#Garden Cabin With Storage | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

colormepurplex2 · 2 years

Text

Till Death Do Us Part | Enemy of My Enemy is My F̶r̶i̶e̶n̶d̶ Lover

↳ Hitman Yoongi x Kidnapped f.Reader ⤜ Enemies/Lovers ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 23,272 ⚠️ Blood, gore, violence, murder (weewooweewoo this warning shouldn’t be taken lightly), angst, knife play, biting/marking, virginity loss/first-time vaginal sex, dom/sub dynamics, power play, restraints, Yoongi still has a breeding kink but he's keeping it tame (shame, I know)

Next Chapter⇾ ⇽Previous Chapter ◅ Back to chapter list

"Do you really have to go?" you ask, looking out the window of your new bedroom. It's not technically just yours, it's the room you'll be sharing with Yoongi now, in the new house you've been moved into.

Your honeymoon, what was intended to be a week-long trip to the cabin, was just severely short. On the second night, Yoongi received a phone call from his father requesting he come back early because the meeting in Warsaw was being moved up. So, Yoongi packed you both up and Wenton had you back on the estate property in just a few hours.

"This isn't really something I have a choice in," he mutters in response from the closet, where he's changing out of his casual wear and into a suit.

"How long will you be gone?" That's not something he'd shared yet. You turn from the window, finding Yoongi coming out of the closet.

His fingers are doing up the last few buttons on a navy long-sleeve dress shirt. "Two weeks, at the least. Could be three, though. It really depends on the buyers and how long it takes for negotiations."

If there’s one thing that turns your stomach, it's hearing talk about the inner workings of The Hitman's arms dealing business. You can't help the small shudder that rolls across your shoulders. "Does it really have to be now, though?" You don't mean for it to sound like a whine, but it catches in your throat just enough for Yoongi to notice. His demeanor instantly changes, softening.

"If I didn't have to go, I promise I wouldn't," he assures, abandoning the jacket he was about to slip on to step closer to you. His right hand comes up and cups your cheek. "I know it feels like we just found each other again, but I swear everything will be okay. There are things I'll need you to handle while I'm gone. You'll do that for me, right? You'll be good and work hard for me?"

"Of course," you promise, even if you still have reservations about trusting him.

Yoongi said two to three weeks. It's been almost seven now. You've had little communication with him. It's all mostly word of mouth from Wenton that Yoongi is fine and will be home soon. Though, every time you press and ask when 'soon' is, Wenton avoids giving a straight answer and just tells you to try being patient.

The last few weeks have been weird, to say the least. It took at least the first week to get used to being in this new home. It's quaint and cozy, but feels foreign in so many ways. With a more modern ranch-style layout, it only has a single level with a large open-concept kitchen, living room, and dining area. There is a laundry room off the kitchen with a half-bath. The laundry room also has a door leading to the backyard. No pool, but there is a large hot tub and even a sauna room. A hallway extends from the living room, leading to the three bedrooms. A jack-and-jill bathroom sits between the two spare rooms with the master suite at the very end of the hall. The en-suite bathroom is large, with a garden tub and stand-alone shower that has dual heads. A large walk-in closet holds more storage and space for clothing than you think you'll ever have a need for. Even already full of both yours and Yoongi's things, the home feels somehow empty.

Before leaving, Yoongi gave you free rein to decorate however you wish. Wenton stayed behind, something about The Hitman wanting as few extra ears in Warsaw as possible, and has been instructed to assist you in anything you may need, including decorating the space.

Despite being given this freedom, you've found very little motivation to actually change anything. You blame it in part on the fact you still feel like a prisoner, just with a different set of walls surrounding you now, but another deeper part of you feels the need to have Yoongi's input on the decorations, too. After all, it's his home just as much as it's yours, maybe even more so.

You stand in the middle of the master bedroom, feeling a little uneasy. Everything is so pristine and oppressively white. Down to the crisp white sheets covering the bed and the subtle smell of cleaner in the air, it reminds you of a hospital room. As soon as Yoongi returns, this is the first room you want to change.

Shrugging out of your oversized sweater, you toss it into the hamper followed by your tights, socks, and bra. Your toes flex against the cold hardwood floor in the closet as you dig through the drawer containing your sleepwear.

It's been maddening, being in this house all alone, especially after everything you found out about at the cabin. You thought you would have had far more time to talk over everything with Yoongi, to solidify more of a plan. But, as it is, he left you with a few tasks that have left bitter tastes in your mouth.

Slipping on a pink silk tank top, you make your way over to the bedside table you've claimed as your own. Atop it are stacks of papers and a few notebooks and ledgers. This has been your nightly routine, sitting in bed and pouring over documents Yoongi left for you to sift through. You're looking for answers, without really knowing the questions. Yoongi said to just make note of anything that looks important or out of place. So, as you settle under the duvet, you grab the next stack of papers and get to work.

You've been assured the house is safe, that there are no cameras or listening devices, but you still can't help nervously glancing around the room before cracking open the first notebook. Knowing you were being watched at the cabin, back at the main home of the estate, and even tracked through your phone, really put a damper on your ability to relax.

Even so, you find yourself quickly engrossed in the contents of the notebook. It's filled with accounting reports, purchase and trade logs dating back between seven and eight years ago. There are a few names Yoongi wants you to look out for, names that are connected to the documents Namjoon found that led to the apartment in Tokyo.

It's weird digging into a part of your father's life like this. In a way, it still feels unreal. Like there is a part of you that refuses to accept that your father was involved in anything, whether it was weapons dealing related or an affair. Yoongi gave you proof when he gave you the box of things to go through. There were pictures, letters, even a signed lease agreement on the Tokyo apartment. All supporting the fact that your father had this whole other life.

You haven't thought much about your parents in the last few years. In the beginning, when you were first taken, it seemed like you'd never be able to get over what happened that Christmas Eve. Dreams quickly turned into recurring nightmares, seeing your mother bleed out under your hands and the sickly wet feeling of your father's blood and brain matter splattering the side of your face...those are things you thought you'd never stop remembering. Though, over time, things got easier. The nightmares became less frequent and even their faces started to become hazy in your mind.

Now, however, seeing photos of your father with another woman has brought everything back into sharp focus. At first, it made you sad, seeing the images of your father happy with someone else. But, that sadness quickly morphed into anger. Anger at the fact that when all was said and done, your father still chose to sign a marriage contract to hand you over to The Hitman's family. Full well knowing just what his lover went through at the hands of the man himself. That's confirmed in the letters between your father and Yoongi's mom, Aneta...Netty. That's her name, but you still find it hard to stomach the idea of saying it out loud or even thinking it too often. Netty sent so many letters to your father, letters that clearly were tear-stained, describing the heinous acts The Hitman committed; both inside and outside of the home.

Glancing at your phone on the bedside table, you realize it's already after midnight. You don't necessarily have to go to sleep. It's not like you have a bedtime or need to wake up at any specific time tomorrow, but keeping some sort of semblance of a schedule helps you feel less disorganized and like you're just floating in the ether. Which is something you know can easily happen when you're cooped up inside, day in and day out.

You close the notebook, slipping a loose sheaf of paper between the pages as a bookmark. Flicking off the bedside lamp, you slide down under the duvet and roll onto your side and face the empty space beside you. Before closing your eyes, you make a mental note to ask Wenton tomorrow if he's heard anything more from Yoongi.

It's dark in the bedroom when your eyes flutter open. You're a little disoriented, blinking several times to dispel the awkwardness between wakefulness and sleep. A strip of light is coming through from under the bathroom door and you can faintly hear the shower running. You glance around the room, eyes taking in the still-made other side of the bed. Nothing looks out of place or disturbed, no indication that it's Yoongi in the bathroom.

The disorientation turns into a hyper-awareness. Slowly pushing back the duvet, you reach over and slide open the drawer of your bedside table. Your fingers glide over cold steel before wrapping around the grip of the pistol Yoongi gifted to you before he left for Warsaw. The Ruger LC9 is small compared to other handguns, but you're comfortable enough with it. Silently pulling it out of the drawer, you get a firm grip on it and slip off the bed.

You're barely aware of how cold the wood floor is under your bare feet as you pad across the room to the closed bathroom door. It's just a few short steps, but with enough space that you're comfortable racking back the slide on the pistol without fearing whoever is in the bathroom might hear. Flexing your fingers around the grip of the gun, you bring it up until your forearm is over your chest, the gun lofted just to the side of your face. Using your other hand you grip the door handle to the bathroom. You give it a slight test turn and ease out a slow breath when you feel it's unlocked.

Using the element of surprise is your best bet, you know this. So, with that in mind, you quickly flick open the door and drop your arm to aim the gun into the lit space of the bathroom. A cold rush of adrenaline pumps through you before you let out a startled cry.

"Oh my god, Yoongi!" You swiftly shut the door behind you and discard the pistol on the counter of the sink. With frantic, trembling hands you yank open the glass door to the shower.

It's like a scene from a horror film. In a pile in the corner, you see Yoongi's discarded clothes surrounded by a pool of red-tinged water. Tendrils branch off from the puddle and swirl down the drain with the water cascading off Yoongi's body. Red and pink splatter the white tiles, thick strands of crimson plop to the tiled floor as he groans and shoves himself back from where he was leaning against the far wall.

His back is to you, leaving you open to see the extent of the scars and fresh wounds peppering his skin there. "I didn't mean to wake you," he grunts out, finally turning fully to face you. He slumps back against the wall, his right hand bracing against the other wall and his left cradling his side. Streamers of red feather from beneath his hand where it's clamped against his skin.

"What the fuck?!" you exclaim, rushing into the shower, heedless of the spray that instantly soaks through your clothes. "You're hurt!"

His chuckle turns into a groan. "I just ripped a stitch, it's fine."

"Fine? Ripped a stitch? What the hell happened? When did you get back?" The questions flood out of you as you ease his hand away from his side, uncovering the ragged stitches slanting just above his hip bone. Two have popped, the skin shredded apart.

He tries to stand up straighter but his knees buckle and he nearly takes you down with him. You just manage to catch him, saving you both from hitting the hard tiles. "There is a first aid kit under the sink. Inside there are supplies to repair the stitches and some styptic powder to help with the bleeding. I'll explain as soon as I'm not on the verge of passing out, yeah?" His attempt at a smile turns into a grimace that has you scrambling out of the shower and digging under the sink.

Several tense minutes later you've managed to get the bleeding stopped and helped him replace the popped stitches. You keep anticipating an explanation, but find yourself continuing to take care of Yoongi in silence. It takes a few tries, but you finally get him to sit in the bottom of the shower, legs splayed out and his stitched side as far from the running water as possible. His eyes are glassy, bloodshot, and he grimaces as you clean and tend to the smaller set of injuries scattered over his battered body. Along with the numerous cuts, his bottom lip is split and you can just make out the starting of a bruise around his left eye.

Yoongi's warm to the touch, warmer than you think he should be from the shower. A few of the wounds look fresh while others you can see must be several days old. The confusion and worry nearly double with each new antiseptic pad you open. By the time you've got him cleaned up and the water is running clear, his eyes are closed and his chest is rising and falling with even breaths.

"Yoongi, can you stand? Do I need to call Wenton? I don't know if I can get you into bed by myself." You shut off the water, stripping out of your own sodden clothes and grabbing towels for both of you.

His eyes flutter open as you kneel before him, your own towel tucked around your torso. "I can stand with your help, just go slow for me." You can hear his teeth grind as he shifts his weight. Each moan of pain from him tugs at your heart until you finally have him up, an arm thrown over your shoulder for support. Yoongi grips one side of the towel and you help him tuck the other around his hips, low enough to not disturb the stitches.

"I'm going to get something to cover those as you sleep," you murmur, settling him on the edge of the bed. You grab a roll of gauze from the first aid kit and wrap it around Yoongi's waist, securing a sterile pad over the red and angry stitches. "You probably need some antibiotics, too, you're burning up and those stitches look like an infection might be setting in."

"Sure, sure, just tell Wenton," he groans, laying back against the pillows. You do your best to shift his body over, swinging his legs up and under the duvet. The towel is still wrapped low around his hips. He untucks the end and lets the towel fall open, uncaring to move it any further. "There's some Dilaudid in the medicine cabinet, that'll do for now."

"An opioid?" you whisper to yourself as you head back into the bathroom in search of it. "Yoongi, what happened?" you ask a little louder coming out of the bathroom with the small pill nestled in your palm and a glass of water from the tap.

"Just a little disagreement with the Bratva, no big deal," he mumbles before swallowing the pill down.

You stare at him for a moment. "A little disagreement with the Bratva, no big deal?" you parrot back to him. "This doesn't look like no big deal!"

Yoongi harrumphs, pressing his lips into a thin line and avoiding your gaze. "My father may have pissed them off and this is the product of being collateral damage," he mutters, vaguely gesturing to his body. His eyes finally flick to yours. "Don't look so aghast. This isn't my first rodeo, princess, I've been stabbed plenty of times before."

"Stabbed?! You need a doctor," you insist, twisting to grab your phone from the nightstand.

Yoongi catches your hand in a weak grasp. "I've already seen a doctor. Dr. J. was on the plane with us, he's the one that did the stitches. They would have held, too, if I didn't get into a pissing match with Namjoon when we landed." The last part is grumbled, barely audible enough for you to hear. His eyes flutter shut and he lets out a slow, labored breath like the conversation is taxing.

"Namjoon? What happened with Namjoon, Yoongi?"

Yoongi's even, shallow breathing is the only response you get. His brow is pinched like he's in pain but it slowly smooths out with each additional exhale he lets out. You want to press for answers, to figure out just what went down and whether or not you should be worried. But, looking at him right now, he's so vulnerable and it does something to you. Like a knife twisting in your gut, you realize you're genuinely concerned for his wellbeing.

It feels like it'll be impossible to sleep now. You do one last check of his injuries, peeking under the gauze wrap to ensure there isn't any more bleeding. Fluffing out the duvet, you make sure it's covering him but not tight enough to cause discomfort to his injuries. You disappear into the bathroom for the next fifteen minutes, drenching the shower in bleach you found under the sink and scrubbing away the blood splatters.

You wring out Yoongi's discarded clothes, unsure if they're salvageable or not. When you stretch out his gray dress shirt, you have to suppress the strangled gasp that peaks in your throat. The shirt is riddled with holes, thin slices that you can tell are from a blade. There are dozens, like Yoongi was used as some sort of macabre human pincushion. Balling up the shirt, you pitch it into the bathroom trash and then hang up the jacket and pants over the top of the shower door. Your own clothes follow his and you can't help but notice the small smears of red staining your tank top. You've never been in a situation to try and get blood out of clothing, for all you know everything should just be trashed. You contemplate it for a moment before abandoning the bathroom, leaving the clothes to be dealt with further, later.

Stepping into the closet, you discard the towel and pull on a dry shirt and pair of panties. Yoongi still looks to be sleeping as you settle on the other side of the bed. You close your eyes, intending to try and get a few more hours of sleep, but the sheets shifting beside you have your eyes popping back open.

"He doesn't like not knowing what you're doing," Yoongi murmurs in the dark. "He cornered me in the hangar just after Father and Dr. J. left." He lets out a tired sigh before continuing, "He didn't like me being gone for so long, leaving you in peace. Apparently, he tried to get into the house a few times, but Wenton was able to hold him off with assurances that I'd double my efforts for the time I've been gone. Namjoon wants proof...proof that I'm making you suffer for my time-lapse." Yoongi's eyes find yours in the dark. You can barely make out the shape of his face, but there is enough low light to distinguish the whites of his eyes. "It's all a sick and twisted game for him. I'm so sorry you're in the middle of this bullshit...I promise, I promise we'll figure out a way out soon." His words trail off, his promise barely more than a husking whisper. Even breaths follow, if a little shallow and rattled-sounding.

You prop up on an elbow, leaning over the space between your bodies. "Sleep. Just sleep for now," you whisper, brushing a strand of his unruly hair from his forehead. It's grown out, even in just the eight weeks he's been gone, long and a bit shaggy across his forehead and down the sides of his neck. It surprises you a little when you find yourself pressing your lips to the space of his forehead you just uncovered. Such an endearing gesture isn't exactly something you would have pegged so soon in your rekindling relationship with Yoongi. But, it does leave you feeling a little warmer on the inside, a little less lonely and afraid.

Those feelings carry over into the morning, but are quickly pushed to the side by worry and concern. Yoongi feels less feverish, but he's still quite pale and you can tell he's in pain.

"My phone, it should be on the kitchen counter." He tries to roll over, clearly intent on getting out of bed.

Being as gentle as you can, but also stern, you tug him back down. "Stay put. I'll get anything you need."

Now that the sun is up, you can clearly see the trail of blood through the bedroom. You follow it with a queasy stomach, leading down the hall and through the kitchen. It continues into the laundry room, so you assume Yoongi came in through the back door last night. As he said, his phone is lying on the counter. His keys are beside it, drops of blood smeared on the marble surface under them. Plucking his phone up, you escape back into the bedroom.

"I need to call Wenton. When's the last time he was by?"

You think about it for a moment. "He was here two days ago, which means he should be back by today. He's been coming around lunchtime, usually with food."

Yoongi grunts in understanding. "Were my glasses on the counter, too? I can't remember when I had them last."

"No, I'm sorry, they weren't. Maybe you left them in the car?"

He sighs, but it turns into a groan and his brow pinches. The screen on his phone is black, no matter how many times he thumbs it. "Looks like it's dead. Do you mind calling him? Just tell him it's 'status yellow' and he'll know what to do."

"Status yellow?" you question, grabbing your own phone and pulling up Wenton's contact. "What's that mean?"

Before Yoongi can answer, Wenton is picking up. You relay Yoongi's 'yellow status' to which Wenton promptly huffs a breath and hangs up. You give Yoongi a questioning look, pulling your phone away from your ear and glancing at the blank screen.

"Think of yellow as an I'm-hurt-but-not-dying code. The codes are simple, something you can also use. Green means it's something self-induced like a hang-over and I'm out of Tylenol, yellow is a bit more severe but not life-threatening like already being stitched up but I might have a minor infection, red is needing medical assistance immediately or I might die, and white is...well, white is something I hope to never use. And if I do, then it's not Wenton who gets that phone call, it's Rio with the cleanup crew because I'm probably staring death in the face with no way out. So, yellow means he'll bring just enough medical equipment to put me on the mend, but won't bother contacting Dr. J. or setting up transport to the infirmary," Yoongi explains, nonchalantly, like he's discussing something mundane like summer weather patterns.

You sit there stunned for a few moments, trying to figure out maybe why you're just now learning about this code system he has. Deciding it's best to just come out and ask, you do. "Why am I just now learning about this?"

Yoongi gives you a hard-to-read look. "Honestly? I was hoping you'd never need to know it. But, I also wasn't sure about...well, us. Things haven't exactly been rainbows and sunshine." He holds up a hand, warding off the snarky comment about to come out of your mouth. "Before you say anything, I know that's my own fault. Trust me, I regret it more than you can imagine...which is part of the reason I'm doing what I can to ensure that we get out of this."

"Yoongi, can I ask you something?" you ask before slipping into the bathroom and retrieving another painkiller for him.

He nods as he takes the pill with a grateful smile. "Anything."

"You keep saying 'we'. That 'we'll' get out of this." The next part hurts to even think about, much less ask aloud, but it's something that's been weighing heavy on your mind. "Is this even something you're able to get out of? This life?"

Yoongi doesn't respond for a long time. He toys with a loose thread on the duvet, wrapping it around his finger over and over again. You watch as the tip of his finger turns red, then purple, before he gives the string slack and the skin slowly fades back to his normal flesh tone. "I think so," he finally answers, bringing his eyes up to yours. They're a lot clearer than they were last night, not nearly so glassy or bloodshot. "I've wanted out of this life for as long as I can remember. This isn't what I expected when I was adopted," his voice wavers slightly. "When The Hitman and Netty first arrived at the children's home, it was like a dream come true. What they offered was a new life, a fresh start. You see, it wasn't just a regular children's home for kids without parents or guardians...it was a home for troubled youth. All seven of us were there, we were like our own little punk-ass gang. All the other boys were so scared of us, even the workers steered clear. But, it's not like we wanted that, not really. Maybe a few of us were a little more messed up than the others, but we all just wanted one thing...a home, a place we could grow and learn. We just wanted what any other kid wants, someone to care about us."

An ache settles in your chest. You were aware that all of the sons were adopted, but this is the first time you're actually hearing their story. It's not hard to imagine them always being monsters, it's easier that way. In a sense, Yoongi just confirmed that they kind of were monsters, a little gang of punks. But, it is hard to stick to that narrative completely, knowing the motive behind it. After all, we're all just animals in the end anyway, right? One step removed from being feral. A simple act of violence can turn the tables just as much as one of kindness. These boys just needed someone to be kind to them. Instead, it seems they just got a tighter leash.

"Were they cruel to you?" The words make your stomach turn, but they come from a place of empathy.

Yoongi smiles a little. "No. Not at first. It didn't take long for us to understand that Father was a little different, that his job wasn't exactly the most morally straight. I saw my first dead body just a month after we were brought home with them. It really wasn't until years later when we'd see the truth for what it was...when he started wanting us to be a part of the business. Mother didn't like it, she didn't want us to be part of this world. For the most part, it was really only the older boys, Seokjin, myself, Namjoon, and Hoseok who were under his thumb. That changed when Mother died, almost overnight."

It's not like this is a revolutionary confession. This shouldn't change how you feel, you're still in a loveless marriage to a man that's been a cruel monster to you for the last year. However, the ache in your chest seems to intensify, paired now with a burning behind your eyes. "I'm so sorry," you whisper, not sure what else to say.

"Don't be upset, please." Yoongi slides a thumb across your cheek, catching a tear you didn't even realize had slipped out. "We don't deserve your sympathy, princess," he coos softly, trying to comfort you which seems to only make it harder to hold back the tears.

"I should be the one trying to comfort you," you mumble, blinking rapidly to thwart more tears from escaping. "No one deserves a life like this, regardless of what's been done in the past. You were just boys, you deserved better than that."

A knock on the doorframe to the bedroom startles you and Yoongi both. "Sorry, Sir, I don't mean to interrupt." Wenton clears his throat, eyes averted.

"Come on in," Yoongi calls, giving you one more half-smile before turning his attention to Wenton. He comes around the side of the bed and sets a box, that much resembles a fishing tackle box, on the bedside table. Giving Yoongi a once over, Wenton steps into the bathroom and you hear the sink running as he washes his hands.

Coming back into the room, Wenton peels back the duvet, mindful of Yoongi's nudity, to just expose the gauze wrapped around his middle. "Dr. J.'s handy work I assume?" he questions, flipping the lid of the box open and pulling out a pair of medical sheers and a pair of latex gloves. Yoongi just grunts in response. "Any idea how deep?" His question is followed by the snapping of the gloves against his wrists as he pulls them on.

Yoongi hisses between clenched teeth as Wenton pulls away the sterile pad covering the stitches. "Deep enough," he grits out. "Maybe an inch or two. Didn't get anything vital."

Wenton hums, tenderly checking the skin around the stitches. "Mild infection, probably would clear up on its own. But, it might be best to take some antibiotics to help it along. What happened to these two end stitches here? The skin looks like ground hamburger, Dr. J. isn't that messy last I knew."

"I'd laugh if it didn't hurt so fucking much," Yoongi winces, holding back a chuckle. "Had to repair those myself, it's been a while since I've had to do my own stitches, I guess I'm a little rusty."

You're still uncertain as to whether or not you can trust Wenton. He did, after all, send off your soiled bed sheets from the cabin to Namjoon. Yoongi assured you that he's the one that told Wenton to go along with it, that he's in on all the plans to get away. If Yoongi trusts him wholeheartedly, you guess that should be reason enough for you, too. But, it's just so damn hard to trust anyone, considering.

"Do I even want to know why?" Wenton mumbles more to himself than Yoongi. "I guess I don't need to ask how Warsaw went, your body tells me all I need to know." He gives you a fleeting wary look before speaking his next words. You're not the only one with trust issues, it seems. "Will we need to change any plans, account for anything new?"

Yoongi relaxes back against the pillows, taking the pills Wenton offers him from a small container in the box. "Shouldn't be necessary. This was just a disagreement between Father and the Bratva...I may have paid the price but Hoseok and Namjoon are the ones who will be reaping the rewards."

That's confusing. This is the first time Yoongi has mentioned Hoseok and Namjoon in relation to the dealings in Warsaw. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He looks at you. "I was going to mention it before, but we kind of got sidetracked in conversation and I was apparently too out of it last night to think clearly. The reason the meeting in Warsaw was moved up, I found out, was because Father wasn't just securing a new arms deal...he was also securing Hoseok a wife." That shocks you, but not nearly as much as what he says next. "Though, in the end, we seemingly bargained for two...one for Hoseok and one for Namjoon."

"Mercy." Wenton rubs a hand over his mouth, belying his first real show of something other than indifference in your presence. "Those poor souls." 💔💔💔

Two weeks later, you find yourself flicking through the dresses in the closet. Yoongi informed you this morning that you both would be having dinner at the main house tonight. You find it odd, as you don’t recall there ever being casual dinner parties like this before, at least not when you were living there. But, it’s not like you can say no.

Yoongi’s stitches are nearly ready to be taken out. Wenton had him on a cocktail of medications for a week before Yoongi flat out refused to continue and has grumbled every day since that the stitches need to come out. Together with Wenton, though, you were able to convince him to give them more time.

Already in a smart navy suit, Yoongi perches on the edge of the bed watching you still in the closet. “How about the navy and white halter?” he suggests, giving you a small smile when you look up, startled, having gotten lost in your own thoughts about the dinner tonight.

You grab out the aforementioned dress. It’s pretty, simple and comfortable, with a thick halter strap and a-line skirt. The bodice is a deep navy, matching Yoongi’s suit, and the skirt has an asymmetrical white pattern that is pleasing to the eye. “You don’t think it’s a little elementary to be matching?”

He lets out a full laugh, something you haven’t heard from him in a while. “Is it childish of me to want to match my wife?”

Wife. It’s still hard to wrap your head around that sometimes, even though it’s been months now. It’s nice to hear him laugh, so you keep a comment about that feeling to yourself. “I suppose I can humor you.” You try to make your words light and playful. It must work because Yoongi laughs again which has you pausing mid-step as you leave the closet with the dress in hand. The falter only lasts a moment, panic on your face quickly washed away. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say the tiny little feeling that made you pause was…butterflies.

An hour later you're in the back of Yoongi's SUV with him, Wenton driving. The house you have with Yoongi is on the backside of the estate property, easily a fifteen-minute drive. It's a one-lane paved road, a driveway really, that snakes through sprawling woods and cuts over a small brook. The stone bridge over the water is short, a simple arch with moss-covered river-rock side rails.

"Father didn't explain what the dinner is for, only that we needed to be there and be presentable," Yoongi explains, chewing the corner of his bottom lip in thought. "I can't imagine it's anything to be too worried about, but keep your wits about you anyhow. As far as I know, all of my brothers will be in attendance." He says brothers, but you know who he's more specifically talking about. The one brother wholly set on seeing you completely broken, if not six feet under.

You hate coming back to the main house. The overly exaggerated monstrosity fits perfectly with the dark and cold persona of The Hitman. Everything is opulent, screaming of wealth too big for any one man to have achieved by gracious means. For you, it also represents a prison. A place you were locked away under a proverbial key for years. It's weird to think that you're just as much a prisoner now as you were then, but still you feel freer than you were even with your parents. Yoongi has given you something you'd never really had before. A goal, a chance, a means to an end...a future of your own making. You just have to get there first.

With your hand tucked into Yoongi's elbow, he escorts you through the front doors and into the hearth room where The Hitman and the other brothers are enjoying a finger of whiskey before dinner. It's hard to suppress the smile that rips at your lips when you catch Miriam's eye. She's a welcomed sight for sure. At least you know you won't be suffering through dinner surrounded by nothing but the men. She gives you a wink before turning to Seokjin and murmuring something you don't catch. He raises an eyebrow at her but lifts a shoulder in a casual gesture of indifference.

"Finally, can we eat now?" Jungkook hasn't changed much since the last you saw him. He's still quite boyish, despite being in his early twenties now. His black hair is coiffed, showing off his smooth forehead and framing his dark eyes.

"Grow up." This comes from a source you're trying to avoid. All the same, though, you can't help but feel the way his dragon eyes sear up and down your form.

The Hitman clears his throat, casting a glare at both Namjoon and Jungkook. "We're still awaiting two more guests." He flicks out his wrist, the gold watch wrapped around it jingling. "They should be arriving any minute now."

As if his words were a summon, there is a resounding knock against the front door. You hear the door open and shoes shuffling in the foyer. A moment later the butler, Mr. Lee, ushers four new individuals into the room.

You're not sure what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn't two young women being shadowed by who you're certain are their fathers. It quickly dawns on you. These must be the new girls, the future wives of Hoseok and Namjoon.

"My friend!" One of the men strides forward to clasp hands with The Hitman. "Good to see you again, sorry we could not be here sooner. You know how fragile women folk can be," he chuckles, gesturing back toward the two women still standing in the doorway.

"Alina, Dasha, come girls," the remaining man practically shoves the women forward, toward The Hitman. "Greet your future papa." The last is stated with a sharp laugh that has them jolting forward.

They both offer murmured greetings, their eyes downcast. They're both fair-skinned with reddish-blond hair, maybe could be mistaken for sisters at first glance. But, you catch differences that tell you otherwise. The man that first strode in, you learn is Ivan, indicates which girl is which. Alina has a button nose and slightly upturned eyes, whereas Dasha has a more pointed nose and chin with thin lips. The other man, Leonid, doesn't say much, choosing to be more like the shadow you first thought him to be.

"Interesting," Yoongi murmurs in your ear, shifting so he's standing just behind you. To anyone else, it probably looks like he's just being affectionate. His hand not holding a glass of whiskey settles on your waist as he leans in a little further. "Bratva princesses. Don't let their demure attitudes fool you, they are trained with a blade from birth and are well versed in the ways of killing. Hoseok and Namjoon think they're getting little playthings, boy will they be surprised."

To hide your surprised smile you turn in Yoongi's arms and press a kiss to his jaw. "A fate they both deserve," you whisper against his skin.

"Ah, this must be the newlyweds!" The loud proclamation startles you, your hands automatically fisting into Yoongi's jacket.

Yoongi just smiles, slipping on his own mask of mock pleasantries. "Ivan, Leonid," he says in greeting, giving them each a nod. He turns you back around and introduces you, offering just your name in turn.

Your hand is scooped up by a big, rough mitt. "A beautiful specimen, my boy, just exquisite," Ivan smiles a Cheshire grin that has you pulling your fingers from his grasp before he can plant a kiss on them. "And a little fire, I like that."

You really want nothing more than to grab Yoongi's half-filled whiskey and toss it in this animal's face, but The Hitman calls for everyone's attention which you're grateful for. "Let us move to the dining room." Just like that, the atmosphere in the room shifts to being less stifling.

As fate would have it, that uncomfortable feeling returns tenfold when you find yourself seated next to Namjoon. Yoongi tried to swap seats with you but one look from Namjoon and you both knew that wouldn't fly without dire consequences.

The Hitman sits at one end of the table, Ivan and Leonid to either side of him. Dasha, Namjoon's intended, sits directly across from you, putting her on Namjoon's right. Alina sits beside Dasha with Hoseok on her other side. The other brothers are dispersed through the remaining seats, Miriam beside Seokjin who's beside Jungkook on the other side of Yoongi. From where she's sitting, you can't properly see nor speak to Miriam and that sours your mood further.

The dining table is covered in a white silk and lace table cloth, fine white porcelain place settings, shiny silverware, and crystal glasses. There is already a feast laid out in the middle, everything from stuffed whole chickens, salads, roasted vegetables, mixed rice dishes, exotic fruits and cheeses to honeyed ham. You avoid the ham, for reasons similar to why you hate snow. For that matter, if you could avoid formal dinners like this for the rest of your life, you'd be just fine with that.

Conversation floats along the table as everyone eats. Ivan and Leonid are loud, obnoxiously so. Their manners are lacking, food dropping from their open mouths as they laugh loudly and speak mid-chew. Time seems to slow down to a stilted parody of passing. The more the men talk, the more you internally cringe. Even the small interactions you have with the sons leave you feeling claustrophobic in a way. Though, you know it's really thanks to the man seated on your right.

Dasha and Alina keep throwing sneers your way. The only comfort you find is when Yoongi occasionally, but deliberately, brushes his shoulder against yours. The intimacy you displayed in the hearth room probably didn't win you any points with Namjoon. It was too close to being what he believes you don't deserve, which is not part of the agreement he has with Yoongi.

With that thought, you're not even sure you can stomach the few bites you've managed to take but then lose your appetite completely when you feel a large palm settle on your bare knee. It's such a startling sensation that you jerk in your seat and rattle the glasses on the table.

"There's plenty of food left, no need to shake the table, girl," Ivan guffaws from down the table, brandishing a whole chicken leg for emphasis. Enough food, sure, if you count the crumbs remaining on most of the platters. The Russians have devoured more food than you think two grown men should be capable of.

Your cheeks are hot as your eyes flick up to meet Namjoons. His fingers dig into your skin painfully. The pressure increases until you can't help but shove back from the table, mumbling to Yoongi that you need to be excused to the ladies' room. Before you can turn and escape, Yoongi grabs your wrist and stops you. "Are you okay?" he asks in a whisper meant only for you.

"Fine, just...need a moment," you whisper back, flicking your eyes to the side toward Namjoon. A knowing look settles on Yoongi's face, he gives you a small nod and releases your hand.

You can hear Yoongi addressing Namjoon in a short, curt tone as you make your way from the table. His words are low enough that you can't hear them, but the inflection is enough for you. You also catch The Hitman announcing cocktails will be served in the adjoining lounge shortly. That should give you enough time to get to the bathroom down the hall and get yourself together before having to show your face again in front of everyone.

Shutting yourself into the half-bath, you internally curse remembering there is no locking mechanism for the door. Not that that would stop anyone who truly wanted to get inside. You turn to the sink and flip on the tap, taking a moment to breathe. This is your first time being in Namjoon's presence since you found out about his intentions for you. To say you're feeling a bit skittish would be putting it lightly. It doesn't help that you know you shouldn't be so carefree with Yoongi, it does nothing to help the situation.

Splashing some water on your face, you resolve that when you go back out there you're going to snuff the little warmth there is between you and Yoongi. If only for the sake of appearances. You know Yoongi will understand and not hold it against you. He's supposed to be your worst nightmare, after all.

Like a scene from a horror film, just as you’re patting your face dry with a clean towel from under the sink, the door snaps open. “You ought to know better than to put yourself in a position to be alone with me, little mouse.”

Your mouth opens to yell, “Yoon-.” But he’s on you and slaps a hand over your mouth before it can make much of a difference. Namjoon pins you against the sink pedestal, the backs of your thighs biting hard into the lip of the sink as you're forced up onto your toes by his sheer body mass.

“Yoongi is busy right now, courtesy of our father,” he sneers, the words curling his upper lip into a snarl. “It’s just you and me right now. Even if you did scream for help, do you really think someone would come to save you?” Your frantic eyes dart around the bathroom, looking for something you might be able to use as leverage to get him off. “Now, I’m going to take my hand away, scream if you want…but if you know what’s good for you, you’ll choose to just listen instead.”

Like a physical manifestation, the weight of his words settles on your chest, constricting your ability to breathe. All you can do is nod slightly behind his hand. A moment later he slides his hand from covering your mouth to cradling your jaw. “What do you want?” The words leave you in a rasp.

“Your skin is looking better. Those bruises have faded as if they were never there.” He uses the hand on your jaw to tilt your head from side to side, examining your neck. Your skin flushes, a mix of anger and fear making your heart frantically beat in your chest. “Did you enjoy it, the way his hands wrapped around your throat, squeezing until the dainty tissue beneath your skin was swollen with blood enough to leave a mark?” A shudder ripples through you, which he takes as an answer enough. “You did, didn’t you? I definitely enjoyed seeing it, those pictures he sent me are beautiful, a work of art. I wonder if we can recreate them, what do you think?”

Panic surges, making your body go stiff. You subconsciously ease back from him, practically climbing onto the sink to get as far away from him as possible. When Yoongi returned from Warsaw, he told you about his run-in with Namjoon and how he wanted proof that Yoongi was going to make up for his time away. You spent an entire evening staging it, digging through boxes of makeup and special effects tools. In the end, Yoongi snapped mid-struggle pictures of you. It was a dance, a choreography of push and pull. It reminded you so much of what happened at the cabin, Yoongi going to such lengths to make it seem like he’s a monster when in reality he’s just an excellent actor.

The pictures were quite breathtaking, in a haunting and gut-churning way. The tears were real, the fear evident on your face. You’re a good actor, too. Hand-shaped bruises littered your throat, reddened palm prints scattered over your cheeks, thighs, and upper arms. You even thought the pictures looked real. Yoongi pretended to attack you, but you screamed like it was real. It felt real, like a glimpse into what your life would be like if he was actually that monster he pretended to be for the last year. He apologized afterward, profusely.

“Please don’t,” you gasp, shoving your hands against his chest. “Yoongi will be so mad.” You don’t have to finesse the fear that stutters your words, the fear is definitely real. You’re face to face with an actual monster and he’s not into acting.

“Mmm, the wrath of my brother is a small thing, compared to the fun we could have, little mouse.” His lips crash into yours, his teeth too harsh against your unwilling mouth. One hand fists into your hair and the other maintains its stern grip on your jaw. You flail, swatting and smacking his chest and the sides of his face. Your feet kick wildly, you feel the toe of your heel connect with his shin more than once, but nothing seems to thwart him. Namjoon’s aggression is predatory and you’re a helpless little mouse just like he said.

Copper warmth bursts on your tongue as his teeth lash your bottom lip. You do scream now, letting it loose as if your life depends on it. It’s swallowed by his mouth, muffled and comes out more like a pathetic yell. The hand on your jaw drops to your throat, big enough for it to fit perfectly between his thumb and fingers. He begins to squeeze, focusing the pressure on the arteries on either side of your neck. Your vision almost instantly wanes, black spots dotting the edges. This is it, you think, this is how it ends. Namjoon finally gets his way.

His mouth is still on yours, his tongue lapping up the blood still leaking from your now busted bottom lip. Just as your eyes are fluttering shut from lack of blood flow, his presence is ripped away. Tendrils of hair are ripped out from the root, still caught around his fingers. Your bottom lip is once again thrashed with his teeth as they leave your mouth. The pain of his fingers scratching along your throat is just another blip on the scale at this point. It might as well be a lover's caress compared to the rawness powering down your throat now that you’re sucking in harsh gasps of air.

“I will kill you!” Yoongi’s roar is emphasized by Namjoon’s body crashing into the far wall of the bathroom.

Your body slumps back against the mirror, hands feebly scrambling on the sink in an attempt to hold yourself up. Everything is still hazy but you blink a few times and clearly see the moment Namjoon begins to laugh like a maniac. He throws his head back, howling with mirth. “Oh, big brother,” he wheezes between laughs, “I was just having some fun.

“Touch her again and see what happens,” Yoongi barks, his chest heaving with restrained violence. “You may be my brother, Namjoon, but I’ll forget that well enough if you touch what’s mine again.” The possessiveness of Yoongi’s words should scare you. Instead, you feel a wave of rightfulness settle in your bones. It’s a deep feeling, like a bottomless ocean. Both full of unknown things that scare you but also a calming comfort you can float adrift in.

Namjoon rights himself, absently brushing his hands over his suit jacket. “Don’t be so touchy, Yoongi.” That predatory gleam replaces the humor with his next words. “Best tighten that leash before you find your bitch snatched up by a new owner.” He shoves open the bathroom door and disappears down the hall without a backward glance.

“Are you okay?” Yoongi turns to you, cupping your cheeks in his hands. “What am I saying? Of course you’re not okay. Fucking bastard,” he curses, trailing his hands down your neck, checking to see what damage has been done.

“Can we go home?” you whisper, choking back the sob lodged in your throat.

Yoongi wraps an arm around you, helping you down off the sink. “Of course. Of course, we can.”

You don’t even say goodbye to anyone, Yoongi simply walks you out the front door where Wenton is leaning against the front of the SUV scrolling through his phone. Wenton doesn’t ask any questions, just pockets his phone and opens the back door for you and Yoongi. Thirty minutes later, you’re dressed down in a tank top and under the duvet in bed. Yoongi lays next to you on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

“Thank you.” You reach out and run your fingers over his bare shoulder.

He turns his head, his eyes meeting yours. His brow is pinched, lips a thin line. “You shouldn’t have to thank me, it shouldn’t have happened to begin with. I should have known as soon as Father asked me to retrieve something from his office and you were still gone to the restroom that Namjoon would take the opportunity to pounce. I’m so fucking sorry.”

You shake your head. “I shouldn’t have run away at dinner as I did, it was stupid to have even put myself in a position like that.”

“What did he do, exactly? What made you need to step away?”

A breath leaves you in a huff as you think back to dinner. “I don’t even know if it was so much Namjoon. I mean, yes, he put his hand on my knee under the table and that sent me over the edge. But, the whole night seemed like one big game of cat and mouse. Those Russians, are they actually that brutish and pig-like? Their manners…or lack of, just everything put me so off-kilter. Not to mention I may have been internally freaking out about how we were in the hearth room. I didn’t mean to be so intimate like that, so close. I didn’t even consider what it would do to Namjoon, to see us acting like a perfectly normal married couple.” The words finally taper off, your flood of emotions having fueled the deluge of thoughts aloud.

“Namjoon is a problem we’ll take care of, a problem we’re working to solve. It shouldn’t be much longer until we find some information we can use, the information we need. In the meantime, I have a plan B in the works that would take us away from here even if we don’t find what we need to get him off our backs. We can just disappear. It won’t be easy, nor fun in the beginning, but it could work. As for the Russians,” he grimaces, “it was all a show. They wanted to push buttons, be as disruptive as possible to see how Father would react. They were nothing like that in Warsaw. Everything is just a play for power, seeing who will break first.”

That’s what scares you, though. Breaking first. 💔💔💔

It’s one night, several months later, that you finally see the first bit of light at the end of the tunnel. You’re cross-referencing some of the notes you’ve been making from the accounts and logs Yoongi provided you with. He’s sitting beside you at the dining table, working on his own spreadsheet of numbers, something for the offshore accounts he’s set up in case of plan B.

“Marcus Kingston, you know that name, right?” you ask Yoongi, tapping your green highlighter against the list of transactions you’re looking at.

“Marcus Kingston, like ‘Kingston & Ruso’, Marcus Kingston? He’s Father’s criminal defense attorney. Why?” He pauses in his work, bringing his attention to you. Yoongi’s dark eyes are accentuated behind his black-framed glasses, an accessory you secretly love seeing him wear. He’s gotten a haircut in the last six months, but it’s still long enough to brush the collar of his t-shirt. It’s rare to see him out of a suit, but you have a special place in your mind where you file away images of him in casual wear like he is now. The black sweatpants and white t-shirt shouldn’t be as attractive as they are. For that matter, Yoongi himself should be one of the last people you find yourself pining after…but, life has a funny way with things like that sometimes. You could blame the forced proximity on the way your feelings for him have kindled over the months, but you’re done lying to yourself…mostly.

You clear your throat, bringing your attention away from the way his hair slightly curls around his ears and back to the datasheet. “I almost missed it, and it might honestly be nothing, but there is an account transaction here that seems a little weird.” You angle the paper so Yoongi can see where you’re pointing. “I’m cross-referencing the transactions, accounting for repeat charges. Here, Kingston & Ruso, charges for the embezzlement case from a few years ago. I’ve traced the same type of transactions back over the entire eight years you’ve had me looking into. But, there is one here,” you grab the other paper you were using to reference, “these are transactions from just over seven years ago. Five of them. I thought it was the same, Kingston & Ruso, but it’s Kingston Co. IS. It’s different.”

“Huh.” Yoongi pulls the papers closer, his finger sliding down the papers and stopping at each transaction you highlighted. “Kingston Co. IS, that’s weird.” He turns to his laptop, pulling up a private web browser. Yoongi has the entire house outfitted with what you consider secret network spy things. An entire internet server that he controls, no way outside sources can get in, or so he assures you. In a few keystrokes, search results are scrolling on the screen. “Kingston Co. IS, looks like Marcus Kingston also has his own investigative services company.”

“Like a P.I.?” you ask. “Someone who digs up dirt or follows people around, catching cheating spouses and shit like that?”

The words are out of your mouth before you even connect the dots with what they could truly mean. Yoongi glances at you and you can see the cogs turning in his eyes, the thoughts tumbling around while he mulls over what you just said.

“Yeah, exactly like that,” he finally says. “You don’t think…it couldn’t possibly be…” His words trail off, not wanting to complete those questions aloud.

It’s definitely a probability you want to latch on to. If The Hitman was using Kingston to investigate Netty, if The Hitman found out about her and your father…well. “Yoongi, I’m going to ask you a very hard question and you need to really think about it and give me a straight answer, okay?”

You can see the way his shoulders tense like he’s readying himself for a blow. “Okay.”

“Your father said your mother’s death was an accident, right?”

It has the effect you knew it would. Yoongi’s features cloud over, a thundercloud rolling in that crackles with lightning. “Are you actually insinuating…,” the heat in his words dies abruptly. “My father,” he states simply, his tone devoid of all emotion. “We didn’t see the body…just the blood. A fall down the stairs, he said it was an accident. Too much blood for an accident,” he mutters that last part, squeezing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “But, Namjoon found the suicide note in Tokyo, that’s not something that could just be explained away as an accident.”

“Yoongi,” you place a hand on his shoulder, hoping to ease the next words out of your mouth, “suicide notes can be coerced, written under duress or threat. We can’t rule anything out at this point, especially with this.” You gesture with your other hand to the account sheets in front of him.

“You’re right,” he concedes. “You’re seeing this much more clearly than I am.” Much to your dismay, you feel the tremble of his shoulder under your hand and can hear the choked emotion in his admission. He really did love his mom and this potential is like a swift kick in the gut.

“Come on, let’s go lay down, we can look more at this tomorrow when we’ve both got fresh eyes.” You stand from the table, pulling him up with you and leading him down the hall into the master bedroom.

Yoongi doesn't protest when you tug off his shirt and push down his sweatpants, leaving him only in a pair of tight black boxer briefs. Being nearly naked around one another has become part of the routine. You don't mind it, if anything you sometimes find yourself admiring his body. Despite the plethora of scars covering his body and the defined muscles, there is still a softness to his edges that gives you hope you won't be cut too deeply by him in the end.

Maybe it's this realization that leads you to do what you did next. But, you suddenly find yourself pressing your lips to his. He doesn't react at first, still caught up in his own thoughts. Though, as soon as he realizes what you're doing he jerks back like you've slapped him. "That...that was," his hand flies up to his mouth, fingers pressing where your lips just were.

Our first kiss. Your mind fills in the words he doesn't speak. Weird, right? In all the years you've been here, in the months you've been married, even including your wedding day, not a single time have you ever kissed each other on the mouth. It seemed far too intimate, too personal and like it would be a step in the wrong direction.

"I'm sorry!" You fumble back a step, hands clenching into your shirt. "I wasn't, that didn't, I shouldn't ha-." You don't get to finish your apology or explanation. Yoongi steps forward and presses his lips to yours so fiercely that it steals your breath. For a moment you're still on the verge of panicking but the sure movements of his lips working against yours melts any remaining uncertainty. He wants this just as much as you do.

Your hands are everywhere. They map across his chest, back, up his neck, and through his hair. His body responds to each sweep of your hands, small pleasured grunts muffling against your lips. Yoongi is a little more hesitant in his exploration of your body. His touches are light and feathered, like he's worried it might be too much and that he's crossing a line.

His lips taste faintly of the whiskey he had earlier. It's an earthy, spicy flavor that has you seeking more, probing the seam of his lips with your tongue. Yoongi's lips part for you, welcoming the slide of your tongue against his. Goosebumps break out along your sides as his hands slip under the hem of your shirt and slide along your ribs. "Is this okay?" he asks, his tongue leaving yours to help form the words against your lips.

"Mhm," you hum, capturing his tongue with your teeth and pulling it between your lips again.

This is a different kind of dance that you find yourself falling into rhythm with. Previously, it had always been about the step-by-step orchestration of well-placed sways and stiff dips. A parody of intimacy with a mask of hate you both shared. The mask has been slipping, proven all the more by the small misstep at dinner with the Russians all those months ago. Your dance is no longer a blunder of uncertainty. Now, it's all fluid motion filled with an intensity that radiates through your entire form.

Yoongi breaks away from the kiss, sucking in deep breaths of air. His fingers dig into the skin of your hips as he tries to put a little space between your bodies. With one of your hands buried in his hair, he doesn't get very far. "Let's slow down," he pants. "I don't want you to think that this is...I'm not taking advantage of you. Don't feel obligated, please." You can see the uncertainty warring on his face. It's prominent in the pinch of his brow and how he tongues the corner of his mouth. You watch the tip of his tongue slide along the crease of his kiss-swollen lips, awestruck by the fact you've waited so long to actually kiss him.

"I don't feel obligated," you blurt, snapping your eyes up to his and away from his hypnotic tongue. "I-I'm the one that kissed you."

His brow smooths out slowly, the corner of his mouth tugging up slightly. "You did."

"If you're not certain about this," you begin, retracting your hand from his hair and letting it fall to his shoulder instead, "it's okay, I understand. Things are...weird, and I get it. We can both walk away now and promise it won't change anything. We'll still be in this together, regardless if we're all in or not."

The look in his eyes softens, like melted chocolate on a warm day. "I've been certain about this for a long time," he confesses. "A very, very long time." The distance between you diminishes, his lips brush against yours once, twice, a third time. "I want to be all in."

"I want that, too."

There should be some sort of self-restraint award given for how patient you are. As much as you want to rip off all of your clothes and jump him, you let Yoongi take his time in undressing you. His hands are still gentle, the rough calluses on his palms are soothing in their own way. You've never really paid attention to just how masculine his hands are. Prominent knuckles with just a dusting of hair, slender fingers with blunt tips and trimmed nails, palms that could easily cover your entire face or wrap around your throat with ease...not that you're thinking about either of those things.

Your clothes form a pile beside you, until you're standing there in even less than Yoongi. This is quickly rectified when you slip your thumbs into the waistband of his boxer briefs and push them down his thighs. They could just drop, once you have them to his knees, to puddle around his feet. But, you follow them down all the way, finding yourself on your knees before him, helping him step out of them and adding them to the pile.

"If you put your lips around my dick, I don't know how long I can last," he warns, watching you eye the bobbing length of it. Sweat is beading at his temples, his thighs trembling under your hands where they rest against him for support.

It's nice to see him a little unhinged, out of control. It's even better knowing you're the one making him that way. The sexual chemistry has always been undeniable between the two of you. The swap in power, however, is completely new. Previously, Yoongi has been the one in charge, whether it was the blowjob behind the garden shed or the intense manhandling on the patio at your reception dinner. Now, though, you have the power. With just a slow flick of your tongue, you have him gasping and jerking in your hold. It feels good. Really good.

You chuckle, letting the huffs of your breath play over his glistening cockhead. "That's okay, as long as you're up for a round two." Sliding a hand across his thigh, you slip your fingers around his base with a light squeeze.

"Fuck, woman, you can't say shit like that unless you really are looking to get a mouthful," he groans, his hips jerking in your hold again. "I'm not kidding, it's been years since I’ve had a female in my bed and jerking off can only do so much for a guy."

Years? You glance up at him through your lashes. Surely he has been laid sometime over the last few years, it's not like you expected him to be virtuous. That's just part of the lifestyle you're married to, it's par for the course with these kinds of men. Though, you have come to learn Yoongi isn't exactly like most mafia types.

"Yoongi, how long has it been?" you're asking before you can think better of it, not truly wanting to know the answer you realize.

He puffs out his cheeks. "Uh, well, I don't know. If you don’t count what we’ve done…since I was a teenager I guess?"

That...that surprises you. But, it also makes you feel something flutter low in your belly. "Really? All this time, you've never...with someone else?"

"Never. It didn't feel right, regardless of what might have been expected of me," he explains, his lips twisting to the side a little.

You let that simmer for a minute, really sink in. Years. It's been years. "Tell me what you like," you offer, giving his cock another slow flick of your tongue. It had gone half-hard with the awkwardness of the conversation, but quickly fills back out with your attention.

"What I like?" he groans, slipping a hand into your hair. "I-well, I don't know."

You take him into your mouth, savoring the feel of his velvety skin sliding along your tongue. Pulling back, he pops from between your lips with a satisfying sound. "What kind of porn do you watch?" you question before taking him into your mouth again, swirling your tongue along the crown before letting him slide deeper.

"Uh," a small moan emits from him instead of words. He swallows hard, eyes glued to where he disappears between your lips. "Cum. Um, I like cum p-play. Creampies, er, breeding. Maybe, uh," he pauses to suck in a stuttering breath, "biting, ropes...and," he mutters a word you don't catch.

Hollowing out your cheeks you suck as you slowly pull off him again. The salty punch of his precum coats your tongue, a pungent yet not unpleasant taste. "What was that last part?" you ask, working him over with your hand a few times, watching as more clear viscous liquid gathers at the tip of his length.

"Knives," he grunts out in a rush, hips canting forward as you rub your thumb over the crown of his cock, smearing the beaded moisture there.

All the attention you're giving him has an ache of your own settling between your thighs. Who would have known that power makes you hot under the skin? "We can try those things, if you want."

"What? Really?"

You place a soft kiss on his crown. "Sure. I just have one request," you say as you stand up, hand still wrapped around him moving in lazy strokes.

"Anything," he pants. "Anything you want, it's yours."

"If at any point I want to stop, we stop. No questions asked, you stop and it's done." He looks at you like you're crazy, because of course he'd stop. "That's not my request, just a prelude statement. What I want is...for you to not hold back. Don't treat me like I'm going to break. I want this to be real, as real as it can get. I want to see what's under your mask, I want to see who you really are. Deal?"

Yoongi's expression is somber, a delicate mix of serious and tender. "I can do that for you. But, I won't hurt you, not like...before. This is different, I only want to bring you pleasure."

"There can be pleasure in pain," you murmur before pressing your lips to his.

He walks you backward until the backs of your thighs hit the edge of the mattress. Your lips never lose connection, they don't stop working in tandem with his. Yoongi follows you up the bed, only stopping when you're comfortable in the middle of the large space. "Let me worship you," he says with a groan. His hands cover your body, being just as delicate as before but with a renewed sense of certainty. With the right amount of tongue and teeth, he trails open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, neck, and over your collarbone.

"Oh," you gasp. Electric shocks rock through your body as Yoongi's tongue swirls around one of your nipples. "Oh, wow." Your back arches off the mattress, pushing your breast further into his mouth. It's like your nipple is connected directly to the apex between your thighs. He moves his head and gives the same attention to your other nipple, eliciting a startling moan from you when the sensation travels down your spine and right into your clit.

Teeth press into your sensitive skin as Yoongi bites down softly. One of your hands grips the long strands of his hair, pressing him more firmly against you. He growls in response, sinking his teeth into your flesh with more vigor. You cry out, but the sharp pain ebbs as he laves his tongue over the wreath of marks left behind by his teeth. "I could play with your tits all night. They're perfect and they hold my bite marks so well." His praise is accompanied by another, shorter, nip to your other breast.

The blunt tips of his fingers take over when his lips leave to trail down your stomach. They pinch and tweak, rolling your pebbled peaks with just the right amount of pain to elicit the pleasure surge down your spine again. You're just tilting your head up to look down at him, watching his descent down your body, when your head snaps back as he presses an open-mouthed kiss right on your already aching clit. "Holy fucking hell," you bite back a further spiel of curses, catching your bottom lip between your teeth instead, as he delves between your folds with his tongue. "That should be illegal." The words come out from between your teeth, barely coherent.

It's an entirely new sensation, Yoongi's mouth exploring every inch between your thighs. He has you keening, gripping the bed sheets, and flexing muscles you didn't know you had. Between one hand continuing to fondle your breast and the other sneaking below his chin to tease your weeping entrance, along with his tongue and lips and their never-ending assault on your clit, you quickly find yourself on the verge of a sweltering orgasm.

"You're doing so good," he utters against you, the vibrations of his voice like another jolt to your system. "I can feel the way your body is tensing, just let go, cum for me."

And, so you do. It's like a too-tight guitar string snapping. You're wound so tight the first wave feels like a tsunami crashing into shore, devastating all in its path. "Fuck me!" you cry out, eyes squeezed shut so tight that pops of color dance behind your lids. Yoongi doesn't relent, he continues flicking, licking, and sucking as your body washes through another cresting wave. You're faintly aware of the obscenely wet sounds coming from between your thighs, but you're too high to really care.

Your body trembles as you finally begin the wind-down, jerking from the overstimulation coming from Yoongi's mouth still latched onto your swollen clit. You give a tug on his hair, eyes catching his and pleading for peace as your hips try to shy away from him. Finally, with one last flat-tongued lick he pulls away. The entire lower half of his face glistens in the low light of the bedroom. "Did you enjoy that?" he asks, a coy grin curling his reddened lips.

"We'll definitely be doing that again," you pant, tugging his hair again to try and get him to move up and over you. "I think...I think I want something else now, though." You give him a pointed look as he follows your lead, allowing you to guide him until his hips are nestled between your spread thighs. There is no mistaking the throbbing length of his erection now pressed firmly against you. The thick shaft nestles between your slick lips and presses into your still aching clit.

"Are you sure about this?" There is a small crease between his brows, his eyes flicking back and forth between yours, looking for any sign that things have gone too far.

You smooth a thumb between his brows, smiling as the crease disappears. "I'm sure. This is my choice and I want this with you...if you want me, too."

He rests on his elbows, his large hands coming up to cup along your jaw. "I do want you. More than anything." You can see the truth in his eyes, plainly written right before you. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something more but you see the indecision flash through those truth-filled eyes before he snaps his mouth shut and presses his lips to yours.

It starts out slow, Yoongi moving his body against yours. Just the slide of his cock along your folds has you panting for more, seeking a rougher play of your tongue with his. You take out your frustrations on his lips, biting and sucking them, but he doesn't give in just yet. "Please, Yoongi," you breathe against his lips. "I want you. Please."

Maybe you should have resorted to begging sooner. It seems to break his resolve. He snakes a hand between your sweat-slick bodies to take a firm hold on his cock. "I'll go slow, tell me to stop if you need to," he instructs between your frantic, wet kisses.

"Just shut up and fu-." Your demand cuts off in a strangled, garbled moan as he notches his cock against your entrance and begins to push in. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," you sputter out soft pleas with each additional inch.

There is strain on Yoongi's face, his lips gone slack. Neither of you deigns to worry about kissing right now. "This might hurt," he grunts, his hips catching slightly with resistance. There is a pinch followed by a bloom of heat and pain that lances straight into your lower belly. "Are you okay?" he asks, eyes wide and searching your face.

"Fine," you manage to sound halfway believable. "Just keep going. It'll feel better if you keep going, right?" His hips start to retreat for a moment before your fingers dig into the meat of his ass and keep him from pulling out. "I won't break. Remember what I want."

His mouth descends on yours again. A frenzy of distraction as he pushes further in, easing his way until he's finally sheathed to the hilt. His body is warm against yours. Slowly, the pain recedes and you're left with an indescribably full feeling. Then he begins to withdraw, bringing back the faintest whisper of pain that's dwarfed by a zing of pleasure when one of his thumbs finds your clit.

"You're so beautiful," Yoongi whispers, breaking away from the kiss to stare down at you. He leans back, holding himself up with one of his hands pressed to the bed beside your face. "The way your body rolls with mine," his eyes dip lower, "the way your tits bounce every time I fuck my cock into you. Look at you, taking me like you were made for it." His eyes continue down your body, finally locking on where he's sinking into you over and over.

You follow his gaze, mesmerized by the way his hips move, barely registering how your hips bump up to meet him on each thrust. There is no more pain, your body feeling nothing but a cresting pleasure. The insistent attention from his thumb against your bundle of nerves, the way his cockhead rubs against a spot inside just right, has you barreling toward another dive into the abyss.

"I'm going to cum," you whimper, hands sliding up his back and digging into the muscles of his shoulders. His name leaves your lips with a shuddering moan that you feel all the way down to your toes as they curl against the sheets.

Yoongi grinds his hips against yours, working himself against your sensitive inner walls that pulse around him. "That's it, princess, you're such a good girl." His words are another drip of serotonin, straight to your cerebral cortex.

You make a pleased sound in the back of your throat, what's sure to be a dopey smile plastered on your face. "That was...wow." Little shock waves still ripple through your body as Yoongi continues a sensual roll of his hips. "We'll add that to the do-again-list, too."

He chuckles, nuzzles against your neck and places a kiss below your ear. "I can support that." His hips slow to a stop, still pressed firmly against you. "Still up for being a little daring?"

"Anything, as long as you make me cum like that again." You can't believe you just said that. It's far too bold a statement coming from you. There were chinks in your armor before, but now you feel wholly exposed, no armor to speak of at all. It's exhilarating...freeing.

You groan as Yoongi slides out of you, sitting back on his heels. This gives you your first full view of his slick erection as it slaps messily against his stomach, leaving smears of your arousal across the subtle plane of his abs. It's a wonder how it even fit inside. "Like what you see?" His question is full of cocky snark, having caught you staring.

"So what if I do? You are my husband, I should be allowed to admire what's mine." There is just a bit of sass to your reply that makes his grin pull wider.

"Yours, hmm? Yeah, I guess I am," he concedes with a wink. "Keep that in mind with what we're about to do next."

Needless to say, you're thoroughly curious now. Yoongi shifts on the bed, reaching over to his bedside table and pulling open the drawer. When he leans back, settling between your thighs once more, he has two objects in his hand. One, the same pocket knife he had at the cabin, and the other, a discarded tie he must have grabbed from the floor beside the bed.

With a short intake of breath, you decide to throw all inhibitions and doubt out the window. You truly do trust Yoongi. "Do your worst," you challenge, holding your hands up in surrender.

For the first time since you entered the bedroom, you see bold lust shining in his eyes. His touch is no longer delicate or soft. Instead, it burns with passion and unrestrained need. He gathers your wrists in one hand, his large palms easily keeping them pinched together. With his other hand, he begins to wrap the purple silk tie, weaving it intricately between your forearms until both of your wrists are confined side by side.

He pushes your arms above your head, firmly planting your hands against the pillows. "Keep these here or you'll be punished."

You raise an eyebrow at that, wondering what sort of punishment you might incur if you disobey him. For a moment, you're thrust back to a year ago. The flicker of a monster that isn't a monster flashes before you. But, no, this Yoongi isn't like that. This might be a different side of him, but it's nothing like it was then. He's a safe space. You're safe.

Your momentary inner turmoil must go unnoticed, Yoongi's attention focused on extruding the blade of his pocket knife. "It's the same one," you muse, your words finally drawing his attention.

"It was a gift from my mother, the first and last gift I ever received...until I got you," he adds with a soft smile. "I won't use it if you really don't want me to," he whispers, his eyes flicking between the tip of the knife and your face.

That knife signifies more than just a kink for you. It's a turning point in your relationship with Yoongi. A reminder of what happened at the cabin, what he was willing to do to ensure your safety from a monster you weren't even aware was lurking in the dark waiting to pounce on you.

Before you realize what you're doing, your hands are lifting from the pillow, intent on touching him to soothe any worries. His eyebrows snap up in surprise before he tugs his bottom lip between his teeth. "Ah ah, what are you doing? Already disobeying me it seems."

Your hands instantly drop back to the pillow, your brow furrowing and your lips pouting slightly. "That's not fair, I was only going to try and comfort you. Let you know it was okay to use the knife...that I want it."

With your words, his cock bobs against his stomach and his pupils blow even wider if that's possible. "I'm still going to have to punish you, princess." A flick of his wrist brings the knife point down, aimed right at your right breast. "Have you ever thought about getting these pierced?" he questions softly, grazing the tight bud of your nipple with the tip of the blade. It's not enough to hurt, but the sensation has you mewling all the same.

"W-would you like that?" you ask in turn, watching as he maneuvers the blade and glides it over your other nipple.

One of his shoulders kicks up in a nonchalant way. "Maybe." He presses the knife flat along your ribs, the hilt resting on your hip and the point barely a whisper against the underside of your breast as it heaves with your panting breaths. Yoongi shifts forward on his knees, pressing his thighs to the backsides of yours. His free hand comes up between your thighs, fingers trailing through your still-wet folds. "I'm going to fuck you again now and I won't be gentle about it." His eyes bore into yours. "This is my pussy," he accentuates his words with a quick slap against your now throbbing clit.

"Holy fuck," you wheeze, catching yourself before your hands lift off the pillow again.

All it takes is a shift of his hips and he's sliding back in. There is a slight intrusive pain with the stretch, but it's quickly replaced with a burning ache from how fast and hard his hips are pistoning forward. Your whole body rocks with each thrust, the air siphoned right from your lungs as it escapes in a cascade of moans.

His gaze is zeroed in on the knife and how it presses into your skin. You can feel the cool metal and smooth bone hilt with stark clarity, hyper-aware of how close the underside of your breast comes to the sharp point each time your body bounces. Yoongi's other hand grips your hip, holding you in place so you don't slide away with his relentless pounding.

The knife begins to migrate, moving slowly up through the valley between your breasts until it rests just in the hollow of your throat. You can feel the way your heart hammers against your ribcage, like it's frantic to get away from the glinting blade. "Your skin looks so good under my blade," he murmurs, the praise hooked with a groan. "So soft, so delicate...so easy to bleed. Fuck." The curse is a growl as he snaps his hips forward and grinds against you before pulling back just to snap forward again. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this, wanted you." The knife clatters to the floor, Yoongi having tossed it to the side. "I've needed you, needed this," his words continue to tumble out as he drops his body down against yours, arms sliding under you to hold you to him. His hips still work relentlessly, achieving a deeper stroke from this angle. In just a few thrusts, you're riding the edge of another orgasm.

"It feels so good," you whine, undulating your hips in time with his, seeking the release your body so readily craves.

Yoongi moans into your chest, pressing his sweaty forehead to your shoulder. "God, I fucking...fuck me, princess, I fucking love you."

His confession rolls through you, his own tsunami that batters against your desolate shore. It's torrential, the resulting explosion. You feel the instant surge of warmth as Yoongi begins to cum, followed by the aching pulse of your own release as if greedily sucking him in.

You both lay there for a long time. Content to just bask in the afterglow, heedless of the mess oozing from around Yoongi as he slowly softens inside you. He doesn't withdraw, just gathers you in his arms and rolls to his side. His arms cradle you against his chest, your legs intertwined with his.

You fall asleep like this, a mess of fluids and emotions. It's tempting to question him, to find out if that was a confession fueled by the passion of the moment or if it was a statement of fact. Either way, you're not sure you want to know the answer...not sure you could survive the answer. Because, in the end, you don't know if you'll get to keep him. And that's what you're now realizing you really want. Him, just him. 💔💔💔

In the morning, you're both back at the dining table. Thoughts of last night are put on the back burner for now. Yoongi has a special program pulled up, attempting to hack into Marcus Kingston's company databases. When you asked him if he was trying to dig into the investigative services company, he casually informed you he was actually going for both. He wants access to his attorney files just as much as he wants access to the investigation side.

"Isn't that illegal?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. "Like, super illegal...hacking into court documents, lawyer-client privacy and all that?"

He just laughs. "You realize all of this is illegal, right? Everything I do is...well, mostly."

Fair point. Sometimes it's hard to see the world through a lens that isn't inherently morally gray any longer. The sense between right and wrong has been skewed over the years of living with a literal organized crime syndicate. Granted, you don't get to see much of it firsthand, but you don't need to in order to know what happens. During your time at the estate, you were subjected to more blood-curdling screams and gunfire than any typical action or horror movie contained. You suppose you've become desensitized to it. Well, with the exception of the occasional time Yoongi comes home with a new stab or bullet wound. Warsaw was only the first over the last six months. He works regularly for his father, coming home battered and bruised just as much as not.

"So, how long will this take? Are you looking for anything in particular?" Decaf coffee might seem counterproductive to most, but Yoongi enjoys it and it's been growing on you. You take a tentative sip of the hot liquid, relishing the bloom of the slightly sweet coffee creamer on your tongue. He drinks it black, which is fine, just not for you.

He nods to his cup when you hold up the decanter sitting on the table after setting your own cup back down. "Think of it like pressing control F on a keyboard, I'm just searching through the files using keywords. Anything that's triggered will be grabbed and put into a file for me," he explains as you pour him more coffee.

"Wait, searching, as in actively? You're already in?"

He chuckles, giving you a warm smile that crinkles his eyes behind his glasses. "Don't be too impressed. Kingston is an idiot, his firewall infrastructure was just begging for me to tear it down. I was able to slip in completely undetected. We should have enough data to start reviewing in maybe an hour or so, I imagine."

You're still a bit bewildered over the whole thing, watching Yoongi expertly handle his technology. "How did you manage all of this anyway? The network, the ability to hack," you ask, exaggerating the last word in a stage whisper.

His lips purse out. He rolls them between his teeth before they pop back out with an audible sound. "Well, this isn't exactly the life I wanted for myself, all things considered. When I was adopted from Mathers Home For Boys, I thought maybe the biggest obstacle I'd face was whether I wanted a golden retriever or a cocker spaniel to run around in the white picket fence I surely thought Netty and The Hitman had." A lopsided grin tugs his lips to the side, the movement catching your eye and for a moment you're sucked back into last night. Your first real kiss. "But, as we both know, that wasn't the case." You're pulled from the memory as he continues, "When I realized what was in store for me, I decided I needed to start making an escape plan. Now, that's not exactly something that can just happen overnight. I had to be smart about it, I learned the ways of my father and then used them against him."

"Used them against him?" you question when he pauses.

Yoongi taps a few keys on his keyboard before turning back to you. "His mannerisms, the nuisances and tics for how he operates business. I needed to know what he would notice, how much attention he paid to me, and whether I could get away with doing something behind his back. So, after a few years, I finally had what I needed and started building my escape arsenal." He shrugs like what he's about to say is no big deal. "In order to escape, I knew I'd probably have to disappear...completely. Die without dying, y'know? Become a ghost. I needed a way to make that happen. The easiest way for someone to disappear is through technology. We're such a connected world, that it's impossible to not be somewhere online...even if it's not of your own volition. Maybe you've been caught on a security camera somewhere, or are in the background of a random selfie you didn't know was being taken. Either way, unless you live in the middle of nowhere, it's improbable that you're not somewhere online, which means you can be found using the right kind of means."

"You make all that sound so much scarier than I would imagine it being," you joke, but a part of you feels a bit uneasy about it. It has you thinking about the possibilities. You know you're online, your now deactivated social media pages are proof enough. But, the other parts, the small details...background images, security cameras, those aren't things you think anyone thinks about really.

Yoongi smiles. He reaches up and smooths a thumb over lip where you didn't realize it was caught between your teeth. "Don't worry. That's what all of this is for," he gestures to the computer setup, "I can make both of us disappear with just a few clicks of my mouse."

"Really? That easy?" Your heart pounds a little at the possibility. It suddenly morphs into an idea. Why not do that now? Why waste time trying to placate Namjoon and squirrel yourselves into positions that are uncomfortable?

A snorted laugh disrupts the tumble of your questioning thoughts. "No. It's not really that simple. I know what you're thinking, trust me, if I could click away our worries like that I would have done it long ago." His expression turns serious, the humor fading from his eyes. "When I say die without dying, I mean it. We'd both be dead to the world, but it also means staying dead...for the rest of our lives. We wouldn't be able to live normal lives, we couldn't have friends over for cocktails and a barbecue. No dog in the backyard, probably not even a kid to dote on...we'd be off the grid, remote. Even then, we'd have to be self-sufficient to the point of near madness. That's not a life I would thrust upon you unless it was the absolute last, and I mean last, option."

More things you hadn't considered. Of course that's how life would have to be. The Hitman, you know, has connections worldwide. Deep connections that span further into more minuscule networks than you can even fathom. Being an organized crime boss doesn't just afford one a life of luxury, it also comes with the power of knowledge. Which is far more useful of a weapon than any munition could ever hope to be.

You mull this over, finally seeing a little bit behind the veil Yoongi has constructed. He's smart, smarter than you think you'd given him credit for. He's thought of everything. "So, last option. If it comes to that, though, how will I know? What will happen?"

"If that happens. We run. I won't go into the details right now, it's better you don't know...just in case." Yoongi turns in his seat, fully facing you now. His hands reach for yours, encasing them within his warm palms. "I don't want to ever have to resort to that, but I will if it means saving your life."

It doesn't go unnoticed to you that he doesn't include his life in that statement. Just yours. As if you might run away together, but it's possible only you make it to the end with your life still intact. It's a haunting feeling, the way that thought tugs at your heart. You don't like it.

"What's that?" Your attention is snagged by a flashing box on Yoongi's computer screen.

He turns to look at what's caught your eye. "Oh! Results," he says, snagging his mouse and double-clicking the box.

A multitude of thumbnails pop up, dozens of files ready to be viewed. "What keywords did you use, exactly?" you wonder aloud as you shift closer so you can see the screen better.

"Names, locations, and dates that correlate with the transactions you found." All of the thumbnails are titled with a sequence of numbers and letters, seemingly random. "I might be able to narrow it down, let's look at any files that contain both your father's name and Netty's."

He inputs the search requirements and a few of the documents separate from the rest. This could be another pivotal moment. These files could very well contain extremely sensitive pieces of information that might just sucker punch the both of you.

The mouse icon hovers over the first file. Yoongi glances at you, his eyebrows raising slightly. "Go ahead. Whatever we find, we'll be okay." Despite the nervous smile that curves his lips, he nods and double clicks.

Pivotal is one way to describe it. Each additional file Yoongi opens is like another slice to an already fresh wound. There are countless photos, evidence of your father having a sordid affair with Netty. What hurts the most, though, are the scattering of pictures where you can see your mother in the background, seemingly completely oblivious to your father with his lips locked to Netty's behind a large potted plant in an alcove. You recognize the restaurant and even the dress your mother is wearing. Their twentieth wedding anniversary. You can even see the back of your own head, seated across the table from your mother. The shot is a little blurry, obviously taken from somewhere across the restaurant and at a somewhat bad angle. But, to you, it couldn't be clearer- Marcus Kingston was hired by The Hitman to gather proof of his wife's unfaithfulness.

This revelation puts Yoongi in a sour mood. His brow is pinched, the clicks he administers to the mouse have increasingly become angrier. But what really obliterates the atmosphere is what you find in the very last file. Oddly enough, it's not titled with a mix of letters and numbers. Instead, it has a single word for the name. Erpressung.

It's a copy of a transaction receipt, for services rendered. The emblem for PD Shipments, one of The Hitman's fronts, sits at the top middle of the page, a little distorted, leading you to believe this is a scanned copy of the original document. He couldn't come out and plainly itemize a hired hit, so the lines are vague but allusive enough you can connect the dots. Things like 'cultivation survey', 'Death Valley design unit', and 'waste disposal' make a short but chilling invoice list. It looks like a standard, if a little unusual, bill that someone might incur for 'services'. In this instance, the invoice is addressed to Ruso Industrial Landscaping Services.

"This is dated for two days before mom died," Yoongi whispers, eyes locked on the open file still on his screen. "Ruso. It can't be a coincidence."

"What does 'erpressung' mean?" you ask, pointing to the file name at the top of the document window.

A moment later, Yoongi has a search up. The results indicate it's the German word for extortion. "Marcus Kingston really is an idiot. Who actually names a file like that?" Yoongi shakes his head, baffled.

"He might be an idiot, but The Hitman isn't. Even if these items on the invoice look funny, there is nothing here that could possibly be used to prove anything." You huff an indignant breath. "Who would believe us?"

Perhaps it really took a few minutes for it to truly sink in for Yoongi. One moment he's still shaking his head at the ludicrous nature of Marcus Kingston's fallible ways and the next he's stone still. His jaw visibly tightens, hands fisting where they rest on the table. The sudden transformation has you swallowing, a chill breaking out along the back of your neck.

"He did it. He actually did it." The words are empty, emotionless. "I'm going to kill him!" Yoongi's chair topples backward as he rushes to his feet. It clatters loudly on the hardwood floor, barely covering the sound of Yoongi's ragged breaths.

Before he can take more than a few steps from the table, you're latching on to him. "Yoongi, wait, please! This isn't how we need to approach this!"

Your pleas seem to go unheard, that or Yoongi just doesn't care at this point.

"Let go of me," he hisses, trying to wretch his arm from your grasp.

"No, no, no, please! Please, just listen, you need to stop and think for a moment!"

Yoongi manages to drag you to the doorway of the master bedroom. You manage to lock a leg against the doorframe, bodily blocking him from going in. He pushes against your knee, pressing his hip right into the joint. "Get out of my way!"

"I won't," you stress, vehemently. "Calm the fuck down! Get ahold of yourself for fucks sake. You can't just go off the rails and try to murder him!" You shove against his chest, hard. "Don't be like Namjoon, Yoongi. Just fucking don't!" The last part comes out a bit choked, like the words are lodged in your throat.

His eyes snap to yours. Realization slamming home. "Shit. Shit! You're right." He instantly deflates. "I'm sorry, I don't- I don't know what came over me."

"No, I get it," you admit. "Trust me. I get it. It's a lot and you have every right to feel this way." Yoongi lets you pull him into your arms. "Just have to be smart about this. Stick to the plan, right? Do you think Namjoon might...if you show him everything, maybe he'd believe it?"

Yoongi's chest presses against you as he takes in a deep, slow breath. "I hope so...but, there's only one way to find out."

You slip your hand in his, tugging him back toward the dining room. "Let's finish up and organize everything, get our plan straightened out now that we have a little more to go off of."

It's a solid foundation, you think, once everything is laid out before you. There's plenty of evidence, most of it plain and actually believable. The truth hurts, but it also brings a bit of solace for both you and Yoongi.

The plan is now to present the findings to Namjoon, in hopes that his animosities will be put to rest and his anger will turn towards the real culprit for Netty's life being cut short. Bitterness settles in your belly as you wonder whether or not things would have panned out differently had Netty's and your father's relationship not been discovered. Though, there is still the letter in your father's penmanship that was found in the Tokyo apartment. Something you can only assume was either staged by The Hitman as a decoy, a scapegoat in case someone caught wind of something suspicious, or a stark reality in which your father really did break Netty's heart even if he didn't have a direct hand in her death.

Would your father still have signed your life over to this fate? Would your parents still be alive? How does all of this connect and what pieces are you missing? These are all questions you don't have the answers to and may never, in the end. For now, you settle for just making it through the next few weeks as the plans you have with Yoongi fall into place. If you successfully push off Namjoon's attention, Yoongi is certain the inevitable fall-out between him and The Hitman will be distraction enough for you and him to get out in a way that still gives you a bit of a life to live. Yoongi confided in you that he's certain Namjoon won't stop until he puts a bullet in their father's head...which is the perfect time to slip away, in the aftermath as the powers shift and Seokjin takes his place to rule as the eldest. Your confidence in that playing out just the way he sees it is shotty at best, but you trust him...really, you do. 💔💔💔

"Everything is set, I have it all worked out that after Hoseok's wedding next week I'm going to approach Namjoon, give him everything," Yoongi informs you as he buttons up his baby blue dress shirt. "We're so close. A week in Brazil, then I’ll be home for Hoseok's wedding and then, hopefully...you and I are out of here for good."

He catches your eye through the floor-length mirror he's standing in front of, an addition you both agreed on when you redecorated the bedroom. "Are you sure you'll only be in Brazil for a week? Last time you gave me a time frame, it quadrupled."

"Warsaw was an anomaly. Brazil is a sure thing, I'm just going to be meeting with the new donos, no negotiations or new deals, just an introduction. Easy, simple.”

"Easy...sure. Doesn't mean I want you to go, either way."

His eyes light up as he turns and gives you a quick once over. "Worried you might miss me?"

You laugh, rolling your eyes. The last few weeks, or months, really. It's become increasingly harder to not fall victim to Yoongi's charm. He's a totally different person, here in the safety of your home. He's even better than he was in the beginning, when you thought he was nice for buying you gifts and telling you childhood stories. No, this Yoongi is a breath of much-needed fresh air that you struggle every day not to get high on.

"Don't be so cocky. The only thing I'm going to miss is your coffee. I just can't make it like you do." Your bottom lip pokes out to aid in your pout.

Yoongi throws his head back in laughter. "And here I thought you might actually care about me! Devil woman only wants me for my coffee-making skills." The words tease a smile onto your lips.

"In all seriousness, I will miss you. But I'm also just scared, with everything happening so soon...I just don't want something to go wrong."

Strong arms wrap around you, pressing your face into his chest. His subtle, uniquely-his scent invades your senses. It's comforting, right along with the way his body fits against yours. "I'm not allowed to miss Hoseok's wedding, so even if something does come up I won't have a choice but to put whatever it is on hold so I can get back here. Father would willingly cut ties with the entire Comando Vermelho if it was the only way to get me home on time." You feel his lips press into your hair. “I should get going, the flight leaves in two hours.”

“Hurry back,” you whisper, hugging him a bit tighter before releasing him and stepping back.

You follow him to the front door. His even strides take him right to the threshold. For some reason you can’t shake the uneasy feeling unfurling in your stomach. Maybe it’s just this is the first time Yoongi is leaving for an extended period of time since things have progressed to a new level between the two of you. Granted, you haven’t done anything more than enthusiastic kissing and heavy petting over clothing since, but there is still a new, fresh bond there that’s still fragile.

The front door swings open, revealing a blacked-out sedan parked out front. “Where’s Wenton?” you immediately question. That uneasy feeling doubling up on itself.

“He’s staying here, to be my eyes and ears on you,” he explains in a hushed tone so his words don’t carry beyond your little bubble.

Your lips pinch between your teeth as you roll them. “He could still drive you to the airstrip.”

Yoongi glances over his shoulder, your eyes following his when you notice his posture straighten instantly. The driver, a man you don’t recognize, is leaning with his forearms braced over the drivers' side door. He’s wearing dark sunglasses, but you can feel his eyes tracking your every move. “I don’t care what you think,” Yoongi growls, making his voice loud enough, intending for the driver to hear. He’s acting again, putting on a show, you know. “Get your ass inside where you belong.” His attention snaps back to yours, eyes flashing momentarily with regret.

“You’re a real asshole,” you snark back, popping a hip and throwing up a rude gesture in his face.

He takes a menacing step forward, crowding his chest into yours. “You dare to talk to me like that!” Yoongi raises his right hand, palm towards you as if he means to strike you for your insolence. “If I had more time I’d whip you raw, you ungrateful bitch.” His raised hand comes down and fists into your shirt, hauling you up onto your toes. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice so soft you’re more reading his lips than hearing his words. “I know you’ve been thinking about it, I can see it in your eyes when you look at me sometimes. I meant what I said to you that night…I do love you. I don’t expect you to reciprocate, I don’t deserve it. But, I swear, when I come back I’m going to continue to try and prove myself to you.” You’re shoved back a step, stumbling as Yoongi releases your shirt. “Your ass is mine when I get back, mark my words.” His chest rumbles as he growls that threat before promptly turning on his heel and marching toward the waiting car. “What are you waiting for? Get the fuck in the car, I have a plane to catch,” he snaps to the driver who jerks back from his lax position to follow the order.

You close the door with a wave of emotions battering your insides. Regret, anxiety, and anticipation all mix with the faintest bit of happiness. You’re still scared, you’d be a fool not to be, but another piece of the puzzle just fell into place. Yoongi said it again. You’re only a little disappointed that he left before you could say it back and even a bit more that he thinks you don’t want to say it back. But, now more than ever, you’re certain you want to…before it’s too late. 💔💔💔

True to his word, Yoongi arrives home just a week later, the night before Hoseok’s wedding. As with your own, and as much as you could gather from Miriam’s account how hers went, it’ll be simple and short. You’ve been invited, only because you’re now officially part of the family- unlike when Miriam married Seokjin. Alina adamantly refused to let any of The Hitman’s family help her get ready. So, as much as you might have hated it, you’re a little disappointed you don’t get to assist with her hair or makeup. You haven’t seen any of the Russians since the dinner party and you’re quite okay with that, at least. They didn’t exactly have the warmest nor most pleasant demeanors.

“Come on, we’ll be late if we don’t leave soon.” Yoongi waits for you to turn with your back to his front, so he can settle the new amethyst butterfly necklace that he picked up for you in Brazil, around your neck. “You look beautiful. I love you in purple,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose along your exposed shoulder, placing intermittent kisses as he goes. The dress is strapless with flowy, gossamer strips of royal purple and lilac that flutter to just below your knees.

You turn, smiling up at him. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you admit, taking in his black suit jacket, pants, and purple dress shirt to match your dress. “You know, I don’t think I mind so much when we match after all.”

“That’s my girl,” he coos, a wolfish grin splitting his face. “I’ve missed you, a week was too long.” His lips brush yours lightly before he groans and presses them more firmly, desperately. It’s an automatic response now, to open for him, letting his tongue dip between your lips.

When his hands grip your hips and rock you forward against his now evident erection you have to suppress a shudder and pull away, breaking the kiss with a weak exhale. “We don’t have time, we’ll be late.” As if you didn’t just reiterate his earlier statement, you latch your lips back on his for another round of kissing that leaves you even more breathless.

“We’re finishing this later,” he pants, his soft puffs of breath flowing over your now moist and kiss-swollen lips. You’re certain all your dusky mauve lipstick is gone at this point and with the flush your lips are sure to be sporting, you don’t even think you should bother to reapply. "Be sure to keep this covered," Yoongi mumbles, his hand caressing the pistol strapped to the outside of your thigh. The flowing style of the dress isn't just for looks, it also helps conceal the Ruger LC9 nestled in its black holster.

"I hate that I even might need it." Never in your life have you ever thought you'd need a weapon to protect yourself. You like to believe you're not naïve enough to think you'd get through life without some sort of conflict. But, it's just not really one of those things you think about until you're put into the situation to have to think about it. "It's just a wedding...what's the worst that could happen?"

Yoongi makes a grumbling sound in protest. "More than you could ever imagine. Don't forget whose wedding you're attending. It's not just my family, but also the largest Russian crime organization. I can guarantee you everyone in attendance will be armed in some fashion."

It's hard to argue with that, so you just let it go. It's not all that bad being armed, just one of those weird power-dynamic kinds of situations. Checking one last time to make sure the sway of your dress still conceals the weapon, you sigh and say, "Let's go, best get on with it before we're late."

Just as you surmised, it's a small affair. Only slightly larger than your own wedding by three attendees; Ivan, Leonid, and Dasha. Wenton's place is taken by Hoseok's assistant, Morris, but everything else is the same. Alina's color choice reflects in the bouquets and flower arrangements. They showcase blood red roses and gold filigree accents. It's all a bit garish, made more so by her gown. It's a monstrously huge, puffy metallic gold-colored thing that puts a good three feet between her and Hoseok as they stand in the gazebo.

Dasha is dressed no less cringy. Her own dress is lime green with yellow trim, a slip dress with slits up to her radical hip bones that tug the fabric in a skeletal way that you find a bit concerning. She looks to have lost an extreme amount of weight since the last you saw her. You don't have much chance to ponder her current living conditions, as the ceremony draws to a close and everyone disperses. There is no after-party, no one lingers to congratulate the newly wedded couple. Hoseok makes a beeline for the garage while Alina begins to throw a bit of a tantrum, yelling at her father in Russian.

You follow Yoongi inside, hoping he'll lead you out the front door to where Wenton should still be waiting with the SUV. Your heart kickstarts into a gallop as The Hitman calls for Yoongi to meet him in his office, now.

"It should only be a minute. You can wait right here for me or go ahead out to the car with Wenton," he assures you, giving your hand a squeeze before disappearing down the hall toward his father's office.

It's an easy decision, you don't want to spend any more time in this house than you have to. Making your way down the entrance hall, you're just about to open the front door when you hear a muffled scream coming from the closed drawing room to your left. Instinct says, not your problem, but when a second scream filters through the heavy door you're pulling it open before you can let your instinct really speak. You should have just kept walking.

The moment the door pops open you want nothing more than to shut it and forget what you see. But, it's like a car wreck on the highway, you can't help but stare. Dasha lays crumpled on the floor, her green dress covered with dark brown splatters. It doesn't take more than a second to realize it's not dark brown, it's red only looking that way on the green. Namjoon is hunched over her, his right arm raised back. Gripped in his lofted hand is a thin, short blade. You watch as a bright red liquid drips from the tip. Blood. Dasha's blood.

You want to scream, your body needs the release, but it's frozen like a deer in headlights. You need to move, to get out of those blinding beams. Only, you can't no matter how hard you try. It takes a moment for Namjoon to detect your presence. But as soon as his head turns and his eyes lock onto yours, your body kicks into action. That scream comes ripping out as you jump back and slam the door.

It doesn't stay shut long, though. You barely make it three steps before the door behind you splinters open and crashes against the wall. "Yoongi! Yoongi!" You've never screamed so loud before. "Yoongi!"

Several things happen simultaneously. You hear a door bang open down the hall where The Hitman's office is, Yoongi shouts your name, and Namjoon pounces. The force of Namjoon's large body barreling into yours knocks the air right out of your lungs, suffocating the next scream in your throat.

The back door flies open just as you see Yoongi sliding around the corner from the far hall. His eyes lock onto you caged in Namjoon's arm, fear and anger turning his face into a murderous scowl. Ivan and Leonid come through the back, hot on his heels, yelling and demanding to know what all the screaming is for.

"Stop right where you are!" Namjoon bellows. One of his arms hooks around both of yours, hiking your elbow high into the middle of your back. Pain radiates down your shoulders as he shakes you. His other hand brings the bloody knife to press under your chin. "One more step, brother, and I'll fucking slit her throat!"

Yoongi's steps falter, the blood draining from his face.

"What's the matter with you, boy?!" Leonid barks, stopping just a few steps beyond Yoongi. "Is that blood?"

"Dasha!" you whimper, her name turning into a wail as Namjoon jostles you and shoves the blade further against your neck, pricking the skin.

"Shut the fuck up!" he screams into your ear.

Leonid takes a step further. "What did you say, girl? I know you didn't dare speak my daughter's name."

"Namjoon!" The Hitman's commanding voice echoes down the hall. "Let her go. Now!"

Namjoon wretches your arms a little tighter making you cry out, tears free falling down your cheeks. "Nah, don't think I will. I think I'll keep her, I need a replacement wife after I gutted the other she-bitch."

Leonid snarls, making to take another step forward but Yoongi latches onto his arm and holds him back. "Let me go, svoloch'!" he roars, trying to dislodge Yoongi's hold. Ivan grapples Yoongi from behind, coming to Leonid's aid.

All hell breaks loose a moment later. Guns are drawn, curses and punches thrown. Guards seem to materialize out of nowhere. You hear Yoongi yelling, The Hitman barking orders, and just the sounds of utter chaos. None of it stops Namjoon, he simply pulls you backward to the front door. You lose sight of Yoongi a moment later as you're hauled off toward a waiting car.

Kicking and screaming doesn't help, Namjoon just chuckles any time you land a foot to his shins. "Don't worry, little mouse, I'm going to take good care of you."

The knife to your throat is finally lifted. Namjoon tosses it to the side, discarding it in the grass. "Please, Namjoon, please just let me go." Your throat is hoarse from screaming but you beg through the pain anyway. You frantically look around, hoping to see a sign of Wenton or anyone else that might help. There’s no one.

"Don't be a spoilsport, we're going to have lots of fun. Just wait." He pops the trunk of the car, grabbing out a roll of duct tape. "This might be a bit uncomfortable, but really it's for your own good." The ripping sound of the tape makes goosebumps pop up along your arms as he binds them. It's not just a simple band around your wrists, something you probably could work your way out of. No, he winds the tape over several times all the way up to your elbows, locking them tightly in place. Your ankles get a lesser sentence, just one thick strip around them that grinds your bones together painfully. Namjoon pulls off your heels, discarding them to the side with the knife. "Try to relax, little mouse, it's a long drive." The last thing he does is slap a strip of tape over your mouth before slamming the trunk shut.

You can faintly hear commotion spilling from the front door, like the chaos has finally followed you outside. But it's soon covered by the hum of the engine turning over and then the crunch of tires over gravel as Namjoon guns it down the driveway. There is a shining thread of hope in the shape of a handgun still strapped to your thigh. You can feel it pressing painfully into your leg from how you’re laying on it. Instead of rolling over to relieve the ache, you embrace it, letting it be a steady reminder that there is still a chance. You have a gun Namjoon doesn’t know about and you know Yoongi will come for you. He has to be okay. He has to find you. If anyone can, you know it’ll be him. 💔💔💔

You try to count the minutes in your head, to judge just how long you drive, but the mix of stifling heat in the trunk and your panicked heartbeat have you stuttering over numbers. The car finally begins to slow, coming to a stop before the engine is cut. It’s eerily quiet in the trunk, even your shallow breaths are barely breaking the oppressive silence. Sweat beads along your temples, threatening to drip into your eyes if you move too much. It might be Fall outside, but it might as well be mid-summer trapped where you are.

An audible click signals a door being open before you feel the car shift a little beneath you. You’re able to trace the soft scuff of shoes as someone approaches the back of the car. It’s impossible to suppress the relieved whine that leaves you when the trunk pops open and you can draw in a breath of fresh air. It’s cold, crisp, and leaves a welcomed ache in your lungs. Though, that relief quickly turns into renewed panic when Namjoon leans in and blocks out what little light is left in the sky.

“Is that her?” A masculine voice you don’t recognize asks from outside your line of sight.

“My little mouse, come to play,” he says to you, a feverish glint in his eye. He casts a look to his right. “Yeah, this is the one I told you about. Is it ready?”

The unknown man barks a laugh and then says, “You pay for the best, you get the best. I’m almost insulted you’d ask that.”

“You’ll get the other half once the job is done. If I know my brother, and I do, he’ll be just behind us. Hopefully, without the cavalry. I might have put a little bug in Father’s ear,” Namjoon’s attention drops back to you, “that our little mouse here has been squeaking a little too loud and sampling cheeses outside the home.”

“You have four hours before my crew burns it down, make sure anything you don’t want someone potentially using against you is inside where the fire will be the hottest. Give her a little kiss for me, will ya? I sure do miss getting my hands dirty.” He laughs again, like this is all some sick joke and you’re missing the punchline. “Don’t suppose I could watch for a minute?” Namjoon turns dark eyes back to his right. The man must see something in his gaze that gives him an answer enough. “Chill out, man, I was kidding.”

“Leave,” Namjoon snaps. You hear the barely there sound of the man's footfalls as he retreats.

The pain in your arms and shoulders blazes anew when Namjoon yanks you out of the trunk. Your bare feet meet cold concrete, ankles still bound. You blink rapidly, getting a glimpse at your location for the first time. The sun hangs low in the sky, just above the distant city skyline. What city, you’re not sure, but if you had to estimate you’re closer to home than you originally thought. To the left is a river, one you’re certain cuts right through the outskirts of the city. A dilapidated warehouse sits ahead of you, giant ‘keep out’ and ‘condemned’ signs plastered over the rotting front. “Welcome to your new home, little mouse.” You can hear the sinister glee in his words as he swings an arm around your hips and lifts you clear off the ground, walking toward a small, open door.

Once inside you wince, your eyes going foggy as they try to adjust to the sudden darkness. Your pupils go from wide to pinpricks when Namjoon slaps his free hand on the wall and the entire space floods with light brighter than the sun. “Namjoon, please!” The words are muffled behind the silver tape covering your mouth, but you’re certain he can make it out just fine.

He walks you further into the warehouse space. There are old abandoned pieces of construction equipment lining the walls, like metal-bone sentinels watching over your descent into Hell. “Does Yoongi like when you beg like that, little mouse?” he asks with a smug grin. “He seems the type to get off on a struggle. Hands around your neck, dick down your throat, watching the plea for mercy slowly bleed from your eyes until you’re just at the edge before he grants you a small breath of life. But, that’s the problem right there, isn’t it? He’s the kind that gives in, he lets up, doesn’t have the balls to go all the way.” You know he’s trying to degrade Yoongi in that regard, making him seem weak. But, it has the opposite effect for you. He’s right. Yoongi is like that, he does give in and let up…because he's not a monster.

You try to mutter out another response, something you hope sounds like ‘Fuck you’.

“Come again?” Namjoon says, reaching up and ripping the tape from your mouth.

You groan, lips blazing enough to rival the fiery ache in your shoulders. “I said,” you pant, “Fuck. You.”

Namjoon’s bellowing laugh scares you. It’s so sharp, sudden, and echoes around the warehouse. “Fuck me, huh? Is that your fantasy? Yoongi not quite doing it for you? Don’t worry, princess,” he sneers at the nickname Yoongi uses for you, “I have eight inches of glory waiting just for you.”

A knife. A big one. He wasn’t exaggerating when he said eight inches. It has a wicked edge, half smooth and half serrated near the hilt. Namjoon shoves you through to a side room, which was once probably an office space for the warehouse. Inside is a setup that has your blood running cold. A large chain hangs down from one of the overhead steel beams. The knife he promised is waiting on a rickety table just beside it.

You barely take in the rest of the room before you’re effectively trussed up like a pig for slaughter. A large hook attached to the bottom of the chain is shoved through the duct tape covering your forearms. Your toes barely graze the concrete floor, elbows straining up to a near impossible angle. “Shit,” you grit between clenched teeth as your weight settles fully to brutalize the already screaming joints of your shoulders.

“If my estimate is right,” Namjoon says as he circles around in front of you. He pulls out his phone, glances at it with a smile, then drops it back into his pocket. “By the time Yoongi gets here, he’s on his way now if you were wondering, you’ll be just on that cusp between life and well, not life. He’ll get to watch the fire go out in your eyes. Probably no different than how the fire left my mother’s eyes after your father destroyed her!” By the time he’s done, he’s screaming the words.

“No, no, no, no! Namjoon! It’s not like that. Netty wasn’t-,” he backhands you across the mouth, cutting off your words.

“You don’t get to say her name!” he roars, spittle flying. “Your father,” he jabs a finger into your chest, “stole her from me! I only wish he were alive so he could watch me steal you from him.”

You’re sobbing, from both the pain radiating along your jaw but also with the loss of the hope you had. The pistol might still be strapped to your upper tight, but it’s proving useless at this point. If you can’t get free, can’t get your hands on it, it does no good. You’re lucky Namjoon hasn’t found it…not that you’re worried he’d take it away, but you’d rather he not turn it on you. Being killed with your own gun just seems like a bigger slap in the face somehow.

“You’re wrong,” you whimper. “It wasn’t my father.”

“What a poor effort. You can do better than that, little mouse. Tell me a lie I might actually believe,” he scoffs, turning his back on you and approaching the small table. “We really could have had some fun you know? Us brothers, we share everything. You’d have ended up in my bed eventually, probably wouldn’t have left either.” He chuckles, finding humor in his musings. “Though, Yoongi is probably my only brother that I haven't completely figured out. He’s a hard worker, obedient and jumps when he’s told to. Then you came along,” he turns back to face you, knife in hand, “and there was a change in him. He grew softer, more hesitant. We can’t have that, though, can we? Especially for you. You don’t deserve something soft.” Namjoon steps close, bringing the tip of the blade to rest right at the top of your dress between your breasts. “The satisfaction of watching you bleed might not be the same as if I could gut your father, but I’ll be sure to make the most of it.” Fire blooms between your breasts as the knife tip slides easily into your skin, a strangled cry ripping from your throat. “That’s it. Squeak for me, little mouse, let me hear you.”

You’re not sure how long it goes on for. Could be minutes, could be hours. Your skin is alive with pain, dull and sharp sensations that throb and throb just below the surface. At some point Namjoon shredded the bodice of your dress, the purple fabric hanging it strips from your waist. The flowy skirt hangs like a wet blanket around your hips, no longer beautiful shades of purple but dark crimson instead. You’re fairly certain Namjoon is talking to you, but you can’t hear him over the buzzing in your ears. You stopped screaming at one point, emitting only gurgling grunts that tasted of warm metal. The numbness started in your fingers and toes, but it’s steadily creeping up your limbs and has been for a while now. It’s weird, feeling both hot and cold at the same time. There is an unpleasantness about the way your eyes blink, like if you close them for too long it becomes harder to open them again.

It registers after a moment that Namjoon is no longer beside you. A wave of nausea rolls in as you try to swivel your head and locate him. A distant shout sounds out from beyond the open office door. It’s punctuated by several shots of gunfire. Someone’s calling your name you now realize. It pierces through some of the haze, bringing your focus into a little clarity. “Yoongi?” you croak, seeing a blurry figure appear in the doorway.

“Oh holy fuck, holy fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” The voice sounds like Yoongi’s but your eyes won’t focus enough to see the face that looms before you. “It’s going to be okay, princess, I’m here. Oh, gods, I’m here!”

Your cry turns into a wet cough when you’re lifted from the hook. A burning tingle creeps into your fingers before lighting up the full length of your arms. You try to suck in gasping breaths, the pain nearly making you pass out. “Yoongi?” you try again.

“It’s me. I’m here, I’m here.” His voice is choked. “Hang on, I’m going to get you out of here.” You’re faintly aware of him cutting through the duct tape on your arms and ankles. More echoes of gunfire and yelling echo through the doorway from beyond.

“Where is he?” you ask in a strained whisper.

“Ran,” Yoongi offers in a short response. “There were guards, a crew out back. But, don’t worry, I’m getting you out of here…no matter the cost.” He strips his purple dress shirt off and helps you thread your arms through it. His white undershirt is stained with big red splotches.

“What happened?”

“Later. We’ll talk later, I promise. For now, let’s go. Can you walk?”

You nod but it must not convince Yoongi. He scoops his arms under you, cradling you to his chest. This close, you’re finally able to get a good look at his face. There is a cut along his right eyebrow, dried blood on his chin. “You came for me,” the words ghost out of you with a sense of awe.

He only spares a second to look down at you. But it’s enough. You see everything so plainly on his face. “Of course I did. I love you.” It’s like a glimpse into his soul. Raw, unfiltered, and devastatingly Yoongi.

His focus changes, going back to high alert as he carries you to the office door. Looking out, checking both ways, he takes a tentative step forward. There are distant sounds of yelling, a few screams, but no more gunfire. It must be good enough for Yoongi, he begins to jog through the warehouse, aiming for a propped-open side door. You pass a few bodies, men in suits and others in full black tactical gear.

You can see out the door now. It’s dark but there are beams of bright headlights, like the cars were left with their lights on as people poured from them. Just as Yoongi approaches the doorway your world tilts sideways. You have that gut-wrenching sensation of a roller coaster drop as you’re dislodged from Yoongi’s arms before slamming painfully into the unforgiving concrete.

“She’s mine!” It’s a roar that you’re sure would rattle the windows if there was any glass left in the panes.

Namjoon and Yoongi grapple just a few feet away. You watch it, almost in slow motion, as Namjoon gains the upper hand. He lurches to his feet with Yoongi caged to his chest. The glint of metal catches your eye, Yoongi’s pocket knife fisted in Namjoon’s hand. Snarling, he presses the blade to Yoongi’s throat, effectively cutting off his struggle.

“Just let her go, Namjoon, your fight is with me,” Yoongi grunts, his hands latched onto Namjoon’s forearm where it bands across his upper chest.

“She needs to suffer! How can you take her side after what her father did to our mother!” The rage in Namjoon is palpable, suffocating.

“It’s not like that, it’s not. I have proof it’s not like that, you just have to trust me. Let her go and I promise…I promise, Namjoon, I’ll make it all okay. We can take him out together, the real reason mom’s dead.”

“Him? What? Why should I believe you?!” You watch the knife tip dig into the side of Yoongi’s neck, just below his jaw. A small stream of red streaks down the column of his throat, disappearing below the collar of his shirt only to soak into the fabric a second later.

“Deep down you know it’s true, though. None of it makes sense. Suicide, really? Netty wasn’t that kind of woman, she wouldn’t have done that to us,” Yoongi explains, his words not wavering in the slightest. It’s like he’s done this song and dance before, he knows how to tame the beast that is Namjoon. You hope it works.

With slow movements, you shift until you get your feet under yourself. As you begin to push up to stand, your hand brushes over your thigh…across a hard object you had forgotten all about. A ragged breath empties from your lungs at the realization you still have it. Namjoon never bothered to remove the rest of your dress or even bothered with taking his knife to your legs. You distinctly remember him spouting off about wanting you to match the ugliness Yoongi keeps hidden under his shirts.

Yoongi is still trying to talk Namjoon down. His constant stream of words keeps the attention focused on him. Your hand trembles as you slide it under the soaked fabric of your dress, trailing up your thigh until it meets the rough case of the holster. It’s not lost on you that you probably only have one shot at this. If you don’t make it count, it’ll not matter anyway. His words might be aimed at Namjoon, but Yoongi’s eyes are cut to you, watching as you gingerly withdraw the pistol he made sure you had strapped to your thigh.

“…brothers mean more than this because…” His warm brown eyes meet yours as his words to Namjoon trail off.

“Because why?” Namjoon prompts from Yoongi. “Because why, finish your fucking sentence!”

“Because sometimes in life we have to make hard decisions. Decisions we know will hurt, even if we also know they’re the right ones to make. Life isn’t always fair, in fact, most of the time it’s a pure bitch. But, what matters, in the end, is that we tried, we did what we had to do, and we did it with no regrets because it was the right thing to do. The. Right. Thing. To. Do.” He gives you a nod, a sad smile on his lips. “It’s okay, it’ll always be okay.”

It’s a slight possibility, being able to shoot Namjoon without also hitting Yoongi. Even if you had hours of gun range experience under your belt, which you sorely don’t, you know it’d still be a slim chance. Yoongi is telling you it’s okay, he understands and you have to do this even if you don’t want to.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Namjoon grunts, forcing the knife harder against Yoongi’s throat.

“Love doesn’t have to make sense.” The words are whispered. Yoongi’s eyes are holding steady on yours as you raise the gun, take aim, and pull the trigger.

Next Chapter⇾ ⇽Previous Chapter ◅ Back to chapter list

231 notes · View notes