#Murder Drones Looking Glass AU | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

raw-lesbian-energy · 10 months

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The New Teacher

Summary: Uzi struggles with events, and Seraph starts her new life as the colony’s art teacher.

Fandom: Murder Drones (The Explorer Drone AU)

Pairings: None

Features: Self-Insert Character

Word Count: 5,595

Warnings: Mild cursing

—————————————————————

The next day arrived a lot faster than expected, and much faster than Uzi wanted it to. Her systems slowly powered up after a guilt-ridden sleep mode, her charge nowhere near as full as it was supposed to be. The realization caused her to let out a long groan, rolling over in her bed and contemplating just powering off again.

“Uzi!”

The small worker drone shut her eyes as she heard her dad’s voice, which was followed by her bedroom door sliding open. She immediately tried to hold still, hoping he would think she was still in sleep mode and leave her alone to rest. Unfortunately for her, Khan wasn’t having it, taking a few steps into her room.

“Come on.” He told her, looking up at her bed. “You’ll be late for school if you don’t get up soon.” Uzi remained still as she felt a twinge of anger, but with her low energy, she couldn’t bring herself to snap back.

“I don’t want to go.” She halfheartedly grumbled instead. Khan’s expression softened at her tone, but he didn’t give in.

“I know what happened was… unsettling, but you’ve already missed enough school as is.” He said. “Plus, I got word from your teacher that something important is happening today, so you shouldn’t miss it!” Uzi opened her eyes again as he said this, mulling the idea over in her processors. Her school never really did important events, besides prom, making her gain a small spark of curiosity. Despite her low energy, she let out a groan and slowly sat up, pushing her hair out of her visor.

“Fine, I’m up.” She replied. “Now get out of my room.” Khan said nothing as he turned and left, leaving Uzi alone in her room again. The teen sat still for a moment longer, her processors still running with ideas before she finally sighed and climbed out of her bed. She hopped off the edge and started for the door, only to stop as she passed by her mirror and noticed her reflection. Her beanie had managed to become lopsided, earning an annoyed sigh from the teen as she turned and readjusted it.

“How’d the stupid thing even-?”

Bip-CRACK!

Uzi’s thought process was stopped short as the mirror broke, fragmenting her reflection and causing small shards of glass to fall to the floor. An expression of panic flashed across her visor, staring at her face cracked between the mirror pieces and noticing her right eye had switched to the AbsoluteSolver symbol.

“Shoot-!” Uzi hissed under her breath, quickly covering her eye. Her gaze shot over to her bedroom door, waiting to see if her dad would walk back in, but the incident seemed to have gone unheard. She let out a small sigh and turned back to her mirror, focusing on a larger piece as she uncovered her eye to see it had reverted to normal. A frown tugged at her lips as she let her hand fall back to her side, staring at her reflection for a moment longer before turning away. She knew she’d have to fix the mirror at some point to keep her dad from finding out, but she didn’t have enough energy to care at that moment and simply walked out of her room to get ready for school.

——————

An hour later, Uzi found herself trudging through the school halls, backpack slung over her shoulder as she made her way to her locker. She picked up on the idle chitchat of other students around her, but none of it processed as she merely kept her head down and kept moving. She had memorized the route to get to her locker at that point, so she was able to just set her body to walk the path and soon reached the small metal cubby. It annoyed her that her locker was the one on top, making her have to stand on her own schoolbooks if she wanted to access it properly.

“Stupid height defect.” She thought bitterly, putting in the access code and opening her locker. She tossed in the stuff she didn’t need, hanging her backpack up as well before shutting the door and stepping off of her other books. Small flecks of snow and rubble remained from her boots, but Uzi merely brushed them off as she picked up the books and tucked them under her arm. At this point, most of the other students had cleared the hallway, all heading to their respective classes, prompting her to head down the hall to her home room.

In the silence, her processors replayed her dad’s words, making her once again start to wonder what this ‘important thing’ was. She wound up turning her gaze to the walls, scanning over the papers and posters to see if any of them would give her a hint of what was going on. Unfortunately, there was nothing new she could see, leaving her completely in the dark on the event. It didn’t stop her from speculating, however, and she let her body once again follow the memorized path before she arrived at her home room class.

The door slid aside as Uzi walked in, but none of her classmates seemed to care. Only two or three even spared a glance, simply checking who it was before returning to their own conversations. Uzi didn’t care, being used to the lack of attention, plopping down in her seat and setting her books on her desk while her processors kept generating ideas.

“Alright, students.”

Her teacher’s deadpan voice caught Uzi’s attention, drawing her gaze as the door slid open and he stepped through. The other students fell silent shortly after, turning their focuses up to the orange-eyed worker drone. He moved to the front of the room with his usual bored expression, a clipboard in one hand with some papers held on it.

“We’ll be continuing work on your group projects today, but before that, I’m required to give you an announcement.” He spoke in a tired tone. “The school board managed to find a replacement art teacher, so for the rest of the year, art classes will be resuming.” Uzi perked up a bit at the news, but her classmates had varied reactions. Some murmured surprise and excitement, while others openly and loudly complained.

“Are you kidding me?” One groaned.

“Come on, I liked having a free period!” Another, who Uzi recognized as Darren, cried. The teacher’s expression gained an edge of annoyance.

“Settle down.” He told them. “The decision’s final, so no complaining. Anyways, as I said, it’s group project work, so get in your groups and get on that.” As soon as he finished speaking, he turned and went back to his desk, sitting down and pulling out some other paperwork. The students quickly took the hint and moved to gather in their groups, though most just started to chat idly instead of doing their work. Uzi remained seated at her desk, not able to focus until she heard footsteps approach and stop next to her. She flicked her gaze up and was met with Emily, one of the members of her group, standing there with her usual timid expression.

“Hey, uh… Uzi.” She spoke, her voice quiet. Uzi said nothing in reply, keeping a tired but neutral expression on her face. Emily still found it intimidating though, taking a small step back and holding her books closer to her chest.

“I-I… wanted to ask about notes.” She managed. Uzi still didn’t reply, but she opened one of her books and pulled out some papers that had been stored in the pages. She handed them off to her without a word, and Emily quickly took them before retreating to her own desk. Uzi watched her go for a moment, her gaze then wandering to the other member of her group seated near the back. Sam was once again fiddling with a magnet, and the fuzz on his visor made it clear he was already destabilized. The purple-haired teen rolled her eyes and turned her gaze back to her desk, pulling out some blank paper and her sketching pencil.

Her audio receptors switched to muffle as she started to draw, soon winding up with another page full of murder drone X’s and AbsoluteSolver symbols. Her concern grew as she scanned over the sketches, but she kept herself from dwelling on them as she grabbed another blank page and started drawing again. By the time the bell rang to signal class had finished, Uzi found herself with four new pages full of Solver symbols and sketches of murder drones. A frown tugged at her lips before she sighed and pressed the pages between her schoolbooks, once again tucking them under her arm as she trudged out of the room.

——————

As the day went on, Uzi found herself unable to really focus. Her audio receptors stayed on muffle, though this wound up being much more problematic when gym class rolled around. She was snapped to an auditory reset when a basketball smacked her upside the head, the coach blowing his whistle as a result.

“Uzi! Get your head in the game, or get your body off the court!” He scolded. Uzi rubbed at the spot where the ball had hit her, casting a half-hearted glare at her teacher before moving off the court. She ignored the stares of her classmates as she sat down on the bleachers off to the side, resting her elbow on her knee and her chin in her palm.

She never liked gym class. It was known that worker drones were built to be equal in physicality, so it felt pointless to her to try and compete. Though, in the school’s defence, being alone on Copper-9 had allowed their presets to vary a bit more, but most settings stayed more-or-less the same. The main exception she’d seen was Thad, who had wound up manufactured with increased speed and strength, making him a lot better suited for athletics. Whenever she thought about it, she couldn’t decide whether she was happy for him or jealous that his defects helped his performance when hers just caused her trouble. She decided to not think about it any further, instead looking over to see the coach not paying attention to her. Using the opportunity, Uzi slipped off the bleachers and headed for the door, carefully pushing it open and sneaking out of the gym.

The hallways were quiet as the teen walked, though since all the other drones were in class, it made sense. This wasn’t the first time she’d left gym early, as she liked having the chance to get a break from the noisy chatter and judging eyes. Her feet automatically took her to her usual hiding spot, opening the door to the empty classroom and letting out a relieved sigh as she stepped in.

“Oh, hey there!”

Uzi snapped up at the sudden voice, her eyes hollow in panic as she looked into the room. Standing by the desk was a tall drone with short brown hair, light violet eyes, and white-rimmed glasses. Uzi took a moment to process her before her memories kicked in, quickly realizing she had seen this drone before.

“You?!” She blurted, still in a mild state of shock. The other drone tilted her head in confusion, scanning Uzi over before she gained a look of realization.

“Oh yeah, I remember you!” She said, smiling. “Uzi, right? I know we only talked a bit.” Uzi remained silent for a moment, her processors still trying to catch up. The new drone- Seraph, her memory reminded her- was in her bunker, in her school, in the empty art class. Her eyes glanced over to the desk, and seeing various papers and art supplies scattered across it, she finally put the whole picture together.

“Wait, you’re the new art teacher?” She managed at last. “I thought you were dead!” Seraph’s expression changed, looking mildly offended, but still holding a smile.

“Hey, give me a bit more credit than that.” She replied. “I survived months on my own before I ran into you guys.” Uzi’s shock quickly turned to skepticism.

“N left you with V.” She deadpanned, folding her arms. “There’s no way she didn’t try to kill you.” Seraph’s gaze softened.

“Oh yeah, no, she did.” She admitted, rather nonchalantly. “I ended up stabbing her in self-defence, and then she decided not to kill me after that. Said I was interesting, or something.” Uzi raised an eyebrow, her expression now showing clear confusion. Seraph wasn’t surprised by her reaction, giving her a small shrug.

“Yeah, I couldn’t understand it either, but hey, I’m not complaining.” She said. “I’ll take her being weird over me being dead.” Uzi thought over her words, ultimately saying nothing in response as Seraph did have a point. The taller drone smiled a bit more before her eyes turned up to the clock on the wall, noticing the time and growing confused.

“Wait, there’s still twenty minutes before third period’s over.” She stated, looking back at Uzi. “Shouldn’t you be in another class right now?” The teen’s eyes widened before her expression turned angry, her folded arms tightening around her body defensively.

“Bite me.” She snapped. “It’s just gym class.” Seraph gained a look of understanding, a small smile reappearing on her face as she nodded.

“Ah, yeah, I get that.” She replied. “Well, find a seat then, if you want to hang around. I’m still setting stuff up.” Uzi’s earlier defensiveness vanished, completely caught off-guard by Seraph’s response. The brunette didn’t say anything further, instead turning back to her desk to sort out the various supplies. Uzi watched for a moment before she started to walk past, her eyes remaining on Seraph and making her miss the pencil that was on the floor. She only noticed it as she stepped on it and her foot rolled, throwing her balance and making her fall backwards.

“Whoa-!”

Whump!

Uzi blinked as she felt something catch her, looking over to see that Seraph still standing where she was. Only now she had leaned a bit closer, and a large metal wing had unfurled from her back, which was currently supporting the purple-haired teen.

“You okay?” Seraph asked. Uzi stared at her with wide eyes, quickly standing back up and facing her fully.

“You have wings?!” She exclaimed. Seraph blinked.

“Oh, yeah.” She replied, bending and flexing the wing like a second arm. “I built them myself; they’re the main reason I survived outside a bunker for so long.” Uzi couldn’t take her eyes off the wing, watching it move with a look of complete shock.

“How the hell did you get them to work?” She asked, almost muttering. Seraph’s expression turned a mix of panicked and sheepish, her gaze turning away.

“Well, that’s, uh… complicated.” She replied. “Point is I have them now, and they’re not going anywhere.” She retracted the wing completely as she finished her sentence, and Uzi took notice of a metal pack that Seraph seemed to have attached to her. The upper half was hidden under the shawl she was wearing, but deciding not to ask about it further, Uzi simply nodded and moved to go sit down. She headed over to the desk she usually sat at, setting her books down as she leaned back in the seat. She wound up glancing over at Seraph again, seeing her casually sorting items while softly humming to herself. The teen couldn’t figure out what to make of her, but she wasn’t able to think about it long as her hands started twitching and her processors buzzed. An irritated look flashed across her face as she sat forward, pulling out a piece of blank paper and once again starting to draw.

Time flew by as Uzi got lost in her scribbling, finishing up a second page just before the classroom door slid open. Both Uzi and Seraph looked up as other students started to file in, some looking curious while others looked annoyed. Seraph kept a smile regardless, giving them a small wave as she scanned each one and checked off the attendance list on her internal screen.

“Hey! Welcome!” She said in a friendly tone. “Take a seat anywhere you like.” A few students looked over at her, some seeming confused, but did as she said and sat down. Many students sat with their friends, but Uzi quickly noticed that they all chose seats far away from her. Seraph took notice of this as well, her smile faltering for a moment before she recovered and welcomed the last of the students. Soon enough all the desks were full, the bell ringing not long after and indicating the new period.

“Okay!” Seraph started, standing in front of the class. “Welcome, or welcome back, to art class! My name’s Seraph, and I’ll be your teacher for the semester.” The students looked at her with bored or blank expressions, not giving her any major response to work with. Despite this, Seraph kept her energy up, moving over to her desk where she had set the supplies.

“Since I haven’t met any of you before,” she continued, “I figured it’d be best to have the first assignment help me figure out where you all stand artistically. So, you’ll all be getting some blank paper and I want you to draw whatever you’re able to.” A few students perked up at her statement, though Uzi’s expression flashed briefly with worry. Seraph took notice, but kept from drawing attention to it, instead picking up a stack of papers and moving through the desks.

“I’m going to assume you all have pencils of some sort, but if you need or want anything, I have supplies up at my desk you can come and borrow.” She told them, placing a piece of paper on each desk as she passed. “If you also have any questions, feel free to ask.”

“Uh, I have a question.” A student said, and Seraph looked over to see a green-eyed drone with sunglasses on. “Why do we need to take this stupid class? Seems kinda pointless.” A few students murmured or snickered at his question, but Seraph hardly blinked.

“The doors that protect this bunker, and your lives, were manufactured because of blueprints.” She replied matter-of-factly. “Good blueprints require good art skills, and good art skills take time to develop. They’re not something even the most advanced AI can just download, which is why we have this class.” The students wound up falling silent at her response, and with that, Seraph continued passing out the papers until she reached Uzi’s desk. The purple-haired teen still had a slightly nervous expression on her face, causing Seraph to gain a small frown before continuing to give the last papers out.

“Alright, everyone should have their papers, so go ahead and start.” She said. Most students began sketching or brainstorming as instructed, while Uzi hesitated and merely stared at the paper. A few seconds passed before she felt a light tap on her shoulder, looking up and seeing Seraph standing next to her again.

“Hey, mind if I talk to you in the hall for a minute?” She asked, keeping her voice down. Uzi blinked in surprise, looking a bit confused before nodding slowly. Seraph stepped back as the teen got up from her desk, the movement prompting a few of the other students to look up. Uzi noticed Lizzy and her clique whispering as they watched her, and a scowl crossed her face in response. Seraph quickly noticed Uzi’s expression and looked over, seeing the girls and hardening her gaze.

“Hey, focus on your own work.” She told them. “This doesn’t concern you.” The statement caught a few students by surprise, but no one gave any response as Seraph refocused on Uzi and gestured for her to follow. The purple-haired teen did as instructed, following after Seraph as she out of the class and into the hallway. There were no other drones walking about, much to Uzi’s relief, but she quickly grew nervous again as she saw Seraph’s eyes on her.

“Did I… do something wrong?” She asked, somewhat confused. Seraph shook her head, folding her hands in front of her.

“No no, nothing like that.” She replied. “I actually wanted to check up on you; I should’ve done it earlier before the other students showed up, but I didn’t think about it until now.” Uzi’s expression quickly turned to confusion, the response catching her completely off-guard.

“Why did you want to check up on me?” She questioned, an uneasy tone in her voice. Seraph’s brow furrowed, her eyes showing concern.

“Well, you know how I was stuck with V yesterday while you and N were here in the bunker?” She asked. Uzi nodded slowly, unsure where she was going with her statement and tensing up slightly.

“Yeah, after V and I sorted things out, we went back to chill in the crashed pod.” Seraph continued to explain. “N got back a little while later, and… well, he seemed really upset. Then you showed up and seem pretty rattled by something, so I figured I’d just… make sure you were okay.” Uzi’s eyes widened, her processors automatically replaying the memories from the fight with the eldritch snake-crab version of J. They wound up focusing on N’s worried face, causing more feelings of guilt to rise in her systems before her expression turned angry.

“Ugh, I’m fine!” She snapped, glaring up at the taller drone. “You hardly know me, don’t act like you actually care.” Seraph took a step back, her eyes briefly hollowing in shock from Uzi’s outburst. She hesitated on a reply, her gaze shifting as she tried to find the words.

“I’m not acting, Uzi.” She told her, trying to keep her voice calm. “Believe it or not, I am actually worried-”

“Bite me!” Uzi cut her off, not wanting to hear any more. “I told you, I’m fine! So stop asking!” Seraph once again struggled for words, eventually relenting with a small sigh.

“Alright, I won’t push.” She said at last. “But… I’ll be here if you change your mind.” Uzi still held her angry glare, but felt a slight twinge in the back of her processors at Seraph’s tone. Neither said anything further, ultimately causing Seraph to turn around and head back for the classroom door. She stopped just outside and looked back over at Uzi, who then got the hint and followed the taller drone back into class.

The door slid aside as the two headed in, both remaining quiet as they each walked to their respective desks and sat down. Seraph wound up sparing one more glance at Uzi, who was staring down at her blank paper before sighing and grabbing her pencil. A frown tugged at Seraph’s lips, but she turned her gaze away and grabbed her tablet, picking up her pen to get some of her own work done.

——————

After class had ended, Seraph was left with a pile of drawings and a few returned pencils and erasers. She had been quick to clean up and start back to her unit, the school hallways quiet as most of the students had already left. There were a few stragglers, but Seraph merely tuned out anything they said, her processors running rapidly as she got lost in her own thoughts.

She felt her charge starting to drop as she finally got back to her unit, letting out a sigh and setting the students’ assignments on the dining table. She knew she needed something to eat, so she turned to the kitchen and started going through the cabinets for anything she could munch on to help her charge levels. She perked up when she came across a pack of AAA’s, pulling them out and checking their warranty before popping them open. She picked one up and tossed it in her mouth, letting out a small hum of contentment as she quickly chewed and swallowed it.

“Mm, I forgot how good these taste.” She muttered, taking the package and going back to the papers. She sat down at the table and pulled out her tablet, opening a blank page to take notes on the students’ work. Most of them were decent and showed promise, and she jotted down anything she considered useful for setting up further lessons.

“Rebecca; strong composition but needs work on perspective. Braiden; anatomy is very well done, needs to do more backgrounds. Darren-… need to talk with him about inappropriate drawings.” Seraph wrote diligently as she went through one piece after another, only to stop as she noticed one in particular. It was a very well-done drawing, clearly thought out and given proper attention, but what really made the brunette nervous was that it was of V. She hesitated, wondering if it was Uzi’s work, but as she turned the page over and checked the name, she saw it was written in Russian.

“Doll drew this..?” She murmured, completely taken aback. She had taken note of Doll during the class, but she had been very quiet and reserved the entire time. It had struck Seraph as odd, since she had been seated with Lizzy and the other chatty girls, but she decided it hadn’t been her place to pry and left them alone. Now as she stared at the rather scary depiction of V in front of her, complete with dismembered worker drones, she started to think it might be worth it to check up on her.

She quickly scribbled down her notes before moving on to the next piece, which the brunette could immediately tell belonged to Uzi. It was of N, she got that quickly, but it was more hasty and had small sketches of a strange symbol in the corners. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it sparked a feeling of worry in her processors that she made note of.

“See about talking to Uzi further.” She wrote. She already knew the teen would just snap at her again, but with everything Seraph was seeing from her, she couldn’t help but feel concerned. She picked up and munched on another battery to try and calm her nerves, making a few more notes on Uzi’s artwork before continuing. About an hour later, she had finished both her grading and the pack of AAA’s, leaving her with a bit more energy but a lot more boredom. She leaned back in her chair as she contemplated what she could do, shuffling through her internal files before stumbling across a memory of V.

Seraph paused as she replayed the memory of their time in the pod, feeling a small warmth spread through her systems. Even though V had tried to kill her earlier that day, she couldn’t help but feel they had actually been connecting for a little while. She went through her memory banks and pulled up the last time she had seen V, noticing how her annoyed expression had softened slightly when she left. A frown tugged at her lips at the sight, an impulsive idea flashing through her processors and making her check her internal clock. The time told her that the sun was already setting outside, meaning it would soon be night and N and V would be free from the spire. The impulsive idea soon took over her systems, and before her rational programs could truly stop it, the brunette let out a sigh and headed out of her unit.

The hallways were empty as Seraph worked to navigate them, getting lost a few times as she tried to find the main doors. The map she had initially been given only showed the school and housing units, so she had to go through the rest of the bunker basically blind. She wound up wandering for a good ten minutes before finding a large warehouse area, freezing for a moment as she saw oil stains and clear signs of a fight scattered about.

“The hell happened here..?” She muttered, cautiously stepping into the space. She kept her guard up as she scanned the area, her gaze soon turning upward and noticing a large broken hole in the ceiling. She promptly unfurled her wings and flew closer to get a better look, examining the glass and metal fragments that had been smashed through. The sight was both intriguing and concerning, and Seraph wound up popping her head through to see the hole led straight to the outside world. The sun had already set at that point, but the brunette hardly noticed as she got an idea, a smile crossing her face before she pulled out her tools to get to work.

——————

Thirty minutes later, Seraph wiped the sweat off her visor and stored the last tool back in her pack. It had been tricky building while in flight, but she had managed to make it work as well as not get caught by any passing drones. She did a few last checks before smiling proudly, swooping back down to look at it from a distance.

“Huh. Can’t even tell where I put it.” She said, tilting her head before flying back up. She felt along the ceiling until she found the handle, giving it a small tug before pushing up and opening the hatch. It swung open with ease, allowing the brunette to climb right out and back into the open world. She was sure to carefully close the hatch as well, double-checking that it hadn’t locked before letting it go and standing up. The wind ruffled her hair and her shawl, and she couldn’t help but feel a comforting familiarity in the cold. She didn’t let herself get too nostalgic, however, instead turning her gaze to the city and taking off.

It didn’t take her long to find the spire by air, landing on a nearby building to scout the area first. She had luckily shown up at just the right time, as not a minute later she witnessed one disassembly drone fly out through one of the higher placed openings. Seraph was quick to pick up on the boot-like shape of his feet, which helped her know that it was N leaving and not V. A small spark of hope went off in her systems as she watched N fly away, waiting until he was far enough before gliding down into the spire. She landed softly on the snow, her audio receptors on high in case N suddenly doubled back, but she thankfully heard nothing and walked up to the pod. She launched herself onto it with one strong flap, landing neatly on top and gently knocking on the door. She heard no response for a solid few seconds, causing her to hesitate before finally deciding to speak.

“Uh, V? You in there?”

A sudden clatter reached her audio receptors, startling her slightly before the hatch door was violently thrown open. Seraph flinched back to avoid being hit, eyes wide as V popped her head out and stared at her in disbelief.

“Seraph?!” She blurted. “What are you doing back here?” Seraph took a moment to recollect herself, her processors getting up to speed before she gained a more sheepish look.

“Would you believe me if I said I was bored?” She tried. V’s expression quickly turned annoyed, causing Seraph to panic slightly.

“Okay, it’s not… entirely boredom.” She admitted. “Honestly, it’s mostly curiosity.” V merely raised an eyebrow, clearly waiting for a better explanation. Seraph wound up breaking eye contact, growing more nervous as she began to stammer over her words.

“Look, I-I know there was a lot that happened, and honestly I don’t think I’ve processed all of it, but… you’re the first murder drone who has actively chosen not to kill me.” She explained. “And, as crazy as it may sound, I don’t want to just stop seeing you because N said so. Once everything had settled, and you weren’t trying to eat me, I actually enjoyed our time together. You honestly seem… kinda cool.” After finishing her rant, Seraph finally managed to look back at V, trying to read the expression on her face. The annoyance was still there, however it had softened slightly, and the brunette quickly realized V was taking a moment to think.

“Well… you’re not completely insufferable.” She replied at last. “And N’s still been whiny, so I guess you can stick around.” Seraph perked up almost immediately at V’s words, a bright smile crossing her face. V quickly gave her a warning look, prompting the explorer drone to settle down a bit.

“Heh, thanks, V.” She said instead. “So, what do you want to do first?” V let out a small chuckle, climbing out of the pod and unfurling her wings.

“Go anywhere that isn’t here.” She replied. Seraph looked up at her, pausing for a moment as she took her in. The light from the planets shone down through one of the spire’s gaps and gently illuminated her body, glinting off of her bladed wings that stretched out behind her. The brunette felt a small flush of heat in her core systems at the sight, but she quickly shook it off and let her own wings unfurl.

“Right, lead the way.” She told her. V grinned and quickly took off, Seraph not even hesitating as she flew after her. This friendship, if she could call it that, would definitely be interesting, but it was one she was more than ready to explore.

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jujutsutrash · 9 months

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gimme danger. 01

modern!AU set in my Devilock AU thing, same as my other Geto fic. I wanted this to be shorter, oh well. The return of bartender Geto. Summary. Suguru is a bartender with things in his past he’d rather keep hidden. But then you come along, his favorite patron, always smiling, always joking, always flirting with him. Now he can feel his heart melting, and that doesn’t bode well for his original plan. Pairing: Geto x reader Word count: 6.2 k Warning: alcohol consumption, a mention of murder and jail time

The heavy droning noises of the bass coming from the stage at the back of the bar felt like something meditative to Suguru’s ears. Or they would, if not for the harsh drums and hoarse voice of the singer overlaid on top. When he had just started working at the Devilock, the live music days were the ones he hated the most. They always felt too loud, too intense, too much.

Suguru was a man accustomed to moderate noise. Controlled chaos. So getting used to the loud bands on stage twice a week was not an easy task. He was sure he was getting hearing damage because of that. But now, now he didn’t really care. A part of him actually enjoyed it - there was a communal experience in seeing live music that had been missing from his life for a while. Even if he was still getting hearing damage.

At least he liked the band playing today. And since it was a weekday show, the house wasn’t full. Without a crowd, he was free to work without hush, and he didn’t need to be constantly on the lookout for trouble. Still, his eyes scanned the surroundings of the bar every so often, out of sheer habit. Though, this time, instead of spotting trouble, he spotted you.

He could say you were a kind of trouble for him, but he didn’t want to recognize that right now.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite patron,” Suguru said in a laugh, finishing cleaning the glasses as you sat on one of the stalls at the bar counter.

“I could bet you say that to any pretty woman that shows up, Suguru,” you respond with a teasing smile, leaning forward, arms resting on the counter.

“Nah,” Suguru shakes his head, giving you a playful look of his own, “you’re special. The usual?”

He asks, and you nod in response, watching as he starts gathering the bottles to prepare the drink. As Suguru gets busy making your cocktail, you feel your eyes taking the chance to drink in his form. You swore you tried to keep your interest controlled and respectful - this was his place of work, after all - but you just couldn’t help but stare. At least a little.

Honestly, it was a crime how handsome this man was. His pale skin reflected the warm glow of the bar lights beautifully, long silky black hair tied in a messy bun. The metallic rings on his deft fingers shine as he works, large hands looking so enticing. He was stupidly hot, and you had to catch yourself before you started drooling at the sight.

“Is it Choso’s band tonight? Thought it was supposed to be another one,” you ask, looking at the band on the stage, trying to keep yourself from staring too much.

“It was,” he responds, and his husky tone make you turn back to the bar, eyes roaming his handsome face and finding the most enticing part, that goddamn tongue piercing. “But they bailed. Choso took the last minute opening.”

“Showing up on short notice? Talk about hard work.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s a guy you can count on,” he nods, closing the shaker in his hands before he started mixing the drink. “Guy was always the reliable type, even when he was younger,” Suguru adds with a nod and a chuckle, brown eyes looking at the stage with a soft gaze.

“Wait, you never told me you knew him before you came to the bar.”

“Huh? It’s not that important,” he shrugs, opening the shaker and pouring the drink on the glass.

“Oh, sure, sure. There you go, playing up that mysterious air again,” you comment with a chuckle, watching as he finishes the drink.

“Mysterious? Me? Not at all,” Suguru shakes his head and smiles, large hand sliding your drink forward so it sits right before you. “There you go, New York Sour.”

“Come on, Suguru. You got that mysterious, cool bad boy vibe going,” you tease, not resisting the urge to shoot him a flirtatious smile. “I’m pretty sure you do that on purpose.”

Suguru laughs at your words, turning his head down to the sink as he cleans his shaker, hoping that the dim light of the bar won’t show the redness he can feel rising to his face. It wasn’t the first time you’d flirted with him - and knowing your personality, it wouldn’t be the last. But you were gorgeous, and he was still just a man, flesh and blood, of course your flirting would affect him.

With a chuckle, he looks back up, eyes glancing at you just as you brought the drink to your lips. A drop of the red wine on the top of the cocktail slips down your plump bottom lip, trailing down the curve until just above your chin, before you swipe it with a thumb. Shit, he was staring.

“Mysterious, cool bad boy? I think you are mistaking me for the manager,” he laughs.

“Well, I could say you two are quite a pair. Don’t tell Aki though, but I think you are the more handsome one.”

You give him a teasing smile and Suguru shivers. You’d made that same comment when he first met you, with the same damn smile as he looked on from his side of the bar. The only thing that changed was that he was even weaker to it now. If you knew how bad you affected him, you wouldn’t find him cool at all.

But he tries to keep his composure, adamant not to let you notice how warm his face felt right now. Your flirting was nice, a fun distraction from his boring routine, but not much more than that. It couldn’t move past just fun. He knew it. But damn, you were tempting, and it was entertaining. Some days he ignored your flirting, but on others he let himself play this game. Just a little fun, no harm playing along for one night or another.

“When you talk like this, you make the bar seem like a shady place full of dangerous types,” he laughs lowly, looking at you from under heavy lashes.

“Only the cute ones,” you chuckle and wink as you bring the glass to your lips again, making Suguru smile and shake his head.

“The cute ones are still dangerous, doll, that’s a dumb game. Maybe you should find someone nice to flirt with for a change.”

Suguru smirks teasingly, but deep inside he knows he is only half joking. As much as he enjoys the attention you give him, there is still a guilt that settles deep inside his stomach every time he plays along. And yet, he can’t resist you, so he lets you do as you like, even if it tortures him.

“Ouch, you are rejecting my flirting,” you give a mocking cry, bringing one hand to your heart theatrically as the other holds your glass.

“Oh, the drama,” he rolls his eyes and mutters, only barely audible above the heavy music.

“But hey, I can take care of myself,” you look at him with a frown, eyebrows drawn together. Sure, he believes in you, but there is a limit to everything, and it’s always better to be safe than sorry. “And I don’t think anyone who calls themselves ‘nice’ would want to be around a girl who likes getting drunk and screaming punk songs on a week night,” you point out with a nonchalant shrug.

“I see your point,” he responds with a laugh, putting away the bottles and tools.

“Besides,” you pause, sipping from your drink as your eyes follow his movements, “I think you are plenty of nice.”

“Huh?” Suguru looks back, just in time to see you shrug again, as if waving away his protest. “You said yourself, mysterious cool bad boy type.”

Shaking his head, Suguru repeats your words with a laugh, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He tries to busy himself with something, anything, but he can hear your chuckles from behind your glass. They sound soft, and god, it’s always the softness that breaks him. Against his better judgment, he looks up again, finding you leaning on the counter, propping your head in one hand, a genuine smile painted on your face.

“Suguru, I’ve seen how you treat the drunk college kids, and the barbacks too. Even that weird blond kid who attracts trouble. You are just so kind, way nicer than most ‘nice people’ I’ve met.”

Suguru stops for a moment, breath frozen in his lungs as he gets lost in your sweet smile. Blinking twice, he swallows hard, looking to the side with a choked laugh. He still isn’t quite so used to compliments. And he feels he doesn’t deserve them right now - like there was still more he needed to do to conquer that right.

“You give me too much credit,” he laughs, hands anxiously reaching to adjust the sleeves of his shirt as he feels the fabric bunching closer to his elbows, his eyes avert you for a second before he looks up again and smirks. “Or maybe you are just into the bad boy types, so you can’t see the red flags.”

It’s your time to laugh and shake your head at him, your soft smile shifting into a playful one. You sip from your glass again, and Suguru can’t help the way his eyes trail towards your lips.

“Maybe, but most nice, upstanding people are boring judgmental assholes anyway. So I might just like people who enjoy living life a little rowdy, a little strange,” you pause and shrug, looking at him through your eyelashes as you sip from your drink. “And you know, maybe you just don’t give yourself enough credit.”

Suguru laughs as he looks at you, one hand rubbing the back of his neck as the other fidgets with the mixing spoon. For a moment, he considers that maybe you could as well be right? That’s the same thing both his manager and his boss keep on repeating to him every so often. But what if you are wrong?

“Well, you are right on the boring, judgmental assholes thing, I know that for a fact,” he tips his head from side to side, a smirk on his face as he watches you drink before his eyes cast down to his hands. “But still, I wouldn’t be calling myself nice, I just try to treat people with kindness. I have,” he pauses for a beat and chuckles, but even he can tell it sounds sad, “lived enough shit to know that life ain’t easy. So I try not to make it harder.”

Suguru looks up again and finds your eyes on his. There is a pause for a second, and it seems almost quiet, despite the loud music in the bar. Your gaze holds him strong, and Suguru just shrugs, trying to shake off the sensation of being under the spotlight. He could have sworn someone turned out the air-conditioning in the bar because suddenly he feels sweat running down his neck.

“Suguru,” you giggle, as if baffled by his words, and it feels stupid how much he likes the sound of his name on your voice, “you know that already makes you a good person, right?” You pause, looking at him like he is a mad man and, god, he is blushing again. “Better than most. Besides, yeah, some of us go through rough lives, but that happens. I’m pretty sure that if you ever had a mean bone in your body, it’s broken by now.”

And there it is again, that beautiful smile of yours. The one that disarms him every time. Suguru had gotten good at keeping people away, for his own comfort. There were things about his past that he knew he’d be judged for - and rightfully so. Things he didn’t want to explain. Things he regretted having done. So it was best keeping people away. Better to stave off loneliness than to have a tough conversation.

But god, you’d found your way under his skin, and now he could feel the creeping loneliness that he’d been ignoring for a while.

“Well, thank you for the vote of confidence, doll.”

You watch him chuckle as he starts to speak, a warm smile tugging at his lips, voice softening ever so slightly. If you weren’t paying attention, you might not even notice the way his eyes linger solemnly on his work bench before they shift back to you, moving up slowly as if dragging a weight. It’s all gorgeous and serene - almost too much for the place you are in - but something in that feels painfully vulnerable too.

“Oh, is the bad boy softening up on me?”

You tease him with a laugh, trying to break the tension that you can almost feel emanating from his shoulders. Suguru had always kept you at an arms length - which Aki had once noted was less than he kept most people, and the only ones in the bar he knew who could get closer than this were himself and the owner. Though, the distance meant you knew close to nothing about him, and you could only imagine what went on in his head. If you had known he’d tense up like this, you’d have changed the conversation a while back.

Still, you couldn’t deny there was something weirdly attractive in how mysterious he could be.

“But for real, I like this weird ass bar, even the times when I find the manager beating someone up when I go outside,” I continue, chuckling as I turn my gaze back to Aki on his corner of the counter, Suguru’s eyes following my own with a smile. “The Devilock may be a shady house of misfits, but it’s my favorite one.”

Suguru laughs, a husky, hearty sound that feels nice and light on your ears. You see the way his broad shoulders shake, catching a glimpse of that tongue piercing reflecting the light when he opens his mouth. It’s a nice sight. It warms you more than the alcohol in your cocktail as you finish it.

“I mean, you can’t say this place doesn’t have personality. Never a dull night,” he says with a playful smile.

“Anyway,” you giggle, lifting your empty glass and trying not to smile like a little girl at how handsome he looks, “can I ask for another drink?”

“I’d find it strange if you didn’t,” he leans in closer, still smiling as he takes the glass from your hands, fingers brushing gently against yours before he moves away. “Same thing?”

“Nah, bring me something different. Whatever you recommend, just make it strong.”

You smirk and wiggle your eyebrows, and Suguru laughs again, brown eyes shining under the bar lights. If he won’t give you the space to truly understand what’s going on in his head, at least he gives you the space to make him laugh. And when he has such a beautiful laugh, that’s already good enough.

“Oh my, let me see,” he pauses for a moment to think, hand reaching for his shaker again. “I can make you the Devilock Bomb. It earns its name, been a while since I got to make it,” he leans his weight on his work station as he looks at you, inquisitive eyes almost making you shiver, that teasing smile not leaving his face.

“Bring it up!”

You lean on the counter as you respond, watching him as he goes about gathering what he needs. With the black clothes he wears, Suguru almost blends into the background of the dark bar. But his pale skin reflects a contrast that draws your eye to the shape of his face, his large and strong hands, the almost hypnotic way they move. It’s like magic, and you are lucky you catch yourself staring before he turns around again.

There are a couple minutes of silence between the two of you as you cast your eyes to the stage - trying to busy yourself with anything so you wouldn’t stare at him too much. When you turn back again, you catch him finishing your drink, a soft smile on his lips as he puts the blueberry garnish on your glass. Shit, you had forgotten how much that one looked like a godforsaken chemical weapon.

“And here you go,” Suguru smirks, catching the slight twitch in your eye and laughing.

“Thank you. Haven’t seen this weird thing in a good while, was it always so damn purple?” You ask with a laugh and Suguru shrugs, laughing along as you take the glass to your lips, taking a long sip. “Oh yes, the sweet burn of alcohol.”

Suguru’s eyes widen slightly, and then you drink again, gulping the purple monstrosity. Now he is left wondering if you just don’t have taste buds, and worried about you getting too drunk, too soon. Last thing he wants is to have to threaten someone with a knife again.

“Hey, careful there, it’s way stronger than you think.”

“Alright, alright there, officer, it’s not my fault it’s so tasty, blame the bartender,” you chuckle, lips still touching the rim of the glass with a teasing smile, then you take another sip, a smaller one at least. “You look cute when you are concerned.”

“Yeah, smartass, you just watch yourself,” Suguru laughs, trying to hide the burn in his face as he watches you eat one of the blueberries from the wooden pick.

“Shall do, shall do, last thing I want is to piss you off. What if you decide to start making me mocktails?”

You respond with a chuckle, but he still notices you’ve already managed to down your drink halfway. When Suguru first tried that thing, he was pretty sure it tasted like a gut punch, with a smudge of blueberry. A purple tinted act of violence, but you don’t even seem to care. Maybe you were stronger than he took you for.

“With the speed you drink, I should start thinking about watering down your stuff,” he shakes his head with a smile.

“Now, now, Suguru, that would be just cruel,” you pout and bring your glass closer to yourself, as if protecting it from him.

“I warned you I’m not a nice person,” he laughs, watching you roll your eyes as you drink.

He watches you for a minute, lost in the way the lights reflect in your eyes as you watch the stage. He has to try hard not to stare when your tongue pulls the second blueberry off of the pick - and he has to try even harder to ignore the tightness in his pants at the sight. You say something with a laugh, and Suguru just laughs along, too busy thinking about things he shouldn’t to actually hear what you said.

You turn back to him with a warm smile, holding the glass to your lips, and it’s like everything else goes silent. Suguru is pretty sure he could stare at you for an eternity. But just then someone else shows up to the counter with a request, and he is fast reminded that no matter how slow the night, he has a job to do.

And as he goes back to his duties, you finish your drink, sliding the glass back and waving. You motion to the space before the stage and tell him you are going to check the band. He just nods and smiles, looking up from the drink he is making to joke about how you can’t leave the bar before your third cocktail, so you have to come back to the counter later.

A few minutes go by and he is free again, the movement at the counter slowing down enough that out of the three bartenders, only one is working. Suguru relaxes, leaning on the cabinet at the back of the bar for a moment before his eyes scan the crowd, spotting you with ease. That’s when he hears a snicker from his side. Looking from the corner of his eyes, Suguru sees his manager, the usual scowl replaced with a mocking smirk.

“She got you that bad, huh?”

“You seeing things, Aki,” Suguru responds, not even looking in the direction of the shorter man as he hears another snicker and a laugh.

“Yeah, and you aren’t smiling,” Aki shoots back with a malicious smirk, voice almost sounding like poison.

Suguru feels himself fighting whatever power has been tugging his lips upwards since he spotted you again, the smile having slipped its way to his face without him knowing. There is a moment of pause as he gathers himself, fingers tapping his metallic rings to the wooden cabinet anxiously. He finally glances back to his manager - and if he was honest, by this point, friend - with a scowl.

“Fuck off,” it’s weak, he knows that, but it’s all he can muster now.

“Either stop smiling like an idiot or just give it a damn chance and I will.”

Aki shrugs nonchalantly, and Suguru watches as his pale hands pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket. The man says that like it’s easy, to Suguru it sounds almost insane. Though, he knows Aki is pretty damn sane and well aware of what he is saying. The man is one of the only two people in the bar who know about his past, the other is the owner - they had to know, they hired him. And while it wasn’t by choice, it felt good not having to hide his past, at least from a couple of people.

Which is what made the implied seriousness in Aki’s nonchalant tone sound even more insane to Suguru.

“A chance?” The question comes low, almost choked in his voice as Suguru’s hands reach to tug on his sleeves, pulling them down to his hands, as if the poor fabric were to blame for his past. “And how well do you think that would work?”

“Maybe about as well as this job has been working for ya,” the man shrugs again, eyes meeting Suguru’s. “You won’t know unless you try. Anyway, I’m going on my smoke break,” he adds, already walking away, leaving the counter and heading to the back door.

“Fuck, right when I needed a smoke,” Suguru retorts with a groan.

“Not my problem, save it for later.”

Suguru watches Aki disappear through the door that leads to the narrow alleyway behind the bar. Yeah, sure, the guy with a long term girlfriend butting into his non-existent love life. If only things were that easy. Dragging a hand over his face, Suguru sighs. He needs a breather now, way too many thoughts swimming in his head.

With a nod and a call to one of the barbacks, he heads to the employee bathroom, his hands gripping the handle too tight when he closes the door. Fuck, it’s bad enough being aware of how shitty his situation is. It’s worse that there is still a part of him that wants to believe there is hope. Foolish, you are successful and beautiful, and pleasant to be around too. Way above the league of a guy who’d just spend most of the last decade in a jail cell.

Turning on the faucet, Suguru washes his face, the cold water doing very little to pull him out of his thoughts. He looks at his reflection in the mirror, a dark, judgmental gaze meeting him. How long has it been already? Almost two years since he was set free. Sometimes it feels like more, sometimes like less. On some days, he can pretend it never happened. Pretend he lies on the floor when sleep evades him because he chooses it, not because he is used to sleeping on hard surfaces.

But that’s not the truth, and the reflection in the mirror knows it too. The truth is engraved on his skin - like a book telling the story of his life choices. The dark eyes in the mirror glance at his sleeves and Suguru pulls one up, dragging it above his elbow, fabric bunching around his bicep and revealing the tattoos wrapping his arm. It’s just a small piece of a much larger thing, a colorful reminder of his time in the yakuza. It’s funny how they barely even faded - you don’t get much sun time in jail.

And yet, even before the physical representation of why this wouldn’t work, he can still feel a piece of his heart that wants to hold out hope. What a fucking foolish thought. To have a heart that still holds out hope for love when between him and any type of relationship is a conversation about how he did eight years of jail time for gang related murder. And Suguru should count himself lucky it was only eight, if they’d found evidence of the other crimes he’d still be rotting behind bars.

No use thinking about that now. Like the monk who used to council on his cell block always said, no use being hung up on what you can’t change.

Sighing, Suguru pulls the sleeve down with a forceful tug. He splashes water on his face again, hoping it will do something - anything - to get him out of his head. Whatever, he has to work anyway. He closes the faucet and gives his reflection one last look. This time, the eyes that look back at him are soft and tired.

He returns to his position and the night moves as usual. There is music, there are drinks, and there is a troublesome patron getting aggressively chastised by an angry manager. The usual. Which is good, it’s routine, and Suguru likes routines - life behind bars is just a long continuous routine. It calms him down enough to get him out of his head.

Every now and then, his eyes fall back to you, either on the crowd or when you come to the counter to get a beer. It’s at the last music of the band’s set that you come back and sit down again, laughing about something as you call for him. You tell him you are taking that third cocktail, that it’s your time to go. You look only slightly tipsy, so he doesn’t worry about it.

Suguru smiles and makes you something light when you tell him to pick the drink himself. You joke, you laugh, you flirt with him - and that too is routine, at least when it comes to you, and despite all the warning signs in his head, he enjoys it. He tries not to think too much on that, he tells himself to live in the now - just like that monk used to say too. When you finish your drink, you slide the glass back to him, your fingers brushing his when he picks it up.

“Well, it’s my time to go, Suguru,” you say with a pout, it betrays your lightly tipsy state, but it’s cute. “Thanks for everything, it was nice seeing you again, as always.”

You climb out of the stool as you speak, smiling at him as you lean into the counter for a second. He hesitates for a half moment before putting his things away and cleaning his hands quickly, readying himself to leave the counter. He’s gonna tell himself he is only doing this to make sure you are safe. Tell himself his next move is just because he worries, not because he likes your presence.

He knows it’s a lie.

“Oh, hey… I was actually going to take a smoke break,” he pauses, looking between you and his manager, who just nods in response. “Do you want me to accompany you out?”

Suguru tries to keep his cool - but from his side, he feels like he is begging. His hands tug his sleeves down back to his wrists, finger nervously pinching the fabric for a moment. Then he reaches for his pant’s pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes, giving you his best casual smile.

“Sure! I gotta call a cab anyway, the wait is always a hassle at this hour.”

You smile at him and something stirs in his stomach as you begin to walk to the door. But Suguru quickly pushes it down when he hears a recognizable laugh coming from behind him in the counter. He doesn’t even dignify a glance behind. With a head shake, Suguru is fast to leave, fingers pulling a lighter from his pocket as he makes his way after you through the people.

The night was cold when you two stepped outside, the chill air making Suguru suddenly aware of how late it was. The empty streets were silent, save for whatever little noise escaped the bar walls. Tugging on his sleeves, Suguru turned to look at you just in time to see you shiver. Part of him wanted to put his arm around your shoulders, share his body warmth with yours - but he quickly thought that would be pushing it.

You two stop a few steps away from the bar’s entrance, resting your backs against the cold concrete walls, a warm streetlamp lighting you both from above. Suguru can’t help but notice how, even in its weird yellow glow, you still looked pretty. Like a soft light in the gray night around.

“You know you don’t need to keep accompanying me when I leave, right?”

Away from the loud noise of the bar, your question comes in an almost whisper. You glance up at him with a soft smile for a second before looking down as you pull your phone up. Suguru shrugs as he takes a cigarette out of the pack, deft fingers holding it just above his lips as he speaks.

“Don’t want a repeat from that creep from a while ago. Dude was still hanging around the bar after you left,” his response comes in a low voice, almost a grunt, as he pulls up his lighter and takes a drag from his cigarette, there is a beat of silence before he blows out the smoke. “Besides, still had a smoke break.”

“He hasn’t shown up again, I think I’m safe,” you respond with a soft laugh, eyes cast to your phone, Suguru watching the curl of your lips intently as he takes another drag, smoke filling his lungs.

“Better safe than sorry,” he shoots back nonchalantly, exhaling the milky smoke as he speaks. “And you drank some tonight. Fuck, I have no idea how you didn’t get wasted with that purple monstrosity. Careful that it doesn’t bring you a hangover as revenge.”

You watch him smile, brown eyes looking into yours before they turn back to the night sky, his long fingers bringing the cigarette back to his lips. Sure, the smoke never really smells nice, but the way it makes his voice huskier makes up for it. You laugh at his words, turning your head to the side to face him as he closes his eyes. It’s rare to see him this up close, your gaze following the way his lips wrap around the cigarette before you will yourself to stop staring.

“Oh, still worried. So cute,” you chuckle and look up again, nudging him with your shoulder, a teasing smile on your lips as you catch him looking at you from the corner of his eyes. “Thanks Suguru, but I’m sure I’ll be fine… I think.”

He turns away from you to blow out the smoke, and you watch it dance around him before he turns his face to you again, his head resting against the wall in a position mirroring yours. Suguru rolls his eyes and huffs out a breath, staring directly into your own gaze for a moment. It feels almost like time is freezing, like he feels as pulled towards you as you do to him. You hear him grunt lowly, as if he wants to say something but doesn’t quite know what.

“I appreciate it,” you are the one to break the silence, “really.”

The gentle touch of your voice has his throat tightening, it pulls the air from his lungs for a second before breathing life into him again. Suguru can feel the warmth of your body as your shoulder presses against his arm, he can smell your sweet perfume, it’s almost overwhelming. And the worst part is that he feels caught in the undertow of your eyes, being pulled by a current he can’t fight against.

And now that he notices it, when did your faces start drifting closer?

“Just watching out for you,” he responds, voice coming softer than he imagined, like a whisper between you two. “Least I could do.”

You chuckle and Suguru shrugs, leaning into you subconsciously, eyes catching in the way your lips curl. You give him a warm smile, it’s inviting, flirtatious and sweet all at the same time. He wants to kiss you so badly. He knows he shouldn’t, but, fuck, he doesn’t remember wanting something so intensely since he got his freedom back.

“What a valiant knight,” you murmur back to him, moving closer, and now Suguru can even feel the warmth of your breath in the cold night.

His eyes move from your lips to your powerful gaze, the cigarette between his fingers long forgotten by now. You are so close, soft skin just within reach. Part of him wants to back off, mind screaming he shouldn’t be doing this. But another part reminds him that you two are so close now, it would be more awkward if he moved away. Besides, by this point, it’s not really like he has the strength to. So he leans in closer, nose almost brushing against yours.

It’s you who bridges the gap, braving those last few inches and touching your soft lips to his own. The kiss is warm and gentle at first, but it only takes a moment of your mouths touching for it to turn passionate. Suguru feels the cigarette slipping from his fingers to the floor, but he doesn’t mind, bringing his hand to hold your face as his tongue ventures into your mouth.

You still taste of the damn Devilock Bomb - but he could acquire a taste for the purple monstrosity if he kept on finding it in your mouth. And it’s not like he can say anything when he is a smoker. But all thoughts vanish from his head when he feels your hands on his chest, fingers tugging the fabric of his shirt as you pull him in. The smell of your perfume, the wetness of your mouth, the feeling of your body. Suguru is pretty sure this is what nirvana must feel like.

The kiss feels almost infinite, his thumb caressing your face as your lips stay locked together for a moment that stretches into forever. But then it’s gone. Just as sudden as it came. And Suguru realizes that it was way too short, time slipping through his fingers like sand as your car arrives. You reluctantly let go of each other, sharing a last soft touch, his hands hesitating to let go when yours feel so good caressing his neck. But you have to leave.

Suguru watches you get into the car, making sure you are safe inside before he closes the door for you, giving the driver a stern look just to be safe. For a moment there, he regrets not having your number - just so he could be sure you’d arrive home safe, he tells himself. The car quickly leaves and he is alone again. Nothing but the empty night surrounding him.

Walking back, he puts his forehead to the wall, groaning in frustration as his hands come to his hair, tugging at the roots and messing it up. Shit, he really shouldn’t have done this. He fucked up, fucked up big time. So why the hell did it have to feel so damn good?

He is heaving, closing his eyes tight before opening them up again, gaze cast to the ground where he finds his dropped cigarette just by the tip of his boot. Suguru sighs, rubbing his face with one hand as he bends down and picks it up. His hands struggle with the cheap plastic lighter before he manages to get a flame going. He dusts off the cigarette, then puts it to his lips, lighting it up again.

Breathing in slowly, Suguru inhales the smoke, feeling it burn as it passes down his throat, the well-known sting a welcomed friend. Fuck, why did your lips have to taste so good? He knows damn well this can go nowhere and yet, here he is, a grown man with butterflies in his stomach. Breathing out the smoke, he groans, fingers tapping anxiously against the wall.

He can feel his body yearning for your touch again. Worse, he can feel his heart stuttering, as if it ever had any chance to begin with. The damn thing refuses to acknowledge the reality of its situation. Well, no use in thinking over what’s done now. So Suguru smokes away the rest of his break, and tries to put on his best normal face before going back in.

#geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto suguru #jjk x reader

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themculibrary · 1 year

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“First timer?” He nodded and she gave him an encouraging smile. “Well, don’t worry, there’s glass behind the curtain, so the omegas can’t bite.” Then she winked. “That costs extra.”

Steve’s face got even hotter. He certainly wasn’t doing that.

Steve knew he wasn't any omega's first choice, or hell, even third. But what starts as a visit to a seedy Peep Show in Manhattan ends up changing his life for good.

perfectly right wrong number (ao3) - melonbutterfly steve/bucky T, 31k

Summary: It all starts because Steve is too dumb to handle his smartphone.

A wrong number AU in which Bucky Barnes doesn’t enter Steve’s life (meaning: Bucky wasn’t born until the eighties, but Steve is still Captain America) until Steve accidentally dials the wrong number. Wherein there is a lot of texting, some advice via Natasha and Darcy, a bit of pining, and a first date in an amusement park. Oh, and on top of being a disabled veteran, Bucky is a professional catwalker. Literally.

Perfect Match (ao3) - BladeoftheNebula steve/tony M, 9k

Summary: All Steve wants to do is get through his omega work placement and get out. Too bad Tony Stark, the alpha son of the CEO, is such a dick.

Peter and the Jailbirds (ao3) - beautifullights mj/peter, steve/sam M, 86k

Summary: “If you did play chess,“ Ross said, "you’d remember that a pawn can become a queen. The most powerful piece on the board, Parker, remember that? But—” Ross smiled— “only if it obeys.”

He adjusted his tie, stood, and looked down at Peter. “I’ll ask you again,” he said. “Eventually. You may feel differently after you’ve been living in a six-by-six cube without sunlight or fresh air for a few years.”

“What pawns do,” Peter said, voice shaking slightly, “is sacrifice themselves for the greater good. I have no regrets.”

He had a lot of regrets.

Like, a lot. A crapton. A shitload. An overloaded dumpsterful.

“When I visit you on the Raft,” Ross said, “you’ll be old enough to grow a beard.” The cell door clicked shut behind him.

Peter Parker’s Home for the Wayward Villain - BeanieBaby T, 90k

Summary: A really long redemption story.

Peter’s Field Trip To Stark Tower (ao3) - ScxrletWidowXx G, 4k

Summary: Peter Parker’s class is going on a school trip! Can you guess where?

— Basically, the Avengers are embarrassing Peter and being overprotective because of Flash.

peter’s stars (ao3) - IronPengu, parkrstark peter & steve, steve/tony T, 175k

Summary: Steve and Peter lose their apartment and are kicked out on the streets. Steve has to juggle between jobs to earn whatever money he can, take care of his son while resfusing to let him realize how much they’re trouble in, and keep them warm and safe on the city streets in winter.

So, he really doesn’t have time to date the billionaire that flirts with him everyday as he buys his cup of coffee. Even if he did, he can’t let himself fall for the man. Because if he knew that he lived from a backpack and showered in a public bathroom there’s no way he’d still want him…right?

Pick a Star on the Dark Horizon (ao3) - artist_artists sam/bucky T, 38k

Summary: In 1945, a Hydra experiment gone wrong sends their prisoner Bucky Barnes to the year 2025, where he meets Sam Wilson for the first time.

In 2025, Bucky is stolen from his happy life living and working with Sam and sent back to his Hydra cell in 1945.

Both of them love Sam, and both of them are trying to get back to where they belong without destroying the universe.

Pieces of Echoes (ao3) - geekymoviemom steve/tony, happy/pepper T, 334k

Summary: When weapons designer and SHIELD consultant Tony Stark and his son are kidnapped following a routine weapons demonstration, newly defrosted World War II hero Steve Rogers is sent to find them.

But what begins as just another mission, a way for Captain America to reintegrate back into society, quickly warps into something more as betrayals are discovered, harsh, long-buried truths are finally brought to light, and Tony and Steve come to realise that their biggest allies are each other.

Powers and Principalities - Filigree loki/tony M, 5k

Summary: Jarvis is a scheming schemer who schemes, but he loves Tony very much. Loki doesn’t stand a chance.

practice makes imperfect(ao3) - wintermadethissoldier steve/bucky M, 3k

Summary: the one where bucky learns that steve’s never kissed a girl and insists he has to practice, preferably, with bucky. 17 is an age bucky will never forget.

pretty in ink (ao3) - flowermasters G, 5k

Summary: Peggy is a secret agent by day and the front-woman of a girl band by night. Steve is just a tattoo artist, but he’s also head over heels for her.

Pretty Keener (ao3) - mauvera harley/peter T, 30k

Summary: When Harley Keener moves to New York for his last year in high school, he comes with one mission: Mess. With. Everyone.

Somewhere between convincing Captain America that he is actually Spider-Man, and seeing just how many robots he can sneak into his new school, Harley finds himself spending more and more time around a certain boy with more secrets than he could ever have guessed.

Proprietary Information (ao3) - notlucy steve/bucky E, 85k

Summary: Okay, so Bucky Barnes has a crush on Steve Rogers. The guy’s gorgeous, talented and, oh yeah, the Chief Design Officer of the biggest tech company in the world. In other words: he’s so far out of Bucky’s league that he might as well be in a different stratosphere.

protective big brothers (ao3) - haveufoundwhaturlookingfor rebecca/sam, steve/bucky G, 1k

Summary: Sam is taking Rebecca out on their first date, he has the pleasure of meeting her big brother, Bucky.

Publicity Parent (ao3) - Bowtiez G, 36k

Summary: Tony's losing his credit with the public. Pepper's got a plan to fix it.

Enter Peter Parker, eight-year-old orphan from Queens, New York.

Tony has no idea how children work, so why is he so drawn to little Peter Parker?

“Punk!” (ao3) - mjolnir_in_my_hands steve/bucky E, 3k

Summary: Steve and Bucky reunite after the events of the Winter Soldier.

put it in reverse and hit him again (ao3) - paperclipbitch lance/bobbi M, 15k

Summary: Is it any wonder, these days, that he opens his mouth and Bobbi just pours right out?

#themculibrary #mcu #marvel #ficsp #ficsp masterlist #masterlists

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fadedseas · 2 years

Text

what died didn’t stay dead: part v

Miguel Galindo x fem!reader

Part 5 of __: unraveling discoveries

Tags: Soulmate AU, Legal Drama, Canon Divergence

Summary: You walk into the courtroom, expecting to arraign Emily Galindo for the murder of a county clerk. You don’t expect to meet your soulmate in that courtroom. The husband of the woman you’re trying to indict. Miguel Galindo.

Chapter Summary: “There is always a higher calling, a bigger picture. Do you genuinely think that anyone really cares about a lowly county clerk? No, the machinations of justice aim to accomplish a greater feat. This is an opportunity. One that could benefit both of us. We could have a partnership of sorts given that your main interest is Mrs. Galindo and mine is-”

TW: cursing

Word count: 2003

There were times when Miguel could barely remember his father’s face.

It was as if there was a fog in his mind that softened his father’s searing eyes and blurred the deep lines of stress into an almost comforting faceless figure that Miguel could remember smelling vaguely of cloves and well-aged whiskey.

But then there were other times.

There were other times when Miguel could see his father in vivid color in his mind’s eye, when he could remember the clarity in his eyes, the sharpness in them that built his family’s empire.

When Miguel was a child, his father used to take him out on long drives through the deceptively sleepy border towns. They would watch as men shoved packages of product into the massive tires of the long-haul trucks and shove crates onto hidden tunnels, lit only by the headlights of scattered cars and the glow of the moon.

Miguel could remember the firmness of his father’s hand on his shoulder, the smell of cigars on his breath, and his face illuminated by the dashboard, “This isn’t what I want for you Miguel,” he sighed long and slow, “but sometimes, monstrous things can still be useful.” He paused for a few minutes, staring at the monotonous drone of work, “There may be one day Miguel, where I do not come home, and you will have to be a man when that happens.”

“Sé Padre,” Miguel responded quietly.

He gestured towards his workers, “You see those people, Miguel? They’re the foundation of our company, of our family and the lifestyle we have.” He turned to look at Miguel, “And they would sell us all out for a pretty penny if given the chance.”

Miguel startled.

“I don’t blame them, Miguel. Survival is not about compassion. Loyalty is something that you can never buy. It is earned. Never be so arrogant as to assume that you are entitled to it. Entiendes?”

Miguel nodded, swallowing hard.

His father chuckled, “Don’t worry about that now, hijo. I’m still here, stubborn and alive.”

Miguel tipped his glass, feeling the burn of whiskey as it traveled down his throat. The sun was still high in the sky and a part of him wondered if he should feel some shame drinking in the heat of the early afternoon. But he was too far gone.

How right he was, Miguel mused, gazing outside of his window. His wife had used his hired guns to take out the competition. Without his knowledge. Under his roof.

The betrayal was nearly as bitter as the liquor he was consuming. Maybe he should be more hurt by this. Or maybe a part of him had always known this would happen.

Besides, he had no room to talk of betrayal. He flexed his fist, allowing the fabric of his shirt to brush against his forearm.

Emily had quieted after she revealed that to him. Miguel’s anger was a force of nature. But his silence was vicious. She was off in another part of the house, or perhaps she had gone out. Miguel didn’t care. How much more damage could she possibly do to their family?

He tipped his head back, closing his eyes briefly. And it was the mouthy recruit too. The one who couldn’t even hold his mouth.

Perhaps he should be offended that they sent a prospect out to do the bidding of their boss’s wife. He snorted and then paused. A prospect carrying out a murder? At the direct orders of their boss’s wife? The one time he had met with the prospect, he had a guard of at least what? Six other people to supervise him -

His train of thought ended when Nestor rounded the corner. The hesitancy that he had tried to carefully cloak made Miguel turn around and pause.

“What is it?”

“Mikey…there’s been an incident with one of the deliveries.”

What the fuck? What was going on? Either the Mayans had really lowered their standards for work…or there was something else happening. Regardless, he had to get his affairs in order. Miguel hated it when his employees became too…disorderly.

He tossed his empty glass onto a nearby end table with a new resolve. His empire would not crumble. He would make sure of it.

__________________

You had grown fond of your little office during your time here.

It was a shoebox of a thing, shoved into a forgotten corner after a long trek through the dusty, hazy, underfunded halls of the DA’s office. You tried to make it homey to the best of your ability. There were photos of your parents, and a few of your friends from law school that you hadn’t called in ages, scattered across your desk. Three wilting snake plants and one nearly dead philodendron from well-meaning office Secret Santas exchanges lay ignored in the corners of the room.

As usual, it was just you and paperwork laid out in front of you on your government-issued metal desk.

You rubbed your eyes as the words on the paper blurred. Your other hand reached over, wrapping around the mug of cold coffee. You leaned back, finally taking note of the darkened sky. God knows how many hours you had spent, hunched over the files that detailed Emily Galindo’s life. It was strange; you now felt a strange intimacy with her despite the divergences in both of your life choices.

Emily Thomas was a local through and through, grew up in Santo Padre, managed to get out and move away for college. She had really embodied the American Dream, rising through the social ranks through her admission to college and then through her marriage to Miguel Galindo, truly peaking at the highest echelons of society. By being a criminal. You couldn’t help but add.

Your parents weren’t poor, but they weren’t particularly wealthy either. You could remember your mother’s giggles and the excited lilt in her voice whenever your father saved up enough money to take her out dancing for the evening. No, your family wasn’t wealthy, but you did know the slow, sweet savoring of beautifully small moments. Emily likely did too from her childhood.

Maybe she had grown tired of only having the slivers of the good life. Maybe that was why she had allowed herself to become immersed in the illicit Galindo Empire. But something called her back here. You sighed, flipping through her file until you reached her academic records. She had gone to high school with Reyes. You knew that. You had his file spread out adjacent to hers, comparing their lives as well.

It seemed like some sort of twisted modern day Romeo and Juliet in a way. Star-crossed lovers that were torn apart by violent circumstances. Your lip quirked at the cliche and then stilled. God, had you really become that cynical?

You shook away the thought, continuing to peruse through her file. High school sweethearts, star-crossed lovers or not - they had broken up. Had been broken up for years. Who the hell would just abide by the bidding of their ex-girlfriend whom they haven’t seen in nearly a decade? No one was that desperate, you scoffed.

You shifted to look at Ezekiel Reyes’ files. If Emily Thomas was the American Dream, Ezekiel Reyes was an American Tragedy. You ran your finger down the marathon of A+ and academic awards. So much potential - wasted in a single moment. You flipped to his arrest record - or perhaps it wasn’t entirely wasted. He only served eight years? Sure, the cop was a dirty one but still, police closed ranks around each other, and promoted a culture of silence that evaded accountability. That’s why there were so many dirty cops on the force, they were as common as the coffee stains on your dress sleeves.

The circle of brotherhood extended to corrections officers as well. It was a miracle Reyes managed to survive his sentence, much less get released in only eight years. That was practically unheard of for a charge that usually carried over 20 years - and Reyes was not the type of person that generally inspired leniency in the justice system…unless -

You leaned forward again in your chair, and reached for the phone.

“This is quite a large case you’ve picked up.”

A part of you wanted to startle at the appearance of the tall, soft-spoken man that appeared at the frame of your door. You lowered your hand, and straightened your spine.

“What a treat - I usually don’t get visits from federal prosecutors. To what do I owe the pleasure?” You raised an eyebrow, “Don’t tell me the feds are looking to poach my case.”

Lincoln Potter sauntered in, leaning his wiry frame against the wall. “Not at the moment,” he shrugged, “but I won’t lie and say that I have no interest in the case. Of course, I would never think to interfere with the execution of justice…at the city level of course.”

“And so, you’re here to…what? Peak at my notes over my shoulder?”

“There’s no reason to be hostile, Counsellor. We have the same goal - one that I’m increasingly considering to be…perhaps too ambitious for our own good, but similar nonetheless. We want to take down the bad guys.”

You sigh, “It’s late, Potter. The only goal I have at the moment is to go home and go to bed. So stop speaking in circles and just tell me what you want.”

“Nothing at the moment,” his eyes glinted with a sort of sickening amusement that made your stomach twist, “but I did want to inform you that I have been running a parallel investigation on the Galindo Cartel for a while now. Interesting information from…interesting sources that I’ve picked up.”

“Unless it’s related to Emily Galindo murdering a city clerk - I’m not interested.” You reached and flick off the desk light, “I’m not DEA or FBI, Potter - so if that’s all -”

“There is always a higher calling, a bigger picture. Do you genuinely think that anyone really cares about a lowly county clerk? No, the machinations of justice aim to accomplish a greater feat. This is an opportunity. One that could benefit both of us. We could have a partnership of sorts given that your main interest is Mrs. Galindo and mine is-”

“No,” you interrupted. “I’m not interested in whatever deal or arrangement you have. I owe it to Marlon Buksar to prosecute his killer. That’s it. Nothing more, nothing less. And certainly nothing that is going to put me in the crosshairs of whatever war you’re waging with the cartel.”

His smile unsettled you further, “Don’t you think it’s a little late for that? If you were going to cower like this, you should’ve said no when Kohler called.”

You said nothing.

Potter threw up his hands, “Well I suppose it’s rude to call on someone so close to the end of business day - or past that actually. But fair warning, you’re involved whether you want to be or not. And unlike me, others may not be offering such a symbiotic relationship.”

“Thanks for the warning.” You stood, reaching out a hand for him to shake, clearly dismissing him from the room.

Potter shakes your hand and nods, turning to leave before pausing.

“Out of curiosity, you haven’t found your soulmate have you?”

The twist in your stomach violently jerks to your throat. You had carefully kept his face, his name, the secure grip of his arms around you, out of your mind all day. You fought to stop yourself from flexing your hand under Potter’s careful eye. “No,” you croak, “haven’t had the luck.” Shit. Did he know? How could he?

He nods again, “How fortunate. They don’t fare well in our world.” He walks out the door, splintering the tension in the room.

You stare after him for a second before collapsing into your chair in the darkened room.

You really needed to get some sleep.

Instead you picked up the phone and called Kohler.

“I need to see Ezekiel Reyes.”

part I

part II

part III

part IV

part IV.V

__________________

A/N: Things are starting to get extremely messy now that Potter’s entered the picture! Thank you all for hanging on while I try to get my life together these past few months - I’ll try to put out a chapter more regularly now that my schedule has hopefully gotten more regular. Although I may write a Nick Amaro fanfic after I watch his episode in the new season of SVU!

To be completely honest, some things may not happen in the order that they do in the show as I haven’t watched Mayans in a while. So please excuse any continuity errors. At this point, Dita is still alive, and Miguel is already working with Los Olvidados.

As always, let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list!

Please R&R as always! Thank you again!

Links

masterlist

ao3

Taglist:

@amorestevens

@jatriciaaa

@hali-hellzangel

@est1887

@sebastian-stan-stan1

#mayans mc #miguel galindo #miguel galindo x you #soulmate au #miguel galindo x reader #danny pino #miguel galindo fanfic #wddst #unfinished

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mephiles97 · 1 month

Text

Looking Glass Chapter 16

OH MY GOD IT TOOK FREAKING FOREVER TO FINISH THIS BUT I DID IT- Now I just have to worry about the next chapter... And all the other stuff I want to write and work on write now... My god I have too many projects for my own good

#murder drones #murder drones fandom #murder drones fanfic #murder drones au #swap au #murder drones beau #murder drones cyn #murder drones braiden #Through The Looking Glass #Looking Glass AU

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jooniyah · 4 years

Text

Poison Apple : The Second

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

AU: Yandere!au, Moneylender!Taehyung

Genre: Angst, Mature, Smut rated R

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

Word count: 22.91 K

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

This is a non-consensual setting, please proceed only if you are not triggered by the warnings. All warnings for Chapter 1 apply. I repeat, please be sure to read all the warnings carefully.

Author’s note: This is the second chapter of the Poison Apple Trilogy. Please make sure to read Part 1 before proceeding.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

The man clad in black adjusted the scope of his M107 rifle, making sure his reticle was in perfect position. As he waited for his target, he did a quick sweep of the terraces of the adjacent buildings. No one was about. A faint slippery sheen of dew covered the cracked floors of the terrace he was positioned on. Any time now. He looked at the neon digits glowing on his watch.

Overhead, his skilled ears could pick out the droning of an approaching airplane. His skin felt clammy, possibly due to the side effect of his beta-blockers. Well, he’d finish the job and go have a well-earned vacation. Cold hands weren’t a big side effect, not when his pills gave him razor-sharp precision at shooting. The gangway of the cruise liner was slowly opened to allow passengers on board. The time had come.

He carefully combed his eyes through the influx of passengers, seeking the one face he was looking for. He didn’t even need to take the photo out of his pocket. He had committed the face to memory. And no disguise could fool him, he was ready for everything the target might try to pull off.

Time ticked on. People were walking on the gangway, boarding the ship, waving to their loved ones. But the target was not to be found anywhere. The described person hadn’t arrived, and the sniper had assumed that he could catch the target on the gangway. But as his professional eyes raked through the humans on board, he knew he was wasting his time. He remained in position, watching on as the ship sounded the final horn before gliding smoothly out onto the sea. He dialed the only number on his burner phone.

“Yes?” The tone sounded shrill and eager.

“A no-show. I repeat, it was a no-show.”

“What? Are you sure you didn’t miss-“?

“I never miss a target.”

There was a deep frustrated sigh.

“Fine. Abort and return.”

The sniper proceeded to pack up his gear and prepared to leave.

On the other end of the line, the figure exhaled sharply, muttering curses and bemoaning the failure. Just then, a dark outline materialized in the doorway, causing the figure to jump up, body numb with defeat.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“I won’t repeat my question again, Mrs.Min.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Then, answer me.”

You remained motionless, staring at the hard-grey table, fingers interweaved.

“Well?” The officer raised his voice, rapping on the table.

“I told you the truth.”

The man scoffed, leaning back in his chair.

“Listen, lady. You know your story sounds shit stupid, right?”

Your voice broke into a whisper.

“But it is true.”

He rolled his eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was dripping with sarcasm.

“Mr. Kim killed your husband? For you? He’s obsessed with you?”

“Yes.”

“You are giving yourself way too much credit, lady.”

You gritted your teeth, refusing to look at him. He clicked his tongue.

“Well, if your absurd story is true, where is your husband’s body?”

“I don’t know.”

He tsked under his breath. “So what proof do you have to tie Mr.Kim to this alleged murder?”

“None.”

He got up abruptly, shaking his head in irritation. He pointed a finger at you.

“You’re wasting my time. And for the record, Mr.Kim has been nothing but helpful in this investigation.”

You slowly raised your head. “What? What did he say?”

“Do you good to hear it and weave another absurd story, wouldn’t it?”

You watched him hesitate at the door, his hand resting on the handle. “If you are so innocent, Mrs. Min, why didn’t you report your husband missing?”

An angry fuse went off in your brain.

“Why would I report him missing, if he was already dead?”

“Can you afford an attorney, Mrs.Min?”

“I-What?”

The officer stared at you, pursed his lips, and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

The court-appointed attorney was a tall, curvy woman in her early thirties. She looked calm and had an air of high maintenance about her. You wondered how she could have accepted to defend you. Maybe the woman did pro-bono work. She probably had rich clients. Rich. You were once rich. When Yoongi was alive. Yoongi. A bitter feeling coursed through your heart.

Another detective accompanied the officer who had previously interrogated you. They settled across you and the attorney, scraping chairs on the floor as they took their seats.

“Well, Mrs. Min,” the officer began, “we understand you have mortgaged all your property.”

“Yes.”

“So, what happened to the money?” The officer flicked through papers on a clipboard. “50 million dollars, wasn’t it?”

The second detective pushed himself forward. “More importantly, where is your husband?”

A dull throb started in your temples and seared across your skull. You could shout yourself hoarse that Yoongi was dead, but none of these people would believe you.

When he received no reply, the detective persisted.

“You got rid of him because you wanted the money to yourself, didn’t you?”

The attorney interjected in a harsh tone.

“My client will not answer that.”

“You hid the money someplace, so you could go and retrieve it later.”

“Officer, you will not harass my client like this.”

“I won’t, if she agrees to speak the truth.”

The woman turned to you; harsh impatience evident on the curl of her lips.

“Not a word, Y/N.”

You nodded weakly. You had told everything to the cops already. No one believed in you, not one soul believed that Kim Taehyung murdered Min Yoongi to obtain you. It was nightmarish to go on a walk, people threw such malicious looks your way. What had you ever done to deserve this?

The officers poked and prodded for some more time, and finally packed their papers and left. While you walked out of the interrogation room, your attorney asked you to join her for lunch. You attempted to decline; you weren’t in the mood for lunch. Or anything for that matter.

But you had nowhere to return to, except straight into Taehyung’s world. It was better to prolong the journey back. Besides, the attorney told you that she wanted to discuss a few case details with you over lunch. Automatically, your feet started following her.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

The minute you sat down to lunch, you understood that it was a ruse. She neither ordered food for herself nor did she suggest you to. As soon as the waiter turned, she dipped her head low and spoke rapidly:

“I hear that they are bringing in a solid witness to testify against you.”

The surprise caught you off-guard.

“But I didn’t do anything. What is the person going to testify about?”

“That you knew Yoongi was mortgaging your property and you jumped on the opportunity to get the money.”

“But that’s insane! I never-“

There was a haughty roll of her eyes that sparked bitter anger in you. She looked at you as if you were kidding.

“Oh, come on, doll. You can tell me the truth. I’m the only person you can trust.”

Her judging gaze made you want to punch her in the face.

“You think I – I am guilty? You don’t trust me?” Your tone grew louder and a few people turned to glance at you. “Why the hell did you agree to defend me then?”

“Pipe down,” she hissed, looking around herself self-consciously. “They have a witness and a story that sounds better than yours.”

“And that means I’m guilty? Because my story sounds ridiculous?”

She shrugged as if she didn’t care. She took her phone out, swiping on it mindlessly. There was nothing except for the clink of glasses and cutlery around you before she spoke again.

“I want you to consider a plea deal.”

“And why would I, when I’m clearly not guilty?” You folded your hands defiantly, surveying her with a hard stare.

“This is not a simple Missing Person search. You are a person of interest in this case as a possible murderer.”

“They haven’t yet found the body.” Your tongue had a metallic taste when you uttered the word.

“Yet.” She let the words sink in. “But they have proof that you stole the money.”

“Stole? That’s my husband’s money! I was taking it to save him.”

“You know what, Y/N? This story is so silly. You are going overboard with the obsession angle.” She leaned back and lit a cigarette. “You know what really happened?”

She paused and exhaled smoke in your direction, tilting her head to look at you more closely.

“You knew your husband owed Kim Taehyung money. You urged him to mortgage your property. He was probably unwilling. So, you pledged all your property and got the money. The money was in your house. It was easy cash. Min Yoongi was anyway going to be penniless after that, so-“

“Stop it!” Your scream turned a lot of heads.

“Allow me to finish.”

“No, stop it! Stop it right now!”

She smirked lazily. “-So why lose the cash and end up with him? It’s easy, you killed him and took off with the money. You stashed the money and never intended to show up again. Not before someone reported Yoongi missing, that is.”

“It wasn’t like that! You are fucking wrong!”

She blew a smoke ring, not minding your distress in the least. “But that is what the prosecution is bringing to court. And they have a witness who saw you lugging all the money and fleeing the house in your nightclothes.” She paused to laugh. “Couldn’t wait to even get properly dressed?”

Her phone chimed, and she looked down. Just as quickly, she grabbed her coat and briefcase, making haste to get out. You stood up to follow, but she laid a hand on your shoulder and sat you down again.

“He’ll be coming now. Remember what I said, the prosecutor’s going to have a field day with your story.”

She was out of earshot even before you could frame the words: “He? Who?”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

You knew who was walking towards you before you even saw his face. Him. The man who had killed your husband. The man who you were trying to prolong going back to. Kim Taehyung.

He weaved his way through the tables at the restaurant, reaching your side like a piece of metal drawn to a magnet. He took his Aviators off, mussing his dark bangs out of his eyes as he sat down opposite you.

You got up to leave, and his hand shot through the air to grip your forearm.

“Sit down, honey.” His face was open and pleasant, but his eyes were unreadable. “You haven’t had lunch yet.”

The grip tightened, and you settled back down, a scowl on your face as you did so. You never dulled your scorching glare while he called the waiter and ordered food. After the waiter left, he turned to you.

“It’s been two weeks since it happened, Y/N. How much longer do you want me to wait?”

Tears pricked your eyes. Two weeks before, you had kissed Yoongi in Taehyung’s basement for what you hadn’t known would be the last time ever. You had been taken to another cottage of Taehyung’s after it happened. You had refused to eat or talk; you had been consumed in grief. Suddenly, a day ago, Wo Bin had tossed you in a car, and he had dropped you off at a hotel room. That same afternoon, the cops had found you and taken you in for questioning.

“Y/N?” Taehyung’s deep voice broke into your thoughts. “I’m talking to you.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I want you.”

“I’d rather go to prison; I’ll at least be free from your clutches.”

He snickered, flashing a boxy smile at you. If you didn’t know better, you’d call that an innocent grin. He leaned towards you, the smile still turning up the corners of his mouth.

“You? In prison? Oh , baby, that’s not a place for a princess like you.” His gaze dropped down before he looked into your eyes again. “Especially a pregnant princess.”

He watched the way your face twisted. The waiter brought the food, laying down the plates swiftly before you. Taehyung smiled at him in amiable politeness, waited for him to leave and resumed without missing a beat:

“You will have to give birth in prison, you’ll lose your baby after 18 months anyway. You don’t have relatives, so your baby will most definitely go into the system for foster care. Do you want that?”

You had no answer. You hadn’t thought of it ever happening, to be honest.

“It’s also possible you’ll be sentenced to many long years in prison. By the time you get out, your baby would be an adult.”

He saw the way your lips trembled as you digested the facts he was presenting. He bent down and sipped a spoonful of his soup. You looked at his bent head, weighing your options.

“It’s better than-“

Before you could say any further, he cut you short, raising his hand.

“I must say I look forward to adopting your baby.”

He grinned smoothly as he saw you sputter in dismay. God, you were so cute.

“What? Why would you? You don’t care about Yoongi’s baby.”

“Well, true, but the baby is part bastard and part angel. I like to focus on the fact that half of you will be with me as I await your return.”

He slurped the noodles in his soup with a flourish. “I can pull some strings to get the baby assigned to me.” He wiped his mouth with a tissue delicately, watching you the entire time.

“Don’t make me hate you even more, Kim Taehyung.”

He reached over the table, trying to take your hand, but you flicked it away. He sighed and shook his head.

“Eat up, Y/N. That attorney of yours kept you waiting without even offering food.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. She was probably working for him. He seemed to have a lot of people wound around his little finger. Except you. You fell silent, eating without looking up once.

The table was silent until he cleared his throat.

“I want you to think all this through and decide if you want me to help you.”

You scoffed at him. “Help me? How? Do you own the Justice Department too?”

He looked unfazed. A tiny smile played on his lips. “Eat and we’ll talk at the hotel.”

You fell silent again, but the question wormed its way out of your mouth despite your control.

“Why am I staying in that hotel? You didn’t take me to your house.”

“Because you mortgaged your house, you ran away with the money, and I don’t know you apart from the occasional meetings in the elite parties. In the past, when poor Mr. Min was alive, of course.”

“You don’t know me? Are you fucking kidding me, Taehyung?”

His boxy smile returned. Though these were not exactly favorable circumstances, the fact that you were so prettily angry made his heart warm. You were mad at him because he said he didn’t know you? A small jealous part of his heart sang in joy. Even if those words were uttered with hate, he was certain you would love him if you got to know him better. Until then, the subtle undercurrent would have to suffice.

“Like I said, we’ll talk about this at the hotel, Y/N.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

When you reached the hotel room, Taehyung opened the door, motioning for you to go in.

“After you, my darling.”

Once you were inside, he took off your coat, brushing his fingers against your bare arms, his fingertips leaving goosebumps in their wake. You could hear him sigh heavily behind you, and you spun around to face him.

“Get on with it.”

He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “You mean, get on with making love to you?”

You swatted the hand that was ghosting your shoulder, your tone drenched in spite.

“You know what I meant, Taehyung. What the hell were you talking about at the restaurant?”

He pouted his lips and his face fell. “Oh. That.” He sighed again, walking over to the bed.

He sat down, patting the bed to indicate that you were supposed to sit down too. When you didn’t comply, he yanked you by the arm, making you sit in his lap. A hand reached to your side to pinch you in case you squirmed. By then, you knew better than to resist. He rested the side of his head on your shoulder, whistling softly.

“Baby, you’re going to be sent away for a long time.”

“For what? Don’t play your games with me, Kim Taehyung.”

He turned you so you were facing him. There was animation in his eyes, so unlike the usual blank stare. It looked almost as if he were sad.

“You’re going to be tried for the murder of your husband.”

You tried to jump up, and a sharp pinch stilled you into position. “But I didn’t kill him.”

He used his free hand to brush away the tears, his touch feathery light and exceptionally gentle.

“Even if they don’t find the body, there’s a lot of evidence for reasonable doubt, and that’s enough for the jury.”

A sudden tic made your lips tremble. He held you patiently, waiting for it to subside.

“What evidence?”

His eyes softened.

“Some blood. DNA.” He watched your expression as he added: “The fact that you mortgaged the property, got the money, and fled.”

“But I didn’t-” Your brows furrowed for a second before it struck you. “Bong Ju.”

He nodded without answering. He watched you work things out in your mind. He always admired your smartness. But after Yoongi died, you had become kind of slow at thinking through stuff. He wished you would get better quickly so he could pounce on you.

“So, what happens next? You kill my husband, put me in prison, and then take my child?”

He didn’t say anything, quietly looking at the beaded tears on the corners of your eyes.

“I can help you. I can make it all go away.”

Something made you squirm on his lap. To your utter horror, you discovered what it was. You hit his jaw, making him gasp. Pushing yourself off of his lap, you screamed, boiling with rage.

“You’re hard? This is making you hard? What kind of sick bastard are you?”

The scream didn’t have any effect on him. He kept staring at you, eyes burning with primal hunger. Watching you stand before him, face red in anger and nose flaring, made him feel things.

His voice was soft, almost inaudible. “You do that to me.” He reached out to grasp your hand again, and pulled you down so you were almost straddling him.

“Listen Y/N. You have made me wait long enough. I will say this only once, so you better pay attention.”

You struggled in his arms, trying to get away from him. But a hand firmly cupped your jaw and pulled you close to his face.

“Fucking. Listen.”

You nodded wordlessly, and he relaxed his hold on your jaw.

“Two scenarios. One, plead guilty and go to prison. They’ll try you for the murder too. Two, plead innocent and still go to prison. I’ve planted enough evidence to support both scenarios. And you’ll lose the baby in both cases.”

He looked at you chastely, eyes wide and sincere.

“I have both the prosecutor and the defense attorney ready to handle it either way. Any proof of your innocence turns up, your attorney will quash it down. She is very thorough. Your friend Jung Hoseok is already being watched.”

“You bought both the prosecutor and the attorney?”

“Money, baby. It’s what drives them all.”

“And? You want me to dance to your tune, don’t you? What is it?”

He smiled again, and the smile reached his eyes.

“Three, you walk away from all this. Innocent. Your baby lives.”

“In exchange for what?”

His eyes sparkled, and his hands softly squeezed the side of your hips.

“Marry me.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“What do you want, Se Jong?”

The man perched on the hood of the car didn’t flinch.

Wo Bin exhaled in irritation. He had other pressing matters to deal with. He had errands to run for his boss. The white folded paper was still in his pocket, making his mind itch to get on with it. The boss had given him the paper and asked him to find the man matching what was written on it. Strange order, but his boss probably had his reasons. He shook the thoughts away and focused on the man who was eating his time.

“Unlike you, I have work to do, Se Jong. Spit it out.”

The man addressed as Se Jong shrugged his shoulders, leaning back lazily on the car’s windshield.

“I don’t know man.”

Wo Bin ground his teeth.

“Why did you ask to meet me then?”

“I want more.”

“You already get more than enough.”

“Not as much as you do.”

Wo Bin’s nose flared. Having served in the military, it always hurt his pride to be compared to a civilian goon.

“I am not a bank robber like you, Se Jong. You’re not even a good shot. It’s a mystery why the boss still has you around.”

It was already a known fact that Kim Taehyung only employed the best of the best. Wo Bin often wondered what a dimwit like Se Jong was doing in his Taehyung’s fleet.

“Banker. How do you think the boss stashes his money if he doesn’t have people in the bank pulling strings for him?”

“Get to the point, Jong.”

“I said it already I want more. I want you to talk to the boss for me.”

“Consider it never done.”

Wo Bin turned his back and stormed away, leaving the man on the car seething in anger. Little did he know that Se Jong wasn’t as harmless as he seemed.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

The courtroom was jam-packed. Your attorney had told you that the first sitting was just to warm the jury up to the facts of the case. But the sheer number of people in the gallery made you feel intimidated. Well, it was a case concerning the Min family. More importantly, Min Yoongi’s wife was on trial.

The prosecutor, Kang Minsook, made his opening statements, addressing the jury and accusing you of grand larceny. You watched on, neurons firing in your brain, as the prosecutor spun a splendidly woven tale of how you married Yoongi for money, felt cheated when he fell into debt, decided it was time to take the money for yourself, and fled.

Kim Taehyung was seated in the spectator area, dressed in his best of blacks, watching on as the prosecutor piled wrong information, wrapping up the lies smoothly with a few bits of truth so that it looked dirty, but believably so.

Your attorney made her opening statements, but they fell flat in front of the prosecutor’s powerful story of lies. One glance at the jury told you that none of them were buying the version of the case that the defense was presenting.

The judge turned to you.

“Mrs. Min, in this accusation of grand larceny, how do you plead?”

Your eyes swept over the jury. No soft glances were aimed towards you. You then looked at Taehyung, sitting with an air of regality as if he were presiding over the courtroom. Stretching yourself to your full height, you replied quietly:

“Not guilty, your Honor.”

A smile slowly spread across Taehyung’s lips.

The prosecutor was on his feet as soon as he got permission to start.

“I’d like to call the prosecution’s first witness, your Honor.”

You strained to see who was the witness. A tall man you knew only too well rose from the bench and took the witness stand. It was surely not the bald man you were expecting to see.

“Mr. Kim, please state your name and occupation for the sake of the court.”

The man looked straight ahead, flexing the muscles in his jaw. It made him look arrogant, giving off vibes of a man not to be messed with.

“I am Kim Namjoon. I’m the Executive Director of Park and Kim Motors Inc.”

“And how were you related to Mr. Min?”

“We were family friends.”

“Please elaborate on the nature of your relationship, Mr. Kim.”

The witness gazed at Minsook, and suddenly his eyes wore a brooding look.

“Min Yoongi and I were friends through our parents’ societal ties. I used to play Chess every evening with Yoongi before he got engaged.”

“So, your friendship with Mr. Min goes long back.” The prosecutor stopped to wipe his spectacles, leaving you wondering what he was up to.

“May I ask, Mr. Kim, as to why you stopped playing Chess with Mr. Min after his engagement?”

Your counsel shot to her feet.

“Objection, your Honor. The prosecutor is wasting the court’s time with irrelevant questions.”

Minsook looked at the judge with surprised eyes.

“But it is a relevant question, your Honor.”

“Overruled.”

Smiling broadly in a way that made your insides turn, the man turned again to his witness.

“Well, Mr. Kim?”

Kim Namjoon stared at you, so much malice concentrated in his eyes.

“His fiancée didn’t want me spending too much time with Yoongi.”

There was a pause. And then with a condescending tone, the next question was thrown:

“Maybe there was an innocent reason, Mr. Kim? Maybe the defendant wanted all the attention to herself?”

Once again, your counsel stood up with a loud “Objection, speculation, your Honor.”

“Sustained.”

With a wicked grin, the prosecutor threw a careless apology to the judge, looking at the witness expectantly.

“I don’t know. But now I know she wasn’t as innocent as she seemed.”

“Why exactly do you say that, Mr. Kim?”

Namjoon glared at you again.

“She didn’t even bother to search for Yoongi. She ran away.”

The prosecutor took a sealed evidence bag in his hand, turning so he was facing both the witness and the jury.

“And who filed the Missing Person report about Mr. Min?”

“I did. She didn’t. Because she was too busy counting the money.”

“Objection!”

“The prosecution will advise their witness not to make assumptive statements.”

But the damage had already been done.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

You sat and listened as your husband’s best friend told the court how Yoongi had been increasingly agitated in the months prior to his disappearance.

“He was in so much trouble, it was clear as day,” he said.

“And did he tell you what was bothering him, Mr. Kim?”

Namjoon clenched his jaw again. “He was missing his mother very badly.”

The wicked gleam in Minsook’s eyes returned.

“What happened to his mother, Mr. Kim?”

“His mother had been institutionalized. His wife and mother were not on good terms. It broke Yoongi’s heart to part with his mother like that.”

“So, Mr. Min’s wife sent her mother-in-law away?”

The jury watched Namjoon affirm that with a curt “Yes.” Your attorney made no attempt to object. Things were beginning to look dark for you.

“Why do you think the elder Mrs. Min was sent away, Mr. Kim?”

The judge waited for your counsel to object citing speculation. But she made no move. With a withering glance, the judge advised the defense to not indulge in speculation.

The question was rephrased with a sly grin.

“What did Mr. Min tell you about his mother being sent away?”

Namjoon looked at the jury with sincere eyes.

“He said that his wife was in danger because of his mother. Mrs. Min accused her mother-in-law of trying to stab her with a knife.”

“Did Mr. Min say that the accusation was correct?”

“He only arrived in time to separate them. So, there’s no proof of who instigated the fight.”

Your palms started sweating. A delicate web of lies was being spun around you, and the spider at the center of it all sat watching with quiet enthusiasm.

“Did you know that Mr. Min was in huge financial debt?”

Taehyung watched the witness shake his head, followed by a curt “No.” He slid his hand to his pocket where his phone buzzed. There was a single message on the notification shade.

“Done.”

He looked back at the man who was talking, turning his phone’s display off and allowing himself a smile.

The prosecutor was going on.

“Why didn’t Mr. Min confide in you, if you were such close friends? He could have even borrowed from you.”

Namjoon shifted in his seat, his thick brows crumpling slightly as he processed the question.

“I don’t remember exactly, but I heard in passing that his wife shopped extravagantly. I assume it was his wife who wrung him dry. So, he was probably unable to confide in me about his wife.”

The prosecutor beamed.

“Naturally.”

Your attorney interrupted with an objection citing speculation, which was sustained.

At that, the prosecutor produced another plastic bag of evidence.

“These are the receipts that prove Mrs. Min purchased exquisite jewels, your Honor.” He flourished the bag at the jury, eyes bright with emotion. “Each purchase cost more than the previous one, amounting to millions of dollars.”

Wearing a proud smile, the prosecutor thanked the witness and gave your attorney the nod to cross-examine the witness. The woman slowly got up, adjusting her robes as she approached the witness box.

“Let me start with the easiest question, Mr. Kim.” Her face took on an innocent expression. “Wasn’t Mr. Min already very rich? Why would he ever get into debt? He already owned the Min Group.”

Namjoon looked at her in confusion. “He didn’t own the Min Group. His father did.”

“The late Mr. Min?”

“Yes. Yoongi was only the executive director of the Min Group until his father died.”

You watched your attorney look suddenly uncomfortable. You didn’t understand the need for this line of questioning. The jury looked confused too. Until the next question tore through the silence.

“How did the late Mr. Min die, Mr. Kim?”

“He was involved in a car accident. He died of multiple organ failure.”

“So, both of Mr. Min’s parents were out of the picture shortly after he married the defendant?”

You couldn’t believe your ears. Was your own attorney suggesting that-?

“Yes.” Namjoon’s voice interrupted the thoughts racing through your mind.

The judge looked sharply at your counsel. Was she out of her mind, to hand such an insinuating lead to the prosecution?

“Are you going anywhere with this, counsel?”

Your attorney nervously bit her lip.

“No, your honor.”

She turned to Namjoon.

“Couldn’t the defendant have purchased the jewels even when the elder Mr. Min was alive?”

Namjoon wondered if this woman had even researched her case properly. What kind of attorney gave away their client like this in court? He looked at you, weighing his words.

“Mr. Min handled all the finance of the Min family. Yoongi could have bought her the jewels, yes, but his father had to okay any big expenses he made.”

“I see. Thank you, Mr. Kim.”

Namjoon was excused from the witness stand. You were in utter disbelief. You were being framed. By your own attorney. Taehyung was right. You were going to prison.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

You couldn’t bring yourself to munch the sandwich that was before you. It was court recess, and your attorney was by your side, eating busily. She was completely oblivious of your apparent resentment towards her.

“How could you give me away like that?”

She looked up; eyebrows raised.

“Like what?”

You had to control yourself from shouting at the top of your lungs. Clutching the table hard, you rocked yourself, trying to be calm.

“You almost accused me of killing my father-in-law.”

She rolled her eyes with a blank “Eh.” On seeing you intensify the burning stare; she grumblingly munched the last bit of her steak.

“You’re already on your way to prison, dearie. Nothing I say or don’t is gonna help you.”

“You are my fucking lawyer!”

A few lawyers seated on the adjacent table murmured in disapproval in your general direction.

“Mind your fucking business!” You shouted at them, eyes blazing in anger. The woman clucked her tongue in disapproval.

“That temper won’t help. Don’t incriminate yourself even more. I did tell you to accept a plea deal, Y/N.”

Three tables away from yours, Kang Minsook was seated with his associates, deep in discussion.

“Something about this case makes me feel weird,” an associate was saying. “Why would the defense point out the senior Mr. Min’s accident? It only makes sense if we do. What is that attorney up to?”

Far back in the cafeteria, Taehyung sipped a cold strawberry milkshake as he watched you. Ugh. He had to endure the disgusting milkshake just for you. For you. Yes, he would do anything for you. But the obvious artificial strawberry flavoring was almost too much. You would pay later for making him drink such cheap stuff.

As his juniors droned on about the case, Minsook glanced over at your gloomy figure staring down at the table. It made him wonder how you were going to handle what was coming next.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

You were sure you were going to be called up for cross-examination as soon as the court was in session. Bunching the hem of your skirt tight, you bent your head in apprehension. They were going to call out your name. They were going to prove that you killed Yoongi. They were going to send you to prison. Your knuckles tightened around the fabric, the dampness of your palm transferring onto it.

“The prosecution summons Mr. Kim Taehyung, your Honor.”

All the fear in the world rolled into one tight ball that got caught in your throat. Taehyung was going to testify?

The black-haired man took confident strides as he made his way to the witness stand. Everything about him suggested a successful, genuine, and well-respected man. The ladies in the gallery murmured about how rare it was to see not one but two families in the elite circle pitted against each other. The thumping of your heart was so loud and deafening. Taehyung composed himself with a sincere look in his dark eyes.

“Please state your name and occupation for the sake of the court.”

He raked his eyes through the jury. “I am Kim Taehyung. I am the CEO of Kim Automotive LLC.”

Minsook considered the witness carefully.

“What kind of relationship do you have with the Min family?”

“We were both rich families.” Taehyung masked the bitterness in his voice. “We met at social gatherings.”

“Do you know the defendant?”

“Yes.” The answer was abrupt, leaving unsaid words hanging in the air. The prosecutor pressed on.

“How do you know her?”

Taehyung batted his thick eyelashes innocently, looking square into the eyes of Minsook.

“She came to me trying to pledge the Min estate.”

There was a sharp gasp from the spectators and the low murmuring started to grow louder before the judge pounded his gavel.

The prosecutor waited for all the hushed voices to completely dribble down into sharp silence before asking the burning question:

“The defendant sought you out by herself?”

You closed your eyes lest someone see the beaded drops that were threatening to fall. All the memories of what happened half an hour ago flashed in your mind in full throttle.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

You had been walking back to the benches outside the courtroom, when a man bumped into you, causing you to gasp out loud. As you clutched your shoulder and glared crossly at the retreating figure, you noticed chewing gum on your suit. Wincing in disgust, you tried to peel it off when you noticed a small neatly folded bit of paper sticking to it. You opened it, only to find four words written on the slip.

‘Barristers’ chambers No. 3. -KTH’

Turning just in time, your eyes caught Taehyung as he slowly watched you and walked ahead, leading the way.

── ⋆✩⋆ ──

“Well, sugar? Ready to change your mind yet?” were the words that greeted you upon entering the chambers.

The blinds were drawn, lending a dark ambiance to the room. Taehyung was half-leaning on the table, supporting the weight of his body on both his arms. He watched you, fascinated by the pencil skirt and the tailored suit jacket that fit you so well. It was a shame that you had to go through all the court drama. The worry on your forehead made him want to reach over and kiss all the tension away. Only if you let him. He sighed.

He pushed himself off the table, reaching you in determined strides, his face alight with emotion. With an arrogant flick of his wrist, he crooned in his deep voice:

“20 more minutes before the court is in session, darling.”

His long fingers gripped your jacket, pulling you into his chest. The fingers roamed on your person, finding purchase at the nape of your neck. The heat of his body accompanied by the firm grip of his fingers left you frozen in place.

Taehyung rang his tongue over his upper lip, curling his mouth in a suggestive smirk.

“So, yes or no?”

“I- How can you make it all go away?” your voice came in a bare whisper.

“Baby, I always get my way. Do you still doubt what I’m capable of?”

He nuzzled his forehead against yours, sighing deeply in content. His eyes fluttered closed, the steady rise and fall of his chest falling in rhythm with yours.

“So? What is it? Endure me, or spend a lifetime in prison wondering what I did with your child?”

“Plea-“

His finger shushed your lips, stopping you from saying anything he didn’t want to hear. His eyes were still closed, but there was a soft smile kindling in the corners of his lips.

“18 minutes left, Y/N. Say it. Yes or No?”

Your mind was a maze of emotions. Say yes and live with Taehyung? The man who killed your husband? You’d have to be insane to do that. Say no and go to prison? What would you do without your baby? Why did all of this happen? Where exactly did you go wrong? Why were you trapped in a room with your husband’s killer draped all over your bosom?

“15 minutes.”

A giant sob rocked your body, tears streaming down your face as you spat it out:

“Yes.”

His eyes opened slowly, a euphoric smile making his face glow in radiance. You could have sworn there was a glossy film on his eyes that suspiciously resembled tears.

“Oh Y/N. I love you.”

He peppered soft kisses on your cheeks and nose, leaning back reflexively at the wetness of your cheeks.

“Why the tears, my sweet?” He brushed the trickling tears with the tip of his thumb. “Anyone would think you hate the idea of marrying me.”

When he didn’t get a reply, his eyes went from soft to dangerous in one quick flash. He leaned over you so that you were arching yourself backward, his hand supporting the small of your back securely. He made as if to kiss your jaw, but flicked his tongue out instead. His hot tongue swept over the trail left by the tears, licking your face from jaw to cheekbone in one long stroke.

His other hand gripped your squirming hips hard, the dangerous glint was fixated on your pupils as he continued his stroke above your eyes, stopping only momentarily when your eyes fluttered at the wet feeling of your lashes. He finished the trail at your eyebrow, landing a soft kiss on the arch of your eyebrow.

“No makeup,” he observed, looking deep into your eyes. “And just as beautiful as always. Delicious too. Pity you didn’t wear lipstick; I’d have loved to have your lip prints on my cock.”

His grip of your waist loosened, and you pushed yourself upright, shuddering all over. You tried to wipe off his saliva with the sleeve of your jacket, but his hand stopped you with a harsh jolt.

“Never, remember, never wipe off anything I give you.”

You glared at him, the sticky wetness still bothering you.

“You disgust me, Kim Taehyung.”

His eyes crinkled in delight. “Aw, I love you too, darling.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Taehyung considered the question, ruminating on his thoughts.

“Yes.”

Minsook chose his words carefully.

“Can you tell the court what Mrs. Min said, Mr. Kim?”

“She said ‘My husband is in debt and I want to mortgage our property. He doesn’t want anyone to know, so I came to you instead of going to his friends.’ She looked very upset. “

“And you didn’t talk to Mr. Min about this before agreeing to the request?”

Taehyung looked annoyed.

“I trusted Mrs. Min’s words.” It looked like referring to you by that title made him sick. “I didn’t want her husband to feel uncomfortable, especially because she said that he wanted it to be discreet.”

You felt bile rising to your chest as you watched the bastard stack lie upon lie as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

Minsook considered the witness closely before asking his next question.

“Do you have witnesses to corroborate your story, Mr. Kim?”

Taehyung simply smiled, his eyes briefly flitting over to you. He ran his tongue over his lips as if your taste was still on them.

“At least twenty of my staff were present when she arrived at my mansion.”

Wrong. There were more than 50 guys that day when you went to him, dragging a suitcase in your pajamas. Of course, they would testify against you. The case was going to be a nightmare to get out of.

Taehyung was excused in haste. Turning to the judge, Minsook spoke so fast that you almost couldn’t keep up with his flow.

“Your Honor, the state pleads more time to prove that the accused mortgaged the Min property, took the money- “he glanced at the jury with emotion “-and killed her husband to get rid of liabilities. We have enough evidence for reasonable doubt.”

He appealed to the jury with strong words, trying to rock them in his favor.

“An innocent man loses all his money, his wife flees, she never reports him missing, his house is a bloody mess, with blood matching his DNA all over the place. The police found one airplane ticket in the defendant’s personal effects. Just one. Not two, if she is to be believed.”

He let the magnitude of his allusion sink in before throwing the next bombshell.

“As the defense uncovered, the elder Mr. and Mrs. Min were conveniently removed from the defendant’s life. The defense also confirmed that the defendant alleged that her mother-in-law was a threat to her life and sent her away. This raises doubt into the elder Mr. Min’s tragic accident.”

You were shocked into silence; the pain was overwhelming. You felt like you were floating above your body, detached and dead from all the pain and hurt.

Minsook was going on.

“While we can’t definitively prove that the defendant was involved in it, we do have the responsibility of looking keenly into the case at hand to make sure that justice is served.”

There was a brief interruption as the side doors opened, and a man walked in, making straight to your attorney. He handed her a package, whispering into her ear. She immediately stood up and asked for permission to speak. All eyes were on her, and no one noticed the brief looks exchanged between Taehyung and the mysterious messenger. Except you, of course.

“Your Honor, the defense wishes to continue this hearing in camera.”

The judge peered over his glasses at the counsel.

“What is the necessity for it, please?”

You saw the defense attorney wave the package at the jury, addressing the judge and jury at the same time.

“We have proof that Min Yoongi is alive.”

What? You gasped in shock, the news bringing you back to reality and grounding you. The brief respite was replaced with deep hurt when you looked at Taehyung. His single raised eyebrow uttered the unsaid. He had gotten his way. Just like he had said he would.

A loud babble of voices broke out in the spectators’ area, the droning of voices so loud that the judge pounded the gavel furiously.

“And what proof is there to confirm this news?”

Your attorney passed a few pieces of paper over to the clerk.

“These are Min Yoongi’s shell company records that prove that he is in possession of the 50 million dollars, your Honor.” She passed on more papers. “This flight manifest shows that a passenger named Soo Yeongguk was on board, carrying a passport with the same name.”

“And?”

“These surveillance camera pictures show that it was Mr. Min who used a fake passport in the name of Soo Yeongguk to flee the country.”

Minsook sputtered, “But Your Honor, the blood and DNA,” he was wringing his hands, “He couldn’t have flown with those injuries.”

It was explained away by the defense as non-conclusive.

“Mr. Min could have easily planted his blood just like he did everything else to frame his wife, your Honor. There is no hard evidence that he bled to death. Or even died, for that matter.”

“Why has the defense wasted the court’s valuable time when all these facts were already known?”

“We only got confirmation of the false identity a few minutes ago, your Honor.”

The judge rose up to stand, and immediately the whole courtroom followed suit.

“This will be further discussed in camera.”

The judge turned and left, and both the prosecution and defense scurried to fetch their documents and hastened to the judge’s chambers. The bailiff escorted the jury and left.

There was pandemonium and confusion after they left. People were restless, talking in hushed tones about all the drama that had just happened. As for you, it was pure shock that kept you standing on your feet. Shock at how easily justice has been swayed.

It felt like you were treading clouds when you were taken into the judge’s chambers. How could they have cooked up all the proof? You saw your husband’s death with your own eyes. Was there not an inkling of sunshine at the end of the tunnel? Not a drop of justice in the universe?

You felt numb and empty as you stood watching the judge reprimand your counsel for wasting the court’s time and resources. He also fined the defense. You weren’t listening. You didn’t care. Because you were declared innocent. And condemned to marry Taehyung.

You didn’t stay back to see Taehyung and the judge shake hands in solidarity. Nor did you hear Taehyung whisper:

“Good show. Expect the money in one hour.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

The cold water pricking your skin did nothing to assuage the hurt eating away at your heart. The incessant flashes of the cameras as you exited the courtrooms, the reporters calling your name out, the overpowering smell of sweat and stale coffee, everything came back with such force that you squatted in the shower, hugging yourself.

You had come back to the hotel alone. No Taehyung. Because he apparently ‘didn’t know you that much.’ Snake. And you couldn’t find a way to escape him. He had kept his side of the bargain. You had to keep yours. The cold water was a far better company than the man outside your door.

“Y/N!” The knocks on the bathroom door were growing impatient. “Come on out already.”

You looked at the flimsy contraption that was dividing you and him. You had to go out. He couldn’t be avoided forever.

“Want me to break the damn door?” The deep voice hollered in irritation.

Taehyung couldn’t wait to see you. You were now his. No force on Earth could take you away from him. Not on his watch. He had already received a text from Wo Bin. So that matter had been taken care of. He was in a jubilant mood.

The lock clicked, and you emerged, wrapped in the hotel’s complimentary white bathrobe. Taehyung thought that he had never seen anything so beautiful in his life. Wet hair clumped in loose coils around your shoulders, slowly dripping water on the robe. His heart sang, believing that you had been cleansed of Min Yoongi and his touches. You looked angelic; damp body covered in nothing but a robe. A strange feeling raged up from his gut, catching in his throat and smothering him in emotion.

His hand reached you as if it had a mind of its own. The fabric was rough. Wouldn’t it chafe your delicate skin? He balled his fist to contain his annoyance. His slender fingers bunched around the sash, pulling you into his arms. He gasped at how cold you were.

“You’re so cold, Y/N.”

Your face was blank. He got no response. Tracing his steps backward, he landed on the bed, pulling you into his lap.

“So cold,” he repeated again, gently nudging the robe away from your shoulder blades to press soft kisses. You squirmed, and he didn’t like it.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he snapped, cupping your jaw.

The hurt was too much and you broke.

“It’s- I – Yoongi.”

He held you in his arms, waiting for the violent sobs to subside, gently shushing you. He didn’t like that you were still thinking of Yoongi. But he had foreseen this. And he had already made arrangements.

“What about Yoongi, baby?”

You sniffed, unsure if you were supposed to tell him. Hell, what else did you have to lose?

“He- I- “More sobs and hiccups before you continued: “-I want to see him.”

He blew out his cheeks softly.

“And what good will that do?”

He attempted to wipe your tears, but you slapped his hand away.

“I’m his wife.”

“Not anymore. He’s dead.”

The words twisted into your heart like a cold iron dagger. The fighter in you returned with a vengeance.

“But Yoongi is alive. At least legally. You just proved that in court.”

He chuckled, the vibrations of his chest transferring onto your own body, sweeping you into the reverberation too.

“Yes. And unfortunately, he died an hour ago.”

You tried to push yourself off him in vain. The hold grew tight, and his eyes became harder. Your voice broke again.

“What do you mean?”

He cradled your head into the crook of his neck, and you revolted angrily by hitting his jaw and pulling back.

“Tell me, you fucking prick!”

He grinned, his irises dark, the danger swimming in them climbing out and coloring his features with malice.

“You’ll find out yourself.”

He sat motionless, looking into your eyes, as you hurled cuss words at him, shaking his shoulders, demanding an answer. You grew tired eventually, and stopped your tirade, choosing to go silent instead.

It was all quiet in the room, with Taehyung holding you in his lap, sniffing your wet hair, when the ringing of a cell phone screeched and cut the silence. The sound was coming from his pocket.

“Take it,” he urged, his voice dark and mysterious. “It’s for you.”

Grimacing, you dug your fingers into his pockets, scowling when he moaned at your touch. Upon finding the phone, you accepted the call and breathed out a shaky “Hello?”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“I don’t have the faintest idea why Yoongi did this,” Mrs. Park said, dabbing her eyes as she patted your hand. “He was such a good boy.” She shook her head sadly. “Maybe I didn’t know him that well after all.”

To say that her words amplified your hurt would be an understatement. You were surrounded by people who were willing to believe that Yoongi had deserted you, ending up dead by a twist of fate. Your Yoongi would never do that. Never. Yet, the groups of people clustered in the hall seemed to think otherwise.

You looked around at the familiar yet strange faces. Did any of them even care? You thought not. And yet again, the man who destroyed your husband made his appearance, weaving his way through the flood of faces.

“My heartfelt condolences, Mrs. Min.”

You shook your hand free from his clasp. The venomous anger bubbling inside you made you choke on your words as you bit out a forced “Thank you, Mr. Kim.”

“Talk about Karma,” he went on, unmindful of your hostile countenance. “He left you desolate and Karma caught up with him.”

Before you could snap, Mrs. Park nodded her head, acknowledging his words.

“Mr. Kim is right, child. Yoongi got into trouble because he left you. No decent man fakes his death and pins the blame on his wife.”

She became agitated, the sorrow of losing her best friend’s son hitting her hard.

“I wish he hadn’t gotten involved with the mafia, though. He might have come back to you. Alas.”

More tears welled up in your eyes as you listened to Mrs. Park. How you wished you could scream that Yoongi was dead only because of Taehyung!

“I’ll call on Sung-Hee at the Klammer when I leave.” She patted your shoulder delicately.

You nodded with a soft whisper: “Please give her my love.”

Kim Namjoon had come to bid his friend farewell. He was silent as he surveyed the closed coffin, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he controlled his choked emotions. He paused to hiss in your ear when he was leaving:

“You killed him, bitch.”

The funeral was very difficult to get through. People kept walking up to you, expressing their disappointment at the way your husband had met his death. And all the while the killer stood at a corner of the hall, not caring in the least about the gross injustice Min Yoongi was being subjected to, even in his death.

When everyone left, you were standing alone in the hall, working up the heart to bid goodbye to the love of your life. Taehyung had left long ago, playing his part of an innocent visitor.

Your fingers traced the wood, feeling the ridges and following the embossed floral patterns. It was going to be very hard. Biting your lip to contain the trembling, you slid a finger under the coffin lid.

“I would advise against that.”

You looked up with a start. It was him again. You glared at him as your fingers pried under the lid again. He stepped forward with an urgent whisper.

“Y/N, don’t.”

You had already seen the worst happen right before your eyes. What more would frighten you?

Taehyung wasn’t fast enough, and you had already screamed and leaped back when he arrived at your side.

“I told you not to.” His arms embraced you, holding you tight while you continued screaming your heart out. You turned on him with vengeful fury, hitting his chest, throwing a volley of punches with your balled fists. He let you punch him, not even trying to shield himself.

When you were spent from all the screaming and punching, he hugged you as softly as he could.

“I hired the best mortician. But-” he sighed heavily “-yeah; Min still looks bad.”

He was met with no response. He continued hugging you, rubbing soft circles on your back.

“But-”

He bent down to look at your red eyes. “Hm?”

“Where’s his…” You swallowed the lump in your throat. “… his wedding ring?”

Taehyung shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t know.”

It didn’t matter. You knew that the man inside the coffin was Yoongi. You would recognize those fingers from anywhere. Those long beautiful fingers that had traced lines of love on your skin ever so often. He was indeed gone.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Taehyung was silent as he watched the numbers on the elevator as it climbed up to his penthouse office. It had been three days since he had last seen you. You were at his mansion, alright, but you had locked yourself in a room and had refused to come out. He hadn’t seen you ever since the funeral. He idly wondered if you were still wearing the black dress from that evening. A small conscious cough interrupted his thought train.

So Na Yeon, his personal secretary, nervously fished in her pocket for a kerchief. “Please excuse me.”

He didn’t react. The top two buttons of her blouse were undone. Her lipstick was a shade too bright for his taste. She was interesting to look at. But no one could ever match to you. And thus, he found himself thinking of you yet again.

When the elevator dinged and opened, she followed Taehyung briskly, sailing into his office right behind him. She waited for him to be seated, and then got on with briefing him about his appointments for the day. But when Taehyung waved her away, she remained in place, biting her lip anxiously.

“Well?”

She creased her forehead, deciding if she should tell him.

“Mr. Wo Bin reported that one of the men is rebelling, sir.”

“In what way?”

“It appears that he asked for a raise and Mr. Bin turned him down.”

“What did Bin say about it?”

She shook her head.

“He said that the man isn’t good enough and that he’s already a waste of your money.”

Taehyung lost interest. He wanted to get his work done with so he could think of you more.

“If Bin said so, I don’t doubt his opinion. Tell him to handle the guy in whichever way he sees fit.”

“Yes, sir.”

She turned and left. And Taehyung noticed her short business skirt for the first time. She seemed really proud of her figure. And then she faded out and his mind wandered to you once again.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

You could hear him fiddling with the doorknob. You knew he had a master key. You had expected to see him break into the room angrily as soon as you had slammed yourself in. But Taehyung did nothing of that sort.

Every morning, before he left, he would try the doorknob. Every evening, as soon as he arrived, he would do it again. There would be heavy sighs outside the door and he’d leave. It was like a ritual, and it went on for six days since the funeral.

On the seventh day, however, he lost his patience. He had waited and given you time to come back to him. He wanted you to walk into his arms willingly. But his patience was wearing thin.

“Open the door.”

He was pressing his forehead against the wood, gritting his teeth in suppressed anger. When there was no sound of movement, his voice rose to a high growl.

“I said open! Now!”

His large palms made contact with the wood as he pounded on the door. Suddenly, the door gave way and opened, the darkness inside the room making it hard for him to see you. It didn’t help that you were wearing black too. At last, he made out your outline.

He reached over to flick the light on, and gasped as soon as the light hit you. There were deep dark circles under your eyes. The straps of the dress were loose and ready to fall from your shoulders.

“God, Y/N, you look like Death.”

He cautiously approached forward, running his eyes over the clavicles that were jutting out sharply.

“It’s been six days. Seven, almost.” He took your hand, pressing it gently. “Come out.”

“No.”

Your voice was so low that he tilted his head to catch the words.

“You need to eat.”

“No.”

He tugged on your hand hard, anger rising in his chest.

“It’s not good for- ” he eyed your belly, “-that thing inside you.”

Hatred lit a spark in your blank eyes.

“It’s a baby,” you hissed, pushing against his chest with all your might. “It’s Min Yoongi’s baby.”

“Yeah, whatever. Do you want it to die? Come out and fucking eat.”

The glaring eyes were better than the blank ones, he noted. He liked you better when you were all animated and furious.

“I wasn’t starving myself. The mini-fridge…“

“I don’t think fruit would nourish your bastard enough. Stop arguing and come out.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Taehyung knew the answer before he even asked the question out loud.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

You were dressed in a soft cashmere sweater and jeans. Yoongi used to love that sweater. He would always comment on how it made you look like a fairy cloud.

Taehyung knew the clothes only too well. He had seen you wear the sweater on multiple dates with Yoongi while he was following you around. It made him mad to see you still dressing up for him.

You didn’t even turn his way, throwing the answer at him sullenly:

“My husband’s grave.”

Taehyung leaned back on the sofa, propping his legs up on the coffee table.

“And who exactly is buried there?”

You turned and stared at him, confused.

“Min Yoongi?”

Taehyung chuckled heartily, crossing his arms and gazing fondly at you.

“Oh honey, how naïve you are!”

“What do you mean?” Anxiety pooled in your chest as he continued chuckling without answering.

He took his sweet time to answer, leaving you standing puzzled.

“Do you honestly think I’d let you visit that bastard in his grave, Y/N? Just so you can make him a martyr? Do you think I’m a fool?”

“What- what do you mean?” you repeated again, feeling your chest tighten.

“He isn’t buried there. There’s another dead guy matching his description buried in his stead.”

“But- the coffin-“

“Oh, yeah it was him in the coffin, all right.” He yawned lazily. “Switched bodies on the way to the cemetery.”

He watched all the emotions flashing on your face, the quiver of your lips, the unblinking eyes as you grasped all the information he had just stated. Finally, a cold blank stare replaced the myriad of emotions that had lit up your face. Slowly, you walked back into the bedroom, locking yourself shut. Taehyung sighed deeply. You were finally his.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

It was obvious to Taehyung that you were suffering him just for the sake of your baby. It was bittersweet to him that the only reason you would stay alive was Yoongi’s child growing inside you. He wished fervently to get rid of that tiny Min seed, but he knew the aftermath would be disastrous.

You talked to him in barbed tones only if it was absolutely necessary. The rest of the time, it was as if he was invisible to you. He had forced you to sleep in the master bedroom with him. But it hurt him to see the wide gap in the sheets between him and you every night.

Sometimes, he would turn in his sleep and a finger would brush against you. And he’d stay wide awake watching you huddle on the corner of the bed, sobbing quietly. It became increasingly apparent that you weren’t sleeping at all. If he so much as shifted in his side of the bed, you would immediately flinch.

Part of him wanted to understand, to hold you, and say that he loved you and wouldn’t hurt you. Another part of him was fueled by jealousy, that even in death, Min Yoongi was winning your attention. It was frustrating to him that his enemy wasn’t alive. Who could fight a dead man’s memory?

It was that part of him that broke loose, when he saw you crawl on your side of the bed, wearing an oversized hoodie that reeked of another man. Not letting him touch you was already a sore point. And the hoodie just made him go ballistic.

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

“Huh?” You looked down at Yoongi’s hoodie. “I am cold.”

“Wear something else or strip naked for all I care.” His nose was flaring with the exertion it took to control himself.

You glared at him for a hot second.

“Fuck yourself.”

Without another word, you turned your back to him.

There was a sudden jolt as he pranced to your side, pulling you so you were lying on your back. His whole countenance was flashing with murderous rage. His knees were on either side of you, his arms pinning your shoulders to the bed. Hot breath fanned your face as he dipped his head down.

“Throw everything away. Everything that belonged to Min.”

You stared at him in defiance.

“What about me? I belong to him.”

His lips twitched ominously.

“He is dead.”

You didn’t back down in the slightest.

“Yes. You killed him.”

You could see the internal struggle he was going through to stop himself from hitting you.

He took a deep ragged breath and dipped his head even closer to your face.

“Listen, Y/N. Everything I did, I did because I love you.” He gripped your jaw hard when you rolled your eyes. “I went through a lot to get you. And I will not let you screw this up for me.” He paused with a haunted look in his eyes.

“Why is it so hard to love me?”

He looked at your lips as if they were curling around the words that would be his lifeline.

“Because you are not Yoongi. You killed him.”

His hot sigh fell on your lips, the heat sucking all the moisture from the soft flesh. You were scared that he was going to kiss you.

He leaned back a bit, catching hold of the hem of the hoodie.

“Are you going to remove this, or should I?”

He got off you, turning his back to you as he rummaged in his closet. Without looking back, he tossed his grey oversized sweater at you. He didn’t wait before adding:

“Wear that or sleep naked. Your choice.”

It gave him wicked joy to see you dressed in his clothes. His scent would be all over you, washing away that bastard’s. He made a note to throw away everything you owned and buy you new ones. Nothing should remind you of Min. Even the most inconsequential thing would have to go. He looked at your back wistfully. Everything but that thing inside your belly.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Two weeks passed uneventfully. Taehyung had given you a restricted phone. You could only call Taehyung with it. Calls to Hoseok and others never went through. You felt like your world had suddenly shrunk to one individual.

There was nothing to do in that big house. You weren’t allowed to work, because, apparently you were ‘not ready yet.’ Sometimes, it crossed your mind that you hadn’t received any letters or calls from your clients and friends. But it was probably because Taehyung screened everything. You were sure he’d filter the air you breathed if he had a way to.

You wondered how your mother-in-law was. Why was it that she went crazy but you didn’t? Had your love for Yoongi not been strong enough? Were you not anchored deeply with Yoongi as Sung-Hee had been with her husband?

Would you end up in a room next to your Yoongi’s mother? But you were sure they would take away your child if you went to the Klammer Institute. No, you shivered in disgust. You would never let Taehyung destroy the little piece of Yoongi left in the world.

The next morning, you emerged from the bathroom, body drained in exhaustion. Nothing you ate seemed to stay in your tummy. Wearily, you padded over to the full-length mirror in the dressing table.

You were pulling the shirt up and gazing at your belly when there was a click behind you. Taehyung stood immobile at the doorway, mouth agape.

His eyes were fixed on the mirror, looking at the tiny flab on your erstwhile flat belly. You had been only a couple months pregnant when Yoongi died, so the bump hadn’t shown. But nature was going her way, and soon you would be heavily pregnant, belly rich and round with child.

Taehyung gazed silently, not uttering a word. It was as if he were on mute. When he opened his mouth, at last, the words that shot out were:

“Time to marry.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Your plea to wait longer fell on deaf ears. Taehyung didn’t want to delay marrying you. He wanted to protect his ego. He would marry you before your pregnancy showed.

You pointed out that people would call you an unscrupulous woman who remarried even before flowers took root on her husband’s grave.

“Do you want everyone to hate me?”

He didn’t even flinch.

“Everyone already hates me. At least you’ll be on my side.”

No matter how you pleaded, he refused to listen. He reminded you of the jail time he had saved you and your baby from.

“It wouldn’t take me a minute to get you arrested again, you know.”

He looked at your midsection. “Want me to sign up for foster care?”

There was no way out. You slumped your shoulders in resignation. It was part of the deal, after all.

“Nothing lavish.” You licked your lips nervously. “Just take me to the fucking courthouse and get it over with.

Taehyung smiled, eyes dancing. The sunny smile lit his face aglow, a strange softness shading his sharp features.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Y/N, you really are a mystery. So soon?”

Mrs. Kim didn’t care to lower her voice.

“Leave her alone, Mrs. Kim.”

Hoseok’s tone was clipped, annoyance evident on his face.

Bo Na was holding your hand, patting it slowly, her eyes assuring you that she understood why you had to do what you did.

Taehyung smiled, finger grazing the rim of the champagne glass. He was wearing the tux he had bought months before you married Yoongi. He had spent countless nights running his fingers over the dreamy satin, his mind dreaming up heady concoctions of how sparkling you would look as you walked down the aisle, on his arm. He had woven all his dreams into the very fabric of that tuxedo, and the fact that he had, at last, attained what he wanted, made his heart warm.

“To tell you the truth, Mrs. Kim,” he sipped some champagne, waiting until all the attention was on him, “Y/N is pregnant with Min Yoongi’s child.”

Bo Na gasped, her hand flying to her mouth to contain the shock.

Mrs. Kim looked just as shocked. She couldn’t stop lowering her eyes to your belly.

Taehyung continued:

“She needs a person by her side, especially after losing Yoongi so tragically. I was Yoongi’s friend, and I can’t let Y/N suffer by herself.”

You wished the champagne were laced with poison. When had you become so weak? How was it that you let him puppeteer you into silence? Should you have tried and killed him before things got so complicated?

“Lost in thought, lamb?”

Taehyung grinned. No water on Earth would have doused the fiery glare you threw his way. Mrs. Kim called out to her son who was passing by.

“Namjoon!”

Yoongi’s best friend clenched his jaw and exhaled loudly before making his way to his mother.

“Yes, mom.”

“You were wrong about Y/N, boy. The poor girl is pregnant.”

His thick eyebrows arched at you in surprise.

His mother went on.

“And Taehyung only wanted to help, poor darling. Such a good man, he is.”

Namjoon’s eyes locked onto Taehyung’s. The air felt electric as they stared each other down. Namjoon deflated eventually.

“Yeah, I’m sure he is. Excuse me, please.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

There were no words to describe how embarrassed you were by the whole wedding affair. Everything was the opposite of nothing lavish. The decorations were all extravagant, sophisticated, and gaudy in the face of the fact that you had been widowed only months ago.

Taehyung had invited every person who had attended your first wedding with Yoongi. It was almost as if he wanted to flaunt you and brag about how he had fooled them all right under their noses. He was everywhere, flitting from one guest to the other, flashing his boxy smile, playing his part of the perfect host.

The guests were confused if they had to offer their condolences or wishes. It was very awkward for you, the little rip in your heart deepening with each guest’s flustered greeting.

Wow. Everyone pretended as if Yoongi never existed. As if he had never been killed. Killed by the man who danced through the halls as if he were the epitome of innocence.

Hoseok took your hand, leaning in to whisper.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I wish I could kill Taehyung.”

You blinked away the tears.

“Yeah, so do I.”

The sound of a spoon tapping a wine glass cut through the chatter.

“Ladies and gentlemen, your attention, please!”

Everyone stopped chatting and looked expectantly at Taehyung’s uncle, who was all smiles.

“I’d like to say what a fine boy Taehyung is, deciding to take Y/N under his wing, after the terrible misfortune that befell her.” He raised his voice to a higher note. “Especially because he didn’t want her child to be fatherless.”

If you ever had the power to vanish, you would have loved to use it at that moment. There were several gasps and turned heads that looked your way.

“Congratulations, to the new couple!”

Taehyung’s uncle raised his glass, and scattered applause sounded, and grew louder as people digested the news.

Taehyung stood with his head bent, a shy smile painting his cheeks pink.

That devil.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Going through the whole ordeal of the wedding was emotionally taxing. Every little thing about the ceremony reminded you of the gummy-smiled beautiful man you had married with so much love. When Taehyung slid the ring on your finger, you felt a wave of nausea that certainly wasn’t related to your pregnancy. He lowered his head to kiss your knuckles, loving the way the beautiful cushion-cut diamond adorned your pretty hand.

As you were walking out, trying not to cringe at Taehyung’s grasp on the small of your hip, a woman stumbled and dropped her glass, splashing wine all over the front of your dress.

“Oh! I am so sorry!”

Your brain couldn’t get irritated enough to lose your temper. Not when a man had already forcibly married you and assassinated your darling Yoongi’s character just before your eyes.

“It’s alright, Na Yeon.”

Taehyung waved her away, not angry in the least. He then leaned in to whisper in your ear:

“I’m going to rip that dress off your body anyway.”

The ride to his mansion was the longest. You had been living there, yes, but as Mrs. Min. You had hidden behind that name as if it were a consecrated circle. But this time, you were going as Taehyung’s bride. Nothing was going to stop him from claiming you.

“Welcome home, Mrs. Kim,” Taehyung sang to you as the car pulled into the driveway.

“Taehyung-“

He laid his slim finger on your lip, shushing you.

“Call me Tae.”

You scoffed in disbelief.

“You really think I’d call you that? What, do you think I love you?”

He grinned happily.

“You do. You just don’t accept it yet.”

There was a battle of stares and you turned on your heel, stomping away to change out of the stupid wine-soaked wedding dress.

It was confusing when you stopped outside the bedroom door. Because the knob wouldn’t turn. You were fiddling with it for a good five minutes when Taehyung’s chuckle fell in your ears.

He was leaning against the banister, a set of shiny keys in his hand.

“It’s customary to give the lady of the house all the keys,” he drawled, twirling the silvery loop that jangled in his hand. “Our bedroom is upstairs, Mrs. Kim. Newly decorated just for us.”

Irritated, you plucked the keys out of his fingers, huffing your way up to the damned bedroom. When you threw the door open, you understood that he was telling the truth.

The whole room was painted in pastel cream colors, books and music stacked neatly on the glass shelves. There was a huge closet, with mirrors for doors. The closet directly overlooked the giant white bed. Rose petals were strewn across the bed to make a big flower heart.

You knew he was behind you when you heard the brisk step of his shoe.

“Like it?”

You could almost hear his smile in those words.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

The petals stuck onto your thighs as you rolled out of bed. Taehyung was sleeping, his chest pressing against the bed, his arm strewn over a pillow. His rhythmic breathing confirmed that he was asleep.

You shuddered at the shrunken petals, crushed under the weight of your bodies. Taehyung’s dark hair fanned over his arm, and you could see his veins bulging underneath his skin. So strong. Yet, he hadn’t thrown himself at you as you had feared.

In fact, he had gone straight to shower upon entering the new bedroom. You had changed into shorts. Strangely, all your long night pants were missing from the new closet.

Taehyung hadn’t made any sudden moves. He had emerged from the bathroom, stood before the closet-mirrors, tightened the cords of his pajamas, and turned to you.

You had been absolutely sure that you were going to be claimed harshly. But he had simply knelt down, both hands on either side of you, and leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead. Accompanied by the distinct sniff of his habitual smelling of your hair. And then he had risen up and gone to his side of the bed.

Sneaking a look at the man sleeping across the bed, you couldn’t understand why he hadn’t thrown himself at you forcibly. Had he not done it in the glass room?

The bedside clock ticked on, and you decided to pay your parents a visit. You hadn’t been to see them in a long time, ever since Yoongi had started having money troubles. The last time you had visited them, you were Mrs. Min. Something inside you just wanted to get away from the sudden overload of being married to your husband’s killer. Your mind craved something to keep you from going insane. Something that was a constant in the troubled times of uncertainty.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Months ago

Yoongi was at home, all alone. An empty whiskey bottle was lying on the table, rolling to the sides a teeny bit every now and then. He couldn’t believe he had gotten into so much trouble. All those years of hard work his parents and grandparents had put into the Min Group, all the effort, it was all falling apart. Because of him. The heir who wrecked the family. He could almost see the headlines in the newspaper.

His breath was probably smelling like whiskey. You would find out. He sighed.

You. Beautiful, gorgeous, wonderful you. Why had things gone so bad? Why did he ever trust Wo Bin, that bastard? A thousand questions raced in his mind, the drunken haze making them even louder. How could he ever tell you that he had let you down? That he had let his entire family down?

He glanced at the digital clock on the counter. 3 pm. You would be home soon. Good gosh, was it Wednesday already? Kim Taehyung had threatened to show up at the Min house if he didn’t pay up by Friday. What was he going to do in such little time?

A clang of the doorbell startled him. You carried your own key. Who else was at the door?

Yoongi stood up and the headrush made him stumble around a bit. When he finally opened the door, a delivery girl was standing outside. She was carrying a bouquet of lilies. Lilies. They were your favorite. He was confused. Who sent you lilies at your home?

“Delivery for Mrs. Kim?”

Yoongi stood stunned. What the hell?

“You’ve got the wrong address.”

He tried to shut the door, but the girl persisted in a shrill voice.

“A person called Y/N? Does she live here?”

“Yeah- why…?”

The girl thrust the bouquet in his hands, grinning cheerfully.

“Then these are for her.”

She hopped away, leaving him standing at the porch, wondering what in the world just happened.

When Yoongi went back in, his gaze fell on the little card attached to the bow on the stems. It read:

‘To the future Mrs. Kim.

All the love, KTH.’

The words made Yoongi so angry that his fingers started shaking alarmingly. There was a band of sweat under his collar, even though the AC was on full blast. Anger coursing through his veins, Yoongi clawed at the card and tore it to pieces. He had never been so insulted in his life.

Outside, the delivery girl dialed a number and waited for the man to pick up.

“I delivered the flowers to him, Mr. Bin.”

She paused to listen.

“Yeah, he was alone.”

Yoongi was on his way to dump the flowers in the trash can when his phone rang. Swearing under his breath, he threw the bouquet on the counter and picked up.

“Min Yooooongiii…”

The deep booming voice drawled in his ear. Yoongi felt his cheeks heat up. Sweat was beginning to trickle down his forehead.

“Quit playing your games with me, Taehyung.”

There was a throaty chuckle on the other end of the line.

“Do you think your wife will like the lilies?”

“I swear I’ll-“

“I am sure she received another delivery at her studio.”

Yoongi went mute. What did the card on that one say? He started panicking.

“I’ll fucking kill you, Kim Taehyung.”

The caller laughed in a way designed to specifically irritate Yoongi.

“We’ll see. Remember you only have till Friday to pay up.”

The line disconnected and Yoongi was left fuming, unable to collect his thoughts. He needed alcohol. Something. Anything. Just to douse the white-hot fire burning in his chest.

── ⋆✩⋆ ──

“Mrs. Min?”

You had moved into the new studio only a couple months back. You primarily operated from home, but the studio was needed when you met other clients. Yoongi had set you up with a beautiful studio complete with hand-picked designers who assisted you.

“Yes?”

“Miss Yung is requesting to meet you tomorrow, for lunch.”

You looked at the calendar. Thursday was when you always went to see your parents. But Yung Min-Ji was a wonderful client, and you did have a lot to discuss with her about the styling of her new condo.

“Tell her I’m available.”

“But your usual schedule-“

You smiled lightly.

“I’ll go today instead. No worries.”

It wasn’t a sentiment to go only on Thursdays. It just happened to be that your schedules were light on that day of the week. You glanced at the time. 2 pm. You could use some fresh air.

There was a cool breeze when you stopped by the florist to get your mom’s flowers- carnations. You were walking absent-mindedly, coming to a stop in front of the headstone. You looked at the grave, confusion creasing your eyebrows.

There was a beautiful bouquet of white carnations laid neatly on each of your parents’ graves. The flowers were fresh as if someone had just laid them out. But no one was around. You were the only living person in the cemetery. You knelt down, finding a pool of molten wax. It was hard to the touch. Someone had come by earlier. Further inspection showed that both graves had indeed had carnations and one small lit candle on them. But, they were left by whom?

── ⋆✩⋆ ──

The sound of gravel crunching under the tires of your car woke Yoongi up. His head was throbbing. He held his head, steadying himself before getting up.

“Baby, I’m home!” your melodic voice chirped at the door.

Before he even got to hug you, he was met with your screeches, as you were hollering in excitement. You were jumping up and down in his arms, eyes shining in delight.

“Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongiii-yaahhhh,” you crooned, grinning eagerly, “The flowers- was that you?”

There was a catch in his throat while Yoongi racked his brain.

“Uh- yes. Liked them?”

You swung yourself on his arms, giggling.

“Like? I loved them!”

Oh shit. He remembered the forgotten lilies on the counter. He had meant to throw them away. Damn. How would he explain them?

“Y/N,” he whispered, catching hold of you. “Go on and shower, I’ll be right back.”

You nodded, suddenly transported back to reality.

“Yoongi- you smell of whiskey.”

He turned his back to you, advancing in swift steps to grab the cursed lilies.

“I’ll be back.”

You made your way to the bedroom, mind still buzzing in happiness. You hadn’t even looked at the lilies.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Present day

The soil was wet under your shoes, from all the dew. The guards had shut up and let you leave on foot, without insisting on approval from their boss. Fucking privilege of being Mrs. Kim, ugh.

The faint smell of cut grass kissed your nostrils as you walked absently. It was still early in the morning, and the cool air helped ease your feverish tension. A man was raking leaves near your parents’ graves.

You walked faster, reaching his side just in time to see a bouquet of shrunken white carnations, withered and sad. There was molten wax on the cold marble, just like there had been before. The man sank to his knees, scraping off the wax gently. He didn’t even look your way.

But the flowers and candles? Who was it?

“Excuse me, um, sir?”

He raised his head, one good eye looking expectantly at you, while the other was clouded with cataract.

“Yes, miss?”

You gestured towards the graves.

“Those flowers… do you know who-“

“Aye, them flowers,” he shook his head, “I don’t know nothin’ about who leaves them.”

You crinkled your forehead.

“But you were cleaning the wax, so I-“

“Aye, miss. I been paid to keep these two graves clean. Good money for an odd job.”

Your heart started fluttering wildly.

“Paid? By whom?”

He made a stern face as if he were concentrating.

“Dunno. I been paid to take care of the graves as long as I live.”

He resumed scraping the wax, talking slowly.

“Man paid five grand, one time. Said ‘em graves should be kept spick and span.” He paused to turn around self-consciously. “He said he be checking on me, makin’ sure I ain’t skipped town with them money.”

You didn’t know what to think. It was a weird piece of information to process.

“How long since he paid you, sir?”

He closed his eyes, maybe he was thinking.

“Four years? Maybe five-ish,” he said when he finally opened them.

“Miss, tell him I be doing the work all right!”

The man hollered at your retreating back, nervous that you were spying on him.

You nodded, walking rapidly away. It was incomprehensible. It was a dream. Yes. You had probably dreamt it up. You would wake soon and find your husband’s killer draped all over you.

When you returned gloomily to the mansion, Taehyung was lounging on the sofa, flicking through the pages of a business magazine. You ignored him and made straight for the bedroom. It was only when you hit the shower that you remembered what day it was. Thursday.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“I’m going back to work.”

Taehyung lowered his glass, eyelashes almost dusting the rim of the glass.

“Doing what?”

You folded your hands, staring him down.

“Designing homes and offices.”

He grinned, sipping juice innocently as you tapped your foot in impatience.

“And who do you think wants Mrs. Kim to design for them?”

You hadn’t forgotten that the title alienated you from the rest of the elite. But hadn’t you a uniqueness of your own? You were sure they wouldn’t discriminate you. They were all your friends and Yoongi’s, weren’t they?

“I have friends.”

He took another long sip, smacking his lips just to annoy you.

“No, baby, you don’t. To them, you’re nothing but a traitor.”

“I’m not.” You were sure that he was just manipulating you into his twisted theories.

He tilted his head like a confused puppy.

“Don’t believe me?” He thrust his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone, extending it to you. “Go on, try calling someone.”

Your instinct was to dial Hoseok’s number. But you knew he would stay by your side forever. Calling him would be like mistrusting his friendship. You thought hard. Maybe you could call Mrs. Park.

You dialed her number feverishly, hoping she would pick up. You didn’t know you were holding your breath until the line clicked and a voice spoke out:

“Yes? Mrs. Park here.”

“Oh hello, Mrs. Park, I’m Y/N, how ar-“

She cut you off swiftly.

“Y/N? What is it, child?”

You nervously looked at Taehyung out of the corner of your eyes. He was leaning back, a bored look on his face as he blew raspberries. Twisting the hem of your tee, you chuckled consciously.

“I was wondering if you knew anyone who’s looking to-,” you licked your dry lips, “You know, to redo their apartments and stuff.”

There was an awkward pause.

“Ah Y/N, I wish I could help you. But you know, Jaewon found a new designer who specializes in Earth tones and my daughter says it’s the craze right now, so-“

“I see.”

Mrs. Park heaved a deep sigh.

“So, yeah, everyone is more interested in following that trend, naturally,” She was rambling to neutralize the awkwardness, “Besides, you’re pregnant and… I hope you don’t mind, dearie.”

“No, Mrs. Park, it’s fine.”

“Call me if you want anything, Y/N.” More like ‘Don’t disturb me again, Y/N.’

“Yeah. Thanks.”

You couldn’t bear to look at the gloating face that smirked at you. He was right. Everyone loved you only when you had been a Min. But as soon as Yoongi died, their allegiance had crumbled to dust.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to hate them, though. You had married Taehyung just months after Yoongi died. Married Kim Taehyung, of all people. It was a wonder that Mrs. Park had even picked the call.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Every morning, you stood before the mirror, gazing at your belly. There was no significant bump, but you could just feel the little piece of Yoongi stir inside you. It made your heart sing. How happy Yoongi would have been! How wonderful life would have been with him! Raising your child together, loving each other, looking into each other’s eyes, watching your skin sag and wrinkle; growing old, but your love never lessening.

It was ironic that every day felt like an eon with Taehyung. You were in constant tension around him, like an elastic band stretched to its maximum limit. Even his slightest moves made you nervous. If he reached over for salt, you were left trembling. If he walked out of the shower in his boxers, your heart raced. Everything about him kept you on edge, scared that he would pounce on you without a moment’s notice.

Things came to a head the next Tuesday. You were getting ready to go out for your doctor’s appointment. Taehyung emerged from the shower, rubbing the towel against his wet hair as he walked to the closet mirrors, standing next to you.

His studied your yellow floral dress, only the slightest hint of belly was proof that another human was growing inside you. A tight thread of jealousy snapped inside Taehyung. Yoongi had made love to you, cummed in you, leaving you pregnant. He fumed in jealousy, getting into his pants and picking out his shirt.

He was adjusting his tie when he saw you swirl the tube of lip balm. The same brand you had used for years, lending that delicious glossy sheen on your lips that kept haunting him in his dreams. His tie was left forgotten, and he reached his hand out to gently pull you closer. The sudden rigidity of your body reminded him of a startled kitten.

“What, babe?” He crooned, drawing you nearer. “Go on, wear it.”

When you didn’t comply, he plucked the tube out of your fingers, smearing a glossy coat of lip balm on your lips. He could see the visible heaving of your chest as you struggled to maintain your composure.

Pinning you with your back against the closet mirror, he dipped his head to ghost his breath over your lips. The fruity smell made him go crazy.

Without warning, his tongue licked a hot trail over your upper lip, following the natural curve of your cupid’s bow. He smacked his lips, groaning in lust, and went in to savor your lower lip too.

“Your lips look better with my saliva, baby,” he murmured, gently nibbling on your lips and sucking on the plump soft flesh.

He was heady with need, nibbling harder and pushing himself closer against you. When you tried pushing against his chest, he got mad.

“How long do you think I’ll wait? Huh?” His voice was thick in a mix of anger and want. “Think I’d just fuck my hand forever?”

Your throat felt hollow and itchy when you voiced out:

“I don’t want to-“

His face crumpled in anger.

“Well, too bad, because I want to.”

Still in his pants, he thrust his clothed crotch into your pelvis, the floral skirt allowing him to feel the mound between your legs. He used his knee to keep your legs spread, while he went on thrusting against you. The friction made him curse out loud. One of his hands sneaked to catch hold of your throat, and he nestled his forehead against your shoulder blade, never stopping his thrusts.

His moans grew louder, quicker, and more intense. He bit the soft skin on your shoulder as he reached his climax. He panted in your ear, deep breaths reverberating through his body. With a heavy moan, he licked the bite mark and straightened his back, watching you warily.

Your eyes were closed, face frozen and impassive.

He hadn’t been able to control himself. When he thought about it, he hadn’t even touched his dick once, and yet his seed was all over his underwear. That was how much you affected him.

When he pushed off of you, you still hadn’t opened your eyes.

“Thought I’d change,” he drawled lazily, biting his lip. “But on second thought, I’ll go to work in my creamed pants. It’ll remind me of you all day.”

A drop of salty water rolled down your closed lid.

There were only sounds of him moving around, grabbing his phone, keys and stuff, and then silence.

He hadn’t even touched a button on your dress. But you had never felt so open and vulnerable in your entire life.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Taehyung was in a serious discussion with his board when the intercom rang. He threw an angry glance at Na Yeon, who bowed so deep he could see her cleavage clear as day.

She hurried to answer, looking at him beseechingly.

Taehyung did not like his meetings interrupted. Calls were always screened while he was in discussion. Only an important person or an important matter could bypass the screening.

“What?”

“I am to put it on speakerphone,” Na Yeon replied meekly.

“Do it then.” He was losing his patience.

“Kim Taehyung, you fucking son of a bitch!”

Everyone in the boardroom was startled, looking at each other in panic.

“How dare you take advantage of me like that? You insufferable, disgusting prick!”

Taehyung leaned back in his chair, playing with his pen.

“You miserable bag of shit, I swear I’ll cut your balls off!”

Taehyung drummed his knuckles on the desk, waiting for the tirade to stop.

“You are the vilest asshole on earth!”

The line went dead, and a stunned silence prevailed in the room. Taehyung rose again, going back to the whiteboard. He huffed at the mute people staring at him. He didn’t lose an ounce of his cool.

“So, let’s pick up where we left off…”

After everyone left, Na Yeon stayed back to apologize. Taehyung noticed that there was a beauty mark on her chest, right near the button of her blouse. Well, it wouldn’t have been visible if she had buttoned up her blouse. Maybe she felt sexy. Whatever. He didn’t really care.

“I’m sorry about the phone call, Mr. Kim.”

“It was nothing.” He shrugged it off, he wasn’t very bothered.

She continued unmindful of his disinterest.

“I should have tried to cut the call, I shall screen her next-“

His features suddenly flashed with annoyance.

“She is my wife. She should never be screened. Besides, she has every right to yell at me.” He sneered at Na Yeon as he bit out his words. “You don’t have any right to cut my wife’s call.”

With that, he stormed out of the boardroom, leaving his secretary shocked into silence.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

That evening, when Taehyung returned home, you were in the sitting room, legs crossed. Your mouth was set in a straight line. You were giving off a stubborn aura, and Taehyung fought the smile that threatened to curl his lips up.

“Aren’t you gonna kiss your husband, Mrs. Kim?”

The hot glare didn’t alarm him in the least.

He loosened his tie, sighing in that deep voice of his. It made the hair on your arms stand up. He settled down on the couch, just next to you.

“I enjoyed the telephonic love note today,” he said, fiddling with his cufflinks. He proceeded to unbuckle his belt.

“Especially because my pants were crusted with cum.” He threw his belt on the floor. “Thanks to you.”

You jumped to your feet, wagging a finger at him, screeching in mutiny.

“Don’t ever do that again, you scumbag.”

“Why not?” Mock surprise danced on his face. “Didn’t you agree to marry me?”

“I didn’t agree to be violated, Kim Taehyung.”

He puffed out his cheeks, disinterested.

“You didn’t leave me any other choice.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. Did he expect you to jump on his lap and love him? After he snatched everything you loved away from you? Was he insane?

You threw your arms up, scoffing incredulously.

“How on Earth do you think I’ll ever love you?” The very idea made you gag. “After you killed my husband? Do you have no regret?”

He scanned his fingernails, pouting his lips in mock hurt. His voice was soft.

“I didn’t kill him on my own.”

“What?” The tic on your mouth made your face twitch. “What the fuck are you saying?”

He lifted his eyes to meet yours.

“Everything I did was because I loved you. For you.”

You stared at him, no words coming to mind. You had been sure that you were only the spoils of the war between his family and Yoongi’s. You didn’t believe for one second that Taehyung loved you.

“When you think about it, the reason I killed him was you.”

Your jaw dropped. The sputtering of your mouth made it impossible to frame comprehensible words.

“Me?”

“Mmhmm. In a sense, you killed Yoongi.”

No, no. this wasn’t happening. You had never done anything to hurt Yoongi. He was your love, your precious baby. No, Taehyung was babbling nonsense.

“Shut up,” you whispered, voice shaking.

He smirked at you.

“Think, baby. He wouldn’t have died if you had said ‘Yes’ when I asked you nicely.”

Memories of that fateful day at his office, clad in pajamas and feeling his bulge pressing against you came tumbling back.

It was a struggle to find your voice. “No.”

“Accept that you killed him, Y/N.”

Your vision blurred with tears and you repeated again, “No.”

A shit-eating grin spread on his face. He unzipped himself, sliding into a more comfortable position.

“Would you rather say you killed him or suck my cock?”

The first drop rolled down your cheek, and he repeated his question, voice darker and laced with lust.

You grasped for words. “Don’t do this to me.”

Your plea made him impatient. He wanted the cold war to end already. How long were you going to mourn Yoongi? He didn’t really want to fuck you when you were heavy with that man’s child.

“Either suck my cock or admit that Min died because of you.”

He waited with bated breath, observing the whirlpool of emotions flashing on your face. And then, to his utter delight, you wordlessly sank to your knees.

He unzipped his pants, giddy with excitement. Your face was devoid of emotion. The tears had stopped, leaving stains on both your cheeks. He waited for you to reach and touch him. When it didn’t happen, he lifted his hips off the couch, annoyed.

“My cock isn’t gonna pop into your mouth on its own, babygirl.”

Nothing.

He reached out and grabbed your head, pulling you in so your nose was against his clothed dick. He felt like he would burst at the feeling. He moaned out as he rubbed your face against him, the groans coming out harsh and strained.

He couldn’t wait for you to take him out, so he fished himself out of his boxers, grazing the tip against your lips. The blunt disgust on your face only made him even hornier, and he coated all his pre-cum onto your lips.

“Fuck, Y/N, my cum looks better on you than my saliva does.”

He pressed the sides of your jaw to pucker your mouth open, placing himself inside your warm mouth.

“Go on, baby. Suck.”

He caught your eyes and added in a dangerous tone, “Don’t you dare bite, I’ll fucking kick that bastard to death.” He looked ominously at your belly. He knew your sore point.

Swallowing your pride, you let his muscle glide in and out of your mouth.

“That’s not sucking, babygirl.”

Your spat at him in fury. “Fucking suck yourself.”

He made as if to kick your midsection, and you screamed in alarm. The tips of his toes made slight contact with your ribs and you yelled for him to stop.

“Stop it, stop it, don’t,” you never wanted to sob in front of him, but it just happened out of your control.

“Well, suck it then. And don’t close your eyes.”

You worked on him robotically, trying to trample down the sick guilt that rose up in your chest with each bob.

He groaned and growled, cursing at the sensation of your velvety tongue. He wouldn’t mind if he died and went to heaven. Before he even knew it, he was close to his release. He panted out, cumming hard into your mouth.

You remained in position, not attempting to swallow. He knew you were going to spit it out as soon as you humanly could. His fingers closed around your neck.

“Swallow. Now.”

The pressure slowly increased, threatening to choke you. Your delirious brain conjured a coroner’s report. Cause of death: Choking on cum.

Reflexively, your body fought by opening and closing your pharynx, effectively making you swallow his slimy essence.

Taehyung felt the bob of your throat, his chest puffing up with pride. He lifted you up gently, holding onto the nape of your neck. He gazed at your glistening cupid’s bow, and slowly pressed his lips on yours.

He had never seen your naked breasts, but that could wait. He was already swimming in rabid delight.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Thank you for agreeing to do this interview, Mr. Kim,” the man said, setting up his notepad and pen.

Taehyung grunted in answer. His mind was somewhere else. He had been in a fight with you over names. He had wanted you to officially change your family name. But you had refused. He hated the Min that rang along with your name. It made him want to puke when someone ever addressed you that way.

“I will not change my name,” you had said, stubbornly set in defiance.

He adored your stubborn trait, but when it came to matters involving that damned Min Yoongi, he hated your obstinacy.

“You fucking will.”

“Make me.” You had folded your hands, indicating that you would not be swayed.

Taehyung was at his office, thinking of ways to coerce you into taking his name. That was when the reporter arrived for a quick interview.

The man started off with questions about Taehyung’s business, his financial turn over and assorted boring stuff, which he answered robotically.

Out of nowhere, the question popped up, making him raise his eyebrows mildly.

“Is it true that Mr. Min and you were friends?”

Taehyung shrugged his shoulders carelessly.

“Of course, we were.”

“But, Mr. Kim, a lot of people expressed surprise at your claim of being friends with him.”

“People like who?”

“People who thought you married Mrs. Min a bit too soon.”

Taehyung snapped in annoyance: “She’s Mrs. Kim now.”

“Exactly my point, Mr. Kim.”

Maybe you would consider changing your name if he compromised. But how?

“Well, Mr. Kim?”

“Huh?” Taehyung had a hard time not thinking of you. “I wanted to help her out, especially after he deserted her, while she was pregnant.”

“How did you know she was pregnant? You testified in court that you didn’t know her too well.” The man leaned forward eagerly. “How did she consent to marry you so soon?”

Taehyung could smell a bait from a mile away. The man wasn’t interested in him after all. He was scoping out facts about you.

“What is it that you want?”

His tone made it clear that he knew what was going on. The man cut to the chase abruptly.

“Did you kill Mr. Min?”

Taehyung swiveled on his chair, taking his sweet time.

“Yes. I killed him.”

The abrupt admittance started his opponent, making him open and close his mouth like a goldfish. When he saw how flustered the man was, Taehyung continued:

“You got your answer, what more do you want to know?”

“But- but why did you –” the man was bewildered. “Mrs. Min, she was on trial, you testified against her.”

“Yes, I did.”

“She could have gone to prison.”

“Right again. Don’t beat around the bush.”

“Was it-” the man swallowed, “-an affair? Did you both plot to kill Mr. Min?”

Taehyung laughed. How he wished that had been the case. He would have been spared a lot of trouble if that were true.

The man wiped his forehead nervously.

“What are you laughing about?”

“Nothing, I’m just imagining how your head would look like on a stake.” Taehyung smiled fondly. “You know, my children would happily play with it.”

Children. Name. Maybe he could compromise on that bastard child’s name? Would that make you think again?

Taehyung’s attention snapped back to watch the man gulp several times, obviously shaken.

“So, did you get the answers you wanted?” He exhaled lightly, adding, “My secretary has your name and contact details, my men would pay you a friendly visit if you blabbered anything anywhere.”

“I- yes, I understand.” The man got up in a hurry. “Please excuse me.”

── ⋆✩⋆ ──

When the reporter left the building, his phone vibrated with a message.

‘Any news?’

He called the sender.

“There’s nothing to report. I’m pretty sure neither Mr. Kim nor Y/N had anything to do with Mr. Min’s disappearance.”

The call ended, and Namjoon sighed. He knew something had happened. Something had gone wrong.

But the reporter couldn’t glean anything from Taehyung. The seeds of doubt took root in his mind. Was it possible that he had imagined the conspiracy? What if there had been no conspiracy and Yoongi really had fled?

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“I have a proposal.”

You looked up from your curled kitten position on the deckchair, overlooking the pool. You were cross that Taehyung had interrupted your attempt at sketching Yoongi.

“Not interested.”

He pranced forward, plucking the sketchbook and tossing it away. The splash of it hitting the water sent droplets flying up and raining on your feet.

“What the hell d’you do that for?”

The reflection of the sun in the ripples of the pool made his face light up and sparkle. He placed both his hands on the armrests, trapping you.

“You will take my name.”

“Forget it.”

“In return,” he whispered softly, “You get to name your baby whatever the fuck you want.”

“I am the mother and I don’t need you to offer me what’s already my right.”

He butted your forehead with his own, clucking his tongue in impatience.

“You really don’t want your baby to see the light of day, do you?”

The scowl on your face was reflexive. It was a bother that he always used your baby as an excuse to get his way.

“Fuck off, Taehyung.”

He threw himself bodily on you, willing a strangled gasp to escape your lips. He spread your arms and upper body to align them with the chair, opening your torso up to him. He was already panting, cursing out as he spread your legs with his knee.

“C’mon now, babygirl, stop being so stubborn.”

He sunk his whole weight onto you, crushing your body underneath him.

The graphite pencil you had been using to sketch was still in your fingers. Mustering up all your strength, you dove it into the back of his neck.

He hissed in pain, jerking involuntarily and pulling the pencil off your grasp. When you struggled to let it go, he placed a well-aimed slap on your cheek, making you freeze in shock.

“You little brat,” he spat out, still pissed about his neck. His palms made contact with your cheeks twice more, sending your face jerking left and right.

“I’ll teach you to stab me, you little-“

He bunched both your hands by the wrist, holding them up above your head. His other hand sneaked between your legs, pushing your thighs apart. When you tried to wriggle and throw him off, his knee dug into your midsection.

“Want to destroy what we have?” He sunk his knee a little deeper. “Huh, sugar?”

His finger was rubbing circles on your core, making you bite your lips from moaning out.

“Fuck, I’m permanently hard around you.”

His hard length was obvious in the tent of his pants. But as before, he humped against you, not unzipping himself. The friction was making him go wild. He thrust his hips into yours, the knee remaining ominously on your navel.

“Ah ssibal,” he cursed, throwing his head back, consequently making his long dark hair flip and reveal his glistening forehead.

“Oh… Oh.. I’m cumming,” he breathed out, spasming violently all over you, digging himself out of you and spilling his cum all over your clothed belly.

“Ew, Taehyung, you bitch, you’re fucking disgusting,” you screamed, pushing against his chest even as he shuddered in the aftermath of his orgasm. He smiled dumbly, panting out in ragged breaths. He placed his mouth near your ear, tickling your earlobe with his hot breath.

“I want to cum inside you.”

He sighed deeply as if he was thinking quietly about it, before adding:

“Soon.”

He pushed off you, grinning as he ruffled his hair back into place. Whistling softly, he walked away, leaving you trembling in a mix of shock and anger, looking down at your ruined dress.

He had cummed exactly on your belly, like he had carefully meant to.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

The annual costume ball invitations reached your house, one addressed to Mr. Kim and one addressed to Mrs. Min. Taehyung had torn the envelope into pieces before handing you the card. It was probably a snide attempt to snub Taehyung and you knew that it had worked, judging from the annoyance on his face. You wondered if the hosts had intended to send you late invitations, because the ball was slated to happen that night.

You threw it on the coffee table, not caring in the least about some stupid party. But Taehyung had other ideas.

“We’re going tonight. Get ready.”

If the stuck-up Min empaths thought they had made a statement by sending two fucking invitations, they would have to think again. He would show them what fools they were. You were his Mrs. Kim.

The burgundy dress had a cowl neckline, which he absolutely loved. He had picked it out carefully, mind giddy with excitement on how perfect it would look on you. Finally, a day had come for the glamorous dress to do you justice, flattering your body, much to the envy of those losers.

“Wear the burgundy dress I bought you. And the studded heels.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He opened his closet, apparently searching for something. When he turned, a classic Tiffany box was nestled in his palm. He opened it, and a sparkling silvery bracelet was reflected in your eyes, lending them a beautiful twinkle that made his heart sing.

Delicately, he placed it on the dresser.

“This will compliment you.”

He stood silent for a second, thinking if you would wear it on your own. Something told him you would just leave it sitting on the dresser forever.

“Here,” he took your hand in his, gently placing the bracelet on your wrist. He clasped it and admired the way it looked even more beautiful on you. To him, each fiber of your being was infinitely more precious than the rarest diamonds in the world.

He had never seen anyone more beautiful, and he wished not to. When you descended the porch steps, he felt like a footman taking out a princess on her ride. He was mesmerized by the simple yet graceful features that taunted him, inviting him in.

Taehyung had Wo Bin drive you both to the ball. Taehyung handed you a sparkling rhinestone mask, the wings around the eyes rising gracefully in showers of gemstones. The costume ball was essentially a masquerade, and he had gotten the best masks he could lay his hands on.

“Take my hand, remember, no silly behavior.” He briefly glanced at your belly, driving home his point.

“Stop fucking threatening me all the time, bitch,” you hissed, scowling when he responded with a lazy grin.

The entire ballroom was abuzz with people clad in their best clothes, complete with masks of every color, style, and material. Taehyung’s chest was stretched to the max with pride as he waltzed through the floors with the most beautiful woman that night on his arm.

A couple hours later, you were weary to the bone. “I’m tired, I wanna throw up.”

He rolled his masked eyes. “Right. Stay here, I’ll get you water.”

He turned around as an afterthought. “Want me to walk you to a bathroom?”

You shook your head, indicating you were fine enough to just sit.

“ ’Kay.”

He went off, leaving you seated in a comfortable chair.

He was, however, interrupted mid-way by a woman dressed in a jade green dress with a deep neckline that left almost nothing to the imagination. The Venetian mask lent an air of mystery to her ombre eyes.

“Mr. Kim,” her voice was hauntingly thick with desire.

She placed her index finger delicately against his tux, poking him. “I’ve been fantasizing about you for years.”

He couldn’t form a coherent comeback. He was a man who prided on never being tongue-tied while facing a woman. But the simple statement had such force that it knocked his thoughts out like bowling pins.

“Uh, excuse me, I have to-“

She traced her fingers on his arm, patting him slowly, whispering:

“Please stay.”

He couldn’t believe how tongue-tied he was. He flashed his left hand at her, declaring in a harsh tone:

“I’m sorry but I’m married. Very happily so.”

“Is that true, though?” Her voice dropped even lower. “You are married, yes, but have you been loved back? Why pine after a hopeless fruit while another aches for you?”

He shook his hand free, annoyed. Very much annoyed that she was stating the bitter truth that his heart refused to believe.

“Excuse me, I have to go back to my wife.”

“Maybe you could at least dance with me once?”

His jaw tightened.

“No, thank you.”

She pouted her crimson lips, sadness clouding her eyes.

“I thought so.” She touched his elbow with a smooth “At least a peck on the cheek for your admirer?”

He bent his neck, intrigued by the strange woman, but she took him by surprise, going instead for his lips.

Her tongue snuck out and outlined the curve of his upper lip before her mouth pressed against his. Startled, he took a step back and his gaze dropped to the cleavage she was generously offering. She giggled naughtily, winking at him. Damn the woman.

The hot feeling in his cheeks didn’t go away for a good five minutes, and he was still pink when he returned with the glass of water he had set out to get.

He frowned when he saw a tall man talking to you, bending in half to address you.

“You, you are just a gold-digging bitch, you whore,” the masked man was saying, just as Taehyung materialized behind him.

“Excuse the fuck, did you just fucking insult my wife?”

The man straightened up, turning to glare at Taehyung. His mask did nothing to hide who he was. The hooded eyes, the tall lithe frame, the rich timbre of voice, all screamed Kim Namjoon.

He dug his hands into his pockets, staring at Taehyung with menace.

“Yes, I called her out for jumping on another dick as soon as she could.” He focused his most hostile leer at Taehyung before adding “The dick being attached to you of all people.” He didn’t stop, spewing more hate as he addressed you:

“Are you sure the baby is Yoongi’s, Y/N? Did he ever know what a cunt you are?”

The anger was so hot that Taehyung felt like his brain would short circuit. He balled his fists, ready to shatter the mouth that had spoken so ill of you.

Before he could do any damage though, you grabbed hold of his hand, tugging at him harshly.

“Take me home, I feel sick.”

He sent Namjoon one withering glance and exhaled angrily. Namjoon would pay later. He would make sure of it. He guided you out, practically shaking in fury. He texted Wo Bin to meet both of you on the porch. He was zoned out, and you asked something that just flew out his ear. When you slapped his elbow, he caught your words just in time.

“Is that lipstick on your mouth?”

Taehyung creased his eyebrows, turning back to consider something. The masked woman, she had licked his mouth before kissing. It was a kink of his to lick your lips. How did she know that he loved doing that to you?

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

The way Namjoon had spoken to you felt like a cold slap to the face. If that was what he thought, was that what everyone else thought of you too? The whole social circle of which you and Taehyung were a small intersecting arc, did it think you were a gold-digger too?

The shame enveloped and consumed you, the flames of hatred licking at your heart. Your entire life was ruined by Taehyung. Only he was responsible for all the mess. Everyone seemed to focus only on you. He was in the background like an innocent bystander; but all the while, he was the puppeteer who pulled all the strings, bending everything to his will.

A bitter cold war was brewing between you and him, growing in intensity by the second. You had avoided him for days, slipping like an eel whenever his footsteps sounded. Every night, you slept on the couch, only to wake up on your side of the bed in the morning.

It was hard to sleep. Because you were constantly worried that he would violate you while you were sleeping.

You didn’t know that Taehyung spent three-quarters of the night perched on the steps of the staircase, waiting for you to drift to sleep. He silently swooped in and carried you to bed each night, making sure to tuck you in comfortably.

A few weeks later, you dressed up in a loose black hoodie and attempted to sneak out for a walk. But just as always, he caught you. He had casually blocked you with an outstretched hand, looking at you oddly.

“What the heck are you wearing?”

You tried to force your way out, but man was he strong.

“Get out of my way, Taehyung.”

He blew out his cheeks, shaking his head in disapproval.

“That hoodie is the opposite of flattering on you, honey.”

Curling your fists, you hit him on his arm, trying to make him move.

“I don’t care, so let me go,” you hissed at him.

“I care about my wife’s fashion choices,” he replied, reaching out to grab the hoodie. But just as quickly, he drew his hand back in shock.

“What the…” he whispered, horrified, reaching his hand out again.

His fingers gingerly pressed against your belly, feeling the small bump that was evident to the touch. He started back in horror. It really was growing. The reality hit him like a harsh slap. Min’s child was really growing inside you.

In one swift motion, he gathered you up in his arms, deciding that he couldn’t waste any more time. He couldn’t wait forever.

Dragging you upstairs to the bedroom, he led you to stand by the bed. His face was ablaze with hot emotion, his dark eyes gleaming with fiery hunger. He shrugged his suit off in haste. Long slender fingers gripped your hoodie, lifting it up to reveal the soft protrusion he had touched earlier. He looked panicked, like a guy who had missed the last airplane bound home.

“I can’t wait any longer,” he breathed, gently trying to undress you. “Forgive me, I am out of time.”

He pressed kisses on the side of your neck, lifting the hoodie up inch by inch until the cups of your bra were visible.

“Oh, Y/N, I-“ his voice was strangled, “- I can’t,” his hands found purchase at the small of your back. “I can’t take you when you are ripe with his child, I can’t wait that long.”

He eased you out of the hoodie, holding your hands to prevent you from covering your bra-clad breasts. He had only entered you once, he hadn’t forced himself into you since the day Yoongi died.

It had been his desire to wait for you to want him. But nature always liked complicating things. He couldn’t bear to think that you would be heavy with child in a few months, and would be busily occupied with the baby for months after that. No, he had no choice.

He was sliding your pants off when you half-choked out: “You could just… let me go.”

The wetness of your cheeks broke his heart. But your words had hurt him more.

“No. No, I can’t. You are all I have.”

“You know that’s not true,” you whispered.

The pained look returned to his face.

“No. It should have been me.” He gestured to your belly. “That should have been mine.” A tear rolled down his cheek, and he sniffed. “It should have always been me.”

“Taehyung- “

His lashes were moist and he shook his head, not wanting to listen.

“You were meant to be mine. Don’t you see?” His haunted eyes were tender, his raw feelings on display just for you.

“Do you- do you even like me?”

You remained silent, nothing but underwear bridging the gap between you and nakedness. His face contorted in pain.

He shuddered and shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, pulling both your hands above your head and pinning them in position. His other hand gingerly traced the outline of your bra. He licked his lips, looking into your eyes as he dipped a finger between your breasts, running it along the elastic strap and leaving your skin riddled with goosebumps.

His finger continued running down your midriff, stopping at your belly button. He closed his eyes and pretended that the bump didn’t exist, hurrying to slip his hand into your undies. It fanned his ego to feel your wet folds.

“See, your body likes it, hm? Why do you rebel so much?”

He leaned down to sniff your hair, greedily inhaling the scent like a man dying of thirst. He removed the hand pinning yours with a warning squeeze. Just as quickly, his hands flew to your breasts. His touch was ever so tender. He gently kneaded the soft flesh, moaning out as a little bit of areola peeked out of your bra. The self-control snapped, and he pulled the cups down, exposing your squished breasts.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he sounded so raspy, “Fuck, you’re so goddamn beautiful.”

Like a man in a trance, he dipped his head in the valley of your chest, nestling there, letting out the weakest of whimpers. His fingers worked feverishly to get the damn bra off you. He threw it across the room, burying his head in your bosom with a contented sigh.

There was a stark contrast between you and him. He was fully clothed, and you were in only your undies, entire chest open to his view. It led you to feel even more weak and vulnerable. When your hand tried to shield your breast though, he caught it, his voice came out from between your soft mounds in a muffled whisper:

“Don’t.”

He gathered both your breasts in his hands, moaning thickly as he rubbed his face against them. His tongue found your nipple, giving tentative licks before full-on sucking on the nub. He was a passionate man, and your breasts were glistening with saliva by the time he was done worshipping them. His mouth let go of the nipple with a soft plop, the dark eyes focused on your own the whole time.

His tongue drew a line from the middle of your ribs down to your navel. He paused at the elastic band of your undies, working on tugging it down. But impatience got the better of him, and he cursed, ripping the fabric easily as if it were the weakest of paper. He touched the wet patch on the crotch and looked at you, dangling the ruined fabric above your forehead.

“See. Y/N? See how wet you are for me?”

You didn’t reply. He gripped your chin, yanking it so his breath fell directly on your mouth.

“Kiss me, Y/N.”

When you didn’t attempt to kiss him, he straddled your hips, crashing his mouth down on yours. But the kiss wasn’t passionate, nor was it anywhere near romantic. You just wouldn’t open your mouth and let his tongue in. He could have kissed a pole and gotten a better reaction than yours.

It kindled the embers of rage in his heart, and he undid his tie, tying it around your neck like a noose. His shirt and pants were still on, and he rolled the long end of the tie until the fabric started tightening around your neck.

“Up,” he said, tugging the tie and making your head rise from the bed a bit. Holding onto it like a leash, he pulled your upper body was hovering precariously above the bed, both your hands holding onto his shoulders lest you fall and snap your neck.

“Now,” he hissed, “Lick my tongue”

The tie-noose tightened around your neck, threatening to cut off your airflow. You hoisted yourself up, shaking as your sight started to blur.

“Can’t” you heaved, “breathe.”

The fabric didn’t relax one bit.

“Hurry up and lick my tongue then.”

You blindly slashed at the air to find his mouth. Right on the verge of blacking out, you thrust yourself at him, begging entry into his mouth with desperate licks. Once you felt the hot muscle, you lapped at it, and just as quickly, the tightness eased, making you gulp mouthfuls of him, your body struggling to get your respiration back to normal.

“You bast-“

He thrust himself at you again, muttering:

“Shh. Lick me again,” and dipping his tongue into your mouth.

He moaned, chest vibrating against yours with the intensity of his strangled groans. When he broke the kiss, a string of saliva connected your mouth to his, a big bead hanging in the middle, the weight making it drop and splotch on your thigh.

He leaned back working on his shirt buttons. They didn’t open fast enough, and he started ripping the buttons off, eyes locked on your nipples. When he tore the fabric away from his body, his whole wide chest was naked, save for a thin chain around his neck. It had what looked like a silver key for a pendant, you weren’t sure as it kept dangling with his every move.

He remained in his pants, gathering your body and pressing you against his chest. A strained moan escaped his lips, and he trailed kisses down your neck, past your shoulder blade. His tongue flicked out to reach places his lips couldn’t.

One hand cupped the slight hint of your bump, prodding gently but also warning you against doing anything stupid. He pulled your hand towards his crotch, placing it on his clothed bulge.

“See,” he moaned, “See what you do to me?”

He stroked his bulge with your hand, fighting the urge to close his eyelids and lose himself in bliss. He had been hard for so long. Too fucking long.

“Take me out.”

His whisper sent a shiver up your spine. But you didn’t move. You didn’t have a choice to stop it. But you had the choice to not comply.

He cursed, too impatient to reprimand you. He unzipped his pants, leading your hand to his hard dick. He closed his hand over yours, effectively jerking himself off with your hand.

“Fuck, baby, that’s it,” he threw his head back, snapping his eyes open just as quickly when you gripped his dick too tight. Intentionally, of course.

“What the fuck?” He pushed you onto your back, dragging you by the legs into position. All the tenderness had evaporated from his countenance.

“You really want to screw this?” He hovered his body over yours, menace evident in the curl of his lips. The squirming pissed him, and a swift slap landed on your cheek, accompanied by an angry “Fucking behave, Y/N.”

“Get off me,” you bit out, aware of the drool sliding down your chin.

“No,” he said, humping his dick against your pelvis. “You are mine. Don’t fight this. He’s not coming back. He’s dead.”

He saw the tears kindling, and added cruelly:

“Because of you.”

“Stop saying that,” you screamed, trying to knee him in the groin. But he only laughed.

“You always complicate things, Y/N. I only want to make love to you.” He sighed innocently. “But you just make it so difficult.”

His forearm dug into your neck, preventing your head from moving. His other hand snaked down to your soaked clit, rubbing circles on your sensitive pearl.

“Who was always a bitch in heat for Min’s dick, huh?”

The question left you speechless. He smirked.

“Who loved to ride his thigh and get her ass spanked?”

“Shut up, shut up.” you couldn’t think of any other reply. How did he know all of that?

He simply shrugged.

“Okay, sure. I’d rather fuck you than talk about your dead man.”

He really wanted to eat you out. But he knew you would kick him in the face if he tried to. Maybe he should get restraints before trying that. Besides, his dick was already aching with being hard for so long. He slid his pants off completely, getting in position, aligning himself with your entrance.

He placed his forearm against your belly, deciding it gave him better leverage that way. Looking down, he inched himself forward, watching in fascination as he disappeared into you, your bodies becoming one. Just like they had always been meant to be.

The silky walls were tight around him, and he held on for dear life. You were going to be the death of him.

“Fuck, ah, fuck,” his breath constricted, the finality of actually being inside your velvety folds driving him crazy in exhilaration. He set a fast pace, snapping his hips into yours as if his life depended on it.

“Tell me how it feels, baby,” he cooed, “to know you killed Yoongi for this cock.”

Your whole face burned in rage.

“No, you tell me, how it feels to know you killed a good man for a piece of pussy.”

He chortled, not slowing down in the least.

“Awesome, really,” he panted out, licking his lips as he kept thrusting. “I can kill a whole army for this pussy.” He was not ready yet to say ‘It’s not just your body, it’s you I want. The whole you.’

He pulled the tie around your neck, telling you to get on all fours.

“I can’t dumbfuck, I’m pregnant,” you spat out.

He simply flipped you over, crossing both your hands over your chest so you were kneeling on the bed, with his hands pressing your wrists against your breasts.

“Shit, baby, how are you so tight? Guess he never filled you like I do, huh?”

His tongue licked the back of your ears as he kept thrusting. You were doing your best to not make any sound. You didn’t want to give him that satisfaction.

“Tell me,” he panted, driving himself deeper, “Tell me I’m bigger than him.”

His finger slipped into the tie-noose, twisting the knot.

“Say it.”

You were sure he wouldn’t stop. Panic flooded your body, jumping into escape mode.

“Fine, you’re bigger.”

A dark chuckle rang throughout his chest, making your breasts bounce as aftermath.

“Be more specific, baby. Describe it.”

There was another tight twist, and you gave up.

“Your dick, it’ bigger, it’s- Fuck, I can’t breathe- It’s thicker, it’s longer, okay?”

He smiled into your skin. Gently loosening the tie, he kissed the light welts around your neck.

“Let me hear it again.”

“You’re bigger than him,” you repeated in defeat.

“Fuck yeah, that’s my girl. Cum around me, baby.”

His groans were loud and animalistic, like those of a man possessed. His pounding got frantic, rattling the headboard and eliciting curses from your parched throat.

God, how he wanted to fuck Min’s spawn out of you and fuck his seed into you instead! The thought sent him spinning into his climax, releasing hot ropes of cum into your tight walls. The growls from his chest chilled your blood. He held you incredibly tight against him, riding his wave out, clutching onto your ribs in passion.

The shivering sigh blew against your ears, and he gently pulled out, kissing down your shoulders and back as he did so. Your knees gave out, sending you collapsing down, but his hands caught you just in time.

When he had finished prodding and poking his fingers in your clit to feel his cum, he uttered in a ghost of a whisper:

“You cummed for me, baby.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Were you ready to kill Taehyung? To be frank, you didn’t really know. It was an idea that had crossed your mind millions of times. But taking another life was too horrible to even comprehend. On the other hand, it was a fact that he would continue to make your life hell.

It was a difficult decision, but one you had to face. Were you doomed to live forever with him? Take all his obsessed declarations of love for you? Live in constant fear that he would hurt your child?

Was it worth killing a human for peace? You looked down at your baby bump. He was going to be a terrible father to your baby. The orange canister by the lawn was just alluring. Was all the solution you ever needed in a can of garden pesticide?

The throbbing of your heart was so loud you were sure the guard could hear it. But now you were not just any woman. You were his boss’s wife. Hell, every guard in the fucking house addressed you respectfully.

“Mrs. Kim?” The man stepped towards you with a question on his eyebrows.

“I want the lawn to myself for some time.”

Usually, there were no guards by the pool. Taehyung would pluck their eyes out if any of them snuck up on you while swimming. But the lawn was a different story. There were a lot of guys walking around with guns. It surprised you to see them file out of the lawn like a bunch of disciplined kids.

But you knew their focus would be on you anyway. They didn’t serve you, they served Taehyung.

Making an elaborate show of tending to flowers and picking weeds, you loudly muttered at the gardener’s apparent failure to keep the flower beds weeded out. Kneeling down near the orange can, you unscrewed the lid with an air of ignorance.

“Foul smelling shit, what the hell is it?”

The can toppled over your dress, soaking the cotton. Just like you had expected, a man shot out of nowhere, hurrying to your side.

“Are you alright, Mrs. Kim?”

You batted your eyelashes inoocently at him.

“I- yes, I need to change. I think gardening and I don’t mix.”

He accompanied you inside, turning back to leave. Once upstairs, you nervously wrung out the poison from your soaked skirt.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“What’s that?”

Taehyung had asked sooner than you had expected. You feigned surprise at the question, looking over to where his eyes pointed.

“Oh, nothing.”

Much to your chagrin, he nodded and went back to tapping on his phone. What if he didn’t ask again? Well, you could try again later. Patience. You couldn’t get caught.

Getting up slowly, you danced your way to the fridge. You peeked at the contents, closing it with a sigh. Turning to look at the counter, you absently reached for the cup. You were cradling it in your hands, and just as you let your lips touch the rim, he raised his head.

“Coffee?”

You shook your head. “Protein shake.”

He placed his phone on the coffee table, gazing intently at you.

“Well, aren’t you going to drink it?”

“Oh, yes.”

You sipped from the cup, not minding his stare boring into your face. He leaned back, spreading his arms on the sofa. His face was unreadable. When your throat bobbed after the last bit of drink, he raised his eyebrows mildly.

“Done?”

You shrugged your shoulders, without answering. He considered your face for quite some time, before his curiosity got the better of him.

“So, should I call the ambulance?”

You bit back a grin.

“What for? I’m not in labor yet.”

He watched you suspiciously before giving up.

“I know about the pesticide.”

You stifled a yawn. “Of course you do. And?”

He knew you were smart. You were a fighter. There was no way you would drink a cup of poison to get away from him. The poison surely had been intended for him. But he had just watched you down the cup without flinching.

“And,” he said, face serious, “Why don’t you get on with it?”

“What exactly do you mean?”

His passive demeanor broke, leaving his face twisted in vulnerability.

“You want to kill me.” You flinched at the word ‘kill’.

“So, go on and kill me, Y/N.”

Your eyes met, and you reached for a cup wordlessly.

“Not a fresh cup. I want to drink from yours.” He pressed his fingertips together, watching you as you poured out milk. He hated coffee. And you knew. He saw you drop one sugar cube in, just like he liked. The warm flutter in his heart died just as quickly when he saw you reach into the spice cupboard, extracting a pill bottle.

You tipped the bottle and liquid fell out of it, rippling and disappearing in the small white whirlpool of milk. Without a word, your fingers reached for a spoon and stirred the cup. His stare was burning into your skin. Your own heart felt like lead, so heavy and drenched with guilt.

His fingers had a subtle tremor when he reached to accept the cup. Placing it on the coffee table, he smiled at you.

“I love you, Y/N.”

It was a lie, you were sure. He only wanted to ruin Yoongi. He never loved you.

There was nothing to say. You didn’t believe him.

He drew a sharp breath, meditating if he wanted to speak his mind.

“If I die in your hands, your baby and you will be left alone, Y/N. Penniless. But you will get your independence, yes.” He paused, a suspicious watery film glinting under his lashes. “You can be happy and raise your child on your own. But you will return to me in the end.”

The arch of your eyebrows creased your forehead, asking the question your lips failed to.

The smile reached his eyes, a manic shadow casting a fearsome look on his face.

“Whenever, wherever you die, you will be interred in the Kim crypt, just next to me. We will be together even in death.”

The entire breathing mechanism of your body stopped working.

“What? But that’s –“

He flowed on, seemingly uninterrupted.

“And Y/N, the place where Min Yoongi is buried, the secret, it will die with me.”

Without hesitating, he grabbed the handle and drew the cup to his lips. The warm milk touched his lips, the fumes from the poison overwhelming his nose.

994 notes · View notes

neonun-au · 4 years

Text

in laudem maleficus | irene

pairing: irene x fem!reader, mark lee x fem!reader cast: red velvet, mark lee (nct) genre: horror, witch au, coven au warnings: character death, murder, lots of blood, suggestive/sexual contents, inaccurate portrayals of modern witchcraft (its horror movie stuff innit) word count: 13k prompt: witches

for the Unbeleafable Bingo Event hosted by @kconnet @starryktown and @nctcreations.

synopsis: your world is turned upside down when you cross paths with a coven of witches. the enchanting and beautiful leader, full of a quiet rage and power, entices you to join and before you realize you are caught up in their world of magic.

“And then Johnny reached over to Doyoung and--” Mark’s voice drones on across from you as you sit staring out the window of the cafe, watching as the golden leaves of autumn drift down on the gentle wind--coating the otherwise grey sidewalk in a blanket of colour. You bring your latte up to take a sip and nod blankly as Mark continues, paying no attention to the story he’s laughing about--no doubt you’ve heard it before.

The same cafe you’ve always visited, in the same town you’ve always lived in, across the table from the same boy who has been at your side for years--first as a friend, now as a lover. On the outside it has been a natural progression. Your family and neighbours look at you and see a young woman following the only path that makes sense for her. The only path that makes sense in this town, full of people living out this preordained future. On the inside, however, you thrash against the lifestyle with a fury.

With a silent scream that drowns out all thought of the dull future you are barrelling towards.

Mark starts to choke, on his laughter and his coffee, jolting you out of your reverie. With a sigh you push his glass over water over to him and watch as his face turns a cherry red. He gathers himself and looks up at you with wide eyes, “I almost died.”

“You’re fine, Mark, just drink some water.”

The frigid fall air hits you as you step outside of the small cafe, tugging your wool coat tighter around your chest. Mark exhales loudly, watching as his breath fogs up the air in front of him, before turning to you, “it’s cold out!”

You nod in response, casting a glance down the nearly empty street, and turn to walk towards your old station wagon before Mark stops you with an insistent hand clasped around your arm, “wait, ______. Look.”

You halt mid-step and follow his line of sight--eyes scanning over the leaf strewn street until you see them. The group of five girls, clad in black and red, walk side by side down the other side of the road towards the cemetery at the end of the street. You stare after them, mouth agape, as they walk further and further away--coats trailing behind them in the cold air.

One of the girls feels your gaze and turns towards you, your breath catches in your throat as the corners of her mouth quirk up in a small grin. Her face is veiled in the shadow cast by her wide-brimmed black hat, but the sight of her turns something in your chest; a small trill of excitement reverberates through your ribcage and spreads out over your skin in a wave.

She turns away and you continue to stare after them until Mark breaks the silence, “wow, they sure are creepy, huh?” He asks, turning to you.

“Um,” you start, swallowing the lump in your throat, “yeah, I guess.” The fluttering of your heart continues long after you've climbed into your car and begun the journey back to Mark’s familiar apartment--the image of her smile lingering in your mind’s eye.

Steam bursts up from the pitcher of milk as you hold it under the wand on the espresso machine--heating up your face as it froths to a fine foam. The cafe is busy as usual on a Friday afternoon; regulars and passerbys alike mingling in the small shop, chatting and laughing while they sip on their lattes and cappuccinos. You slide the drink across the counter to the older blonde lady with a customer service smile and turn to wipe down the old espresso machine.

“_____?” Perking up at the sound of your name, you turn towards the sound.

At the till a young woman stands smiling at you. Her pale face shines in the light of the afternoon seeping in through the cafe windows, framed by fine black hair. The image of her in the fading light of the day yesterday flashes into your mind and you watch as she drums blood red fingernails against the countertop.

After a moment she quirks an eyebrow up in curiosity and clears her throat--breaking the spell you’ve found yourself under and you drop the cloth you had been gripping before rushing to the till. “Welcome, I--um,” your words wither under her direct gaze and you inhale a shaky breath before continuing, “how did you know my name?”

With a wry smile she points to the name-tag pinned to your apron and you feel yourself shrivel in embarrassment, releasing a dry laugh in a vain attempt to hide it from her.

“Aren’t you going to take my order?” She asks, suppressing a laugh at your flustered state. No doubt used to the reactions her ethereal beauty garners on a daily basis.

“Oh! O-of course,” you stumble, wiping your palms against your milk-stained apron before tapping at the touchscreen to wake the system, “what can I get for you?”

“Hmm,” she pauses, considering the chalk menu hanging above your head, “what do you recommend?”

“Uh, the caramel macchiato is pretty good if you like sweet things,” you lift your gaze from the screen to judge her reaction, “or if you don’t, you can’t really go wrong with a cappuccino.”

“One of those, then,” she nods, decisive, “a medium.” “Of course, right away,” tapping the order into the screen, she slides the cash over to you and drops the change into the near empty tip jar. “Can I get your name? For the drink?”

“Irene,” she answers, following you along the other side of the counter, watching as you move to the espresso machine and start the process of crafting her drink.

You are keenly aware of her eyes on you--following the movements of your hands, your body--as you go through the familiar motions of grinding the coffee beans and frothing the milk. Something you have done thousands of times before suddenly feels like a brand new endeavour under the heat of her gaze. ‘What is wrong with me?’ you think, scolding yourself in silence as the silver pitcher shakes in your hands.

“What time do you get off?” The question startles you out of your internal monologue and you stare up at her--wide eyed with surprise.

“What?”

“When does your shift end?” She reaffirms her question, slowly, talking over the sound of the hissing steam and endless chatter of the cafe.

“Umm, 5:30…” you answer, pouring the milk foam out into the waiting cup, the white liquid mixes with the brown of the espresso and you curse your shaking hands as you splatter some of it over the counter.

“Good,” she nods, smiling as you slide the cup across to her, “I will pick you up then.”

Her expression is amused while you stare at her, mouth agape, thoughts crashing around in your mind, “why?” the only question remaining inside the cacophony of your brain.

“Why not?” She laughs, swiping a finger through the foam of the cappuccino and bringing it up to her lips.

“I--” a brief pause, trying to push the words out through the dryness coating your throat, “I’m supposed to meet my boyfriend after work.” Your weekly movie date with Mark flashes into your mind, and you push down the feeling of regret that rises like bile in your throat at the thought.

“You could do that,” she nods, watching you with a knowing smile, “or you could come with me. Up to you.”

You flounder, torn between your sense of loyalty and responsibility as a girlfriend and the strange sense of enticement you feel towards this strange woman. As if she has a center of gravity and you’ve stepped into orbit around her. She watches the flurry of emotions cross your face with amusement, “I’ll be here at 5:30.” It’s a statement, not a question, and all you can do is nod dumbly after her as she turns on her heel to leave.

“Wait!” Noticing the cappuccino left behind on the counter you yell after her, raising the cup towards her.

“Oh,” she says, tilting her head to the side, “I don’t drink coffee.”

Staring after her you watch as she disappears out the front door and walks down the sidewalk until the tails of her long, black coat are finally out of sight.

“Excuse me?” A woman calls impatiently out from in front of the till and you snap to attention--pushing away the image of Irene to the depths of your mind.

Not going to be able to make it tonight, something came up

You send the text to Mark, leaning up against the wall of the cafe as you wait for Irene to show, and slip the phone into your bag without waiting for a reply. A black car pulls up to the curb in front of you, windows tinted a dark grey. The momentary urge to run and hide overwhelms your body, seizing your heart in your chest. Anxiety at the thought of being in close proximity to someone who you’ve only just met but who has already made a burning impression in your mind.

The window rolls down and Irene smiles at you from the driver’s seat, “get in.”

With one glance down the deserted sidewalk, you open the door and slide into the passenger seat next to her, “hello.”

“Glad you could join us,” a bright voice calls from the back seat. You spin your head around to see two girls smiling back at you, their long black hair falling like curtains. One of them leans forward and extends a hand for you to take, “Joy.” She offers her name with a wink before sliding back into her seat and gesturing for the other girl to introduce herself.

“Yeri,” she nods towards you with a bright smile, but keeps her hands resting firmly atop her thighs.

“Hi,” you respond, shock at the unexpected company fading from your mind, “_____.”

Irene pulls out onto the road, guiding the car past the few other vehicles dotting the streets. You watch out the window as you pass by Mark’s apartment building. He bobs along the sidewalk towards the lobby, brown bag of take out clasped in his hands, and disappears inside. You resist the urge to laugh at the sight; any other Wednesday you would be walking alongside him with your own bag of food clasped tight in hand.

The car takes a sudden turn down a narrow alleyway and you brace yourself against the dash to keep from slamming into the door. A small, strangled yelp escapes your lips--eliciting a bout of laughter from the backseat.

“You good?” Joy asks, patting your shoulder in mock reassurance. You nod in reply, offering a shaky laugh of your own and adjust your position in the leather seat.

“Where are we going?” The realization dawns on you finally that you know nothing about these girls beyond their names. That maybe ditching your boyfriend of two years because one beautiful woman smiled at you was perhaps a bad idea after all. Maybe, despite the fluttering in your heart when you glance sideways at Irene, you would have been better off rewatching The Goonies in the comfort of Mark’s familiar apartment.

“Just to the farmhouse,” Irene replies, casting you a sideways smile as she accelerates onto the highway out of town. The familiar buildings sink into the horizon behind you as you drive further away from your home and deeper into the unknown. The option of turning back, of asking Irene to just pull over and let you out, disappears along with it.

“Farmhouse?”

“It's abandoned,” Yeri perks up from the back seat, you watch through the rear view mirror as her eyes take on a glint of mischief. “Has been for years. People think it's haunted, so no one really goes out there.”

“Is it?” You ask, swallowing down the last of your lingering nerves and rising to her challenge.

“Is it what?”

“Haunted.”

She laughs, delighted by the shift in tone and shakes her head, “no, it's just us. No ghosts.”

“Not yet, anyway,” Joy adds with a smirk. You spin back to face the front as the car leaves the highway and takes a turn down a gravel road, a cloud of dust looms behind you as Irene drives ahead in silence.

Her eyes remain fixed on the road ahead, expression unreadable. Out of the corner of your eye you study her face as she drives, wondering why exactly she asked you to come as she hasn’t really said more than five words since you got in the car. The cloud of confusion and anxiety gripping your brain is one you haven’t felt since your last high school crush and you try and shake it off by taking in the details of the area around you. The car is void of all personal touches--sleek, black interior to match the sleek, black exterior. The world outside the car, whipping by your windows, is similarly void of anything. Wide, cloud marred blue skies stretch out over endless corn and wheat fields--plowed clean after the fall harvest.

Another sharp turn and Irene drives down a tree-lined driveway towards what you can only assume is the farmhouse. It sits still and empty before you, a dot at the end of the long lane, before looming above you in all of its rundown glory. At one time it would have been white, but over years of neglect and misuse the siding has taken on a distinctly grey tint. A porch wraps around the house like a hug, a few abandoned deck chairs collect dust as they sit on the worn floorboards. There’s a faint glow inside the front window and as you climb out of the passenger seat of the car, you wonder who could possibly be inside.

Joy and Yeri skip ahead to the front door and you wander behind them, startling when Irene suddenly links her arm with yours. “Nervous?” She asks, watching you with a smile.

“No,” you lie, “should I be?”

She laughs, patting your arm, as you walk up the porch step towards the door in tandem. “No, we’re just hanging out.”

“Hey!” A new voice splits through the laughter in the air as you enter and you have to restrain yourself from jumping at the sound. “You came!” Another girl of a similar age bounds towards you, swinging a portable camping lamp in her hand. Her smile is wide and welcoming and you relax at the sight as she comes to a stop in front of you.

“Yeah, umm…” you glance over her, trying to reconcile her familiar greeting with your memory but come up entirely short. “Have we met before?”

“No, no,” she laughs, tossing back her white blonde hair, “I’m Wendy. Irene said you would be coming to join us.”

“Not that we had much say in it.”

“Seulgi…” Irene warns from beside you, tone stern. Seulgi stands up against the far wall of the living room, leaning against the old brick fireplace with a grim expression. Nervousness blooms renewed in your gut as you watch her push away from the wall and give you a once over before reluctantly extending her hand to you.

“Seulgi,” she states her name, before dropping your hand and wandering towards the back wall of the dimly lit room.

“Okay!” Wendy chirps, attempting to diffuse the tension that has seeped into the air around you. “Who wants food?”

Over time the evening sunlight streaming through the dingy windows of the abandoned house dims to a thin veil and you sit in a circle surrounding the only lamp in the house, passing back and forth plates of the snacks that Wendy had brought with her in her old blue cooler bag. You listen and laugh along as Yeri and Joy trade stories of their adventures from their hometowns, and sit enraptured as Irene spins a tale from the time at boarding school where she managed to convince the entire faculty that she had not, in fact, filled the entire teachers lounge with water despite the trail of footprints leading to her dorm room.

The laughter and the stories drag on into the night, and you begin to open up as well. Sharing a story of the time Mark had “accidentally” fallen into the river to get out of gym class.

“Wait, whose Mark?” Yeri asks, face scrunched in confusion.

“Oh, my boyfriend,” you reply, the hesitation in your tone startling you. Why did you feel unsure about that? Nervous, even? You’ve been seeing him for two years, he was undoubtedly your boyfriend. Still, the feeling persists as Yeri makes a mock gagging noise across the circle.

“Boyfriend? Who needs one of those,” she reaches for the last brownie square, leaving a trail of chocolate crumbs on the old oak floor.

“He’s…nice,” you offer a meagre defense in Mark's honour, but she just rolls her eyes causing another peal of laughter to ripple through the circle. You join in, pushing the image of your boyfriend's face to the back of your mind.

The laughter fades after a moment and Irene turns to look out the window as the last light of the day sets beyond the horizon. “Okay girls,” she says, clapping her hands together before rising to stand, “are we ready?”

“Now?” Seulgi asks, speaking for the first time since her curt introduction earlier. She casts you a withering glance before looking back up towards Irene, “with her?”

“Yes, with her. I said I wanted a sixth,” she replies, “she’s perfect.”

Perfect? You think, perfect for what? Some plan has been concocted in silent whispers out of the range of your hearing, something even you were not privy to but evidently were to be involved in. You rack your brain for any ideas, but nothing comes to mind. No hints or clues offered either during Irene’s introduction to you earlier in the day, or during the hours spent talking with them on the floor of this old house.

The confusion is evident on your face, and Joy leans over to nudge you in the side with her elbow, “you’ll see.” She says with a wink, and the sincerity of her smile softens your nerves momentarily before Irene extends a hand to help you off the floor. You take it, heart hitching in your chest at the feeling of her soft skin against your own, and follow her outside into the field beside the house.

A pile of wood sits a short walk away from the side of the farmhouse, likely scavenged from the surrounding woods and old barn to the back of the house. You watch as Wendy and Yeri toss on a few more planks of plywood before they each strike a match and set the pile ablaze. It burns slowly at first, gentle flames wicking up the sides of the wood, but within the span of a minute the fire burns high into the air--casting an amber glow over the surrounding field and warming your skin to the touch.

You follow behind Irene and Seulgi as they march towards the bonfire. Irene directs you to stand a few feet away from her facing the flames; confusion and curiosity cloud your mind and you comply without thought or protest. The other girls settle similarly in a circle, and you watch each of their faces settle into focused attention, bathed in the orange light, as Irene holds court.

“Sisters, we stand here tonight in the light of the full moon to welcome a new member of the coven, should she choose to accept the ceremony offered.” She turns to you, skin reflecting the flames in front of you and smiles. “Do you accept?”

“I’m sorry,” you start, breaking out of the daze that had been gripping you throughout the night, “what exactly is going on?”

“We’re witches!” Yeri shouts over the flames, tone gleeful as she laughs.

“We want to welcome you into the sisterhood,” Irene confirms, nodding. “Should you want to be a part of it, that is.”

“Witches?” You ask, incredulous, as you stare at Irene--silently begging for more information, for answers. “Why me?”

“Hmm, let’s just say I see something in you,” she grins, cocking her head to the side. You watch the glint of fire in her eyes and feel something twist in your heart at the sight. An excitement that you haven’t felt for years churning inside of you. “Something that maybe you haven’t even seen in yourself yet.”

“What is it?” You ask, breathless.

“We can help you discover that,” she reaches out a hand towards you and you take it, feeling her squeeze your fingers in reassurance and comfort. The knot in your chest tightens again and you breathe in a warm, shaky breath.

It’s all too much, you think to yourself. Days ago you weren’t even aware that these girls lived near you. Between your regular rounds from home, to work, to the corner store, and back again you had never run into them. Your life had been consumed up until this moment with indecision and acceptance. Indecision on where to go, and acceptance that maybe you were better of just staying put in this small town where nothing ever happened, sitting on the couch next to the same boy with whom nothing ever changed, eating the same take out meal for the third time that week.

Now, standing under the moonlight bathed in the amber light of the fire, everything has shifted. Irene’s dark brown eyes bore into yours as she awaits your answer and you feel your world tilting dangerously towards hers--towards her. Like she has taken your center of gravity and grabbed hold of it tightly in her firm grip.

You know that if you said no now, if you left and went back to your life as it was before this, you could right this center. You could return. Any step further towards Irene, towards the possibility there in the palm of her hand will only push you deeper into the unknown. The time for indecision is over.

“Yes,” you say, voice a whisper over the crackling of the wood engulfed in flames, “I accept.”

Her grin broadens and your heart soars at the sight, feeling the knot in your chest dissolve. Out of the corner of your eye you see Seulgi’s mouth set in a tight line, her displeasure at your answer is evident but any concerns that might otherwise have been aroused by the sight are washed away as Irene walks up to you and wraps an arm around your shoulder.

“It is settled, then,” she squeezes you with her arm briefly, tugging you into her side. “We will begin the ceremony.”

A glint of silver shines reflected in the firelight and you watch with wide eyes as Irene pulls a dagger out from a sheath on her thigh. Eyes closed, she reaches forward and thrusts the dagger into the flames--letting it linger a moment before pulling back and making a small incision on each of her palms. She passes it to Wendy next, and one by one they all follow suit, slicing small incisions into the center of their hands before the dagger makes its way around the circle and is finally outstretched towards you.

Nervous, you wrap your fingers around the hilt, feeling the weight of the metal heavy in your hand as you accept it from Joy. You glance at Irene, uncertainty plain on your face.

“Just a small cut,” she assures, “just enough to let some of the blood flow out.”

With a shaky inhale you point the dagger towards your palm and let it sink into the soft flesh. It stretches at first, molding around the sharp point of the knife and remaining stubbornly unbroken; you apply a little more pressure until finally, with one sharp incision, the skin yields and you see the blood bloom around the silver tip.

Quickly, you do the same to the other and pass the dagger back to Irene. She slides it back into the sheath and holds her hand out towards you, “join hands.” She calls, and everyone closes the circle around the fire--palm to bloodied palm.

“From blood we are made, to blood we end. Join us, heart and soul, together in the bond of sisterhood and let no man nor outside force break it. This life we choose of our own free will, to give out service unto thee, and so it is.”

“And so it is,” the voices join the crackling of the fire, ascending towards the sky, and you feel a wave of chills ripple over your body despite the heat. The fire sparks, growing larger and larger before your eyes before it bursts in flames taller than your bodies--stretching up towards the black of the night. You watch as the shapes formed in the blaze of orange and yellow twist and transform in front of your eyes before the entire fire blinks out in an instant and you’re left standing in moonlight, hand in hand with your new sisters.

“It is done,” Irene confirms, nodding, before dropping your hand. The cold night air hits the wounds like a shock, and you quickly stuff your palms into your pockets for warmth.

“Wicked,” Yeri laughs as she hops over to wrap her arms around you in a tight hug. “Welcome to the club,” her smile is bright, honest; you’re surprised at how much the approval of someone you’ve only met earlier today already sparks a fire of happiness in your heart.

“Yeah,” Joy nods in agreement, clapping her hand on your shoulder, “let’s go get pizza now.”

You linger behind, following slowly as the girls dance back towards the house to gather up their things. Seulgi keeps pace beside you in silence until you’re a few feet from the front porch, she places a firm hand on your arm, stalling you in place. The laughter of the other girls has disappeared behind the front door and you stand in the darkness in front of her piercing gaze.

“We’re sisters now,” she says, tightening her grip on your arm, “so let me give you a word of warning.”

Nerves settle in your throat in a dry lump, blocking any words that might otherwise have come out. You nod, swallowing hard.

“Don’t get too invested in Irene,” she says, her tone is serious and painted with years of knowledge and information. A stark contrast to your bright naivety of your new acquaintance. “She’s beautiful, but she’s dangerous.”

The front door swings open and light from the lamp floods out over your bodies. Seulgi drops her hand from your arm and you follow her line of sight to see Irene standing in the doorway. “_____,” she calls out to you and you can already feel yourself leaning away from Seulgi and towards her--warning entirely forgotten. “Are you coming?”

You nod and head up the steps towards the house, feeling the heat of Seulgi’s gaze as it bores into your back.

“Where were you last night?” Mark asks through a mouthful of fried chicken as you sit splayed out on your living room couch. The Goonies plays on the TV for the millionth time--the sounds of the young actors shrieking and laughing creating a bizarre soundscape in the apartment. “You never replied to my texts.”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot to check my phone,” you respond, staring unfocused at the screen in front of you. “I was out with friends.”

“Friends?” He asks, face screwed up in confusion. “Who? You never hang out with anyone except me,” he lets out a small peal of laughter but the accusation sinks into your chest bitterly. He wasn’t wrong. Before Irene, you really only ever saw Mark outside of work and the rest of the time was spent either avoiding phone calls from your mom, or sitting along and rewatching the same tv shows in silence--wishing you were somewhere else.

“They’re new friends,” you say, curt, and he raises his hands up in defense.

“Alright, alright, I believe you,” he laughs, reaching for the last drumstick in the box before you have a chance to take it. “So what are we doing tonight?”

“Oh, I was going to hang out with them again tonight, actually…” you watch Mark out of the corner of your eye as glances at you in completely unveiled confusion. His face is an open book as always.

“Is this gonna be like an every night kind of thing?”

“And so what if it is?” You bite back, bristling at his tone.

“I dunno,” he mumbles, casting you a weary glance, “you’re my girlfriend, shouldn’t we like...be together?”

No, the thought comes automatically. Hitting you like a freight train of realization--maybe you’re only still with Mark because it's easier. Easier to remain, to keep the status quo, than to branch out on your own. Irene’s face swims up in your vision--her deep brown eyes, the delicate line of her jaw, the ruby red lips. Your chest tightens at the image, fingers tingling with the memory of her hand in yours. Mark is easy, comfortable--familiar--but Irene represents to much possibility, so much excitement.

You watch his soft brown eyes as they search your own for your response and you swallow the thought down, “we’re always together, Mark. Me having friends to hang out with now isn’t going to change that.”

“Alright,” he nods, taking another bite off his drumstick, “I’ll see if Johnny’s got any plans.”

“Okay, now just concentrate,” Irene's voice floats into your hearing and you narrow your gaze on the flickering flame of the candle in front of you. A sharp pain sits in the back of your dry eyes--sore from time spent sitting focused on this one small spark of light in front of you. “Think about how you want the flame to extinguish. Imagine it blinking out of existence.”

You nod your understanding, and call the image up in your mind. A yellow light, there once second and gone the next in a small cloud of grey smoke. You can see the smoke rising from the wick of the candle, twisting in the air for a moment before dissipating entirely. The candlelight in front of you flickers again, and you try to match the images together.

“It’s never going to happen at this rate,” Yeri groans from the corner, breaking your concentration.

“It will,” Irene reassures you, ignoring Yeri’s protests. “Concentrate, ______, I believe in you.”

With a deep inhale, you refocus your gaze, conjuring the image back into your mind’s eye. The image of a flameless candle. You can feel a gentle throbbing through your veins, a tingling of power running in your bloodstream and itching at the tips of your fingers. You exhale, ignoring the pain in your eyes, and stare at the flame.

In the blink of an eye, it disappears.

“Holy shit,” Joy remarks, impressed, as the thin trail of black smoke winds up from the wick where the flame has been blinked out. “She did it.”

“Finally!” Yeri shouts gleefully towards the ceiling. “Can we go get dinner now?”

“I brought snacks, you ingrate, eat them,” Wendy nudges Yeri in the side, gesturing to the tupperware containers littered over the wood flooring.

“I’m tired of your healthy snacks, I want a hamburger.”

Their bickering voices fade to a dull thrum around you as you stare at the candle in shock. I actually did it, you think, wonder coursing through your body. What else can I do? If it was possible to extinguish a flame with only a thought, was it also possible to start a fire? What else were you capable of? What were they capable of?

Irene tugs you to your feet, her smile bright and beaming with life, “well done.” She says, squeezing your hand, “I knew you could do it.” The praise and assurance in her voice bathes you in warmth and you return her smile gratefully.

“Irene,” Seulgi calls out through the fog surrounding you, drawing your attention back to the room you’re still standing in. “Are we going?”

She nods, “you guys go ahead, we’ll meet up with you later.” Irene glances towards you, fastening you to the spot as the others trickle out of the farmhouse towards Wendy’s car. The red glow of the taillights disappear down the driveway and you’re left alone with Irene--her fingers still softly intertwined with yours.

“You know why you’re here, right?” She asks, directing your attention from the feeling of her hand in yours and up to meet her eyes.

“No,” you reply, voice soft as if anything louder than a whisper might break whatever spell she has you under.

“Because you and I are the same,” she replies, bringing her hand up to brush a wayward strand of hair from your forehead. The tips of her fingers leave a trail of sparks across your skin and you think you see the moon in her eyes. “You have so much power inside of you, _____, you just have to trust it.”

“How,” your voice breaks and you hesitate, swallowing the lump of nerves in your throat. “How do you know that?”

“I can see it, it’s in your eyes,” she traces a finger over your jawline--slowly, deliberately. You feel the blood rushing to your head, clouding your thoughts as you bask in her unwavering gaze. “I can feel it humming here.” She drops her hand, letting it rest over your thundering heart and you feel pulled towards her. Drawn in by some magnetic force. She leans forward, lips brushing against yours softly at first--exploring. She tastes like honey and wine and you lean in for more, eager to feel her arms around you.

A sound calls out through the haze you’re in, an insistent buzzing inside of your pocket. Irene pulls back, bemused smirk playing on her lips as you groan and pull your phone out to check the message.

Hey, you’ll never guess what Johnny said today! Are you home? I’m bringing chicken

“The boyfriend?” She asks and you nod in confirmation, a sigh escaping your lips. “You can do better than him, you know.” She asserts before gathering her bags and heading towards the door, a glance cast over her shoulder indicating your should follow.

The car rumbles down the rural gravel road in the dark, headlights illuminating the empty space ahead as you drive back towards town. Irene keeps her eyes trained on the road as she drives; you watch her profile shift in the dim light, the taste of her still fresh on your tongue.

“Irene,” you start, breaking the silence, “how long have you been doing…all of this?”

“What,” she asks with a laugh, “witchcraft?”

“Yeah, that.”

She hums, considering her answer, “I could say forever. It's always been there, as it is for most people. It’s in the maternal ancestry for millennia.” You nod, waiting for her to continue, “but really, I’ve been practising the craft for about five years.”

“Why did you start?” Curiosity weaves through your thoughts; you want to know more about her. Everything. Her history, her hopes, her dreams. You want to sink into her thoughts and dance through her words. The taste of her lips on yours awoke a desire that had long been asleep inside of you and now you were drunk with the yearning to chase it to whatever end.

“Power,” she responds, simply. One word that holds so much weight--the dreams of so many trapped in 5 letters. “Power and agency. You grow up in this world as a woman, surrounded by men who tell you you will never be anything more than what your looks have to offer them, and you begin to believe it. You feel, maybe they’re right. Maybe all I am is beauty.”

The car pulls off the rural road and onto the highway, the lights of town rise up in the night sky before you as you drive ever closer. You want to tell her to pull over, to park on the side of the road and sit with you for a minute--for an hour, for a day. Forever.

Instead you listen, hanging on to every word she speaks as if it holds the secrets to unlock her soul. “But it’s all a lie. Beauty is a construct created by those very men to diminish us, to keep us small and obedient. I’m tired of being obedient. All men have ever done is disappoint me. Fathers, teachers, brothers--they have this birthright of power just given to them and what do they do with it? Nothing. They waste it away and only ever use it to bend us to their will. But they don’t know what we’re capable of, when we cast aside their lies. We can hold the same power.”

A chill creeps in the car, running down your spine as she speaks--her words carefully chosen and sharpened over years of determination.

“You know what I mean, right?” She asks suddenly, glancing at you through the darkness, “you’ve felt it as well.”

“Yeah,” you nod, “I have.” Years spent following your father’s orders, following Mark’s dreams, standing in the shadows and being a passive player in your own life rise up before you now like a mirror. Staring you in the face in the glow of wasted potential.

“See?” She says, smirk playing on the corner of her lips, “I told you--we’re the same.” Your phone buzzes in your pocket again, the same insistent tone, but you ignore it. “And this boyfriend of yours--”

“Mark.”

“Mark,” she hums his name like a curse, “you know he’s the same. He might not be a bad person, but it’s only a matter of time. A matter of time until the disappointment sinks in.”

It already has, you think, staring out the passenger window as Irene winds the car through the streets of town.

Days bleed into weeks and you find yourself spending more and more of your free time at the old farmhouse. Time spent practising your new craft as well as just revelling in the company of your new friends--in the lightness they bring into your world. Your days take on a new life, no longer grey and monotonous, but colourful and filled with laughter and the company of people with whom you feel you finally belong.

And there, standing in the middle of everything like a lighthouse at sea, stands Irene--vibrant and humming with life. The topic of the kiss is never broached but it lies there between you, dormant and waiting in the tips of your fingers. Every brush of skin on skin is a reminder. Her hand as it lands on your thigh during a ritual, your eyes on hers as you watch her through flames. Every breath is a reminder.

Irene shines through your life, illuminating the dull grey that used to surround you. You soak in every moment spent with her, basking in it and praying for eternity. The grey swims back in, inevitably, when you go back home. Laying in bed next to Mark, you imagine her there. Focusing the image until his hands grow slender and fine--they’re no longer his lips on your skin, they’re Irene’s.

The air in the farmhouse is sweltering as you lay in a puddle on the floor, fanning yourself with an old newspaper. Fall temperatures were set to hit an all time high this week and you were dreading it.

Yeri flops down on the floor next to you, leaning over to catch some of the breeze from your makeshift fan. “Just kill me now, please,” she groans, wiping a bead of sweat off her forehead.

“Too much effort,” you reply, adjusting the newspaper so the wind hits both of your faces.

“I’ll kill you if it means it’ll stop this goddamn heatwave,” Joy sits propped up against the far wall of the living room, directly under the open window in a vain attempt at catching whatever breeze might blow through the windows.

“That might work,” Irene comments, raising her eyes from the old tome she's been pouring over for the past hour in relative silence.

“Ha, funny,” Yeri sticks her tongue out at the older girl and pushes herself off the floorboards with a groan.

“Okay, maybe we won’t kill you, but I’ve been doing a lot of research and it seems like the key to unlocking our full potential as witches is a human sacrifice.”

“Will that stop the heatwave?” Joy asks through a mouthful of ice water.

“It might, we’ll be pretty unstoppable at that point.” She shrugs, turning to the next page.

“Irene,” Seulgi’s voice cuts through the haze of heat in the room--stern and cold. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why not?”

“That’s murder.”

“Only by today’s standards,” she responds lightly and you sit up to evaluate her expression. Alarm at the proposition ringing through your body. Irene shrugs off Seulgi’s concern and shuts the cover of the book, meeting her gaze. You sit up, straightening your posture, and watch as they glare daggers at each other from across the room.

“And what other standards should we be living by then?” Seulgi deadpans, not backing down from the challenge presented in Irene’s eyes.

“Our own,” she responds simply, as if it needs no further explanation.

You glance around the room, apart from Seulgi everyone sits relaxed and passive on the floor of the old house--no sense of tension or shock painting their faces, no change in the atmosphere. Your eyes drift back to Irene as she sits, expression serious and calculating, and taps a finger against the leather cover of the book in front of her. Yeri yawns and stretches against the oak floor, fanning herself lazily with her hand as the staredown continues. The dissonant atmosphere builds a knot of tension in your stomach. You can feel yourself holding your breath, but cannot force yourself to release it, so you sit still and listen.

“And what exactly are ‘our’ standards, Irene? Murder? Are we throwing away morality entirely in the pursuit of power?”

“Our standards,” Irene narrows her gaze at Seulgi, voice shooting poisoned daggers, “are what we make them. Nothing is gained but through sacrifice, Seulgi, be that our sacrifice or someone else's.”

“It’s not sacrifice, it’s murder,” Seulgi drops her gaze from Irenes, looking around the room for help--any help--but everyone remains silent. Unbothered. She meets your gaze last, brown eyes boring into yours, demanding you speak up. “_____, do you condone this? Murder?”

“I mean....it’s all hypothetical isn’t it?” You reply, voice shaking ever so slightly. The heat of the day has all but disappeared from your thoughts as you sit trapped between two opposing forces. “We aren’t really going to kill anyone, it’s just...talk.” Your eyes drift over to Irene, tracing up over her chest, her neck, the delicate curve of her jaw. You meet her gaze and the cold stare softens, a slight upturn at the corners of her mouth. The tense knot in your stomach loosens and dissolves into the heat of the day.

“Of course,” she says, “it’s just all hypothetical.”

The heat of the week dissipates slowly, bleeding back into a more seasonal autumn chill, and with it goes all mention of the tense conversation in the farmhouse. The days pass as they had before and you begin to wonder if you hadn’t just imagined the entire exchange. It’s never brought up again, by either Seulgi or Irene, so you slip back into normalcy--practising spells and enchantments with Yeri, learning herbalism with Wendy, and ignoring the way your heart lurches towards Irene everytime her skin brushes over your own.

The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg dance through the air in the kitchen of your small apartment, bathing you in the scent of winter and warmth. You lean over the pot of mulled wine and inhale deeply, savouring the way it seeps into your senses. Keys turn in the door, jangling your attention free from the constant stirring and you look up as Mark steps in--shaking some snowflakes free from his wind blown hair.

“Wow, it smells good in here,” he exclaims, tossing his coat across the couch and coming up behind you--resting his chin on your shoulder as he watches you stir the concoction. “What are you making?”

“Mulled wine,” you state, shaking him off your shoulder to grab another stick of cinnamon from the cupboard, “Wendy gave me the recipe.”

“Oh,” his face twists into a scowl. “Is Wendy one of those girls you’ve been hanging out with?”

“Yes,” you rest the wooden spoon on top of the pot, “why?”

“I don’t know,” he drawls, running his hand down your arm, “they’re kind of...weird, aren’t they?”

“How so?” Levelling him with the most intimidating stare you can muster, you shake him off and cross your arms--ready to pounce on whatever judgement he is forming in his mind.

“They’re kind of creepy,” noticing the anger brewing behind the glare he steels himself for an argument and persists, “all they do is wander around dressed in black and hang out in the cemetery. That’s weird, isn’t it?”

“What so it’s a crime to wear black now?”

“No, it's not just that,” he affirms, expression still twisted in a cocktail of confusion and frustration as he tries to find the words to express his thoughts, “it’s...well everything. And all you do now is hang out with them, it's like I never see you.”

“Oh, well excuse me for finding people that like me,” you toss your hands up, releasing some of the steam that had been building up inside of you, “excuse me for not catering to you 24/7.”

“That’s not what I--” Mark stutters, eyes widening as you cut him off with a jab to the chest.

“I know what you mean, Mark Lee, we’ve been dating for almost two years now, you’re not that hard to read,” he watches silently as you continue on your tirade, finally spilling free all the thoughts that had been brewing in your mind over the past few months. “You were so used to me not having any sort of social life outside of our relationship, and now that I have actual friends, you’re jealous. You can’t stand the thought of my independence. It’s why you got me the job at the cafe, to keep me in this town. It’s why you’re now trying to guilt trip me into ditching my friends, trying to make me think that they’re these strange, dangerous people. It’s all so that you can pad your ego and pretend like everything is perfect.”

“Hey, I never forced you to stay here,” he rebuts your accusation but you’re too heated to hear him. Irene’s words float through your mind, mingling with your own repressed frustrations and bringing everything to a boil. Mark shudders

“Guess what Mark? It’s not perfect,” you continue, anger sharpening to a knife point--not noticing as the kitchen lights flicker overhead, “I’m sick of just being the girlfriend or the barista. I’m tired of only being noticed in relation to you and your life.”

“_____--” Mark warns, watching your fury burst in front of him like a flame--a bonfire of anger directed towards him. He cowers under your ire, watching as the ceiling lights strobe on and off as you stalk towards him across the vinyl floor.

“You know what, Mark?” You take a heavy step towards him, lifting a finger in accusation, “I’m sick of this.”

The lights hum and buzz with energy, flickering on and off, on and off.

“And I’m sick of you.”

One final buzz, the lights spark to a brilliant brightness, blinding, for a brief moment before with a loud snap the bulbs break and rain down on you in a shower of glass.

“Fuck,” Mark yells, grabbing his coat from the back of the chair, “I don’t know what going on _____, but this is insane!”

Mark races out of the apartment, leaving you behind in the dark. Limbs shaking from adrenaline and fear.

Irene opens the door to her house, eyeing you curiously as you stand on her doorstep. Eyes wide, hands still shaking in the aftermath of the fight--the sound of the light bulb smashing resounding through your skull.

“Irene…”

She shushes you with a shake of her head, opening the door wider and ushering you inside.

Irene slides a mug of tea towards you and you take it gratefully in your shaking hands--relishing the warmth seeping out through the ceramic and soothing your nerves. She sits next to you on the small velvet loveseat, resting a hand on your thigh in comfort. “What happened?”

“We had a fight,” you mumble, eyes fixed on the steam as it curls out from your mug--swirling in the air before you.

“You and Mark?”

You nod and take a sip of the tea, allowing the taste of the herbal mixture to envelop your senses.

“About what?”

“You were right,” you turn to her, meeting her dark brown gaze, noting the small shift in her expression from concern to knowing. A flicker of triumph alights in her eyes. “You were right about him, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t know me,” with a sigh you take another sip of the warm liquid, “not anymore…”

“Of course he doesn’t, how could he possibly ever understand?” She takes the mug from you, setting it down on the coffee table before taking your hands in her own--her thumb rubbing small circles over your skin--and tugs you to stand in front of her. “He was made for a simple life. Made for monotony and to get married and have children and die a boring death. A life that will never be remembered for anything greater,” the candles on her alter flicker to life as she pierces you with her gaze. You hands prickle and spark in her grasp and you stand transfixed, watching as her eyes burn with unspoken magic.

“How could he know the potential we hold,” her grip on your hands tighten and you lean in, feeling your own energy condense into the space between you. “The potential you hold.”

“Irene,” you mouth, breathless in the vacuum of time surrounding you, “what’s happening to me?” She takes a step forward, forcing you back against the wall of her apartment. Her dark gaze bores into your own and she brings a hand up to run her finger down the side of your face, dragging it down the soft skin of your neck and bringing her palm to rest at the base of your clavicle. A shiver runs down your spine and you inhale sharply, skin prickling under her touch. She moves closer to you, leaning in until your bodies are almost flush against each other.

“It's the power that courses through your veins,” she says, eyes hooded and dark as she presses you up against the wall. “Can’t you feel it? Thrumming through you. Don’t you feel…” Irene traces a finger down your bare arm as she speaks, eyes never leaving yours, “alive with it? Intoxicated? Don’t you feel like you could do anything, be anything,” you swallow loudly, trying to hide the pounding of your heart against your chest as she leans in closer to whisper in your ear. “Don’t you feel like you could have anything you desire?”

You nod, head clouded with the scent of her so close to you, and she smiles against your ear. A small movement, almost imperceptible. The next moment you feel her lips on yours, sweet and salty, the taste of her flowing through your veins--creeping under your skin and making its home in your mouth. You move with her, hungry for more, hands coming to rest at her waist as she pushes you harder against the wall, “what do you desire?” she murmurs against you, the heat of her body intermingling with your own.

Your answer comes out in a guttural moan as she presses a trail of kisses down your neck--allowing her hands to slip under the hem of your shirt. Warm flesh against warm flesh, fingertips dancing over the heat of your skin, daring lower and lower with each agonizing second until you feel her tugging at your waist band.

Heat pools in the pit of your stomach, and you writhe against the wall as Irene slides down to her knees in front of you.

"Tell me what you desire," she commands, dark eyes fixated on yours with an intensity that both excites and scares you.

You inhale, steeling yourself against her unwavering gaze, and meet her eyes with your own determined stare, "you."

In a flash of movement she slides off your clothes, burying herself between your legs. The pressure builds slowly, intensely as she moves beneath you--lips and tongue ravenous against your core. You tangle your fingers in her dark hair, losing yourself to the feeling of the moment--to the feeling of her between your thighs. If it weren't for the wall supporting your body, you would be on the ground in seconds.

She slides a hand up the front of your shirt as she continues kissing and nipping at the soft flesh of your inner thighs, you let your head fall back against the wall with a thud--thoughts leaving entirely as she wraps herself around you. Fills you with the intoxicating feel of her mouth--warm breath against warmer flesh.

She loses herself in you and the pressure builds; twisting and churning in your guts as she moves below you, deft fingers and tongue. The flames of the candles flicker and spark with the force of the energy building between you, stirring in the air, but you pay them no mind--lost to the feel of her. “Irene,” her name a prayer on your lips. The intensity grows, stretching the fabric of your sanity until the bubble bursts and you come undone.

The flames are snuffed out and you lean panting against the wall. Irene plants a trail of soft kisses up your bare arm as she stands, dotting them up your neck and the side of your face until finally her lips meet your own. The taste of you on her lips and tongue mingling with her own heady flavour--that same honey and wine. “We could be so much more,” she whispers against your lips, her thin frame leaning hard against yours as she catches her breath.

“Okay,” you agree, nodding. Thoughts swirling through your mind in a drunken haze.

“You want it too?” The hint of triumph is back, lighting her eyes from within--a cool glow in the depths of brown.

“I do,” you nod, mesmerized. “I want...all of it.” A smile stretches across her features, sending a chill rippling across your entire body.

Candlelight glows amber against the bare walls of the house, casting shadows around the room as you sit cross-legged on the floor, still vibrating with the rush of adrenaline.

A car pulls up in the driveway and you wait in silence with Irene as everyone else spills into the farmhouse, half delirious with sleep. “Irene, what’s going on?” Seulgi asks, slipping her coat off and taking a seat on the floor across from you. Joy, Yeri, and Wendy follow suit until you’re all in the same familiar formation that you have found yourself in over the past months together.

Irene waits for the chatter to die down, for silence to overtake the room once more, before she speaks. “What has always been our goal, since starting this coven?”

“Umm,” Yeri hums, eager to give an answer, “sisterhood?”

Irene smiles, “partly.”

“Just tell us, Irene, clearly you have the answer in your mind.” Seulgi states, a hint of frustration painting her tone with every syllable.

“Power,” Irene ignores Seulgi’s scowl and continues, “to unlock our full potential.”

“Our potential for what, exactly?” You feel yourself caught again as Irene and Seulgi glare each other down, both determined to see their end through. Ears piqued with interest, you listen and watch as the conversation builds to an argument.

“That’s the thing, Seulgi. The potential is unlimited--if we can truly unlock it, we’ll be unstoppable.”

“Is power alone really a goal? Shouldn’t you have an idea of what you want to do with it? Otherwise you end up just like those men that you so love to separate yourself from.”

“Power is the ultimate goal,” Irene affirms, leaning forward, long hair falling in waves around her. “To whatever end. Power is freedom.”

Seulgi’s scowl deepens, the whispers of Irene’s implications settle into the knots in her brow. Joy clears her throat, voice slicing through the tension, “but how are we supposed to unlock that potential?”

“Sacrifice,” Irene grins, pleased with the question. The air in the room tightens, you can see Wendy and Seulgi’s shoulders tense at the word--at the images brought forth in their mind’s eye.

“I’m not going to be a party to murder,” Seulgi states, breaking the circle and standing over you. Her lips are set in determination but the glint of pleading in her eyes does not go unnoticed by you. “That’s what this is, Irene. It’s murder. No one is willingly going to sacrifice themself for you.”

“The sacrifice doesn’t need to be willing,” Irene shrugs.

“And if it doesn’t work? If you kill someone and nothing changes? These spells are old, Irene, but not foolproof.”

“It will work.”

“How can you be sure of that?” Selgi asks, leaning further towards the door with every word.

“Are you leaving?” Irene asks, voice flat and void of any emotion.

“If you are seriously thinking about doing this, then yes. I am not going to stand by and watch this happen.”

“You know, back in the old days when a witch would betray her coven,” Irene stands to face Seulgi, taking a step forward as Seulgi moves one back, “they would kill her.”

She grabs her coat from the floor in a rush, turning with one last glare, “it’s the 21st century, Irene.” She states, opening the front door, keys in hand. “And if any of you know what’s good for you,” Seulgi turns her attention to Wendy, who avoids meeting her glance, “you won’t let her do this. You won’t be a part of it.”

The door closes and the room is once again cast in a veil of silence--broken only by the distant noise of Seulgi’s vehicle as it roars to life and crunches over the gravel driveway as she leaves.

“What do we do now?” Wendy asks, her voice a whisper.

“We proceed,” Irene sighs, sitting back down and reforming the circle. You all shift in kind, swallowing up the spot where Seulgi had been sitting. “Unless anyone else has any objections?”

Nervous eyes glance around the room for a moment before Yeri deins to speak, “unlimited power?” She asks, eyes lit by the fire of curiosity.

“Unlimited,” Irene confirms with a nod.

“Who are we sacrificing?”

“Where are we going?” Mark asks, uncertainty lacing his voice with nerves, as you lead him by the hand towards the abandoned farmhouse beyond the trees.

“You’ll see,” you laugh, tightening your grip on him as he stumbles along behind you, footprints trailing through the thin sheet of snow on the ground. “It’s an adventure Mark, calm down.”

“O-okay,” he swallows his fear. It had taken very little convincing to get him to follow you out here. One brief apology over coffee, one chaste kiss, and he was back at your side like nothing had happened. His fear of change outweighs any sense of self-preservation; he was, as always, a creature of habit. A habit that once was leading him towards a banal future of days bleeding into endless days, now leads him towards certain destruction.

You flash him a smile in the dark as the trees give way to an open field, the farmhouse in the middle alight from within by the glow of hundreds of candles. The chimney bellows with smoke from the flames currently burning in the fireplace.

“Are you sure we’re allowed out here?” He asks, stopping you midstep with a gentle tug.

You spin to face him, hiding the annoyance in your eyes behind a veil of sympathy. “Mark, it’s fine,” you bring your hands to his shoulders, rubbing small comforting circles with the palms of your hands and the tension in his body melts at the familiar touch. “Live a little, will you?”

He nods, still uncertain and you offer him a small smile, “if you’re that afraid, we can go back home.”

“No,” he responds quickly, feeding into the challenge you had presented knowing he would fall right into it, “it’s fine. I’m not scared.”

“Good,” you grin, planting a small kiss on his cheek. “There’s absolutely nothing to be afraid of, it’s just an old farmhouse.”

Mark nods again, the fear in his eyes still present but his mouth is set in a tight line of determination. You smile at the sight and tug him along behind you, stepping ever closer towards the abandoned building. The planks of the old wrap-around porch creak and groan under the weight of your bodies when you step foot on them and Mark winces at the noise, timid.

You hear Mark breathing beside you, shaky and unsure, as you step towards the front door; stepping out of the way, gesturing for Mark to open it. His fingers clasp onto the cold metal door handle at the exact moment that the door is flung open wide by Joy. She shoots him a devilish grin as you plant yourself behind Mark and shove him through the entryway.

“Hey!” He yells, confusion a vice grip around his throat. His eyes fly open wide in a panicked daze as he thrashes out against the arms encircling him. With a yell, Wendy brings the pan she was yielding down hard on the top of Marks head. His eyes widen for a moment before he slumps against you unconscious.

“Get him on the table,” Irene orders as she stands in front of the fireplace--bathed in the glow of the flames.

The four of you do as she says, hoisting Mark up by his limbs and dropping him with a dull thud on top of the old kitchen table.

“God he’s heavy,” Yeri pants as she lets go of his right leg, rubbing her hands dramatically over the front of her dress as if to bring some circulation back into them.

“Tie him down,” Irene commands, handing you a length of rope. You wind it tightly around his arm, following Joy’s instructions as to how to knot it to keep him in place. Consciousness slowly begins to return to the boy and he tugs and squirms against the chafing ropes on his skin.

“____, what’s going on? What are you doing?” He begs for an answer. A twinge of guilt plucks at your heart as you look down at him, lying helpless and cold on the table--his shirt having been torn unceremoniously off in the process of tying him down.

“Mark, it’ll only be worse if you struggle,” you say, a small platitude offered with the last remaining drop of your compassion. He pays it no heed and continues to writhe and pull against the restraints, but Joy’s technique holds him fastened tight to the wooden farm table.

“Shouldn’t we like...sedate him or something?” Yeri asks, standing a few feet away from Mark, an expression of mingled concern and disgust painting her delicate features. “I mean, won’t people hear the screaming?”

“Screaming?” Mark asks, wide eyed and unfocused, body stilling for a brief moment as he whips his head around the room. “______, please tell me this is all some sort of prank, please.”

You refuse to meet his gaze, watching instead as Irene unsheathes the ceremonial dagger--sharpened to a thin edge for the occasion. “We can’t sedate him,” she says, matter of fact, “it will mess with the ritual.” She makes her way to the edge of the table, drawing the dagger over the air above Mark’s heaving chest--a pattern of symbols in the air. She repeats the pattern three times, a quiet mantra on her lips, as you watch. The light of the candles bounces off her skin and casts her in a mesmerizing glow--you find your eyes tracing the curves of her face, the gentle slope of her neck, while Mark tries desperately to pull your attention down towards him.

“______, please…” he breathes, pleading. Irene lowers the dagger, placing it on the table so the tip just barely juts into Mark’s bare skin, she gestures for everyone to form a circle around him and reaches out her hand towards you, interlocking your fingers with a smile. The rest of the girls link hands and with a deep breath you feel the thrum of power in your fingertips--winding around and through you like a ribbon.

“We invoke the strength of our mothers, and of our mother’s mothers, and of our mother’s mother’s mothers as far back as the lineage goes. We call upon them to bolster this blade and steady thy hand--to aim it straight and true. To loose the reins and bring our power to its full potential. So mote it be.”

“No,” Mark cries, panic escaping his eyes in a few salted tears that cling onto his reddened cheeks.

“So mote it be,” you repeat with Wendy, Yeri, and Joy. Your hands fall back to your sides and Irene picks up the cold dagger from the table, weighing it in her palm for a moment before raising it high above Mark.

The dagger plunges down into Mark’s bare chest and you watch as his mouth opens in a silent scream--eyes flashing to you, helpless and wide like a deer on the highway in the headlights of an incoming semi truck.

He knows that it's the end and is powerless to stop it.

Irene rips the dagger out and along with it comes a spray of bright red blood. It splatters over the stark white walls and beige furniture, a pop of colour against the monotony of the room. She smiles and hands the dagger to you--a rite of passage. You wrap your fingers around the silver handle and take a step towards his body, hands shaking with rage and power. Lifetimes of agency denied bolstering you in this moment--ancestry lifting your arm in the air and bringing it down again and again to sink into his yielding flesh.

The vacuum is gone and you can hear the screams now.

They pierce through the veil and settle in your eardrums, shaking the walls of the room with the sound and you can see Yeri and Wendy cringing at the deafening noise.

“Will someone shut him up, please?” Wendy cries, bringing her hands up to block out the boy’s wailing.

Joy rolls her eyes, unwinding the scarf from around her neck and thrusting the fabric into Mark’s mouth as he writhes on the table against his restraints. Blood floods out from the wounds on his chest and pools on the surface below him, staining the marble with red and dripping down onto the floor below. Joy and Wendy lean forward, silver thrift store chalices in hand, and collect some of liquid before it can hit the tile.

Irene reaches out to steady your hand before you can sink the knife into his chest once more. “Enough,” she says, levelling you with her steady gaze, “look.”

You lower your hand to your side, letting the dagger clatter to the hardwood floor. Following the other girls’ line of sight you look at Mark. Watching as his frantic writhing and wriggling comes slowly to halt. Watching as his breathing becomes laboured and heavy--as each inhalation wracks his body of any energy remaining in his pathetic frame.

Watching as the light fades from his eyes.

Silence descends on the room as the six of you stand in a circle around him, eyes trained on his lifeless face for a brief moment. Your chest heaves up and down from the exertion of thrusting a knife into his chest multiple times--but you feel alive. The adrenaline courses through your body, sending wave after wave of euphoria into your brain. A wide grin breaks out over your face and you turn to face Irene.

She looks at you in satisfaction, lifting her hand to brush a speckle of blood from the corner of your lips. Leaning forward, you capture her in a hungry kiss; wanting to taste her flesh against the metallic tang of blood on your mouth. She cradles your face in her hands as you move together in bliss--lust and adrenaline mingling in an intoxicating cocktail of emotion.

You pull away from Irene with a start as Yeri breaks the silence.

Her light, high laughter trills through the room--reverberating off the white walls and intensifying the headiness of the situation. Looking down at Mark’s lifeless body, you feel it bubble up in your chest, threatening to break loose. One look at Joy as she tries to hold in her laughter as well and your resolve wavers until you find yourself in hysterics.

Laughter fills the air as you all join in the chorus, dancing and twirling around Mark’s body as his blood continues to drip down into the chalices on the ground. Finally Irene puts a hand up to stop the revelry; the joyous sounds dissolve back into silence, but the air continues to vibrate with the energy of it. She over Mark to take a chalice from Joy, hoisting it into the air.

“We offer this sacrifice willingly. So consecrate this blood, lord, and bless us with power untamed. So mote it be.”

“So mote it be,” you repeat along with the other girls and watch as she brings the silver chalice to her lips and takes a deep drink--eyes closed in ecstasy. With a smile she hands the cup of liquid to you, nodding for you to drink.

A warm, coppery liquid greets your tongue--coating your mouth in the metallic tang of blood. It flows down your throat--sickly sweet--and blooms through your body in a burst. You can feel your skin crawl with the heady scent and feeling of it. Intoxicating and powerful.

Darkness swirls around the edges of your vision before bursting into light. Everything comes into sharp focus--intense in colour and texture. The room is thrumming with life--vibrating at the edges. You turn to Irene and stare in awe as her features begin to glow from within. An unearthly cast of light shining from beneath her milky skin and washing over you in a wave of warmth and intensity. Her fingers entwine with yours and you can feel every ridge, every line. The touch sends a shiver down your spine as you stand transfixed by her.

“Let’s go,” she smiles, tugging you out into the light of the moon and stars. The winter air is crisp and clear and you marvel at the sky as the lights above dance and shimmer in ways you had never before seen. Constellations swirl and reform before you, and you feel you can see time itself.

The sounds of Joy and Yeri tittering with laughter, dancing in their bare feet through the snow, surrounds you. Wendy’s joyful singing as she races around their bodies in a daze, enraptured but this newfound world. Irene pulls your attention back to her, her hand on your jaw.

“To whatever end,” she smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before tugging you behind her as she runs into the trees. The trunks and branches shine in a flashing pattern--red and blue, red and blue. You watch the lights strobe, head swimming with images of fairies and songs, until a sound breaks through the daze; it pulls you back down to the present moment, shifting your atoms back to reality--loud and persistent.

Sirens.

“Irene,” you breathe her name, reaching out your fingers to clasp onto her hand. She stands stock still, watching as the police cars pull race down the driveway. Joy and Yeri scream in the distance, racing through the field away from the house.

“Seulgi.” The name is poison on her tongue, spoken like a curse.

“What do we do?” Fear filters through you, mixing into a dangerous cocktail of adrenaline in your bloodstream. She stands still, unmoving, and you tug at her arm insistently, “Irene, what do we do?” Her gaze is transfixed on the flashing lights--she neither moves nor speaks. You watch as one of the officers handcuffs Wendy and slides her into the backseat of one of the cars. The rest move forward, in a line of blue uniforms, and the fear moves into your throat--strangling you.

Everything was a mistake.

“Irene,” you turn her head to face you, boring your gaze into her eyes. “We have to go, we have to run.”

“We can’t,” she says, eyes glancing towards the slowly encroaching line--trapping you like deer. “I won’t let them take me, I can’t.” The sirens bleed through the darkness and you hear Joy and Yeri struggling against their own sets of handcuffs as they’re led back towards the cars. “To whatever end?” She asks, gaze suddenly alert and awake.

You nod, unsure, and she places one last kiss on your lips, before unsheathing the dagger from her thigh and racing towards the line of uniformed men. Watching in horror, you see her raise the silver dagger in the air--the blood stained metal shining in the moonlight. Heart in your throat, you watch as it clatters to the earth a few feet before she reaches the line. A shot rings out through the night. It pierces the air and sucks all the breath from your lungs.

Irene’s body falls in a heap to the snow covered ground and you fall to your knees with her--body drained of all magic, of all intoxication and enchantment. You’re left a void in the field, staring blankly ahead with tear stained cheeks as the handcuffs are clapped over your wrists.

The hum of the prison where you wait on remand is ever present and unrelenting. Silence and peace is an impossibility surrounded by hundreds of women in orange jumpsuits with hundreds of opinions. For the most part you maintain a silent existence; eating alone, reading alone, quietly following the commands of the guards as you await your trial.

The screaming only happens at night, when your dreams are plagued with the swimming, blood stained faces of Irene and Mark. Guilt ridden nightmares that prevent any true rest.

You follow behind the guard as she leads you towards the grey concrete visiting room, expression blank save for the hint of curiosity buried in your eyes. It’s been six months and the only visitors have been your mom and lawyer--who could possibly be coming to pay a visit to a delusional murderer?

The metal door clangs open and you see Seulgi sitting at the table, hands folded on the surface as she waits. “Hi,” she says, a small smile turning up the corners of her lip. You can’t tell if the expression is smug or welcoming, but you sit across from her anyway, lifting your hands so the officer can remove the cuffs from your wrists.

“Fifteen minutes, girls,” she gives the warning and heads off to stand at the side of the room--eyes glazed with boredom and disinterest.

“Hi,” you reply, voice flat. She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear; the hair is lighter, dyed a caramel brown that suits her complexion. Her clothes are varying tones of soft neutrals--not a hint of black in sight. You suppress a small laugh at the difference from the last time you saw her in the abandoned farmhouse. “Have you seen any of the other girls?” You ask, breaking the awkward silence.

“Yeah, Wendy’s doing well. She’s got a good lawyer. Joy and Yeri...it’s hard to tell with them. They said they’re fine, so I’ll choose to believe it.”

“Why are you here?” You ask, tossing aside all pretense. Her eyes widen at the blunt question but she composes herself, “if you came to say ‘I told you so’, don’t bother.”

“I wasn’t…” she trails off, sighing. “_____, I know you think I hate you but that was never the case. I just didn’t want any of this to happen. I honestly just came here to see how you were doing.”

The defenses you had built up crumble down and you slump forward with a sigh, “I’m tired, but fine. It is what it is, I’ll accept my fate.”

“Have you been practising at all?” A sly smile turns up the corners of her mouth and its your turn to be surprised.

“No,” you reply, eyes wide.

“You should,” she shrugs, “it might help with the insomnia, at least. Look,” she says, fixing her gaze on yours, “I know it’s all tied into memories you would probably rather forget, but it was all real. What we could do...the conjuring of images and willpower. It’s all real. You have it in you, you can use it to make life at least,” she glances at the guard leaned up against the wall, “more bearable.”

You nod as she stands to leave, eyes trailing over the amulet around her neck. “Take care of yourself, _____.”

“You too, Seulgi.” She leaves, disappearing through the visitors entrance. You listen as her footsteps disappear down the hallway until the sound has all but disappeared, then raise your hands to be led back towards your cell.

Night descends on the jail, and you lay against your hard mattress--sleepless. The sound of your bunkmates snoring doing nothing to help the situation. With a deep breath, you close your eyes and visualize. A curtain of straight black hair, the scent of cinnamon and leather, dark brown eyes warm with the heat of flames. Irene’s image comes into your vision--hazy and disjointed at first, but slowly it materializes and solidifies until you can feel her breath against your neck.

You breathe deeply in the dark of your cell and feel her hand slip into yours.

#unbeleafable bingo #kconnet #kdiner #unfortunatus: inferno #red velvet fanfiction #red velvet #irene #irene fanfiction #witch au #coven au #irene x reader #x reader #horror #halloween #mark lee x reader

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creamcoffeelou · 3 years

Text

I’ve been tagged so many times to do a sunday snippet I’m so sorry to everyone that tags me in those and I don’t do them....but here’s one! 1960s revenge/dark plot that most likely will never get finished

Content warning: dark!au read tags!

____

Clouds of smoke hung thick in the air, stagnant and stale between gusts of air from the rarely opened door. A record spun soundlessly from the left of the bar, the DJ having abandoned his booth to use the toilet only leaving the loud ruckus of the men playing pool and talking too loud from the farthest corner of the bar.

The sign on the outside of the door read gentleman’s club, but he’d heard the whispers of the men on the street that this is where men with eyes for other men found themselves in the evening. He’d heard it hushed first, stacked between whispers of sin, only until the gentleman he’d been speaking with had realized he didn’t have a wife.

“Nothing wrong with a queer, son” He’d said, “We just don’t take well to the type that leave their wives at home alone to frequent them clubs,” one of the men he’d had the conversation with had cut in from across the bar, lips cracked from the smoke of his cigarette.

He wondered how many of the men that found themselves through the seedy doors of the club did leave their wives behind to see the barely-legal boys that danced in heels and dresses on the stage.

Those hushed conversations were how he found himself at the farthest end of the bar at Crimson Rose.

“Blondie at the end of the bar bought you a drink,” The bartender said with a gravelly, long-term smoker’s voice at a break in the thumping of the music. He’d been barely there all evening, only floating around when his coke had been empty for several minutes. Louis couldn’t blame him, really. He knew drunks tipped better.

“Can you make it virgin? Charge him full price if you like, he doesn’t look the type to tip well.” That got a laugh from the man, but he just moved wordlessly to make his drink.

As soon as the glass was placed in front of him the man at the edge of the bar moved to the seat beside him. He smelled like stale cigarettes and rum. All Louis could do was smile to keep himself from turning his nose up.

“You’re not from around here.”

“I’m just passing through town.” He smiled, turning in his seat to completely face the man opposite him. “I’ll be honest, I’m not really about the small talk. Do you want to get a room tonight?”

He ran a hand through his hair and ran his tongue over his teeth, waiting.

“You’re sure?” He said next. Louis quirked an eyebrow and nodded.

“I’ll be outside. Meet me out there once you’ve paid both of our tabs.” He ran a hand down the bare skin of the man’s arm, with a playful smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”

He left, then, walking outside with quiet steps.

He stood outside for barely ten minutes before the man joined him, a hand on his hip. “Let’s go.”

He hailed a cab from the corner as the man kept a firm hand around his waist.

It was a silent ride to the hotel room, the silence filled with the empty promise of a night to remember.

Louis wasn’t sure what the other end of that night looked like. Whether the man beside him had a wife, a family, a job. He didn’t really care. Those weren’t the thoughts filling his mind as he sat beside a face that felt too familiar.

It didn’t matter, really.

The cab ride was quiet. Each of them stayed on their respective sides of the seats, silence heavy between them as the eight track cassette that the driver had restarted after it finished.

The hotel was closer than Louis thought it would have been and they made their way inside too fast.

The elevator and the room key and everything felt like a blur of moments that Louis could barely focus on. All he could bring himself to focus on was the bag that hung around his shoulder.

And yet, as soon as they were inside Louis’ mind felt hyper-focused.

Kissing the man who’s name he didn’t care to remember felt wrong.

Every part of him wanted to reject it, and yet he stayed. Let him touch him as he peeled off pieces of clothes that weren’t meant to come off.

The room he’d booked was a full suite; a living room and a bedroom. The TV was on, playing some news anchor who droned on in the background the Louis was more interested in than the lips pressed against his own.

“Let me make you a drink. Then we can go to bed.”

“Oh that’s alright –“ Tension spread through the man’s muscles all at once as he leaned forward, body following Louis’ movements as he moved from his lap to pad across the floor.

“We’re in no rush, right?” He bit his lip with a gentle smile, eyebrows raised just slightly. “We have all night, right?” He watched with wide eyes as his body language relaxed, body falling back to rest in his chair once again. Louis doubted he even realized how much he told with his movements, the story radiating off of him in full phrases as Louis watched him.

He mixed the drink with his finger as he walked, sucking the tequila off of it with hollowed cheeks as he let his eyes rake over the man in front of him. Tasteless, scentless.

Clean and easy.

He planted himself back onto his lap as he pressed the glass into his hand.

He took one drink, then two. Pausing between each to rake his eyes up and down the expanse of Louis’ exposed skin.

Minutes passed. He sipped at his own soda, watching as the redness in the cheeks of the man across him deepened.

“You remember me, right?” Louis asked, running his tongue over his teeth. The smile fell from his face as Louis wrapped the lace of his robe tighter around his body.

“What?”

“Let me give you a little reminder. I was sixteen and you were at a party with some of your,” He paused, grimacing, “Friends.”

A flash of recognition swept over his face all at once and Louis smiled with a closed mouth. It wasn’t forced for the first time throughout the entire night, and that sent some sort of twisted satisfaction up Louis’ spine.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, such a shame. Because I think you do,” Louis teased, a small smile spreading over his face.

He was certain that the man in front of him knew exactly what he was talking about, without so much as a doubt in his mind. He’d been one of the five men that had ruined his life, and he wanted nothing other than the revenge he knew he rightly deserved.

He stood there for a moment once the movements stopped.

The silence felt too loud. Deafening. Yet it quieted some of the ruckus inside of his head. Not all of it, not enough of it, but some, and that was the start that Louis knew he needed.

He ran his hands down the front of his shirt, smoothing out some of the wrinkles there. Then he took a last glance at the animal, finally in hell where he belonged, on the ground in front of him. A smile spread over his face as he walked out of the motel doors, peace resting on his shoulders instead of the burden of his past.

Morning came much too fast.

He felt rested but his eyes felt heavy as he nursed the cup of coffee that his waitress refilled graciously without nicety or small talk. He leaned himself over the counter, guarding the coffee with tired eyes and a sore body.

A body took the seat next to him and his eyes darted over. Too many rings on long fingers caught the glimmer of early morning light cast from the window, attached to pale hands.

“Whole bars open, you know.” He said first, straightening out his hunched back as he glanced over.

“You took something from me, and I’d like to know why, exactly.”

“Afraid you’ve got the wrong guy. I’m just passing through town.”

“Well ain’t that something. I could have sworn your name was Louis Tomlinson, and last night you murdered Samson Trell.”

He stiffened, back straight as he finally looked clearly at the man that sat beside him. The entire diner had cleared out, his eyes darting from table to table where he knew people had sat just minutes before. His eyes raked over him then, surveying the crisp press of his gray suit coat that matched the hat that sat on the counter just beside him.

“You writin’ a book or something, or are you gonna let me enjoy my coffee in peace?”

“I’d like it if you answered my question, actually.”

“Didn’t hear a question there.”

“Did you murder Mr. Trell?”

“No, I did not.” In his mind, it wasn’t a lie. What he did wasn’t murder – just revenge in the only form he could ever see it taking. The man beside him hummed, but he didn’t sound convinced. “You seem to know my name. Mind if I get yours?”

“I do mind, actually. Now, I’d like it if you told me the truth.” His green eyes seemed to glow brighter in the morning sunlight, flakes of brown and gold swimming in too-big irises, but they felt darker as he shifted his shoulders, revealing the gun tucked into the seam of his pants.

“You a cop?” He didn’t get an answer, instead just a lifted eyebrow and a slight frown. “I didn’t murder anybody.”

“See, now I gave you two chances,” The man said with a perfectly straight toothed smile that felt genuine yet somehow still sent a chill down Louis’ spine. “You’re gonna tell me the truth this time, or I’m going to kill you.”

A different kind of dread seeped down into Louis’ stomach at that moment, eyebrows drawing down with slightly parted lips.

“When I tell you that I did, are you going to shoot me anyway?”

“Depends on how good of an explanation you have for why.”

He grit his teeth, sighing on an exhale. “He,” A pause, “He hurt me. Three years ago. Took me this long to find him and get to him.” There was a pause between them, then. He felt the other man’s eyes raking over him, an imaginary heat radiating against his skin where he looked at him even if his gaze looked neutral. “I didn’t murder anybody. He got what was comin’ to him and if you wanna kill me for that then I don’t know what to tell you.”

Louis just looked at him, trying to hold the same intensity of his gaze even over the pounding of his heart.

“I’m not going to kill you, but it doesn’t take away the fact that you took something that belonged to me.”

“I certainly wasn’t aware that he belonged to anyone,” Louis scoffed. “I’m not sure what you’re playing at here, but why don’t you leave me be? I’m just trying to have my breakfast so I can leave town and you can forget all about me.”

“Well, darling, if I just forgave every debt I was owed, what kind of businessman would I be?”

“Do you always draw everything out so much? Can you just get to the point? Good Christ.”

“Well Mr. Tomlinson, since it seems you’d like me to be blunt, you’re going to replace Mr. Trell. You won’t be taking his job, specifically, but from now on you’ll answer to me. In return, I won’t kill you.”

“If I say no?”

“I don’t take you to be that stupid.”

“I don’t take well to being given an ultimatum.” Louis raised an eyebrow, frowning. “And you haven’t even so much as told me your name.”

“You can know my name once I know your answer.”

“Between the choices of dying and answering to you, I’ll obviously join the latter.”

He finally got a smile from the man across him who stood, replacing the hat on top of his head after setting a five-dollar bill onto the counter. He reached out a hand with confident movements and Louis found himself standing, too, motions coming before the thoughts felt solid in his head. He considered himself a master at reading people, yet he drew a blank with this man. All he could do was meet his hand and shake it, his grip firm and solid and the rings cold against his fingers.

“My name is Harry Styles. Let’s take a walk.”

#dark au #y'know...my brand #revenge murder au #insinuation of past SA #not explicitly stated but heavily implied so dont read if thatll squick/trigger you

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ditch-witches · 4 years

Text

Rehearsal Dinner (George MacKay Smut)

So @iongaa really came through and murdered us with the aesthetic. Mother of God, how is she so talented.

requested: yes/no (your requests are always so intriguing, keep sending weird AUs for us)

pairing: stepbro!George MacKay x reader

warnings: literally everything. all of the sins. whoever can point them out gets a high five, okay?

word count: 5,414 (yikes)

a/n: there,,,, may be a ,,, part 2,,, because some of us got carried away,,

You rubbed the sleep from your eyes as you made your way downstairs, basking in the scent of breakfast cooking over the stove. You took a seat at the kitchen table beside your dad's fiance. She smiled at you over the top of the morning paper, taking a sip of her coffee. Your father moved to set a plate in front of you and press a kiss to the top of your head before plopping down in the seat next to you. "Glad you're home," he cooed, grinning proudly as you took a bite of your collection of breakfast foods and nodded in approval. "Thank you for coming back for the wedding."

You sent him a small smile, "Of course!"

His fiance spoke up. "Speaking of, George should be on his way..." she trailed off as she looked at her watch and your heart sank.

"I thought he couldn't?" You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. George was the last person you wanted to be around. His cocky smirk flashed into your mind alongside his parade of girls he always brought home. Your parents had been dating for a few years now, most of your time in high school and well into your college years, yet the two of you had interacted as little as possible, only "playing nice" for Christmas. Every time the notion of George coming home came into discussion, you usually took off. Due to your ability now to escape from his arrogance, you hadn't seen him in a year, shoving the wedge between the two of you as much as possible. Your blood boiled as your memories of him taking up most of the couch and kicking you out of the house were unveiled.

"Sweetheart, are you alright?" His mother asked, bringing you back into present time. You hadn't realized just how out of it you were until your fork fell from your hand, now bent almost completely in half. You exhaled, immediately apologizing for the vandalism and standing from the table, saying you were fine. "Are you sure?" She called after you.

You looked back over your shoulder, plastering on a fake smile. "Oh yeah! It's fine, everything's fine!" You all but sprinted for cover in your room, leaning against your door as your heart pounded in your chest. You let out a groan. Out of all people: George.

You pulled the sleeves of your blouse over your wrists to warm up more, yawning slightly as you lazily held a mock bouquet in your hand. You were mixed into the plethora of George's cousins serving as bridesmaids, feeling awkward and out of place as you only knew two of them really. You were the maid of honor, merely because it was your father that was getting married but you knew if he had any say, you would have been on his side and George in your place. In the excitement of family members arriving and the church being way too overbooked for the weekend, you had almost forgotten the impending doom that was "rushing to get here as we speak." You blew a bubble with your already stale gum, earning an eye roll from one of the many women. You tilted your head at her with a sarcastic grin.

The wedding planner clapped his hands, capturing the attention of the room and lining everyone up. He put you towards the back, which you were prepared for, yet then ushered the groomsmen in. You locked eyes with an all too familiar expression, your eyebrow raising at the man. His eyes were exactly the same, but for some reason, it was like puberty had hit him like a truck. "Now, this isn't usually how this works, but by request of the couple, we're switching things up," the planner groaned slightly, and George moved to stand beside you.

You snapped your eyes forward, clutching the bouquet in your hand tighter. There was chatter all around the two of you as everyone attempted to find their places. You kept your mouth shut, not wanting to make conversation with him. You took George's arm and he smirked down at you. "You gonna ignore me all night, darling?" He jeered, peering down at you and you rolled your eyes.

"What circus animal did you bring home this time, asshole?" He chuckled at your remark, pulling you tighter to his side.

He wet his lips. "Why? So you can get jealous again?"

You scoffed. "Grow up."

"After you, doll face." He bumped his hip against yours. "What have you been up to since I've been gone? Still a virgin?"

Your ears burned and you clenched your jaw. "Like it's any of your business." You sighed, attempting to calm your frazzling nerves at just his presence.

"You are so easy to stir up, love," he muttered, chuckling darkly.

You shut your eyes momentarily. "Would you just shut up so we can get this shitshow over?" He moved his hand to settle over yours positioned on his arm, your skin blazing at his touch, making you look up at him. He leaned towards your ear and you found yourself wanting to get closer to him. The smell of his aftershave was almost enticing enough for you to forget you were hating him.

His breath was warm against your neck and his accent deep and fuzzy in your ear. "Oh, darling, what's the fun in that?" You felt flushed and winded as he stepped away from you, his hand leaving your arm. "Steady now. I don't wanna have to throw you over my shoulder," he muttered, a smug look on his face as he turned forward, his posture upturned. He knew what he was doing. You were slightly taken aback, snapping your mouth shut and letting him lead you towards the altar behind the other members of the wedding party. You were silent during the rehearsal, locking eyes with George every so often only to dart your gaze away from him. It was difficult to pay attention to the jokes the priest was making while George continued to undress you with his eyes, and for some reason, you were into it.

You were quiet on the trip to the dinner, your mind almost numb as your thoughts flashed to George's breath on your neck and his overstimulating smell, not to mention the feeling of his hands. You almost moaned before your mind jumped into the present, grateful because you were sandwiched between your grandmother and one of your uncles in the back of your father's car. One of your second cousins turned over his shoulder to look at you. "Who was the guy you were walking with? New stepbrother?" He jeered and your shoulders tensed at that thought. What the fuck, he was going to be your stepbrother.

"Yeah, that's George. Handsome kid, don't you think?" Your father piped up and you grimaced.

The cousin snorted. "Don't encourage that. They'll end up as the wHaT aRe yOU dOinG sTepBro trope." You signed deeply.

"My mother is in the car!"

"He's not my stepbrother," you grumbled, attempting to drone out his voice.

"Yet," he jested, making you roll your eyes. "If you're gonna tap it, tap it now-"

"We're listening to the radio, see!" Your dad intervened, cutting him off and turning up the radio while singing overdramatically to the music, leaving you now to your burning mind. You chewed on your fingernail as your anxiety began to shoot through the roof. Before you knew it, you were engaging in small talk with your cousin and her friend as the giant table was being set. Looking around at the expensive hall the dinner was being held in, the thought of how your father and future stepmother got the money for such a venue while putting one kid through college and the other through graduate school crossed your mind. Your cousin's friend was a nice way to get your mind off of George, he was funny and totally in love with your cousin, evident in the way his eyes brightened when she would talk to him or laugh at one of his jokes. The only eyes on you when you laughed were George's as he bantered with groups of men closer to his age across the room. He'd eye you over the brim of his glass, his strong hands making your mouth water as he would tap one of his rings against the crystal absentmindedly.

"So, how do you feel about your dad getting married? The new family giving you trouble?" Your cousin's friend asked, nudging your arm at his light-hearted joke.

You shrugged. "If he's happy, I'm happy. The woman he's marrying is a total badass too so, really it's fine." You ran a hand through your hair, shooting a glance towards George and he looked at you with a smirk. You felt like you needed a dousing of holy water to combat your temptations.

George seemed to be fighting his own urges as he excused himself from his party and walked over to your group, settling his hand on your lower back to whisper in your ear. "Come with me," he mumbled. "I'm going to steal her for a few minutes if that's okay with you guys?" He asked your cousin, her cheeks slightly red as she looked like she would swoon if he came near her. Her friend eyed you before the two shrugged you away with George. George walked beside you as the two of you walked out of the room and down the hall, turning a few corners until you could no longer hear the party. He slipped his hand into yours before pinning you to a wall swiftly.

"What are you doing?" You muttered unevenly, heat pulsing through your body as one of his hands rested on your hip, your hand absentmindedly pushed his sleeve up to expose his veiny arm to your touch. It was like your body had a mind of its own.

"You think I'm going to let you eye fuck me all night without repercussions, pet?" You swallowed at his words, the deepness of his voice making your legs almost jelly. His other hand ran up your body, over your breast to take part of your collar between his index and thumb as he rubbed the fabric between his finger pads. "Was that guy your little boyfriend?" He tisked darkly. "So cute," he mocked, his hungry eyes darting up to yours. Your mind was absolutely putty as his smell invaded your senses. You tried not to focus on his knee propped between your legs. His fingers ghosted against your neck until the pad of his thumb brushed over your bottom lip before you took his thumb into your mouth, your eyes burning into his as his jaw tensed, focused on the movements of your tongue swirling against it. The feeling of his fingers resting against your jaw during this action egged you. He drew his thumb from your mouth, running it down your chin before his hand wrapped around the back of your neck. "Dirty girl," he growled before crashing his lips against yours, making you moan against him as he pushed himself against you.

The taste of liquor on his lips blended with your flavored chapstick as your tongue slipped into his mouth. In a mess of tugging and biting each other, your body melted into his rough grasp. You wanted whatever repercussions his twisted mind could come up with. You wanted him to do whatever he wanted to you. You fought against diving your hands into his trousers to beg him to continue, but he broke away from you as you fought to catch your breath. Your lips were buzzing as the feeling of him still lingered. He brought his hand back up to your jaw again, tipping your chin up. "Say it," the devil's grin painted across his face before he continued, pressing his lips against yours once more, his teeth dragging your bottom lip slowly between his teeth. "Say you're dirty, darling," he ordered, his face hovering over yours as his hand squeezed your throat.

You moaned quietly as he regulated your breathing with his hand. You wanted to drink in his dark, commanding appearance. "I'm dirty," you panted. He stepped away from you and you nearly slipped down the wall, completely out of breath and flustered, missing his hands on your body.

"Pull yourself together," he jested darkly, sending you a smoldering gaze as he pushed his other sleeve to his elbow. It's like he already knew your weaknesses. "Answer me."

"Yes, sir," you responded, your mouth seeming to know what he expected. He nodded with a smug expression as he gestured for you to walk back into the room with him while you straightened your shirt and fixed your hair.

He stopped you, reaching to fix your collar and you fought against the blush growing across your body. His smirk grew. "God, you're trembling. It'll be difficult leaving you alone at dinner," he almost groaned. You fought against kissing him again as his dark eyes surveyed your expression, the gears turning in his mind at the sight of you. God, you wanted him.

You were shoved into a seat beside George, he sent you a small grin as he took a sip of his drink and the waiters began to serve the main course. You were positioned towards the end of the table with the rest of your cousins and George on the line between the "cousins' table" and where the older people sat discussing politics and climate change. Your cousins mainly discussed hot TA's and movies that were premiering. "George, what's your major?" George perked up at a question directed to him, oozing charm as he began to tell one of the younger girls at the table about his degree, but half of his response fuzzed out of your attention as his hand slipped to your knee beneath the table cloth. You froze momentarily, your breath hitching in your chest as your chewing slowed.

It was like he was completely unaffected, continuing the conversation as his hand slid further up your thigh, fingers curling to wrap around your inner thigh. Your eyes snapped to him, pretending to listen to him as well as his fingers ran circles against your sensitive skin. You sighed unevenly. The fabric of your skirt was ruffled as he was slowly reaching your heat. The conversation deterred and George leaned towards you a bit. "Take a sip of water," he directed, lowly, his eyes tearing away from you. You furrowed your brows slightly but as his expression flipped, you didn't question him, raising the glass to your lips nonchalantly and one of his fingers brushed against your core, making you almost choke. He chuckled slightly. "Smooth?" He asked loud enough that it eased the slightly worried expressions directed towards you.

You set down your glass, coughing falsely. "Wrong pipe," you grumbled. His hand pushed your legs apart as he took a bite of his food, unbothered. His fingers ghosted against your underwear and you bit back a moan wanting to vibrate through your body.

"Hey, did you hear about that senator that died last week?" Someone asked you, knowing full well you kept up with information like that.

You shifted in your seat, looking like you were attempting to choose your words carefully, but in reality, you were trying to get George to leave you alone for a moment. "Heart attack right? It should be fine-" your voice cut out as George's finger moved your underwear to the side and he toyed with your nerves more. His face was so neutral it was like he wasn't pleasuring you at all as he chewed, listening to your words. "I mean," your voice came out unevenly as you tried to calm yourself against his movements. "He'll be replaced before something drastic can happen." Your voice dropped an octave as his finger slipped into you. He positioned his hand to a more comfortable angle and your hand dropped to wrap around his wrist, beginning him to stop. "Too bad this one wasn't an actor," you joked.

"So, how do they go about replacing a Senator?" George questioned, his face almost breaking into a smile as your eyes shot daggers into his. His finger curled inside of you, making you breathe deeply, your eyes wanting to squeeze shut in pleasure.

You furrowed your brows, feeling like you were running a marathon. "Oh, come on, I know you already know how the US system runs."

His finger sped up and before you knew it, another one was added. "Yeah, I'm still not entirely sure though." He continued to sidestep so the attention of the section of the table was on you. You clamped your thighs together, hoping to stop his movements but instead drew his fingers deeper into you.

Your mind blurred. "Well, um..." You wet your lips, trying not to look like you were jonesing to grind against George's palm to finally get yourself off. Your hand ran up against his arm again, the veins bulging as his hands quickened, making you see stars as your climax was almost within reach. George's mom and your dad began to make their rounds at the table, thanking people as they went.

"Are you okay? You look kind of flushed," George commented, making his mother's brow furrow. You sighed, wanting to dig your face into the crook of his neck or kiss him: anything, you just needed more of him. He removed his fingers from you and you let out a small noise, he slyly wiped his hands on his napkin and you grabbed his hand beneath the table, lacing your fingers and squeezing as if to motion your urgency.

George's mother pressed the back of her hand against your warm cheeks. "I'm fine..." you commented, looking up at her momentarily, your hand gripping onto George's.

His mother sighed. "Are you sure? I can drive you home if you're not feeling well?" Your father came around the table at her words and you were more embarrassed than anything.

"What's going on?" The man commented, his smile faltering.

His mother frowned. "She's not feeling well, dear."

"Don't worry about it, mum. I can take her," George piped up, running his thumb over the back of your hand before letting go of you and standing up. A chorus of goodbyes called to you as you assured your father and his future bride that you were really fine, just tired, as George helped you into your jacket. You found it difficult to stand with how unsatisfied you were. You followed him out into the cold air around one side of the building as he almost stalked to an expensive-looking car. Your eyebrow perked at the vehicle. "Like it?" He asked, his smug grin making your blood boil.

"What was that back there?" You nipped, pulling on his arm so he was looking at you, his grin widening.

"Which part?" He got dangerously close to you. "When you couldn't handle my fingers, or when you were begging me to get you off?" Your breathing shallowed once again, either from how furious you were at him or how turned on you were you didn't know. His hand settled on your neck, bringing your lips towards his briefly in a searing kiss. "Don't worry, love. You have it coming for you still." Fuck, you wanted him to rip you in half. He dangled the keys in front of your face. "Wanna drive?"

You groaned slightly, unlocking his car and opening the passenger door, shoving him inside and climbing into his lap, shutting the door behind yourself. "Fuck you," you bit. His grin darkened and he pulled the lever on the seat, laying the seat down a bit further. One of his large hands slipped against your thigh again, grabbing at your ass and urging you to grind against him while the other settled in the crook of your neck. You kissed him hungrily, your need pulsing through your body with your new-found friction. He moved beneath you, smiling against your greedy mouth, knotting his fingers into your hair. You felt him getting harder with each of your movements. You fisted your hands in his jacket as you pulled away from him curling your hips to find your sweet spot. His hand explored your body, gripping your breast as he sucked at the thin skin against your collarbones, moaning into your hair.

God, he wasn't even inside of you but his encouragement was a high you wanted to ride as long as you could. His fingers dug into your hips and you half hoped he would leave bruises. You wanted him to mark you. The car windows began to fog as your movements and George's warm breath filled the air. "Fuck, I want you," he growled into your ear.

"Take me home," you almost whimpered, halting your actions. His hand moved to your neck again, pressing his lips against yours.

"Beg," he demanded. "Tell me exactly what you want, baby."

"I said take me home," you breathed. His dark eyes searched yours for submission, but you were quite flustered from tonight's events. You needed a few moments to collect your thoughts on what George could be thinking about doing to you as 'punishment'. You climbed off of him into the driver's seat ready to take his car for a spin. You noticed just how much George's actions had affected you as you felt your hands shaking to take the wheel. You could feel his eyes raking over you as you put the car in drive. You were determined to make it home in one piece and not a complete puddle of need, but even the thought of his eyes on you were making that task completely impossible.

"What to do, what to do," he almost tsked next to you. "You've really got me going tonight haven't you," he seemed to ask, but you knew he wasn't looking for an answer. You could feel his warm hand coming into contact with your leg, you wet your lips, attempting to shake the thought of desire he seemed to be flooding you with and keep the car under control. His hand slowly started to progress further towards your heat and for the second time tonight, you weren't all that opposed to the thought of his long fingers curling inside you again.

"We're here," you managed to squeak out. George was already out and at your door before you had managed to undo your seatbelt. He bent down, reached over you and undid it for you, making sure to keep his contact with every inch of you he could. His arms scoped you up to carry you into the house and up the stairs to his room. You hadn't been to his room since you had met him. It was sort of like a secret law that it was off-limits and a privilege if you were invited inside. Not even his mom was allowed into the dwellings of his layer. You had just enough time to notice the picture on the dresser was of the two of you and your blend of cousins posed on the family couch last Christmas before your body was thrust on to the linen-covered mattress. You had never seen his eyes this shade before, they were so dark and full of lust. You were drinking in every detail of him just as much as he was of you.

"Take your clothes off," he stated smoothly standing at the foot of the bed, eyes locked on your body. Complying quickly, you unbuttoned your blouse, slipping it off your shoulders to reveal your flushed chest. George's eyes widened at the sight knowing you were already in such need of him you could barely contain yourself any longer. He slowly mimicked your actions removing his dress shirt leaving you in awe of the man standing before you and the endless possibilities of what he wanted to do to you. His fingers danced up your legs teasing your all too sensitive core. His fingers traced your center just barely being covered by the cloth entrapment. You were ready for anything he was willing to give you. His body shifted, his arm reaching across you into the bedside drawer and revealing a pair of bright red furry handcuffs. Your breath caught in your throat, this was not what you were expecting and still, you felt ready for George's idea of punishment. You had never been bound before, but were more than ready to try anything to overcome your excessive need for friction.

"Place your hands out in front of you," he whispered into your ear, sending chills down your spine. You did as you were told feeling the faux material covered clasp around your wrists leaving your arms entirely under the command of George. You heard the clang of other cuffs being brought out, you turned your attention to him just as his lips crashed on to yours sealing your lips into a lustful kiss. His hands outlined your arms all the way to your wrists that were held together. His fingers wrapped around the metal pushing your arms above your head and locking them against the headboard. Your heart pounded with excitement as he traced your body down with kisses, brushing the inside of your thighs with his hands. You knew where this was leading and your body was ready. His actions halted just above where you needed him the most as he locked eyes with you almost teasing you with anticipation. "Tell me what you need," his dark tone murmured. You had no words. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. The only action you were capable of was attempting to open your legs to answer his question.

His toned arms slipped under your legs wrapping around your hips as he positioned himself between you. Your toes curled in pleasure as his warm breath drew closer to you. It seemed as if time was in slow motion: you needed him and you needed him now. His eyes were still locked on yours as he came in contact with your heat. Your legs attempted to close in response to the feeling as you moaned in pain and pleasure from the restraints holding you back from grabbing his hair. The rumble of his laughter against you was almost enough to send you over the edge as he pushed your legs back open for better access to you. The sight of him down on you was more than enough to drive you crazy, but his pace was beginning to quicken and you didn't think you could last much longer. Your eyes drifted shut as pleasure was taking the better of you. George slipped a finger inside earning a gasp from your lips as he began to finger fuck you. Your high was approaching quickly and you needed more. "Faster," you mumbled.

"What was that sweetheart," George muttered against you.

"Faster," you begged. George complied, seeing you like this was driving him crazy. His fingers pounded into you as he sucked your nub. The knot in your stomach tightened. Finally, you were able to get relief from the tension George had built up all night as you released. "Oh fuck," you moaned as George hovered above you.

"Ready for round two love," he quipped darkly. You were more than happy to accept his rough kisses. His slight stubble was rough against your chin, you knew you'd pay for it in the morning, but tonight a little burn was the least of your worries. "Are you going to do as you're told," he whispered into your neck, accent gruff and domineering.

"Yes sir," you responded almost too naturally as his strong arms flipped you unto your stomach. He adjusted your knees underneath you so that you had support underneath him.

His hand wound into your hair as he slipped inside of you and began thrusting leaving you no time to adjust to him. Moans of pure bliss escaped your lips as his head neared yours. "Might want to keep quiet, love, someone's home," he whispered, his teeth grazing your ear lobe. Your need to scream for more now had to be muted and the only sound heard was the slapping of his skin against yours. George used your hips as leverage for his unwavering pace leaving you a mess of pleasure beneath him. His lips found their way to your neck as he nipped against the sensitive skin. You wanted him to mark you, to claim you. His hand from your hair became wrapped around your throat as he began to reach his peak. His hand slapped your ass with such force you knew there was a handprint, but you were too overwhelmed with the noises escaping his lips and your high threatened to disobey your control to be concerned with the sting. If anything it threatened to push you over the edge. George could feel you threatening to release. His strong hand wrapped tightly around your neck again, "Don't cum until I give you permission," he mumbled darkly against your shoulder. You tried your best to obey him fighting all erg to give in to the pleasure he teased you with. Slowing his pace he thrust deeper into you earning quiet moans from your lips. You couldn't hold on much longer.

"Can I cum," you whined. George grunted in response tangling his hand in your hair and thrusting deeper into you hitting your sweet spot with every move.

"Cum for me love," he practically bit against your shoulder sending you into a scream of pleasure as you were finally able to ride out your high against him. You could feel him twitch inside of you filling you with warmth. He unchained your hands from the bed frame allowing your body to return to your back. He flopped next to you and kissed you lightly. "That was amazing," he whispered against your lips. Exhausted from the escapade of the night you simply laid your head on his chest in response and pulled the sheets up for the both of you to drift off to sleep.

Your head pounded as you opened your eyes, the blinding light streaming through your windows serving to ruin your morning. You shivered slightly, realizing you were fully naked and a slight panic set in as you thought about last night, your body already aching from George's tactics. You shut your eyes momentarily, thinking about him on top of you once again, moaning in your ear, his hand around your throat, and realized the aching was worth it. You weren't surprised when you found the bed beside you empty, your ears perking up at the muffled sounds of someone in the kitchen. You quickly got dressed and trampled down the stairs. Upon entering the kitchen, you were greeted by your father like he had the day before, only instead of a woman at the head of the table, George smirked up at you. Your eyes glued to his, your body feeling heat once again.

You cleared your throat, trying to pull yourself together. "I thought the bride and groom weren't supposed to see each other until the wedding?" You asked, voice slightly uneven as you took a seat across from George, gingerly sipping the orange juice in front of you and attempting not to wince at the beard burn on your chin from George's slight whiskers the night before. George watched you carefully, a flash of pride in his eyes at your flustered state.

George's mother chuckled. "There are worse things to doom a marriage," she joked, flashing a wink up towards your father who was cutting some kind of fruit.

He shook his head. "So, where did you two run off last night?"

Your breath caught in your throat. "Bonding," George answered coolly.

His mother raised her eyebrows. "Bonding? How? Wasn't she sick last night?"

Your mind was blank, but George was quick on his feet. "She got to feeling better on the way, so I took her to a strip club. She left with a man named," he paused, turning to you, a smug look on his face, "what was his name? Alejandro?"

Your eyes went wide with shock. "Ah! That's my girl!" Your dad called from over the stove and you groaned as George laughed making your eye twitching.

#george mackay x reader #george mackay smut #george mackay imagines #george mackay #1917 imagines #1917 smut #requested

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