#can i just say this au made my brain jump out of my skull and ran several laps | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starlightxsvt · 3 years

Text

3 dates | c.sc

pairing ➳ badboy!Seungcheol x female!reader

genre ➳ badboy au, romance, some fluff, angst, bad attempt at humour, gets spicy at the end.

word count ➳ 12.4k+ (i have NO idea how this became so long so strap in for a ride)

warnings ➳ cursing, mentions of killing, mentions criminal activities, slight violence(non explicit), smoking, ma man Seungcheol ain't your typical badboy, self doubt, blackmailing, reader does all sorts of risky things cuz she's a SIMP, blood(nothing explicit), kissing, marking, some breast worshipping, grinding, reader is horny lol. (Please lemme know if I forgot anything.)

synopsis ➳ after one fateful encounter with him you cannot get him out of your head. so you opt to do some crazy things to catch his attention and even snag a few dates with him. only trouble is he isn't the type to stay after the whole disposition is over.

Swirling the third drink in your hand you heave yet another depressed sigh. You are so tired that you feel like you can just slump on the counter and pass out. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to stop for a drink, you alcohol riddled brain thinks.

The plans you had with Katelyn was cancelled last moment; she called to tell you that her thesis submission date was moved forward and so she couldn't hang out with you tonight. You're in the middle of an existential crisis quite literally, the too many part time jobs yet still lack of money and copious amounts of study getting to you. Staring hard at your drink you contemplate if it is worth giving up on college and your dream of becoming an arts major. It sure feels tempting right now, the long hours at the diner and not enough sleep at night proving to be the worst nuisance.

Sighing you put down your drink. It's still early, you should go home and try to catch up on the much needed sleep. You really had no intention of grabbing a drink tonight; you have morning classes tomorrow but you made a last moment decision to stop for a drink on your way back home. You didn't take your usual route to home today, and while trudging through the streets tiredly you came across this bar called Seventeen's. You've heard stories about this place, how it is the home to local gangs and how it's bad people's turf and what not. Your curiosity, probably too much of that made you get inside for a drink even though all the bones in your body ached. The inside is what you expected, nowhere near fancy but dingy, just decent enough. The people inside didn't look friendly and if the chains and tattoos on them gave any indication you'd say the rumours are true; this is the turf of gangs. The drinks taste decent, not the best but not the worst and from the overall look of this place you don't really have a reason to come back.

You're about to stand up from your stool when a large, clammy hand grabs your wrist out of nowhere, making you jump. "Hey sexy, sit down. Let me buy you a drink," the owner of the hand, a large, tattooed middle aged man slurs making your nose scrunch out of disgust. You're wearing nothing that can be called sexy; a plain cardigan and jeans and the way he looks you up and down makes you want to poke his eyes out.

You really shouldn't have come here. Clenching your jaw, you meet his eyes, "What makes you think I'm interested to have a drink with you?"

"Oh come on, why would you be here then, lookin' all nice? Just sit down," the man drawls, an ugly smile on his face. He still hasn't let go of your wrist and it's making you impatient. Looks like you're gonna have to kick his balls tonight. Maybe the self defense classes didn't completely go to waste.

"Get your disgusting hands off me while I'm being nice, sleazeball," you hiss at him, trying to get his hand off. The man stands up growling, "What did you say you bitch?" You're preparing to break his nose when out of nowhere a punch lands on his face that sends him tumbling to the ground. The attacker gets on top of him and twists his arm and you can literally hear a bone snap.

Shit.

"I think she said she is not interested," the man hisses, landing yet another another hit on his face before kicking his groin and getting up. When he turns around and his eyes meet yours, your heart skips a few beats and you almost The man is drop dead gorgeous, someone you would not expect to see here but probably on the cover of a high end magazine. His blond hair is long, crossing the nape of his neck as well as some covering his forehead. What takes your breath away the most is his eyes, the most beautiful pair you've ever seen. They seem to have their own galaxies in them, so deep and mesmerising and decorated with lashes long enough to make you jealous. His dress up, black jacket and jeans, immediately tells you what he is; a gang member.

"You should get home, lady," He speaks in a no nonsense tone, his face cold as ice. But you're offended. "Excuse me? Who are you calling lady? You make it sound like I'm old." You puff your cheeks and cross your arms, trying to appear intimidating. "Besides I had the situation under control, you didn't need to butt in." The man keeps looking at you with that no nonsense look, his features displaying annoyance if you are right and he's clearly not intimidated. The dude on the floor grunts and makes an effort to get up, only to be kicked by your saviour once more. "Hey Mingyu, get him out of here. What was this piece of trash doing here anyway?" The man orders to someone before turning to look at you, "Do you live far?"

"Uh- no, a ten minutes walk from here maybe," you reply unsurely, surprised at his question. The blond haired man nods before grabbing your wrist, "I'll walk you home. Hurry up, lady." You have a feeling he's purposely calling you that and though you start following him out of the bar, you make grunts of protest.

"Oh yeah, why? Trying to find out my address? So you can come later and hurt me like that guy?" You would not be this brazen if it wasn't for the alcohol in your system, after all the man next you isn't a friendly one if the rumours are true. The man raises a brow at you, "Did you do something that requires me to beat you up?" You hiccup at his serious tone. Does he not get a joke? He lets go of your hand now that you're at a safe distance from the bar but still stays close enough to you as your steps are rather stumbling and messy. You aren't fully drunk but your body is tired and feels like will shut down any second.

You really need some sleep.

"You know I'm not that drunk. You don't have to walk me home." You complain. "I'm walking you home because this isn't a nice place you should be alone at night. What happened earlier could happen again." He says not looking at you. "Mhmm," you keep on trudging behind him, "Thank you so much for your kind gesture, sir." You mock him but he doesn't reply, staring straight ahead, completely ignoring you as he walks quietly. In silence you two walk the rest of the path, before finally stopping as your apartment comes into view. At this point it feels like your bones will break and you will plop down on the concrete any second, but you manage to keep standing. "Well, thanks for walking me home." You shift your weight from one foot to another. "And for helping me back there." He shrugs coolly, a bored expression on his face. He's turning to walk away when you call, "Hey- I didn't get your name."

"What do you need it for?" He side glances at you. You shrug, "I don't know. You helped me so I thought it'd be nice to know your name." "You don't need to. Go inside, lady." He says, his tone final and starts marching away. You wait a couple moments before yelling, "Asshole!" and quickly rushing inside your building, partly afraid he's gonna come back.

You won't be surprised if you get killed tonight.

"So you are telling me Choi Seungcheol walked you home?" Katelyn screams in your ear, jolting up from her seat, earning glares from other people at the library in the process. "That's his name?" You whisper-yell, grabbing her hand to pull her back down. "I'm guessing from the blond hair you said," Katelyn shrugs. "Uh huh." You mean back in your chair, "He was hot though."

"Is that seriously all you have to say?" Katelyn whines exasperatedly. "No, I mean, if it wasn't for the way he dresses or talks I would have thought he's a model or something." You murmur.

"Are you sure he didn't hurt you?" Katelyn questions. "Hell no!" You frown. "He saved me from that creepy old dude. I was surprised too. I wish I didn't drink so much, I could have gotten a better look at his face," you sigh. "Seriously?" Katelyn raises a brow at you.

"Girl, you should have seen him. His aura and the way he carried himself was...so hot." You grin to yourself. Katelyn watches you like you've grown two heads. "Are you trying to tell me you have a crush on that gangster?" You smile sheepishly, "Maybe, I mean it's harmless. He was broody yet charming and I'm a girl so.... Also, it's not like he likes me too and is gonna come running whenever I ask him to bang me." You mutter.

"Oh he's gonna break your bones and bang your skull against a wall. That's what he's gonna do."

"Come on! Maybe he isn't so bad. Maybe the rumours are just rumours. Maybe he just looks intimidating and dresses up like that and people thinks he's a gangster." "Really? His name is on every bad thing that happens around here. From illegal racing to murders. Do you know that people say he has killed too?" "Like I said, rumours," you shrug being your stubborn self. Katelyn holds her hands up in surrender, "You know what? It doesn't matter. I'm glad you're alive so let's just put this behind us, shall we?" You don't reply but wiggle your brows at her, a conspirational look on your face. "Oh no, don't look at me like that," Katelyn warns. "Let's go to that bar tonight. Please?" You give her your best puppy eyes. "What are you? Fucking crazy? You wanna get killed?" She whisper-yells, scowling at you. "No. I just wanna take another look at him. Without the alcohol in my system you know. Besides, the place isn't that bad." You reply.

"Well then get killed by yourself. I'm not coming with you."

"I'll help you with your papers for the rest of the semester."

"Shit."

"Well, looks like your wish won't be coming true," Katelyn muses chugging down her fourth glass as you keep playing with your first one. It's nearing an hour since you've come to the bar and there has been no sign of the man you desperately seek. The place is exactly like it was the other day, filled with people who you wouldn't want to mess with.

Yet here you are.

"Let's call it a night," Katelyn sighs. "We're just wasting our time." You know that too but you don't want to leave; not just yet. You are well aware that this is just pathetic but you've this crazy urge to see that man once again. You don't know why you feel this way; you never felt like this before. Why are thinking yourself to death about a complete stranger? Has some kind of spell been casted on you?

"Yeah, let's get going," you murmur half heartedly. You help your friend stand up as she's a little wobbly on her feet and together you make your way through the door. "Should we call a cab?" You ask Katelyn. She shakes her head no and you nod, you arms wrapped around hers to support her in case she looses her balance. You start stepping away from the bar and towards the road to her place until a noise from behind makes you stop in your tracks.

"Did you hear that?" You ask, whipping your head behind. There's no one around and the street is mostly dark other than the light flashing from the name of the bar. You hear the sound once again and this time you can locate where it's coming from. There's an abandoned playground at the back of the bar and you've a feeling that's the source.

Katelyn hisses as she sees you step towards there. "What are you doing!"

"Didn't you hear that?"

"Yes I did. That's why I say we leave!" You ignore her and cautiously keep on stepping forward, mentally cursing yourself for wearing heels. Katelyn follows behind you murmuring all kinds of warnings. "You know curiosity killed the cat, right?" She whispers.

You roll your eyes, "Well I'm not a cat. Just- be quiet. It can be nothing." You both move past the bar gingerly and towards the playground at the back. There are old gallons of oil and abandoned materials just around the corner and you two quickly hide among them. It takes you a while to get adjusted to the low light after you poke your head up from the hiding spot.

You're eyes fix on him immediately. His blond hair makes him easily recognisable amid the darkness. There is a few more people around him, all kicking something in the ground. Not something, but someone. The man lying on the ground groans in pain and you realize this is what you both heard. "Shit," You hear Katelyn curse from beside you. "We need to get going." Instead of replying, you keep your eyes trained on the scene unfolding, holding your breath. You're tranced. Seungcheol lands continuous punched on the guy laying below him and after a moment his writhing frame seems to stop moving as it falls limp.

Fuck.

"You know in movies this is the part where people get caught." Katelyn whispers, her voice hoarse and her hand clutching yours in a tugging motion. "Uh-huh. But I can't seem to move. I wonder if he's... really dead." You whisper back. "Are you fucking crazy!" She hisses. "You wanna witness murder?"

Before you can reply you hear a sound that echoes through the empty field and it takes a second for you two to realise that it came from any one of you two. You don't have the time to figure out who made it as you both are crawling away from the playground without looking back, head crouched low to avoid being seen. You don't know if they heard that or if they're coming behind you, you both just keep scrambling, moving until you're past the corner. As soon as possible you both get on your feet and run like the grim reaper is chasing you, stopping only when you are far enough from the bar.

"I am never listening to you again!" Katelyn yells.

It's been a good few days since your near death experience and you somehow find yourself in front of that bar once again. You and Katelyn have not brought up that incident after that night. You made yourself believe that it was over and came to a conclusion that it is better to forget that man and leave all of it behind, no matter how much your heart disagreed. But it's easier said than done; you may not mention him out loud but in the back of your mind you think of him. He's like a ghost, haunting you all the time, plagueing your thoughts when you go to bed at night. It felt like he was ever existent and there was an itch in your heart that drove you insane.

Maybe that's why your subconscious brought you here, in front of Seventeen's, once again. You were on your way back home from library and you thought you took your usual route, until you realized you were standing in front of that place. But what is even terrifying is that the man haunting your mind stands in front of the entrance of the bar and you blink a few times to make sure you are not hallucinating. He's leaned against the entrance door, cigarette between his lips and from his pocket he fetches a lighter to light the poison in his mouth.

Damn, lighting up a cigarette never looked this sexy.

He hasn't seen you yet and you contemplate running the other way. That's the sensible thing to do but you, not being a sensible person, start walking towards him. Your footsteps make him look up and notice you and like the last time, there is no expression on his face. It's the same bored yet handsome face except now in daylight you can take a better look at him and this time, you notice a little mole on the left of his face, by his nose. Realising he's gonna stay silent you decide to speak, "Hi... It's me... Do you remember me?" Wow. That's such an intelligent thing to ask.

With the monotoned yet serious expression on his face, he goes, "Why won't I? I don't have Alzheimer's."

So he can joke.

You laugh, an awkward, probably exaggerated laugh. "What are you doing here? Did you not learn your lesson last time?" He cuts to the chase, his voice brassy and deep, almost threatening. You want to roll your eyes. "Who are you to say? I can be wherever I want whenever I want, thank you very much." "Well then, have fun getting in trouble like last time." He's nonchalant as he blows a smoke right past you and stands up straight, turning away. "Wait!" You almost grab his hand, desperate to stop him.

What is wrong with you? Your subconscious slaps her forehead. What are you holding him back for? To say 'hello sir, I think you're hot, can you please put your dick inside me'? Seungcheol turns his head back, his eyebrow cocked up.

Why do you find everything about him so attractive?

"Um...I know your name, Seungcheol." You speak, trying to sound intimidating, like knowing his name gives you some power over him. There's something definitely wrong with you which is why you don't want him to leave just yet and which is why you're stalling time. But it seems to have done the job as he pulls the cigarette out of his mouth and turns towards you, an annoyed look on his face. "How do you know that?" The timbre of his tone is deep and it rakes shivers down your spine. "Well, you've built quite a reputation for yourself so it isn't hard to get your name." You shrug coolly. "Well, if you know so much about my reputation, you should know what I'm capable of." His lone is low, almost threating as he starts to take slow steps towards you making you step back out of reflex.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Maybe you will also end up like the curious cat.

"Oh yes, I know. People have got a lot to say about you," you try to sound unfazed, not meeting his eyes that you feel are burning holes on your face. "What are you doing here, lady?" he asks slowly, pausing between each word and glaring at you as he continues to step forward. You can feel his patience thinning.

"I swear to God if you call me that-"

"What are you doing here?" This time his tone is scary, too scary. It makes you lose the ability to speak for a second as his dark gaze bores into you. He has backed you up against the wall behind you and you swallow. Right, what are you doing here? It probably has something to do with a very hot individual and his insanely attractive aura. Scratch that you are a hundred percent sure it has something to do with the blond haired, enticing man in front of you. He's driving you mad and you need to get your fill of him.

"Go out with me," you state and you are sure you've never spoken words more stupid than that. Internally, you cringe and pray that the ground below you would open and take you straight to the fiery pits.

This is the first time you see some sort of expression come across his face; surprise. He looks utterly shocked and somewhat confused. His mouth opens just a little and he squints at you, "What?"

There's no going back now.

"Go out with me. Let's go on three dates." you say once more, looking him in the eye. He seems to appear even more surprised, a dumbstruck look sitting on his face. He observes you quietly for a while and you can feel the gears in his head shifting. You wonder what he's gonna say next. Or maybe he won't say anything but bang your head on the wall and leave you to die alone. "I'm sorry I'm not following," he looks genuinely perplexed. "I want to go on three dates with you. They say after three dates you can figure out whether you like that person or not and I think I like you so..."

I think I like you.

The biggest understatement of the year.

Seungcheol tilts his head, an amused expression on his face as he studies you, those sharp eyes of his settling on yours, "What is your deal, sweetheart?" He crosses his arms, a brow raised. Sweetheart? That's new. And definitely better than lady. You can't deny how hearing him call you that makes your insides melt. "Nothing. I just want to date you," you shrug, trying to keep your wits together. His proximity is driving you wild; you can sniff a faint smell of cologne and cigarette, him being inches away from you. This time he laughs loudly, a mocking laugh you'd say. "Who sent you?"

Oh my god.

You roll your eyes. "Nobody sent me! Do I look like I'm a gang member or something?" "Then I don't see a reason why you'd want to date me," He states, throwing a challenging look at you.

"What if I said I have a thing for bad boys?"

He snorts. "You don't look the type to date bad boys," he mocks. "Who are you to say that?" You cross your arms. "I want to date you because I think you're hot, okay?" You can not believe you just said that. Looks like you don't have control over your mouth anymore. Warmth spreads throughout your face like a forest fire.

Seungcheol narrows his eyes on you, his tongue poking his cheek as he stands in front of you as if trying to read your mind. After a beat he sighs before looking at you, his eyes becoming darker than usual and his gaze unforgiving. "Hey. Does it look like I'm playing house here? Do you have any idea about the shit I do? The dirty work I do? I don't care if you have a fucking fetish or whatever but this is the last time I'm warning you. I don't want to see you around again. If I see you here once more, you're in fucking trouble," he spits and starts stomping away. His tone is serious and you know very well he is not joking, which is why you use your last resort. You're embarrassed at yourself for being so desperate but at the same time you feel shameless. It has almost turned into a game at this point, you want to make him surrender. That's right, you want him to give in. "You shouldn't be like that with me. I saw you, a few days ago. That night, when you and your friends were beating up that guy...in the playground," you casually stroll to come stand right behind him.

You can't believe you are blackmailing a gangster. Your death must be near.

Seungcheol whips his head back, his eyes glaring at you and you can almost see fire in them. Finally, you got his attention.

"My friend also saw it, we both did. You killed him, didn't you? Me and my friend witnessed a murder. What do you say? Should we go to the station?" You can see his jaw clench and you can't hold back a victorious smirk. Moments pass by as your words hang in the air and the tension between you gets thicker. Yet once more he surprises you, breaking the silence with a chuckle, "Well I killed one person, what makes you think I can't take care of another?"

You swallow.

"Well, my friend already knows so if I go missing you can be sure that the cops will come to you first." You throw back at him.

When did you get so wreckless?

Seungcheol stares at you for a few more seconds before shrugging and moving his hand dismissively, "Well then go tell the cops. I don't give a shit." He starts walking back to the bar leaving you starstruck. He stops and turns towards you before opening the door, "Also, I meant it. I hope I don't see you around. Otherwise I may just have to hurt that pretty face."

You don't show up after that.

Mostly because you are embarasssed.

It's been a good while after your last encounter with Seungcheol and you didn't go to the police, obviously. Because you don't have evidence and from what you've heard Seungcheol is pretty influential around here and you don't need to go to an extent to get on his bad side. You're definitely gonna end up dead if you do so, which you don't want just yet.

Classes have just finished and you and Katelyn step out of the classroom together, walking through the hallways and into the main campus. She rambles on about some bad sushi she ate yesterday while your mind remains preoccupied. Maybe you need to get laid. Maybe that'll make you forget about Seungcheol. You just need good dick that's probably why you were so desperate for him.

That's just a stupid lie.

You don't realise Katelyn is calling you until she shakes you by the shoulder and you snap back into reality. You notice her face is as pale as a ghost and following her line of sight your eyes stop on him.

Him. Seungcheol.

What?

You double take, blinking furiously to confirm your vision. He's standing there, in the parking area of your uni, leaned against a convertible Ferrari, a cigarette between his lips. He looks relaxed, like he does this regularly. Students whisper in each others ear while gawking at him curiously. "What did you do!" Katelyn yells. "Nothing!" You hiss back.

"Then why is he here!"

"I don't know!"

Your eyes meet with Seungcheol's and a smirk spreads across his face making you shiver. He stands up straight and tilts his head, an indication for you to come closer to him. "Fuck, he's here for me," you mumble. "Of course he's here for you, dumbass," Katelyn snaps. "Well, if I don't return, you know who killed me." You sigh starting to walk towards him. "Wait- you're going with him?" She asks incredulously.

"Don't worry. I'll keep my phone on. I don't think he's gonna murder me, I mean there are so many witnesses." You inhale deeply, leaving behind a lost looking Katelyn.

Seungcheol says nothing as you stand right in front of him raising an inquisitive brow but he only holds open the door for you to get in. Deciding to follow him you enter the car quietly and a wave of gasps go through the crowd.

There's gonna be talk about this tomorrow.

Seungcheol, still smirking victoriously for some reason rounds the car and gets inside and within seconds you're hitting the road. There's a thick silence for a while, which feels like ages to you. You're overwhelmed, bewildered to say anything; your poor brain still processing what is happening. You're nervous, jittery as you fiddle with you bag and look out on your side, for some reason scared to look at him.

What if he really kills you? He wouldn't, right?

"You're awfully quiet," Seungcheol says matter of factly as he spares you a glance while driving.

"I'm... processing."

"What are you, a robot?"

"Why are you doing this?" You question instead.

"Doing what?"

"Okay, you know very well what I mean. Why are you picking me up from uni all of a sudden? How do you even know I'm a student there?" "I have resources and...you didn't protest at all. You came along nicely," Seungcheol raised a brow at you, a cocky smile on his lips. You don't answer but continue to stare at him, trying to pin him down with your gaze. He finally sighs and pulls the car to a stop by the side of the road, the sudden brake making you slightly jerk in your seat. "I've decided to give you those 3 dates. That's why," He is calm, unreadable and you wonder if this is a prank. Then again, he has no reason to prank you, does he? "Really?" Your voice comes out breathy. "Yes. I thought I'd give you a taste of how it feels to be with someone like me. I can scare people without physically hurting them you know," He says in a menacing tone.

"So what? You're taking me to an underground fight or something?" You question. "Nah, we're keeping it simple today." He smirks as he starts the car again and turns on the radio, an indication that he doesn't want to converse anymore.

Shamelessly you take a good look at Seungcheol; he's dressed in another jacket today paired with a black tee underneath. Today, you notice he has upped his accessory game, his fingers full of rings and chains dangling from his neck. But what catches your attention is a tattoo, something like a dragon and words written in a language you don't understand, peeking from underneath his sleeve. You almost ask about it but decide it'll probably be too much and he wouldn't answer you anyway.

As you do so, in the back of your mind you think you should have dressed better, something cuter, more appropriate for a date rather than a plain blouse and jeans. But then again who knew Choi Seungcheol was gonna show up out of the blue. You're gnawing at your lower lip, lost in your thoughts when the car is pulled to a halt and you realize your ride is over. You're parked in front of a diner called Lacy's and from the vibe that the place is giving, you can tell that this is place where people like him hang out. You raise a questioning brow at Seungcheol who says, "I know it doesn't look fancy but trust me I has some of the best food I've ever eaten." Taking his words for now you quickly type out a text to Katelyn letting her know you're in one piece and get out of the car.

Once you're seated you look around the place which is relatively empty except some men playing pool at the far end. You watch Seungcheol who has gone to the reception booth to place your orders; his posture relaxed as he leans against the counter and talks to the girl standing there. They seem to know each other because their chat takes longer than it should and the girl has a shy, almost flirty smile on her face.

He probably fucks her.

You shake the thought off your head as the gangster comes back and sits in front of you. There's silence for a second as you wonder if you should just ask the questions that run free around your mind. "Are the rumours true?" You blurt out. He's raises a brow.

"About you. You know..."

"Do you want them to be true?" He asks back. "I don't...know," you reply. "Well, I think it depends on each person. If you want it to be true it is true, if you don't it isn't," he shrugs, leaning back in his chair. "Why don't you just give me a straight answer?" you snap. He smirks as if he's having fun but doesn't reply, watching you with his arms crossed. You roll your your eyes, blowing out an exasperated breath. "You know, I haven't seen one like you. Willingly hanging out with dangerous people, going to dangerous places. You say you saw me kill someone yet you're here. You're almost desperate to get in trouble," he observes. "I'm not desperate to get in trouble. I just...I'm just- attracted to you alright?" This is so embarrassing. You need to shut your mouth. "You've been on my mind ever since that night. I wanna see exactly how deep I'm into you." You bite your lip.

That's enough. You will boost his ego through the roof like this.

Seungcheol studies you for a bit before grinning cockily, "Well, if you didn't know, I am trouble baby. Just you being with me might end you up in a mess." Before you can reply, your food is served, that same girl from the booth setting down your plates and looking at Seungcheol for a bit too long with that same stupid smile which he returns. You don't know why but you feel jealous, jealous of whatever these two share, whatever she has with him.

You've lost your mind at this point. You're on a high that is Seungcheol. He has made you forget your morals, made you completely lose your mind. Or maybe you've been too good all your life and seeing him brought out that crazy, thrill seeking part of yourself.

Silently you dig into your food and as Seungcheol said, the food is really good. This is one of the best meatloaf you've ever had and you can't help but moan. Seungcheol watches you with an amused smile before popping a fry in his mouth.

"What's your major?" Seungcheol asks out of the blue.

"Uh- sociology."

"Mmhmm."

You're about to ask him what he studied in college but you assume he probably never went to one so you seal your lips. You wonder what his background is and who his parents are but you don't want to get too personal on the first day. So you ask something else, "How old are you?" He laughs out loud before he deadpans, "Thirty five." "What!" You almost choke.

There's no way he's-

"Why? What did you expect?"

"I... I don't know! A few years older than me? You're kidding right? You don't look thirty five." He has to be bluffing. "And how old would you be?" "You shouldn't ask a woman her age," you try to make a point. "Don't you have any manners?" He smirks,"I don't, sweetheart. To answer your question, I'm twenty eight."

Uh huh.

"Well, I'm twenty one," you mutter under your breath. You don't know if he hears it because he doesn't give any reaction, busy twirling a fry in sauce. The rest of your meal is full of silence as you wonder if your date will end like this; dry and boring. He's awfully silent and seems to be lost in thoughts as he doesn't engage in a conversation. You're about to take your last bite when the silence is broken by him.

"What did you see that night?" He leans over, his elbows resting on the table as he suddenly regards you with a sombre look, his earlier cockiness vanished. His eyes have once again gone dark and his demeanor says he's not being superficial right now. You're caught off guard as you cough loudly, reaching for your glass to take a sip of water. "What?"

"You heard me. What did you see that night? Exactly how much did you see?" He repeats. You're confused. You thought he didn't care about it. He said it didn't matter. So why is he bringing it up now? You've worked hard to push that night in the deepest part of your brain, pretending it didn't happen.

And then suddenly it clicks.

"You!" You point an accusatory finger at him as you catch on to his plan. "You've agreed to go out with me so that you can find out what I saw that night!" Seungcheol groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Ugh, just fucking tell me!" He snaps, annoyed that you've found out his little scheme. You scoff, "I thought you said you didn't care? Besides it's not like I'm going to tell the police." He rolls his eyes and leans back into the couch. "Just tell me and let me go."

You're baffled. His actions didn't make any sense and you actually thought he had no other intentions behind dating you but holy shit this sneaky bastard. "You sly little asshole!" You hiss at him. "Call me that once more and you'll regret it." He threatens. You roll your eyes sagging back into your seat, "Whatever." Then an idea hits you. "You know what, I'll tell you exactly how much I saw that night." You have Seungcheol's full attention now as he stares intensely at you, waiting for your next words. "On our third date. When this whole deal is over, I'll tell you. But in return you'll have to keep your promise and take me out on two more dates."

"Oh fucking hell," he groans rubbing his face in frustration. His state makes you smirk and you feel accomplished.

Choi Seungcheol is stressed because of you.

What a day to be alive.

You murmur, "Besides this isn't even a proper date. This was more like an interrogation. But I'll go easy on you and won't make you redo this date." You give him a sweet smile and he sees red. You can literally see fury blaze in his eyes. "Whatever!" He yells and abruptly stands up. "I don't have time for this. Your stupid play date is over. I'm dropping you home."

Before you can reply, he's marching towards the door. You've to admit this wasn't the best date but at least you've trapped Choi Seungcheol.

It has been a good week after your so called date at the diner and you haven't heard from him. You expected him to call or text you since he was gracious enough to ask for your number but he didn't. You now realize it was a mistake to not get his number; you had asked him for his when he took yours but being the prick he is he denied to hand over his number to you. You should have forced him to, you sigh. As you sit in the library the ping of your mobile distracts you from your racing thoughts as you realize you have a message. Picking the device up you tap on the notification. Even though it was from an unknown number, you have no trouble figuring out who it is from. A smile graces your lips as you read the words over again.

I'll pick you up from your house tomorrow evening at six.

That's all it says and that is good enough to send a thrum of excitement throughout your body.

You have not held back in dressing up today and you realize it's been a long time since you've dolled up yourself. A long before the clock strikes 6 you are ready; dressed in a cute pastel top and a matching skirt. You've also went ahead and applied makeup, not too much but just enough to maybe catch his eye. Maybe.

You wonder what he has planned for today.

A text from Seungcheol saying he's here has you flying out of your apartment as fast as your feet can carry your desperate self to see him. He stands in front of your apartment with his convertible, dressed in a white jacket that matched his pants. You take a deep breath before walking towards him, trying to calm all your nerves down.

"You know I expected to hear from you earlier. I've been waiting all week," you voice makes his head turn around to meet your eyes as you are skipping towards him with a teasing smile in your face. "I've been busy," he shrugs coolly, his eyes going over your whole body, from your legs to your face. He doesn't hide that he's taking a good look at you, in fact does it unashamedly.

You wonder if he likes what he sees.

Someone dressed up today," he comments. "Too bad we aren't going to a place where you can show off your pretty clothes." You frown, "Where are we going?" Seungcheol holds open the door, a mischievous smile on his face. "I've decided to grant your wish." With a confused face you get inside the car, the gears in your head running. What does he mean?

"I'm taking you to an underground fighting ring," he says with smirk as he reaches for something behind his seat. He pulls out a large hoodie and tosses it towards you, "Put this on. Otherwise you are going to attract a lot of attention and you don't want that." You gulp, taking the hoodie and putting it on you. You're slightly embarrassed. You were so excited to try this outfit but it's not like you knew he was taking you to a fight club. Hell you would have dressed like a guy if you knew. You shrug on the hoodie and it falls almost to your knees but it's huge and comfy and most importantly it smells like him. There's a hint of cologne, nothing too strong; a subtle, expensive scent that makes you want to take a deeper sniff. You wonder if you can keep this with you.

Stop it, pervert.

Seungcheol's voice pulls you out of your haze, "You can take it off later. Just wear it until we're out of there," he says and brings the engine to life.

Then you actually think about it. Underground fighting ring? Holy shit. You were only kidding when you mentioned it. Admittedly, you're shocked, somewhat horrified. Everyone knows it isn't the best place to be at especially for someone like you who never had such an experience. Seungcheol must have seen your expression because the smile on his face gets bigger, "Why? You not up for it?" His voice is teasing.

He's challenging you.

Oh well.

"Of course I'm up for it," you square your shoulders, keeping your voice cool. "Bring it on."

Seungcheol leads you into a bar and then through a door at the back that leads down to a lot of stairs, reaching a place similar to an underground parking lot. Quietly you follow Seungcheol, staying as close to him as possible, your bodies occasionally touching. He leads you to a pair of double doors and from the other side you can hear men shouting and chanting.

This is it, I guess.

Seungcheol throws one more smile at you before pushing open the doors as you scramble to follow him closely. The sight that greets you something you only see in movies. There's a boxing ring where two people are throwing punches at each other and surrounding them from all sides is a wild, loud and excited crowd. They continue to cheer loudly as the two men in the ring continue to box and you hear their grunts and groans.

Holy shit.

Swallowing your eyes meet Seungcheol's who is regarding you with curiosity. "What do you think?" He has to speak loudly for you to hear over the screaming throng. "Uh... It's loud," you say dumbly as you try to think of a reply. But it's too loud for you to even think properly as you take in your unfamiliar surroundings. You see a tall man approaching towards you and out of reflex you shuffle closer to Seungcheol until you realize it's his friend. The guy from the first night. He and Seungcheol grin at each other, patting their backs as they talk close to each others ears. You gawk at them curiously and realize they must be talking about you because his friend takes curious glances at you occasionally. His friend is tall, really tall and well built but unlike his body his face is sweet and puppy like, almost cute. When he grins his canines pop up just like a puppy and you wonder if all his friends are good looking.

After he's done chatting with his friend Seungcheol pulls you close and says, "This is my friend. Mingyu. Always stay near him, you hear me? Don't stray away unless you wanna get hurt." His eyes are stern as he pins you down with his stare but you have other thoughts running in your head.

"What do you mean? Where are you going?" You yell over the noise.

He just smirks at you and starts taking his jacket off. "About time you see how we do it around here." His tone is cocky as he hands his jacket to you, "Hold this for me. And stay close to him."

Giving a look at Mingyu Seungcheol starts walking away towards a door that you're guessing is the changing room.

He's gonna fight.

"Wait- but-" Mingyu stops you with a hand on your shoulder and offers you a kind smile. "It's fine. Just stay with me." He then ushers you towards the crowd, spotting a place where you can get a good look at the ring. "Do you guys do this often?" You look up at Mingyu. He smiles sheepishly, "Not me. I tried a few times and I always end up beaten to a pulp. But hyung does this often, he's really good."

"Uh huh, I'm sure he is," you smile dryly. "This is your first time watching a fight, no?" "Definitely." He grins, "Watch carefully then. It's really fun."

You have your doubts on how watching people beat each other up can be fun but you don't comment anything, instead chew on your lip anxiously. Seungcheol really didn't have to go this far? What if he gets hurt badly? Is he trying to impress you?

Don't flatter yourself, your subconscious rolls her eyes.

As the loud cheering that had died down ensues again, your train of thoughts are halted as you see Seungcheol in shorts and his hands covered in boxing gloves, step into the ring. You can't help but ogle at his naked torso, his finely defined and chiseled muscles. He has the perfect body, not too bulky, not too lean just the right amount that gives you a hard time taking your eyes off him. He seems to have noticed your gaze because the second your eyes meet, he throws a haughty, knowing smirk at you. Embarrassed you avert your gaze elsewhere.

His opponent is a muscular man who's growling and banging his chest with his fists, a gesture of intimidation, you suppose. You are definitely intimidated and you wonder if Seungcheol can actually win against him.

The fight starts with a whistle and in mere seconds they are on to each other, throwing punches left and right. Your eyes have a hard time keeping up with them and their fast reflexes and your hands fly to your mouth as a punch lands on Seungcheol's face, followed by repeated blows as Seungcheol falls back. There's a moment of silence as he wipes his bottom lip and you realize there's a cut.

He tilts his neck, popping the bones and glaring at the other man before launching himself on top of his opponent. The next moments are a blurry mess, Seungcheol beating the guy repeatedly until he ends up on the floor but he doesn't stop there. Seungcheol ends it with a sharp jab to his spine and you have no doubt the other man has broken bones with the ways he howls in pain. The match comes to an end like that as the people cheer wildly while Seungcheol steps down from the stage. Mingyu grins at you happily as if what you witnessed was just a regular occurrence, something you should be cheerful about. Shaking your head at the situation, you let out a deflated sigh.

Their life is really so different than yours.

Seungcheol seems to be in a very good mood after the fight as he buys you both some sandwiches and drinks from a deli after you both step out of the bar. You both sit down at a park nearby to eat and watch the night sky. "You know, I thought you were gonna lose," you speak after taking a few bites of the sandwich. Seungcheol scoffs, "You underestimate me, sweetheart. I've been doing this for a long time."

"Do you enjoy it?" You ask quietly, focused on peeling the wrapper from your food. You feel Seungcheol's stare on you. "Yes. Why? Are you scared already?"

"No. I was just... curious. Your definition and my definition of fun is totally different." You murmur. "Of course. What did you think? I go to the mall and shop and watch movies with my friends when I'm bored?" His tone is sarcastic. You bite your lip. "No I didn't. It's just...I feels different now that I have experienced it first hand." Seungcheol offers nothing more, taking a sip of his coke and leaning back into the bench. A silence stretches between the both of except the rustling of the wrapper of your food. "How long have you been doing this?" You blurt out. He frowns at you and you don't expect him to answer but he surprises you.

"For a long time."

He doesn't offer anymore and you don't have the heart to prod him for an actual answer. "And how long do you plan on doing this?"

"What?"

"I mean... don't you have any other plans. Like...do you wanna keep doing what you are doing for the rest of your life? Don't you wanna like... settle down maybe?" Your voice is soft as if you are talking to a child. Seungcheol looks annoyed. He doesn't speak for a while as he stares at the ground, a frown etched to his face. You're about to take back your question when he replies, "I really don't think you understand. I've been trying to tell you that my life is completely disparate to yours. So I don't think like you. I don't have plans like you but neither am I expected to follow a certain pattern like you. I can do whatever the fuck I want, ___. So don't look at me like you pity me. I'm the last person here that should be pitied. " His tone is sharp and it makes you feel bad, like a sensation of needles pricking your heart. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry," You whisper, feeling timid as you look down at your lap. He mutters, "Don't go poking your nose in other people's business. Specially people like me."

He's right. You shouldn't have asked that. You are not close enough to ask things like that. After that there is a silence, this time, an awkward one. There's palpable tension in the air and you feel jittery. Should you just ask him to take you home?

It's still early and truth be told, you don't want to leave him just yet. You only have one more date to go and judging by his reaction, he is in no way interested in a relationship. You heave out a long sigh. You knew very well what you were getting into, yet you couldn't stop yourself. Seungcheol is like a poison, the sweetest one, the one that has you addicted and unable to let go, no matter how much it hurts.

This is a fucking mess.

"Let's get going. I have plans," Seungcheol announces, standing up. You want to protest but you feel like you have ruined the mood, so you follow him mutely to his car.

The drive to your house is awfully quiet, to the point you want to scream out of frustration. Seungcheol seems to be lost in his head as he makes no move to talk. It's like you are alone, but you're not and it's worse, the air full of tension. Soon you have reached your house and he stops the car but keeps the engine rolling, indicating his rush. He keeps still and stares ahead while gripping the steering wheel as you step out of the car in silence. "Thanks for dropping me home," you say lamely, your voice meek. You turn around to walk away but his voice stops you in your tracks.

"I promised you three dates and I will keep my word. I expect you to keep yours, ___. I hope you will tell me what I want to hear when we meet next time." His tone is sharp with an edge of threat and you barely get to nod before he drives away.

It's not until you're inside your apartment that you realize you still have his hoodie on. Quickly fishing out your phone you type out a text.

I'm sorry, I forgot to return your hoodie.

After a while, his reply comes.

Keep it.

You watch Katelyn as she fills her lunch tray with food before walking over and taking a seat opposite to you. She looks extra radiant today, which probably has something to do with the way she's dressed; a bright colourful outfit which undoubtedly she put a lot of time into considering. She has a date, with a guy she has been talking to for the last few weeks. It reminds you of your pitiful situation and you sigh, trying to shrug off those thoughts.

It has been a good couple weeks since you last saw Seungcheol and you have not exchanged a word after that night. In the back of your mind you wonder if he is even alive. You want to message him, you really want to because you are going crazy but after how your last date ended, you can't bring yourself to. You are scared, exactly of what, you can't put your finger into.

The entire situation you have put yourself into is fucking scary. They say you become sure of your feelings after three dates but it did not take that much for you. You already are very certain about your feelings for him and how deep they run exactly and you also know that in the end you will be left scarred. He would never be yours. He has probably forgotten about you or decided that it is not worth another date to figure out what you saw that night.

You let a desperate, pitiable sigh.

"I know you are hiding things from me but I understand that you are not ready to talk yet. But I want you to know I am here for you okay?" Katelyn's voice makes you blink your way out of your thoughts. She squeezes your hand tightly and gives you a reassuring smile and you're left feeling guilty.

"I ...I will tell you. Soon. Just give me a bit more time," you whisper. She nods in understanding. A grateful smile touches your lips as her words make you emotional. Then there's a ping from your phone letting you know there's a message. Without giving it much thought you open the device and your eyes go wide.

I'll take you out for dinner tomorrow night. Wear something formal.

You wait outside your apartment for Seungcheol. Your day has passed by in a flurry of excitement and nerves as you carefully picked your outfit and did your hair and makeup. A soft baby pink dress that stopped just above you knees adorns you as your hair rests just above your neck in a loose bun.

You are fiddling with your fingers as you think about how this night is gonna end and wether you will ever see him again when a car screech that grabs your attention.

Seungcheol's convertible has taken a stop in front of you and you see the man getting out the vehicle and take big steps towards you.

You're mesmerized.

Perhaps there is not enough word in this world to describe his looks or perhaps you've simple lost the ability to speak; either way, you just stand and stare, drinking the godly man that stands in front of you. He looks delectable, completely flawless and agonizingly gorgeous in his sharp black suit and pants, with a silk black shirt underneath, the top couple buttons undone that reveals a beautiful porcelain skin. His hairstyle completes the look, parted to one side in a sleek way and showing his forehead and oh god is it sexy. You realize you have a forehead kink, if there is anything as such.

If you weren't in love with him before you are now.

He looks ravishing, and you wonder why it isn't illegal to look this good. It should be because you have completely lost control over yourself. Nothing exists in your world except for him and you feel paralyzed, unable to do anything but drink him in. You wonder if you are even worthy to stand beside him.

"____?" Seungcheol calls you, snapping his fingers in front of your eyes. He must have been calling you while you were eye fucking him. "Oh! Um, hi." You're flustered. "You- you look really, really nice." It isn't enough but it's what you can get past your lips. A knowing smirk kisses his lips before he teases, "Well, you look really, really nice too." Motioning you to his car he says, "Shall we? We'll be late for our reservation."

"Yeah, of course," you say, hurrying over to his car, embarasssed at your foolery. Seungcheol must have noticed you ogling him like that. But you don't really care when he looks like that. It is his fault for looking so devilishly handsome and idly you wonder if he did that on purpose. If he's deliberately teasing with, trying to make you the most miserable before letting you go with a slap of reality to your face. Pushing away those plagueing thoughts, you sit up straight and clear your throat as Seungcheol comes to sit beside you and brings the engine to life.

A decently long and quiet (except for the music from the radio) but not quite uncomfortable car ride later, Seungcheol stops in front of a really fancy and expensive looking restaurant just by the sea. You did not except him to take you to a high end restaurant, otherwise you would have put some more effort in your looks.

Feeling slightly out of place you quietly follow Seungcheol into the beautiful European styled building after he hands his keys to a valet. The interior is dripping with polished furnitures and extravagant chandeliers and marble floors as guests dressed elegantly have their dinner. As you look around the place in awe Seungcheol talks to the receptionist who then guides you towards a staircase that leads to a pair of large double doors decorated with gold which then, opens to a large balcony. In the middle of it sits a table with two chairs and an unceremonious gasp escapes your mouth as you realize this is where you will be having dinner.

The man from earlier takes his leave as Seungcheol helps you sit down before taking a seat for himself while you take in everything, overwhelmed with all your surroundings. Why did he put so much effort for a lousy and fake date?

"What do you think?" He asks with a smirk as he rests one of his elbows on the table.

"I'm overwhelmed," you reply quietly, honestly. He chuckles, "Well this place has really good food and a fantastic view so I thought it wouldn't bad for our last date."

Last date.

"It's really beautiful. I don't know why you did this but thank you, really," you murmur, eyes on the satin table cloth with intricate golden lining. Everything about this place is so pretty.

"Well, I decided it would be beneficial for me to extract words from you if you are wooed," his words have a teasing tone to it and his demeanor is completely different from last time, giving you a whiplash but you are not sure if he's fully joking. Before you can say that you are definitely wooed, a waiter appears to take your order and you leave the duty of ordering to Seungcheol since he seems to frequent this place. Prior to his leave, the waiter pours you Seungcheol's champagne of choice and then, you two are alone once more.

Reaching for the flute, you quickly gulp down the champagne to soothe your dry throat and to calm all your nerves.

Over dinner you talk about your uni and your parents back home and the farm they own. While Seungcheol mostly keeps quiet he doesn't ignore you but listens carefully, occasionally passing glances your way or commenting. He does not offer anything about him, which you expected and you don't ask any questions about him either. Instead you try your best to keep his interest in your words despite the lack of it from his side.

After a hearty meal of poached lobsters and wagyu beefs and creamy soups comes dessert; a chocolate orange mousse with spiced fruits and yogurt sorbet. You start eating your dessert in silence, the occasional crashing of waves filling the complete lack of sounds.

This location is truly magnificent and breathtaking, almost having a feel like you're in a fancy resort in a luxurious tropical island. It is undoubtedly the most beautiful place you have ever been, let alone have dinner at and you wonder if you would ever have the chance to visit some place like this had you not met Seungcheol. The man in question, continues eating quietly, seemingly lost in his thoughts. He looks lovely as always, if not more and you try to burn this image in your mind for you to look back at later. You want to ask him so many question, you want to tell him so many things but you're scared. Sacred if you do so this moment will break, scared it will annoy him and end your final date all too early. So you bite your tongue and finish your food as he does and after your plates are cleared away, you are served another expensive champagne as an end to your luxurious dinner.

Even though Seungcheol doesn't say anything, you assume it is time to spill the beans, to say what he has been wanting to hear from the beginning. You have teased him enough and it is time you give him what he deserves. Taking a deep breath, you open your mouth. "Me and Katelyn heard noises from the playground that night so we decided to check. It was pretty dark and we were tipsy but I recognized you and you were... beating someone up. We stayed there and watched until one of us accidentally made some noise. We were scared that you heard us so we ran. That's all that happened."

You have Seungcheol's full attention now as he listens cautiously, his sharp eyes trained on you. Gulping, you clench your hands together underneath the table, waiting for his reaction. There seems to be an eternity of silence as Seungcheol simply stares at you as if he's debating whether your words are true or not. It's torturous, awfully agonizing and when you can't bear it anymore you're about to speak but he beats you to it.

"I didn't kill him." His voice is quiet. You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. Somewhere in the back of your mind you believed it, you believed he wouldn't be cruel enough to kill someone just like that and as soon as he speaks those words you believe him, without a doubt, without a second of delay.

"I believe you." You whisper, holding his gaze. "That asshole deserved what he got. He shouldn't even be alive but I let him go. He's in a hospital now, if you are wondering." You nod quietly. It's scary how much you believe him, how much you trust him even though he is pretty much a stranger.

There's a moment of silence as you bask in his presence before he speaks, "____, men like me, we aren't the nicest people. But we are needed, the cops need us around. People like me do the dirty works for people like you so y'all don't face troubles. We do things in an unconventional way but that's just who we are. We aren't as bad as the rumours say but we definitely aren't someone you should be with." You open your mouth to protest but his sharp gaze makes you stop. "If you have not understood it yet, let me say it out loud. I am trouble. People like me is always bad news. Whatever we did until now, I hope you forget. That's the best, ____ trust me. I think we both got what we wanted so let's call it a night." Just like that, he stands up, not waiting for your reply.

You gawk at him, baffled as he pays the bill and starts walking away. Tears burn the back of your eyes and you bite your lip to hold them back. The ending that you had expected has taken place but you are having a hard time accepting it. Your subconscious reminds you that you deliberately got yourself into this even though you saw this coming. So there is no one to blame for it but you. Grabbing your purse, you stomp your way out of the restaurant and towards Seungcheol's car.

Seungcheol barely acknowledges you as you both get in the car and he presses the key to the ignition. You are fuming in your seat, his words and the way he dismissed you cutting you deep. His words come to you, I think we both got what we wanted. You want to laugh. How can he possibly think that? Is he really so stupid or is he deliberately ignoring your interest in him? You want to smack his perfect face, curse and scream at him but all you can do is sit still with your arms crossed as steam comes out of your head. Is he really not curious about your feelings? Does he possess none for you? Does these few days with you mean nothing to him? You have so many unanswered questions. Leaning back into your seat, you close your eyes and let out a frustrated sigh.

It feels like in the blink of an eye the drive to your place is over as Seungcheol halts his car in front of your apartment. He does not utter a single word, doesn't even spare a glance at you while patiently waiting for you to get out of the car.

Asshole.

You inhale deeply, trying your best to gather yourself together as you take off your seatbelt and turn towards him.

"Seungcheol?" Few seconds pass before he looks at you. Words are stuck in your throat. When your eyes meet his, you become mute, overwhelmed with emotions as your words die in your tongue. He keeps staring at you, not opening his mouth but waiting for you to speak. "Is this goodbye?" Your voice breaks.

"I believe we don't have any reason to see each other. We both got what we wanted," He says without batting an eye. You're left bemused, one step away from landing a slap on his face. How dare he say that?

"Do you really believe that?" Your words come out as an accusation. "I wanted to go out with you because I thought I have feelings for you! And I do! And my feelings have only increased since I first saw you. I want to see you again, Seungcheol. You may have gotten what you wanted but I didn't." Your fades into a whisper as tears burn the back of your eyes.

Seungcheol stays quiet, staring ahead, his brows knitted as if he's annoyed. "I promised you three dates, ____. And I gave you that. It's over. Your feelings? You'll get over them. It's better to be in pain for a while that be with someone like me."

"You can't say that! I get to decide for myself!"

"____," he sighs, rubbing his temples. "I'm a bad man. You should leave while you still have a good image of me. You'll get hurt because of me and I've caused enough pain to enough people. Just...go. Just forget me." You stare at him as frustrated tears roll down your cheeks. He doesn't meet your gaze but turns his head the other way. You are angry, infuriated and heart broken all at a time. Clenching your fists you inhale a shaky breath before reaching for him.

Before you can chicken out, you tilt his face towards you and quickly press your lips against his. Seungcheol seems to be shocked as a small gasp leaves his mouth but you don't let him push you away. Instead one of your hands come to rest on his thigh as he other cups his face to keep his mouth against yours. You kiss him with all you have left, pouring in every bit of passion and love for him as your tongues intertwine. By the time you are both breathless, Seungcheol gently pushes you back and peers into your eyes. "That's all I can give you, ____." He says, his voice the softest you have heard. You are broken into a million pieces and as much as your heart wants to cling to him, you suddenly feel tired, deflated like a popped balloon. Your emotions have drained you out and left nothing and right now, breathing almost seems too painful for you. Taciturnly, you grab your purse and step out the convertible. You hear another door shut behind you but you don't look back as your heavy steps carry you to the entrance of your building. When you are about to enter your apartment, you accumulate all your strength and courage to spare one final glance at him.

Turning around you see Seungcheol standing by his car, hands in his pockets, simply watching you. Even though your eyes are locked on each other, you don't see any emotion in them. He looks like the same expressionless, mysterious man you saw the first day. The man you fell in love with. Taking in his gorgeous features one last time, you bite your lip and turn away, forcing yourself to walk inside your apartment building.

Your chapter with Seungcheol ends here.

Epilogue

A/N : Okay so idk why this fucking app is being like this but it says I reached the maximum of 250 blocks but I thought tum1r didn't have a word limit?? Anyway so I've decided to break it up and put the rest of the fic in another post. Please click epilogue to read that.

Taglist: @koo-18 @shiningstar-byulxx @pcisonedhaos @happyvitamin @yoongischeeksluv @haluim17 @nayam14 @horanghae-gumanhae @cottonsthings @hotcheetosnorter99 @peekabooseoksoon @acapellaanna @amixoferrthang

#seventeen scoups #scoups imagines #scoups fluff #scoups smut #seventeen #seventeen fic #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fanfic #seventeen au #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut #svt imagines #svt fluff #svt scenarios #seungcheol scenarios #seventeen seungcheol #kpop drabbles #kpop smut

831 notes · View notes

inkykeiji · 4 years

Text

bright light city gonna set my soul on fire

ace anon said: wanna suggest dabi taking you to a poker game as a good luck charm then betting you on a game and losing...or winning and bragging about it by fucking you on the table

genre: smut + implied crooked secret agent/spy AU set in the late 1950s???

notes: AH ace i loved this idea SO MUCH it ended up sparking an entire fic!! heavily inspired by ian fleming’s 1953 novel casino royale + martin campbell’s 2006 film casino royale. it is set in clari’s version of the 1950s and in no way historically accurate!! think of it as an AU of the 1950s, if that makes sense ehehe | title credit: viva las vegas by elvis | songs mentioned in the fic itself: don’t and i beg of you by elvis, rockin’ robin by bobby day

warnings: 18+, period typical use of the word Daddy (not with dabi), inappropriate use of the word Mister, slight degradation, mentioned somnophilia, slight dacryphilia, minimal prep, night terrors, blood, murder, generally toxic codependant relationship, one implied mention of drug use (morphine), mentions of tense family dynamics

words: 8.5k

synopsis:

Yes, as much as he’d like to deny it, it’s true; Dabi fell in love with you the moment he laid eyes on you.

Because Dabi saw more than just a pretty little thing when your gazes first met.

He saw the perfect weapon, a diamond in the rough just waiting—begging—to be cleaned and cut and formed into the most brilliant gem, into the most ideal accomplice for him—because, really, what’s more dangerous than a beautiful woman? Especially when she looks like innocence personified?

Sticky pink candy, translucent and gleaming with saliva, clacks against teeth as you roll the heart-shaped lollipop around in your mouth, twirling the stick between your index finger and your thumb.

Legs kick idly as you lean back on your other hand, seated on the edge of Tomura’s massive, pristine mahogany desk, watching as his personal tailor helps Dabi shrug on a navy tuxedo jacket, stitched and sown perfectly to his measurements.

“I dunno,” he’s saying as he pivots his body a little, making a face at himself in the mirror. “I still think the black looks better,”

Ruby eyes roll up towards the ceiling, a frustrated groan spilling from between Tomura’s lips.

“You always think the black looks better. We’re going with the navy, it brings out your eyes,” he gives the back of Dabi’s head a sharp look before strolling towards you, features softening as he observes—the perfect picture of innocence, legs swinging slowly in cute little motions, strawberry lollipop sucked against the roof of your mouth, sparkling eyes floating from your boyfriend’s broad shoulders to his—your—boss’s face as he advances.

“Gimme some,” he demands, large hands finding your knees and halting your movement, using his hipbones to push them wider, making a space for himself between them and sticking his tongue out. With a giggle, you place the now misshapen candy on his tongue, gasping loudly as he snatches the candy from you, movements too quick for you to catch, and jumps away with the grace of a cat.

“Daddy!”

Tomura snickers around the lollipop in his mouth, sucking it into his cheek as he speaks around it. “Aw, come now, don’t pout,” his bottom lip pushes out to mimic your expression, tilting his head in false sympathy. “I’m sure your Mister will buy you another,”

“He better,” you mumble through your pout, eyebrows knitting together as arms cross tightly over your chest, eyes flitting to Dabi.

“I will, dollface, I will,” he vows distractedly, gaze not straying from his fingers reflected in the mirror as they fiddle with his bowtie.

“Promise, Mister?”

“Promise, baby, promise,”

Dabi’s already been briefed on the specifics of this mission—something to do with playing a poker game with a bunch of other crooked hotshots at the Sahara hotel in Las Vegas, but that’s all you know. That’s all you’re authorized to know.

Despite being Dabi’s accomplice and working for Tomura’s underground organization, you’re rarely allowed to be in Tomura’s office while the briefing happens. It’s sensitive information, dollface, and the less you know the better, and don’t misbehave now, sit pretty and quiet like a good little girl until the big boys are finished, and then Daddy and Mister will give you a pretty reward.

But! you had protested with a bottom lip involuntarily jutted out. But maybe, if I know more, I can be of better help—

But Tomura had shut that idea down before it had even finished leaving your lips.

No. Absolutely not. It’s for your own good—your own safety, you little brat—why can’t you understand that?

You do understand that, you’ve been told a thousand times—your specialty is distractions, used to keep enemies occupied before Dabi splatters their brains on marble floors, or to pry information out of men weak to the smile of a pretty girl.

And, to be fair, Tomura does reward you pretty generously, with glittering evening gowns and designer pumps and all the handbags a gal could ever want.

You turn back to face him, red lips spread into a cunning, mischievous smile, a smile he knows all too well, a smile Dabi loves—because he taught it to you—and Tomura hates—because it means you’re about to get what you want. “So. How much money are you giving me to play with this time, Daddy?”

Tomura’s face screws up, nose scrunching. “None,” he spits, removing the lollipop from his mouth. Tiny hands grab at the air, reaching for it like a child, Tomura swiping it just out of grasp as he continues his scolding. “Last time, you nearly bought the entire shopping complex,”

“Ah, c’mon, boss,” Dabi says around a cigar, still standing in front of the full-length mirror and smoothing down his clothing. “Give the lil lady a lil somethin’, will ya?”

“Yeah, boss, c’mon,” you plead, mimicking your boyfriend, adorning your face with your signature pout and award-winning puppy-dog eyes.

“Absolutely not.” His voice is stern as he speaks, facial features hard in finality and resolution, but his eyes—irises a crimson so brilliant, so beautiful it’s terrifying, almost looks as if it’s glowing—are beginning to waver.

“You know, if you don’t, then I’m sure I’ll get bored in that big city all by myself while Dabi’s working,” you begin in a singsong voice, eyebrows raising. “And you know what happens when I get bored, Daddy,”

“She gets int’a trouble,” Dabi grumbles, eyes catching yours through the mirror, though there’s a smirk forming around the cigar, held between sharp gleaming ivory teeth.

“S’true,” you nod simply, eyelashes fluttering as you gaze at Tomura. “Please, Daddy? Pretty please? I swear I won’t spend too much this time,”

“Jus’ give ‘er your credit card r’somethin’,” Dabi waves a hand in nonchalance before patting down his pockets. “I’ll keep a’eye on ‘er, promise,”

“Take that damn cigar out of your mouth and speak properly,” Tomura spits, and you and Dabi share another look, another smirk, through the mirror. “Fine, alright? Fine,” nimble fingers pull out a sleek leather wallet, flipping it open and searching through the card slots, grumbling to himself. “Christ, the two of you are insufferable, I swear to God,”

“Thank you, Daddy,” you giggle, soft and gentle and innocent, all of the things you weren’t mere moments ago. Platinum plastic gleams in your fingers as you tilt the card in the light, gaze captivated by the way it sparkles and glitters as you speak again. “Promise I’ll bring you back something neat,”

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s been a few years now since the two of you met, since the two of you became partners, and Dabi swears to high heaven and back that he had tried his hardest not to fall in love with you, cross his heart, hope to die.

At least, that’s what he likes to tell himself. In actuality, he fell for you the moment he laid eyes on you—it’s as cliché and cheesy as one of those Jimmy Dean flicks, but goddamn it, it’s true all the same.

Doesn’t help that that’s one of the first things you said to him, though.

You look like Jimmy Dean, Mister, you had giggled dainty behind your hand, batting those long, thick eyelashes as you gazed up at him, gracious and polite and all the things a good little girl like you should be. Is supposed to be.

It made him want to fucking ruin you. It sparked a white-hot fire deep in the pit of his stomach, a blaze that grew, and grew, and grew with each of your cute mannerisms. It procured an inferno full of pure desire, heady and intoxicating, that nearly engulfed him in an instant.

“Oh, yeah?” he had asked with a smirk, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest, tongue running along his front teeth as he steadily held your eyes. “‘N why’s that, little miss?”

Those eyes, the sparkling ones that had been so bold only a moment ago, bashfully flitted down to the teal typewriter sitting in front of you on a large oak desk, fiddling a little with your nails against the worn keys.

Baby pink. Cute.

“Oh I—I—” your gaze flashed up to his for a moment, intense cobalt burning into your very skull, before you averted your stare again. “Well, I-I don’t mean to be rude, Mister, it’s just that—your hair,”

Sapphire eyes flicked up, as if to gaze at his forehead, as if he were able to see his own hair from just that motion, eyebrows raising with the action.

“S’all messy like the way he wears his. You know, when he’s not doing a picture and all that,”

And you noticed your mistake immediately, eyes widening, tongue tripping over your words in your haste to correct yourself, to speak properly, like a lady. “I-It’s all messy, s-sorry, excuse me, it’s all messy like the way he wears his,”

A smirk, slow and dangerous, spread across his face as he observed you, tilting his head a little as his eyes travelled down your neck, to your shoulders and the sweetheart neckline of that pretty, pretty dress, and then back up again, narrowing slightly as they did so. It’s in that moment that Dabi first wondered what you’d sound like underneath him while sharp hipbones bruise his name into the tender flesh of your inner thighs, how you’d slur your words together then.

His voice was a touch huskier when he spoke again. “You like Jimmy, miss?”

“I sure do,” you nodded, painted lips morphing into a little melancholic smile as you looked down at the typewriter again. “It’s a real shame he passed,”

“Sure is,” Dabi mimicked your movement, giving a simple nod in agreement. “But thank you for the compliment, doll, I’ll take it,”

Your head snapped back up. “Oh, c’mon, m’not stupid y’know,” you huffed with a roll of your eyes and a light laugh.

“No?”

The traces of amusement that played in his azure eyes had your own narrowing a little in response, sitting up straighter as you rolled your shoulders back.

“No,” you shook your head. “I know who you are,”

“Yeah? And who’s that?”

“Touya.”

And it’s the way you said his birthname, the way your lips curled into a devious little smile around the word, the way one of your perfectly arched eyebrows raised in question, in challenge, that had confirmed it for him, right then and there, in that stupidly luxurious office.

“Touya Todoroki.”

He was sure he had to have you. He was positive he had to make you his—forever.

“You’ve been compared to Jimmy since he debuted—”

“And you know this because—”

“—because I read Time and Vogue and all those other stupid magazines, just like all the other women in this country. And I’ve seen you,” you paused to point a manicured nail at him. “On or in every single one,”

Oh, and he was sure you had, sure you knew that he was notorious for stealing several of his father’s girlfriends when he was in his early twenties, infamous for fucking them and then selling the Polaroid’s and information to vying tabloids and the like. He always did like to spice up those stories a little, to fluff them and make them a hint more scandalous, glamorous—those ones always sold for more.

Not that he needed the money.

“It’s rude to point, baby,” he winked before he straightened up, pushed himself off the wall and stalked towards your desk, stopping in front of it as large hands splayed out on the wood, and leaned close to your face.

“And I don’t go by that name anymore, sweetheart,” he had told you, voice smooth as scotch over ice, though something dangerous glinted in his eyes as they carefully searched your face, something omnious etched into the sharp smile on his face

A shiver crawled up your spine, frosty and slow, fingers tiptoeing up each vertebra as you nodded your understanding. “Y-Yes, sir,”

The door to your boss’s office had swung open then, Dabi straightening up and spreading his arms out in a grand sweeping movement.

“David!” he greeted as if the two were old friends, large smile stretched too tight across his face as he walked forward and clapped a large hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. “How are you doing?”

He murdered your boss that day. You didn’t know, of course, didn’t have a goddamn clue until over a month later, Dabi had made sure of that. But by the time you found out, you were already in too deep; too enamoured by him, wholly captivated by him in every sense of the word, too dependant on him, to care at all.

He had made it quick—quiet and painless and looking as if it was an accident, strolling out of the office only a few moments later and asking you out on a date like nothing had happened, words flowing smoothly from his lips in that drawl that is so distinctly him, almost lazy in a way, glittering lidded sapphire scalding your skin with its intensity.

Yes, as much as he’d like to deny it, it’s true; Dabi fell in love with you the moment he laid eyes on you.

Because Dabi saw more than just a pretty little thing when your gazes first met.

Nothing, that’s what.

Honestly, he did you a favour—he swears he could see it in your eyes, sparkling as they gazed at him like he sculpted the moon himself, pleading for someone—for him—to come along and take care of you, to put you in your place, to keep you in line, absolutely desperate for someone to mold you, shape you, construct and arrange you into his most perfect creation.

Perfect, perfect, perfect, that’s what you are; so good for him, so obedient and compliant, always hanging on his every word and eagerly awaiting his next command, enthusiastic to submit to him, to please him, to receive the praise you crave so badly.

And Tomura had agreed, too, after only fifteen minutes of meeting you, of observing you, of assessing you, that you’d be a flawless addition to their operation.

So Dabi did what he does best.

He started slow, of course, enchanted you with strings of pearls and gorgeous dresses and expensive dinners, fed you tidbits about his mysterious lifestyle, about his family and his job and his past, just enough to keep you coming back for more, until you were practically begging him to let you in, to permit you to join his vocation, to accompany him on the wild ride that is his life.

And that was the best part of all—you didn’t care, you wanted it just as badly as he did; wanted to help him, to serve him, to be his, without ever requiring the full story. You readily gave everything up for him, accepted his orders, his wants and his needs without as much as a single question, never faltering in your honesty, in your pure devotion to your creator.

It’s love in its truest form, you’re both sure of it—possessed by one another, infatuated with one another, dedicated to one another—both consumed by the most potent drug, this love, a force to be reckoned with, the strongest pull either of you have ever felt before.

And, really, what more could you ask for?

✰ ✰ ✰

He took you under his wing, crafted you into a master of manipulation, pairing it perfectly with that innocent kitten demeanour you wear so well, and taught you everything he knew: all of the infiltration techniques and self-defence he had learned before he was ostracized from his father’s company—a privatized intelligence agency that works closely with the federal government—the very organization he’s been working so tirelessly to burn to the ground.

You still don’t exactly know what happened. He doesn’t like to talk about it, about where those scars decorating his body came from, about why he’s thrown away his old identity and constructed a new one, trading ivory hair and a high-fashion wardrobe for inky black and weathered Levi jeans with big black motorcycle boots.

But you do know a little.

He had been the favourite son, the chosen son, the one set to inherit the empire his father had built. That was, until he got himself into an accident—one that he still isn’t ready to disclose the full details of, and you never push. But you know it had involved a twelve year old Touya—always devious, crafty, and ever-so intelligent, even as a child—sneaking along on a mission he absolutely shouldn’t have. The silvery burns that adorn his skin, puckered and soft and shimmering like moonlight when they catch in the sun, scars tinged with the slightest hint of baby pink, are from this incident. Whatever had happened after had scarred his soul forever.

Because you’ve never encountered such intense hatred, burning bright blue flames that rage and roar inside of him, the words that are spit from between clenched teeth when he talks about his father, about his baby brother, positively scalding.

But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that you don’t know the full story, that you aren’t entirely aware of why this vendetta against his family exists. It doesn’t matter that his one goal in life, his only true desire aside from you, is to take down his father. It doesn’t matter that he’s willing to do anything and use everyone to achieve his objective.

Because he is letting you in; slowly, bit by bit and piece by piece, the most fascinating and tragically beautiful jigsaw you’ve ever put together. He may never be ready to tell the full story, and that’s alright with you, because as you’ve reassured him countless times in the dead of night, you’ll always love him anyway—you’ll always be by his side.

That’s when he’s most vulnerable, it seems—in the middle of the night, at two and three and four in the morning, when he wakes trembling and whimpering and soaked with his own sweat.

He never tells you what they’re about, the nightmares. Sometimes, they’re so violent that they wake you first. He doesn’t fuck you immediately on those days, doesn’t say a word as he finds solace in your warm bosom, little fingers pushing back sweaty strands of inky hair from his temples as your other arm wraps around him, holding him close to you as his shaky breathing calms, as his muscles stop quivering. On those nights, he says nothing as he spreads your legs and climbs on top of you, railing you into the mattress like it’s his last day on this earth.

That’s how he likes to be comforted; that’s what calms him down best. It’s standard procedure at this point—not that you mind waking up to his soft sniffles and him shoving himself into your barely prepped cunt, or rousing to feel the tip of his naked cock rubbing against your clit through thin cotton undies as he tells you in that wavering voice to stay sleeping and let your Mister take what he needs. You’re there to serve him—and you do, so perfectly. You just want to help, after all. You’ve always ever just wanted to help. You never know which nights he’ll gift you another little piece of himself, of his soul, for you to try and fit in somewhere in the puzzle that is DABI. You don’t know the triggers—as far as you’re concerned, they don’t seem to exist anywhere outside of the padlocked barricade of his own head, no rhyme or reason to them, more random than anything else. But you’ll readily accept anything and everything he’s willing to give, the very instant he’s willing to give it.

✰ ✰ ✰

Sprawled out on the hotel bed with his white t-shirt riding up and exposing your lacy panties, you watch, in an almost trancelike state, as Dabi does his hair in preparation for the game set to begin in an hour or so. He leaves it messy and ungreased when he isn’t working, all tousled and fluffy, a sea of half formed curls that flow into each other, akin to tremulous waves hours before a storm like an inky ocean atop his head. But he cleans up well, when it comes time to get down to business.

“Every little swallow, every chickadee, every little bird in the tall oak tree,”

Standing in front of the mirror clad in a white undershirt and his suit pants, he sings along to Bobby Day’s staticky voice as it flows through the small radio set on the bathroom counter, nimble fingers dipping into a tin of greasy pomade and gathering a generous glob, a responding giggle bubbling up in your chest.

“The wise old owl, the big black crow,” he catches your eye through the mirror, a devilish smile materializing on his face as he continues, lathering his hands together. “Flap-a their wings singin’ ‘go bird go’,”

“Should’a been a singer, I’m telling ya,” you say as you roll onto your stomach, chin resting in your palms and head propped up, eyes glittering. “Could’a rivalled Elvis,”

Huffing out a laugh accompanied by a roll of his eyes, his hands begin to rake through his hair, slathering it with the substance and slicking most of it back from his face, sure to leave a few curls at the start of his hairline untouched. “So sweet you’re gonna rot my teeth, baby,”

“M’serious!” you insist, blinking at him as your eyebrows raise, watching the teeth of the black comb run through the slicked-up strands, his palm following close behind as he smooths it over; crisscross, crisscross, crisscross, fluff, pat, crisscross.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” he shakes his head in disbelief, though there’s the faintest pink tinting his stubbled cheeks. “I think I’m better at this job,”

What? Playing poker with a bunch of criminals and making deals with mafiosos and murdering those who wrong you? you swallow the words, letters stinging and scraping your throat as you force them back down, schooling your face into a neutral expression. “I respectfully disagree,”

“‘Course you do,” he mumbles to himself distractedly, leaning closer to the mirror to complete the look. “Elvis, you say?”

He begins belting out lyrics in an exaggerated deep voice as he adds the finishing touch—your favourite part—slender fingers shining with residual pomade as they twirl and coat the few stray curls left neglected, allowing them to hang artfully in the middle of his forehead.

“When I feel like this and I want to kiss youuu,” pivoting on his heel, he gazes at you with that shit-eating grin and continues. “Baby, don’t say doooon’t,”

“Oh, God, no, not Don’t!” you groan, flopping onto your back dramatically, face screwed up as if you had just tasted something sour.

“Alright, alright, alright,” he’s chuckling as he advances towards you, a small towel in his hands as he cleans them. “How ‘bout…” trailing off, he hums a little as he thinks.

“Hold my hand and promise,” he begins in a low voice, smooth and sweet like the finest melted chocolate, depositing of the towel and crawling onto the bed.

“That you’ll always love me too,”

Large hands gently pry your legs part, signature crooked smirk spreading across his face when he’s met with zero resistance, rough palms caressing silky skin as they slide up, fingers gripping and grabbing and kneading.

“Make me know you love me,”

The words taper off into a whine, beginning to sound more like begging than singing, as his body settles between your thighs, hipbones digging into the soft flesh while he hovers above you, supporting his weight on his forearms.

“The same way I love you, little girl,”

Lips trail along your jaw, leaving tender kisses in their wake—unhurried, careful, and full of purpose—as he mumbles against your skin.

“You got me at your mercy, now that I'm in love with you,”

Calloused hands begin to ruck up his t-shirt, digits dipping into the lacy waistband of your panties, his voice starting to tremble ever so slightly.

“So please don't take advantage, cause you know my love is true,”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, sapphire eyes gleaming in the golden sunlight and he pauses, blistering gaze searching your face for something, muscles relaxing and head dipping a moment later to finally press his lips against yours, whispering into the kiss. “Darling please, please love me too, I beg of you,”

And despite all the glitz and glamour, all the extravagance and exhilaration, that comes with each mission, this will always be your favourite part—when it’s only you and him, lounging around in some luxurious five star hotel or some dingy roadside motel, exchanging lazy, messy kisses full of stringy shining saliva, goofing around and whispering stupid Elvis lyrics to each other, words that hold more weight than either of you care to admit.

✰ ✰ ✰

It was supposed to be a fairly simple operation—minimal violence, Tomura had instructed. No guns or casualties, if it can be avoided, if Dabi can keep his temper in check. It was supposed to be easy, straightforward, safe.

It was supposed to be. But Dabi gets bored easily, likes a little spike of adrenaline with his missions, rolling his broad shoulders and cracking his neck as he joins the rest of the men around the poker table, a sly smirk on his face as they name the bets and the prizes.

“And my little doll,”

It’s hard to resist rolling your eyes as those four words slip from between his lips, slow and smooth in that deep, lazy drawl, trademark smirk painted across his lips as his lidded eyes scan the faces sitting around the table, an eyebrow raised, daring any of them to protest. Several hungry eyes dart towards you for a moment, standing like the reward you are a few feet behind Dabi and leaning on a railing, a shy little smile briefly gracing your lips in greeting, elegant evening gown shimmering under the crystal lights.

This isn’t new—Dabi usually bets you when he plays. Keeps him sharp, he claims. Keeps him on his toes, keeps it fun when there’s something important at stake, something valuable to lose, he says. He plays better that way, he promises.

Except he’s always craved that thrill of danger, has always liked to push further and further simply to see how far he can go before he topples over the edge. It’s a rush, a blast, a high akin to the morphine that so often flows through his veins, and he fucking lives for it.

It’s been over an hour now, since those words were murmured in that velvet voice, floating across the table and cloaking the thoughts of the other men like a lethal haze, most of whom can’t seem to keep their eyes from wandering back to you every so often, leering gazes coating your skin with grime you itch to scrub off.

But that’s the point—or it’s supposed to be, anyway. That’s the whole reason you’re here in the first place. To act as a distraction, Tomura’s words drift through your mind, just whisps of his voice that tickle the walls of your skull.

And what a perfect distraction you are, in a Dior dress that looks like it was made only for you, tapered perfectly to every curve and edge of your body, silk flowing gracefully with every miniscule movement, with every rise and fall of your chest.

But it bores you to tears, this poker game, eyes dry and sticky, sick of staring at the back of your boyfriend’s immaculate, intricate hair as his nimble fingers play with the mountain of chips accumulating in front of him, plastic clacking together as he shuffles through them.

You had begged him to let you go shopping—just for the first half of the game, you swear!—but he refused. I need my good luck charm there with me the entire time, babydoll, he told you, brushing calloused fingers down your cheek then tracing along the line of your jaw, gazing at you with brilliant sapphire that glitters in the late afternoon sun, streaming in through the hotel’s floor-length windows. We can go shopping after the game is finished, he promised.

You regarded him with skepticism.

“And dancing?”

“Of course,” he responded with a playful scoff. “We can dance until our feet are bleeding, pinky promise,”

Keigo comes to join you just before the game passes the two-hour mark, large hands finding purchase on your hips and pulling you back against his chest as his head dips down, soft full lips against your skin.

“Lovely dress you’ve got on,” he murmurs, breath hot against your ear, tickling the shell. “You look stunning—breathtaking—I mean, gosh, look at me, I can barely breathe,” he gasps dramatically, chest heaving against your back as he does so, chuckling when you roll your eyes and giggle at him to shut up, Kei, the vibrations from his laugh a comforting sensation, a familiar sensation, a welcomed sensation, sending warmth spreading through your body. “I’m so happy you’re here,” you whine, leaning further into him and head tilting against his collarbone to gaze up at him. “I’m so bored,”

“Yeah, I bet,” he says, something unusual—unreadable—settling in his topaz eyes as he glances up at the table. “You aren’t used to games lasting this long, are you, baby,”

A little pout settles on your lips and you nod, playing right into his condescending cooing as you snuggle into him, eyes following his stare. Truthfully, you haven’t a clue what’s going on, and, really, you couldn’t care less. You aren’t entirely sure what the significance of this poker game is, or who most of these men are, and you aren’t allowed to. Just sit pretty and perfect like you always do; it’s the thing you do best.

Except tonight—tonight something is different, unsettling, off. It’s no big deal, though, of course—you can almost hear that deep, dark voice drawling the words out in your mind, phantom breath tickling your skin.

Because Dabi’s always been startlingly good at what he does. Because Dabi’s always been able to worm his way out of a difficult situation. Because there’s never really been a reason to worry about it before, anyway. But tonight—well, tonight you’re watching as his Balenciaga clad shoulders are getting tenser, and tenser, as his jaw is clenching tighter, and tighter, as his grip on that singular sparkly chip resting in his palm is becoming stronger, and stronger, thin skin stretching painfully over sharp bony knuckles.

Keigo’s breath is bated, his fingers digging into your hips as he observes the game unfolding in front of the both of you, pulling you closer to him, hushed curses falling from his lips every so often. And Keigo knows what’s happening, of course, but he refuses to tell you, promising you that you wouldn’t understand even if he tried to explain it. Creases form on your forehead as your eyebrows knit, eyes drifting back to the table. Whatever it is, it’s clear that it isn’t good, Keigo’s body tensing against yours as he sucks in a breath and holds it for a moment before blowing it out from his mouth, exasperated. “Well, I’m positive it’s fine,” you say, trying to wave it off lightly, to whisk away the acrimonious dread that roots deep in the pit of your stomach and begins to spread, thick and dense as it slithers into your surrounding organs, to brush off the impending sense of foreboding that seems to lurk over you, getting heavier and heavier, darker and darker with each second that ticks by—though your voice sounds high to your ears, tinny and false. “Dabi’s never lost a game before, that’s why they send him to these things,” But Keigo doesn’t sound so sure, responding with a nervous breath of a laugh, lithe fingers flexing on your hips, rubbing little lopsided circles into the flesh. “First time for everything, songbird,”

The words send ice piercing through your veins, but you persevere, rolling your shoulders and standing up a little straighter, swallowing past the painful lump that’s lodged itself in your throat. It’s fine. It’s always fine. He’s always found a way to get out of messy, tight situations before. Why should tonight be any different?

It won’t be, it isn’t—you can already see Dabi collapsing on the cream sofa upstairs in your luxurious hotel room, tugging at his bowtie with a sigh as his head falls back, nimble fingers popping the first few buttons on his crisp white dress shirt, and had you scared for a moment there, didn’t I, kitten?

And you’ll playfully slap his shoulder as you crawl into his lap, roll your eyes as you straddle his hips and allow him to tilt the champagne flute to your lips, laugh it off as his hands begin to wander, rucking up your dress and kneading your ass, cock tenting his expensive trousers. Like always. You’re sure of it

It’s just past the three-hour mark when Keigo speaks again, all traces of teasing, of that easygoing lilt that is so distinctly him, gone from his voice. Golden locks stand in all directions, his hair having fallen out of its usual ducktail style, a curtesy of fingers raking through it nervously. His smile is tight as he looks down at you, front teeth nibbling at his cuticles as he speaks, muffled a little by his fingers. “Maybe we should get you out of here, sweetheart—”

“No,” you respond instantly with a firm shake of your head. “I’m not going anywhere,”

“Sunshine, listen—”

“I said, no, Kei,” you pull back a little to look at him, resolution sown into your voice, chest puffing out just a touch. “I won’t leave him,”

Honey eyes hold yours for a moment, and you can almost hear Keigo’s molars as they grind together. He exhales a deep sigh a moment later, shaking his head and tugging his fingers through golden strands again. “Alright, alright,” It finally comes to an end, a few minutes past the four-hour mark. Heavy lids start to lift as commotion begins to stir—soft murmurs among the men and chairs scraping against the floor, plastic chips clacking together and the sharp whisp that travels through the air as cards are shuffled—whining a little as you lean further into Keigo, who is now supporting most of your weight.

“Kei, feet hurt,”

“Shh, I know, songbird,” he hushes you, a large palm stroking your head. “But I need you to wake up, sweetheart,”

Rough, unfamiliar hands are wrapping around your arms only a moment later, yanking you from the warm sanctuary that is Keigo and hauling you against stiff muscle.

“I believe you’re mine now, darling,”

The words are gravelly, uttered in a low voice against the crown of your head. A vicious shiver crawls along your skin, whole body trembling with the force of it, as your lids snap open.

“Wait, what?” frantic eyes search the gaudy room for familiar cobalt, breath beginning to accelerate as you struggle a little in the grasp of a burly man with one eye. His grip tightens in retaliation and a pained yelp hitches in your throat, Dabi’s eye twitching at the sound. “Dabi? D-Dabi!”

Sapphire blazes into your skull, steadily holding your watery gaze as his jaw clenches, swallowing thickly at the sound of your pitiful little whimpers of his name, at the way you squirm and wiggle in your abductor's grasp, desperate to escape, to get back to him.

“H-Hold on, now,” Keigo begins, holding his hands up in surrender, a motion meant to signify peace, to signify that he isn’t a threat—even though you know he’s got the cold metal of his favourite pistol tucked into the waistband of his trousers and pressed against his warm skin. “Let’s talk this through, yeah? Just wait a minute—”

“Nope,” the man cuts Keigo off mid-sentence with a loud, harsh laugh, and you wince at the sound. “No way, a deal’s a deal, friend. I won her fair and square—she’s mine,”

A light chuckle, laced with irritation and dubiety, escapes Keigo’s lips as he shakes his head a little. “Come on, Dabi jokes around like that all the time,” and while his voice seems amicable on the surface, its ridden with cold undertones, phantom threats that are felt, not said. “And this little lady—as pretty as she is—is a person, not a prize. Taking her against her will is, in fact, kidnapping, and I’ll be forced to—”

“Let him go,”

“What?” the word falls from your lips and Keigo’s simultaneously—one incredulous and pitched high with distress, the other breathed out in disbelief, both equally as concerned—gazes snapping to Dabi, who sits quiet and brooding, dim lights casting shadows on the sharp planes of his face.

Azure drifts between your faces, features ridden with terror and alarm—furrowed brows and deep frowns tugging at the corners of lips, one pair of eyes wide with scepticism, the other pair glistening with tears. Dabi’s silent for another moment before he pushes on his knees and stands, squaring his shoulders and clearing his throat, voice ringing out loud and clear, dripping with admonition. “Let him go. He’s right; he won her, fair and square,”

He speaks slowly, annunciating each word with careful precision, sapphire glinting in the dim light has he holds the muscular man’s gaze. It holds something threatening, something menacing, something terrifying deep within the depths of his eyes, and you feel your captor pause for a second, tense, and then shiver.

“Uh, r-right,” he says, voice wavering a little as he nods to himself. “Fair and square,”

Dabi stalks towards you, shiny oxfords echoing against the pristine, freshly waxed marble floor, tutting his tongue and shaking his head, casual and relaxed as ever.

“Don’t struggle, you hear me?” he says, voice softer, gentler, as a calloused thumb swipes across your cheekbone, catching a stray tear. “Be a good girl for him,”

And I’ll see you soon.

The promise doesn’t need to be vocalized—you can see it, shining bright and true in his sapphire eyes, can sense it, in the air surrounding him, can feel it, at the very core of your soul.

A sudden sense of relief floods your body, pathetic little sobs getting caught in your chest as you exhale shakily and deflate in the burly man’s arms, tears finally spilling over your lashline and streaming down your cheeks.

“Okay,” you breathe.

Dabi gives you a simple nod, lips quirking up into a ghost of his signature lopsided smirk. Okay.

And just like that, all of the fear and trepidation and panic vanishes from your body, a serene calm chased by a sense of giddiness replacing it, scorching through your veins.

Because before the door to the man’s hotel room has even swung fully shut, Dabi’s barreling through, crystal handle smashing against the wall and cracking as skilled fingers tangle in short hair, yanking the man’s head back with a sickening crack and dragging the razor-sharp edge of his favourite switchblade across the man’s exposed throat.

He moves like a flash of light, a spark igniting a fire, so fast he’s merely a blur of black and navy and blazing sapphire. Thick crimson begins pouring from the wound immediately, a large splice spanning from one earlobe all the way to the other.

The man hits the shiny hardwood floor with a distinct thump, but you aren’t paying attention to him or the way he’s writhing as he tries to claw at his neck, coughing and gagging as he begins to choke on his own blood.

No, you’re captivated by sapphire, bright and burning as it surges towards you, calloused hands seizing your face roughly as chapped lips find yours, unforgiving and ferocious, bloody knife still in one hand, cool metal pressed against your cheek, smearing streaks of scarlet across your skin as you try to get closer to him, to get more, the stench of copper stinging your nose.

It’s eradicated in an instant though, Dabi’s heady scent—campfire and hickory wood and expensive cologne—filling your lungs, your mind, your entire being as it curls around you in the most intoxicating embrace, familiar and comforting and him, him, him. Stumbling backwards, you just about trip over your own feet as Dabi shoves forward, strong hands wrapped around your biceps keeping you steady. The sharp edge of the small rosewood dining table digs into your lower back, Dabi swallowing your resounding yelp as he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth and tugs, large hands finding your waist and squeezing before he hoists you onto its surface, using his hipbones to force your thighs open.

You nearly topple over from the power, from the urgency, hands flying out behind you and grappling against the table’s surface to keep you sitting upright as he heaves and pushes and leans against you, motions knocking sparkling crystal glasses and fine porcelain plates off the top.

The sound of shattering glass and cracking china mingles with the gurgling and garbling of the man who lay a few feet away on the floor, suffocating on his own blood. It creates such a beautiful symphony, intertwined with Dabi’s ragged breaths and your broken moans, with the ruffling of clothing and the screech of the table legs against the gleaming hardwood floor. And it’s desperate, and needy, and messy, teeth clashing and clacking together violently, saliva dripping down chins as tongues rub and glide and lick, hands pawing and gripping and tugging and ripping, the delicate material of your silk Dior dress practically turning to ash as his fingers materialize through it, tearing it to shreds.

“Off, off, off, I need this off,” he’s growling against your lips as his hands work, a low whine getting caught in your throat as you nod frenetically.

Yes, yes, yes, you’re whimpering, your own little fingers helping him destroy the silvery fabric, eager and anxious to rid your body of the bothersome garment.

A guttural groan, deep and dark and inducing a fluttering in your tummy rumbles in his chest as his eyes roam over your body, clad in the daintiest white lace.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, y’know that,” he’s mumbling between sharp bites to the flesh of your neck, fingers snapping the clasp of your bra, breaking it in one simple motion. “A fuckin’ angel, that’s what you are, baby. My very own angel,”

Rough palms slide down your torso, slow and purposeful as they trace, feel, knead the dips and curves, planes and contours of your body, slender fingers pausing to play with the elastic of the garter belt adorning your waist, holding up your lace-trimmed thigh-highs which have begun to tear, then hooking in the waistband of your thong.

His cock grinds against your inner thigh, hot and hard and throbbing as it strains against his trousers, digits toying with the lacy elastic, twirling it between his fingers before he lets it snap back against your skin, the harsh slap! echoing throughout the hotel room.

“Oh, Mister, I want it,” the plead falls from your lips in a shameless moan, high and whiny as your hips press forward in an attempt to grind against him. Slender fingers untangle themselves from the lacy fabric in an instant, gripping your hips to still them, fingertips digging into your flesh. “I need it,”

“Need what, dollface?” his lips brush against your skin as he speaks, teeth sinking into your collarbone a moment later, hard enough to break the skin, a loud cry getting caught in your chest. He sucks on the wound, hard, tongue laving over it in soothing little circles, slowly dragging over the bite.

And it’s a compulsion, a sickness, a fucking disease surging through your veins, infecting your mind with thoughts of him and only him, entire body buzzing with the desperate, pathetic, urgent need for him, for his cock, for his cum.

“Need you, need you,” you’re whimpering out, squirming and struggling a little in his grasp, a warning hiss spit through his teeth as blunt nails nip your skin. “Please, Dabi, please, lemme have it,”

“Have what, baby?” lips curling up into a coy smirk, he pulls back just enough to look at you, finally pushing his hips into yours, a patronizing laugh spilling from his throat as you instantly grind against his cock, impatient and impetuous. “Use your words, Mister wants to hear you say it,”

Scalding heat seeps into your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly, a broken whine of complaint sounding in the back of your throat as you shake your head. “Y-You know,” you mumble. “You know,”

“Oh, come on, baby,” he tuts with a disappointed shake of his head, voice overflowing with condescension. “You act like such a little slut, but as soon as I want you to say what you apparently need oh-so-badly, you can’t? You get all shy and bashful like you’re innocent, or something?”

An arrogant chuckle bubbles up in his chest, a rough palm colliding with the flesh of your ass a moment later. Scarred lips graze your ear as he leans back in, speaking low and smooth, words leaving his mouth in a huff of warm, sweet breath. “You’re being bad, y’know that?”

The huskiness in his tone sends chills pebbling across your skin, a delicate shiver dancing up your spine.

“Please,” you whisper, bottom lip beginning to tremble. “Please, Mister, please,”

“Tell me,” he rasps, taking the lobe of your ear between his teeth and sucking, bruising his name into the sensitive skin. “I know you can do it, doll. What is it that you want? Tell me,”

And, God, it’s so embarrassing, vision blurring with the sting of tears, entire body beginning to tremble from the combined humiliation and lust surging through your veins, his clothed cock still rutting against your core, poking and prodding and so close, you’re so close, two tiny words, just say them. “Your—Your cock,” you almost yelp, blinking back the tears in your eyes as you try to gaze levelly at him, teeth digging into your bottom lip to quell its pathetic quivering. “W-Want your cock, please, Mister, I-I need it,”

“Yeah?” he breathes while he rests his forehead against yours, butting forward a little as his glazed eyes rapidly search your face, pupils blown to hell and lips bitten red, shining with spit. “Where, huh? Down here?”

A finger tugs the flimsy soaked lace to the side, another dark chuckle slipping from his lips as he drags a knuckle up your dripping slit.

“Here?” it presses into your cute little hole, your hips eagerly bucking forward in response.

“Yes, yes, there, Mister, there, please,” you keen, head nodding in almost frantic movements, skull knocking against his. “Please, n-no fingers, want your cock, need your cock, stretch me out, fill me up, I need it,”

And it’s your senseless babbling that does it, bratty and needy and incessant in high broken whines, that snaps the final thread of patience holding him back, and a growl rips from his chest, so violent it vibrates through your own.

The heavy buckle of his belt clinks as hasty fingers fiddle with it, shoving his trousers down his thighs just enough to free his cock.

You can’t help the mortifying moan that escapes your throat the moment you see it, velvety and pink and oh-so-pretty, flushed tip glistening with precum and two thick veins snaking around the shaft like vines.

“Christ,” he groans as he pushes into your cunt, burying himself inside of you in one swift thrust, your nails biting into the hard muscles of his shoulder through the thin material of his shirt as your hole stretches around him, both of you exhaling simultaneous sighs of relief.

It burns and it stings and God, you need more, eyes rolling back in your skull as the sharp heels of your stilettos dig into his lower back, little fingers tangling in white cotton as you try to pull him closer, closer, closer.

“Greedy little brat,” he snarls out as his hips begin snapping, the movement sudden, unexpected, welcomed, a choked cry of his name catching in your throat.

And it’s brutal and relentless, primal and desperate, lacking most of his usual finesse as he pounds into you, cockhead slamming against your cervix with every harsh thrust of his hips, hard enough to move the entire table itself, legs scraping against the floor a little more with each pump.

Inky curls cling to his forehead and temples, the white cotton of his dress shirt becoming translucent as it sticks to his damp skin, highlighting the hard planes of defined muscle that flex with each ragged inhale.

Surging forward, his tongue runs along the inside of your teeth before it drags against yours, slow and heavy, depositing his taste and staining it with the flavour of him, fiery cinnamon gum and smoky Marlboros. Gorgeous, needy little whines break in his throat in time with each strong piston of his hips, muffled by your mouth, and you greedily swallow whatever he’ll afford you.

It’s total sensory overload—he’s all you can see, all you can hear, all you can taste, touch, breathe, hijacking all of your receptors and overwhelming you with him.

It’s building inside of you, deep in the pit of your stomach, scorching flames that glow as blue as his eyes as they rage, climbing higher and higher, licking at your insides and expanding further and further until they finally engulf you, consume you, with their blaze, and everything shatters, body convulsing almost violently around his cock as you cum with a strained cry of his name.

“Fill me, Mister,” you’re babbling, begging, swearing you’ll die if he doesn’t, the flames will burn you to ash if you don’t get his cum soon, voice absolutely wrecked. “Fill me, fill me,”

And he obeys, filling your cute little cunt to the brim with thick, hot cum as his cock pulses, a cracked whimper of f-fuck, slipping past his lips.

His chest heaves as he collapses against you, the two of you falling back against the table’s surface with a thump, his cock still buried inside of you. A soft whine sounds in the back of your throat as you carefully unlock your legs from around him, wincing a little at the stiffness in your thighs.

I love you.

The three words are murmured into your shoulder, so soft you barely hear them, so quiet you’re sure you’d have imagined them had you not felt his lips move against your flesh, not felt his hot breath on your skin, not felt the gentle vibrations in his chest as he spoke.

“I love you,” you respond, voice tender as tiny fingers comb through his dishevelled hair. “I love you,”

He’s silent for a moment, your combined pants the only sounds ringing out among the hotel room, and then he nods—once at first; just a quick, sharp motion, and then again a moment later, with more vigour, more purpose, more acceptance.

Little hands smooth down the damp cotton hugging his back and your head lolls to the side, cheek pressed against the cool wood of the table. A certain type of giddiness—a type that’s sick, that’s twisted, that’s stuffed full of love—floods your body as your eyes connect with those of a dead man, laying in a pool sticky crimson, and God, yes, you love him, you love him, you love him—more than anyone else ever could, more than you could ever love anything else.

1K notes · View notes

llamagoddessofficial · 3 years

Note

what was it like the first time Mc met Skull in the portal Au?

Is it story snippet time? I think it’s story snippet time.

The vent cover was loose.

You’d noticed, as soon as you’d rounded the corner. It didn’t matter that the facility was dark, quiet, deep in one of its night cycles... in the faint illumination of the safety screens and directional arrows left on, you picked up the silhouette of the cover. You were so familiar with the area of the lab around the room you slept in that you probably would’ve seen it anyway... but what immediately made all your attention snap to it was the fact that the glint of sleek metal in the darkness was, in fact, misaligned.

... Sans wanted everything neat. Sans wanted everything right. Red liked it that way, too, but Sans seemed to have the final say. And it showed- the entire facility was neat, angled, symmetrical and impossibly clean. It was so regimented and unnatural that you felt like an outlier yourself; a strange, curved, imperfect biological creature in a space that seemed to bleed robotic perfection from every corner.

... So... something about this one plating... this one vent cover, at a bad angle, tilted just against the grain...

... You were hyperfocused.

You moved over to it, bare feet cat-silent on the warm white floor, crouching down. You weren’t supposed to be out of your room at night, Sans didn’t like you wandering around when he was unaware, powered down for system maintenance and repairs... your fingers sealed around the loosened ends of the vent cover, and with the gentlest of tugs the whole thing came off, leaving a gaping hole in the wall large enough for you to crawl into.

...

It was like you had a fog, separating one half of your mind from the other. Every day in this strange lab was confusing- and when you tried to ask yourself normal questions, like “where am I?” or “how did I get here?” or “why do I have no memories before this place?” your brain supplied you with absolutely nothing. And not only that, it couldn’t even supply you with the concern you knew you should be experiencing... the fear, the panic, it wouldn’t come. It was the most paradoxical and horrible sensation... the feeling of knowing something was wrong, of knowing you should be scared, but something in your head just not letting you access it.

... Maybe that was why the sight of the hole in the wall, the gap in the artificially perfect world around you, made your heart skip in excitement instead of fear. Maybe that was why you normally would have stuck to what was safe and not done stupid shit like going into vents...

... But this time, you got on your hands and knees, and crawled right in.

You weren’t crawling for a very long time; after what couldn’t have even been a minute of moving in a straight line through the smooth metallic system, the dark space opened up above you, more than enough for you to stand up to your full height in. Your eyes were wide, childlike in wonder- unlike the rest of the facility, that at least seemed to try and fake an air of safety, this place behind the walls... every surface around you was dirty, stained and rusty, there were tubes and buttons and tangled wires sticking out of the floor and ceiling, the whole place was lit up with an unnerving orange glow that was leaking through slits in the flooring. The air was filled with a nasty tang, metallic and almost blood-like, heavy and claustrophobic...

... It was like you’d crawled into hell. Like you’d gone from the head of the facility to the entrance of the throat. Another world...

...

As your gaze lowered...

... There was something in the room with you.

The hairs on the back of your neck bristled. Near the other end of the room there was a large, metallic box, most likely containing important wiring of some kind. From where you were standing you could judge that it was about your shoulder height... pretty big.

... But it wasn’t the box that had your attention. It was what it was blocking from your view. A perfectly circular crimson light was peeking out from behind that box... a turret eye, bright and awake and alive, cutting through the murky coloured darkness. And the more you stared, the more you could make out, the more you could see the partially obscured hunched figure attached to the eye that was trained directly on you.

...

“H-hello?” You whispered.

...

“sh-ouldn_t.. be.here.”

... The voice was like nothing you’d ever heard. Deep, deathly deep, you could feel it in your chest like standing next to a speaker- vibrating in your stomach, the palms of your hands, even tingling along your scalp. It sounded... automated, jittering and autotuned and with inflections no human would use, but so clearly with thoughts and feelings behind it, the unmissable edge of somebody who’s cautious, afraid... a downright uncanny mix of machine and man.

“... Should you?” Your voice sounded so... weak. So biological. Your heart was pounding.

... The eye noticeably changed; the dot in the centre became a fraction wider. It took an odd shape, too... from your distance it... looked like a heart...?

A soft, low “... no_.”

“... Then that makes two of us. Right?”

...

The owner of the eye stood up.

He stood slowly, too. And as he did, the box he’d been crouched behind just got smaller, and smaller, and smaller... a beast, made of the facility’s leftovers. Large enough to crush you like a beetle. The dim orange light touched his silhouette to reveal thick tubes, misshapen metal plates, wires hanging off him like cut vines... a gaping cavity in his chest where a half-broken plasma motor was faintly humming and glowing. One of his hands looked vaguely humanoid but the other was just a badly affixed pincer claw... the plate on his face had been haphazardly cut away so his one red eye could see, and a skeletal nose shape had been carved into the centre. Everything about him was asymmetric, uneven, mismatched...

You opened your mouth-

[Bleep!]

...

It floated through the room. A light noise, like a phone notification. You took note of the fact that you couldn’t hear it echoing through the rest of the facility... something that was only heard in the backrooms, perhaps? It was a very gentle little sound, nothing more than a light jingle...

... Except he flinched like a gunshot had gone off, eye blinking out entirely. Immediately, he turned around- you let out a little “H-hey, wait!” and raised your arm but it didn’t stop him. In a few giant steps he’d completely disappeared around a corner, clanging sounds moving so much deeper into the metalworks in such a short amount of time that you found yourself immediately disoriented. How... you were just standing there, how did someone that huge and heavy move so fast?

...

You wanted to pursue. You wanted to chase him deep into the bowels of the lab, down where you weren’t ever supposed to go, where no light would reach... you wanted to so badly you’d already moved a few steps without realising.

... But at the same time, you felt like you’d done enough for one day. Your nose stung from the strange smells in the air, your eyes were straining in the orange darkness... you wanted to go to sleep, back to your relaxation chamber, to rest for now and figure out what the hell you’d just seen.

What the hell you’d just spoken to.

... You turned, and clambered back through the vent. It took no time at all to re-emerge back in the regular facility... back to the whiteness, the cleanliness, the perfect and fake.

...

You had no idea why he’d reacted the way he had to that sound. What did it mean? You trailed your hand along the wall as you walked, making your way through the halls back to your chamber, the floor smooth and faultless under your bare soles. Was it... some kind of warning? An alert system? Was he running toward something, or away fr-

“subject.”

- You almost jumped out of your fucking skin.

You were never sure where Sans’ voice was coming from. It always seemed to just spontaneously exist all around you, disembodied and impossible to describe, surrounding you on all sides as if emanating from the air in the building itself. No matter how hard you searched you could never seem to find any speakers on the cold, unfriendly white walls or floor... just further adding to the confusion and dream-like quality of this whole place. You clutched your chest, taking a little breath, trying to disguise the wild flinch that you’d just experienced.

“Y-yeah?” You said, smooth as always, and totally completely not-startled.

Sans always heard you, no matter how quietly you spoke- and judging by passing comments he’d made he always seemed to be able to see you and your expression. God, you hoped he couldn’t read the panic in your face.

“the facility is in night cycle.” Calm, emotionless, slightly autotuned, as per usual... but a little softer than the norm. “why are you out of your relaxation chamber?”

You glanced up at the nearest camera, a small black orb close to the ceiling with a gently blinking blue light.

...

“I-I can’t sleep.” Was all you could think of.

...

“... perhaps it will be easier to sleep... if you are reclined in a position, in which you can actually sleep. you should return to your chamber.”

“... I’m just walking around.” You kept moving, hoping he wouldn’t think about where you’d come from. “I mean... N-not all of us have a ‘go to sleep instantly’ button. I’m clearing my head. I’m fine, I'm on my way back anyway.”

...

“you’re stammering. your heart rate is elevated.”

Shit. Shit. No, it’s-

“... did you experience a nightmare?”

...

“O-oh. Yeah. Uhm...” You rubbed the back of your neck, eyes drifting down to the floor. “You know about those?”

“i have access to the combined entirety of human knowledge. yes, i am aware of nightmares.”

“W-well... yeah. Yes. I... had one. I’m walking it off.”

... A pause, on his part.

...

“... i can turn the lights back on. if... you’d like to walk around.”

“No thank you. It’ll just make me feel more awake.”

“i see. ... well. i need to complete some more system reboots. i will be partially offline again. if... you need me, just call.”

“Okay. Sure. I will.”

#llama writes #portal au #llama gets carried away: the series #its creepy robot time #its a biggun too! hhehe #feels nice to write again

347 notes · View notes

jadelynlace · 3 years

Text

Ink Drinker / Modern Vikings AU [Ivar x F!Reader], Chapter 6

catch up here!

synopsis: Ivar was only meant to be a friend with benefits, but he caught feelings for his older brother’s best friend, and co-worker: you.

pairing: Ivar x F!Reader

***content warning [PLEASE READ]: this chapter has the after effect of the trauma call, and too many emotions. surgical mentions and medical terminology are in this chapter as well. anything in italics indicates a flash back.

author’s note: I’m so sorry.

“Floki, why can I be left alone?” Ivar asked.

“Because the last time you were left alone you ended up with fifty thousand milligrams of pain killers in your stomach. Now, come here—do you know this?” Floki replied with his fingers taping the photo copied image.

“I drew that.” Ivar said back.

“Yes, you did. Where do you want it?”

“What do you mean?”

“You hate your body so much why don’t you cover it in something you like?”

It is sixteen hours that Ivar is in surgery. His world is dark, nothing but, with pierces of noises that he can recall. But trying to decipher them only makes the surroundings dull, caked in black and muffled with a buzz of an unruly bee hive. There are pokes of pain, he remembers the green light, and he remembers the pot hole he swerved to miss. He doesn’t remember how fast he was driving and the second he was over the yellow line made no difference for the sudden beast of a truck to find him.

Everything below Ivar’s powdered knee caps are reattached. Grueling hours on the table while he’s sewed back together like a monster. Enough time for Hvitserk to get clothes, to get you clothes, to pack a bag for his brother per your request. Even in the presence of clean laundry you can’t take your blues off yet—they’re holding you proper because you just saw Ivar that morning. You two made love in the low morning light, filled with ecstasy, his seed and then he made you eggs with extra hot sauce and hugged you tightly you were sure you stopped breathing. He told you to be safe, baby, like he did at the dawn of each shift and that he would call you when his last appointment was finished, and on his way back from shopping for supplies for the parlor and that you two would make lunch plans. In his speed, his haste to make sure he didn’t miss you before the two tone song of death would sing in the radios, he instead, became the reason it did.

Your chief shows up when you tell him the nature of the emergency. Pulling additional personnel on for overtime and they take the rig out of service and from your hands. Words don’t spare any differences and although he offers you a hug, when you take it he slips you a piece of paper.

“Remember the job you’re doing. And the change you’re making.” He whispers in your ear and you look at the folded sheet. It’s a photocopy of a poorly drawn fire truck with an even worse sketched stick figure, and you had scribbled it when you were five. Back when you met chief for the first time because now you hold the same badge number your father once did.

“If I give you your Dad’s old badge number, are you going to act like a jack ass like him?”

“I can’t make any promises chief.”

“I have a partner in mind for you, you’ll like him. He’s a good kid. A good medic.”

“This good kid got a name?”

“Yeah, Hvitserk. I’ll introduce the two of you.”

This is the call that shapes you as a medic, as a provider, and changes how you see things. This is the call that sends a new person out into the street, whether Ivar lives or not. This is the call that forever holds terror in your heart because he was laying in the back of your ambulance, and that was the one spot you never wanted him to occupy.

Aslaug walks through the doors and she’s already two tissues deep into a soggy mess. Hugging Hvitserk and hugging you and you wish you were meeting this woman for the first time under any other circumstance. Floki thanks you and you don’t quite know why, even though the words fall heavily and un-calming, he still thanks you. And when the surgeon returns before the four of you, you’re the only one that doesn’t stand. But he calls your name because you know him, he was lab staff that tested you for your certifications and he told you that you’ll make a damn good medic one day.

“Remember what I said on the day of your exam?” He asks and you nod, puzzled and impatient looks on the other faces. “You are a damn good medic—you both are.” He adds, eyes jumping from yours to your partners. “And it shows on this call, of all of them.” Hvitserk’s shoulder nudges you and you only nudge him back, perhaps little too hard in your delirious state. “Essentially what we did, was replant the lower portion of each leg. Now, given the extent of his injuries and how his body handles such, I don’t have a clear cut answer for you on his overall mobility. He may need to have screws implanted, he may need prosthetics. He’s going to be in the ICU for the next 48 hours for constant monitoring. We’ll have him sedated so his body can focus on what’s at stake. He’ll need physical therapy for a long time, and he’ll likely be disabled for the rest of his life, given again, how his body handles this. It’ll be a long road. But, like I said—you two are damn good medics and that is the one reason his legs were able to be saved. I will let you know when he’s moved to the ICU.”

You look back at your partner and his face is as blank as yours; influx of emotions just ready to dive from the void but your minds are still churning, still processing all of what boomed from the doctor’s mouth. Ivar’s chance at returning to a normal life was resting in your hands and you two gave the best damn efforts and they worked. The countless hours of dissection, wondering if you’re cut out for this career, these responsibilities, hours of trauma and blood and vomit all fizzle away because you now know that you are. And it just took Ivar to prove it.

When your eyes open again there’s a sharp pierce in your temple, scrunching eyes together and slowly moving, your head rises from Floki’s shoulder and the lights in the ICU have dimmed in the late hour. Impressions stood between his nostrils, falling like petals over his cheekbones, bleeding through split brows and pink flowers through the depths of his neck. His chest sinking and fainting with time, there was a moment of deafening silence when you are looking at his body; seemingly so small under the contraptions. The depths of earth, and the worst hell was seeing him lay on this cot. He’s only sedated now, even though Ivar looked of death, he was still alive under the harvest of wires. The words of how “we’re doing all that we can” do not bring any more comfort, they just take Ivar like a wave rapidly back out to sea. And now you understand how your patients, and their families feel when you speak the same phrases to them. The clinical assessments do not stop a rigorous schedule, motoring for the possible failure. The room is kept warm, and every so often when you will yourself to peek in, you can see the sheen of sweat that’s over Ivar’s forehead, dancing across his chest under the stickers, the monitors. The capillary refill on his toes show promise, and when the nurse says that to her doctor, you find yourself attempting the same motions on your thumb nail. Pressing the pink away and making room for the white, and then in a quick release, the pink swarms back. The ultra sound machines reminds you of the new equipment in your rig as it assess arterial blood flow every hour.

IV bags drip, slow and agonize and the change of wrappings, dressings and cleaning of both the limbs and Ivar himself collect. You spend hours watching the fluid levels sink, his eyes flutter, his fingers in his hand dance and you grow cold because you just want to hold him. To lock him in a steel tower and to constantly remind him how strong he is, because you know the longest road will not come from learning to walk. It will come from Ivar trying to find that he is worthy to live on.

Blackness had retired across your cheeks, wrapping a veil of makeup that melted into battle scars and you could not move if your body depended on it. Aslaug sits next to you; she takes her time wiping the makeup off from under your eyes, the soiled mascara and she’s humming to you. She had been telling you how when Ivar was young, she would sing to him and it would calm him down. How she sang to him in the hospital after he tried to overdose, tubes pumping his stomach as she blamed herself for such wrong doing. How Hvitserk blamed himself because he gave no one a warning cry. And how she’s singing to Ivar now, even though he can’t hear it, because it comforts the three of you as a whole.

When your eyes follow the nurse into the room, you can hear her say something to Ivar and you watch his head turn in confusion. Grogginess and a fog on his brain as she talks to him like it’s a normal conversation; wishing him a good morning, how the weather looks promising for a beautiful day and you wish you had that level of bed side manner. You never get the promising parts of the journey; you get the patients that are coding and in a rush to the life saving team in the hospital. You love the ones who tell you their entire live’s story in the back of the rig on the way to the emergency room, sharing details and calming your mind with how simple, and yet how different every walk of life is. The nurse says something about you, about Hvitserk and Aslaug and Floki, out and waiting and ready to see him when he’s fit. You wave through the glass and there’s the tease of a smirk on Ivar’s face, even in his slightly sedated state. A dastardly, bastard smirk and his hand lifts off the bed slightly, wiggling his fingers back to you. The tears start up again, pounding a sledge hammer through your skull after all of the unruly pressure and messes of crying as your body tries to go numb.

“Where’s my mom?” You hear Ivar say in a voice that muted slightly as the nurse stands in the door way to exit. “Can I see my mom?” And the nurse nods. Aslaug stands and kisses your hair line as she walks into the vicinity, Ivar watching her and you need to back up, you need to walk away from the room, this hall way and this battle. A faint wheeze goes through your chest and Floki catches it first before Hvitserk has a chance to lift his head and open his eyes.

“Let’s walk, dear,” Floki says and his voice is not authoritative but it still demands you to comply as he loops an arm around your shoulder. “Walking can help to clear the mind.” It’s your first time outside in almost three days, and the sunlight burns you like you had been its victim on a sand covered shoreline for one too many hours. The hospital grounds are manicured, they’re neat and arranged with an abundance of flowers and colors in the open air but everything to you still feels so dull and lifeless, pointless and hopeless and walking only churns your thoughts to double, triple in size like a snow ball rolling down a hill.

You’re finally allowed in to see Ivar and you approach slowly, like touching him will seer you suddenly, stain you with a unremovable pattern and you’ll forever be reminded. His blue eyes are dull and groggy when they open, the nasal cannula wrapping his face and your eyes dance over the scurf collecting on his jaw, and the faint bruising, cuts and scrapes on his skin.

“Hey baby,” His voice rasps and you kneel by the bed, tears already on their journeys to streak your tried skin and Ivar’s needle poked, IV covered arm comes to wipe what he can reach. “You were there, weren’t you?” And you can only nod, eyes still damp and you relish in the touch he gives you only if it’s for a second. “You saved my life, baby,” Ivar finally adds and that makes the whimper start again, the choke of a sob in your throat and he tries to quiet you, slithering a quick noise from his lips and you rest your head against the bed, his hand still on your hair.

“I drove the ambulance over a hundred miles an hour,” You finally say and they’re the first words you can use to process the trauma you two had lived through together.

“That’s my girl,” Ivar smiles, speaking with a voice that sounds like sandpaper.

“I love you Ivar—no matter what happens, I love you so much,”

“I love you too, Y/N,” Ivar says and his voice is weaker now and he needs rest. “Kiss me before you go?” He says with eyes scanning your face, and you can’t deny that now. Pressing your lips softly against his, your hands cupping his cheek and you hope it’s not the last kiss you’ll ever get from him. “I’m not going anywhere, baby,” Ivar tells you. “I’m afraid. But I’m not going anywhere,” You nod as he speaks, a forehead against his for a second and his hand is still trying to reach on you where he can. This is the man that would pull the tubes and the wires from his chest if he could, if that would make him get closer to you. “You’re stuck with me,” And there’s a faint snicker after his words, weak and drowned out from the normal tone but you’ll take it after not hearing his voice for three days.

“I’m stuck with you,” You say back with a small smile. But it still doesn’t bring enough hope.

Ink Drinker Tags:

@smileysam13579 @dreamtherapy @heisentwerk @angelofthenightposts @ill-skillsgard @youaremyfamiliar @unbetaedimagines @kathryn-jane @readsalot73 @skrsgardspam @lihikainanea @queen-sarang @anastasiaskarsgard @andmyannabellee @walkxthexmoon @flowers-in-your-hayr @peachyboneless @heavenly1927 @istorkyou @victoria-styles @quantumlocked310 @xbellaxcarolinax @mighty-ragnarssons @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @queen-of-upshur @nanahachikyuu @fandomlifeandeverythingelse @ivarhoegh @a5hl3y5ibley @hashimily @youbloodymadgenius @love-all-things-writing @theanxietyqueen17 @trip2themoon @tgrrose @synnersaint @kataphine

*please message me to let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my tag list. specifications for series/etc. are also welcomed, as well as feedback.*

full masterlist can be found here.

155 notes · View notes

rielzero · 2 years

Text

When you have 1 AM type of Character Gimmick Ideas

So, the eldritch character forms of my persona have this gimmick with their Tendrils being a very specific design choice on the majority of them.

This actually originates from Sal’varis’ design, which was a Cosmic alt to my main persona, originally designed for a Marvel AU Roleplay.

The tendrils.. I used to call them tails, haha. At the time I thought the neck thing was cool because it would be weird to give him actual tails above his alien naked body’s butt. And eventually I became very interested in eldritch themes, so the tendril concept was transferred over to the eldritch designs too. When I made the Seedling, it kinda happened out of the blue? Random inspiration being pretty high. I don’t really remember how exactly I was feeling, but it was fun getting all those details down that it eventually made me want to redo Sal’varis sheet and do a small redesign of some details.

Now the Tendrils originally were just a ‘’He ain’t human, yo.’’ Kinda thing, but they do have function. for Sal’varis, they mostly aid as extensive extra arms, they express his emotions by curling, they help with cosmic energy dispersion, AND they actually help him generate a gravitational field.

I was watching spectacular spider-man on netflix recently and I just always love how our wall-crawler can crawl walls. My main persona kinda does this himself because he can control the law of physics and manipulate a gravitational field.. And since Sal’varis can literally shoot himself into space with flight, what about the Eldritch ones? Mothman does not use his tendrils for anything gravity related, he manipulates light and absorbs it through them. Mothman can fly, he’s just kinda lazy.

So its simple- Since the tendrils actually give them speed when hunting and running like a raptor, they also aid in climbing: They create an electro-kinetic field similar to spidey’s fingertips, and for my character this also specifically manipulate his sense of gravity in the head. This means if he’s upside down, it does not affect him or nauseate him. Funny enough spider-man is canonically still affected by that part of the brain that requires gravitational direction. I keep forgetting what it’s called.. Cerebellum? In Dutch we call this part of the brain ‘’Evenwichts Zintuig’’ Which means literally ‘’balancing sense’’ Basically the Tendrils, by moving not only allow the Seedling and The Bloodbringer to move fluidly and smoothly, they also generate an electric ‘’stickiness’’ so they can climb easily onto surfaces without being bothered by gravity pull or nausea caused by being upside down. So yeah- There’s the thing with the Seedling canonically having a period were he was able to be harmed in the lore in the back of my head... And the removal of his tendrils actually mess with his bodily control. Its kinda like how people say some animals struggle to balance without their tails. The Tendrils were designed to look like spines initially even if they nowadays look more like sharp vines, so the idea is that they are the extension of their ‘’eldritch brain’’ and in a very dangerous shape that can harm you. Since he uses them to eat and suck out bonemarrow from victims... Hehehehehe. So yeah. The Tendrils are part of their spine and brain I suppose- Realistically anatomy wouldn’t work that way- but they come out of the nape of the neck, which is up towards the skull. I thought of this recently, not today. But wanted to write it down before I forget again.

They’re build as hunters, in an eldritch environment were these colors and features are camouflage. Why wouldn’t you want to climb upon humongous alien trees with little to no effort, relocating with ease just to jump down on your prey ready to suck out their bonemarrow?

Hnng. But yeah, the removel of the tendrils would fuck with their ability to walk, or even turn their head around, it makes them sick. ....... Apologies for bad grammar and sentence building, these posts are not made with high effort to fix those things, English is not my first language even if I communicate better with it than my native one. There are rules in writing that escape me at times, and I haven’t tried to write a novel for years now. Hence I stuck to webtoons.

#character concept #original character #monsterboy #eldritch #demonic #eldritch being #character #hunter #masculine #male #writing #male character #oc #ocs #demons #albino #monochromatic

7 notes · View notes

nevertheless-moving · 3 years

Text

Suicidal Misunderstanding XX

Part I - - - - - - - - - - Part XVII - - - - Part XVIII - - - - Part XIX

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

“I want you to understand that what we’re going to ask of you is entirely beyond the scope of duty and therefore completely voluntary. You are more than free to refuse participation, at any point, with absolutely no consequences.”

Deep within the Healing Halls best-kept medical secret, Eights quelled beneath the full might of the GAR’s highest and most lauded Generals. Yeah I’m sure whatever they ask I’m going to want to say no. Honestly, what kind of soldiers have they been working with?

“What can I do to help, sir? Sirs?”

“I know this might be shocking, but we have reason to believe the GAR is...compromised.”

“Sir?”

Eights thought furiously. This wasn’t about the healers who were hiding them, or the Jedi his battalion never received, or the decommissioning he had escaped. This was bigger.

The General Windu spoke calmly, “We suspect that you may have been trained or conditioned at some point without your knowledge to unquestioningly follow orders, orders that would usually be beyond what you would typically obey. With your permission, we’d like to try and activate that order in a restrained environment in order to gain more information, with the hope of finding a way to help the troops resist.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t understand. You’re just going to give me an order and ask me...not to obey it?”

General Koon nodded (General Koon! General Koon and General Windu were talking to him at the same time!). “In a manner of speaking, yes. But it’s possible that the order will do more than that. The only way we believe this could possibly work” Koon glanced to the man at his side. “And we...do believe this threat is real, is if you suffer from some form of brainwashing. Activating it might cause irreparable brain damage. Activating it might damage or kill the parts of you that make you you. Even if it doesn’t- the ideal scenario is we find something- an intentionally designed tumor perhaps- and surgically remove it. And brain surgery also has its own risks.”

Eights swallowed around a lump in his throat.

“And this is something that could be going on with...my entire batch?”

General Kenobi winced. “The entire GAR I’m afraid. Every clone.”

The General of the 212th! Commander Cody’s General was here! Talking to him! Telling him existentially terrifying ultra classified intel!

The trooper stared up from bed in disbelief. If anyone besides three of most respected generals in the entire GAR (not including Buir Ti) was telling him this he would accuse them of bantha crap fear-mongering, if not outright treason. Instead he was just...outraged.

“What would the order make me...us...do?”

Windu took a deep breath. “Attack us. Try and kill the Jedi.”

“I would never.” Eights straightened up even further. “We would never betray the Jedi- it’s- never. We were made for the Jedi and even if we weren’t- you’re the only ones who treat us with an ounce of respect.”

“No one is questioning your loyalty,” the kind Mon Cal healer (whose name he had never asked for fear of getting her in trouble if this ward was ever discovered) said, obviously trying to sooth him. She spoke with heart-breaking earnestness. “The fact that you would never choose to obey such a command just makes the possibility of something forcing you to do so that much more horrifying.”

“How would something like that even get in our heads? The longnecks designed us to serve the Jedi, why... I’m sorry Generals. I didn’t mean to get out of line.”

“No need to apologize. You have every right to be angry about this intrusion, as well as any number of things,” General Kenobi reassured him, smiling sadly. “We don’t know to what extent the Kaminoans are involved with this plot. Not precisely.”

Eights nodded, clenching his one remaining fist. “I’ll do it. Whatever you need from me. I can’t let my brothers have something this big looming over them without any intel.” I’m not exactly front-lines material anymore anyway.

“Are you sure?” Mace Windu’s eyes seemed to stare into his soul. Eights stared right back.

“I am. When do we start?”

It didn’t take long to shave the soldier and connect a number of glowing vital readers to his skull. He was ushered into a chambered observation room with what appeared to be a sfaraday cage hastily built around it.

“Alright, whenever you’re ready.” Bant (Master Eerin apparently, but she told him to call her Bant) said.

“I’m ready, sir.”

“Let’s start off small, see if we can learn anything without fully activating the order.”

General Kenobi took in a deep breath. He looked calm, but Jedi always did. The General took in another breath. Kriff, two deep breaths. That’s Jedi for freaking out, isn’t it? Right?

Fuck.

“Does Order 66 mean anything to you?” General Kenobi braced himself, staring intently at the trooper in his seat.

Eights wracked his brain furiously. Sixty-Six...that was...

“It’s...a little familiar? Sorry sir, I feel like I’ve heard it somewhere but...I can’t recall.”

“That’s perfectly alright trooper, not to worry.”

A Twilek healer he didn’t recognize spoke into a micomphone from the other side of a transparisteel window. “His frontal lobe might be lighting up a little, but it’s nothing abnormal, and not enough to triangulate for anything intrusive.”

After several variations on the same question as well as a number of scans of different ‘levels,’ the questioning escalated to orders, as well an extremely uncomfortable mock fight that he would probably tell his grandchildren about, provided he survived today, and also was allowed to have grandchildren.

Still, Eights couldn’t quite recall ever learning an Order 66 and was starting to relax, thinking the whole thing was some sort of horrible separatist lie.

They left him alone for an uncertain amount of time before returning with-

“Quickdraw?!” Eights jumped up at the sight of his commanding officer arriving via hoverchair, nervously saluting with his left hand.”I didn’t know you were here!”

“Just got out of bacta. My spine’s not quite what it used to be after the blast,” the lieutenant responded wryly. “At ease, Eights.”

“Our apologies again for waking you prematurely,” General Koon said softly.

Quickdraw waved the General off. “I’m honored you did. For something as serious this- well I’d hardly forgive myself if I just slept through it.”

Quickdraw locked eyes with Eights. “I’m supposed to try giving you ‘the order’ now- General Kenobi suspects that as your superior officer, I might be authorized to trigger whatever the hell the longnecks put in our heads.”

Eights swallowed hard. “The longnecks, sir?”

“Who else?” Quickdraw asked in a tone drier than Jakku. He spun in the chair to face General Koon. “How are we doing this?”

After a brief discussion, the troopers ended up on opposite sides of a sound-proof transparisteel divider, an comm channel open between them. Eights plugged his ears and gave the order first. And giving Quickdraw an order was almost but not quite as weird as giving an order that would apparently make him try and kill Jedi.

Nothing happened and they swapped, this time with Quickdraw using a waxy covering to block his hearing.

His lieutenant stared at him straight through the clear divider and ordered him to execute Order 66. This time he finally remembered his training, and realized he was woefully outgunned. Oh well, he was a good soldier.

Eights stood up. The only visible change in his expression was a widening of his pupils. There was no malicious intent palpable in the force- he didn’t even look angry- just determined.

He lunged at the Jedi next to him, only to hit an invisible wall. He threw himself at the barrier desperately while the traitor backed out of the room and escaped. The wall finally dropped, but it was too late, he was locked in.

Sighing, he picked up the chair with his one good arm, slamming it repeatedly at the door frame. Good soldiers follow orders.

On the other side of the observation window, Quickdraw stumbled back horrified, reaching for his ears before hesitating. General Koon softly tapped his shoulder and indicated they should leave.

“I’ve got a location.” Master Che said quietly as the lieutenant was ushered into an antechamber and the activated trooper continued to beat at the door. “It’s a small but clear patch lit up like the festival of lights- I don’t know why it didn’t turn up in scans but...I’m as confident as I can be. Worst case- it’s a small enough area that removing the grey matter shouldn’t...well it won’t kill him. It’s enough to go on for microscapel surgery.” General Koon nodded, then tilted forward, weight falling heavily in his palms on the counter before him.

Vokara rested a hand gently on his back “...I was hoping it wasn’t true as well.”

Master Koon flinched away. “I am sorry and glad to say you do not understand my feelings on the matter. I think...my apologies but I need some time to meditate.”

“Of course.”

Koon rushed out. After a moment Master Windu stepped in, radiating similar distress as Master Koon. Master Kenobi followed, looking grim but also happy.

‘Oh I’m glad Koon isn’t around him right now,’ Healer Che thought wryly.

Perhaps sensing the mood, Obi-Wan sobered.

“I’m sorry it’s just- I didn’t actually see the order get activated. Of course I believed it wasn’t a choice- and I’m obviously not glad that anyone’s will could be taken so easily-”

“You don’t have to explain anymore,” Mace offered quietly. “I can understand why seeing this would be something of a relief, all things considered.”

The Head Healer nodded in agreement before taking charge. “Kenobi, go in with Eerin and help her sedate him. I’ll prepare for surgery.”

“Wait- shouldn’t we try other permutations first? It’s possible that once activated, a clone might be able to order a superior officer-”

“And it’s also possible that if a lieutenant is activated, the entire army will turn,” Mace snapped. Obi-Wan bent his head, chastised.

“Right. Yes. I’ll go- find Bant.”

An extremely long hour later, Master Che returned from surgery. Masters Mundi, Koth, and Yoda had left to and fulfill the other thousand and one duties of a council member not unravelling a Sith conspiracy at the heart of the Republic, while Master Aerdo had been dispatched to talk with Quickdraw as well as some of the other troopers in the hidden Medical bay.

“It’s a chip,” Vokara said grimly. “Native biological material, but clearly a chip. Like you would find in a droid. Far more complex than any slave chip I’ve ever seen, and no explosive component. It would only turn up on a level five brain scan. I didn’t even think to run it before- it’s overly invasive and typically useless.”

The reduced meeting crumpled at the sight of the infinitesimally small object of control, carefully encased in a stasis slide and placed delicately on the conference table.

Proof of Obi-Wan’s future, a future that the group thought they already believed.

“We should get Master Nu,” Adi Gallia said quickly, “We’ll want our top researchers analyzing it as soon as possible.”

Koon nodded sharply. “Agreed.”

The Tholothian Master stood, “I’ll go at once- we should probably keep any mention of this off comms.”

As Master Gallia swept out of the room, Plo Koon wrenched his gaze from the stasis slide to face the healer. “Master Che, what is Eight’s status?”

“Unconscious and restrained, but he should wake up soon enough. It...might not be a bad idea to have another Jedi nearby when he does.”

Koon and Che left the room, taking the chip with them and conferring quietly.

Obi-Wan leaned forward, elbows on the table and face in his hands.

Master Windu exchanged a glance with Anakin.

Finally Obi-Wan spoke, tentatively addressing Bant, “Could it be possible for someone...besides a clone to be chipped? If Palpatine had access to them as a child...”

Bant drew back, gaze flickering to Anakin. “I- we would have to study it more-”

Anakin interrupted, shifting in his seat. ”Master- what did I do?”

“It- it wasn’t you. It wasn’t you anymore that the person who fired on me was Cody.”

Bant exchanged a glance with Mace, before clearing her throat with a soft gurgle. “Perhaps we should leave the two of you alone to talk this through.”

The Mon Cala Healer stood and exited rapidly. Windu exchanged a glance with Skywalker before he left. “Talk through everything, understood?” Anakin nodded.

The door shut, leaving Master and Padawan alone. “I feel like I’m missing more than two and a half days,” Obi-Wan muttered wryly. “I don’t remember you three having a non-verbal communication system consisting of eye-contact alone before.”

Anakin chuckled once then immediately grew somber, picking at a loose thread in the sleeve of his robe. A thousand thoughts were swirling in his head, and he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“I- did I hurt you? Is that- is that why you stabbed me, you thought you were defending-”

“I did what?!” Obi-Wan paled, jumping up from his seat.

Anakin winced. “It’s nothing, that’s actually not important. I’m healed anyway so forget I mentioned it-”

Obi-Wan moaned, stumbling backwards over the fallen chair. “Of force- when you were trying to save me- I had a blade. I cut you down-” He tripped backwards, collapsing to the ground.

“Master!” Anakin lurched forwards, but the older Jedi scrambled back.

“I forgot my spray bottle in there,” Bant whispered outside the door. “Do you think it’s too late to go back for it?”

Mace peered subtly through the small window in the door. “Yes. They’re already on the ground. I think they’re both crying.”

“It’s been less than a minute!”

“Yes.”

“...We should go.”

“Yes.”

Unaware of their muffled audience, the two continued their conversation.

“Don’t- don’t touch me!” Obi-Wan gasped, back hitting a wall. “I don’t- I don’t deserve-”

The young knight reared back, falling from a crouch to his knees, “Is this...about the Tuskens again?

Obi-Wan blinked in confusion. “The Tuskens? What about Tuskens?”

“You don’t...remember?” The air grew cold and Anakin forced himself to continue, “What- what we talked about in the cave?”

“What we- I-” Obi-Wan thought furiously. “...Anakin. What did...what were you apologizing for in the cave? What- what did you think we were talking about?”

“Oh gods.” Anakin paled now, shuffling back.

“What are they doing now?” Bant asked the taller Master.

“They’re taking turns chasing each other back and forth on their hands and knees. They both look like they’re seconds away from passing out or throwing up.”

“I...is this a human thing?”

“No. What? Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know! Do you think this is how they usually talk to each other?”

“I think perhaps they don’t talk to each other, and that’s why they’re like this.”

“Right, right... I really want to hear what they’re saying.”

“Hm. I don’t.”

“Why are you also standing outside the door then?”

“I want to be ready to intervene if they start trying to kill each other.”

“FORCE”

“Quiet!”

“Sorry. Sorry. You think they fought then? In the...other timeline?”

“...It would explain Obi-Wan’s shatterpoint remnants better than anything else.”

“Not to mention the spice.”

“I thought we were politely ignoring the spice.”

“...and then I brought her back to the homestead for burial.” Anakin bowed his head, tears streaming against his will. “I thought...Master I know I can’t fix this but I’m sorry- I already stepped down from my position as General so I wouldn’t be in a position to kill anyone else- I need you to forgive me.”

“Oh Anakin.”

“What? What happened?” Bant asked urgently.

The Master of the Order appeared unruffled in the force and human visible light, but the tips of his ears were heating up in infrared. She stood on her toes to see in.

“Oh- they’re hugging? Seriously? That’s what you’re embarrassed to see?”

“They’re clinging to each other like younglings. It’s undignified for a Jedi Master and Knight”

“Alright that’s it- we’re going. I really don’t think Anakin’s going to jump from crying and hugs to murder.”

Unaware of their newfound privacy, the two inside withdrew from their embrace, still sniffling slightly.

“Thank you, Master,” Anakin said in a shaky tone. “I swear I won’t let you down, I’m going to do better.”

“I know, my padawan, I know. I’m going to be there to help you this time, I’m not going to leave you alone with- well I’m not going to leave you alone.”

Anakin smiled wetly at Obi-Wan’s careful avoidance of Chancellor Palpatine’s supposed Sith alter ego, refocusing on Obi-Wan and making intense eye contact.

“What did you think we were talking about?”

Obi-Wan looked down. “It doesn’t matter,” he whispered. “It- it never happened.”

“Ori’vod, please. You- you mentioned younglings. I did something else unforgivable didn’t I?”

Obi-Wan smiled but didn’t look up. “And i forgave you anyway. Even when I thought your apology was just a fantasy. But it wasn’t, it was real, and- and the people actually are unmurdered so...it’s not worth talking about it.”

Anakin bit the inside of his cheek, gut roiling. “You...really think I might have a chip in me?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes snapped up. “I...don’t know. I didn’t even know that Cody had a chip in him.”

“You just...were suddenly betrayed by everyone.”

“Not...everyone. Most who refused to fall in line were executed, of course, but there were a few senators who stood with the Jedi, secretly.”

A new wave of cold terror passed over Anakin. “What happened with the other senators?”

“Like I said to the council earlier, from what I heard they cheered Palpatine on. Thunderous applause.”

“That’s not what I mean- Padme, Was Padme alright?”

Obi-Wan buried his face in his hands, shuddering.

“Anakin- I don’t know what to tell you,” he said in muffled voice. “I don’t want to deceive you but- things were dark. If I tell you everything now, I’m afraid of what you’ll do.”

Anakin winced. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I’m not...evil. I just...I messed up, and I want to make things better.”

Obi-Wan sighed, and pulled Anakin so they were seated next to each other in a mirror of the false peace a few days earlier. Anakin leaned into his Master’s side, feeling the cold retreat. “You’re not evil Anakin, but what you did to the Tusken village wasn’t exactly a small thing. I- look- Ad’ika-”

Obi-Wan hesitantly placed an arm around Anakin’s shoulder and the cold retreated a bit more.

“If the council accepts my plan, we’re going to have time together over the next few weeks, to talk more about...everything. We’re going to end the war- save everyone. I know the cave wasn’t what either of us thought it was, but it still meant the galaxy to me. I love you, no matter what...and that conversation, what you said. Well, it gave me the strength to go on, to do what I needed to.” Obi-Wan froze. “Not my, um, self-inflected injuries- that’s- obviously that wasn’t your fault-”

“You thought you were hallucinating. I know.” Anakin smiled, feeling honestly amused at the absurdity situation for the first time. “I’m going to mock you for that for the rest of our lives, you know that, right?”

“I look forward to it.” Obi-Wan smiled.

A vise that had been clenched around Anakin’s heart since he broke down the door to their apartment finally relaxed. “You really weren’t trying to kill yourself,” he sighed happily.

“I was attempting to stay alive. Honestly concerned about dehydration. I wanted to stay in the daydream, but I knew I couldn’t. And part of that was because you gave me the strength to keep going. Sorry I did such a bad job honoring that but, well. You know. Thank you, Anakin. For saving me twice over.” Obi-Wan’s voice was utterly earnest, though it was a touch more embarrassed than he was used to after the single day of utter unrestraint.

Anakin’s eyes welled up. “I’ve been- I hated that you would just leave like that, give up-”

“Never Anakin,” Obi-Wan vowed. “I will never give up on you, or this galaxy.”

He twisted so he could throw both arms around his padawan.

“I swear by everything I am I will keep going. It’s... in my nature but gods is it easier with you besides me.”

“Even though i’m a child murderer twice over and once removed?” Anakin joked weakly, clinging desperately to Obi-Wan’s presence.

Obi-Wan shuddered. “Too soon, Anakin. Too soon.”

Part XXI

#star wars #my au #star wars au no 27 #suicidal misunderstanding au #star wars au #starwars

242 notes · View notes

damselofblueroses · 3 years

Text

The Name of the Rose, Chapter 3

Summary: Your study-buddy Doh Kyungsoo comes with you for a long-awaited trip to Tokyo, Japan. There is a tension between you, however both of you decided to build a friendship instead of a relationship.

Chapter Summary: Kyungsoo made a mistake on his delicate relationship with the reader, then he could not find a way of apologizing. Reader made his life harder than he could imagine. They accepted that they mutually have some feelings however they could not name them. Catastrophy begins with Kyungsoo’s acceptance of reader’s interesting and unexpected offer.

Content: Unestablished relationship, AU, Hurt/Comfort, Anger, Slight Violence, Emotional Complications and Healing.

Warnings: Well, the story contains NSFW/Smut, please minors do not continue.

Note: This story was inspired by D.O.’s album, Empathy, the album of 2021 in my opinion. It is an ongoing mini project, I planned to write it as a one-shot when I started, however I realized there are a lot to say about Empathy Era and I cannot stop shut my mouth, or prevent myself from writing… So, here we go.

Chapter Word Count: 5.7k

Series Masterlist

Prettier than Roses

Perhaps Kyungsoo was still punishing himself even after all this time, whether he was aware of his regrets or not. But he was punishing himself, for not being vocal about his feelings for you. He burned for you, he followed you just as a bloody puppy dog tail, but he always kept his heart’s desires in his chest.

He was resisting the urge of confessing, the dire need of being more than a friend for you as he was performing all roles of a friend, but God, he hated his role in your life. Even though he strongly believed that he did not have a chance with you, not even in the slightest, not after he played his role very well, more than he wanted and resulted in being your very dear and close friend. A friend, but nothing more nothing less. He hated so much, if he could, he would change everything in the blink of an eye.

He knew that he had to take you back to the safety of your room immediately. Before he was going to lose his shit. Before he was going to make a mistake. Before he was going to fuck the things up so bad. He was determined to take the cab and keeping you away from himself.

He did not want any distraction, shit he fucking dreamed of ripping that bloody dress off you during the dinner, he did not wish anything but managing to lock himself inside of his room before doing something stupid.

His clenched his fists in order to focus on a different thing. When he saw the cab coming to your direction, he was on the verge of praying.

However, when he turned to you, he just lost his shit.

You were looking at him with you big-doe eyes, a pout on your lips. The city lights were painting you with a dim yellow shine, multiplying your summer rose vibe. To Kyungsoo’s dismay, the wind carried your floral fragrance to him.

He remembered what you asked him.

He remembered what you requested.

Kyungsoo would do it right, he would touch you rightly and correctly, goddamn, he was fucking dreamed of how he could touch you since years. He was not better than the men you went out with, he was fantasizing a lot about you, he felt bad since he did not have your permission, fucking hell if he would ask your permission, but at the same time he knew that he was just helpless when those thoughts about you popped up in his imagination.

Unfortunately, all those dreams were so vivid.

You were like an island to him. A place for self-isolation, a place of happy utopias, a place of loneliness, a place of joy and fruitful ways of living, a place of exile and a place of connection. You were his island, his harbour and he needed to make you his, only his.

Since the day you were asleep on his shoulder in the bloody library, Kyungsoo wanted nothing but you.

Since the day you jumped in front of Kyungsoo out of nowhere with your fucking Cheshire cat grin, Kyungsoo only wished for being able to stick to you till the end. He did not care if he was torturing himself by dreaming of you when he knew he could not have you.

Your scent was too good.

Kyungsoo did not think what the heck he was doing, his mind could not catch his actions. His breath caught in the center of his throat like he was thirsty since ages, he could feel all dryness. He watched himself out of his body, he reached to you and dragged you into the cage of his arms.

Your smell was something else and Kyungsoo was immediately drunk in your scent.

“It is okey, Kyungsoo.” he heard your sweetest voice.

Kyungsoo did not need anything more to hear. The cab just disappeared into the darkness he caressed your face.

“You are so beautiful.” the words he was desperate to say finally fell from his tongue, mingled with the air. Your eyes slightly widened, and he heard your little gasp, that was the nail of Kyungsoo’s coffin. “Goddamn, you are fucking beautiful.”

“Kyungsoo” you literally moaned his goddamn name, and if there was still a kind of sanity left in Kyungsoo’s mind, your moan unconditionally destroyed it.

He kissed you and it took your breath away, both of you.

He kissed you enough to empty your lungs, and made your mind go to mush.

You were the one who broke the kiss in order to catch your thoughts. Your mind was scattered all around. You leaned over to your shaking knees and held them tightly.

“This… This…” you were panting, trying to find an excuse in the book in order to justify the kiss he gave to you.

“This means nothing.” Kyungsoo muttered but he could also reject to his claim with two reasons. First, It definitely did not fell like fucking nothing, and he never want something more than kiss you.

“Well, it means a lot to me.” you could not help but spill the beans. “Where in the hell you learned how to kiss like this?”

“I told you that you never have a proper taste of me.” Kyungsoo tensely chuckled, hell, he was aware of he was doing everything in his not-to-do list, but the spell you put on him made him impervious to anything except you.

“If you kiss every girl like this,” you hesitated to tell what you wanted to say, then you just gave up. JesusfuckingChrist, if he did not want to hear, he would better not to kiss you. Since he turned your brain into mush, he had to listen. “There is no surprise they are chasing you every day.”

“I do not kiss every girl first and foremost.” Kyungsoo’s eyebrows were furrowed. “If they want to chase me, what can I do?”

“And now you are bragging about yourself.” Your mood quickly changed into a less pleasurable and preferrable situation. “Can we go back?”

“Yes, of course.” he nod but you knew that you just destroyed everything was building between you in the blink of eye. You bite your upper lip so hard, preventing you from crying. Not now. Not before you were going to be under your blanket.

That kiss, that fucking kiss, it was all Kyungsoo’s fault.

He gave you a proper taste of himself, and you just wanted to cry, you were deeply sad because of you were not able to have him, you could not have him. He would not come to you as he boldly stated that the kiss meant nothing.

You were angry.

You were sad.

You were disappointed of yourself.

You just wanted to go back to the safety of your room and being able to talk with Chanyeol. He would understand. You knew that Baekhyun would give you a lot of advice in order to seduce Kyungsoo, but you did not want even to hear them.

He told you the kiss meant nothing.

Hell, if you could agree with this shitty statement, you would be lying your ass off.

Fuck off, you bastard you thought. You were fighting with your tears, trying to send them back. You were a big, strong girl and you could control your feelings.

You always were extremely strong, and you were famous for your self-control. You were not going to let Kyungsoo to destroy your inner peace or seeing you in tears because of his fucking rejection. You thought Kyungsoo would do it better, kissing you better, making you feel good, but the only thing he did was dismantling your foolish dreams.

He put you in your place, he gave you a lesson about your place in his eyes.

Nothing.

Kyungsoo could not look at you while you two were in the cab, going back to the hotel.

He knew that he fucked the things up so bad and he could not think a way to claim back from the pit he fell down by himself.

He kissed you, goddamn, it was the best kiss of his whole life, then he just said it meant nothing.

He cursed himself, he wished for the earth cracked like an egg and swallow his worthless presence. He made you upset, that’s why he could not look at your face. He knew what he was going to see, your eyes were going to mirror his mistake.

He lost in the moment, and while he was trying to give you a justification of that kiss, he just irrevocably ruined everything.

When you arrived at the hotel, you paid for the cab without saying a single word to Kyungsoo and directly walked to the inside of the hotel.

Kyungsoo was dying to grab you and apologizing on his knees, but your face telling him not to dare touching you.

He did not enter the hotel, he just sat on a chair in the garden. He was lost in his self-hatred, dreadful overthinking that had his skull feeling stuffed and a lifeless gaze washed all his feature.

He expected nothing but long days where the minutes bled into hours, hours into days and the inability to differentiate one day from the other. He mentally prepared himself for more than self-hatred, he knew that depression, isolation, and numbness were on their way to finish him, to eat him alive. Your face expression when he told you it was nothing was carved behind his eyelids, whenever he closed his eyes.

Kyungsoo was ready for flashbacks and nightmares, disturbing recollections that would render him for the following days.

Comatose, Kyungsoo thought. It was going to be a comatose for him.

How could he think he was better than those guys you went out? They did not destroy your expectations; they did not blend your self-confidence as Kyungsoo did in the seconds.

You did not know but there was a reason why Kyungsoo hopelessly tried to spare you from his kiss. You did not know but Kyungsoo heard a conversation between you and Chanyeol for once, when Chanyeol was telling that Kyungsoo was different for you, Kyungsoo was caring you more than anyone else, Kyungsoo was always there for you before anyone else just like he forgot how to shut his mouth as he continued. Chanyeol was the one who told you about Kyungsoo’s feelings.

And you just giggled of disbelief as Chanyeol went on about everything Kyungsoo wanted to tell you. Open your eyes to the facts.

You just laughed at his feelings coming from Chanyeol’s mouth and you told him it was impossible, you declared that there was nothing could be happened between Kyungsoo and you. You told Chanyeol, Kyungsoo was a good guy, but you did not think he was for you.

He wanted to save you from an unwanted situation which Kyungsoo could put you in by kissing you. It was sake, telling him to teach you, and Kyungsoo stupidly fell for it.

Till now he preferred to hide in the shadows, dancing around the subject than jumping onto it.

But this logic that his mind was following did not change how much he hated himself right now.

He had no regrets on kissing you, god knew that. He still could taste your velvety lips under his lips, he knew that moment was going to live with him till the end of his life. That kiss was grounding but inebriating, he was feeling sane while bringing both of you to the edge of insanity, your lips burned him like a fire.

When you touched him, you marked his skin, your touch stayed on him.

But he hated himself so much, enough to made him feel suffocating.

He found himself standing up and heading to your room before he could understand what the heck he was aiming for. The deep rumble of his chest that he could almost feel vibrate through the air as he walked through the way coming to you, helped him to prepare himself to face with you.

What could it be? he asked to himself. You could tell him get the fuck off, but he was not going to obey to your wish this time.

It was going to be a rumbling, he knew your possible reactions when you were sad, Goddamnit, you were extraordinarily upset with him, but he did not let this fact to disheartened him. He was not a coward; he was going to fix his mistake.

Kyungsoo raised his hand to knock your door, but before doing it, he heard your voice. As he thought, you were talking with Chanyeol or Baekhyun, he was not sure. He came closer to the door as much as he could, and did not give a shit to the rightful concern what if someone saw him while he was leaning on a single woman’s room like a stalker pervert?

He did not care.

He only cared for hearing your words after the incident.

Your voice was cracked, and he could not hear you properly, your voice was coming and going like a goddamn ancient radio. He could hear some words but there was no consistency or no chance of building a logical sentence of your words. He could perceive his name, with couple of words which Kyungsoo hoped not to be used with his name again, some broken lines on how disappointed you were, and he caught your oh-god-fucking-damn-it type of annoyance against Kyungsoo.

He gave up and knocked your door.

Twice.

There was no sign from you, and Kyungsoo was tired of patiently waiting.

He did his waiting. Seven years. In a fucking friendzone he put himself in.

He aggressively knocked on your door, and he did not stop until you gave up and opened the door.

“Shit.” he cursed when he saw your face. “You look horrible.”

Oh really? you thought.

After leaving Kyungsoo, you did not spend a single second to lock yourself in your secure and lonely room, then you just pressed the right numbers to make a call. Chanyeol was there for you, he listened your rambling and gibberish without a sign of inconvenience. He let you to curse Kyungsoo as much as you wanted, he joined you for the little party of swearing at Kyungsoo and he was generous on his vocabulary.

But you cried even when Chanyeol managed to put a broken smile on your face by telling you maybe Kyungsoo was not interested in girls, otherwise he had to be on his knees for you.

You cried for Kyungsoo more than anything made you cry till now.

Your sadness caught you off guard, even you did not expect to be upset with him like this, your feelings were like a blunt blade, it was turning in your heart over and over, using your own blood to be sharp again, then continuing its spinning in your heart. Pain made you numb; you could do only cry.

Your eyes were puffed and literally red. Your cheeks were red. Your lips were red.

Of course, you looked goddamn horrible as Kyungsoo, this asshole, proudly observed. Applause time for him for his greatest deduction.

“Nothing can escape from your eyes, Sherlock.” you murmured. “Couldn't you pay your attention on the fact that we already passed the midnight? Why are you here?”

“May I come in?” Kyungsoo kindly asked but something in his eyes were telling you to be on your toes and careful.

“No.” You congratulated yourself because of your refined answer. You were an idiot for sure, instead of playing with him and showing that he had no impacts on you, you chose to manifest how much you were broken by him. Good for you.

Transformation started in his eyes. Those chocolate brown and very warm eyes, reminding the deer’ beauty, perfectly shaped as almonds turned into crescents, and it was a bloody indicator of his mood was shifted into something dangerous. He was always quick to switch the moods, but he had never looked intimating at this level. You really could not believe what the heck he did, he just grabbed your fucking wrists, dragged you inside of your fucking room without your permission and pressed you on your fucking wall.

“Kyungsoo, fuck off!” you hissed at him, trying to save yourself from his iron grasp, swallowing hard.

“Tell me just one thing and save both of us from misery.” he whispered; his low-pitched voice gave you goosebumps which you really tried to take no notice of, but your traitor body willingly has been taking everything if the giver was Kyungsoo. “Why did you cry?”

“What if I do not want to tell you?” you lifted your chin, you needed to distance yourself from him, he already ruined the progress just a couple of hours ago. His statement clearly taught you whatever your friendship was not the best way to build a new kind of relationship, and you strongly opposed to be friends with benefits or those kinds of agreements. You would not go for them, you wanted Kyungsoo as your lover, not as your fuckbuddy.

“Do me a favor,” he enunciated each syllable and moved his right hand to your shoulder, pressing you into wall just like he wished to ground you right there. “Tell me.”

He leaned on you, his palm made contact with your shoulder, sliding up to your neck and staying there. His touch was heavy again, hotter than before.

He was goddamn close.

When you tried to save your body from him again, Kyungsoo’s hips rutted against yours.

Well, now you could feel more than before.

“Stop fucking moving!” he grunted, surprising you with the sudden and macho voice tone. He looked like very uncomfortable. “You and your idiotic behaviour!”

“If you do not like it, let me go!” you hissed, but you felt a knot was forming in the pit of your stomach. You were afraid of his impacts on you, especially after that fucking kiss. He had you over there as melted like a chocolate under heat.

Even while you were fighting to free yourself, your eyes unconsciously gravitated along his features, all you could do was thinking of him all the time you had spent with him. Those piercing brown eyes and those plump, smooth and heart-shaped lips that are always set in a witty line, the smallest moles and a couple of freckles all around his tiny nose and rosy cheeks, his long eyelashes, and that bloody soft hair of him, caused you to desire running your fingers through.

He was driving you fucking crazy, and you hated his power on you.

“Oh, believe me if I do not like even your idiotic side,” he leaned forward, closed the little proximity between your bodies and you felt the air left your lungs with your sanity. “I would not kiss you, damn woman.”

You were lost for words, you were run down, the only thing you could voice was an exasperated huff. Kyungsoo stared at you, refusing to loosen his grip around your body, instead he held you for his dear life and his gaze was nothing but absolutely penetrating.

You turned your head, trying to find something else to fix your eyes upon while you had been seeking the meaning of his words about liking your idiotic side.

Did he convey his feelings? Did he really stand for liking you, if he liked even your idiotic side, did it indicate that he liked all of you?

If he kissed you because he liked you, did that kiss imply more than nothing for him?

If yes, why he told you it meant nothing?

“Look at me.” his left hand cupped your face gently, on the contrary of his eyes, burning with fires, you could see the red was invading chocolate brown circles. “Do not avert your eyes.”

You blinked and shut your eyelids tightly. Suddenly, the silence in the room was more palpable than it was before, drowning both of you in a foggy swamp of riddles.

You were pissed off, broken and now, thanks to his complicated words, you were more than confused.

Kyungsoo was pissed off, broken and now, thanks to your complicated reactions, he was more than confused.

“If you were so keen on trying to convince yourself that I meant that kiss was nothing,” his jaw flexed, and his eyes were clouded. “I was trying to make amend for my fault. I should have not kiss you.”

You shivered, despite it was a very hot summer night, and Kyungsoo’s warm body made your temperature skyrocketed.

“Why?” you asked. “You do not make any sense, Kyungsoo.”

“Look, who is talking?” he rolled his eyes back. “You never make any sense about our fucking relationship since the beginning. I told you many times, pay your attention.”

You should be warned to follow the signs. Collect them and find the hidden meaning. Kyungsoo was sure on his patience, he could wait for you as much as you wished, he could give you time as much as you needed, but he had no patience to hide in the shadows anymore.

He knew that his constant shifting between one side to the other surprised you, hell it surprised even himself, he did not think about any of this, but since that kiss happened between you, since Kyungsoo got a taste of you, since he could touch you… Everything was changed.

He did not want to let you go.

He could not let you go.

He was aware of you did not belong to him, maybe you did not perceive Kyungsoo as a man, but he could not be your friend anymore. He wanted to tell you how much he adored you more than before. He wanted to kiss you more than before. He wanted to see your face when he woke up, he wanted to cuddle you when he was sad, he wanted to lean on your shoulder when he was broken, he wanted to cook for you, he wanted to sing for you, he wanted to make you happy, he wanted to make you feel good, he wanted to be your harbour to shelter from the stormy seas, your rock to build your home.

He wanted to live his life with you. He wanted to share even the smallest detail of his fucking life with you.

“I told you that I even like your idiotic side,” he clarified. “And you still avert your eyes from me.”

That ignited the fire of your soul.

“Hell, excuse me for my idiotic side but if I remember correctly and my memory never fails me, I told you that it was fucking okey just before you kissed me, after I shared my catastrophic first kiss experience with you,” your voice was not trembling anymore. It was firm, fuelled by your anger. “Then, all you could say was that kiss stands for nothing. What do you expect me to say?”

“Even if you are upset with me, talk to me!” he frowned. “I ask nothing but your words, truly and fully. Is this too much to expect? Hell, you were the one who said that I am a good guy but not made for you, why you are so upset with me because I made an excuse for that kiss?!”

It was your turn to froze. Kyungsoo finally let you go, he stepped back, and his arms crossed over his chest, but you froze to death. You could not move but looking at his unchanging expression like an idiot he just named it correctly.

“Yes,” you took a deep breath. If Kyungsoo said this to your face, it meant that he wanted you to face a revelation. He wanted you to know that he heard your words about him, the words which you vividly remember as you said them to Chanyeol without knowing that Kyungsoo was able to hear them. If he heard them, you owed an explanation to him. Maybe you were just searching an excuse in the book, but you gave up. You were going to tell him what you think of him. “It was me. I still have the same observation. You are damn good for me, if I would say the opposite, I would be lying my ass off.”

Kyungsoo’s face went blank.

What did you say to him? He wanted you to talk truly, however right now he was nothing but almost regretful what he had said to you. Kyungsoo hoped for you did not mean that for real, he wished it was just a gibberish.

Were you a goddamn fool?

He knew the low level of your self-confidence, but your statement was nothing but the shittiest one he has ever heard.

“What?” he murmured. “You think I am good for you?”

“Yes.” you nod. “Look at yourself, Kyungsoo! You are damn good at everything you do, you are clever, hard-working, funny, firm and always trustable, I even do not go for your physical quality, it is fucking obvious, you are handsome as fuck. Of course, I could not say anything different, you were not made for me.”

Suddenly, your hands became the focus of your attention, you fixed your eyes onto them instead of looking at Kyungsoo, who took his time before registering and recording your words in his brain. Then, his hands started were smashed together unintentionally.

“And during all this time,” he heard his own voice trembling, as if being blown by the brute force that he was trying to contain inside of his chest. “I thought you are the cleverer one.”

“Ha?”

“I really do not understand why I think you can follow the signs I have been giving to you like a bloody idiot.” he could not help but growled at you. “In my opinion, you are the only girl who deserves to feel fucking good, and if I can be that one to bring you to such a high, I would willingly do it.”

“I do not un-

“Because you do not want to see!” Kyungsoo could not control himself but go ballistic because of your blockheadedness. How could a woman be clueless at this level? What should he do, continue to scream at you about his feelings or should he bring a testimony that was approved by lawyers?

Didn’t you understand how much he cared for you?

Didn’t you see his almost tangible desires for you?

Everyone could sense his love for you, but you could fucking not, and Kyungsoo was burned out because of your total ignorance.

“Are you,” your whisper reached to his ears. “Are you interested in me?”

Kyungsoo decided that, on the contrary of your academic success, you were literally a retard.

“Why do you think I follow you everywhere like I am your dog tail?” he clenched his fists. Quickly, he walked towards you, but stopped just in front of your trembling body. “What do you think of me, do I look like a lost puppy?”

“No.” you were offended by his words. Dog tail? Puppy? He was not that much cute at first place with his level of being witty and shitty! However, after one look at him, you were not sure anymore, even he was clearly pissed off, he was fucking gorgeous and cute. “Shit, Kyungsoo, you are annoying.”

“You are the damn annoying one.” Kyungsoo started to question himself, he wanted nothing more than to fuck this attitude out of you right there, in your double sized bed. “All I did was finding an excuse which can make you relaxed with me, and I accepted my failure. I should have neither kiss you nor lie about it. But I did, and I apologize for my misbehaviour. Let’s look at you, you are just asking goddamn questions and ignoring my answers. Who is the annoying one?”

You whipped your head around; your eyes were glistering with a layer of tears, forming in the edges.

“Are you interested in me, or not?” you cried. Kyungsoo glanced up, he registered the sudden stiffness in you, and how you consciously averting your eyes away from him. He remembered that same stiffness invaded your posture when you wanted to learn what happened to your dad while he was in emergency, or you were hopelessly driving into Busan when you received after the news of Chanyeol’s motorcycle crash.

He finally understood what you needed to hear.

You wanted his words.

You wanted him to say those words.

“I have always been interested in you.” he gave up. Your heart jumped into your throat at his blunt answer, you did not know how you feel about this information, having a place in Kyungsoo’s head was something you always hoped for, but never believe it could be real. Half of you thrilled with a delicious excitement, while the other half wanted to run away because of fear.

What if he was going to fuck around with you then ditch you?

What if he was going to try being with you then decide to leave you?

What if he was going to pour happiness into your life, you even could not dream of, then disappear?

Your dilemma was in your head. Carved into your mind, body, and soul.

Your biggest fear was losing Kyungsoo.

“I hate this eerily silence between us.” Kyungsoo cut you off before you could dig yourself into a deeper hole. How could you tell him he was everything and more you wanted from this life? How could you make him to understand how much you devoted yourself to him unconditionally? You watched him with darkening eyes, darkening with your fears, with your concerns, with your worries. Your eyes were dark as the pitch-black. “I am sorry to disturb you. See you tomorrow morning if you want to have a breakfast with me.”

Every layer of privacy and secrecy that you desperately tried to build till now in order to keep your weakest point from him were dissolved when he directly headed to the door. You did not even realize but threw yourself in order to stop him.

“Do not go.” you let the tears fall then and held his toned arm for your dear life. You could not let him to leave you behind, otherwise you would be damned. “Do not leave me, before you really have to do.”

“Why should I have to leave you?” Kyungsoo turned back to you. You saw the hesitation of his moves, he wanted to caress your face, but he was holding himself. “I cannot do it, even if I want to. You are too precious for me, bookworm.”

Your face was softened by his rich baritone voice and the nickname he gave you. Calling you as a bookworm was reserved to Kyungsoo, he beaten the shit out of even Baekhyun when he also called you like Kyungsoo.

“One day you will, Soo.” you were lost in your nightmares, mulling over horrendous scenarios your subconscious had been giving you in a fucking row. “One day someone will steal you from me, one day you will fall in love with a girl and leave me behind.”

Something told you that you should have been keeping this logic to yourself, but you were extremely emotional at the very moment. Your expectations, dreams, fears, hopes, everything was mixed up and conjoined with the amount of sake you just consumed.

You were talkative tonight, something very rare for you and Kyungsoo was happy for that. Even though you had been going through a hell of a night. He was also oversensitive, his mind was clouded by his own dreads and doubts, however when you sharply deducted on his not-existed-because-of-you love affairs, he could not help but chuckled.

“First, I have to see the girls.” his throat was like a sandpaper as he swallowed. The rosy tint on your cheeks was obviously growing, invading your skin, and heading to the south. He hardly took his eyes off your neck and the rest of the direction. “Excuse me, but I have eyes only for you.”

“You cannot say that!” you winced, by fanning your face with your hands.

“Then enlighten me.” he defended himself. “How should I say it? Sorry, but I believe in monogamy.”

Your knuckles paled as your grip around his arm tightened.

How could you name the hunger that driving you into crazy? How could you tell him even looking at him, even if you have not a single clue what was going to be happen, riling you up? You supposedly liberated yourself from Kyungsoo, but tearing his gaze away was impossible for you.

You wanted him. So, fucking bad.

You wanted his hands. His lips. His body.

You wanted his soul. His heart.

You were starting to pull him to yourself without noticing, Kyungsoo’s eyes were widened when you took the initiative to your hands.

Literally.

“Do you remember what I asked to you?” you whispered.

“About?” Kyungsoo exhaled with your unexpected shifting between moods. He did not trust his voice, not now, not when you were so close to him, enough to feel your breath on his lips.

His throat was like the deserts of Egypt right now.

“About teaching me.” you murmured into his fucking ear. “When it comes to touch someone?”

“Yeah.” he swallowed very hard, biting a tsunami of cursing back.

“Will you teach me?” your hands wandered around his arms to his chest and stopped there. “For the future references?”

“If I were you,” he groaned. “I would not think about future references.”

You rolled your eyes, taking your hands back off his body. Kyungsoo caught your hands and put them back on his chest, while he was aggressively dragged you into his arms.

“I am going to teach you.” his eyebrows were furrowed. “How you should be touched.”

Kyungsoo was never going to forget how your eyes glowed after his words with excitement.

He was not sure but it seemed like you wanted him almost like how he wanted you.

Desperately and fucking needy.

He carried you to the bed.

64 notes · View notes

poptod · 4 years

Note

hey there ☺ do you think you can write a soulmate au with ahk where you hear each other's thoughts? and ahk thought he didn't have one all these years only to hear you while he's at the museum and then you try to find each other?

notes: wonderful idea. also i noticed my method of doing requests is do it almost immediately after i get it or wait four months before i get it done so sorry about that, but i hope you enjoy this!

WC: 1.5k +

There are many versions of yourself, all talking over one another in an attempt to control your mind for once. Sometimes it's hard to decipher if your actions are the result of someone in your head tugging you in a different direction. There is the person you believe yourself to be––what you imagine you come off to people as. There is also the person you truly are, and what people actually perceive you to be. So despite there being several voices, they are all reiterations of yourself in some way.

Except for one.

One of them speaks in a voice that is not your own, in a voice you've never heard anywhere but echoing in your skull. Since you despised asking questions as a child, it took you until you were twelve to realize that no, you weren't insane. It was someone who would love you, who had the potential to grow close to you simply by the strings of fate. Your soulmate.

Someone who gave you nightmares for years.

'Get me out of here!' He would scream, sending your heart pounding while you tried to sleep as a child. 'Please, please, I need to see the stars,' he sobbed, 'I did nothing to deserve this!'

Once you grew old enough to deal with the screaming beyond what you thought was a schizophrenia disorder, nighttime brought a deep sadness to you. For some reason, your soulmate would never think during the day––which was incredibly odd––and during the night, the only time he was awake, he would scream and beg and cry until you could feel the hoarseness in your own throat. For your entire childhood, you stared up at your ceiling at night, eyes burning as you tried to calm the screaming.

It was all you could think about, as though the screams had muted your connection to him and strengthened his connection to you. Every now and then you would try to think, try to calm him down, but he never quite heard.

Then, one evening in winter, it stopped.

You were lying in bed, rolled onto your side as you once again listened to the man's yelling thoughts. But then he stopped, and both your hearts skipped a beat, followed by an incredibly clear thought: Thank the Gods, blessed Ra and Khonsu.

That evening you darted out of bed, jumping to your desk where you typed in with slamming, lightning-fast fingers, "khonsu." Ra you already knew––everyone knew Ra, and by connection Khonsu would probably also be a God. The only question you were left with was why you were hearing the thoughts of someone who worshipped Egyptian gods two thousand years after that civilization died.

As you continued your research, his thoughts continued.

They took my tablet?

Who are these people?

This man has no idea what he's doing, does he?

Why is he screaming at the Hun?

He's got my tablet.

About halfway into the night you gave up on your research, instead listening intently to the thoughts. With you entirely absorbed in your soulmates thoughts, you had little room to send your own words to him, which unbeknownst to you, would've reached him if you tried.

You weren't quite sure what to think of him for the following couple weeks. At first your assumption was that he was the insane one projecting his insane thoughts to you, but his quieter thoughts led you to believe there was something different in him. It is true what they say––geniuses are often tortured minds, and though you wouldn't classify your soulmate as a genius, he was clearly a knowledgeable philosopher of sorts.

He thought often of the human condition––the rise and fall of civilizations, the cruelty and the mercy of men that began the stories of bloodstained battlefields. Most of the time you just listened. Now that he wasn't screaming, his voice was soft and more of a comfort than you ever thought it would be.

Sometimes he got very sad. After a while you learned to not question the logic of his thoughts. Instead, you simply tried to understand what he meant, accepting him for where he was in his life.

I miss my brother.

I wonder what happened to my best friend.

I didn't think I would ever be this far from the Nile and the sun.

I abandoned my people, didn't I?

If only I could find where my sister was buried. Would that even make me feel better, though? What closure will I gain from seeing her tomb?

... if she even had one.

There's a melody going on in his head, right now. Something that could put you to sleep if you weren't currently working. It's nothing you've heard before, that you're certain of, and judging by the tone of it and your soulmate's previous thoughts, it sounds Egyptian.

Despite the museum being closed, most of the lights are still on. One of the night guards had a very strange insistence about it, but wouldn't tell you why. Oh well––questioning people is above your paygrade, since you aren't getting paid for this. It is volunteer work. Not that you mind; ever since realizing the voice in your head was Egyptian, you've gotten a palate for history. Currently, however, you're dealing less with history and more with files. The curator at this museum asked you to sort through the records of all the different exhibits that are here, or were once here at some point, which made a very large collection. Massive, actually––you're only sorting through A, and it's going to take you a couple weeks.

He's humming softly to himself. The tune carries into your work, and you allow yourself to enjoy his voice as you sort, going over every record to look for exhibits no longer displayed. For this you have a chart in your other hand––a log of all the exhibits currently public in the museum.

Although you're supposed to be concentrated on your sorting, you find yourself more entranced with the melody in your head, and the clearest thought that rings in your mind is, 'that is beautiful.'

The humming stops. Dead in its' tracks, about to reach its' peak, and it stops.

'My mother sang it to me,' he says, 'before I slept as a child.'

"Holy shit, are you talking to me?" You say out loud with bulging eyes before you can stop yourself. The moment you realize what you said, a bright blush coats your cheeks and you slap your hand over your mouth. But he doesn't seem to mind––actually, he laughs, and it's sweeter than summer sugar.

'You must be my heart,' he says in an astounded tone, and you can practically see his dream-filled eyes. You sit puzzled for a second before replying.

"Do you mean your soulmate?"

'Well... I suppose yes, that could be one of the names,' he says, and it only adds more onto the lists of questions you have for him.

"What is your name?" You ask first, hardly realizing you're still talking aloud to yourself.

'My name is Ahkmenrah," he tells you, and it takes less than a millisecond before the dots connect in your head. Instantly your eyes dart to the sheet in your hand, and near the top of the list, there it sits––Ahkmenrah.

'I know this must be confusing for you,' he continues, 'but I am from another time. While I lived then, I dreaded that I didn't have a heart, as I heard no voice. That fear has carried on into my next life, but now that you're here –'

"Oh I'm here alright," you say, unbelieving of both your circumstances and your unblinking acceptance at them. "I'm, like, two floors below you."

"WHAT?!"

A voice from above catches you, but as the same word rings in your mind, you realize with great glee that he instinctively yelled 'what' without thinking. You laugh, and the thought of your laughter reaches him.

Less than a minute later you can hear footsteps pounding down the stairs, landing at the closed door before the handle wrenches open. You quickly move to your feet, facing the man whose voice you know so well, who haunted your childhood and enchanted your adulthood. You can barely hide the grin that spreads across your face––whatever magic has brought you to this moment, you thank everything you can for it, your attention ensnared by the soft features of a 4,000 year old Pharaoh.

He pauses once he enters the archive, eyes finding yours immediately. His mouth hangs open slightly as he scans you, absorbs every feature on your body and face, and barely moves even to breathe for a good minute or two.

"I – I'm sorry, I j – I just realized I didn't ask your name," he says quietly, a small, ginger smile growing on his lips.

"(Y/N)," you say, but you don't quite know how your brain worked to make the word. You certainly didn't consciously choose to speak.

"I have waited thousands of years for you," he says, impossibly softer as he steps forward. He's really quite harmless, you realize––for all the fear you had of him as a child, he's nothing but a sweet-faced boy.

"Was it worth it?" You ask, and your voice cracks ever so slightly.

"My heart," he breathes out, affection lacing his name for you, "it was worth every second."

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum #rami malek

319 notes · View notes

fruityutas · 4 years

Text

𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝗼𝗼𝗳 ⊱ 𝘄.𝘆𝗸

stoner!yukhei x reader

not proofread

genre ~ fluff, smut, highschool!au, richboy!yukhei

wc ~ 4k

synopsis ~ yukhei is your school’s weed dealer. he and his 6 friends all smoked in the back lot of the school every day after third period. you avoid his group because you don’t want to be seen as a trouble maker, but when you’re paired up with yukhei for a science project, you can’t exactly stay away for long.

warnings ~ cursing, drug use, sex with a condom

science was probably your least favorite subject. that and you were forced to take it at 9 am every day. what’s even worse is that you had to be in the same period as yukhei, or xuxi, as he liked to be called. the boy was as loud as he was tall. and oh my god, he was tall. luckily, he sat on the opposite side of the room from you. the teacher had to place him there because he was always playing around in the back.

you’re tugged out of your thoughts when the teacher finally stands up from her desk and starts talking about a partner project. she begins assigning partners, and everyone starts complaining. she hushes them and keeps setting random people together. “y/n and yukhei.” the laugh that comes from one of his friends, xiaojun, makes you roll your eyes. you turn to see them both looking at you, and yukhei gives a friendly wave, to which you return an awkward one. the teacher tells everyone to pair up with their partners and brainstorm ideas for the project. you make no moves to yukhei, so he just comes to you. you get out a pencil for him because you knew he didn’t bring one. he accepts it with a knowing blush on his face. “thank you.” you nod and begin writing ideas in silence, but yukhei keeps up talking. “so what are you thinking? i guess you’re not the speaking type huh?” you shoot him an incredulous look.

“no, i just don’t talk to you because all you do is skip class to go smoke.” it was a harsh response but it was the truth. his smile faltered and an awkward laugh slipped from his lips. “i- that was rude of me, i’m sorry yukhei. i just don’t want to be the only one to actually do the work on this project.” he nods slowly while keeping the eye contact. the more you look at him, you realize that he is quite attractive. his face is so symmetrical and his lips, god his lips. they look so kissable, soft and plump. you get so lost in thought you don’t realize he was trying to continue the work for this project.

“y/n, are you ok?” he waves his hand in your face, snapping you out of your dreaming. “you zoned out there for a second, did you get enough sleep last night?” “yes yes my bad, i just… was thinking.” the blush on your face made him laugh a little. “ok, so back to this project, we can work on it at my house since my parents are almost never home, if that's fine with you?” “that’s fine but why are they never home?”

“oh well they go on business trips a lot, ‘cause they’re high ups in the companies they work for.” you felt like his tone was hiding sadness, the fact that his parents were never there to see him or spend time with him must’ve hurt. “well now you have me to keep you company! other than your friends, of course.” the smile that graced his face made you feel warm inside. you exchanged numbers just as the bell for lunch rang, and you sat back to watch him leave with xiaojun.

that afternoon he texted you his address and asked if you could work on the project today, to which you agreed. when you got there, you were not expecting the mini mansion that it is. sure, you knew yukhei wasn’t poor, but his house is huge. you text him to let him know you’re here while you walk up to his front door. he opens it before you can even stop walking. “thanks for coming today, i kinda wanted to get to know you better while we work.” your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “really? i wasn’t expecting that, honestly. i just thought you wanted to get it done quickly so you wouldn’t have to talk to me.” he shakes his head quickly and pulls you in the house.

“please don’t think that i don’t like you, i’m sure you’re a really sweet girl. i think we got the wrong first impression of each other.” you giggle in agreement, which sends yukhei’s heart into overdrive. he has always found you cute, but he never had the courage to act on it like he had with others. the boys always teased him for it, saying that a drug dealer shouldn’t have trouble asking a girl out, but he always threatened them with revoking their “friend discount” of 90% which usually shut them up. the two of you continued the work that you’d started in class and got fairly far, when the front door swung open. you snapped your head up to see his six friends filing in. you knew all their names from talk around school, and it’s no surprise they know yours. ten and yangyang both stare at you with slight disdain while the others go in different directions of the house.

“have you finally managed to get her pants down?” tens question makes you choke on air and yangyang just cackles. they both take seats on the large couch as if they live here, which they most likely almost do. yukhei starts speaking angrily in mandarin while you awkwardly get up and go into the kitchen for a drink. you find hendery in there playing with yukhei’s dog bella. he straightens up when he sees you and doesn’t make eye contact. you nod at the fridge so he’d move, and he asks you, “so are you like, smart? because i need help in algebra. i just don’t understand the whole domain and range thing.” you stare at him for a second before bursting into laughter. “hendery, why in the world is that the first question you ask me? i can help but i’m not gonna do the work for you.” his vigorous nods make you think his brain is knocking around his skull. you pat his shoulder lightly before walking back into the living room where kun and sicheng have also joined the other three. “so i should probably get going, since your friends are here, but uh, text me when you wanna work again?” he begins to protest your leaving. “no no, please stay. you can meet my friends.” you shoot a look of hesitance to yukhei, to which he returns with pleading eyes. how can you say no to him when he’s being cute? you sigh and mumble out a “fine” which makes him cheer and the others either shake their heads or laugh. you sit back down on the couch close to yukhei, making ten wiggle his eyebrows at you. xiaojun and hendery enter the room, making the couch fill up. kun clears his throat before turning to speak to you.

“y/n, what grade are you in?” the question catches you off guard and you stutter out your answer. “i’m a junior.” he hums and nods before muttering something to yukhei in mandarin. yukhei nods in fearful agreement and it leaves you wondering what the hell kun said to him. “well at least you’re not gonna fail like xuxi over here. he could use the help of someone as dedicated as you.” you blush at his comment.

“yukhei, where is the-” “just call me xuxi, please.” “oh, ok then. uhhh where is the restroom?” he turns to point to a door in the hall behind the living room. “that first door there.” you nod and get off the couch as quickly as possible. as you’re walking away, they start talking amongst themselves, but loud enough for you to hear. “she’s cute, for sure. if you don’t snatch her up i might just have to.” kun was undeniably attractive, but he honestly terrified you. his serious demeanor and tendency to get into fights - and win - was not good for your nerves. you could hear yukhei whine at the older boy to stay away from you, and that he’d get around to it but he wants to make you at least comfortable around all of them.

the bathroom lights seem too bright and make your head hurt. you check to see the time and it’s only 5:20 pm, you had told your mother that you wouldn’t be home until 7. “it’s just an hour and forty minutes, y/n, you can do this. just stay cool and it will be ok. they’re not going to be rude to you.” walking out of the bathroom, they get quiet when you get close. yukhei makes room for you next to him on the couch again, and you sit awkwardly. it’s quiet, and they’re all looking at you. the hot feeling of anxiousness creeps up your spine, and you look anywhere but their eyes.

“you can speak, y/n.” yukhei’s deep voice cuts the air and sends a chill down your spine, but it also brings you comfort, as if he was protecting you. ten breaks out into a cackle, muttering something along the lines of “she’s so red, are we really that scary?” yukhei scolds ten in mandarin, but it proves no use as the older boy continues laughing. “i’m not really sure what to say. you guys probably share zero interests with me.” a lighthearted laugh comes from you when finishing the sentence. yukhei’s hand makes its way to your thigh, causing you to jump a little. his large hand was warm, and it brought heat to your cheeks. “now y/n, i’m sure we share at least one interest.” you look skeptically at him, his big eyes shining.

“i don’t really know… i’m not a good conversation maker.” yukhei’s hand stays put on your thigh, a steady reassurance for your nerves. “well i’m assuming you don’t smoke, but i really need to right now so.” you shake your head in disagreement, the thought of smoking repulsive to you. yukhei stays put at your side while ten digs in his bag. kun is the next one to speak to you. “who’s your favorite musician? maybe we share music taste.” you fumble around, not expecting the question. you never really shared your music taste with anyone because it wasn’t what you thought people would expect from you. “um, i really like chase atlantic…” kun gives a surprised look. “that’s something we have in common, i love them. what’s your favorite song?”

“oh really? my favorite is probably right here orrrr out the roof. but if i’m honest all their songs are good.” kun nods enthusiastically. a small huff comes from your side, and you look over to see yukhei pouting. kun just laughs and gets up to sit near ten, who had started smoking during the conversation. yangyang, xiaojun, and hendery had run off to play with bella. sicheng was napping on the loveseat across from you. yukhei rests his head on your shoulder and snuggles into you. “you know, you’re really cute.” his hands wrap around your waist in display of either jealousy or possessiveness. your face burns with embarrassment. you squeak out a response to his complement. “thank you, yuk- xuxi.” he giggles and squishes your cheek in his large hand. you decide to bite the bullet and cuddle up to him, not seeing any use in resisting since you didn’t mind it. the room smelled of weed and you were close enough to smell yukhei’s cologne. the scents were strong, yet the fact that you were close to yukhei made them feel as if they were normal.

“xuxi?” he looks up at you from his position, face painted with a smile. you couldn’t deny that it tugged on your heart strings to be so close to him. “hmm? is everything ok?” you nod at him, smiling back. “i just need a water, i’m thirsty.” he lets go of you, but gets up before you can. “let me get it for you, i’ll be right back.” you sit patiently and wait, observing your surroundings. sicheng was still napping, yangyang had since joined kun and ten while hendery and xiaojun were playing a video game on the tv. yukhei returns with a water bottle in hand before sitting back beside you. you take the first step initiating cuddling this time, catching him by surprise. he leans back into the spacious couch, pulling you onto him. you get comfortable in his arms fairly quickly, the large boy being unusually warm. you fall asleep in his arms, only waking up to your phone ringing. “shit, i have to go.” your mom was calling, and the time was 8:30. you were so in trouble when you got home. yukhei groans and wakes up from your moving. “is everything ok?” his tired voice was rough and it made you blush. “y-yeah everything is fine i just have to leave, it’s late.” he rubbed his eyes and stood up. the other boys were either asleep or playing on their phones. “i’ll walk you home, it’s the least i can do.” you agree and get your things together. it was dark and cold outside, and you’re glad yukhei is walking you. he links your hands together and pulls you closer.

“hmm where is your jacket?” you laugh nervously and look up at him. “i’m just forgetful, i guess.” he laughs and wraps his arm around you to preserve heat. your house isn’t too far from his, so it’s only 9 o’clock when you get there. you don’t even knock on the front door because your mother opens it with an angry look on her face.

“do you have any idea what time it is?” you go to say something but yukhei gets to faster. “I’m sorry, mrs. it’s my fault, we were working and i lost track of time.” your mother’s face softens and she sighs. “well then, i understand. come on, y/n, i’ll warm your dinner up. and thank you for walking her home young man.” yukhei bids you and her goodbye before turning to leave. you give him a kiss on the cheek before walking into your house, not turning back because of the raging blush on your face.

the next few times you work on the project with yukhei, the boys aren’t there. you have a suspicion he told them not to come, but you don’t mention it to him. today had been just as peaceful up until you notice yukhei zoning out. “yukhei please try and focus, we need to get at least this part done today.” he was constantly fidgeting and couldn’t concentrate on the task at hand. he grumbles something you can’t quite hear. “what was that? are you ok?”

“i need to smoke. it’s hard to focus without it.” oh. you were confused, wasn’t weed non-addictive? “isn’t weed like-” “i have physical dependence on it, i can’t just not smoke when i want anymore. it’s... shitty but i can’t help it at this point. i’ll be quick, I promise.” you nod slowly, hesitant that he’d be able to do any work at all while high. not that you’d ever experienced him high before, but people and the internet let you know the effects somewhat. yukhei doesn’t even leave the room to do it, and the smell is overwhelming. you flinch every now and then, the headache from the stench of the plant pulsating in your brain. yukhei seems to notice and puts the bong down before pulling you close to him. you begin to protest, but being so close to him and the cologne he wears drowns out the smell of the drug heavy in his hands. you relax into his form, snuggling into the crook of his neck. you think to yourself how you don’t really want this moment to end, and how yukhei was comforting to be around. he always made exceptions or catered to you when he didn’t have to. he could very well be mean to you and not care, but he takes effort to show that you’re included in everything, and it meant a lot to you. his long fingers run up and down your back in soothing motions, bringing you impossibly close to him. he struggles to put his supplies up with you cradled in his lap so you begin to get up, but he verbalizes his distaste with it. “no no, you’re fine. just sit still baby.” the pet name he gave you made heat rush to your cheeks. you obey his order and stay put in his lap, though your constant moving was causing a bit of a... problem in his jeans. you could feel his semi-hard cock against your core, and out of some sort of animal instinct you grind down on it. yukhei lets out a breathy grunt while putting away the last of his setup.

“jesus fuck y/n. you’re gonna make me fully hard if you keep on like that.” he grabs your hips to make you still against him. your face could not be any more red than it is, embarrassment at a high. yukhei just laughs and brings your head out of his shoulders to look at him. “you don’t have to do anything with me, you know that, right?” you nod sheepishly and avoid eye contact with the boy. he leans in close to your ear, nipping the lobe just a bit before whispering to you, “but i feel like you want to, hm?”

you let out a shaky breath and pull yourself into him again. “i think i’d really like that, yes.” sex was not really new to you, you had a previous partner but it was only once. it felt exciting to you, having someone want you so bad. taking your hips in his hands again, he moves your body along his lap, the friction of both your bottoms adding to the pleasure. “fuck baby, you feel so nice just grinding on my cock, i wonder how you’ll feel bouncing on it.” his dirty words cause a whimper to erupt from your throat, sending heat straight to your lower regions. “xuxi please…” he chuckles at your weak state.

“please what? you gotta tell me what you want.” you’re already a mewling mess in his lap, the words coming out incoherently. “please, just use me. i want you so bad, xuxi please.” he hums in your ear and maneuvers the two of you up off the floor, then walks to his room, holding you. as if you were weightless, he tosses you onto the bed, and you almost moan at how strong he is. “are you gonna lay there or are you gonna get undressed for me?” you scramble to take off your clothes, the commanding tone in his voice sending shivers down your spine. “that’s a good girl. you’re such a good girl for me huh?” his long fingers pitter down your thighs, stroking the insides of them every now and then. “xuxi, mmph! i want your mouth, please.” he smirks and dives in like a man starved, tongue spreading your wetness around. it was messy, but it felt so good. using a mix of tongue and fingers, yukhei brought you so close to orgasm, only to back away at the last second. you whine out at him and buck your hips up to his mouth. “ah ah, kitten. be patient or you get nothing.” he reaches up to play with your breasts, pinching at your nipples. his other hand strokes the inside of your thigh painstakingly slow. “you’re so cute, baby. all those times you’d sit close to me or fall asleep on me, i just wanted to ruin you. do you want me to?” you nod like your life depended on it, you wanted him to make you fall apart.

he shimmies out of his jeans and boxers, cock springing up and slapping his abdomen. opening his bedside drawer, he pulls out a condom. taking the packet in between his teeth, he opens it and puts the rubber on. you can only stare in awe, his length was impressive. it was around nine inches and had a girth sure to split you in half. yukhei notices your gaze and laughs. “you like what you see? well it’s all yours, baby.” he crawls over you, pulling your thighs up to your chest. “you’re sure you want this?” you nod at the tall boy, pulling him in for a kiss as he pushes into you. bottoming out, groans spill from the both of your mouths. he pulls out slowly, letting you have time to adjust before thrusting in and setting a steady pace. skin slapping skin resonates through the room and bounces off the walls. his thrusts were hard enough to jolt your body, tits bouncing with each one. without stopping, he lifts your body up and holds you to his chest while he sits on his heels. the new position let him hit places deep inside you, amplifying the pleasure. you could feel the head of his cock hitting your cervix with each thrust into you. sweet whimpers and moans fell from your lips, yukhei was basking in the sounds of your enjoyment. grunts into your ear came from him every minute or so. “p... please go harder.” tears built up in the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure, drool coating your lips from incoherent babbling. yukhei’s speed increased, his breaths coming out shaky and thrusts unsteady. “i’m so close, xuxi” the hot coil in your lower parts was winding tighter by the second, your release creeping just around the corner. “i know princess, me too.” yukhei started toying with your clit, rubbing quick circles on it. “you can cum, just let go.” as if he had full control of your body, the coil snaps and you cum with his name pouring from your lips like a mantra. his hips stutter as he gets close to his climax, thrusts slow and deep. he comes after a few more strokes, letting his cock pulse inside your tight walls. you sit there to catch your breath while yukhei throws the condom away and brings back a damp rag to clean the both of you up. after he finishes, he gets into bed behind you and draws the covers up over you.

“do you need me to walk you home?” you slowly open your eyes and look up at him. “or do you want to stay?” you snuggle closer to him and mumble “i’ll just call and tell my mom i’m staying at a friend’s since it’s friday.” you can’t see it, but yukhei smiles sweetly. “y/n, i know people usually don’t have sex before dating, but if i could, i wanna be your boyfriend.” you squeeze his torso and let out a meek “yes, i’d love that” before falling asleep together.

yukhei as a boyfriend was something to behold. he was constantly goofy and treated you as if you were the only girl in the world. the guys accepted you quickly and you were deemed the mom of the group. hendery got himself a girlfriend and you became best friends with her, always gossiping about the others. you all were basically a family, sharing good times and bad, but you always pulled through.

“y/n! c’mere, look at this.” yukhei’s loud voice was the first thing you hear in the school halls. “please xuxi, you’re so loud. don’t want everyone looking at us.” you giggle to let him know you were joking, not actually caring if people heard you. “look, there’s this old church about ten minutes away from the school and we think it’d be a really cool place to hang out.” you hum in acknowledgement, looking at the pictures sicheng had sent to yukhei. the building wasn’t damaged heavily, and it would be a really good spot for the rest of the group to smoke. “let’s do it! and while you guys smoke i can look around and take pictures.” yukhei can’t help but look at you with stars in his eyes. you were his world, and he never failed to show that. even the group could tell he was whipped for you, they always teased him but he never cared.

“well let’s go! c’mon, no one will notice if we leave now.” anyway you look at it, there’s no place you’d rather be than with yukhei.

#neowritingsnet #neosmutcollective #neoturtles #nct #nct scenarios #nct imagines #wayv #wayv scenarios #wayv imagines #wayv smut #yukhei x reader #wong yukhei #yukhei scenarios #yukhei fluff #yukhei smut

178 notes · View notes

witchygirl99 · 3 years

Note

finding a photo of your enemy as a toddler, inukag

Ask, and you shall receive.

1800 words under the cut. Not edited. Written at work so it was a shoddy rush job and everything is very vague and you'll just have to accept this.

I'll write a proper, better video gamer AU one day. For now though...

Won't You Say (You Love Me, Too)

The thing is—

The thing is that Inuyasha isn’t meant to be here. Sure, he’s a little drunk. And sure, Koga’s stupid face dared him, because Koga is both stupid, has a face, and that face is stupid. Inuyasha didn’t have to listen, though. Inuyasha could have done a billion other things, like walk away, or laugh the dare off, or – or – could have even gotten himself another drink.

That… That would have been the smarter plan.

Inuyasha hiccups, flinching at the noise. He is so not supposed to be here.

“Inuyasha,” stupid Koga hisses from below. It’s probably supposed to be a whisper. It’s not. It’s like…quieter yelling, but yelling nonetheless.

Haughtily, Inuyasha glares down at his teammate. The window that he’s jimmied open to break into the Priestess House is still open. It’s unseasonably warm for an autumn night, but it’s strangely comforting. At least, Inuyasha thinks so. That could just be the alcohol talking, though.

“Inuyasha,” Koga hisses again, “what do you see?”

He blinks, frowns, and then squints into the dark room. There’s not a ton of illumination from either the moon, or the streetlights. He thinks, dimly, that this is a…bedroom? A bedroom. This is not, in fact, the office that they thought they were breaking into.

[Read the rest below the cut.]

He takes in a deep breath, brain pinging at him worriedly. He knows this scent. It’s familiar. Too familiar. Inuyasha should know whose room he’s in and it’s on the tip of his tongue – his nose? No, that’s not a saying – when Koga makes another hissing sound.

Ugh.

“What?” Inuyasha snarls, so desperate to glare out the window at his stupid teammate and at said stupid teammate’s face that he nearly stumbles. Bracing himself on the little table underneath, he makes a point to roll his eyes when the wolf demon waves alarmingly at him. “What is so urgent that you need to—”

“I hear them,” Koga whisper-yells, because he’s stupid. “They’re just down the street.”

“What?” he exclaims, but this time it’s desperate rather than irritated. “I thought Miroku said the girls would be gone for at least an hour.”

“Well, his intel is shit,” Koga replies. “Now get out!”

So much for sneaking into their offices to find out if any of their playing strategies would be visible. The regional gaming tournament is only two days away, and every single member of the six-person Priestess team has been dominating the competition. Their battle strategies have taken weaker characters and turned them into something surprisingly efficient. It should be impossible. Character stats don’t lie.

And yet. And yet. The women of the Priestess House have made a mockery of nearly everyone there. And the worst of them?

Kagome Higurashi. The absolute bane of his existence. She came onto the scene about three years ago, rising up the ranks. Inuyasha hadn’t even given her a second thought until The Incident last year.

The Incident, in which she—

“Inuyasha,” Koga hisses again, like an angry cat. A cat. Not a wolf. Inuyasha should tell him this. Inuyasha is desperate to tell him this. “You need to jump out the window, you fuck.”

Right. The Priestess girls were coming back. Kagome would be with them and that would be— That would be bad. Not just because of the breaking and entering, or the trespassing. It would be bad because Inuyasha would have to be around her for likely more than a minute, which would mean that he’d have to stare into those dark eyes and that too-kind smile – like they’re friends, which they are not – and then—

“For fuck’s sake, I’m going to leave you,” Koga states, and that finally drills through Inuyasha’s pretty drunk skull. Can skulls be drunk?

No?

Maybe.

“I’m coming,” Inuyasha replies, pushing upwards, but he’s an idiot. The table underneath him isn’t that sturdy, and so his pressure on it to climb back out the window from which he entered sends a picture frame crashing to the ground.

“Inuyasha!”

“Oh my god, say my name one more time and I will murder you!” Inuyasha snaps. Koga is not helping, that fucking fuck. “Hold the fuck on, we can’t let them know—” And he bends down to grab the frame and put it back. Hopefully whoever’s room this is won’t notice.

And then he sees the picture in the frame, practically mocking him. It’s fucking Kagome Higurashi, no more than four years old and clinging to a small baby who looks distinctly unhappy by the entire experience. It’s undoubtedly her. While there’s more chub to her cheeks, those are the same sparkling eyes and that’s the same beaming smile. He would know that smile anywhere because it always makes him feel off-balance, confused. No one just smiles at people, at strangers. No one just smiles at you while they’re getting destroyed in one-on-one battle, and then shakes your hand with that same happy smile when they’ve lost. They don’t use that exact same smile when they see you again later in the year, at another tournament, and only stop smiling when they beat you so badly—

Oh god.

Oh fucking god.

This is Kagome’s bedroom. This is Kagome’s bedroom and he’s in her room and—

Kagome Higurashi at four years old smiles the exact same way, and she’s clinging to a little boy and that’s a big purple dinosaur right beside her on the couch. A dinosaur. She likes dinosaurs, oh god this is the worst—

“Godspeed, fucker,” Koga whispers-yells. “We hardly knew ye!” There’s the distinct sound of bushes rustling. His own teammate has abandoned him. Inuyasha is going to commit murder.

Firmly putting down the picture frame, Inuyasha starts the careful climb back out the window. He’s got one leg out, half of his body strained to reach the little lip in the brickwork he climbed up earlier. His hands grab at the sill, twisting him, and then he sees it.

It.

The purple dinosaur.

It’s on her bed, perfectly placed and disgustingly cute.

“Oh no,” Inuyasha groans, and then promptly shoves himself out the window. It takes him ten precious seconds to balance, and then another ten seconds to close the window and hide the fact he ever broke in in the first place. At the first sound of voices, Inuyasha freezes against the brick, propped up in a little corner and distinctly not looking down. It’s not a far drop, but the last thing Inuyasha needs is to lose his balance, topple into the garden, and then have the Priestess women come running to see what the fuck happened.

He waits, breath nearly held, until they start opening the door. There’s enough fuss and discussion that Inuyasha feels safe in making his escape, running away like the hounds of hell are chasing him. He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t look back.

When he finds Koga, lounging on the couch and drinking yet another beer at their shared gaming house, it takes a solid ten seconds of very slow counting to remind himself that murder is bad.

Besides, they have a tournament to win on Saturday.

X+X

The next day, Inuyasha finds himself looking for purple dinosaurs on Amazon.

This is, well, not ideal.

“What are you doing?” Hachi asks, eyes narrowed in confusion and then widening in concern when Inuyasha flinches to hide this embarrassing lack of restraint. “Wow, okay.”

“Fuck off,” Inuyasha replies, but he’s too mortified to even make it mean-sounding. He just comes off as pathetic.

There’s a snort in the doorway, and Miroku comes bumbling in with a clipboard. He takes his duties as team manager far too seriously. “What did Hachi do wrong now?”

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Hachi replies, eyeing Inuyasha again. “He’s the one that went all crazy when I asked him what he was doing.”

“And what was he doing?” Miroku presses. He’s grinning like a fool because he’s the worst. The worst best friend a guy could ask for. Inuyasha doesn’t know why he’s teammates with these idiots. It’s bad enough he’s got to deal with Koga.

“I wasn’t do anything,” he tries, but Hachi’s just shaking his head.

“Looking at his phone. I don’t know.”

Miroku turns to him, a shark that smells blood in the water. “Your phone? Who are you texting?”

“No one,” Inuyasha scoffs. “Fuck off.”

This gets a nod, and he has one moment of hope that Miroku won’t push the issue when his best friend hums. “You’re right. You have no friends outside of this team.”

“I’m not his friend!” Koga yells from somewhere else in the house.

Inuyasha sighs.

“So you must have been watching something.”

“No,” Hachi argues, “he was holding his phone like this. He was reading something, or maybe scrolling?”

“Inuyasha can’t read!” comes Koga’s voice again. They all ignore him.

“You’re not on Instagram,” Miroku hums, playing fucking Sherlock Holmes. “And you’re definitely not on TikTok. Discord is just another form of talking to people, so that’s out.”

Growling, he shoves his phone in the pocket of hoodie and gets up. “I am leaving.”

“Ooh, he’s leaving,” his friend continues, blue eyes alight with something dangerously close to glee. “Fuck, it has to be about Kagome then. That’s the only time you get this pissy.”

“Ha!” Hachi laughs because he, too, is the worst.

“That’s my future wife!” Koga yells from the other room, but that’s just because he’s delusional. As if someone like Koga could fucking rub two braincells together enough to impress her. Inuyasha’s face does a thing at the very thought.

“Oh my god, it is!” Miroku cackles.

“No,” Inuyasha answers, and he thinks he does a pretty good job of remaining calm. “But fuck you, anyways.”

“Are you reading her Wikitubia again?” his friend asks and that is it—

“One time!” Inuyasha yells, storming away from the main room. “That was one time!”

His teammates’ laughter follows him all the way back to his bedroom. Shippo, rubbing at his eyes after his nap – because he acts like a literal child, it’s embarrassing – just stares at him confusedly. “What did I miss?”

Inuyasha doesn’t stop walking. “Absolutely fucking nothing.” He gets into his room, shuts the door with a disturbing amount of care, and then leaps onto his bed to try and suffocate himself with a pillow. The walls of their gaming house aren’t that thick. If he tries hard enough, Inuyasha could hear the shit they’re undoubtedly still talking about him.

One time, Inuyasha pathetically whines in his head. He was only caught staring at her Wikitubia page one time. He was sizing up the enemy. Looking for weaknesses to exploit. That’s the only reason he did it. Just like that’s the only reason he watches her YouTube videos religiously, at least once a day, and always at night once everyone else has fallen asleep.

It’s not because of anything weird. It’s because she’s the enemy. She’s the competition. Inuyasha must figure out a way to destroy her.

Later that night, when he goes back to re-watching an old YouTube video of hers – one Kagome had posted within the first month of her rise to so-called fame – that he sees it.

It.

The purple dinosaur.

Sitting propped up on some pillows, like a prized treasure.

“Motherfucker,” Inuyasha snaps. He doesn’t stop the video, though. There could be secrets. Weaknesses to exploit. Yadda yadda yadda, he’s not in denial, this is only his third time watching it, blah blah—

Kagome smiles in the video and his chest does the thing.

Inuyasha sighs. Miroku can never, ever see his browsing history.

X+X

Tagging: @ideasthatbuildcities @wolfcry77 @alerialblu @misspepperpottss @sailorbabydoll92 @willowandfog @amethystablaze @fawn-eyed-girl @noyourenotreal @hnn-wnchstr @liz8080 @nsr0716 @superpixie42 @itzatakahashi @mandirox89 @inussunflower @cstormsinukagblog @nartista @hopidoodle @princessinume @lavendertwilight89 @anxietyaardvark @omgitscharlie @theinuyashareader @ruddcatha @umacaking @kagometaishostory @cammysansstuff @sacred-arrow-writes @sacred-arrow @gicu2 @neutronstarchild @kalcia

#WYSYLMT #witchy writes #witchy answers #inukag #inukag fanfiction #inukag fanart #inuyasha fanfiction

73 notes · View notes

maybedefinitely404 · 3 years

Text

Not Your Typical 2

Genre: college AU, hurt/comfort

Pairings: romantic Demus, background Logicality, and Prinxiety

Content: autistic characters (Logan and Janus), arguments, panic attack/anxiety, ASL, talk of pretty bad ableist parenting/manipulation.

Song mentioned is Electric Love by BØRNS

Word count: 3.3k

“BABE!”

Janus’ head shot up seconds before Remus barreled into their room, clearly having run there, possibly all the way from his night class. He dropped his load of textbooks onto the floor, hopping from foot to foot.

“You have a backpack for a reason,” Janus sighed affectionately. His boyfriend shuffled the empty bag off his shoulders so it fell to the floor with his school supplies and resumed his hopping.

“Listen to this!” He held up his headphones, clearly holding himself back from just popping them on Janus’ head himself.

“New song?”

“Just listen!”

Janus snorted but put the offered headphones on, watching as Remus restarted the music from his phone.

It began quietly, a lilting melody that was quickly underlaid with a sharp beat. He raised an eyebrow at Remus; it was catchy, but did not seem like his boyfriend’s type of music. There was a surprising lack of… screaming. Or profanity. Or yodelling .

He had interesting taste in music.

But Remus just bounced on his toes, nearly wiggling until an electric guitar riff made Janus jump a bit. It wasn’t necessarily a bad jump, more one of surprise, but he gave a thumbs up anyways to reassure Remus. He closed his eyes as the verse began, relaxing in his chair and shutting his brain off.

Janus hadn’t even noticed he was tapping his hands on the arms of the chair until he peaked an eye open to see his boyfriend’s excited expression, not unlike a child on Christmas morning.

A bit after they’d started officially dating, Remus had accidentally discovered Janus’ once-least-favorite neurodiverse trait in himself; happy stimming. It was overly vulnerable and had gotten him teased too often when he was younger, so he had made a habit of masking the excited movement. It had only taken one date to the animal rehabilitation centre, and an hour long detour in the reptile area, for that barrier to break. But Remus had taken him for the sole reason of showing Janus the snakes, what was he supposed to do?

The first time he’d been totally natural around Remus (due to finding a green tree python, because oh my god Remus look at it!), bouncing and tucking his cheek to his shoulder and flapping his hands, his boyfriend had solemnly taken his hands, leaned far too close, and uttered something along the lines of ‘What the fuck was that and how do I make you do it again?’ Apparently he thought it was cute.

Preposterous.

And judging by the slow rising in the song’s pitch, that was exactly what Remus was attempting to trigger. Janus could feel a smile forming against his will as the music crescendoed, and with it came a floating sensation. It felt like fire shooting up his spine, or pop rocks in his skull, an addictive rush of joy that filled his body with adrenaline, the best possible butterflies in his stomach. His hands flapped in an effort to release the energy and for now he let them, the grin now making his cheeks hurt.

All at once the beat settled back to it’s verse tempo and Janus pulled the headphones off somewhat sheepishly.

“Hell. Yes.” Remus whispered, a matching wide smile stretching across his face. He cradled Janus’ face between his palms, as if he were something fragile, and edged forward until their noses booped, “You’re so. Goddamn. Cute.”

“Am not,” Janus forced out between his squished cheeks. It would have been much more convincing if he weren’t fighting off more happy wiggles.

Remus snorted and pressed a peck to Janus’ lip before whirling on his heels, more or less skipping to the common area.

“Logan, I did it!” He sang grandly. He twirled around the living room with a whoop, startling a laugh out of Janus. Virgil and Roman, who must have been situated on the couch, yelled as Remus splayed across them just out of Janus’ line of vision.

“Get off us, you oaf-”

“Jesus, Remus!”

“Oh Logaaaaan!”

Janus leaned against the doorway of their room to watch the scene unfold. Remus finally gave in to the pushing from their roommates and rolled onto the floor with a brilliant thud and a cackle.

“Get him off my foot!”

“He’s your brother.”

Remus snickered and promptly attached himself to Roman’s leg like a koala, digging his teeth into his shin.

“REMUS!”

“Yeth?” He asked around his mouthful. Roman freed the leg not being eaten and, with no preamble, delivered a solid kick to his brother’s side.

“I’ve been shot!” Remus wailed dramatically, rolling onto his back.

“I’m going to need a rabies shot!”

“I see the light-”

“Am I bleeding? Virgil, get the first aid kit!”

“Alas, the world goes dim! What an end, what an end…”

“What if they have to amputate?”

Janus’ hand could no longer muffle his laughter, and his laughing distracted Remus enough to get a dazzling smile from where he was laying half under the coffee table. The diversion seemed to remind him of why he’d come into the living room in the first place.

His face fell into a pout and he shrieked, “LOGAN!”

The door to Logan and Patton’s room flew open and the latter poked his head out with a violent shush.

“Logan is on the phone!”

True to his word, Logan was pacing their room behind him, stimming anxiously while he spoke into his phone in a completely neutral voice.

Virgil sat up straighter, earning a concerned look from Roman, who gave up on nursing the bite mark on his sweatpants. However, Remus was oblivious to the sudden tenseness in the air, kicking his feet onto the coffee table.

“Who is he on the phone with?” Virgil asked, slowly getting up from the couch.

Patton shut the door after a quick glance into the room. The rest of the dorm stayed silent until he’d clicked the latch into place, as if all holding their breath. Logan’s voice became just a murmur behind the wall as Patton met Virgil’s eyes nervously.

“It’s his parents,”

“WHY-” Patton shushed Virgil wildly, hands waving up a flurry. The man continued in a hushed tone but with just as much fury, “Why is he talking to his parents?”

Roman jumped up, probably to try and ease an almost-spitting Virgil but only succeeding in stepping on Remus.

“Ow!”

“Then why are you on the floor!?”

Virgil took a step toward Patton. “He hasn’t talked to them in a year-”

“I will eat your whole leg off!”

“I’d like to see you try!”

“Oh? OH!? When you wake up tomorrow with no legs, you’ll regret that!”

“Remus, just get up!”

He froze from where he’d been pushing himself up from the floor, gingerly lowering himself back down and crossing his arms. “Well, now I’m not going to.”

“Why don’t…” Janus faltered as every eye in the room settled on him, fighting his instinct to shut his mouth. They want to hear you, they want to hear you- “Why don’t we like Logan’s parents?”

Virgil and Patton answered at the same time.

“They’re assholes.”

“They’re not great p- language!”

If Janus remembered correctly, Virgil and Logan had known each other far longer than any of the others, though it wasn’t hard to surmise from Virgil’s reactions. He’d never seen him get so worked up.

“They’re ableist, homophobic pieces of sh-”

“But!” Patton interrupted, “We probably shouldn’t say more without Logan here.”

Virgil grumbled under his breath and dropped back onto the sofa, followed by Roman, who placed an arm around his shoulders. It did nothing to placate his anger, but he did lean marginally into his boyfriend’s side.

“We don’t like them,” Remus said in a falsely bright tone as he squirmed out from where he’d been trapped. “How long does he have to talk to Tweedledee and Tweedledick?”

“Language…”

“What do they want from him?” Virgil demanded. Was it Janus’ imagination, or were his eyes shinier than they’d been a minute before?

“I don’t…” Patton glanced at the closed door, “I’m sure Logan can tell you later. I’ll tell you as soon as he’s ready to talk, okay?”

They were given one more reminder to hush, and then Patton disappeared back into their room. The group fell into silence as soon as he was gone.

Remus broke the lull with a loud knuckle crack and a, “So, American Horror Story, anyone?”

No one complained, which Remus took as affirmation. Virgil had turned to burrow his face into Roman’s shoulder, which smartly, no one addressed. The opening credits flashed across the scene as Remus scrambled onto the loveseat, patting the spot next to him.

“Snakey, sit.”

Janus shook his hands briefly to dispel his nerves before taking the spot next to his boyfriend, leaning into his side. Every bit of contact that he initiated excited Remus to no end. He swung his arm over Janus’ shoulders and pulled him even closer and then, to Janus’ revolt, began to run his thumb lightly over his hand.

“Yuck, no, no no no, stop,” Janus squirmed, stilling Remus’ thumb with his other hand, and nestling even further into him.

“Oh, right. Forgot.”

“No harm done.”

They’d barely gotten through an episode of the show when the door opened behind them. Roman wasted no time shutting the TV off, and the four of them watched with rapt attention as Patton and a slightly disheveled Logan emerged.

“I hear there was some commotion over the content of my phone call.”

“Abso-fucking-lutely!” Virgil snapped.

“Your concern is noted but unnecessary,” Logan replied curtly, “My parents called because I was not answering their messages.”

“They’ve been messaging you?!” Virgil hissed, pulling away from Roman’s hold to stand.

“Do they ever stop?” Logan rolled his eyes and finally released his death grip on his cell phone. He slid it into his back pocket instead. “For some reason they insist I come back home this summer.”

Him and Patton did that bizarre communicate-silently thing they did often, as Logan lifted his arm and his boyfriend attached to his side immediately. Perhaps one day, him and Remus would have that level of intuitiveness that puzzled him so. The thought made his face grow hot. A glance at Remus confirmed he hadn’t noticed, though.

“You haven’t gone back since first year. Why now?” Roman asked. His twin hummed in agreement.

Logan turned his gaze to the floor, taking a while to answer. “I don’t understand their timing. But they are threatening to withdraw financial assistance towards my schooling if I refuse.”

The room exploded into chaos.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“That’s not fair, after all they’ve done to you-”

“Would anyone notice if they went missing?”

“Remus-”

“You can’t go back there, Lo…”

“I wasn’t planning to! But now I may not have a choice, Patton.”

“When do you have to decide?” Roman asked, earning a glare from Virgil.

“It’s not a choice, he can’t go!”

“This is my choice, not yours, Virgil! Either way, the due date is in a week. I’ll have made my decision by then.”

Janus stiffened as the air was pulled from his lungs. “Wait, what due date?”

No one seemed to notice his question, however, as the volume in the room raised another octave. His words were lost to the level of shouting, completely invisible to everyone. He tried to pretend it didn’t hurt as much as it did.

As easy as it would have been to just fade into the background, as per usual, the unanswered question was burrowing a hole in his chest. Janus tugged on Remus’ sleeve.

“What due date?”

Finally, Remus turned sharp eyes from the conversation to him. The slightly manic glint to them softened as soon as he saw Janus’ panicked expression, and he shifted their hands so their fingers locked.

“S’when we gotta let the school know if you’re staying on campus for summer break. Didn’t you get the email?”

“What email?!” Janus hissed just as the arguing reached its peak. Logan had pulled himself away from (a decently distraught) Patton and was gripping his own arms with white knuckles.

“Why do you even care?! I’m fine!” He said through grit teeth.

“You’re clearly not,” Roman retorted. Virgil had pulled up his phone and was scrolling through it with purpose, clearly trying to find something.

“I’ll figure it out! This doesn’t have to be an event for everyone!”

“That doesn’t mean you’re-”

“Will you just drop it, Roman?!” Logan yelled, voice cracking.

Janus nearly bumped into Remus with the way he flinched. The other’s arm immediately tightened around him, a grounding pressure across his shoulders.

“I think we’re all tired,” Patton broke the tense air with a pleading tone, “Can we come back to this tomorrow? Please?”

Logan was gone without another word, followed by Patton after a round of strained good-nights.

---------------------------------------

As clingy a couple as they were, sleeping was a different matter. One time, one time only, they’d tried to cram onto one of their puny twin beds and that had lasted a whole half hour before they decided to never try it again. Janus needed his space if he even wanted a chance at a peaceful sleep, and Remus had the lovely habit of embodying a starfish with a caffeine problem, even when unconscious. How he fit on the tiny dorm beds by himself astounded Janus, what with how he splayed. Janus had gotten two full hits to the face before he’d leaned against the wall and pushed Remus to the floor with his feet. The man hadn’t stirred.

The next morning Remus had suggested (without thinking) that one day they’d just get a bigger bed, and Janus had turned a bright crimson at the easy way he had discussed their future together.

Either way, for now, they stayed in their respective beds, but at that moment, Janus was missing the distinctive feeling of being Remus’ teddy bear. His mind was a whirlpool of thoughts, or perhaps a tornado. It was a flurry any which way, one that kept his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling he couldn’t even see in the dark. Across the small room, he could hear Remus shifting, his breath catching every time he moved, meaning he was probably still awake as well.

“Remus?”

“Yeah, snakey?”

Guess he was right, then. Janus rolled towards him, even though he couldn’t make out anything in the pitch black.

“I can’t sleep.”

There was a chuckle from across the room. “Have you even tried?” It was a valid question; it hadn’t been more than five minutes since they’d turned off the lights.

“I mean, I won’t be able to sleep.” Janus sighed. He gnawed at his fingernails as louder shuffling came from Remus’ bed.

“Why not?”

There were a few things, if he was honest.

“Does Virgil get mad like that a lot?” Not what he’d meant to lead with, but oh well.

“Oh,” Remus replied lightly, “He wasn’t mad. He probably sounded real pissed though. He was just worried about Logan. They grew up together and all that shit, so Virgil got like a front row seat of all the shit they did to him. Taping his hands to tables so he didn’t flap ‘em, all that.”

Janus was speechless.

“Is that all that’s buggin’ ya?”

“Not really.”

“Spill the tea.”

In a familiar moment of self consciousness, Janus curled his knees into his chest. He wants to hear you, he wants to hear you. The blankets pooled around his waist as he sat up, hoping the position would somehow grant him more courage.

“I started thinking about… what Logan said, and now I don’t know if I want to go home or stay on campus over summer. I didn’t know that was even an option. But it would be so much easier to not have to pack up again, and I’m just getting used to it here, but what if my parents are mad, like Logan’s?”

The fairy lights that encircled their room flickered to life, revealing Remus had stretched to reach the switch from his bed.

“I didn’t get the email and now I don’t even know if it’s possible for me to stay on campus, what if I missed a due date? It’s my fault, I should have checked every folder and now I don’t know what to do, I…” Janus’ sentence bled into a hum from the back of his throat. The swirling flotsam of thoughts thickened, a swarm of bees being swallowed by their own honey; worries still existing, but now infinitely harder to reach and express.

“I don’t know what to do- I… I don’t, I can’t think, my brain’s too busy-” He wrapped his fists in his blanket to keep from gripping his hair. All of the sudden, he was a coiled spring and there was nothing he could do to loosen the pressure. He needed a release, he needed to move and to be held still, his chest full of helium but his arms filled with a colony of ants under his skin, every molecule separating and floating away. Janus shoved his fists into the blankets, pushing and pushing and begging for the awful pressure to disappear.

“Hey hey hey, take a breath, snakey. I’m right here.”

The bed dipped under Remus’ weight and his first reaction was to reach out but no, no the ants were still there, in his hands, and he bent them backwards at the wrist to kill the itch. Curl curl curl, and his fists were jammed against his jaw, pressure push stop stop-

“I’m trying, I am, I just-” He cut himself off with a sob that was more of a cough, drawing in a wheezing breath. Remus must be freaking out, he could tell, and god he wanted to stop but the cycle continued, cough and breathe in and try to squish the fucking ants.

“Do you want me to get Logan? Or Patton?”

No, no, no. Janus shook his head vigorously and pushed his fists under his legs, leaning forward to force his whole weight on the limbs. Yeah, yeah that felt better, more weight, he needed more-

“Pressure,” Janus gasped, interrupting whatever Remus had been saying but finding he couldn’t care less. He removed one hand from the safety he’d found and hit the heel of it to his chest. “I need- I need pressure, weight, I can’t-” Cough. Hum.

“Weighted blanket? Is that it?” The worry in Remus’ voice was so clear it was almost embarrassing, but Janus would never admit how much he adored it; it was a level of softness no one else was privy to.

“No-” The weighted blanket would have been his go to before, when he was alone, but it was never enough.

Deep pressure therapy, he remembered Logan calling it. A way to regulate the nervous system when it was going nuts, something about resetting the ‘fight or flight’ reflex. He couldn’t remember the details. But he could remember Logan’s explaining different forms of it.

“Hug?” Janus pleaded, rocking forward onto his hands once more.

“I- What…- Are you sure?”

Janus let out a broken sound. He nodded quickly, freeing a hand to circle it over his chest, palm flat, over and over. Please. Logically, he knew there was no time pressure, but there was an undeniable feeling of ‘hurry, hurry, hurry’ rushing through him. Fight or flight, maybe.

Remus opened his arms and Janus was scrambling across the gap immediately, curling sideways on his lap. The only thing he could compare it to was dumping sand on a fire as Remus’ arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer to his chest and pressing his nose into Janus’ hair. Remus swayed them back and forth like he was reading Janus’ damn mind, and he finally took a deep breath. All the stress trickled from his tense muscles bit by bit, and the younger could have cried from relief.

Janus was quickly finding it hard to keep his eyes open as Remus kept rocking them, listening to his heartbeat and following his breathing in the rare quiet of their dorm that had come to feel like home.

“Feeling better?” Remus whispered.

Janus tensed immediately. “Don’t let go.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

And he didn’t.

Taglist:

@max-is-tired

@joylessnightsky

@marshymoop

#lywrites #sanderssides #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanderssidesfanfiction #dukeceit #prinxiety #logicality #autistic janus #autistic logan #sanders sides college au #anonymous

117 notes · View notes

jessiebanethedragon · 3 years

Text

White Sands Warm the Cold Sea (pt 4)

Star Wars, The Bad Batch Pirate!au (Hunter x Reader

Summary: the reader, betrothed to a disgusting Coruscanti Lord flees her home world and lands herself in a plethora of trouble, a ship of clones, and one pirate captain whose cold exterior needs much more than the tropical seaside sun.

Warnings: Swearing, takes place in time periods where women have dowery's and suchlike. The readers dad and betrothed are asses.

Chapter one

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four: The Corillian Run

You’re scared, perhaps the most scared you’ve ever been in your life. The brief distraction while it may have saved your skin for a moment, only added to the gut wrenching fear you now faced.

He had his personal guard looking for you.

But before you have time to dwell on whatever horrors would await you when they finally tracked you down, you hear movement again. And in a split second of fight, flight or freeze, your feet take off. It’s a bad idea, an absolutely mind numbingly stupid one, you realise as you go tumbling up the stairs and coming face to face with four men standing on the above deck. The largest of whom begins to laugh.

“Well look a’ that sarge! We found ‘er.” All of them watch as you glance over your shoulders.

“Don’t try it.” One of them grits out, you can’t see his face, it’s covered by his captain's hat, and in another pure moment of idiocy your feet take off towards the very front of the ship.

Had you been better acquainted with your sea legs, or better understood the physical layout of a vessel this size, or even if you hadn't looked behind you to see your attackers follow you, you might not have fallen head over boots into the gun deck. Straight through the open metal grate that usually rested flush with the deck. Crashing unceremoniously down into the harsh wood and winding yourself, you scramble on bruised elbows.

“Crosshair!” Someone shouts, and whatever they were trying to convey seems to have stuck because after that you don’t hear anything else. Scanning your soundings quickly your eyes land on the only weapon you’re currently capable of wielding, a left over small dagger sitting perfectly on a barrel of gunpowder. You snatch it up just as one of the men runs down the stairs and his googled eyes land on you.

You’re a sight, covered in gunpowder, and wiedling a shaking dagger.

“Hello.” He greets, raising his hands in front of him, “why don’t we talk, just the two of us, I apologize my brothers can be Bantha brained more often than not.”

“I’m not going back to Coruscant.” Your first words surprise you, and you realize you would in fact rather die than face whatever consequences come of your actions. It’s dimmer down here, the sunlight shines through only where you fell and through each gap to make way for the cannons, it is calming in a way.

“Where would you like to go then? Maybe we could make a deal?” The man offers, and pushes his goggles up, you notice he has kind eyes.

“I do not have any money.” You’re so scared, and you realize he must know this because he extends his hand. Huh, you hadn't realized he got so close in such a short amount of time.

“That’s okay.” He says with his hand out. “My name is Tech in case you were wondering.”

“I don’t care!” you shout becoming desperate, why doesn't he understand? “I don’t care where you’re going or who you are!” his face softens considerably when you become so upset. “Just get me the hell away from him.” you whisper, finally letting your arm drop once you see he’s made the connection between you and the pirate from earlier.

“You’re the bride.” He states as if he’s condemning you. You nod your head, and place a hand over your mouth to stifle the sounds of sadness that threaten to come forward.

“You have no idea what he’s capable of.” You say shivering at the memory, the first time you were seen in public, the first time you really met who Nython was. And how he laughed when you ran from the room of his treasures.

“Yes we do, and we can help you.” Tech says sternly, in a way that almost makes you believe him.

You jump out of your skin when the metal bars above you crash down, blocking you in from above. You look up to see one of the men from before ghost above the grate and away from you. Your grip tightens on the dagger as you throw your arm up and back, before letting the blade fly in the direction of the man blocking you into the gunpowder hold. As he flattened himself against the wall of the hull to dodge your sloppy albeit, effective attack, you grind your sturdy boots into the wood and take off towards the stairs.

You make a total of three strides coming out from below deck before you feel hands grab at your arms. Amidst twisting and turning you see and collide with goggles and know that tech escape the knife unscathed. And when a hulking man steps in front of you your feet go wild until they connect with flesh and Tech has no choice but to drop the slippery eel of a woman you’ve become. With escape on the forefront of your mind you clamber onto the ledge of the ship itself. Ending up on all fours, the ship to your right and the thrashing sea on your left.

“Enough!” A voice booms from the right, the man, who must be the captain you infer from his long coat and wide brimmed hat stands with a blaster pointed in your direction. You pull yourself up and look below you.

“Hey now…” Tech cautions looking worried at how you’re regarding the sea with such ease.

“Let er’ jump Tech.” The captain says holstering the blaster. “That water that you are thinking about, that’s the Corillian Run, one of the major sets of currents that ships use for hyper-sea travel. You jump into that and you’ll drown in seconds.” You look over it again, terrified of the thundering waves and endless depths.

Before twisting yourself and launching your body over the edge of the ship.

A number of things then occur in very quick sequence, Tech and his larger co-part rush to the edge to get eyes on the woman overboard, it sounds like Tech screams after you but for all you know it could be the wind. And then in one of the most painful experiences of your life, something grabs you out of the air and sends you both into the side of the hull. Everything stings and you heave for breath as you’re winded, and a firm hand digs itself from the outside fabric of your dress and latches onto the underneath of your corset to get a hold on you.

“Dang Ferrick, Maker fucking Hells.” He swears in pain. One arm secured on the rope attached to the ship somewhere and the side of the body also flush against the unforgiving wood.

In ash hair and voluptuous curse words, Crosshair has just saved your life.

By the time the biggest of the men has pulled you both back onto the deck of the ship you’ve barely caught your breath and everything shakes and aches. But with whatever adrenaline you have left in your system you gather yourself trying to take off again. But before the action is even fully processed by your body a hand of steel flys out to wrap itself around your neck. And walks you backwards into one of the cabin walls.

His hand stays in place on your neck as his head tilts upwards in a way that blocks the harsh sun and lets him see over the hat's wide brim.

It is then that you gasp for air, partly because of the way his rough salt water stained hand restricts your breathing, and partly because of the tattoo that takes up half his face in the shape of a skull.

He sneers at your very existence, as he moves his head back to level with your own.

“Lock her in the brig. And turn the ship around.” The deep voice echoes as he pushes you into the arms of one of his crew mates. You squirm in their grasp, screaming.

“You can’t, you can’t take me back there!” the hold on your arms tightens ever so slightly.

“Captain, the winds, the tide…”

“You bastards! They’ll kill me, and they’ll hang all of you! Let me-“

“Enough!” Everyone is still at his rage. And you put on a brave face when he turns his glare towards you.

“You- you stowaway on MY ship, attack MY crew, and have the audacity to start making demands?” You stay silent and watch as he rounds on the smallest crew member. “And you soldier, that was order. Turn this ship around. Wrecker. Lock her in the brig. Now.”

“Yes Sir.” They both call, and you catch the eye of the forth crew member, pulling himself off the deck of the ship and looking unsteady. And you realize for the first time, you could not have picked a worse ship to stowaway on, because now you’re in the company of clones.

Tags: @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @peacefulwizardfox @rex-meshla @and-claudia @kamino-mermaid @thelambandthewolffe @starwarsmeninhelmets

@bronvin @myeternalsin @sweetsunflowerkisses @loverofclones @beizm @gunsmoke-blu

@logina6

Comment to be added

76 notes · View notes

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.

1K notes · View notes