

The weight of his words settled in the room, a heavy silence following his chilling revelation.

“You even fooled my father into thinking this is all my aunt’s doing,-” she whispered unbelievably, her voice laced with a bitter realisation. Yoongi’s expression remained impassive, but the truth lingered in the air like a haunting melody.

“You made a promise to her that I will be safe overseas, so why am I here, Yoongi?!”

“Because I fucking fell in love with you!” he exclaimed, his voice rising, his eyes searching for any kind of emotion that would show that she understands his doings. Of course she does not understand, after all, he does not understand how much damage he has done either. He is selfish and he always will be.

“You betrayed her trust!” Y/N’s eyes, on the other hand, searched for any sign of remorse, any glimmer of the man she thought she knew. He exhaled heavily, the weight of their tangled destinies pressing down on him.

“It was either marrying you and having a legitimate claim or bloodshed. Would you rather the worse option?” Y/N’s gaze wavered between anger and hurt, her surroundings fading away.

“You justify cruelty with some deluded sense of righteousness,” she said, her voice strained from the last vestiges of her strength.

“You’re part of this world, part of my world, whether you like it or not—”

“This was never about Yamamotos right?—” She looked right into his eyes, scanning the angry red scar that ran up in his brow that he now raised at her remark.

“—you are going to break the alliance with my father the first chance you get. That is what you mean by legitimate claim, am I fucking right Yoongi?!” He clenched his jaw, frustration etched on his face. Y/N had seen through his carefully constructed façade.

“You only fucking love yourself and your fucking clan!” He hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words but whence she decided that getting physical with him again is the answer — he snapped.

His hand forcefully clutched her jaw in a tight grip, just like when she first opened her eyes under his imprisonment. The wall met her back and she gave out a painful yelp. He closed the proximity to her face and spoke the words right to her ear while watching her struggle to get out of his grip.

“One of the things I love about you, dove, is your cleverness. But this little clever girl needs to finally learn her place,” he said, his words seething with control. She was whimpering in his grip that got tighter and tighter with each word he uttered.

“I took you for a wife so when I blow the brains out of your Sire’s head and take over his Triad, I will be unopposed, that is the truth, now—” Y/N’s eyes widened in both shock and fear as Yoongi’s words penetrated the air around her.

The force of his grip on her jaw made her gasp, the pain radiating through her face. The cold, unyielding wall at her back provided no escape, and she felt a surge of helplessness as his words sank in.

“Yet, out of the love I have for you, I have ensured your lovely sister will have her place within our clan and your mother will be taken care of. It’s the little boy you are afraid I might hurt, innit?” The mention of her family sent a shiver down her spine, and her eyes flickered with a mix of dread and anger.

“Well let us say, if you shall not force my hand by your shenanigans, I shall spare him.”

“You are a psychopathic monster,” she hissed through gritted teeth, her voice barely audible as his grip was not allowing her to speak properly. He chuckled, a dark sound that sent shivers down her spine.

“You were not saying that when I spilled all my love inside of your cunt, claiming you” his lips brushed against her ear as he whispered, cupping her womanhood with his free hand.

“You have no choice in this, dove. You are mine, bound by vows and blood. And when the time comes, you shall see I am the only one who can protect you—” his lips dangerously close to her ear now moved, laying a small peck on her wet cheek, right under her eye.

“—to provide for you,” his lips brushed upon her skin moving to lay another peck to her forehead. Tears streamed down her face.

“—to love you.” He finished, pressing his lips to hers.

“I wanted you from the very beginning. It was always you,—” She narrowed her eyes, a fire igniting within her despite the fear. The taste of his lips lingered on hers as Yoongi pulled away, his eyes fixed on her tear-stained face.

“—even if I would slaughter every member of your Triad, I would have spared you, my love.”

“I would rather die,” she spat at him, a small act of defiance in the face of his cruelty.

“Death is easy, dove. It’s the living hell I can create for you and those you love that should terrify you—” He traced a finger along her jaw, a sickening smile playing on his lips.

“Even the strongest wills can be broken, I still have some ways to make you obey and be a dutiful loving wife.”

“I will not become the submissive wife you fantasise about.”

But the scarred leader had a trick up his sleeve that only time will show whether she will need that kind of fixing.

“You are a challenging one, and I do love a good challenge. However, your defiance is only temporary,” he smirked, a predatory glint in his eyes.

Y/N recoiled, a sense of dread settling in her stomach. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to his plans, something insidious lurking beneath the surface. The scarred leader had shown a glimpse of a darker side, a side that made her shudder with apprehension. The voices in her head never left and now they were louder than ever.

“In the end, you will crave me,” his words echoed, each syllable dripping with a sinister certainty. “—And what a good life I can offer. I have all the time in the world to make you mine. Soul and mind.” He continued his monologue. She clenched her fists, steeling herself against the onslaught of doubt and fear.

“If my mind does not betray me, I told you what will happen once you disobey me again, did I not, dove?” her heart pounding in her chest as Yoongi’s words sent waves of revulsion through her. She fought against the oppressive grip on her jaw, her eyes ablaze with a mixture of defiance and fury.

“How exactly did I disobey you, hm?” she demanded, her voice rising with each word.

His chuckle resonated in the room, and he released his hold on her jaw. Y/N slumped against the wall, gasping for a deep inhale of air. The tears blurred her vision and her head seemed too heavy. Yoongi took the little bell on the side table, turning to Y/N, a cold glint in his eyes.

“I assume, the last time I disciplined you, was not simply enough.” He carried on without taking her comment to notice. She struggled to regain her composure, wiping away the tears that clouded her vision.

His fingers toyed with the small bell in his hand, and the room seemed to constrict around her.

The sound of the bell echoed, a disconcerting prelude to what awaited her. Yoongi’s gaze bore into her, a chilling determination evident in his demeanour.

“It seems you need a little reminder.”

Y/N’s pulse quickened, her mind racing with the fear of the unknown. She heard footsteps approaching the room and her head swiftly turned to follow the sound.

“Yoongi—” she pleaded. He remained unmoved. The approaching footsteps grew louder, and a sense of dread settled in the pit of her stomach.

“I hope this will be the final lesson, dove,” Yoongi said, the edge of cruelty evident in his voice. When she saw him reach for the walther in his holster, her pleas became more urgent.

“I am sorry, that’s what you want to hear right, Yoongi? I am sorry!” she implored, her voice shaky with a blend of terror and disbelief. “I will do whatever you want, just don’t—”

But her words were cut short as Yoongi’s hand gripped the handle of the walther. The room seemed to close in around her, the walls similarly closing in on the remnants of her hope. His gaze remained cold, his resolve unyielding as extended hand with the gun in his grip aiming for the incomer sliding the hanji paper door open.

Yoongi’s gaze shifted toward the figure entering the room, and Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. Panic surged through her as she redirected her plea, desperately trying to avert the impending danger. His finger hovered over the trigger. He patiently waited till the door slid all the way in before loading the gun that alarmed Y/N even more.

“Yoongi stop, let us talk—” he had to laugh at how quickly he can have her on chokehold, smothering the fire in her. He was having none of it this time.

But before she could act, Yoongi’s grip tightened on the gun, his finger inching closer to the trigger. The figure in the doorway froze, sensing the danger that lurked in the scarred leader’s cold gaze.

Y/N needed to think quickly, her gaze momentarily meeting the poor made, stopping to look her over, she gulped down. It was her. The young girl’s tears were already falling to the wooden floor once she slumped down to her knees and begged for her life, just like she did months ago near the koi pond that she almost drowned in.

“I told you the Lord has a plan—” Y/N closed her eyes shut tightly, trying to think of a way to save the girl’s life. She owes her so much already and she certainly does not deserve to die because the man cannot handle being rejected each time there’s progress within the messed up relationship he formed in his deluded head.

Her palms pressed to her eyes she breathed the air in. With a surge of determination, she stepped forward, her heart pounding in her chest. Yoongi’s gaze bore into her, his cold eyes reflecting the twisted depths of his obsession.

With a deep breath, Y/N made her move. Ignoring the fear that threatened to paralyse her, she closed the distance between them in a swift motion. Her hand reached up to cup his cheek, her touch gentle yet calculated. His gaze locked with hers in a silent battle of wills. It confused him. What does she think she is doing? The scarred leader was too selfish to stop her. Feeling her warm hand on his cheek made him lose his hardened features.

If he could rule with fear and violence, she can rule with the love he desperately wants her to reciprocate, even if it will be pretended. And pretend she planned to.

Y/N was not stupid, she knew he would not believe her one bit that she is going to be a pitch-perfect mafia wife overnight. But gradually, till she can think of a way to leave. A plan was already writing itself in her conflicted mind. For now, she needed to get the girl out of danger, and if she had to forget about where she was standing and with whom, she would. For a life that can be spared.

And then, without hesitation, she pressed her lips to his in a desperate kiss. It was a gamble, a risky move born out of necessity. But in that fleeting moment, as their lips met in a deceitful embrace, Y/N prayed it would be enough to distract him.

Her heart raced with adrenaline as she poured every ounce of determination into the kiss, willing him to succumb to the illusion of affection. She could feel the tension in his body, his grip on the gun momentarily faltering as she moved her lips against his.

Yoongi was too taken aback to react differently than kissing her back as if this was the last time he was. She used his own tactics against him, and for a fleeting moment, it seemed to pay off. Winning this round with flying colours as the gun with a swift motion was sent clattering to the floor. The sound echoed through the room.

When Y/N finally parted from him, her eyes filled with determination, Yoongi chuckled softly, the façade of affection slipping away. Yoongi took an estranged string of hair and tugged it behind her ear.

“I told you your defiance is only temporary.”

“And you just proved your threats are empty.”

She refused to let his words intimidate her, to succumb to the fear that threatened to consume her. She knew Min Yoongi’s weakness all too well.

Her — it was her greatest advantage now, and she planned to use it to its fullest extent. Her defiance was far from being temporary. One step at a time; she planned to win.

Y/N watched the falling snow from the Cadillac’s window, her mind swirling with the events that had transpired. Min Yoongi sat beside her in stony silence, still seething from their confrontation. He dragged her to the car kicking. His pride was wounded by her defiance. Again. But she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her falter, of breaking under the weight of his control.

This was not the right time for her shell to crack. He needed her composed and Y/N was not feeling like a puppet he has had made of her these past months. He overstepped the line with the knowledge that and in their world, truth can kill.

He dusted his coat and hat from snow once they stepped inside of the hotel they vacated not even a day ago. Y/N felt small once she walked by his side, not because he would intimidate her, that was never the case — her eyes creeped at the hallway where her body was pressed to the wall, strong hand on her neck.

A sense of unease settled over her. She raised her own hand to touch the still sore space covered by the neckline of her qipao, white fur coat draped around her shoulders.

His sharp eyes noticed it and for a fleeting moment he paused, his gaze softening imperceptibly as it fell upon Y/N’s form. Despite the coldness that often characterised his demeanour, there was a flicker of something akin to remorse in his eyes.

That is where Min Yoongi’s remorse lies. He did not regret taking her as wife, he did not regret all the lies, damage and deception he employed to achieve so, what he did regret was her getting physically hurt. He regretted listening to her sister when she said he should stay with the guests instead of attending to you. But as quickly as it had appeared, the moment passed, and Yoongi’s expression hardened once more.

She followed him into the dining hall, her steps hesitant as they walked side by side. The room erupted into applause once they stepped in. The sound echoing off the walls in a cacophony of celebration of the genocide they just performed.

The celebration was a mockery of the destruction they had caused, the lives they had taken in the name of power. Y/N scanned the faces in the room, searching for her family among the crowd. Relief washed over her when she saw Xiaoli, hanged on the arm of Kim Taehyung; she nodded, a silent reassurance that they were safe.

There is never a guarantee that ordinary civilians won’t be harmed as that’s how clan’s limit the possibility of attacking the headquarters which were strategically located in the heart of the city. Therefore, no assurances that innocent lives would be spared.

Her steps remained hesitant as they made their way through the crowded room. Number of men and women patted him on his back, congratulating him on the plan he orchestrated worked just right. And as she cast a glance at Yoongi, she couldn’t help but wonder whether they all would ever find redemption for the sins they had committed.

Yoongi raised his hand once they got in the middle of the dining hall, attempting to silence everyone. The room fell silent, all eyes turning to him expectantly.

But Y/N paid him no mind, her thoughts consumed by the dark undercurrents that lurked beneath the surface. She did not bother to pay attention to her so-called husband’s propagandic words to his blind worshipers. The voices in her head would outcry him or anyone else. For what little her ears caught, there was a sense of pride in his words, a conviction that they had done what needed to be done to protect their interests.

“We must remain vigilant,” he concluded, his voice a warning. “Our enemies may have been vanquished, but new threats will always emerge. We must stand together, united in our resolve to protect what is ours.” Yoongi’s gaze lingered on Y/N possessively. When his gaze fell back to the crowd, he saw his right hand man making a way to the centre, rather urgently.

“Excuse me,-” Yoongi murmured to those around him, his tone clipped as he stepped away from the crowd. He had little time for idle chatter, especially in the midst of their celebrations.

Namjoon’s expression was grave as he spoke, his words measured and deliberate. “There’s been a development,-” he began, his voice becoming too low to understand what he was saying. Y/N’s eyes flickered to all of them before they landed back on Yoongi and still whispering Namjoon.

Yoongi’s expression remained unreadable as he listened to Namjoon, his features schooled into a mask of stoicism. But as Namjoon’s words sank in, a flicker of something dark and dangerous glinted in his eyes. As Yoongi turned to face her, his gaze piercing and intense, she could not predict what was going to happen.

The scarred leader encouraged everyone to continue with celebrations with a big smile plastered on his face, his voice ringing out with false warmth and cheer. But the persona was long gone once he turned to face the group of his most trusted man.

“Tae, take Xiaoli to her room and come back, the rest, office now—” Yoongi ordered, his tone brooking no argument.

“I’m going to see Bó Chéng and Ma, Yoongi.” She announced, interrupting the stream of his command. Yoongi’s gaze snapped to Y/N, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before his expression hardened once more. He attempted to make a reasonable argument why she cannot go, but there was none, only his selfishness remained. Clutching his fist tightly, he spoke.

“Thirty minutes, then I need you downstairs.” Yoongi’s jaw clenched as he struggled to contain his frustration. Y/N nodded curtly, she knew that this is a rare occasion that he would agree without a fight.

“Dove?” Yoongi called when she turned to walk away. He hesitated for a moment, his thoughts racing as he searched for the right words. The darkness and possessiveness that loomed over him overshadowed any kind of sincerity he wished he would say instead.

“Do not make me come and get you.”

The atmosphere was heavy with tension as Yoongi sat behind his desk, his expression unreadable as he listened to the reports from his subordinates. The news of Chanyeol’s demise lingered in the air like a dark omen, casting a shadow over the room.

“Are you certain it was a suicide?” Yoongi’s voice cut through the tense silence of the room.

“They found him hanging in his cell,” Namjoon replied, his tone cautious. “No signs of foul play.”

Yoongi’s mind raced with questions. The absence of a trial meant that Chan-yeol’s fate had been sealed, his sins catching up to him in the most final of ways.

“His death was inevitable,” Yoongi murmured, his voice tinged with a hint of resignation. “But it serves as a reminder to all who dare to betray us.”

“He fucking deserved to have his balls cut off, Hyung.” The youngest member of the board spoke with venom in his voice. The sentiment was shared by many in the room, but Yoongi knew that dwelling on revenge would only serve to distract them from their true objectives. Nonetheless, he silently nodded in agreement.

“Are all our goods secured, Jimin-ah?” Yoongi shifted the conversation to more practical matters, his focus unwavering despite the weight of recent events. Their operations could not afford to falter.

“They’re secured, Hyung,” Jimin replied, his tone confident. “We’ve taken the necessary precautions to ensure our assets remain protected.”

“Good,” Yoongi said, his voice firm. “We can’t afford any mistakes. Keep a close eye on everything, and report any unusual activity immediately—”

“What is it, Yoongi?” The doctor’s voice resonated throughout the room. He was sitting near the fireplace, nursing a glass of liquor in his hand, his eyes sharp and thin while looking at his brother and leader.

The moment he stepped inside of the hotel, Seokjin knew something had happened that got under Yoongi’s skin. The only reason is still absent in this room, her time slowly waning.

Yoongi’s gaze flickered towards Seokjin, his brother’s interruption breaking the flow of their conversation.

“We have matters to attend to, Seokjin,” Yoongi replied, his tone clipped but not unkind. “Important ones.”

“Rumour has it—” he stood up, ignoring the scarred boy’s dismissal he had known forever, Seokjin’s eyes bore into Yoongi’s, a silent challenge passing between them.

“That while you celebrate the victory, your own household is on fire.” Yoongi’s jaw tightened, a silent acknowledgement of the truth in Seokjin’s words.

“So tell us what is bothering you.” Despite his efforts to maintain his composure, he couldn’t entirely mask the unease that gnawed at him. Reaching the spot where his bride imprinted her hand earlier, he spoke.

“She knows Wang Xiaqing did not give me any blessing to marry her.” He could visibly see his right-hand man pressing his fingers to the root of his notes and sighing loudly. The youngest could not help but chuckle at his leader’s words as he sympathised with Y/N to most. Not enough to help her out of this situation though.

Seokjin’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, his gaze locking onto Yoongi’s with intensity. The revelation hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over the room.

“And how did she come to know this?” Seokjin’s voice was low, a mixture of concern and curiosity. Yoongi’s jaw tensed, his expression clouding over with frustration.

“I gave her the letter without reading it first.”

“Yoongi why the actual fuck you would do that?!” Namjoon’s voice cut through the tension in the room, his anger palpable. Yoongi’s gaze hardened as he turned to face Namjoon, his frustration simmering beneath the surface.

“Because she was making good progress, and I couldn’t deny it any longer,” Yoongi replied. Namjoon’s expression softened his features, reflecting a mix of sympathy and understanding.

“It does not matter, Hyung, she is your wife and that cannot be undone, right?” Hoseok’s voice carried a note of reassurance when he softly smiled at him.

Seokjin held up a hand, silencing the room. His pointing finger aimed at Yoongi next. “Yes, whatever happens, she is still your wife.”

“Yeah, well, go and tell her that, see if she listens.” Yoongi muttered, running a hand through his hair in frustration, sinking back to his armchair. Namjoon exchanged a knowing glance with Seokjin.

“Does she know about your plans for her father’s Triad?” Namjoon’s question hung in the air, injecting a new layer of tension into the room.

Yoongi’s hand was pinching his lip when the question was raised. His eyes on neither of the men questioning him.

“She figured,” he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. Seokjin’s expression tightened, his gaze narrowing as he processed Yoongi’s words. Namjoon’s eyes widened in surprise, his brows furrowing with concern and the rest of the man reflected the same kind of emotions.

“Hyung, but you just said she made progress, right? All will be good.” Namjoon’s question hung in the air, injecting a note of uncertainty into the conversation. Yoongi’s jaw clenched, his mind racing as he considered Namjoon’s words. He had believed that Y/N understood her role in their world, but recent events had shaken that belief to its core.

“I thought she did,” Yoongi murmured, his voice heavy with regret. “But now, I’m not so sure.” The remaining six were staring at their leader, expecting them to fill him in. They needed to know the situation in case little Mrs Min attempted to ruin every ongoing operation by running away.

“Well then, humble her like you always do—” Namjoon began, his tone suggesting a ruthless solution to the problem. The rest of them were not as right with their brother’s drastic intentions. Apart from Seokjin, he knew the young gal enough to know that being soft wouldn’t move her. But Yoongi’s interruption cut through the air like a knife.

“She said my threats are empty.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of Yoongi’s words hanging in the air.

“Fucking show her they are not, Yoongi. You’re the Kkangpae, and she is your wife, goddammit.” Namjoon’s frustration boiled over, his voice laced with urgency. They needed her well, alive and here as an obedient and loyal wife.

Yoongi had given her the chance to do so willingly, he had even gone against his trusted men’s words when he suggested she be involved in the business however she liked. He tried to play nice numerous times. In his mind. Not in hers.

Yoongi shall never fully scope how much he took from her. He is selfish enough to never even accept the possibility of letting her go for the better course in their damaged relationship. He always ruled with fear and kindness was only recently added to his vocabulary once he fell in love with her. Deeply, quickly and too hard. Whether he was willing to make that sacrifice, to truly change the way he ruled his empire, remained to be seen.

He wanted to mould her into the perfect wife for a Kkangpae. But he also wished that she would reciprocate his love. He had demanded too much of her, without ever truly understanding the cost. And as he looked around the room at the faces of his most trusted allies, he realised that he was not the only one who had underestimated the strength of her will.

Every one of them thought this matter would be solved after the wedding and she would slowly succumb to what life they offered her. But if there was one thing he was certain of, it was this: he would do whatever it took to keep her by his side, even if it meant confronting the darkest parts of himself in the process.

“I can always fix her, Yoongi.” Yoongi’s jaw clenched as he processed the implication behind Seokjin’s statement.

“That shall be the very last option, aight?” Yoongi finally replied, his voice firm despite the doubt that gnawed at him.

They may not have agreed with his decision, but they recognized the weight of his words. And in that moment, Yoongi thought that he had taken the first step towards redemption. Only to fall back down for what he is going to do.

“You underestimate the power of discontent, brother,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “It festers, grows until it consumes everything in its path. You would do well not to ignore it.”

“I’ll handle it,” he said, his voice filled with determination.

The door creaked open, revealing a figure standing in the doorway. Fashionably late, she at least arrived after she made sure that her little brother and mother were safe and sound. She has put him down for his afternoon nap, promising him to make a snowman when he wakes up.

The men’s looks met her eyes with a hint of little something Y/N could not interpret.

“What is it?” She asked carefully, scanning their faces.

“We were just discussing some matters concerning the recent events.” Seokjin steadied his voice and fixed his tie.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at the tension in the air, but she forced herself to maintain a calm façade. She stepped further into the room, her eyes flickering between the faces of the men gathered around the table.

“Is there something I need to be aware of?” she asked, her tone carefully neutral.

“Chan-yeol’s dead,” said Yoongi coldly. She swallowed hard, trying to process the information.

The tension in the room seemed to thicken as the men exchanged guarded glances. Yoongi’s gaze bore into hers, searching for any hint of vulnerability. But Y/N held his stare, refusing to show any weakness in front of him or his associates.

Truth to be told, she did not know how to feel. The man was an accomplice in an act not worthy of heaven’s gate after death. The numbness that was creeping in her brain was spreading further and further.

“Does Daiyu know?” She gulped down the question, avoiding direct eye contact with any of the men.

“She knows. There will not be any funeral as he was a traitor to our clan.”

In their world, traitors were dealt with swiftly and without mercy. There would be no mourning for Chan-yeol, no funeral to honour his memory. He had chosen his path, and now he would face the consequences.

Y/N breathed the thick air of the room deeply in and licked her lips, her teeth scraping the bottom lip, a subconscious gesture of anxiety. The world of the Kkangpae was unforgiving, its rules and consequences absolute.

“Well, if you excuse us Buin, we shall take our leave.” Hoseok sensed that it was the right time to flee this room before more private and intense conversations could start between the man and his wife.

“Of course,” Y/N replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She watched silently as the men filed out of the room one by one, their expressions unreadable as they passed her by. Alone in the room with Yoongi, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that they will not have a pleasant conversation.

She turned to face him, searching his expression for any sign of what was to come. Their inner problems were never concluded, rather set on pause and Y/N had a hunch that Yoongi would not let her earlier shenanigans go.

“I want to speak to her, Yoongi.” She knew that asking to speak with Dayiu was a bold move, especially given the recent events and the strained dynamics between them.

“Why?” he asked, his tone betraying none of his thoughts or emotions.

“I want to express my condolences.”

“Condolences?-” he echoed, the scepticism evident in his tone. What kind of condolence she wanted to express when the very same man was an accomplice of such a sinistrous act.

“She lost a husband and the little boy lost his dad—” He knew Y/N well enough to recognise when she was being genuine and when she was attempting to manipulate the situation to her advantage. There was a flicker of something in his eyes, a hint of guardedness, perhaps even suspicion.

“Do you want to perchance tell her to run, dove?” Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at the directness of his question.

“I want to offer my condolences sincerely,” she replied, her voice steady despite the tension in the room. “Whatever may have transpired between us should not affect her, Yoongi.” Yoongi’s gaze remained fixed on Y/N, assessing her words and the sincerity behind them. She meant to say that whatever happens in their messed up relationship, Daiyu should never be used as bargain anymore.

“I agree. But you just won’t ever learn, will you?” Their eyes locked, each of them holding their ground in the midst of their complex emotions.

“Yoongi, you ruined my goddamn life. Please don’t expect me to play house with you.”

“I’m offering you the life of a queen and all I ask for in return is obedience, perhaps love in time.” She heard this kind of proclamation way too many times for it to waver her.

“Well, I certainly did not ask for it.” She clasped her hands together, aiming to leave the room and find her cousin.

“Sit your ass back down. I’m not done.”

Y/N froze at Yoongi’s command, her muscles tensing as she slowly turned back to face him. Despite her inner turmoil, she complied, sinking back into the chair with a heavy sigh.

“You needn’t tell her to run. I have no intention to hurt her in particular. She played her part.”

“What else do you want from me, Yoongi?” she asked, her voice laced with frustration and exhaustion, not believing a word he was saying. “Haven’t you taken enough?”

“You needn’t concern yourself with her fate. Focus on your own.” Y/N’s heart sank at his words.

“I want you to see that everything I do, I do for us. For our future.” Y/N’s eyes narrowed, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. Yoongi’s jaw clenched, his frustration palpable.

“I won’t be a part of your game anymore, Yoongi,” she declared, her voice unwavering. “I won’t—” a knock on the double door echoed, interrupting her.

Yoongi’s gaze flickered towards the door, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his features before he composed himself.

“Come in,” he called out, his voice firm. The siblings came just in time. Afterall, the Kkangpae requested their presence.

Dayiu’s eyes were red and swollen, a testament to the grief she carried, while Kai’s expression was hardened, unknowingly walking to a trap.

She greeted the young Kkangpae with a respectful bow. Kai remained silent, his eyes darting between Yoongi and Y/N.

Y/N watched the interaction, her earlier confrontation with Yoongi momentarily set aside in the face of a new development.

The room teetered on the edge of chaos she obviously did not see coming, and the consequences of this confrontation were poised to reshape the dynamics in their relationship. For good, he hoped.

They exchanged small talk with their leader while Y/N sat there silently. Only now and then did she raise a sympathetic look Daiyu’s way. She did not have a chance to speak with her since Chan-yeol drugged her and sold her out just to betray the very same man months later.

Y/N wished to apologise for every single unpleasant discontent she caused to her because of the fire she burnt Yoongi with.

Leaning in close to Daiyu, Y/N whispered her apologies, her words a quiet admission of remorse for the pain she had inadvertently caused.

She reached out, squeezing Y/N’s hand in a gesture of understanding her desire to live her life the way she wants. Daiyu shares the same ambition now that her husband is no longer in the picture. But that is, of course, not going to be granted.

As she was not paying attention to what Yoongi and Kai are further discussing, a mistake on her part. The next shocked her to the core.

Kai went to stand up just to be sent flying to the ground by Yoongi knocking him down. Y/N’s heart lurched with horror.

“Yoongi, what the fuck!” Y/N yelled, shielding Daiyu with her body.

“Missus Park?” Yoongi called. “I would rather you not stay for the next couple of moments.” Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at Yoongi’s words.

“You see, Missus Park. I need to show my wife just how much my threats are not empty.” His voice was full of violence and Y/N’s heart pounded too loud and hard. She shot a concerned look at Daiyu, silently communicating her support and urging her to leave the room.

“Both of you. Leave, right now!” With a nod of understanding, Dayiu rose from her seat, casting a final glance at Y/N before quietly exiting the room. Panic surged through her veins as she watched Daiyu leave the room, her gaze fixing on Kai, struggling to stand up and run, his eyes reflecting fear.

Yoongi’s gaze locked onto hers, his expression dark and foreboding. She knew she couldn’t escape his wrath, not now.

“Yoongi, stop!” Her palms blunt against his torso, trying to stop him from proceeding further, just to be pushed back to the armchair, little too hard than Yoongi intended to. His mind and fists aimed at the younger boy’s face. Her words fell on deaf ears as Yoongi continued his assault, his rage unchecked and his fury unleashed.

The sickening sound of bone crunching beneath his blows and painful cries from Kai’s mouth was haunting the room. Yoongi dragged him to the nearest wall and pressed his head tightly to the concrete with his hand. The skin of his knuckles was torn and full of blood. Not as much blood as Kai’s face produced after being beaten numerous times. Kai’s painful cry got louder once Yoongi kept pressing his cheek to the wall.

With each crunch of bone and each agonised cry that echoed through the room, Y/N’s desperation grew. She knew she had to act, to do something to protect Kai from further harm.

“Yoongi, this is all me. Punish me!” She scrambled to her feet, her hands shaking with fear and adrenaline as she desperately tried to intervene, to stop Yoongi from inflicting any more harm on Kai. She did not expect him to take a hit on Kai, he followed his orders thoroughly, the younger boy even pledged his loyalty to him. Y/N's mind scratched his name from the list, another mistake on her part.

Y/N’s voice cracked with emotion as she made her desperate plea, hoping to redirect Yoongi’s rage away from Kai and onto herself. She knew she was risking everything by putting herself in the line of fire, but she couldn’t bear to see Kai suffer any longer.

“I was thinking you know—” said the scarred leader. With each passing moment, the weight of their situation pressed down on her, threatening to suffocate her with its overwhelming intensity.

“Forbidding you from this and that won’t work on you nor killing a worthless maid—”

Yoongi’s voice trailed off, his gaze turning back to Kai, whose head was battered and bloodied pressed to the wall, so painful that his consciousness was waning. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she waited for Yoongi’s next move, unsure of what to expect.

“—but hurting someone you care about...” His voice was chilling, the threat implicit in his words. Y/N’s blood ran cold as she realised the full extent of Yoongi’s intentions. He was using Kai as a pawn in his twisted game, manipulating her emotions to bend her to his will.

“His life and blood are on your hands, love.”

She looked into Kai’s eyes, seeing the pain and terror reflected in them, knowing that his fate now rested in her hands. Yoongi did not plan to kill him altogether, he just wanted her to succumb to submission and obedience.

“No, Yoongi, please!” she pleaded, her voice trembling with emotion. But Yoongi’s expression remained cold and impassive, his resolve unyielding. She felt as though her soul was being torn apart, torn between her love for Kai and her desperate need to protect him.

She had had enough. She had seen enough. And she was ready to give up her life to save his. Y/N thought about this option way too often lately. Whether her sacrifice would be enough to save Kai from further harm remained to be seen.

In that moment of desperation and despair, Y/N’s mind raced as she weighed her options. The thought of sacrificing herself to protect Kai from further harm consumed her thoughts, and with a sense of grim determination, she reached for the same unfortunate knife that saved her from her father’s wrath before.

With a steady hand, she withdrew the weapon, its cold metal glinting in the dim light of the room.

“Y/N…” he had to look back at her twice before he realised what was going on. Yoongi’s gaze flickered toward her, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes as he realised her intentions. But before he could react, Y/N pressed the blade against her own throat, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and resolve.

“Let him go Yoongi, or I swear I will do it,” she declared, her voice quavering but firm. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as they all grappled with the gravity of the situation. Y/N waited, her hand steady against her throat, her gaze unwavering as she dared Yoongi to make his next move.

Yoongi’s hand left the already fractured skull of his wife’s cousin, and Kai slumped down by the wall, grunting loudly. The scarred leader who thought is holding the young gal in chess mate was taken aback by the sudden turn of events.

“I let him go, baby, now put the blade away.” Y/N hesitated, her grip on the sharp letter opener tightening involuntarily.

The rush of adrenaline had drowned out her fear momentarily, leaving her with a fierce determination to stand her ground.

“No,” she said firmly, her voice tinged with defiance. Yoongi took a step towards her small form. Her eyes crimson red, tears streaming down as she said that.

“We can talk—”

“It always starts with a talk, Yoongi, doesn't it?” Y/N interrupted, her voice trembling with emotion but her resolve unwavering. She held the knife steady, its blade gleaming in the dim light of the room.

Yoongi’s expression darkened, a mixture of frustration and anger flashing across his features. He took another step closer, his gaze locked on Y/N’s determined face. He was afraid and the young leader was only afraid of one thing. Losing her.

“Love, fuck, please I beg you to put it down, baby.” Y/N shook her head again.

“I told you I am your weakness, Yoongi, now you see for yourself.”

For the first time in a long time, Yoongi felt truly afraid. Not for himself, but for Y/N. He knew that he had pushed her too far, that his actions had driven her to this desperate act. And as he stood before her, pleading to put down the knife, he couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that he had already lost her.

He had always prided himself on his ability to maintain control in any situation, but now, faced with the prospect of losing Y/N, he felt powerless. He made her go mad.

As Yoongi reached out his hand towards her, a silent plea in his eyes, Y/N knew she couldn’t back down. It is him who will never learn, not her. Pressing the knife tighter, piercing the first layer of the skin, painting the blade red. A thin crimson line trickled down her neck making Yoongi’s eyes widen in panic. She could not feel a thing through the adrenaline and post traumatic experience from the events that led her to close her mind and not feel, her eyes were still fixated on him and how terrified he looked.

“Y/N, please,-” he begged, his voice raw with emotion. Now it was her who remained unmoved, her eyes blazing with defiance as she held her ground.

“Say it, Yoongi.” She declared. Giving him the taste of his own medicine. And the dark sickening part of Yoongi knew that he had finally met his match. She wanted him to suffer just as much as he made her suffer.

“I’m so sorry, love,-” what he always forced her to say, thinking he is teaching her of accountability, now left his lips. Yet, he could never be accountable for his own actions, could he?

“You’ve taken my life from me!” her voice filled with bitterness and resentment.

“I know,-” he whispered, gulping down the lump in his throat. His voice was heavy with remorse that did not reach sincerity. “And I will spend the rest of my life trying—”

“Fuck you! You are like a broken record, a lying one!” She had seen through his façade, seen the darkness that lurked beneath his composed exterior, and she refused to let him off the hook so easily. But he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her, couldn’t bear the thought of spending the rest of his life haunted by the memories of what he had done.

“I will do everythi—”

“But you will never let me go.”

For a moment, Yoongi was speechless, his mind racing as he grappled with the realisation that he had pushed her too far. There were no words he could say to make her put the blade down from her neck. The absence of words only confirmed hers.

“The only blood I shall have on my hands shall be mine.”

He immediately crossed the distance to reach out - to stop her - to tell her that he would do anything to make things right, but he knew it was too late for that.

“NO!”

With a desperate scream from his mouth, Yoongi watched as Y/N swiftly swiped the blade against her own skin, cutting deeper, painting the qipao embroidered with pink roses and green leaves she was clad in crimson red with her hot blood.

©pennyellee. please do not repost

author's note: sheesh, here we go, i thought that no chapter will be hard for me to write since the last one, but this one did a number on me tbh. But more importantly for yall my beautiful chummers, if you feel like this is the end you imagined for lacrimosa and y/n, I strongly encourage you to not proceed to read the following chapters. Not every piece of media is meant for everybody and I totally respect if the way in which will lacrimosa continue won't be everyone's cup of tea or simply not the trope they wanted. I hold the pen and I love yall, I won't change the outline of lacrimosa I planned because of relativity tho. Therefore, those who are satisfied with this kind of ending - I love you, I'm grateful, and I thank you hundred times that you took the time to read this fic. Those who wants to follow the "couple" a bit more, stay tuned and patient for other chapters. I love you 🫧♡ ︎

shout-out to Bex, the queen @chaoticpuff17, for beta another chapter!

Love you all!! ♥

Don't be a silent reader, comment, re-blog, heart, asks are more than welcome ♥

keep in mind - I'm not an expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction.

let's be friends chummers 🫧♡ ︎

lots of love, p.

tag list: @beautifulcloudfestival - @honsoolgloss - @jingerbreadoutofstock - @moscow778 - @januara26 - @dinosolecito - @yoongislatinagff - @xyahrinx - @hi12345567 - @nochuel - @deltamoon666 - @bbkissme99 - @darkuni63 - @nansasa - @sazsazsaz - @missmin - @strxwbloody - @royallyjjk - @jaiuneamesolitaiire - @shadowyjellyfishfest - @bbgniecyy - @elayne321 - @seojunandsoju - @bun-27 - @whipwhoops - @wobblewobble822 - @whofan88 - @haneyyyyyy - @lostgirlinthewoodss - @secfir - @btspurplesky - @elleflying07 - @pamzn - @megseungmin - @selenophileforlife - @idkjustlovingbts @seonghwaexile

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oddinary4bts · 1 year ago

Text

Sinful Lust | ch 5 (myg & jjk)

☆summary: On a rainy night in May, everything is bound to break. Hearts that once beat as one, now break in time with the tide. What will be left in the end?

☆pairing: bisexual boyfriend!Yoongi x female!reader x Jungkook

☆rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI)

☆genre: mostly angst, smut, snippets of life!au

☆warnings: mentions of what happened between Jungkook and OC in ch 4, cheating, cursing, momentary trip to the hospital, mentions of bullying and getting beaten up, mentions of alcoholic parent, mentions of domestic abuse, explicit content: protected sex in a semi-public environment, fingering, squirting, anal sex, car sex

☆word count: 8.3k

☆a/n: This one is really sad. We learn more about Jungkook's past, and we see everything crashing down. Please don't hate me for this :') Annnnd thank you @moonleeai as always for beta-ing this fic <3

☆a/n pt2: I do not own BTS or any of the members. I do not know what they are like irl (I do not claim to know their personalities, sexual orientations, beliefs, etc.). This fic is just a work of fiction, so please keep that in mind while reading

☆series masterpost

☆☆☆☆☆

May is rainy. You watch the world outside – it’s turned grey weeks ago, and the sun has yet to show up. Or at least it feels that way, and you’re slightly annoyed as you once again look out the window, only to be greeted by drops of water racing each other on the glass.

You don’t mind the rain. You never really did. But you don’t like feeling like you’re not doing anything, and the book you’ve been trying to read since you got home from work just isn’t cutting it.

Or maybe it’s the fact that Yoongi is once again going to be home late tonight. You don’t know what project he’s been working on – whenever you’ve asked questions about it, he was super evasive. But like clockwork, every night for three weeks Yoongi got home late after work, claiming that he is too tired to do anything with you.

You don’t blame him. He’s been working crazy hours, but you just miss his presence. Now, whenever you get to actually spend some time together he also invites Jungkook, and you feel like your relationship with Yoongi just isn’t what it used to be.

When you brought it up to him last week, he said that he was too tired to talk about it, and he kissed the side of your head before rolling to the other side of the bed. The dismissal was clear, and it’s been making you feel dreadful, like every breath you take is missing just a little bit of oxygen, making your lungs burn and heart beat harder in your chest as it tries to compensate.

You know what changed everything. You saw it in slow motion – that night you’d woken Yoongi up because of Jungkook. That same night you had fucked Yoongi on Facetime while Jungkook watched and guided the two of you.

Yoongi hasn’t looked at you the same way since then. You hate it, hate the distance that’s wedged itself between you and him, but you don’t know how to fix it.

No amount of cuddling or affection or loving words seem to be enough to bring Yoongi back from the place his mind wandered to when he saw what you and Jungkook had been texting about.

It was a mistake. You know it today, and you wish you could take it back.

Wish you could take the whole ordeal back.

But you can’t, and you’ve been trying to be better. To treat Yoongi better, to make sure you don’t overstep the boundaries, though you reckon that night you went flying over the line at the speed of light.

You sigh, leaning your head back against the couch. You’ve been trying to read your favourite book – the one Yoongi bought for you on your first date, annotated in the margins with all of his thoughts on it. But every time you see his handwriting, every time you read what he left behind, your heart just hurts a little more.

You’ve suggested calling off this whole thing with Jungkook. Yoongi laughed and said that he didn’t want to stop. It was strange to see him like that – like he isn’t the same man you once fell in love with anymore. But then again you reckon you haven’t been the same either.

How could you be the same after experiencing Jeon Jungkook?

Jungkook, too, has changed. He doesn’t smile with you as much as he used to, and sometimes you feel like he’s forcing himself. Like he doesn’t want to be there, but just like you and Yoongi, he doesn’t know how to stop.

It’s a mess. Everything is a mess, and you wish you’d know how to fix it.

But you don’t, and so you force your eyes to skim over the lines of the book, reading words that used to be familiar and now feel like excerpts from a different life.

*****

Yoongi likes the rain. It’s calm, soothing, and he feels like the world stops rushing when it’s under the clouds. Like he can sit back, relax and enjoy the coffee on the table in front of him. He’s ordered it black, and though it’s a little too warm, he still enjoys every single sip he takes of it.

Jimin isn’t here yet. But Yoongi doesn’t mind – he likes watching the droplets of water racing on the window. It keeps his thoughts busy, keeps them from running back to you and Jungkook and the night you fucking sexted with Jungkook while he was sleeping next to you.

His first thought had been to be mad at you, but then he’d figured he could twist this to his advantage. Because he knew you and Jungkook both felt guilty, and it now shows in the way you take care of him.

And maybe he is sick and twisted for enjoying the sex life like this, but he reckons he deserves it after you’ve cheated on him.

He’s aware he should confront you. Should tell you how it made him feel, even though you were quick to make sure Yoongi was involved too. The situation just broke some part of him, and he highly doubts it will ever be fixed. For now, he’s just content as he sits back and enjoys what’s left of the relationship before it goes up in flames.

He never knew he was such a petty person. Or maybe getting involved with Jeon Jungkook just brought out the worst of him. Which, he reckons, he should have expected. Because Jungkook has a tendency to do that to all of the relationships Yoongi has seen him involved in.

It’s no wonder he’s never had a girlfriend.

The bell by the doors of the café rings, and Yoongi knows it’s Jimin before he’s even looked towards the entrance. Maybe because he’s too aware of Jimin now – he’s been searching for the man in every room, every crowd, ever since that night that changed everything.

He has to confront you. He’s aware that lying about staying at work late isn’t all that better than what you did. But Jimin is like the rain – he’s soothing, calming, and maybe it helps with fixing the jagged pieces of Yoongi’s broken heart and trust, and he likes keeping that part of his life to himself.

At least for now.

Jimin’s smile is blinding when he sits in front of Yoongi. He’s got a tote bag, and he pulls two books out before he even says hello.

“I got us some reading for tonight,” Jimin finally says, and he shakes the water from his hair. And then the smile falls into the soft one that renders Yoongi unable to think as he says, “Thank you for the coffee.”

Because Yoongi memorized Jimin’s coffee order the first time they got coffee together. It came far too naturally to him – you’re the one he used to remember everything about so easily. But things have changed. You’ve been slipping down a slope, and he knows the end won’t be positive.

“Thank you for the book,” Yoongi says right as he takes the one Jimin offers him.

His blood turns to ice in his veins. He tries not to let it show on his face, even though he freezes right on the spot, as if he’s been suddenly sent straight to orbit with no atmosphere around him to keep his body warm anymore.

It’s the book he and you read on your first date, five years ago. He’d filled it with notes for you, and he knows you keep it in the first drawer of your night table, as if it’s a Bible you like to read to fall asleep every night.

“Something wrong?” Jimin gently asks, his smile slowly wavering until it disappears entirely.

“Sorry…” Yoongi apologizes, though he doesn’t really know what for.

He’s not entirely sure Jimin is the one he should be apologizing to right now.

“It’s just…” he adds when Jimin doesn’t say anything, looking confused. “That’s my girlfriend’s favourite book.”

Jimin looks alarmed. His eyes widen, and he tries to take the book back, though Yoongi holds onto it.

“I’m so sorry,” Jimin says. “I thought… my granddad said it was a good book, so I figured why not?”

“It really is,” Yoongi quickly replies, hoping it would bring back Jimin’s easy smile.

Jimin gulps, looking down at the copy he saved for himself. “Well…” He chuckles, and it’s a little awkward. “I guess we can say your girlfriend has good taste.”

There’s a deeper meaning behind Jimin’s words. Yoongi hears it right away, and something stirs in his chest. Blush creeps on his cheeks, and he tries to push it away, as far away as he can, but he finds he’s too weak to do so.

“She does.”

At that Jimin looks up to meet his gaze again. “Do you still want to read it, though? I know things haven’t been great with her…”

Yoongi has been confiding in Jimin. He hasn’t been able to speak to anyone from his group of friends, mostly because all of them are friends with Jungkook too. They don’t know about what’s been going on, and Yoongi doesn’t want to tell them either.

Though he thinks Namjoon might know, even if he’s never said anything about it.

So he’s been confiding in Jimin instead. Every night that they meet for coffee, or those that Yoongi goes to help at Seojun’s bookstore. It’s been like therapy for him, though he reckons Jimin might not be the person he should be confiding in.

Not when the crush he has for the man feels a little too real.

Another thought that he pushes away, or tries to. He’s not sure that it works, but it does chase Jungkook and you out of his thoughts.

“We can read it if you want,” he tells Jimin. “I promise it’s worth the read.”

Jimin offers him a careful smile. “Sounds good.” He pauses, cheeks tinting with pink as he looks down at the coffee Yoongi got for him. “Next time I’ll let you choose the book.”

*****

Jungkook shifts, keeping his features cool and composed as the shutter of the camera goes off. He tilts his head to the side for the next picture, then looks away. He’s been at it for what feels like hours now, and he frankly can’t wait to be done.

Though the work has been a well-deserved reprieve from his churning thoughts.

He moves into another pose, staring down the camera with a slight frown on his features, head tilted back. The camera shutter goes off again, and he’s about to move into another position when the director yells, “Cut!”

Jungkook breaks into a smile, though he doesn’t really know why. Maybe because he actually likes this – the posing, the modelling, feeling as if he’s the shit for a moment.

It helps him forget that you are Yoongi’s, and not his.

Jungkook walks away from where they were shooting, and the fashion designer that chose the outfits for the day approaches him, a smile on her lips.

A pretty smile that matches her equally pretty features. Boring though – they’re lacking something that he can’t quite put a finger on.

“You did great,” she compliments him as they near a table with snacks and water bottles for the staff.

Jungkook grabs a water bottle, opening it and taking a long, refreshing sip. “It was all you,” he flirts back, though he wasn’t quite sure she was flirting to begin with.

When he notices her features turning a light shade of pink, he knows he hit his mark.

“Please,” she says, scoffing as she shakes her head in a self-deprecating manner. “I barely did anything.”

He smirks. “Give yourself some credit, you did a good job.”

She wets her lips, the tint on her cheeks darkening. “Well then, thank you.”

There’s a silence as he drinks some more, and she grabs a quarter of an egg sandwich that she bites in with her head turned away from him. He imitates her, grabbing some for himself, only then realizing that he’s famished.

So he eats his fill with her next to him, in a silence that ought to be uncomfortable but isn’t quite so. And maybe it’s the way she eyes him, like he’s the dessert, that leads him to suggest heading somewhere quiet.

He sees the debate, the conflict in her eyes, because clearly this would be unprofessional. And she’s pretty, wearing a fashionable outfit that looks like she belongs in a lawyer office more than on a photoshoot. It hugs her frame right, and when she turns he gets a good look at her ass, at how the fabric stretches on her…

And he feels his dick slowly hardening.

“If we get caught, I’ll lose my job,” she answers, voice low as her gaze falls to the floor as if she’s ashamed.

As if she didn’t approach him for this in the first place.

“Then you’ll have to keep silent, mmh?” Jungkook fires back, voice low and sultry.

He sees the instant she folds. It’s in the way she bites her lips, and somehow the gesture is too familiar, sending a pang through his heart as you take over his thoughts.

Yet he follows the woman, watching her ponytail swing left and right with every step she takes. She leads him to an unused dressing room, and he catches sight of the rainy world outside as she locks the door behind them.

A rainy world, to match the rainy thoughts that have been clouding him.

She takes a step towards him, and though he’s faced away from her, she touches him, hand moving shyly on his back. He’s not sure he likes the shyness – he prefers your confidence, the way you touch him like he’s yours.

And maybe he is. Maybe he’s been for a lot longer than he’ll ever admit to anyone.

He turns around, forcing his lips into what he hopes is a lustful smirk. Eyes slightly narrowed, he looks down at the girl, and he realizes he doesn’t even remember her name.

He doesn’t care. He still crashes his lips on hers, pushing her back until she hits the door. And a moment later they are naked from the waist down, and her legs are around him as he pounds into her, her fingers digging in his shoulders as she lets out breathy sounds.

She feels good. He can’t deny it – her pussy squeezes his dick just right. But once again there’s just something lacking, and frustration slowly takes over him until he carries her to a desk, so that he can put her down and fuck her harder, trying to get rid of the frustration.

But it never goes away. No matter who he fucks, the frustration clings to him like a second skin, like he’s been cursed and will forever be haunted.

So he fucks the girl, holds her waist possessively even though he doesn’t give a shit about her. His eyes trail to the world outside – the raindrops are rolling on the window, partaking in a race he’s never understood.

He doesn’t mind the rain. Prefers cloudy or sunny weather over it, only because it makes riding his bike more fun, but he doesn’t mind the rain. He just feels as if the world goes too slow when it’s raining, as if his thoughts are one second away from catching up to him.

They always are. Always are far too close for comfort, as if he’s about to lose the race. And he knows he is – he feels how everything has been shifting between you and Yoongi. It all changed that night you and he sexted while Yoongi was asleep. Yoongi has been more demanding, colder, and Jungkook can tell that Yoongi’s detaching himself from the situation. Perhaps as a coping mechanism, so that he won’t feel the emotions.

Jungkook envies his friend for being able to do so, as his own emotions have been choking him. Until he can barely breathe, until he doesn’t even feel the girl as she squirms under him.

He doesn’t come. He gets bored before he does, pulling out so that he can finger her instead, mechanically. He does it until she comes, until she squirts all over the floor, and then he tells her he has to go. Tells her thank you, and tells her that he’ll reach out to hang out again soon.

He won’t. It’s just something he found helps with ghosting in general. Which, he knows he’ll ghost her.

He’s ghosted everyone that got close to him after he’s started fucking you and Yoongi. Because no one ever compares to you, and he frankly doesn’t even want to find someone else.

He leaves the girl behind, leaves that dressing room to find his, where he takes a quick shower before changing into his own clothes. He grabs his motorcycle helmet, curses the rain as a few minutes later he’s rolling on the streets.

And when he’s home, he immediately uncorks his whiskey bottle, pouring himself a large glass that he drinks watching the rain outside, wondering why is it that he got attached to the only thing he’ll never have.

*****

It’s almost midnight when you realize that Yoongi might not be coming back home tonight. You texted him twice in the evening, and though your messages were delivered he still hasn’t read them.

You know he never checks his phone when he’s at work, but you highly doubt he’s still at work at this hour. And though you’re wearing one of his shirts, he’s never felt as much of a stranger as he does right now.

You try to forget it by looking at pictures of moments passed, of days and nights with him years ago when you believed he was the love of your life.

And though you still believe he is, you’re realizing that he doesn’t feel the same about you anymore. That somewhere between that first night with Jungkook and today, Yoongi changed.

You’re not stupid. You know exactly what caused the change, and you can’t help but hate yourself for it. To hate Jungkook, to hate Yoongi, for accepting to get involved with Jungkook. You should have known better – should have chosen someone you didn’t know.

Fear takes a hold of your heart, and you sit up in bed.

Is Yoongi with Jungkook, doing to you what you did to him weeks ago?

It hurts. You reckon it hurts and it’s hard to breathe, but then again you could never be mad at him for doing something with Jungkook without you being there. You think it’d be normal that the two friends got closer after having fucked – you yourself got a lot closer to Jungkook. But the thought still makes your blood feel like liquid acid, burning up your insides until you force yourself to grab your phone.

You go to your text messages as you worry at your bottom lip, pulling at the bit of dry skin you find there. Even through the anxiety that’s slowly taking hold of you, you make a mental note to do a lip mask soon, to help with the dryness.

It’s the only normal thought you are bound to have tonight, isn’t it? Because you immediately text Jungkook, asking if he knows where Yoongi is. And through a blurry vision you wait for his reply, your teeth now nibbling at your nails in an anxious manner you thought you’d gotten rid of years ago.

To your surprise, Jungkook replies in under five minutes.

[00:07 am] Jungkook: no clue [00:08 am] Jungkook: is something wrong

You don’t know how to answer. You think everything went wrong a while ago. You think Yoongi is sand slipping through your fingers, or perhaps he’s turned into the void between the stars where there used to be light. You think that though spring is reigning over the world outside, winter has found the land of your soul, and you’re not sure it’s ever going to leave.

[00:09 am] You: idk… [00:09 am] You: he said he’d be at work until late tonight but it’s past midnight… [00:10 am] You: he’s just an accountant, wtf would an accountant do at work so late at night

Jungkook’s reply takes a while to come in. As if he too needed to take a moment to analyze the situation, to face the gravity of it. Or you’re the only one that feels like the ground has slipped beneath your feet, and you’re about to go over the edge of the cliff.

[00:16 am] Jungkook: I can pick you up and we can go see if his car is at his job

Your eyes slide to the world outside. You haven’t pulled the curtains shut before lying in bed, as if you’d see Yoongi coming home this way even though you live on the upper levels of the building. But you do notice that rain seems to have given way to fog, though it isn’t thick enough to make driving in the night dangerous.

But would it be a good idea? To go chasing the night searching for Yoongi?

And then an entire other scenario takes a hold of you. Steals the breath from your lungs, makes your whole body hurt as if you’ve been set on fire.

What if he’s hurt? What if he got in a car crash on his way home, and he never made it?

What if he’s lying somewhere in a ditch, just waiting to be found?

You don’t fight the tears. Don’t fight a single one of them as they come pouring, just like the rain earlier today.

[00:18 am] You: would you mind?

Jungkook’s reply comes right away this time around.

[00:18 am] Jungkook: ofc not, I’ll be there in 20

So you get dressed, putting on a pair of black sweatpants along with a thick long-sleeved sweater. You stand by the door as you wait for Jungkook to arrive, almost hoping that Yoongi will be the one to cross the threshold first.

As you wait, you watch yourself in the mirror. You look distressed – eyes bloodshot from the tears that keep coming and going, dark bags under your gaze from the lack of sleep. Because of course you haven’t been sleeping well.

How could you sleep well when you’ve been feeling the love of your life slipping through your fingers?

Jungkook gets here faster than twenty minutes. You don’t want to ask how fast he was driving, especially not as his first reaction when you open the door is to pull you to his chest, holding you tight against him. Your tears free fall again, and you grab a hold of his jacket in your fists, clenching them on the fabric so hard you think it might rip. If Jungkook cares he doesn’t say it, instead lowering his head to rest his cheek on the top of your head.

“I’m sure he’s okay,” he tells you, voice velvety soft in its reassurance. “He’s okay.”

That second sentence feels like it was uttered more for Jungkook than for you. You reckon Jungkook does care for Yoongi. Probably more than as a friend, now that he’s been sleeping with you both.

“He has to be,” you reply, lips trembling.

Jungkook holds you tighter and he turns until his lips softly land a kiss to the side of your head. In the heaviness of the moment, it grounds you, and you pull away just enough to look at Jungkook.

His big eyes meet yours, and you wish you could read him. Though you think you’re starting to be able to, and you don’t want to see what’s in his eyes. So you take a step back, and he sucks on his piercing, before nodding once.

“I brought an extra helmet for you,” he says, and he hands it to you.

You look at it as if it’s a foreign thing to you. And it is – you’ve never ridden a bike before.

“You came with your bike?” you ask, carefully drying the tears that slipped on your cheeks.

He nods. “I do have a car but it’s at the repair shop right now.”

You let out a noncommittal sound as you grab the helmet, testing the weight in your hands, wondering what it’ll feel like on your head. Jungkook watches as you do so, still toying with his piercing mindlessly.

“Ready?”

You take a deep breath, pushing away the image of Yoongi dead in a ditch from your mind, before nodding your head.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

*****

Yoongi didn’t see the time fly. When the café owner told him and Jimin that they were closing for the night, Yoongi’s gaze had widened. He’d been so into the book, rereading it for the first time in years, that he really hadn’t seen the time fly.

But he doesn’t really mind. He should, he knows he should, but Jimin is great company, so he doesn’t. He walks behind Jimin outside, avoiding puddles left over by the rain earlier. The rain has ceased now, but the world smells of it still, and the pavement reflects the orange glow of the streetlights as if it’s a mirror.

“Good thing it’s not raining anymore,” Jimin comments, looking over his shoulder at Yoongi.

Yoongi cocks an eyebrow. “You don’t like the rain?”

“I do,” Jimin answers as he turns back to look where he’s going. “But I don’t like driving in the rain, you know?”

Yoongi mindlessly walks a little faster until he’s able to walk side by side with Jimin, and his cheeks burn as their hands brush against each other. He pretends nothing happened, and so does Jimin.

And even though his heart is thundering in his chest, Yoongi says, “Yeah, driving in the rain does suck.”

“Don’t take me wrong though,” Jimin adds quickly. “It was all worth it tonight.”

Yoongi gulps. “It was?”

There’s silence, and Yoongi thinks about you for a time. He wonders if you’re waiting for him. He’s seen your texts, and maybe he’s an asshole for not replying, but he feels like something changed today.

Or maybe something broke, he’s not sure. He just knows that he can’t bring himself to answer you, and he also doesn’t want to go home right now. It does make him sad, for a fraction of a second. Because once upon a time you meant the world to him. You just don’t anymore.

“I like spending time with you, Yoongi,” Jimin says, voice soft, as he brushes his hand against Yoongi’s again.

Yoongi instinctively pulls his hand away, yet he still answers, “Me too.”

It’s the truth. He does enjoy every second he spends with Jimin. Perhaps because Jimin is easy, easier than you. Easier than this whole mess that is Jungkook and you and the threesomes.

Jimin stops, and Yoongi follows suit a step ahead. He turns around to look at Jimin, and the slightly pained expression on Jimin’s features feels like his heart has been stabbed, and he almost instinctively rubs at his chest, over the spot that aches.

“Why are you staying with her?” Jimin asks.

Why? Why indeed. Yoongi doesn’t even know – maybe he’s just too bad with confrontation. Maybe he doesn’t want to break your heart – though he knows Jungkook would be quick to fix it. Maybe it’s the familiarity of his life with you that’s keeping him from doing it. Maybe it’s the fear of losing something that was once great.

He really doesn’t know.

And as he stands there, holding Jimin’s gaze, Yoongi realizes something. Something he probably has known for a while, but refused to acknowledge. He’s stopped loving you a long time ago. Because you’re not the one that he loves anymore.

No, that person is Jimin.

Even though it breaks him, Yoongi closes the space between him and Jimin, grabbing the younger man’s cheeks softly as he presses his lips on Jimin’s.

Jimin is quick to kiss him back, to sigh against Yoongi’s mouth as he takes even a step closer. Jimin’s hands grab at the lapels of Yoongi’s coat, pulling him flush against him. Yoongi wonders if Jimin can feel the wild beats of his heart in his chest, where his fists rest against him.

When Jimin sighs again, Yoongi slips his tongue between his plump lips, and this time Jimin lets out a breathy sound that electrifies Yoongi as if he’s been hit by lightning.

He doesn’t think about you then. Doesn’t think about Jungkook either. All there is in the land of his mind is Jimin, and Jimin’s kiss is healing.

Jimin’s presence in his life has been healing since the very first day Yoongi saw him.

“Come home with me tonight,” Jimin breathes when they pull away.

Yoongi rests his forehead against Jimin’s, still gently cupping the man’s cheeks. “I can’t.”

Jimin doesn’t say anything for a moment, just keeps holding on to Yoongi. And Yoongi wishes the moment could stop – he feels the guilt slowly creeping in on him.

“Why did you kiss me?”

Because he wanted to. Yet Yoongi can’t bring himself to tell Jimin. Not when he thinks of you at home, waiting for him, not knowing that he’s been out at night falling in love with someone else for weeks now.

“I need to go home…”

Jimin bristles, and he steps away from Yoongi. He looks hurt, and rightfully so. Though Yoongi doubts Jimin’s pain even comes close to what you’ll feel when he’ll tell you what happened.

If he tells you.

“Alright then,” Jimin says, and there’s bitterness in his tone. In the way he furrows his brows, features turning harsh, cold. “Go home to her.”

It occurs to Yoongi that Jimin has probably been jealous of you for a while now. Has probably wanted Yoongi for longer than Yoongi has even wanted him.

Would he be a fool to let him slip away?

Would it change anything if he kissed Jimin again?

He tells himself he’s just trying to smooth the lines between Jimin’s brows when he does so. When he pulls Jimin flush against him, and their teeth collide as they kiss languidly. Jimin tastes sweet, even as the taste of coffee lingers in his mouth. It’s not as bitter as it should be – not when Jimin kisses so damn well.

So Yoongi lets himself forget about you for a time. Lets the part of him that’s been aching since that night you and Jungkook sexted take control. Maybe he’s trying to get revenge. Maybe he’s trying to hurt you like you hurt him. He doesn’t know.

Maybe he’s just stupid – he could have broken up with you before getting together with Jimin. But he thinks he’s made his decision weeks ago now, that first time he hung out with Jimin saying that he was staying at work late.

So when Jimin once again asks Yoongi to come home with him, he says yes. He follows Jimin to his car, though they only make it to the backseat. And as Jimin rides his cock, moaning as his fingers dig into Yoongi’s shoulders, rain starts again, drowning out the sounds of their passion.

*****

Yoongi’s car wasn’t in the parking lot of his job. Jungkook refused to tell you what he thought was going on. Not as you started crying again, and asked if he could drive you to the nearest hospital. Because the second Jungkook saw that Yoongi’s car wasn’t there, and you admitted that Yoongi had been coming home later and later every day, Jungkook knew that Yoongi has been cheating on you.

So Jungkook agreed to drive you to the nearest hospital, and you’re halfway there now. Your arms are wrapped around his waist, and you’re a comforting warmth behind him. He wishes he could stop your heart from breaking, wishes he could take the pain away so that you wouldn’t have to experience it at all.

Fuck, even he is hurting. Because Yoongi and you ending means you and him will end too, and he doesn’t think he’s ready to let that go. So when they tell you that they don’t have anyone under the name of Min Yoongi at that first hospital, and you ask to go to another one, Jungkook drives you.

He tries to enjoy your closeness as much as he can, even as rain starts again, though it’s barely even pouring. He drives carefully, slower than he usually does on his bike. And when your arms tighten around him, he hopes you can’t feel his heart breaking in his chest.

You don’t declare yourself defeated until after the fourth hospital. Jungkook waits with you in the lobby as you sit on a bench, head hanging low. You’re not crying, but he can almost hear your thoughts where he’s standing next to you.

They’re even louder when he sits next to you, and you shift infinitesimally closer to him, as if you need his support.

Voice small, you say, “What if he was kidnapped?”

And Jungkook reckons maybe you’re refusing to face the truth. Like a coping mechanism – you’d rather paint Yoongi in a thousand different perspectives instead of one where he’d cheat on you. It shows Jungkook just how much you love your boyfriend, and for a moment he’s struck dumb, wishing that that night five years ago he’d been the one to approach you at the bar.

Even if you had clearly declined giving your number to him. He doesn’t know if you remember, and he’s pretty sure now is not the right time to ask.

“Maybe he’ll answer me,” Jungkook carefully says, and he feels stupid for not texting or calling Yoongi before.

And so he grabs his phone as you watch him, hope etched on your features. He feels like he’s a monster, like he’s about to take your heart and throw it to the rocks at the foot of the metaphorical cliff you’re standing on.

Because he sees it. He sees the pain in your features, sees the way you’re holding onto one last thread. He doesn’t want to be the one to cut it, but then again he’d be there to catch you.

He’s been waiting to catch you. It’s selfish, terribly so, and he looks away from you to call Yoongi.

Yoongi picks up on the third ring.

“Hello?” he lets out, sounding a little breathless.

You freeze. You freeze, unblinking, as if you were on a screen and Jungkook pressed pause.

“Hey, hyung?” Jungkook says.

There’s some mumbling on the other side of the line, all the confirmation that he needs to know Yoongi is indeed cheating on you.

“Why are you calling?” Yoongi asks, and he sounds annoyed.

Jungkook hates himself for what he says next. “Are you okay? Y/n is worried about you.”

There’s a pause on the other side of the line. As if Yoongi is holding his breath, as perhaps he’s faced with the consequences of what he’s doing.

“Yeah, everything is okay. You can tell her I’m heading home.”

Jungkook nods, still not looking at you. He’s not ready to face the destruction head on. “Okay, I’ll let her know.”

And then Yoongi is hanging up, not saying anything else. Jungkook doesn’t move, sitting in silence in the artificial light of that hospital lobby, watching people in scrubs and casual clothing walking around as if the world has not just stopped for you next to him.

“He must have been at work, then,” you murmur. “Maybe we just didn’t see his car.”

Jungkook hears his heart shattering on the tiles of the floor at the innocence in your voice. He says your name like you’re a fragile porcelain, like his hands are too clumsy to ever dare to hold you.

“Please,” is all you say.

He understands. So he asks, “Do you want to head home?”

“No.”

He nods, and he finally looks at you. Finally looks at your pale features, and the utter lack of feeling in your eyes. It hits so hard he thinks he gets a concussion from it, and he watches you, mind spinning in pain and sadness.

And though he wants to apologize, wants to say that it’s all his fault, all he manages to say is, “There’s a place I go to when I need to think. Do you want me to take you there?”

You meet his gaze, and he realizes you weren’t focusing on him before. Because now that you do he feels as if a train just ran into him, and he wishes he wouldn’t be able to feel. Yet he feels – feels for you and your broken heart. For Yoongi, who sacrificed you, and for what?

“Sure,” is all you reply.

So even if it’s raining, Jungkook starts driving you to that place where he went to weeks ago, where the sky meets the ocean and he can just stop thinking for a moment. He makes sure you hold him tight, though when the rain doubles up you’re forced to stop under a bridge, the last one before you’ll exit the city proper.

You climb down from his bike, and Jungkook watches you as you stand to the side. You don’t remove the helmet, as if it’s shelter for your broken eyes, and he doesn’t force you to. He removes his, puts it on the seat and then stands closer to you.

He just now realizes that your clothes aren’t made to ride in the rain. So he removes his jacket, handing it to you.

“Put this on, you’re going to catch a cold.”

You don’t move, and so Jungkook walks behind you, gently draping it over you. He shivers as he moves back in front of you, and he watches the reflections of the streetlights in the visor of your helmet as you just stand there, entirely motionless.

“We’ll keep going as soon as the rain stops,” he tells you. He grabs his phone from his pocket, going to the weather app. “Which should be in about twenty minutes.”

At that you turn towards the pillar of the bridge, and then make your way to it so that you can sit with your back to it. There’s something so defeated in the gesture that convinces Jungkook to make his way to you, sitting next to you even though he reckons it probably is unsanitary.

He can always wash the clothes later. He’s not sure he can afford to wait to keep you from breaking so thoroughly that no amount of fixing would bring you back.

“When I was a kid,” Jungkook starts, not knowing where to go, “I got bullied a lot.”

You don’t react, and he’s not sure if you’re listening. He just needs to fill the silence with truth, and so he decides to give you a piece of himself he’s never given to anyone before.

“Like a lot,” he continues. “It got to a point where older kids would beat me up. And my parents didn’t really want to do anything because they wanted me to fit in. But one day my father told me to punch them back.”

He remembers everything with vivid clarity. He remembers being nine years old, terrified to go to school because he wasn’t sure he’d survive the day. He remembers the stitches he’d needed on his cheek when they’d punch so hard it cut his skin open. He remembers the taste of the blood in his mouth when his lip split with the force of the punches. He remembers everything in such vivid clarity that he feels as if he’s been taken back then.

“And so I did,” he adds. “I punched back, and I quickly realized that I was good at it. So I started boxing.” He pauses, looking towards you. “But I wanted to be an artist. I wanted to paint, or maybe to sing. I’ve always loved singing.”

At that you do move. You take off the helmet, and the sight of your bloodshot eyes as tears roll freely on your cheeks makes him want to reach out, to hold you.

But he doesn’t dare do it, doesn’t want to take advantage of you.

“I’ve never heard you sing,” you say, voice raucous from crying.

He shrugs. “I don’t sing in front of people.”

You nod, and then fall into silence as you just look to the side. Jungkook looks in the same direction, watching the rain fall on and on, endlessly. It doesn’t seem like it’s going to let up anytime soon, so he figures he needs to say something else, to find something that might take the pain away from your eyes. And so he thinks about the rest of the story, thinks about what he left out from what he just told you.

“My dad was an alcoholic,” he admits, and your face turns towards him so fast he wouldn’t be surprised if you got whiplashed. “He beat my mom whenever he got too drunk. Never once touched me or my brother. But when I was old enough, when I finally knew how to fight, I protected her.”

What you do then entirely undoes Jungkook. He feels raw, like everything inside of him opens up, and he’s just left with this downpour of emotions, something that matches the rain beyond the bridge, this safe haven he’s found with you.

You put your head on his shoulder, wrapping your arms around him. To hold him, to keep him from breaking. Or at least that’s what it feels like.

It feels like you’re his salvation, and he knows you’ve always been anyway.

“He beat me so hard I ended up in the hospital,” Jungkook continues. “We fled the day I got out. My mom, my brother and I. We never once looked back.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur.

He shrugs. “Please don’t be. I’m okay now.”

You don’t answer anything to that, just hold him tighter. And Jungkook watches the rain, listens to the soothing sound of it, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. He doesn’t know why he chose this moment to reveal his demons to you – why he chose to make this about him. He feels horrible for it, but when you look at him next, he wonders if maybe you needed to hear something of the sort.

Needed to know that though there are horrors in this world, one can always make it out of it if they keep pushing on.

“You’re a beautiful person, inside,” you tell him. “I should have realized before.”

The lump in his throat grows too big for him to swallow it, and a tear rolls down his cheek. You dry it with infinite softness, and then you share a look. It seems to last an eternity, but you eventually glance away, and he thinks he’s forgotten how to breathe.

“Looks like the rain has stopped,” you say as your gaze stops on the street beyond the bridge.

Jungkook snaps out of the moment, looking in the same direction. “Seems so.”

His voice is rough, raw and filled with emotions he never expected he’d face with you. Yet he did, and he’s not afraid. He just hopes he can bring you comfort tonight, so that you aren’t afraid, too. So that you know that, even though the next few days are going to be hell, you don’t have to face them alone.

“Where is that place you wanted to show me?”

He smiles through the emotions, through the pain and the fear and the memory of what you and Yoongi are – were. Of what he and Yoongi are. Of what they will be when you’ll eventually go home to Yoongi. Though he doesn’t think you’ll really go home to Yoongi. After what Yoongi’s done…

The fear doubles up, freezes up his blood. Because what if he’s the one you leave behind? What if you forgive Yoongi, and Yoongi forgives you? He knows you both love each other. Or at least he knows you love Yoongi.

Will you even break up with Yoongi?

And even if you don’t, does he want to leave you alone tonight?

He chooses not to, getting up and offering you a hand. You take it, and he pulls you to your feet. Holds your gaze as you stand right in front of him, not letting go of his hand. He looks at your lips, remembering kissing you. Remembering every searing kiss, every embrace he’s hoped meant more.

Did they mean anything to you? Only time will tell.

You step back, letting go of his hand, and take off his jacket so that he can put it back on. He wants to refuse, but you’re adamant. So he gives in, puts it back on, and then you’re back on the road, heading to the ocean. Jungkook didn’t realize how much time passed until you get to the spot overlooking the sea, and the horizon is slightly lighter than the sky overhead.

You stand by the ocean, wind whipping at your hair, but the rain is entirely gone now. The air is warmer than one would expect for a late night or early morning of May, though the ocean mist is freezing. You don’t seem like you care: you stand by the water, watching the waves hit the rock as if you’re a queen overlooking her subjects.

And Jungkook watches you, unable to tear his gaze away from you, until you start crying again. But you cry in silence, don’t let the sobs shake you, as you stare at the horizon. As you watch the sun as it slowly rises, painting the clouds in liquid gold. You watch the beauty of nature, while Jungkook watches yours, wondering if this is one of his last moments with you.

He’ll let you go if that’s what you want. If, in the end, you and Yoongi choose each other.

So he watches your features, watches you break, watches you compose yourself until the clouds are no longer gold, and you ask him to go home. He doesn’t know what you’re thinking of, only that he feels like the clock is about to hit its last second, and he wants to hold on.

But he’ll let you go.

*****

You watch the sunrise from that cliff over the ocean, listening to the waves crashing against the rocks. You understand why Jungkook brought you here – there’s some sort of serenity in the air, like your life is inconsequential.

Like breaking and healing and breaking again are just part of the cycle of nature, of life. Like the sunrise – it doesn’t stop. Every day it comes back, a promise that no pain can last forever. So you embrace the pain. Let it tear at you. You’d expected to break in screams and yells and sobs and curses, but you break in tears, silently rolling down your cheeks. You break in watching the sunrise, peacefully, just an astral body fully unaware of your woes.

And you also break for the man next to you. Who offered you a piece of his soul tonight, so that you wouldn’t be alone. Though his pain is different, older, there’s some sort of comfort in knowing that you alone don’t hold the weight of the universe.

And as you watch the sunrise, you realize that everyone suffers. That the human experience stems from suffering, as it’s the only way you can also know happiness. The only way you can taste the salt on the wind and think ‘Shit, I’m alive’.

The world is beautiful. And though going home will be hell, though facing Yoongi will be hell, you remind yourself that you’re alive. You prepare yourself for the ride home, breathing in the sun and the wind and the ocean. When you’re ready, you turn towards Jungkook, and ask him to bring you home.

He looks troubled, but perhaps he notices the serenity on your features. Perhaps he’s too felt the soothing balm of the sunrise, of endings and new beginnings. Because he brings you home, his bike purring under you as it eats miles and miles to the city, and then some more to your home.

Jungkook drops you off outside, and you give him back the helmet you’ve been using all night. He takes it, putting it safely under the seat. You watch him do so, and ache fills your heart once he climbs back on his bike.

He looks at you, and your gazes connect through his open visor.

“Thank you for tonight,” you tell him.

You think he gulps, but you’re starting to be a little too tired to interpret him. “Of course,” he says. He adds your name, before continuing, “I didn’t want you to be alone.”

You smile at him, though you reckon it’s etched in sadness. Etched in heaviness. You wonder if his heart shares the burden, if he feels just like you do. And you wonder if he too has been breaking all night.

“Thank you,” you repeat.

He nods, and you watch him blink a few times. You’re fully aware he’s blinking back tears, yet you don’t do anything. Just watch him.

“If you need me, I’m just a call away,” he says.

You can’t say anything. Because you don’t think you’d be able to be with him, to find comfort in him. Not when he might have been the catalyst to this whole shitshow. So all you do is nod, and he looks at you for a moment longer until he finally decides to go.

He pulls down his visor, turning towards the street. And then he’s gone.

As you watch him go, farewells hanging in the air, you tuck him into a corner of your heart. Somewhere safe, somewhere nothing ever happened between you and him. Somewhere untainted, pure, and then you whisper, looking at where he disappeared, “Goodbye, Jungkook.”

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:((((( gosh this one is so sad :') (it might only get worse from here). What did we think? Did we like it? Let me know!

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#sinful lust ch 5 #yoongi smut #yoongi angst #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #yoongi x reader #jungkook x reader #yoonkook x reader #yoongi x you #jungkook x you #yoonkook x you #sinful lust #sinful lust series #btswritersclub #yoongi #jungkook #yoongi fic #jungkook fic

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moody-alcoholic · 8 months ago

Text

Special Delivery Service

Chapter 11 - The Funeral

AN: I have whatever the opposite of writers block is. I can't stop writing. I'm going to ride this wave as long as it lasts...

Summary: Simon x Reader, 3.4k words. You're trying to move on after your brothers death, that includes trying to overcome some fears, and learning to cope with new ones. CW: +18 MDNI explicit content. smoking, alcohol, mentions of fictional terrorist attack, funeral, mourning, hurt/comfort, smut, oral (F receiving), panic attack during sex, stopping sex, mentions of abusive ex, mental health, trauma.

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Enjoy <3

It’s not really a funeral, there’s no body, no coffin to bury at the end. It had been a week since your brother had passed. Your mum was a broken mess. She won’t leave the house, sleeps in your brothers bed, barely speaks. At one point it was like she was wasting away.

You’ve had more time on your hands recently with Simon going back to active duty. He’s been spending so much time away from home you’re lucky if you see him more then a few days a week. He’s here now though, arm round your waist as you suck on your cigarette under the tree.

The Met needed Dylan’s body. Needed it for evidence, as soon as the machine was turned off and the life left his body it felt like there were already police there to take it away. Your mother screamed at them, bone chilling howling as they took him. Then she stopped talking.

You thought planning a memorial service would give her some closure. It distracted her at least for a few hours when you would visit, you would make sure she ate, fed her cats and help her decide which flower arrangements she wanted. It kept her busy, kept you busy.

It was a small gathering, at the church your mother goes to. This place has been a God send, literally. They’ve been looking after her, rotating round to see her, make sure she’s safe. The vicar is amazing, Sharron, she’s been getting your mother out the house at least a few times a week, definitely on Sundays for church.

There are about 20 people in total all turning up and making their way into the church. Your mother was already inside being comforted by friends. You rub the stub of the cigarette out on the tree, looking up at Simon. He looks sad, tired, you almost want to tell him to just go home and rest but selfishly you need him to be here.

You take his hand slipping your fingers between his and walk into the church. You walk all the way down the centre aisle to take a seat next to your mother. You rest your hand on her thigh keeping your other hand in Simon’s grip.

You watch as Sharron reads from the bible, tells stories you and your mother had told her about Dylan. You look round, there are more then 20 people here, some are young sitting sheepishly in the back with stoic faces. They must have been his uni friends. The ones who weren't with him on the train, weren't killed along side him.

You wonder if they feel guilty, you feel guilty. You never confirmed with Simon, or John if the people in France where the same people responsible for the attack. If they were maybe you could have stopped them, maybe if you hadn't hidden in the bathroom, maybe your brother would still be alive.

You squeeze Simon’s hand and he squeezes back. Simon said he was going to get them. He said he would get you closure. You wish you could get your mother closure. You don’t even know what that means anymore. You lean your head on your mother’s shoulder as a slideshow starts playing with pictures of Dylan, some of them have you in, some your mum and dad. Sharron is still talking, it’s happy stories. Happy stories for a sad occasion, that’s how you want to remember him though. Your happy younger brother.

——————————

2 Weeks later.

Simon is away again. He sprinted out the flat in the middle of the night and you haven’t heard from him in 3 days. That’s the worst part. He won’t talk about work much but you just let yourself be there for him when he needs it.

When he comes home tired you make sure he has food to eat and someone to cuddle up to. You hadn’t been at work since they went back to active duty there hasn’t been time. John told you he would keep you on payroll, it should only take a month or so.

You said you could get another job but he wouldn't hear of it insisting it wasn’t a problem and that you should take the time off to grieve. You spent most of your days waiting for Simon, watching TV and visiting your mum. She had a good support system from people, her church getting involved with looking after her.

There’s a knock at your door. You get up looking through the peep hole. It’s Johnny you open the door letting him in. You were hoping it was Simon even though you know he has a key, its the longest he's been away.

“Hey lass, Simon’s stuck doing paperwork, he told me to bring you food, and let you know he’s okay.” He says holing up a bag filled with what smells Chinese food.

“Sorry the place is a mess.” You say.

“Ah, looks like my place after a deployment.” Johnny says.

“I’ve been missing work.” You say going into the kitchen as Johnny takes his boots off. “What do you want to drink?”

“Got any beer? I could use it.” You open the fridge looking at the beer you have for Simon, even though he never drinks it. You grab one and a glass of wine bringing it over to the coffee table as Johnny sits on the floor, back up against the sofa opening the styrofoam food containers. You hand him a beer can and he cracks it open watching the news on the TV. It’s been 3 weeks since the attack but it’s still all over the news.

“Guess you haven’t caught the bad guys yet?” You say sitting on the sofa and shoving a prawn cracker in your mouth.

“Not yet lass, that’s why I’m here and Si’s stuck doing paperwork, instead of making up for lost time.” He looks back at you winking. You had still not had sex with Simon. It’s been almost 3 months, you feel guilty. Maybe this was good maybe this was healing, distance makes the heart grow fonder.

“Think he’ll be back tonight?” You ask picking up a portion of noodles.

“Could be, ‘pends on how long Price keeps him for. Mind if I change the channel?” He asks reaching for the remote. You nod at him, he flicks through until he finds something that isn't the news. Johnny sits their eating his curry as he answers the questions on the panel show.

“Where were you?” You ask him, now seems like a good enough time then ever to snoop about their work.

“Here and there.” Johnny says popping a chicken ball in his mouth.

“Are you getting closer to finding them?” You ask.

“Maybe, I reckon another few weeks and we’ll be hot on their trail.” Johnny says. You look over at the game show playing on the TV, it was nice having someone here even if it wasn’t Simon. It’s been lonely while he’s been away.

“How is Simon?”

“He’s fine, he’s always fine, sick and tired of being in meetings I bet.” Johnny chuckles dipping his chicken balls in the sweet and sour sauce.

“I always imagined you’re out there shooting at some terrorists in Iran or something.” You say, Johnny looks back at you tipping his head to the side.

“You’ve been watching too many films.” Johnny says turning back to the TV. He’s not wrong it’s not like you’ve had much else to do. No work, no Simon, nothing to do but sit around waiting for him to come home. You worry about him, worry he’ll get hurt, the thought of him dying makes you feel ill. You finish your glass of wine to squash the feeling. Simon is safe.

——————————

The flat door opening wakes you, you don’t remember falling asleep. You look over seeing Simon walk in. Johnny gets up off the floor and you look at the containers of food. Your belly is full Simon is back safe and the half bottle of wine you’ve had is relaxing you. Johnny pats Simon on the shoulder he looks over winking at you as he pulls his shoes on.

“We’ve got food.” You say pointing at the table.

“I think LT wants to skip straight to the desert love.” Johnny says throwing his jacket on.

“Go home MacTavish.” Simon says tutting and rolling his eyes. He comes over to you you tip your head back letting him kiss you on the forehead.

“I’ve missed you.” You say breathing him in, letting the smell of cigarettes and gunpowder fill your nose. His arms travel down your body as hugs you from behind his strong arms wrapping round you. It feels good, feeling him touching you again, his strong heavy presence.

“I’m sorry, hopefully this is the last time I’ll be away for this long.” He says moving into the kitchen. You get up walking into the kitchen wrapping your arms round his waist as he gets a glass of water. You press your head up against his back, you hum enjoying feeling him again.

“You okay?” Simon says turning round and wrapping his arms round you. You smile looking up at him. He smiles back bringing his lips down to kiss you. You let him moving your arms round his neck. You relax into him pushing your fingers through his hair, it feels good his hair is thick it’s getting longer. You can feel him smile as he play with your tongue. You break away looking in his eyes, this feels good. You want to do this, you want to try.

“Can we go to the bedroom. I want to try.” You say, stroking his cheek. He looks round your face for a second leaning down to give you a quick kiss on the lips before nodding.

You lead him into the bedroom. Don’t over think it, don’t over think it. You pull him over to the bed trying not to shake, gulping down the dread letting it sit low in your stomach. His fingers drop to your waist, his thumb digs below your waist band.

You let him as you move back up to kiss him. It’s long and slow, it feels good, you hold onto the good feeling as one of his hands goes up your top. You’re used to this feeling, he's touched your breasts before, it’s a familiar feeling, his hand is warm. His thumb brushes over your nipple. You pull away from the kiss.

“You okay?” he asks.

“I’m okay.” You say, you believe it for a second, you believe it. You hold onto that feeling. His smile makes you happy as he kisses your forehead.

“We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready.” He says pulling his hand out from down under your shirt.

“I’m ready.” You breathe, nodding. Don’t overthink it. You let him drop your sweat pants. It’s the first time you’ve been this exposed in front of him. The sudden cold on your thighs makes you shiver. His hands stay on your waist as you step out your pants.

His hands are slow, soft, resting on you as he guides you to the bed. You sit down when you hit it, he looks down at you pulling his shirt over his head. Your hand reaches up to his stomach running your fingers over his rugged skin.

Your hand reaches up and lands between his pecs you feel his heart thumping. You look up at him. He wants this, you have to be brave for him. You let him take your shirt off raising your arms as he pulls it off slowly. You sit there as he looks down at you smiling. You’re topless in front of him watching the smile fill his face as his eyes soak you in.

“Lay down, I’ll go slow.” He says his fingers brushing your arms. You nod pulling your body into bed, he walks round to the other side, the side he usually sleeps on. He slips in next to you while you’re still looking at the ceiling. You feel his hands down your stomach to the hem of your underwear.

You hold your breath as his hand slips under them, he does go slow his hand is warm as his finger presses just past your folds. He stops as he brushes your clit. You let out a breath, he doesn’t move his hand any further.

“What do you want?” he asks, you look up at him.

“I don’t know, I want you to touch me. It feels good.” You say. He smiles as he starts rubbing little circles, it does feel good. Don’t overthink it. His fingers are warm, large, rough but gentle.

“I’m sorry I’m not…wet.” You say feeling heat rush to your cheeks.

“I don’t care, you feel good. Relax.” He says kissing your cheek. You tip your head back feeling him slip another finger through your folds. Your heart is pounding in your chest but he keeps his fingers moving. Before you can stop you spread your legs, parting your knees. It feels good, his fingers sure and firm as he presses down.

Your breath hitches in your throat it’s the first time in years you’ve been touched with such affection. By someone who loves you and cares about your feelings more then his own. Now is the time to be selfish, Don’t overthink it.

“I want you,” you say, he looks over at you not moving his hand from your pants.

“I’m right here,” he bends down and kisses you. His lips are soft, gentle just like his fingers. This is safe, you’re safe, don’t overthink it. His hand makes it down to your entrance. He just rubs over it, coating the tips of fingers in what little slick is there.

“It feels good,” you say hoping it will make him relax you can feel his shoulders tense against you.

“Yeah? You just want my fingers or I can make you feel even better with my tongue.” You look up at him, you can see the glint in his eyes.

“Is your tongue is as soft as your fingers?” You say, a horrible attempt at dirty talk.

“Softer.” He smiles. He pulls his hand out your pants shifting his body down so his head is parallel with your waist. You let him crawl over you hooking the sides of your underwear pulling them down. You let him moving your legs together so he can slip them off easily. He crawls back up between your legs as you spread them for him. He kisses your thighs, making gentle moaning noises as he works his way up, the throbbing between your legs is unavoidable.

You can feel his hot breath on your skin, each brush of his lips sends vibrations up your legs. The feeling makes you throw your head back into the pillows. You try to relax letting his tongue press over your entrance, it’s warm and just like he said soft. He moans into you, it feels like he’s drinking you up.

“You’re doing great.” He says his mouth leaving you taking the opportunity to move up to your clit. His lips lock around it, wetting it with his tongue, it feels amazing, it’s like fireworks shooting up your body.

“Simon..” You moan. His lips press around your clit so he can suck your sensitive bud in his mouth. His hands grip your waist holding you in place as he licks around you.

“You feel good.” You breathe enjoying his face between your legs, his tongue is warm, slow, soft, just like he said. Your heart is racing, your breathing picking up. You trust Simon, this is safe, this is good. Don’t overthink it. You melt into the overwhelming feeling of pleasure, its a feeling you haven’t felt in years.

You almost don’t believe it’s real your breathing stops but Simon’s mouth doesn't, each press of his hot tongue against your clit makes you moan. Maybe you could cum but you don’t want something doesn’t feel right.

“Simon-” Your voice catches in your throat. This feels wrong, you don’t know why. It’s not Simon between your legs anymore it’s your ex. His moaning, his grip. It’s not Simon anymore it’s suffocating.

“Stop!” The word leaves your lips, you don’t even register it, it’s like you’re floating above your body. There’s nothing, just the pit in your stomach and the pain in your chest as your lungs burn.

“Breathe, Baby breathe!” It’s Simon’s voice, his face is next to yours, hands on your face. You can’t see him the room is dark. There is a throbbing between your legs. Did he stop? You breathe out. You can feel a cold breeze between over your thighs, over your soaking clit, it makes you shiver.

“You’re okay, baby, breathe for me.” Your body snaps up in the bed, Simon holds you up as your hyperventilate in his arms. You gasp into his chest, eyes wide, what happened? He holds you tight his arms wrapped around you, you hear his heart beating in his chest.

“You’re okay, you’re okay, deep breaths, in and out...” It’s Simon’s voice, it’s Simon next you. Tears run down your face as you suck in breaths of air following Simon’s instructions. It’s Simon you’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay…

——————————

You don’t remember falling asleep, your eyes flutter open. Simon is laid next to you his arm spread across your stomach. He’s sleeping peacefully. Guilt washes over you, you remember last night.

You made him stop, he tried and you made him stop. He’s snoring as you pull yourself from under his embrace. You tip-toe out the bed making sure you don’t wake him. You stand in the doorway as you watch him sleep.

You’re surprised he hasn’t woken up, then you remember how late he came home last night. You head into the kitchen filling the kettle. You open the fridge seeing the Chinese take away packed up in the fridge. He did that Simon did that, Simon took care of you.

There are no bruises on you. There is nothing. You said stop and he stopped. You go back to the bedroom leaning in the doorway. You look at Simon sleeping, his arm stretched over the empty spot in the bed. It makes you smile. The kettle clicks and you watch as he stirs in the bed. He reaches out trying to feel for you, his eyes moving across the room as he lands on you.

“Hey,” he says throwing the covers back and swinging his body out the bed walking round to you.

“Hey, morning, I didn’t mean to wake you.” You say his hands wrapping round your waist. His lips press on your forehead.

“I’m sorry.” You say, he holds your shoulders watching your expression.

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” His hands cup your face.

“I’m so proud of you.” He says looking in your eyes.

“You go away for so long, I don’t know if you’ll ever come back.” You say. He sighs pulling you into his arms.

“I know, I’m sorry, It’ll be over soon I promise.” You wrap your arms round him. You want to believe him. He holds you like that and you close your arms enjoying the feeling of his body being pressed up against yours. His phone ringing breaks him away. You sigh as he walks over to the bedside table to pick it up. You leave him going out into the kitchen to make the cups of tea.

You know what his phone ringing means though he has to leave again, and you won’t know where or how long for. He’s barely been back in your flat for 12 hours and he’ll be going home to get ready to leave again. You hear him walk over to you he wraps his arms round your stomach kissing your neck.

“When do you have to leave?” You ask stirring the tea.

“We have to leave whenever you’re ready.” He says. You turn in his arms frowning at him.

“We’re going to Manchester, I have a flat there you can stay at, I’ll be home every night.” He smiles kissing you on the nose. You smile back, that does sound nice, he’ll be working but you’ll get to see him.

“Why Manchester?” You ask, you don’t think he will tell you. Expecting him to go on a rant about confidentiality again.

“That’s where their next target is.” He says as a matter of fact. The feeling of dread comes back the thought of him getting hurt rushes into your mind. He smiles rubbing your cheek. You turn picking up his cup of tea handing it to him.

Maybe you don’t want to go to Manchester, maybe you want to stay away, as far away as possible. The last thing you want to think about is Simon laying in a hospital bed like your brother was. You take your mug going to sit next to him at the table. You lean up against him and he puts his arm round you.

“What to try again tonight?” You ask trying to lighten the mood. He kisses the top of your head.

“Whatever you want, whatever you need.” It makes you smile as you slip your hand in his.

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byechristopher · 1 year ago

Text

WE'RE ALONE.

– Chris Sturniolo angst/fluff.

depressed-stoner!chris x f!reader

Author's note: there's a playlist I have on spotify (literally my childhood) that 100% inspired me to write this – hits too close to home, pft. So here, Chris smoking w33d. Do not copy/steal my work. :) didn't proof read.

Warnings: w33d obviously, mentions of alcohol and depression. Sad, messy love. Also, super long – don't know what else, tbh. This is JUST a fan-fiction.

Playlist:

Time was passing by and the voices from inside the living room wouldn't stop – I can hear them getting louder and louder. I bring my knees close to my chest, hugging myself and I turn the volume of my speakers up.

It's always like this; they get loud and then they pretend this never happened, like I never heard what they said to each other. Or how they talked about this family, this house. It was exhausting for me, to say the least.

A few hours later, with the loud music still filling the dark room, I decided it was maybe time to sleep. This would all end faster that way. But when I was about to do that, I saw.. something out the window? I know I did. There it is again... hold on – a shoe? I get up, a little scared, and look outside. I knew it. I open the window.

"Chris, what the fuck.." I yelled and I saw Chris picking up his shoe, jumping around for a few seconds before wearing it again.

Oh, Chris. We've been close friends for so long. As long as I can remember – my childhood is filled with memories of him. I've always been so thankful. He has always been the safe place that I desperately needed but never really knew I wanted. He would always be there whenever I needed him and if course, I did the same thing for him. He was worth it anyways.

"Come on!" he yells, not caring if my parents heard him.

"Really, Chris? Your shoe?" I place my elbows on the windowsill, laughing a little bit.

"I couldn't find any rocks. Now shut up, and jump!" he grins and I roll my eyes.

I turn the volume down, not all the way down, enough to not let my parents hear what is going on in here, but also without disturbing their sleep. I quickly wear a big, black hoodie, I put on my lace up boots and after grabbing my phone, wallet and cigarettes, I walk towards the windowsill – I've been sneaking out my room ever since I was little, I cannot believe I'm still doing it in my twenties. But who cares.

I place my foot on the windowsill, grabbing a branch of the tree that is right outside my room (thank God), and I climb up that tree till it's safe enough for me to jump – Chris catches me and we fall down, like every other time. We laugh.

"Hi." he says, it's simple, but it makes me smile.

"Hi. I didn't know you were here – I thought you were coming back next Tuesday." I say and I keep walking next to him; we know exactly where we're going.

"I was supposed to, yeah. But I didn't like it there, so I left. Plus, you are here." he has a little smile on his face and only now do I notice the paper bag in his hand, "beers." he says before I get to say anything. I nod, smiling.

We keep on walking and about ten minutes later, we finally reach our destination. There is an old, abandoned school that we found out about a few years ago. I still remember that day – I was so scared, especially when I saw these old stairs that were leading up to a big, rusty door. When Chris opened the door, though, we found out that there was a flat roof behind that door, old school chairs then and there. I smoked my first cigarette here. Also, my first blunt. Hah.

The chairs are still placed right in front of the parapet wall that's built along the edge of the flat roof. So we sit down – Chris is already rolling a blunt and I open two cans of beer, handing him his.

"Now. Tell me, what's wrong?" I break the silence abruptly. He doesn't look at me.

He doesn't need to tell me anything, I always know when he's not feeling well. And I know he wants to see me too, but that's not the exact reason he is here.

"Fought with my brothers." he murmurs and licks the wrap to seal the blunt while looking at me.

"Yeah, no shit. Why?" I watch him as I take a sip of my beer.

"Just bullshit. It doesn't matter. They know I'm here with you anyway." he mutters. His hair is a little messy and his hoodie is also too big for him, as usual, "what's wrong with you anyway?"

"The usual." I sigh and place my feet on the parapet wall, the can of beer in between my thighs, making my bare legs cold and making goosebumps rise on it – not the wisest choice to keep these shorts on.

We talk and talk and talk, for hours. We're both high, drinking beer and a mini bottle of vodka that was hidden in his big hoodie, we both had our legs hanging from that low wall and laughing like idiots.

He grabs the back of my head and brings me closer to him, his breath fanning over my lips, "missed this." he whispers and places his lips on mine. I groan in his mouth and start moving my lips against his, my tongue licking his bottom lip. He lets my tongue enter his mouth and I get up quickly to straddle his thighs, sitting on his lap so that I can be more comfortable, without breaking the kiss, of course.

His hands sneak under my hoodie and his cold fingers travel up my back, my hands are buried in his hair, tugging at it gently. The kiss is slow but hungry and I find myself getting lost in it. Then, it hits me. I part our lips and I place my forehead against his, my hands are placed against his chest, "I can't." I murmur.

I can still remember the last time this happened. And the previous time. And the time before that. Blah blah blah. But last time I said it was the last time, because I cried myself to sleep that night. Whenever we get high and we drink, we sometimes make out. Just sometimes. He's always the first one to make the move because I'm too scared. I told myself it wasn't that deep the first time it happened, but I was secretly craving the next time it would. When we didn't make out, I would go home disappointed. Crying, sometimes. I didn't know if I was subconsciously falling in love (or already in love) with Chris or just really deprived of affection, but I was more and more hurt each time it happened.

"What is it?" he whispers and grabs the nape of my neck with both hands, pulling me close to place a soft kiss on my forehead.

"Why.. do we do this, Chris?" I whisper, I'm sacred to even ask the question, but I have to. For my sanity.

"I thought you wanted it." he stiffens a bit, pulling away a little bit.

"I do. And so do you. But why do we want it?" I search for his eyes but he averts his gaze from me every time I try to.

"What kind of question is that.. we're high and we make out. It's not a big deal." he says and I know I will cry myself to sleep again tonight.

"It might not be. For you." I sigh and he tries to sit up, indirectly telling me to get off of him but I don't. He's uncomfortable. So am I. But we have to do this.

"You're fucking high and you're drunk. You don't know what you're saying." he shakes his head and looks away. He knows I know exactly what I'm saying and that's what pains me the most.

"I might be in love with you." I say and the silence gets louder than my goddamn parents earlier.

"I love you too, what does that have to do with anything.." he says, completely dodging what I just said to him.

"Chris. I'm fucking serious. I think I'm in love with you." I whisper and I cup his cheeks.

"Don't do this to me. I can't deal with this." he whispers back, closing his eyes for a moment.

"Do you love me like this, too?" I ask the question I dread the most.

"We can't do this. This just won't work. We're a fucking mess. How will we ever be good for each other? Can't you see it?" he says and my eyes fill with tears; I don't know what to say, because deep down I agree with him, "don't do this to me." he continues and I know he's talking about the tears in my eyes.

He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me as close as possible, kissing my cheeks to catch the tears that escape my eyes, "I just.. you know I can't. Can't do this again."

"Chris.. seriously? We were kids!" I open my eyes just to look at him.

I know I hurt him when we were younger. But that was years ago, he can't keep blaming me for it.

"Yes, fucking seriously. I carried that around for a long time. You knew I was in love with you. You were the only one I wanted to be with." he glares at me and I sigh.

"I've apologised a million times, Chris."

He wasn't wrong. I remember how hurt he was back then – I knew he was in love with me when we were young and took advantage of the affection he was giving me, even though I didn't want him. I didn't feel the same way he did. Or at least, I didn't know I did. So I cut him off out of the blue and told him I would never want him this way. To make sure he knew I never would, I kissed his best friend. I don't know why – I think I wanted to prove that I really didn't like him. Now that I think about it, I wanted to prove myself more than him.

"You apologised and I forgave you. But you can't come here and tell me you think you are in love with me. What does "think" mean?"

"I don't know, Chris! It's.. overwhelming." I groan and I get off his lap, walking towards the door. I don't want to leave. But I don't know what to do, "you hurt me too, Chris. Ever since we kissed for the first time, I haven't been able to do it with anyone else. Hell, every time I tried to even talk to another guy, I could only think of you." I yell.

"Well. We can't be together. That's all I know." he clears his throat and grabs a cigarette.

"That's all you have to say?" I turn around to look at him as he smokes.

Silence.

"That's all I have to say." he mumbles. He gets up. He leaves. I stand there. I grab my stuff and I leave, too. That's what I get for wanting to be with an emotionally unavailable guy, who I know will probably hurt, as much as I will probably hurt him. We're both messed up. Broken childhood with broken hearts.

I walk towards my house crying but I don't want to go home. It's almost 5 in the morning, it's cold and it's dark. I should be in his fucking arms now, not walking around with nowhere to go.

At 05:20, my phone rings. Chris. He is crying and my heart shatters.

"I am afraid I will hurt you more than you already are." he says and I cry, "I'm afraid that one day, my problems will make me unavailable for you and I can't imagine not being able to be there for you. Ever." he sniffles.

"I'm scared too, Chris.. but.. I want to be selfish this time. I want to be with you. I don't wanna think about my parents, I don't wanna think about your friends, I don't wanna think about anyone other than you. I know I am in love with you." I sit down on the pavement and I try to make him hear me as much as I can through the tears.

"Fucking hell. I am in love with you. Where are you? I'm coming."

I tell him and in less than two minutes I see him running towards me. I can see his red eyes and his wet cheeks. He sees me and immediately gets on his knees to be on my level, cups my tear-stained cheeks and kisses me with so much love that I can feel my heart beating normally again.

"You came quickly."

"I always come for you. I go wherever you go." he whispers in between kisses and we fall backwards – I'm on my back and he's kissing me again and again.

"Then never leave me."

"Never."

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kinki-cami · 5 months ago

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Yknow im split again on whether or not i would want the affini to exist

Because honestly, truely, if i could literally just have basically star trek with pretty much infinite ethical food, slay but also if it was just like me and my like 8 neighbors (making 10 total people) i wouldnt mind, like just nature and chilling

Cause lets be honest, if you were sad in any way shape or form, even if its simply "i want to go take a 5 hour walk in a real forest" the affini would probably just be like "oh petal dont be sad" and inject you with (i can never remember the class names but i know what they do so) what is essential dopamine/serotonin, and youre pretty much removed of any individuality which. Suuucks. Especially for someone like myself who pretty much never had an opportunity to fully express myself.

Now dont get me wrong i LOVE identity death BUT i wouldnt wanna be erased, instead id rather just be trapped into a paradise of my own making in my mind. Like. I can look at whats happening to my body, buuutttt for the most part i just get to experience things i wanted to but never had the opportunity to, hell, {in the ben sharpiro talks about banning luigi from ssbu meme voice} lets say, hyypothetically, luigi grabs you- kidding! No lets say this scenario did happen, if the affini in charge of me pretty much told my replacement if any trauma was effecting that paradise to tell them and theyd deal with it, that would be even better bc i think i do have trauma considering every fictional character I've ever made that i would use another character that represented me to talk to, ""my"" ""friends"" (the fictional characters) always resent ""me"" (the character that represents me) in some way always using an annoyed tone

So yknow if i were to just exist as essentially a repressed thing in the back of my mind but i have my own little world i get to interact with back there while physical me is completely otherwise braindead from the affini, then i wouldnt mind, but yeah as it stands, uhh yeah i dont like 24/7 bdsm relationships, i want there to be a seperation between sexual me and normal me, especially since there already is a massive divide in that form, only really noticeable in private vs public and edged vs finished

And otherwise if i was in the hdg world and didnt have that option, you know the moment i was left alone after being captured by an affini and they didnt say that theyd do that, id be dead on the floor, probably crying as i die bc i wouldnt know a very good way to die, bc presumably humanity would have found a cure to diabetes by then, i mean considering it might happen by 2026 uhh i could also just inject myself with a lethal amount of insulin and go peacefully although probably panicked, otherwise, assuming theres no non oxygen, non carbon dioxide gas on the ship, yeah i would probably die a pretty painful yet pretty fast death, crying the whole way there bc fuck if i have to chose to basically watch myself lose myself, death, or trapped in my own mind but i dont know i am i would take option 3... unless thats unavailable, then i would take option 2

Now would they try to keep me alive? Yeah probably but then again you cant really recover a stab to the heart, neck, and lungs, or a hanging, or insulin with about 20 minutes of wait time so yknow

Idfk why im talking about this im depressed as FUCK right now but I'm also being real about if i was in that situation because... yeahhhhh but yeah uhh this is definitely a combo of saying "hey heres my solution!" And "fuck i have horrible thoughts i dont want in my head right now i dont know how to get them out without fucking doing something l Iike fucking finding sone way to cut myself, drink alcohol, or literally have enough fucking energy to get up, which i dont have that energy right now sooo yeah uhh fucking no ones going to read this haha its WAYYYYY too late so like 95% of people who follow me arent online and like , lets be real who the fuck is going to like a post about "oh if i was given the chance to remove all ambitions i had in life to just live in pleasure or do that but its all fake OR kill myself, i would kill myself" like. Thats fucked up. And also now that i think about it its like that comic about the time traveler who goes to the future and is given a choice to continue on her journey or experience eternal pleasure as you hallucinate the things you love and are constantly injected with dopamine and she never leaves and it shows basically everyone doing the same thing sooo uhhh yeah good luck finding THIS post sherlock, i doubt even BATMAN could find this post

#kinki thots #hdg #human domestication guide

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katuschka · 1 year ago

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Olalla – Chapter One

Josh Kiszka x female OC, Jake Kiszka 5.400 words (Revised Version, April 2025)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, intended for adult readers. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. Also, if you're under 18, go find some other entertainment elsewhere.

Warnings: sadness, heartbreak, talking about death, anxiety, alcohol consumption

Taglist

Next chapter Olalla masterlist

I had a dream that the sky above the mountains darkened,but it was just my beloved’s darkening eyes. I had a dream there was a lightning brightening the skies above those hills, but it was just my beloved’s cheeks that lightened. I had a dream in which I saw storm clouds approaching, but it was just a boy making love to his beloved. (I Had a Dream, Čechomor)

It was true that Jake and Josh had seen the world, but their trips and explorations were always restricted by time. Everything was scheduled, planned and adjusted to fit the itinerary. Wherever they went, it was – first and foremost – a “business trip”. Sometimes they had days in between shows, oftentimes just hours. Be there on time. We don’t have enough time. You can visit only one of those galleries this time. Maybe next time... They were now rapidly approaching thirty, but haven’t yet experienced the simple joy of backpacking with all its perks and benefits. Freedom being probably the most important of them.

And the worst part of it all? They stopped looking forward to going back home, too.

So, when the last summer festival show put an end to yet another flawed journey and it was once again time to fly back home, they both decided to stay behind for a little while.

It was a spontaneous decision, made in Josh’s hotel room in Amsterdam after having had one too many beverages with several other people, none of whom shared their enthusiasm. Everyone else was glad it was over.

They say there’s nothing like home and it’s true that there had been times when it meant something to the twins as well, even after months spent away from it. But right now, their beds back home were cold and empty – a sad consequence, as well as a memento, of the lives they’d lived and the things they’d done. Could it have been prevented? Maybe. But what is past is past, and it was the present that could and should be taken care of, and there was still the future to be shaped.

Even though the others tried to talk sense into them and nearly succeeded, by 4 am, the two of them finally made up their minds that it was time to really choose the road.

“Time to write my own fucking screenplay,” Josh said. After a short nap, he and Jake repacked the essentials, said their goodbyes and hopped the train that was supposed to take them to all those places that still waited to be found. Perhaps even new people to be met.

Because it was summertime, last-minute accommodation options were pretty limited in larger cities. The fact only made it even more exciting, though, and it turned out to be quite beneficial in the end. More often than not, they had to share a room that only had one king size bed. Not only they didn’t mind, it seemed as the most natural thing to do, and they welcomed it. Sightseeing or hiking during daylight hours, they didn’t want to part and disappear in their separate dens when evening came evening, like they did on tour. Touring – with all the rush and stress and boredom – often made them feel lonely.

They knew they had been hurting, they were well aware of the reasons why, but there had not been enough time to come clean about it. A lot had happened in the past few months, adding to the misery.

So, now, their late night talks often ended with at least one of them crying as the reminiscences of the people who no longer wanted to be part of their lives turned into shared melancholy.

Sharing…that’s what the trip turned out to be really about. Two brothers who once shared a womb, they later forged their mutual dreams about healing humankind through art into their shared destiny. It seemed to be a neverending goal, because the world continued to fall apart. And so did their lives.

During those twilight hours, they opened up to each other about how much they feared loneliness and lack of love. And it was a shared fear, too. It wouldn't be fair to say that there hadn’t been enough love or affection in their lives; on the contrary. They had been showered with it in great abundance. Their parents, siblings, other family members and all their numerous friends all loved them dearly and unconditionally, simply because they existed. The plentitude of it, including their mutual love for each other, shaped their personalities and nurtured their souls as they grew up.

That’s how they learned about the importance of love. They knew very well how lucky they were. Forever grateful, they wanted to share it and to pass it on… only to be told by their respective significant others that they failed the task. The reality hit them in their faces like a freight train loaded with reproach.

That’s how they found themselves mourning the kind of love they thought they failed to provide, the one they thought they consequently didn’t deserve anymore.

Once they conceded this to each other, they had to face the shame they felt because of that.

They also had to admit that their own broken hearts still hurt, the raw and barely healed wounds opening up again during those midnight talks. A few times they fell asleep in a comforting embrace.

August 2025; Wawel Castle, Krakow

—

“I think we should head back to the hotel,” Jake muttered, looking at the darkening sky in the distance with apprehension.

He just came back from the restroom, only to find his twin exactly where he had left him: still leaning over the railings, looking down at the river bend just below the high stone outer wall.

Josh felt so much at peace up here, as the fragrant summer air saturated with the scent of trees, damp stone, vanilla ice cream – as well as the sudden whiff of ozone – filled his nostrils.

They weren’t alone here. The courtyard, as well as the bulwark that surrounded it, was still full of people at this time of day. However, the humidity in the air muffled all the conversations as well as shrieking kids that were running around, and turned it all into a pleasant hum. It all felt almost dreamlike. Somewhere in the distance, less than a hundred miles further south, were the mountains…

Their adventure was nearing the end; it was their time to fly home the next day. It had rained heavily that morning and the forecast for the whole day promised volatile weather as the fronts collided, but that didn’t stop them. There were still a few places in Krakow which Josh in particular wanted to visit. Not really in a hurry, they went out for early lunch and then spent the rest of the day idling around in the old town, eating pretzels and doughnuts, getting more and more drunk on wine and aperol spritz.

It was almost 5 pm now.

“You're probably right,” Josh finally replied, looking at the sky with a frown, “but I’d really love to stay here for a little bit longer.”

Jake didn’t say anything, just nodded. They stood next to each other for another ten minutes, overlooking the southern part of the city as well as ominous clouds that had formed near the horizon and were now slowly approaching. The wind was rising, playing with their hair, tossing the loose strands wildly from side to side. They should have been running for shelter by now, but the fresh breeze made them feel completely and utterly reckless. Jake started humming a familiar tune and Josh quickly chimed in:

“But the fool on the hill sees the Sun going down…”

… and the eyes in his head see the world spinning 'round…” …and they bursted out laughing like two madmen as the first raindrops hit the ground, making the young girls squeak while all the other people around them suddenly scrambled in their feet to look for a place to hide.

Now the two of them were running too, heading back to the Old Town, passing crowded restaurants and pubs that didn’t appeal to them anyway. People were running around like ants as the storm clouds and the heavy rain quickly covered the streets in a blanket of semi-darkness.

Soon they no longer knew where they were headed. They obviously missed a turn back to the main square and not much later found themselves on a much more quiet and nearly abandoned street that probably wasn’t even on a tourist map. The storm hit in full force.

“Not a fucking thunder,” Jake groaned, fighing off his deep-rooted, irrational fear. Not really knowing why, he had always felt a bit superstitious about storms.

They were both already absolutely drenched when another deafening sound – this one hitting much closer – made them both jump. Trying to find their way back to the hotel in the pouring rain now proved completely futile as they were probably at least a mile away from it anyway, and being no longer in the area of fancy cafés and parfumeries, looking for shelter of any kind wasn’t that easy anymore, either. A small – and already closed – grocery shop here, a tenement doorway there… finally they spotted a pub that looked promising. Both of them craved a beer anyway.

The pub proved to be pretty cozy and warm. It was actually more like a café, only situated below the street level, in the cellar of the building. They sat in silence for a while, but Josh was becoming increasingly restless with each minute, chewing his lip and tapping his fingers on the table.

“Ok, what’s going on,” Jake finally asked.

“I’m staying.”

When it was met with a half-confused, half-annoyed stare, he continued. “I mean, just for two more weeks. I’d like to go hiking.”

The confusion was gone. Jake was just annoyed now. “Explain. Where? Why?”

“The Tatras. A guy told me the other day… You were still asleep, so I went out to have some breakfast. You know, Krishna bistro across the street… Anyway, the place was already crowded by 9 am so these two guys joined me at my table. They just came from their hiking trip down there and showed me some pictures.They called the place ‘miniature Alps’, so you can’t get lost,” he laughed nervously. “It’s a spur-of-the-moment thing, see? But I feel I need it.”

Jake needed a moment to decompress. This whole trip had been a “spur-of-the-moment thing”...and they did it together. They had also agreed that it was exactly what they needed, so what the fuck is this bullshit? Josh sensed the impending question even before Jake formed the words in his head.

“You still have some work you need to finish before the start or the next leg…but I don’t. That’s why I didn’t tell you before, because you’d just try to convince me to go home with you. I know it’s a long flight… I’m sorry Jake, but I really need to do this. For once in my life.”

“It’s insane Josh. And probably dangerous. And it’s mid-season. You probably won’t even find free lodgings. Then what?”

“I already booked it. The guy gave me a tip. Jake…don’t be mad. You know it’s irrational. We’re adults.”

Jake was angry. But he had to agree that it was irrational. They drowned the irrationality in a few more beers and so it happened that the next day, their ways parted. Jake boarded the plane headed for Gatwick while Josh took the train south.

Jake, London, 12:15 pm

—

The weather improved considerably since yesterday, but I still couldn’t shake off the sense of impending doom that kept squeezing my guts since the storm hit.

At first I thought that it was just the anxiety I often felt when flying, this time multiplied by the fact that I was completely alone thousands of miles away from home and wouldn’t even get there sooner than the next morning, at the very best. Only to be greeted by my housekeeper, if I got lucky. Then I remembered that since there was no one else there, she also only came on Mondays every other week while I was away to do the most necessary tasks like making sure that the house wouldn’t be buried under a layer of gray dust when I came back.

However, I landed in London about half an hour ago, downed a beer, had a smoke, but the unpleasant feeling that something bad was about to happen still lingered. I couldn’t put my finger on it; all I knew was that I already missed Josh.

It was once again completely irrational. We were adults. I had no right to be angry that he stayed behind, but I was. We spent more time together in the last two weeks than we had in over a year. I mean really together, not just next to each other. It was supposed to be our trip, the purpose of which, among other things, was to shake off the debilitating feeling of loneliness and guilt.

So, me being annoyed with him now was perhaps understandable. But anxious? As I said, I hate flying. Having to fly alone sucks and I was about to board a transcontinental plane later that afternoon. I finally convinced myself that anxiety was also understandable. Nothing to be ashamed of…I guess. Still, something seemed off.

Agnieszka, Zakopane, 5:40 am

—

I checked the weather app again. Yes, definitely a perfect day for a hike. The sky was perfectly clear after yesterday’s storm and the air coming through the open window felt crisp and fresh. With a bit of luck, it would stay that way well until early afternoon, although one could never be sure here.

That’s what I both love and hate about the mountains. Even now, at the age of total control over everything, the mountains are still unpredictable, uncontrollable and untamed. Even if we destroyed all the life they harbour, bare and stony valleys would still kill you even more easily if you were bold and arrogant enough to venture too far. Many people come here to conquer the mountain. That’s why we hear the sound of rescue helicopters a few times a week.

Have you ever smelled wet granite? I don’t mean cobblestones or granite walls, but the rough stone, spewed out to the surface of the earth by untamed powers of this planet, broken and twisted with the forces of nature like plasticine… even though a small piece could easily break your skull.

There are places here where jagged rock towers a kilometer over your head. When the clouds hang low, try just standing at the bottom of a glacial cirque, surrounded by numerous peaks. It’s a deeply humbling experience. The place literally breathes. You can hear it sing its ominous song and the cold breath of the wild nature can chill you to the bone. These places are indescribably majestic and beautiful…and also scary when you experience the power firsthand.

Dominik was never scared. He loved the mountains very much, but he had lost all his humbleness. This place does not forgive such folly. He fell 500 meters and was probably dead even before his body hit the ground. It took them three more hours to find him. By that time fresh white snow had already almost buried him. They couldn’t save him.

It happened in one of those gorgeous, scary places and I never saw him again. I burned my white dress that day, foolishly hoping the flames would absorb my pain as well.

But that happened more than 6 years ago… and I’m still here, taking care of pretty alpinists who come and go, but never stay. Fucking them is convenient. Sometimes, the sensation left by their warm skin pressed against mine lingers longer than I’d deem comfortable and safe, but no one broke my heart again.

Mom keeps telling me that my decision to never marry after what happened is breaking hers. She prays for me every Sunday, but she never understood. My father is like a domesticated chamois. A former mountaineer, tamed by a local beauty. Now he spends more time chopping wood and fixing old pipes. He says his knees hurt, but I know he’s happy down here with her. I like men who are just as wild as the wolves running over these hills, but to actually love them is a slow and painful suicide. I barely recovered from the first one. The next would also be the last, I’m sure.

My dad has been a caretaker of Villa Eulalia for as long as I remember, and even before. I grew up here, surrounded by wild nature and the people who tried to monetize it. Later, my parents bought the building and Eulalia became our family business. It’s much more than that, though. It’s home. Surrounded by new, modern and luxurious hotels owned by townspeople who don’t know this place at all, we’re old residents who offer shelter to those searching for peace here.

There are generally two kinds of people who come to Zakopane: vacationers and explorers. We don’t offer nice views, jacuzzis and sparkling wine. We will – however – make you breakfast at 5 am, because the explorers are early birds. Whether you want to explore the hiking trails that belong to all or hidden places in your mind that are your own, we are your people. We are the same.

I couldn’t imagine my life to be any different. I had been climbing these hills since I’d learned to walk. I went to Krakow to get my master’s degree in tourism management, I travelled a bit, made some new friends and even considered some other life options for a while, but I came back eventually. I missed the fresh air and the soapy smell of mountain grass. I needed to be here.

I am also needed here. With my parents getting older and my younger sister having a family of her own in her cozy city home, I became a maid, a receptionist, a cook, a webmaster and an occasional mountain guide. My parents don’t speak English. Well, not much, anyway. They know a few phrases, so they can greet our visitors and ask them about their day, secretly praying that they wouldn’t really want to answer those questions. Most of them don’t…unless they’re young and handsome. Those talk to me, though.

We didn’t have any foreign visitors at first, but later they slowly started coming. It was my sister’s job to take care of them at first, with me being away most of the time back then. But later, with two young kids, she couldn’t – and no longer wanted to – keep doing that any longer. So I came back and took over.

In August, the holiday season is in full swing. I didn’t have a day off since early July and really needed to get out and clear my mind a bit. I simply can’t stay down here in the confines of our town all summer, not when the paradise is literally just a few steps away.

This morning seemed like a perfect opportunity. There were no planned checkouts for today, I already managed to get all the rooms for all the new expected guests cleaned and ready the day before and most of them were locals, with one Slovak family arriving later in the afternoon. Dad should be able to take care of that.

While I was sipping my morning coffee, I checked the mailbox one last time just to be sure everything would be taken care of while I was away, only to discover there were two new last minute reservations. Kováčová…some Slovak lady with two more people who wouldn’t arrive until later in the afternoon, room 8. That one’s also ready. I vacuum-cleaned it two days ago. So, that should be OK. Aaand, the attic room for…someone called Kiszka. Perfect. I took one last sip, grabbed my backpack and was ready to go.

Agnieszka wasn’t in a hurry, knowing too well that her muscles would hurt like hell the next day if she didn’t take it easy. She was fit enough to set a much faster pace, but this was not a workout. Not today. In mid August, the former sheep pastures in Hala Gasienicowa were in full bloom; the place being rather famous for the sea of purple lupine.

It was also a rather steep route that led there so even though Neszka reached the place at half past nine, she could already feel a familiar burning sensation in her calves.

To let them rest a bit, she stopped by the Murowaniec mountain hut. This was a perfect place for late breakfast. Yesterday’s wind was gone and once she got past the tree line, the sun was already high up in the sky, warming her skin enough to make her shed all the unnecessary layers of clothing and fully enjoy her favourite pastime: bathing in the breeze. There was no better way to describe it.

It was also still early enough to be able to enjoy the calmness of this place, which would be buzzing with life only an hour or so later as more people arrived.

It took her more than two hours to reach the borderline ridge at a beautiful spot called “Lily Saddle” that separated High and Western Tatras – her final destination for the day.

Most people aim for peaks, but Neszka always loved mountain saddles and ridge routes. Reaching them isn’t easy either. It’s usually necessary to overcome steep, rocky and often exposed tracks to get there. And so by the time she reached the saddle, she was high on endorphins and adrenaline, her whole body overheated from exertion, only to be greeted by icy wind that kept rumbling up there even during the hottest days of the year, sometimes tossing her from side to side like a rag doll. It felt like falling in love…

Without the pain.

She usually felt at peace up here, even when she had to literally wrestle with the element. Not today. Today, she felt irrationally agitated.

It started further down the path and intensified exponentially as she reached the saddle. She contemplated going further west along the ridge to calm her nerves a bit, when her telephone rang. It took her a while to find it in her bag, but the caller seemed super determined.

“Dad?”

“Neszka, where are you? An American just arrived… Apparently, he’s got a reservation. I need to house him.”

That must have been a mistake; she had no recollection of anyone from overseas booking a room and had gone through the reservations to make sure this wouldn’t happen. Someone probably arrived at the wrong hotel. There were several of them called Villa Something Something in Zakopane, so…

“Daddy, that’s impossible. I double checked. We’re expecting a small German group on Saturday, but otherwise no foreign guests this week.”

“I’m not making this up. He’s here in front of me and I see him in our reservation system as well.”

“Name?”

“Joshua Kiszka.”

Fuck… Could this have been the reason why she felt so uneasy? Never underestimate your gut. Her subconsciousness knew she fucked up.

“Ok, get him on the phone.” She took a deep breath, expecting an outpouring of anger, the person on the other side berating her and demanding an explanation. Some people had the weirdest reasons for complaints and refund reasons, and this situation clearly was her fault.

Instead, the voice belonging to a young man sounded amused. He, too, tried to explain the situation he found himself in, even though there was no need for him to explain anything. With the wind gushing and roaring around her and the service being shitty up here, she couldn’t even hear him properly, so – after what she hoped was the most heartfelt apology she could deliver – Neszka tried to make it as brief as possible.

“Ok, listen, my father – that’s the man you tried to talk to – my dad will show you your room. Just…. make yourself comfortable, there’s a large garden behind the willa and free beverages in the fridge outside your room, well, down the stairs, to be more exact… but you will find it with ease… And I’ll be there in three hours at the very worst. Then I’ll show you around and I will tell you everything you need to know.”

The man chuckled again. “Don’t worry. I haven’t slept much at night so I’ll probably just take a nap. All I need is a bed to lie on…if it’s ready.”

Fuck. He was literally sweet and so cool about it, which made her feel even worse. “Yeah, yeah, it’s ready. No worries.” After hanging up, she took a few big gulps of water and started descending.

It was past four in the afternoon when Neszka finally got back home, hot and sweating and out of breath, but presentable enough to postpone the shower until she have dealt with the current fuck-up.

After checking herself in the lobby mirror, she stopped briefly by the kitchen to ask dad how well it went and then headed straight to the attic floor, taking stairs two at a time.

She knocked on the door and… nothing. She had to repeat it two more times – at least it gave her the opportunity to catch her breath – before the door finally creaked open.

“Hey, I’m so sorry I kept you waiti… oh!” Neszka blurted out but quickly stopped in her tracks when her eyes fell on him.

The man who answered the door was unlike anything she had expected. Approximately the same height as her, he was slender, not overly muscular but still well toned. Neszka could tell quite easily, because he was in fact naked from the waist up, rubbing his sleepy eyes and smiling at her while still trying to shake off the post nap confusion.

And then his smile grew wider, taking in her dishevelled state and the deer in the headlights look.

She didn’t realize that she was staring until he spoke, while taking a few steps back inside the room and motioning to her to come in. “Uh, oh, sorry, it’s a bit hot in here under the roof,” he chuckled again as he picked up a basic white t-shirt from the floor and pulled it over his head. “And you must be the charming lady I spoke to on the phone earlier?”

He looked like someone straight from DaVinci’s painting… if DaVinci lived in some arty, boho community instead of a 15th century Milan: fine features, rosy cheeks, kind yet mysterious eyes, plump lips and soft curls with trimmed sides and a messy braid that ended between his shoulder blades, bound with a hair elastic adorned with a tiny shell.

“Uuuh, yeah, yes, that’s me. I tried to get here as soon as possible, but it took longer than I expected and…”

“Please, don’t apologize. I see you went hiking. So cool! It must have been absolutely fabulous up there today. You must certainly give me some tips. Where to go, what to see... I heard how beautiful it is here. Saw some pictures too. But I’ve never been here, so I absolutely don’t know what to expect. I will need to buy some clothes and other essentials as well, this was a last minute decision. I helped myself to a beverage from that fridge, by the way. I hope it’s ok. I had peach iced tea…,” he kept on rambling as he tried to clean up the room that already looked lived-in even though he had been there for only a few hours.

She watched him, completely bewildered, but already liking him. He was cute and wild and kind of sexy in a peculiar, charming way. Strange, but with a very pretty face, with an easygoing demeanour that was already borderline flirty. Two weeks… He’s alone… yeah, and you’re sweaty, red faced and you stink, you idiot! Great first impression.

“… me around?”

Only when he raised his eyebrows, Neszka realized he was still talking. “Uh, sorry, what?”

That chuckle again… “You told me you’d show me around. I got my key, I know where the drinks are, I saw the garden, it’s fanTAStic, by the way… so, what else do I need to know?” he asked cheekily.

That put her back into her professional mode. Clearing her throat, Neszka motioned to him to follow her downstairs.

She explained she wouldn’t clean the room more that once a week unless he would specifically ask her to do so, privacy being held in high regard here…; she showed him where to find extra toilet paper and fresh towels, where to throw the dirty ones; she showed him the kitchen he had to share with several other rooms, told him about free tea and coffee and that he shouldn’t bother with washing the dishes. “Just leave them in the sink and I’ll take care of it.” She also told him where to buy everything he needed.

This cute and feisty Joshua followed her around enthusiastically like a pup, and she had to bite her lip a few times when he absentmindedly touched her arm, as if there were good old friends.

This is going to be an interesting end of summer…

Later in the early evening, Agnieszka still couldn't shake off that unfamiliar restlessness she felt back up on the ridge. She had felt it all the way down and it unexpectedly returned while she was taking a shower.

It lay heavy on her chest, compressing her lungs. Like a panic attack, only milder. She tried to read, but it was no use. Reading was a distraction fit for dark and rainy evenings, but the cloudless sky didn’t want the night to take over just yet. Even here, among steep hills where the sun sets early, the skies were still ultramarine blue and… vast.

The warm light on her bedside table wasn’t enough to disperse the magic of the blue hour. Instead of trying to reread the same paragraph for the third time, she put the book down and opened the window to let the cool and fragrant air in.

As soon as the scent of pines and freshly mown grass hit her nostrils, Agnieszka also heard a soft melodic hum coming from below. Looking down, she saw Joshua sitting on a wooden garden table, with his feet on the bench. He had his back to her, sipping beer, the fingers of his other hand rapping on the withered wood beside him.

He was also the source of that slow melody.

It reminded her of Dominik. He used to sit by the fireside, farther back in the garden. His guitar was often out of tune and people made fun of him, but he always just smiled and continued to play. It often baffled her that he didn’t mind when the strummed chords sounded downright awful.

But in the end, she didn’t mind either, because the man could sing!

Apparently, so could Joshua, though his voice was something completely different.

Dominik’s natural range was low and thick, and when he hummed her favourite songs, such as Sad Eyes, it often made her drowsy. Joshua sounded like the girls singing old local folk songs about dying from a broken heart.

She had never heard a man sing like that. After a few elevated notes, he lowered his voice again, as he obviously did not want to disturb the calmness of dusk, as well as other guests behind their own open windows. Yet it made her heart flutter in her throat.

She watched, entranced, how his breath animated the muscles of his lean back, covered only in sheer white cotton in spite of the air getting increasingly chillier with every passing minute.

As Agnieszka tried to lean out the window a bit more, the movement made the shutter crash against the wall, causing him to look her way. Panicking, she ducked under the sill, but not fast enough. Realizing how childish it must have appeared, she slowly straightened again and saw him still looking in her direction, smiling warmly.

What a unique man. So approachable, and yet so enigmatic. He gestured to the second can of beer standing on the table next to him and silently motioned her to join him.

She took a deep breath and nodded. After closing the window, Agnieszka hastily grabbed her cardigan and hurried out to join him, still oblivious to the fact that the way down the stairs and out the back entrance which led straight to the garden was in reality a steep, rocky road to ruin.

Next chapter Olalla masterlist

@writingcold @its-interesting-van-kleep @takenbythemadness @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @fleet-of-fiction @edgingthedarkness @thewritingbeforesunrise @myownparadise96 @lvnterninthenight

...and because you reblogged the teaser, this might interest you, too: @klarxtr @jakesleftankle @itsafullmoon @woyayaofdreams @pasionatematty @zoelle16 @tripthelightfantastix

This is just for now. Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist.

#greta van fleet #gvf #josh kiszka #josh gvf #jake kiszka #jake gvf #greta van fleet fanfiction #greta van fleet fanfic #gvf fanfiction #gvf fanfic #Spotify

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vuseor · 2 months ago

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Lonely Nights

Pairing- Arisu x Male! Drunk! Reader

Genre- Fluff

Summary - You and Arisu meet during his first day at beach, you are drunk and hit on him. He finds you in the beach hotel hallways after.

Warnings!- Excessive use of alcohol

Notes - My first fan fiction and it’s my scrumptious Arisu. This might be a bit OOC so i’m desperately sorry, it will get better with time!

Arisu looks around the partying people with confusion and ware. The loud music and lights blinding him during times, making him look down. He sits down on a lounge chair facing the pool with massive quantities of people swimming and drinking. All of a sudden a man sways drunkenly towards him, a cup full of alcohol in his hand.

“Hey… hey gorgeous… when did you get here? *hiccup* my name is Y/N”

Arisu looks up confused as a man around his age, ungracefully sits next to him. Looking behind him Arisu points a finger at himself. “Yes you! your the only gorgeous person here! who do you think I’m talking to” You say with a love struck expression on your face.

Arisu quirks an eyebrow and examines the drunken sailor next to him. You were definitely his type physically but this could have been some trick or trap done by the beach executives. He couldn’t trust you.

“Eh… thank you? You’re okay your self..” Arisu replied timidly, a shy smile on his face. From the intense blush on your face and the way your eyes drooped nearly to a close, Arisu could tell you had been drinking for a while, maybe long before he had arrived that evening. “Do you need some water? you look.. a bit out of it”

Complete ignoring his question, you stare into Arisu brown eyes and smirk. Leaning into his ear, you whisper “How about we step away from all this noise and go somewhere more private”

Red envelopes Arisu’s face as he stands up “I gotta go! sorry!” running off to Usagi who was talking to girls by the poolside.

“Arisu! What’s wrong?” She asks with a worried expression. Arisu shakes his head and looks down with an exhausted expression. “People are so weird here… partying and drinking while playing death games after. It’s just so surreal”

Usagi nods in agreement and goes back to her discussion with the girls, Arisu looks behind him to see you still sitting on the lounge chair. A befallen expression on your face as you took another sip from your drink.

Hours after the embarrassing attempt at flirting you decide the best option was going to try and find a (hopefully) clean hotel room. You think back to the handsome boy that ran aways hours ago and face palm yourself , next time you won’t be so bold.

“Stupid… stupid… I’m so stupid “ dragging your hand along the wall, you stop in your tracks and fell to your knees. Tears cascading down your cheeks as you imagine another night alone, drunk and tearful as you fall asleep to the partying noise downstairs:

Just as you begin your pity party, Arisu turns the corner and sees you drunkenly crying to yourself, his heart falls in sadness at your broken expression. He slowly walks towards you, and sits next to you. You stop crying and look over to him with a smile. “Oh it’s you, thought you were gonna run away again” Looking over at Arisu, your heart beat fast at the sight of him. You sighed before slouching your head. “I’m sorry for earlier, that was a bit strong of me. I didn’t mean to make it awkward or anything”

Before Arisu could answer the hallway lights flickered and you jumped a little at the darkness. A nervous smile on your face as you stood up quickly. “I should probably go to a room and sleep, thanks for sitting with me” Before you could move, he jumped up and took your hand. “No! I mean, it’s fine. I was just a bit shy back then but I won’t leave someone alone crying”

You quirk an eyebrow and a smug smile crosses your face. “Are you saying you want to come with me?” Arisu looked away awkwardly and nodded “If it means you’ll be okay..”

You shrug and start walking through the hallways, opening doors to see if they were being used or not. Arisu stalled behind and thought deeply to himself. You could have been some wierdo stranger that might kill him the night or a painfully lonely stranger who might need his company that night also. He decided he would take his chances and followed.

Upon finding an unoccupied room that was somewhat clean, you lay on the bed with a sigh. Arisu closes the door behind him as he looks around the room. It was obvious the room had been used before, but it wasn’t messy. Only the couch had been left askewed. Before he could sit down on it, you shifted your head in his direction. “I wouldn’t sit on that if I were you, beach citizens aren’t the cleaniest people on earth” Arisu grimaced and nodded.

You smiled at him and moved over to the left side of the bed, patting the area beside you. “Come sit here I don’t bite” He smiled and laid down next to you, turning his head to face you.

You look up at the ceiling and sigh contently, at the thought of not being alone that night. “My name is Arisu by the way, nice to meet you Y/N” You chuckle and begin your journey to sleep, droopy eyes finally coming to a close.

Arisu thought to himself that sleeping next to you couldn’t be so bad. You were so peaceful, chest falling up and down slowly. Deciding only hours after that he should’ve told Usagi where he was staying.

#xmalereader #alice in borderland x reader #aib #aib xreader #aib xmalereader #arisu aib #arisu ryohei #x reader #alice in borderland #alice in borderland xreader #arisu alice in borderland

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shortiepinocco · 22 days ago

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Following up about #justiceforliampayne

(Part 5 - April 2025)

As we are done with the hotel staged scene, whole fictional abuse book, and media smear campaign - now we all knew EVERYTHING IS BIG SETUP - its time we focused on his music label "dropped Liam due to his mental illness". Before going to his music label, let us made it clear about this mental health/addiction fiasco everyone still yapping about:

You can read this interview first to clear off all internet rubbish & public assumption because this is comprehensively what Liam have said by himself about dealing with his alcoholisms.

After that we should arrive on the same conclusion and be on the same page about this:

1. 2019: Liam went to rehab and therapies multiple times after hiatus to heal from alcoholism and also his sadness due to the hiatus and lost of purpose. However he figured it out that it wasnt in any case of mental illness, but his search for his own happiness.

So that ends ALL claims that he still have alcoholic addiction, dr*gs or mental health issues that leads to his death.

2. 2020: Liam told he was diagnosed with ADHD, in which he actually made a lot of light joke about his condition on his live. BUT just so everyone who might not following him up close, he never had any difficulties sharing everything he does, talking about his friends, music activities and answering online questions - with so much funny stories, clever jokes and even sharing advices with his fans. He's fully had concious everything he said and surrounding, so NO. i dont buy any claims that he have any sort of mental/behavior problems.

3. In wake of his death, people r busy sharing that 2022 podcast interview about "his mind is f**ing busy" and relate that to his mental health. But remember paul brother interview that stirred controversies bc "they made him consumed too much alcohol"? which takes me back to his HUGO photoshoot (2018). where he said "he's semi-concious bc it involve too much alcohol".

If you are in the right mind the question is - what kind of effing management and staffs allow their worker have alcohol while working on set in broad daylight?? (this is where some fans had suspicions that he was given purposely or - they added dr*gs to his drink). As he said he also regrets about that photoshoots later and never done any modelling after.

You cannot ignore the similarities between these 2 events - as if someone or a sabotage party trying to destroy his image. bc he have stopped drinking and avoid consuming alcohol - even when he went down to bar w friends he will order non-alcoholic drinks. Plus he still actively participate in charity activities including Soccer Aid in great shape. He never had any alcoholic issues other than the two said events.

4. 2023: Liam was admitted to hospital as his kidney have broken down again (the scarred one that heals when he's 18). And then he uploaded this where ppl largely taken it as indication of him suffering mental health issue:

When he said "he's not here" it brought me back to those song lyrics that said he dont remember the places he's been, the receipt he finds or events he went in some of songs in his LP1 album and Teardrops. This is when the topic of sobriety came in. also he stepped away from socmedia until july 2023 to make his comeback.

Fastforward 2024, when his father stated his family have stabilized him in court docs but "his condition is not improving" - it just confirmed my longtime doubt, that someone indeed have been sabotaging his health, his music, his image from inside all these years.

If we could step out a bit, we been knew that today music industry is corrupted with multiple agendas. In regards to Liam's case, i would linked it to Kanye west statement about the hidden scheme by the ✡️ gang about medication and healthcare since 2020~2022 (covid times):

• kanye revealed to press media about "jewish doctors, medication, mental health" - altogether have ruined the life of many artists, including their attempt to his, which he have come into realization when he's about to consume his 'false medication'.

• Due to his action kanye was DROPPED OUT OF CONTRACT collectively from all his partnership with big shots like adidas, nike etc.

• All mainstream media & news started to release articles to condemn his career and called him "crazy", "anti-semitics" ,"losing his mind"

• His twitter account was banned by Elon Musk after he made comments about ✡️ controlling all the big industries and economies, including music and sports. They spreaded a lot of sh*t and lies about him everywhere on internet until today 👇🏼

• Everyone should know this whole "mental illness" have become a sly tactic that was first being adopted by politician and businessman or big celebs to avoid from legal punishments (well guess who, like p.diddy).

• But for Liam's case, i believed he have been advised to met psychiatrist, get diagnose and voila - he have mental disorder and now have to depends on medication drugs to feel better. But ITS NOT. some pills deteriorate your health further and made you overthink and sometime lose your mind/sobriety.

• im not saying there is no mental illness. There is. but not as largely 'advertised' everywhere today. their ✡️ tactic to continously distract the minds of masses & makes profit out of people's health by depending on medication. This fact has been covered by lot of doctors, artist, historian and journalist - that at this year, this age, it's not a hidden agenda anymore.

Will continue about LIAM'S MUSIC LABEL and new findings about his case on next part.

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

#justice for liam payne #one direction #liam payne #niall horan #louis tomlinson #zayn malik #harry styles

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pennyellee · 2 years ago

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CHAPTER II - sponsalia

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

chapter warnings: minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, kidnapping, mentions of God, mention of drugs, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behaviour, angst, mentions of death, overwhelming, violence, sexual tension

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count: 6,7K

m.list CHAPTER I CHAPTER III

sponsalia (n.) engagement

The heavy rain casts a hazy veil over the world around her and the sound of them reminds her of the storm that rages within. The last memory is coming through the light once she opens her eyes and sees, now, familiar surroundings. Lost and trapped. She wishes this to be only a mere nightmare she will wake up from. Her voice sore and barely audible, she whispers into the quiet room illuminated by the fire from the fireplace, “Why did you let this happen, my lord?” Knowing deep down that her question will remain unanswered, she longs for just one response—

“A twist of fate, perhaps, my little dove.”

She does not dare to turn herself to the voice, never before feeling such overwhelming fear. Her heart aches with sadness and is reigned by fear and perhaps a tinge of disappointment at her inability to escape and flee the spars of this world.

“No courage now? You displayed enough when you injured one of my men,” he chuckles with a sly grin, thoroughly intrigued by the woman lying in his bed.

“Is he alright?” She rises from the bed, unaware that every word she utters draws him even deeper.

“Are you concerned for his well-being or worried that this sin will lead you to hell?” He arches an eyebrow, curiously expecting her answer.

Lowering her gaze to her trembling hands, she stammers, “I didn’t mean to hurt him. I just needed to get away.”

‘A pure soul,’ he contemplates silently. This very woman might just be his endgame. He is determined but wishes to interrogate more. Seizing the opportunity when her guard momentarily falters, he taunts.

“Get away from me? Or was there something else, darling?” He knows he knows it all and a lot more, yet he is so intrigued to hear it from her.

“Can I leave?”

“No, —” he said quickly “—I asked you a question.”

“Why can’t I leave?” Y/N asked again, more determined to get a real answer once she started to feel an epiphany about her situation.

“Why would you want to leave?” he counters.

And for once, she started to think strongly about what awaits her once she leaves. Apart from her oppressive home, where punishment or death looms, she has nowhere else to go. Y/N failed to get away.

“Are you from the Yakuza?” she mutters, finally realising he never disclosed his identity.

“Min Yoongi,” he simply uttered his name, knowing it will answer her question. Her pupils are dilated, and her breathing gets shallow.

“Will you answer my question…. Y/N?”

Her heart races, desperately trying to regain control of her breath, but her mind remains scattered. Min. His name echoes in her mind. He stands before her, the man her father would never make peace with. It always comes down to two choices — either they strike a deal or engage in a bloody war, murdering each other’s men. Here he is, right in front of her. She has fallen into the arms of the enemy. Not only will her father punish her for running away, but now she also faces another punishment for being caught by an enemy.

“It seems there is a lot on your mind now, darling. Let me alleviate some of your burdens,” he says standing up from the low armchair by the fireplace, walking towards the bed. Her instincts urge her to retreat, her eyes welling up with tears of sorrow and fear.

“Don’t be afraid of me. If you play your cards right and obey, I promise nothing will happen to you, my love,” he murmurs, using a term of endearment that catches her attention.

“That’s it, baby. Breathe and calm down,” he whispers soothingly.

She locks eyes with him, drawn into their depths, a place where few dare to venture. Nobody dares to look directly into the leader’s eyes. She, even in this state, does so.

“Your father can’t punish you no more. You can find the freedom you seek by my side,” he says, his gaze fixed on her, memorizing every detail.

“What do you mean?” She asks with a newfound venom in her voice.

“You think I would allow your old man to marry you off to Yamamoto’s retarded excuse of a son and assure Tokyo’s alliance with Hong Kong?” He laughs.

“Heaven sent you to me, my love.” he continues, a sickly chuckle escaping his lips.

“And if you’re wondering how it benefits me to have you here, darling, I believe you’re smart enough to figure it out.”

She realises that if she refuses to marry the yakuza boy, the alliance will crumble, and her father will lose leverage against Seoul and the Mins who reign here. Y/N didn’t plan to marry a Yakuza man nonetheless, but she for sure never planned to stay in the middle of the chess board.

“I must admit, I found it admirable that you’ve managed to run away from China, through Luen’s north side, to our territory in the south, very brave,” he points out, acknowledging her efforts. “—and get to Jeju, right to Chan-yeol—” he says.

“You made it so easy for me. Thank you for that.” There is a hint of pleasure in his voice when he continues to speak.

“I bet your Sire didn’t expect that at all,” he grins. “You have a fire in you, my dear, —” he focuses back on her, “—and I cannot wait to tame you,” his voice shifting from casual to intimidating.

“You will make a fine wife,” Yoongi states.

“I’ll be no one’s wife. You must think me a fool if you believe I’ll marry you or anyone else from your circus,” she spits out defiantly. He stares at her silently.

“Careful,” he finally warns, surprising her with his calm demeanour. To get or inherit the position of leader, one must possess the patience of steel and a wise, calculating mind. All this and more, is embodied in the young leader, Min.

“I have my ways to persuade you that I’m the best thing that ever happened to you. You’ll realise that along the way,” he says, seemingly playing with her mind. ’Lord, please, you must have mistaken me for someone else,’ she silently prays.

“Care to elaborate?” she dares to ask.

“Your little cousin and her husband, and their little adorable son —” he trails off.

“You wouldn’t,” she quickly interrupts him.

“Oh, I would, darling. And even more. What about your sister, hmm? Isn’t she turning eighteen soon? My right-hand man is ready to take a wife...” he taunts.

“You cannot play with lives! Not with mine or others —” she snaps.

“Yes, I can, my little butterfly—” he says, gripping her chin forcefully and bringing her closer to his face, locking eyes with her.

“People follow me and worship me as if I were a god. My wife won’t be excluded. Or do you wish for bloodshed and potential homicide?” he mocks.

“Be grateful I saved you from that imbecile you were supposed to marry,” he adds, releasing her chin as she immediately rubs the numb spot with teary eyes.

“After all, you’ve just become a peace offering, my dear. God has a plan, and we shall obey the lord,” he asserts. She raises her eyes back to him, the tension between them palpable, amplified by the continuing rain outside, playing its role in the orchestra of her sorrow.

“You don’t have a choice, darling,” he declares, his words stinging her soul as they hang in the air.

“Either you stay under my protection, be a good girl, marry me, and obey, or I’ll deal with your clan brutally,” he states, rising from the bed and walking toward the door.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to negotiate the terms with your old man.”

“Get more rest.” He looked at her for the last time and closed the door behind him. A click of the lock follows. Only now, she allowed herself to cry out loud.

’You said that if I’ll help myself, lord will help me too.’ She cried, desperately. Run away from the oppressed life of a future mafia wife, just to get even closer to marriage and marital duties, autonomy out of reach.

The overwhelming sense of loneliness and fear of an uncertain future weighs heavily on her. Would it be easier to go back home, and get beaten up and punished? Or would it be easier to stay and accept she will never get away from this life?

There is something she sees in his eyes, but she cannot figure out what it is. She’s exhausted from the run, from all the thinking and future battles she will have to participate in. Her eyes are slowly closing, and her consciousness is failing her again.

“Good morning, Buin,” a voice called out, causing her to squint her eyes from the sudden stream of light entering the room. Grumbling, she pulled the blanket up higher to shield herself.

“Doctor Kim will pay you a visit today, Buin.” the voice continued, and her eyes snapped open. Reality set in, and she realized this wasn’t just a bad dream — she wasn’t home.

“A doctor?” She said, successfully ignoring how she called her the lady of the house.

“Sajangnim requested that we draw you a bath so you can relax and clean yourself,” the little lady replied with a big smile, clearly infatuated with her “Sajangnim”. Rolling her eyes at the maid’s innocence, she welcomed the suggestion of a bath. This westernised hanok must have a bathing room hidden somewhere in its wooden maze. Accepting the white hanfu offered to her, she eagerly anticipated the chance to have her long hair washed. It had become a tangled mess after days of neglect. Maybe she would finally be able to wear her hair down, something she had never been allowed to do before. Her scalp was always sore from the numerous hairpins and clips used to hold her hair in the complicated styles she despised. And perhaps, she could even cut her hair.

“We’re here, Buin,” the maid interrupted her thoughts, leading her to a wooden door that swung open. The sight of a bathroom in a house, a luxury reserved for urban dwellers, reflected the wealth of the syndicate.

She entered the room, and the maid closed the door from inside. The water was already in the large wooden bathtub, steaming hot, beckoning her to submerge herself. It was spacious enough for her to float on the surface if she wanted to. The maid prepared her soaps and other hygiene products. She will clean herself as she graciously declined her help.

“Sajangnim said that if you were to resist his hospitality and commands he gave us, he shall come and help you himself.” The girl said with no emotion in her voice. She memorised it by heart.

“You can tell Sajangnim to stay put,” she muttered in response.

“Buin—” the girl attempted again but Y/N waved her off. She didn’t want to treat the poor girl in this mean manner, but she desired an alone time.

“Please…just wait outside.” Y/N pleaded. Reluctantly, the girl obliged, but she was certain she would report back to her master in a heartbeat. Besides, Y/N had nowhere to escape within the confines of this room.

She shed the lightweight hanfu and slowly lowered herself into the steaming water, feeling her muscles gradually relax. At least for a moment, her mind started to ease the running thoughts, calming the storm down.

Until she heard his voice. Her body immediately tensed up. She strained to listen to the conversation — or rather, the series of commands directed at the poor gal.

“Doctor Kim has arrived, make sure she is ready in the master bedroom in fifteen minutes. Tell the staff to prepare lunch for us in the garden after.” His voice was gone after this, and a soft knock followed.

“Buin—” the maid’s voice called softly, and by that time, Y/N was already hurriedly putting the hanfu back on.

“I’m coming,” she sighed.

She stopped the servant girl once she wanted to put her hair up in a bun. Now back in the room, sitting in a closet the devil managed to obtain for her as if he knew she will come. It was full of beautiful qipao’s but also some Korean hanboks and even some traditional Chinese beizis if she wanted to get more comfortable presumably. Among them, she noticed some lingerie, which internally made her nauseous with anxiety. Her hair was longer than she remembered, as she rarely wore it down.

“I suggest you keep the hanfu while Doctor Kim is here and then we shall clothe you in a dress.” To say she was scared and nervous about what this Doctor Kim will want to see or do was understandable.

“Here she is!” A loud and cheery voice echoed in the bedroom. “You caused quite a commotion, sweetie. I’m thrilled to finally meet you,” said the handsome man who entered the room with a leather suitcase and white coat.

“Doctor Kim, I presume,” She assumed. He was undeniably attractive, much like his Kkangpae. But she wouldn’t admit that for some time.

“For you, sweetie, it’s Seokjin. We’re going to be family, after all,” he smiled, attempting to put her at ease. He couldn’t help but notice her guarded demeanour. She scoffed at his proclamation, as expected.

“So,” he clapped his hands together, “let’s talk about you and your health, darling,” he said while searching for an empty file with her name.

“I want you to know that I won’t tell him a damn thing unless it’s necessary, you can trust me,” he stated.

“Except whether or not I’m a virgin, right?” she retorted in a cocky voice, mocking the messed-up mafia system.

“If you want to start with that, you can lie down, and I’ll check,” he sassed back with a smirk. Something told her they would only be friends for a very brief moment as long as she remained in this place.

“So, are you?” he asked, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“What if I’m not?” she tilted her head to the side. He chuckled.

“I see your point, but that wouldn’t free you from the engagement. He would simply have the man who touched you slaughtered to show his power,” he explained. She straightened herself, taking a deep breath.

“And even though I have to check anyway, it’s not just about your chastity,” he said. She did know, but that didn’t mean she would be comfortable spreading her legs for a stranger.

“Let’s leave that until the very end, shall we?” he smiled at her.

“Have you consumed any contaminated water while you were on the run?” he surprised her with the question.

“No, I don’t think so...” she stammered.

“Besides hurting Hoseok-ssi, did you fight with anyone else and get injured?” So that was the man’s name.

“Is he okay?” she asked, deflecting his question.

“He’s fine, but you should apologise once you meet him. He meant no harm,” he replied. Well, she hadn’t meant any harm either; she just wanted to escape the scene quickly. She nodded in agreement.

“When was the last time you were sick, honey.”

“Sometime last year.” He hummed in response.

“Do you have a family history of any medical conditions or diseases?” he continued with the examination.

“None that I’m aware of,” she shrugged.

“Any reproductive problems in your family?” he asked more seriously.

And here it comes—reducing her to merely a vessel, even before marriage. Just in time, the devil appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his hands in his pockets. “Not on my side,” he interjected.

She didn’t want to give him a glance, but her body failed her. His black hair was tucked behind his ears, a scar shining in its glory on his face. He smiled. And for a moment, she got lost in his eyes again. He’s having an impact on her, and he knows.

“Y/N?” Seokjin called her name to get her attention back to him.

“No, not in my lineage,” her gaze fell again as she listened to what he was asking her.

“Do you smoke?” He asked with curiosity in his voice.

“Uhm, no.” She answered honestly. Y/N had been around cigarettes a lot, but she had never smoked one herself.

“Very good, do not start. It’s not worth it,” he gave his younger brother from another mother a side-eye, and the younger one just rolled his eyes in response. It made her chuckle a little, hoping they wouldn’t hear it. He did but didn’t say a word. Yoongi wanted her to be comfortable around him.

“Alcohol?” he asked while jotting down her previous answers.

“Occasionally?” she questioned herself, as she couldn’t remember the last time, she had a drink.

“Hmm,” he hummed again and wrote it down.

“Do you have any problems with your monthly bleeding?” Seokjin looked into her eyes and glanced at his brother.

“No…” she said awkwardly, gulping down.

“When was the last time you ate?” He looked into her eyes, and she realised she couldn’t recall, nor did she feel hungry until now. Was it the adrenaline?

“I think it was the morning I left Shenyang, five days ago,” she replied.

“You went from Shenyang to Incheon in 5 days?!” He raised his voice which caused him a mean look from his leader.

“How are you not exhausted to death?!” He continued.

“I had some intense drugged sleep. Thank you for your concern, though,” she answered honestly.

“She needs to eat, but she has to do so carefully to avoid upsetting her stomach. Don’t let her overstuff herself,” he instructed his companion. She was starting to feel ravenous; she hadn’t eavesdropped on their conversation, but rather, she was lost in her thoughts, preparing for what would come next.

“Beautiful, I need you to lie down for Seokjin now,” he snapped her out of it.

“What?” with him inside the room?

“It’s not necessary. I can tell him what he needs to know without that,” she protested.

“It’s a rule we follow, dove. We don’t want you to—” she cut him off.

“You just want to know if someone have fucked me before or not. Otherwise, you wouldn’t care,” she spat out. He seemed taken aback by her sudden change of attitude. This is the fire he wanted to desperately extinguish, at least towards him. Jin looked very much shocked but also amused when he glanced at his friend that was startled by this petite Chinese woman.

“I need to check for other reasons as well,” Seokjin said, clasping his hands together.

“Why can’t you just retrieve my medical file?”

“You have a medical file?” He asked, surprised. It was very rare for someone to have a medical file, especially at times after the war, apart from when a young one went to study. An entrance examination was always needed.

“Yes. Send a letter to my college.” She said, not realising she slipped a piece of valuable information out.

“College?” Yoongi asked, clearly shocked. Seokjin wasn’t looking much less surprised than him. She gave them questioning looks, knowing full well why they were so astonished.

“W-What did u study?” Jin stammered the question out. She wasn’t meant to inherit her father’s empire, but she was destined for an arranged marriage to another powerful family. Higher education wasn’t supposed to be part of her life. However, this would explain why she hadn’t been married off at eighteen. They had sent her away to study.

“Nursing.” She shrugged as if her words carried no weight.

“My, my,” said Jin, stroking his chin.

“I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is no. As of now, a big no,” she looked at her abductor, confused.

“As of now is good with me!” he clapped his hands together.

“Now, please leave, brother. I don’t think she’ll ever comply if you’re here. I’ll bring her to the garden afterwards,” Yoongi wanted to object, but when he saw the pleading distress in her eyes, he nodded and left his bedroom.

The young leader was proud that she hadn’t tried to run away or throw a tantrum yet. He didn’t want to resort to violence or coercion.

Stone pathways meandered through the garden, inviting one to explore its every corner. She was absorbing her surroundings with a teacup in her small hands. The air was fragrant with the scent of autumn. The wind was a bit chilling as the end of October was nearing. Snow will fall soon. A small pavilion she found herself sitting in beside a koi fishpond that sparkled in the sunlight, felt too peaceful.

“You look absolutely stunning,” said he, his gaze fixed upon her petite figure draped in a flowery pink qipao, her hair elegantly tucked behind her ears. She radiated a natural beauty, untouched by face powders or lipsticks. He loved this vision, an embodiment of purity and innocence. Little did he know, beneath her facade of grace, lay a sharp tongue that defied even the will of God.

She sipped her tea; Y/N ate a little bit of rice and seaweed soup to drive off her hunger. As she admired the garden’s serenity, she found herself drawn not only to its peacefulness but also to the possibility of escape it presented. Perhaps she could run back to Incheon and board a ship that would carry her far away from this place.

“You should know that ‘pretty’ is just a word, and your compliments and pet names won’t win me over. Use my name,” she scoffed, challenging his attempts to woo her.

“That doesn’t mean I’ll stop,” he was determined to break through her defences.

Y/N shot him a piercing stare, a skill she had acquired swiftly. She pondered the enigma of the man before her, wondering how in God’s name she could resist his charm.

“I appreciate that you haven’t attempted to escape yet,” he murmured, sipping his tea. Y/N was no fool; she knew that throwing a fit every second she was held captive would only lead to further confinement. For now, she decided to falsely embrace the last moments of autumn in this beautiful garden, she already scanned in her mind.

“I won’t be very keen on you if you’ll try to,” he warned, his tone shifting unexpectedly. Did he seek to intimidate her, or was he afraid she would succeed in slipping away?

“You seem eager to ask me questions,” said she with cockiness in her voice. Acting tough would make it harder for him to break her will. Not like she counted on a prolonged stay.

“I do,” he hummed in agreement. “But are you willing to answer them, my sweet?” Her eyes rolled at the nickname, accompanied by a scoff. He sighed.

“I’ll answer anything you want, and you’ll answer mine. Deal?” he proposed, a smile playing on his lips.

“That’s quite the cliché, you know,” she declared, placing her cup down just as he eagerly reached to refill it.

“But if it gets you to talk to me, darling, I’ll graciously accept the cliché,” he replied smoothly.

“I know what you want to ask,” she interjected. He was curious about how she managed to study for years without being married off.

“My aunt was very dear to my father. She persuaded him,” she confessed, her words carrying a burden that still weighed on her mind.

“Naturally, my father had intended to marry me off instead of allowing me to pursue my studies. It was still on the table. However, the last war, as you surely recall, brought forth injured, disabled, and dead.”

“I had just turned eighteen. So, my aunt negotiated that I would study nursing in Shenyang instead and be useful to the clan this way. My father saw the merit in her argument and delayed my marriage to whatever his name is—” She explained, her nonchalant tone contrasting with the mention of the man she was meant to marry and the affection she held for her late aunt.

“But my aunt passed away recently and there was no reason for my father to let me stay in Shenyang after I ended my studies. I became more useful to him if I married that boy, as your clan sent a warning. He needed the allyship.” She sighed.

“So I ran the moment we buried my aunt and I was sent back to Shenyang to get my diploma and return.” He listened attentively, aware that her trust was not easily won, and that loyalty would be crucial in their future together. She was still cautious around him, and he wanted her to open up to him even more. It would be a lot easier for her to trust him. But he knew better than that. Trust is earned, and it goes both ways.

“You never met him?” he inquired, referring to her failed engagement.

“No. I don’t think I even remember his name. Father always called him Yamamoto, never by his first name,” she replied. He knew his name well, having encountered him during negotiations for a deal in the past. Officially, Korea remained under Japanese rule, but within the underworld, clans were locked in fierce conflict. Yoongi, longing for peace, knew that Wang’s treaty pact with the Yamamoto clan was a significant obstacle. However, with Y/N’s presence here, the plans could be easily altered. According to the plan.

The cold young leader is not only aiming for her father’s empire and making peace for his clan, he longed for a woman like her. It was about time the leader of the clan took a wife to secure the lineage. Although there was a male heir in her family, who could potentially pose an obstacle, he was still too young to step into the role. Y/N, as the eldest heir, a female, would become an integral part of Yoongi’s plans to secure the future of their clans.

“You crave the throne, don’t you?” she asked, cocking her head and chin defiantly, her narrowed eyes fixed on him.

“I want you too.” She chuckled at his response.

“I’m merely a convenient excuse, am I not?” Y/N smiled too sweetly.

“You’ll kill m—” he rose from his chair, not even letting her finish. Grabbing her by her shoulders in a steel grip with a penetrating gaze.

The fragile cup slipped from her trembling hands and shattered on the floor. A nearby maid prepared to clean up the shattered shards. “Leave us!” he barked at the startled girl; his voice filled with anger. Y/N’s eyes widened. He was even more aggressive and intimidating than before.

“I could—” his voice seething with fury, “— I could gather man and slaughter your entire clan, keeping you as a trophy, a symbol of my power.” The threat hung in the air, and she could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. Fear was coursing through her, yet she resisted letting it control her.

“Matter of fact—” he continued, his grip tightening on her shoulders, eliciting a whimper of pain from her, “—you will be a symbol of the magnitude my power has, no matter if your father and family remain alive. So, it’s on you. The fate of your kin rests in your hands. Their survival hinges on your decisions and how well you’ll cooperate.” He tightened his grip again, eliciting another whimper of pain from her.

“But I will never dispose of you,” he growled through gritted teeth, his tone a mixture of possessiveness and frustration. Gathering her courage, she managed to speak again, her voice trembling but filled with resolve.

“You cannot manipulate me like this. Do you think I’ll fall for this fucked up scheme? I have spent my entire life under the orders of others, forbidden from making choices for myself! And you have the audacity to use my innocence thinking I will willingly crawl into your bed and love you like a devoted lover.” Venom in her voice and the desperate tone made him fall for her even more.

“I’ve only recently met you, so spare me your attempts to deceive me that you’re being my saviour.” Y/N has enough fire to still conquer and fight him back. “I refuse to be a passive participant in this game.” She shall not take it lying down.

“I’m giving you a choice—” he asserted, his voice laced with a dangerous undertone “—either you’ll walk down the aisle to me or there will be bloodshed. I won’t send you back to your father nor will I relinquish you easily.” His eyes locked onto hers, and she could see the darkness consuming his pupils when anger consumed him.

“Call it love, obsession, or whatever you please, but no matter what imbecile attempts you make to fight or flee, we will inevitably end up together nonetheless,” he declared with conviction. Was this the fate God had laid out for her? Her faith wavered, and if he didn’t assist soon, she shall forbid him altogether.

“You just want to fuck m—” he cut her off abruptly, his voice low and seductive.

“I can either fuck you hard or I can make love to you,” said he, whilst setting her left arm free and sliding his to her thigh, caressing it sweetly.

Breathing started to become harder for Y/N. Unfamiliar sensations welled up in her lower belly whilst his touch was sending shivers through her body. Was this attraction? Excitement? Mother told her this is how love is supposed to feel. Butterflies in her stomach. But she certainly wasn’t in love with her captor.

He sensed her confusion and distress, leaving her to fall back to the chair. Finally letting her breathe freely. Yoongi sat back in his chair, collecting himself and the three-piece suit he wears today.

“Loss of words, innit?” He chuckled.

He was filled with pride, an overwhelming sense of it, knowing the impact he had on her. She dusted her thighs and straightened her dress.

“Remember, it’s your call. Either you’ll go willingly or with coercion,” her gaze piercing through him for change.

“I’m still waiting to hear back from your father, but before we proceed, I need to go over some rules I expect you to follow before and after we’re wed,” he said, picking up his cup of tea again.

“I know the rules. Just because I went to study doesn’t mean I wasn’t prepared to be the wife of any higher-profile mafia member,” she replied, and he chuckled.

“What’s so funny, care to share?” She asked her sass back.

“Not those kinds of rules. I know you’re prepared for that. But entertain me, baby. What do you think I’ll ask of you?” he said, grinning mischievously, his chin resting between his thumb and forefinger.

“You’ll hand me the household finances after, not like I already agreed, I see no ring yet —”

“—not interfere in business affairs, maintain a low profile to avoid unnecessary attention, and be nothing more than a pretty face, spread your legs and pop out heirs.” He listened to her, amused. She is vaccinated with these dynamics as her mother underwent the same and taught her to do so. However, to Yoongi’s unluckiness, she inherited her whim and flame too.

“You don’t need to manage the household; we have people for that. But if you wish to change anything in the budget, you of course can, sweetling,” he responded, surprising her with his contradictory words.

“I don’t want you to be just a pretty face because you have to. Your fire will be beneficial for me once in a while. If I ever tell you to sit still and look pretty, it would be a matter of life and death, a means to protect you, —”

“—See? I can be very good.” He said, sipping his cold tea, leaving it in his mouth to warm a little while he is thinking. He found great joy in evoking emotions from her.

“You can involve yourself in the business as much as you desire, but I doubt you’ll want to engage in those activities. For your safety, I would sleep better if you were always by my side once we’re engaged and married shortly after.” He stressed out the last word.

“Once we’ll be engaged and wed, your loyalty to your father will transfer to me, and me only” he emphasised his voice firm.

“I won’t force you to be intimate with me after the wedding night, although I’m sure you’ll come to desire it,” he said with a sickly grin, causing her stomach to churn. She needed a moment to process everything he told her by far.

“I saw how you reacted to me earlier. You will enjoy our time in the bedroom, surely.” He spoke as if it wasn’t taboo.

“I-” she stammered and hesitated. He stunned her. Broke down to her core, and he wanted to dig even further.

“I’m aware.” He replied to her unspoken utterance.

She leaned into her chair further, feeling so small suddenly, so inexperienced. Y/N remembers a boy with black hair and green eyes who she had a crush on. He kissed her one night under a cherry blossom tree in their garden. Her father got to know, and she never saw him since.

“All of this comes with one rule: obedience. You will obey as a good girl, and everyone will be happy,” he declared firmly.

“But disobedience won’t be tolerated,” he added, his tone unwavering.

“I want our marriage to be right, as it should be. I won’t force you to be intimate with me. I mean it,” he tried to assure her.

“—Apart from the wedding night, which speaking of, I still didn’t say, ’Yes, I will’.” He laughed and got up from his chair. Her choices and chances were limited. Even if she would manage to escape, he would go on a killing spree till he would get her back. Min Yoongi was very much interested and devoted to marrying this young female.

He knelt on one knee in front of her. A scenery one could perceive as a loving couple is ready to pursue a life journey together. She hadn’t expected him to propose before her father’s agreement, let alone in such a proper manner. Y/N knew better, she just wanted to tease him back.

This wasn’t how mafia members typically behaved, especially the Kkangpae, who never bowed or knelt to anyone. A sign of respect and reverence. Is she to be fooled again? Was he trying to earn her trust with this pretentious act or is he truly showing her respect? Countless questions stormed her mind, causing her inner turmoil. A thunder and lightning bolt within.

He pulled out a velvet little box from his inside pocket and slowly opened it before her shocked figure. The ring glistened in the light. She hates to admit it, but it was marvellous. The delicate band, crafted from shimmering gold, was embellished with intricate filigree that snaked its way around the band in a dance of beauty. Sapphire, shining atop the band surrounded by smaller diamonds, a starry night sky, each one a glimmering testament to the masterful skill of the jeweller. The ring must be older than she or him.

“Miss Wang—” said he, staring into her soul and making her look away from the ring. “—You would honour me if you shall decide to spend, thou life by my side. I promise to protect you and respect you if you have me.”

Confusion would be the correct term, as just moments ago, he held her in a punishing grip, issuing threats. She mustered the courage to ask him once more. “Why?”

He smiled at her so widely. This smile was different. “Please don’t give me any sweet bullshit or I swear—” he interrupted her.

“All you think is my reason — is my reason. I’m not going to lie to you. Just know…this is God’s will, and God presented you to me as a life companion. You can put your fear aside and stand up to me. You’re a challenge I’m determined to embrace, and God knows I’ll do my best to make you mine,” he explained, his tone serious and earnest.

Would God allow him to do anything to conquer her and this world? His words resonated deep within her soul, stirring something within her. Will Father punish her once he will arrive here if he is even coming here? He has to. She knows. If she will get engaged, he will have to come and give him his blessing.

Mother. She wanted to desperately hide in her mother’s arms. Is she ready to confine herself to someone else than her mother, sister, or aunt? Her poor aunt must be restless in her grave. She wanted only the best for her. A different life than the one of someone’s wife; at least that’s what she believed.

“So, what will it be? Shall I send my man to gear up or—” She didn’t let him finish. Y/N didn’t want anyone else to die or get hurt because she wanted her freedom so selfishly. She questioned her faith and wondered if this was truly the path that had been laid out for her.

Is this her path?

“I will.”

It must be.

He smiled brightly. He is one step closer to orchestrating in her heart. It’s her verdict whether it will be an easier or difficult and rocky path. He took the ring out of its box, reaching for her left hand. Sliding the ring on her finger.

Slowly, he raised her hand to his lips, gently placing a kiss on her skin. He didn’t break eye contact the whole time, which made her uneasy. Y/N didn’t expect the leader to close the distance between them and lean to her, still holding her hand. Her breath picked its pace, and her lips parted a little; she gasped when he was getting too close. Y/N felt so stiff and frozen. Almost brushing his lips with hers—

“Sajangnim—?” A voice echoed. Unwillingly and frustrated, he turned his head to the staff member of the household. Y/N turned her head in the opposite direction, her chest heaving rapidly as she struggled to catch her breath.

“What?!” he barked; his anger evident.

“Mr Wang is on the telephone.”

I N T E R L O G U E

“How long will she be out?” Asked the leader, pacing front and back in his office. It had only been a few minutes since the son of his late father’s captain of the front force had brought her back to their territory. She appeared serene as he carried her into his room and gently laid her on the bed. Although he had a maid ready to change her clothes, he couldn’t resist the urge to do it himself.

“Hopefully she’ll sleep most of the evening and night,” Chan-yeol replied.

“I see,” answered the leader, trying to mask his concern. He realised how much he yearned for her presence.

“Everything will work out right, Kkangpae?” Chan-yeol asked, seeking reassurance.

“Of course. How is your wife, Chan-yeol?” Yoongi replied confidently. He vividly recalls her disparagement of this plan, as if her opinion mattered to him. She had shown a protective instinct towards her, much like her mother had. It stirred conflicting emotions within him.

“She won’t be a problem, I promise.” His voice was laced with a hint of fear. It was only natural to be afraid of someone like Yoongi.

The plan was for her to reach Jeju Island, and stumbling upon the warehouse was a mere coincidence—a twist of fate that strengthened Yoongi’s belief in their union. The way she looked into his eyes made him breathless.

His heart burned for her even more than ever before.

to be continued

author’s note: yall I have to say I didn't expect that much of love for my baby. Thank you all beautiful creatures! Feels very surreal. Thank you for all the love, reblogs and comments. I love you, I see you. I hope you enjoyed the first and second chapter and will look forward to the next one ♥ Stay tuned for the preview of chapter III soonish ♥

Also I tried to add everyone who asked to the tag list, and if you want to be in too or you ain't tagged properly, comment or dm ♥

Shout out to Bex the queen @chaoticpuff17 for beta reading this chapter and shout out to all her bombastically good fics!! ♥ ily♥

Love you!!!!

Don't be a silent reader, comment, re-blog, heart, asks are more than welcome ♥

keep in mind - I'm not expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction.

let's be friends chummers ♥

lots of love,

𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖞𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖊

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