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vminity21 · 3 years

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Beyond the Facade | knj

Pairing: handyman!namjoon X preacherskid!reader, bestfriend!taehyung X pregnant!reader, f2l!au

Word Count: 10,958

Genre: mysterious/angst/fluff/smut

Warning(s): strong language use, semi-detailed childbirth, mention of infidelity, alluding of a love triangle, evidence of a sheltered background, angst involving family matters, smut, losing virginity, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), nipple play, hand groping, lots of flashbacks but that is the point of the story i sorry; Rated: 18+

Summary: A sheltered life leads to harbored secrets that are buried in order to protect someone you are falling in love with. As the time is nearing for the life growing inside you to be welcomed into the world, the reminiscences of all the moments unfold to reveal a beautiful story that needed to be told.

Credits to: @suhdays for making such a phenomenal header! The talent she has never ceases to amaze me!

The graying of the clouds is all you can see beyond your window other than the panging rain droplets now trickling upon the glass. Arm resting against your forehead, your lips press into a straight line in response to the series of thoughts circling your mind. Carefully, you slide your palms upon the mattress in an attempt to sit up, wanting to see more of the view besides the crying sky. Knuckles curling to rub your tired eyes, you furrow your brows, the comforting warmth of the bed covers remain tangled between your shins. Leafless trees border the side of the building save for a small swing set; a paved section decorated with a basketball hoop where a large shed stands many feet across from it. If one is to step outside the front of the structure, there sits a church surrounded by a gravel parking lot where the neighboring land hosts a barbed wire fence with an abandoned house and field.

It's been four months since you deemed the fellowship hall your home, and appreciatively, the area has been vacant since the falling of the church which saves even more stress than what you've been in since moving here. Achingly, your legs stretch to move off the bed before your feet land onto the grainy carpet. Your right-hand slips to steady your back, maneuvering your body to scoot to the bed frame, which has become a daily routine, weak fingers gripping the wood until your digits become pale white. Letting out a steady sigh, with all your strength you lift yourself to where you can stand, "Oomf," a small whimper escapes past your lips, tensing at the cringe plaguing your shoulders.

Being seven months pregnant sometimes has its perks, but this isn't one of them. Bending your body forward slightly, you step sluggishly toward your dresser, pulling out maternity clothes lent to you before the move.

"So, when are you going to tell us?" The soft murmur belonging to your mother echoes from the driver's side. Her expression submits an evident mixture of exhaustion and exasperation; though it's been a month since the announcement of your pregnancy, your mother is currently driving you to a doctor's appointment for a checkup on the baby to make sure everything is okay, "we have a right to know."

Arms crossed over your chest in mild annoyance, you bite the corner of your mouth until the side of your head meets the window, getting lost in the line of trees zipping by.

Waddling into the bathroom, the vague memory fades, your hand reaching to turn the knob of the shower. The squeaky sound along with rushing water splatters against the shower curtain sending a soothing jolt of excitement. Chilly air springs goosebumps over your limbs once you're freed of your clothes, waiting patiently for the water to warm before inching into the tub. When steaming liquid soon dribbles among your frame, a grin of satisfaction sparks brief happiness you needed an escape to. The heat of the downpour eases your aching bones, fingers clasping behind your neck to lean your head back, "Oh!" You gasp in surprise when the instant feel of a kick happens within your tummy. Eyes flutter down in the direction of your swollen belly, palms moving to caress it, "Look at you, what are you trying to do? Escape?" Cooing with a light giggle, when the baby kicks again, you can't help the giddy smile tugging at the corner of your lips. Now, this- this is what you love about being pregnant. Finishing up, you dry your hair before swiftly dressing along with brushing your teeth.

Thoughts still pertaining to the small life growing inside you, you've decided since your first doctor's visit that you do not want to know your baby's gender until the day that you give birth. When you presented the idea to your mother, she was all on board, proclaiming how she had done that with your younger sibling. Running a brush through your hair, you skim one final look into the mirror formerly then head to exit the bathroom.

Gradually sauntering through the mini hallway, you're more zoned on the way your hand pats upon the wall in some form of maintaining stableness to the point you hardly notice almost slamming into a tall figure.

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry!" A deep voice panics, raising his arms in a way to catch you though your arms mirror the same. Heart ramming, a breath of relief winds past your parted lips- your eyes scanning the slim legs that follow to the handsome face of Kim Namjoon. His eyes enlarged apologetically.

"Oh Namjoon, you scared me," a tender chuckle sets the feel of calm for he sees the amnesty etched in your eyes.

"I'm so sorry, [Y/N], I was about to head out to mow the lawn, but just wanted to check and make sure you're okay," he timidly scopes the view of your huge abdomen, gulping once his hands rest loosely at his sides, returning his eyes to search yours before a sweet grin spreads upon your face.

"It's no biggie. Thank you for checking on me,"

His dimples show from the way his lips press in a tight smile, nodding in reply, timorously turning to waltz to the outdoors in preparation of the day ahead. You watch until he disappears from your line of vision; the creep of a blush burning from your chest to your cheeks. Raking your hands through your hair, you force yourself once again to deny the attraction seeping through your soul thankful your blush attacked after he left.

Kim Namjoon works for your father, making sure the church grounds continuously stay clean and cut creating a pretty environment to the eye. Protecting the land is another part of the job description- protecting it from any loiterers, wild animals, protesters, etcetera- maintaining flower bushes encircling the area as well as mini projects your father will want Namjoon to build. The swing set, including the shed, happen to be plans that Namjoon successfully constructed due to your father's wishes. In return, Namjoon is provided a place to live- the room that once held your father's office, is now changed into a bedroom.

It's strange for you to think about it now- how so much has changed in just seven months, when a year ago the church was thriving, unaware of the secrets that clouded within the audience. Squeezing your eyes shut, a reminiscent from the beginning of your pregnancy rears its head causing a tiny brink of nausea to form.

Taehyung's arms drape around you tightly, embracing you in all entirety that your eyes shut against the crook of his neck. Your fingers squeeze his shoulder, legs bent across his thighs while tepid tears spill onto your cheeks.

"Shhh," he tries to comfort, his breath tickling your exposed ear- your face still buried beneath his chin, "It's going to be okay," he whispers just as soft as the flicking fire burning amongst numerous candle wicks. Scents of vanilla blends with birch fitting the dimly lit bedroom that you're thankful exists other than the man refusing to let you go until you feel better.

"How?" You choke back another sob, "How am I going to tell my parents? How am I supposed to confront the church if that's what it comes down to? Shit... My dad is going to fucking kill me," Taehyung's shirt is soaked, but he could care less, tangling his long fingers into your hair to stroke the back of your head.

"Okay, now, you're being dramatic,"

"So, maybe I am? But you know very well that my parents aren't going to take this lightly,"

"Yeah, but I think it's safe to say that telling your parents you're pregnant is far better than if you were to tell them how you truly feel about religion,"

"Okay? Perhaps, you're right," a snippet of a frustrated huff leaves your trembling lips, "especially not with what's been going on with the church, I don't know how much more they can take,"

"Well, your dad should have thought of that before he had an affair with my mom," Taehyung's icy tone brings chills to your frame before he loudly swallows, lips firm from the anger boiling behind his almond eyes. Tendrils of his bright, red hair glow regardless of how dark the atmosphere is, and you hardly hold back the sheer pain stabbing your heart from the guilt you can't help but endure.

"Tae, I'm so so sorry,"

"Hey," he peers down at you, realizing he may have taken his comment too far, even though you're just as angry towards your father as your best friend is, "you didn't know," sniffling back the remaining mucus clogging your nostrils, you desire to face Taehyung no matter how foolish you think you may look, scooting your body to where your palm indents in his mattress next to his legs, his arm now rests around your waist, and for a split second, you're close enough to where the tempting appearance of his striking face beckons the strange glimmer of longing. A longing of curing whatever loneliness you're going through, but you're not the only one experiencing this moment for Taehyung's lips part just enough to plead your attention.

You can't stop yourself, and you don't, because before either of you comprehend, you close the gap letting the delicate wave of his kiss caress yours. "Tae," you breathe against his lips, reuniting with his kiss almost immediately while a dizzy spell of want travels through your chest. You know this isn't right. He knows this isn't right, but too many pent-up emotions between your hearts have gotten out of hand, and for now, all the two of you have is each other. His fingertips move to tenderly trail your jaw, gasping into his mouth when the tip of his tongue circles yours before you move to trap him in a perfect straddle. You need something, anything to feel whole again- something to forget about the people you lost and the people you will lose. And, if there's anyone in this world you do not want to lose it's him.

There's no refraining, there's no hesitation, just the growing pace of the kisses, and the way you're so enthralled with how beautiful he feels squeezing you tighter to him. "[Y/N]," he moans, hating himself for how far he wants to go with you, yet he craves your touch, nearly supplicates for it. You want to feel his skin, and the aching throb below you seems to deafen any other screams of stopping, and yet, your fingers move to the end of his shirt, peeling it just enough to expose the solid wall of his abdomen. "[Y/N]," he stops you, breaking the final kiss, his hand covering your wrist, while your eyes frantically search the side of his face, "We- we can't,"

You haven't seen him since, because of the boundaries that were crossed and would have been farther crossed if Taehyung had not had the strength to stop. The pair of you have been best friends since childhood, and neither of you wants to take anything beyond for the sake of feeling empty, but he assured you that night, even after your panic of apologies pouring from your mouth, after the humiliation that shackled your system, even after the daunting assumption that your friendship was over- he cupped your cheek, promising that he was still here and that he would never end your attachment over something, you both will never regret.

It's a secret you've suppressed for some time. Taehyung calls every so often when he can; dealing with his broken-hearted father on top of two jobs consumes every bit of his time. Yet, you can't help but miss him, the one person who loyally stayed by your side even when you came forward to your friends about your pregnancy. And, the one friend who still loves you all the same, even after discovering his mother's affair with your father.

Rage isn't enough to describe the resentment against your father, and ever since you told your parents that you were expecting, and ever since your move, you haven't spoken to him. You'll never forget how torn your mother was- depression weighing heavy on her, and that's something that's hard to forgive.

Your mother looks frail as she twiddles the crumpled tissue in her hands. Tears brim her eyes through the silence in the car, sparse sniffles breaking your heart into a million pieces. The two of you had just come back from the grocery store to restock the kitchen in your recently new home and are now parked at the church's back door to drop you off. You hesitated upon leaving because the thought of your mother having to return home to a place of remorse is the last thing you want for her. The promise of a car was granted to you, but you turned it down, refusing to accept anything from the man who caused so much pain to your family. To Taehyung's family.

Running the tissue underneath her eyes, she speaks, "[Y/N]?"

"Yeah?" Your voice is barely a whisper, but the guilt from how stressed your mother has been is something you wish you could carry instead of her. After the betrayal of your father as well as him resigning from the church to send people away from the place they once sought refuge in- on top of her oldest daughter being pregnant with her first child is already a lot to handle. The other frustration you bite your tongue from expressing is the fact of your parents refusing to let you get a job until the time after you give birth. You want to make the money to provide for yourself and your son or daughter without the dependence upon your parents- your mother especially, yet you're grateful for her adamancy on keeping you from any risks outside of the walls of your home.

It takes a moment before your mother gathers her words, "Do you- do you think you could ask Namjoon to help take you to the hospital? Whenever it's time... for you to have the baby?"

It was easier for your mother to ask that of you because he lived in the same building, and if any emergency of your water breaking happened earlier than expected, at least you would have someone available to take you to the hospital. Your gaze clears from the zone out you've had the whole time standing in the entrance of the hallway before Namjoon left. Turning on a heel, you decide to return to your bed, slipping under the covers- you're too wide awake to sleep as of now, yet the foam of the mattress eases the soreness of your back once you lean against the pillows.

-Four months earlier-

Queasiness envelops your abdomen to where you recognize the cue, rushing to the porcelain throne to heave whatever yellow liquid is left- spurting it into the toilet while you grimace through the pain. The door swings open behind you mixed with heavy footsteps quickening to you. When large hands swoop to hold your hair back, you don't have the strength to look at the intruder due to the continuous retching that deems you defenseless.

"It's okay, it's okay," the deep voice is soft, and relief brings tears to your eyes when you recognize it to be Kim Namjoon. You're embarrassed once your stomach gives you a break, your palms pressing to your forehead while you slump against the wall.

"I'm so sorry," you whisper, swiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Namjoon scatters to find a tissue, patting the corners of your lips.

"You don't have to be sorry,"

"That... wasn't what I was apologizing for,"

A knowing glance is all he must give for you to share whatever thoughts you can't bring yourself to voice. He was your friend before all of this, yet you failed to mention to him about the pregnancy, and with him being the worker of the Church- he didn't discover your budding stomach until the day you moved in. His eyes flicker away from your stare toward the slight protrusion of your baby bump due to your ruffled t-shirt. He settles on the floor across from you, silence being the only conversation held. He isn't one to hold anger, and though you kept him unaware until your third month of pregnancy, he refuses to leave your side, making a pact to himself he will do whatever it takes to provide the care that you will need. As well as the little one.

Despite the emotional roller coaster, you remain amazed with how he keeps his patience with you. A day of depression to a random bout of laughter- memories turning of the betrayals of close friends who judged you immediately the day you put your trust in them- the freedom you craved away from the sheltered life your father forced upon you- even days where you can't seem to put your tears on pause, yet Namjoon holds you through every grieve.

"What if... what if I'm not good enough?" Your voice shakes between sobs- you had been dreaming restlessly yet another night, tossing within your bed to the point Namjoon came to check on you- rushing to pull you into his arms the moment your eyes fluttered to reveal pained tears. Your words nearly shatter him- pulling away just enough to where his eyes lock with yours.

"How can you say that, [Y/N]?" The faint light of your lampshade causes his face to glisten- angelically, you decide, yet the shadowing doubt of motherhood plagues you still, because what if you genuinely can't care for the child that you're six months away from holding? Fears encompass you like an ocean, smashing along your mind in harsh waves. "Look at me," are the words that snap you from whatever sea you were suffocating in to realize you had unintentionally switched your gaze from him. It's the calming effect the warmth of Namjoon's eyes bring when he exposes whatever faith he has in the woman you are and will become. "You're going to do just fine, believe me, I know it,"

Sniffling, you run the back of your hand along your chin where an escapee of a tear dangled, "How can you be so sure?"

"Because when have you ever given up on anyone that you care about," it's not a question, he's stating what he knows to be a fact. Something he learned of you when he first was hired to tend to the property. "You're stubborn when it comes to winning someone over. I was determined not to befriend anyone here. But you changed that for me, remember?"

A knowing tug of a smile trembles into a stretch upon your lips, "I do,"

"Same with the baby. I know you will love that little one more than life itself. It doesn't have a choice, and you'll let him or her know the second they're born,"

When a hearty snicker leaves your mouth, you notice the sticky feel of your drying face- you are no longer crying.

"You don't have to do this alone, [Y/N]. You showed me that even when I didn't know what else to do. Now, get some rest, okay? You have a doctor's appointment bright and early," the bed creaks from the gradual movement of Namjoon standing,

"Wait!" You speak before you can stop yourself, Namjoon immediately pausing- the heat of his arms is felt beneath your palms from your pounce of panic, and with evident chagrin, you shyly stare at his chest, "Can you uh, ... Can you stay in here with me tonight?" You've refrained from asking sooner due to the shame of not telling him the news that's become apparent, and even now, you haven't been able to comprehend how he's not the slightest bit angry with you. When his arms encircle you closer to his frame, no words need to be said because he's already answered by just this gesture. Nuzzling into his embrace, the side of his chin pressed to your forehead, "Whoever it is, I hope they grow up to be half the person that you are," you whisper, squeezing him tighter, infinite smiles now ending the night that cures any ounce of uncertainty.

By the fifth month of pregnancy, you finally come to the realization of how selfish you have been- it's no longer about you and your needs; it is now about the needs of your son or daughter growing within you. Namjoon catered to every grocery store trip, stocking the kitchen and in return, you choose to cook for him every meal, hoping to show as much appreciation to him that you can.

"Have you thought about any names?" Taehyung's voice muses on the other line of the phone, the sound of him bringing a small smirk upon your face. You've missed him terribly so, yet the acceptance of surprise phone calls is all you can settle with for now. At his question though, you pause with the tilt of your head, taking a quick sip of the broth that you're currently heating on the stove.

"No?" It's a brief question of guilt, something you haven't been ready to ponder, "Honestly... haven't thought that far ahead yet," you add in the vegetables to boil within the broth.

The familiar, deep chuckle is all you hear to gain an idea of what your best friend is about to say next, "I should have known,"

"Alright, Birkenstocks. What do you mean by that?"

"Breezing past that mistake. You named your Parakeet, Bird,"

"Well, in my defense, I was seven years of age,"

"And in my defense, playing basketball in Birkenstocks was supposed to start a trend,"

"Since how? I-"

"Ask Hoseok,"

"You lost a bet didn't you-"

"And, I will pay for it for the rest of my life, now won't I?"

"With me around, you will,"

Hoseok is the deacon's son who's dream of fashion has been shunned by his family, yet he designs in a sketchbook Taehyung hides for whenever Hoseok and he share the same work shifts. He's not one you have had the opportunity to communicate much with, but you're thankful Taehyung has someone to maintain a friendship with while you two have been apart. A short response of silence settles while your cheek and shoulder squeeze the phone for a moment as you stir the steaming vegetables.

"You could have named the bird, Tweety at least-"

"Oh!" You playfully growl, "Back with that again, huh?"

"Do I need to send you a link of baby names-"

"I promise you, Tae, I do not plan on naming my child, Kid, okay?"

"You'd be surprised-"

Taehyung's excitement for his future Godchild brings a simmering joy to the surface of your pattering heart. Almost as equal to the eagerness, your mother has shown with this being her first grandchild. Graciously, your mother has never been as strict as your father, hence why the past five months have gone much smoother then they would have if your father had never had an affair with Mrs. Kim.

The phone call ends whenever dinner is finished, and by that time, Namjoon scuffles through the door- the outdoorsy scent drifts to your nose while you place the sweltering bowls of soup on the table. Namjoon shimmers his feet from his work boots before hanging his coat, timidly glimpsing in your direction to confirm you're okay.

Small talk ensues with the typical questions of how each of your days has gone once the pair of you take your seats. One secret, yet another you and Taehyung have harbored, is the awareness of Namjoon's atheism- something your father must never learn of his worker. Namjoon, who will not admit it, works on the church grounds in order to provide for his family who lives a few miles up the road. Ultimately, there are many secrets not worth sharing to your parents, not only for the sake of sanity but for the protection of the ones who you've kept close, especially Namjoon. With your father being the tyrant of a priest, he used to be, there is still the potential distress of him firing Namjoon over the mere difference of beliefs. Something you refuse to let happen while you're around.

Clinking spoons replace conversation, for how long, you're uncertain; the fog of your thoughts seem to consume upon one in particular- something that has remained festering long enough, yet you have never said it aloud- figuring this moment may be the time that you do. Namjoon confided in you and Taehyung once he found comfort in trusting the pair of you- even subjects that one would have never expected him to open about. Guilt presents itself to the point your eyes squeeze shut, opening them to move your spoon to play at a piece of broccoli swimming in the potage.

"They don't know," your words are careful- slow even- continuing your vision on the dinner before you. You can feel Namjoon's soft eyes on you, his expression confused. "They don't know who the father is," that's when your gaze trails to meet his eyes just for more guilt to manifest behind them. By they, you're referring to your parents, as well as every other soul excluding Taehyung, "I won't tell them." Namjoon slowly nods with the sense of understanding, knowing the cost that will be taken if your father were to know who you're trying to bury beneath this web of fear. "Besides," you sigh heavily, "I'm surprised my father was lenient enough to let me live here," you confess, "if he wasn't so guilty over the affair, I would be homeless-"

"I wouldn't let that happen," Namjoon says suddenly, destroying whatever anger you were dwelling upon. Your mouth falls open in shock at his words and the frilly flutter of your heartbeat is hard to ignore. After living here for two months, he's proven time and time again that he means what he says; what he just said. Speechless, the rest of dinner continues in fond silence, your heart refusing to steady for the man slowly captivating your heart.

The sixth month of pregnancy gifts swollen feet and aching bones on top of your belly growing heavier by the week. Namjoon has stayed loyal- tending to your pregnancy cravings in the dead of night, aiding to your discomfort whether it involves a heating pack or a cup of ice, slipping under the covers on nights you want him to hold you, driving you to every doctor's appointment without any hesitation; with all that he's been doing for you, it's like your feelings have blossomed deeper which you know shouldn't be happening with the peril of your father finding out. The unexpected visits from your father are few, yet you usher the reminder to yourself of protecting Namjoon, though he carries the weight of facing your father instead of you who avoids the confrontation.

Night comes quickly after a day spent cleaning up the nursery that seems to be coming together, other than the crib Namjoon's been building- something you accidentally discovered when strolling close to the shed one sunny day. He's so dedicated to the unborn infant, it nearly brings you to tears, glancing around the elegant hues of multiple pastel colors painted across the room with stuffed animals, blankets, and furniture he continues to gift you amongst different items your mother has added to the collection. You always enjoy the sporadic visits from your mother, because she's free to celebrate the life that she refuses to consider as a sin.

"Are you thinking boy or girl?" Your mother elbowed your side earlier today after moving around the furniture.

"Hm," you hummed happily, thankful for the relationship that's being redeemed with her, "you know? I'm not very sure,"

"I can tell from all the colors you've chosen," she teased, "it looks beautiful," she cooed, pulling you into an accomplished side hug. You didn't want to stick to just pink or blue, so you chose every other shade in between, colliding the space with colors that could go for either or. "You're going to be a wonderful mother,"

The sound of the front door opens distracting you from the former memory, staring down at the table that now rests heaping plates of chicken and rice. The fellowship hall used to be filled with numerous rows of horizontal tables mingled with circular ones where the crowd would come to camaraderie to joyful hymnals, delicious food, reflected testimonies without any warning of the secrecies soon floating to the surface. Now a solo table, the one planted before you, pairs with a few sparse chairs just enough to seat at least four people.

"Hiya," you greet, trying to ignore the subtle increase of your heartbeat. Namjoon flashes a kid-like smile once he shutters out of his jacket, "How was your day?"

"It was good, thank you," he replies, taking long strides until he makes it to you, "How was yours with your mom?" His right-hand steadies the small of your back while his left one clutches yours to help settle you into your seat. It's hard to focus on the question he just asked when the scent from outside seems to heighten the attraction you already feel towards him, "It was good," you manage to say, reaching for the silverware to begin digging into your food, "Thank you... For helping me," the distance between your stomach and the table now is something you've been trying to get used to as well as the turmoil of trying to stand and sit.

"Anytime."

A blush floods your cheeks when he holds your timorous stare, so you avert your eyes to your dinner, letting the obvious feeling of Namjoon watching deepen the red shade on your skin. A few minutes disappear into time before you feel a shove against your abdomen from the inside. Your hand instinctively flies to press upon the baby bump, Namjoon jumping at the motion, stopping mid-chew, while his eyes enlarge in surprise.

"It's okay," you chortle at his reaction, "it's just the baby kicking," his response reminds you of the moment you felt the baby kick for the very first time- similar to a weird flutter that's hard to describe, and it had taken you a second to realize what it was exactly- just your baby making its presence known to you. Namjoon swallows the bite of food in a nervous gulp, the pang of his silverware mutes from where he lays it on the napkin.

"Here," you murmur affectionately preparing to stand to your feet. Namjoon immediately jolts from his chair, rounding the table to gather your hand in his. Instead of relying on his strength to help you position yourself, you plop back onto the seat, sliding his hand to the area where the baby kicked a few minutes prior. Namjoon kneels to level with you, his plump lips ajar mirroring the widen stance of his eyes while he patiently waits, his nervous heart pounding in his temples. It's the exuberant joy in his smile that meets his eyes in a dazzling glow the pure second the baby kicks again, and the bliss of delight smothers your heart in so many ways imaginable at this moment the pair of you are capturing together. Your hand remains resting upon his while your eyes lock repudiating from breaking contact.

"I told you that you don't have to do this alone," he whispers, and it's then you come to the awareness of how near his face is from yours, his dimples visible from his smile to the point you press your lips to each one, shocked at your act of boldness, but you can't refrain. He's too handsome and too wonderful to stay away from any longer. That's all the invitation needed, for Namjoon's lips brush yours igniting the sparks of what you've been trying to suppress for way too long. Your fingers find his hair when he leans to deepen the kiss, moving his hands to rest on the chair, fingers pressing into the wood until pale white.

At this moment, you don't care what anyone thinks.

You are in love with Kim Namjoon, and there is nothing in this world that's going to scare you away from that.

-Present day-

The pitch black outside the window brings frustration when you awaken to scold yourself for how long you've slept. Gathering yourself once the fatigue rolls off, you cautiously sit up, scooting to the bedpost until you're on your feet. Taking a trip to the restroom, you notice upon exiting the clock on the wall reads seven pm, and you wonder if Namjoon has made it inside for the evening. It's eerily quiet save for the air conditioning, but you pause when you see the lights are on in the main area of the building. Shrugging, you waddle around the corner until the sudden shouts of, "SURPRISE!", nearly knocks you to the ground.

Gasping, your eyes widen while your hand flies to your chest. A prolonged second interferes before your brain deciphers the two individuals cheering before you. Numerous pink and blue balloons hover to the top of the ceiling matching the colors of a cloth decorating the one table now adorned with a cake and wrapped gifts. "What?" You can barely speak from the light headiness taking over, but the tears that well in your eyes when you see the boxy smile of your best friend sends you in an attempt to run just to crash into his arms. He meets you halfway, surrounding you within his embrace as he rocks you back and forth muffling your wails of joy into his checkered sweater. Your soaked cheeks are wiped away from the material as been done countless times before, and his tepid palms squish your cheeks when he steps back to gesture toward your belly.

"Wow look at you! Your belly is huge!"

"I'm still in denial of how fast this pregnancy is going!" You say breathlessly, you're so happy to see Taehyung, you can hardly contain your composure. Namjoon steps forward with his hand reaching to squeeze your best friend's shoulder. Taehyung's fiery strands are curled upon his forehead, lustrous beneath the lights as it always has before, "Your father let you come?" There's a seriousness behind your voice at the question because you are cognizant of the fury Tae's father has against the church from the events that occurred what, in some ways feels like a lifetime ago.

"Well, no," Taehyung winces mischievously, "I told him that Namjoon and I were going to a basketball game,"

"Of course, you did, you sly fox,"

"You know you love me," Tae pecks your forehead before leading you to the table where the sweet whiff of cake flatters your nostrils.

"You guys didn't have to do this," you're still wiping tears off your face, though it's evident that your crying is from untainted gratitude, "What did I do to deserve the two of you?"

Namjoon kneels, intertwining his long fingers with yours, using the tip of his thumb to tickle circles upon your skin, "Taehyung mentioned how when you were kids that you loved surprises, especially if it involved a small party of some sort so," he tilts his head toward Taehyung, "And I knew how much you missed him, too. I just wanted to do something to celebrate you. And, the baby,"

It doesn't take much to smother this man in kisses nowadays, and once you express your thankfulness to the men before you, Namjoon reads your mind, snatching a small kiss in return.

"You two are on kissing terms, again?" Taehyung teases while you poke your tongue at him in mild embarrassment. Namjoon does not know of the moment you and Tae shared, and that's something you're not ready to talk about, and with the cutesy scrunch of Namjoon's face, the memory escapes to the back of your mind for now.

By the end of the night, the frosting had met all three of your faces- some smushed into Taehyung's hair while some swiped across Namjoon's neck, and your eyebrows are smeared along with the possible suspicion of some getting up your nose. Cleaning the mess takes a while, but nobody in the room would trade it for anything, and it's good stalling to prevent the night from completely ending.

Walking Taehyung to his car is the only dread overwhelming your system because you're not sure of when you will get to see him next. Tears flood your eyes, breaking Taehyung's heart as an awe of shame gusts past his lips, "I'm sorry, [Y/N]. My dad's expecting me home soon,"

"I don't want you to go," you choke, on the brink of bursting at the seams- Tae fumbles to tighten his arms behind your back- him trying to be mindful of your abdomen being pressed too firmly against his frame.

"Please don't cry," he whispers near your ear, "Please, please don't cry," His lips curl from the tears burning within his own eyes wishing with all his strength he could rid of the aching hurt that has kept your friendship separated. Tae swiftly pulls away when he remembers another present, he meant to give you earlier, whirling around to unlock his car, bending into the vehicle while his hands shuffle around the floorboard in a desperate search for whatever he wants to show you. When he turns to face you, a sharp inhale of glee echoes into the night- the lopsided plush of a heart is attached to a blue body ornamented with yellow polka dots that match its mouth. "Oh my gosh!" You squeal, "Tae, it's adorable! Where did you find this?"

Wiggling his eyebrows in pride, he hands it to you, "I made it myself. And," he pauses for effect, "since you have trouble naming things, I did the honors and named it for you. I introduce, Ta Ta."

"Ta Ta?"

"Yeah, like 'Ta Ta... for now,'"

"Just when I thought I couldn't love your dork of a self even more," you exhale, slamming your eyes shut just to bury your face further into his chest, not able to breathe in his scent from the clog of mucus stuffing your nose.

"I love you, too." His voice thickens with emotion, "Now, quit saying it like you're never going to see me again, because you know I'm not going anywhere."

"You promise?" Your cold nose moves to press into the corner of his jaw where steady breaths move between your parting mouth. It's a serene moment where he turns just enough to glimpse at you, engaging in the beauty he's always found within your heart. Taehyung's agape lips now rest centimeters from yours when his large hands raise to rest his fingertips along your flushed cheeks- the curls of his frizzy hair pressing to your forehead, prickling your closing eyes. You discover your free hand enfolding around his wrist from the daunting desire looming from what's been left unspoken, and the shiver in his breathing brushes your chin once the light touch of his nose cuddles to yours. You both stand there for a seeming reel of eternity, battling the inward mayhem of choice that's displayed itself on the invisible line tempting to be traversed.

"I promise."

He hadn't kissed you, but there was no denial that he wanted to, especially with the way your face has haunted his dreams since the night your lips met in emotional patterns of sorrow. But, deep down, he knows it's too obvious of a choice if the one for him is to be you, but the love that has been kept for you will never go away. The same as a tether of your heart will forever be his no matter how deep your love goes for someone else. Kim Taehyung will always be your poise- your muse- the soulmate of a friendship that you will always need.

Toddling to the nursery upon Tae's departure still presents the boiling tears from your tired eyes dripping off your cheeks as you set Ta Ta beside the koala plushie Namjoon gifted you; the humor involving the struggle of both Taehyung and Namjoon carrying the crib Namjoon built for the baby taunts a smirk at the corner of your lips. It's dark besides the faint light of the hallway behind you, giving you just enough to admire the scenery around you- sniffling back what you can before reaching to cover your quivering chin with your hand. You've missed Taehyung. You miss him. And, how beautiful of Namjoon to surprise you with your best friend's presence? Reuniting the three musketeers from once upon a time?

Little do they know, from the unearthing of your pregnancy to now, the two men have mended your broken heart and stitched it back together again piece by piece. You're highly uncertain of where you would be without them, and just the thought alone is one you refuse to dwell on. While memories turn like a spindle of loosened thread, a revelation halts you in your tracks. The thought rings loud and clear gracing a wide smile on your face while one more set of tears dampen the corner of your eyes.

After scolding yourself for so long for not thinking hard enough on the subject,

right here, hands grasping the handlebar of your future child's cradle,

you finally have a name picked out for your little one.

2 months later....

"Namjoon, I'll be fine," the pointed look you flash him prompts a nervous chuckle once his hands rest to rub gently along your sides. He's concerned as he's been almost the entire pregnancy, but of course, now his worries are heightened to an extreme, "I'm not due until next week. Don't worry,"

"I know," he groans, tugging you closer just enough to plant a warm to kiss to your neck, "But, I can't help it."

"I'll be fine," you drag the word with a teasing sound of a whine. Namjoon shaking his head at you with a smile you're now feeling upon your lips. "Mm," you hum into his kiss, your hands sliding to squeeze his shoulders in reaction to how impeccable it feels. You end the moment simply to gaze at him, "You'll be back before you know it," you assure him- his trip to the grocery store being the plan for the afternoon.

"Okay," he says tenderly, eyes flickering to your lips once more before leaning to brush them to his own, "I love you,"

There's a small pause, one that entails warmth smothering your chest in giddy sensations when his eyes steal yours after pulling away, "I love you, too, Joon," watching him head out the door until the truck disappears along the road.

Of course, the day doesn't go accordingly the way you expect, because on carefully prodding to the kitchen in preparation to cook breakfast, a slight ache ensues within your abdomen. "Oh," you groan, stroking the area with your fingertips before deciding to lay down for a bit instead. When reaching your room, the sharp pain of a cramp returns causing a harsh cringe as you lean against your bedpost, hardly able to concentrate on the attempt of climbing onto the mattress. You remain hunched over for five minutes, forcing slow breaths to prevent from panicking, and when you find the coast to be clear, you straighten yourself out.

Suddenly, before you can comprehend what's happening, a gush of water splatters onto the carpet soaking your feet in the process.

"No," you whisper, eyes frantically scanning your room for your cell phone. Namjoon shouldn't be far with the grocery store only being a few miles away, but in order to get a hold of him, you must find your only way of contacting him. Hands pat your bed, thrusting off the bed covers and shaking them roughly, yet no 'thump' is heard before you cast the covers in a pile onto the ground. The next destination leads to the restroom, with no luck of your phone being in your bedroom- when another wave of pain shoots within your stomach, you gasp, trying to endure through the discomfort with all your might.

Leaving a water trail behind with every step you take, you desperately search the countertops before stepping into the area that holds the kitchen, wondering if there is any possibility it may have been left behind there. Your feet meet the cool surface of the tile floor, your gape scanning the entirety of the space before a pant of relief escapes past your dry lips the second your shaking hands gather the device. "Agh!" A contraction surges, hands squeezing your phone unintentionally, yet you grimace just enough to maintain your focus on the task at hand. Managing to get the phone ringing, it doesn't take long until you hear the man of your dreams at the other end of the line.

"Hello?"

"Joon, it's time," you choke, voice thick with pain.

"Oh, shit! Hold on tight, I'm on my way, just hold tight, I'm coming-"

You just happen to be running by the church in favor of dropping off the work truck keys to your father when he unintentionally introduces you to the new employee you assume he plans to hire, "[Y/N], this is Kim Namjoon. He's going to be taking care of the church grounds for us, isn't that wonderful?"

"Hello, it's nice to meet you," you greet, underlyingly suffering from the attraction swarming to your reddening cheeks. When your father mentioned of hiring, you never anticipated the person to be this overwhelmingly breathtaking.

"It's nice to meet you too, Ma'am," Namjoon's polite nod mirrors the dimples evident from a soft grin, his hand reaching for yours to shake before your father continues the tour of the place you've grown up memorizing. But something initiates you to stay, eyes lingering on the back of the tall figure decked in a turtleneck covered by a green jacket complementing a pair of jeans along with brown shoes. There's a spark of intuition that day, one that ignited the prominent determination that you want to get to know this person even if your father ends up finding out.

Namjoon busts through the door with pure alarm etched in his voice, "[Y/N], I'm here! Baby, I'm right here," he immediately jumps to where you are, keeled over on the floor, throwing his arm around you until he lifts you out of the fellowship hall and into the work truck. Words you attempt to form are muted by whimpers, tears brimming your eyes from the pain that doesn't end, "I'm going to grab the suitcase, I'll be right back," time must be faster than you can measure for Namjoon arrives, slinging the suitcase into the backseat before slamming into the driver's side.

It takes a while for the newly found employee to warm up to every opportunity you take in order to get to know him. One thing he's slowly but surely learning is that you're not one to give up so easily- something you've noticed him picking up on, especially on days, you annoy him when he's on call to build a project. You make it clear to talk to him nonstop until he acknowledges your existence, and the times he doesn't breathe a word results in a call to Taehyung.

"Come help me," you plea hearing Taehyung's exasperated sigh on the other line.

"You are so annoying,"

"You know you love me, fool," you gloat because with defeat, your best friend reluctantly joins you, even accompanying a basketball just in case if Namjoon happens to fancy sports. Your girlfriends, Luna and Jo, were informed of your undying crush on the mysterious worker, crossing their arms in jealousy that you half-heartedly ignored.

"He doesn't even come to the services," Jo droned, "Don't you think it'd be best to get to know someone that's more... active in the church? Like the pianist's son, Min Yoongi. You two had such a cute relationship when you were three-"

You can't get past why no one seems to understand that you must win Namjoon over, and though Luna and Jo have seen the world along with you since childhood, you roll your eyes, turning on a heel, "I'll catch you later,"

Tires screech along the road while Namjoon swerves past cars on the highway, hands ghost white from the tight grasp he has upon the steering wheel. Meanwhile, your hand grips the bar above you while your other rests upon your belly- the keenness of getting to hold your baby in your arms is all you're thinking about other than Namjoon who's keeping you sane.

"Just a few more miles and we will be there. Just breathe," his voice is unsteady from the fright of this situation, but he upholds his enlarged gaze upon the road. He fumbles for his phone- trying to contact anyone from your family in order to tell them the news.

"GAH!" Leaning forward, a wail echoes within the vehicle as another contraction attacks.

"You guys aren't going to stop until I'm your friend, am I right?" Namjoon's elbows are folded from the hold he has on the basketball meeting his chest. Tae jumps sporadically in front of him with outspread arms preparing to prevent the ball from flying into the hoop.

"Damn straight," you shrug your shoulders in observation of Namjoon's tilting head.

"I thought church girls didn't cuss,"

"And I thought you'd have more game than the basketball," You retort.Tae halts, straightening his frame, eyes flickering between you and a quiet Namjoon, "Now hurry up. If you win, I will leave you alone for good. If Tae wins then we treat you to dinner and a movie. How does that sound?"

With an incredulous shake of his head, Namjoon smirks, "Okay," the scuffle of his converse is heard on the pavement when he briefly turns to toss the ball toward the hoop. The basketball pangs the ring, twirling ferociously to the point, your heart begins to sink, but to your pleasure, the ball tips off the rim, landing in a rejoicing Taehyung's arms.

"HAH!" You sprint, colliding into Taehyung's embrace while Namjoon tries to stifle the smile overtaking his lips, "Looks like it's going to be a burger and fries' kind of night," you wink, unaware of the hope that Namjoon has of wanting to gain your friendship just as much.

The hospital entrance appears after the rush of Namjoon turning into the parking lot soon helping you out of the truck. The suitcase will have to wait being he can retrieve it later, his ultimate goal is getting you within the building to where you're safe. "It's okay, it's okay," he tries to appear relaxed, but everything becomes a blur until a nurse with fluffy, black hair approaches with a wheelchair to help settle you in. His nametag reads 'JIMIN' – him rolling you quickly down the hall when the presence of a female nurse whose nametag reads 'MONNIE' helps you change into the nightgown upon arrival of the hospital room. Voices are mingling together from the pounding in your temples, but Monnie keeps her hands gentle on your back to lead you to the bed where she hooks you up to what seems like a million machines whilst providing as much comfort to you as possible.

Namjoon's calloused hand covers yours when one other nurse, Jungkook, floods the room, bringing a chair for him to sit in. You're not sure of all the commotion that's overwhelming the room, but you steady your breathing as Namjoon directs, squeezing his hand through each contraction. You recognize the doctor, Kim Seokjin, a tall man already dawned in a scrub hat, mouth mask and gloves, scurrying to where you are, "Alright, I am going to check your dilation Ms. [Y/N], just breathe in and out." Slamming your eyes shut, you whimper from the discomfort, "Alright, she is dilated three centimeters. Once you are at ten centimeters [Y/N], you will begin pushing. No worries, I will alert you as soon as I need you to begin. Keep breathing. Everything will be okay,"

"Taehyung... My mom... Dad-" you murmur deliriously between breaths, the foggy sense of your conscious outweighing how to speak properly.

"No worries baby, they're on their way. They're on their way right now," he sweetly kisses your perspired forehead, running his free hand through your tangled hair.

The three musketeers were official after the day at the basketball hoop, eventually learning of Namjoon's atheism as well as him providing for his family.

"My dad couldn't find a job that pays enough, so I promised him that I will do whatever it takes," it had been six months since Namjoon had been hired, and currently is finishing his final paint to the shed while you and Taehyung sit Indian style in the grass. "Thanks to the job here, I can afford the rent for my parents as well as give them my car since here, I just use the work truck..." Namjoon sharing more in-depth with his life story- you finally get what you've been determined to gain since meeting him.

It's weeks later that you'll never forget, leaning against a mini, red monkey bar after sharing your feelings toward the man you've grown so fond of. There's no denying the feelings he's had for you, and once he inches closer, the crave to hold his hand has never been stronger. Boldly, your fingers trail to intertwine with his, your nerves close to getting the best of you despite the persistent smile that hasn't left him. When you find the bravery to look up at him, he swallows calmly before leaning in, you stand on your tiptoes to meet halfway until your lips touch. The slide of his arms encompassing your frame feels so inviting when he presses his body to yours. The world is put on pause to you and nothing else matters other than the way his lips move so elegantly- your arms wrapping around his shoulders while he sways you from side to side.

Time doesn't seem to speed up through all this pain, but the adrenaline swimming in your veins peaks when Dr. Seokjin prepares to check your dilation again. "Ten centimeters-" He confirms, "Alright, [Y/N], the baby's coming. When I say push, you push. Okay," he positions himself though you can't see anything past your gown and raised knees, "One, two, three! Push!"

"AGH!" You grunt, a small scream vibrating at the back of your throat once you push with every fiber of strength, you can muster.

"Breathe, breathe," Namjoon's hand hasn't once left yours- sweat pouring from your scalp while the burning agony overpowers your body.

"Is she here!?" The click of darting heels enters the room and are loud enough for it to catch your attention. "Oh, honey, I'm here!" It's your mother- scampering to your side with the undeniable blur of Taehyung's red hair following suit. You want to ask where your father is, but before a chance is given, the doctor shouts, "Push!"

"AAAAAAAGH!" You manage, body straining in all its entireness. Taehyung jolts to let you squeeze his hand along with Namjoon's. His features show nothing but fear at the sight of you being in so much strife, yet he holds it together enough to cheer you on.

"I'm- I'm so glad you both are here," you cry- another sixty seconds drifting before the shout of, "Push!" erupts.

"I'm scared," you murmur in the dimness of the room. On your knees, Namjoon's soothing hands glide along the tops of your thighs motivating you to run your hands along his forearms. You don't know where your parents are, and you're too angry to care. You're bushed of the fighting so, you sought comfort in being here, with Namjoon. Taehyung dropped you off at the fellowship hall with the promise of not breathing a word- because if your parents were to find out remotely of your whereabouts, you'd hate to discover what the consequences will be.

"Me too," his nervous eyes investigate every inch of your face. You've never been with anyone this way before- secretly hidden away from the world outside trying to suppress the revealing crave of what you're curious about. Scooting forward, you drape either leg around him, propping yourself enough to where your arms lace around his neck.

His breath hitches from the gesture- your lips erotically aligning with his in slow movements, heat rising below you when you feel the hardening of his being beneath your sense, "I want you," you whisper. He knows that you're a virgin, and with care, he lays you on the bed, hovering above your frame where your bodies align perfectly. "Are you sure this is what you want," concern consumes his countenance, but you desperately bring your hands to cup his cheeks.

"I don't think I've wanted anyone so much in my life,"

You gasp into his kiss where he slips his tongue along yours- the sensation one you've grown used to from the slovenly kisses leading up to this very night. You give Namjoon permission to sneak his large hands underneath your shirt, trailing up your ribcage before swallowing your breasts whole in his heated palms. Nipples so sensitive, your heat drenches the moment he realizes the effect it has on you just by merely brushing the rising buds, lipping at your neck while he basks in the beauty of your moans. "More," you beg, "Please, Joon, more." When clothes start to be thrown off, you're determined to pleasure him, but have not an idea on how to do so. "Show me," you breathlessly demand, Namjoon's palm leading yours to encircle his twitching being. You stroke his erection as shown, biting your lower lip from the throbbing feeling of your core- him instantly finding your entrance to fill it with his fingers as carefully as he can- both of you pleasuring each other, yet still getting lost in kissing so deeply, the two of you forget to gasp for air. The sensation of heated pressed bare skin can be the most beautiful thing, especially with the way your legs entangle with his. You're surprised the feel of his prodding fingers didn't bring as much discomfort as you would have originally anticipated, but when he brings a hand to his penis, he rubs his tip along your slit letting the sloppy sound of you leak onto it. "Holy shit," he moans from how soaked you are for him- his fingertips finding your clit while yours dig into the backs of his shoulders.

Smoldering kisses move from your lips to your breasts, down your abdomen to your inner thighs where you tense underneath his touch that slides to hold your bottom half where he can scan your heat. The tip of his tongue swipes upon your slit excruciatingly slow to the point your fingers tangle with the material of the bedsheets. The smacking sound of his lips savor your taste while his tongue circles your core- you're hyperventilating from how deliciously he flicks his tongue upon your slit, screaming his name relentlessly- the speed of his skilled mouth driving you wild from the growing climax beckoning your stiffening thighs, "Oh, Namjoon, oh- Joon- I- Oh!"

He's not ready for you to finish because there's more he wants to show you. Hovering above you once again to see you coming down from your high, your heaving chest longs for his touch, and he nearly comes undone from the smile embellishing your face. His tracing fingertips parade along the outline of your body in featherlike tickles while the sounds of panting breaths mingle with shifting sheets bring subtle music to your ears for the rest of the night. The gentle parting of his lips grasps your own in smooth movements persuading arousal streaming from your core. Your fingers now link with frilly tufts of his hair, gripping the strands in reaction to the pressing of his bare chest to yours, dreaming of nothing more than to be entwined with him for what you hope will be forever. Hips grinding into yours prompts the light moan teasing his ears for more before his mouth trails to pause above your pounding heart. His hair brushing your chin, your arms glide to wrap around him holding the hope that he will never let you go. Not even for a second.

"Alright, one more! Almost done! Push!"

Sucking in one long breath, with a compulsory scream, you push with all you have left in you. Exhaustion weakens your limbs, yet a rush of relief floods your body when the cries of an infant reverberate within the room. With heavy eyes, you turn to see your mother with tears cascading down her face and onto the back of her hand covering her agape mouth- eyes remaining locked in front of her. Taehyung's gaze doesn't drop though his fingers loosen from yours at the small bundle immediately apprehending the eyes of every individual. Right then, you move your head to your other side where Namjoon gradually rises in awe- his hand still has yours. Gathering any ounce of strength, you're ready to see the child you've been waiting to hold for nine months, so cautiously you sit up until your stare meets Dr. Seokjin's. You can see the smile in his eyes despite the mouth mask, and what he says next brings you to tears, "It's a girl,"

"Oh!" You thrill, anxious to meet her while the nurses scurry to clean her up.

"Sir, would you like to do the honors?" The doctor gestures a pair of scissors towards a stiffened Namjoon whose eyes are welled with hushed tears. He can't even speak, yet he nods from the happiness exploding beneath his chest.

"Wait," Your mom says, "Is- is?"

It's a moment that seems to fit the setting for your father walks in, as if on cue, shoulders slumped from the anticipating tension now darkening the room. Taehyung's shoulders tensed at the sight of the man he despises, but for the sake of you, Namjoon and his Godchild, he keeps his composure enough to ignore the elephant now standing in the room. The fear that used to consume you upon your dad unraveling the truth about your secret vacates you when you know that you and the two men present can conquer anything.

"Yes," the answer is to your mother, but your stern glower of warning is only connected with your dad's although your mother's stare remains on you, "Namjoon is the father."

Namjoon stands with pride while he accepts the pair of scissors from Dr. Seokjin- your father, with a shocked expression, watches as the man he hired happens to be the same man who stole his daughter's heart without his knowledge. Yet, he refrains from anger, because who is he to ruin such a precious moment about to unfold here?

Pictures are taken of Namjoon cutting the umbilical cord, his fingers gently rubbing his daughter's cheek while he wipes at the tears dripping from his eyes. Jungkook takes her into his arms to weigh her before wrapping her in a plush pink blanket, "She is seven pounds and five ounces,"

Endless joy envelops your heart from the scene playing out before you; especially, when the vision of your father's quivering chin, admiring his granddaughter leaves you speechless along with the hope of redemption entering your beating heart.

"Are you ready to hold her?" Monnie's kind eyes match her smile when she touches your arm.

"Yes," you stifle a sob, "I want to hold her,"

Monnie poses her arms to where Jungkook places your daughter, Monnie guardedly turns to rest your baby into your arms. Her small face chortles, her eyes closing while she puckers her tiny lips. "She's so perfect," you cry, love in all its beauty falling from your eyes while you watch your daughter's fingers fold individually upon her chest.

"Just like you," Namjoon whispers, locking eyes with you before inching forward to give you a loving kiss.

"I love you, Joon," you whisper, pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth.

"I love you, too."

"Uh," the deep serenade of your best friend interrupts, all attention abruptly turning to see him raise an index finger in the air, "So, as the Godfather, I must ask a very serious question," the room chuckles along with him as they patiently wait for his request, "What's her name?"

"Ah," you nod, realizing that hasn't been made known to anyone other than to yourself. Your mother steps forward to place her hand upon your shoulder while your father keeps his distance enough to not cause any trouble- though the two of you share a small smile to let him know all is well. Namjoon watches you in admiration- the woman of his dreams holding his child in her arms while facing her deepest fear yet holds her head with pride about the man she will spend the rest of her life with along with her daughter swaddled to her chest. You are everything he's ever longed for and more, and he's ready to defeat any storm in life if it's with you and his daughter.

To answer Tae's question though, you return to face him, tears gathering in exhilarating bliss.

"Taejun." Her eyes slightly open at the hearing of her name as a tiny smile adorns her lips,

"Her name is Kim Taejun."

158 notes · View notes

thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

Indruck 22 for the meet uglies?

Here you go! I went SFW on this one

you’re on a date with this awful, awful person who keeps getting under my skin because my friend and I have been eavesdropping all night and your date says something that makes me snap … I thought it was a first date, not a three year relationship

“...such a waste of money. I mean, why spend all that to get something tacky on your skin?”

Indrid rolls his eyes at Barclay from across the counter of the Amnesty Lodge coffee shop, the cooks arms and hands sporting a plethora of tattoos rivaled only by Indrid’s collection.

“I dunno, l like the one I got.” The other man--who seems to be on the worst first date of his life--shrugs.

“You honestly think you and Juno couldn’t have spent that money on something else in college?”

“I mean maybe but, uh, we were earnin our own cash, figured we got to decide what to spend it on.”

“Hmmmm” the first guy sips his coffee, “sounds like a typical excuse for someone who doesn’t want to admit a mistake.”

“C’mon, that ain’t fair-”

“Ugh, stop saying ain’t! I can’t take someone who talks like that to meet my family.” Before the target of his disdain can respond, he snaps his fingers, “hey, buddy, can I get a refill or what?”

“The station for black coffee refills is right there, sir.” Barclay indicates the very obvious corner of dispensers, his voice the kind of calm that Indrid knows means he’s memorizing this guys face to warn other staff about.

They earn a brief reprieve while The Asshole leaves the table. When he returns, he’s shaking his head.

“God, have you looked at the photos they’ve got up? Who the fuck wants to look at bones?”

Indrid quickly glances at his friend to be sure he’s permitted to start a fight. Barclay nods.

“Quite a lot of people.” Indrid spins on his stool. “I’ve sold a number of them just from the display here. So perhaps you could keep your rude, unclultured, close-minded, obnoxious mouth shut.”

The man balks, looks to his companion for help. He offers none, mouth trying to form words and only coming out with halves of ones (except for the “fucks” which are plentiful).

“Oh my fucking god, you agree with him! That’s it, I’m out.” The Asshole pushes back from the table and storms out. The remaining man leaps up, panicked.

“Fuck.”

“It’s okay man, shitty first dates happen to all of us.” Barclay offers from beside the bakery case.

“I mean yeah, they do, but that wasn’t one of ‘em. That was my boyfriend of three fuckin years.” He dashes out of the shop, sparing a final glare at Indrid as he does.

Indrid trades a sheepish look with his friend, “Oops.”

-------------------------------------------------

“I’m glad you finally get to meet Duck!” Aubrey grins over her shoulder as she and Indrid wind down the hall at the office Kepler magazine.

Founded by childhood friends, Kepler worked a combination of print and video content that saw its subscribers and revenue climb while other publications struggled to stay afloat. Aubrey was head of the video team, though she contributed content to the magazine in the form of interviews about environmental activists of color and sustainable gift guides.

Kepler has three sections: travel, science, and environmental writing. Indrid now has the honor of being one of their primary photographers. He started two weeks ago and is thoroughly enjoying his work and the company of the other staff. The only person he’s yet to meet is Duck Newton, one of the founders and main reporters, as he was off on an assignment.

Aubrey knocks, gets a friendly “come in” and ushers Indrid into the office.

Looking at him from behind the desk is The Asshole’s Boyfriend, whose face goes from open and friendly to confused, then to perturbed.

“You okay?”

“I, uh, fuck, n-ye.” Duck sighs, “remember how I told you Alex and I split after a shitty date in a coffee shop?” He points at Indrid, “this was the fella who, uh, expedited the process.”

“Ohhhh.” Aubrey frowns, then shrugs with a smile, “whelp, he’s our new photographer. We’ll see you around.” She hurries them outside once more, shutting the doors. As they head back the way they came, she whispers, “his ex was a huge fucking dick, so if word gets out everyone is gonna think you’re a fucking hero.”

“He didn’t seem to see it that way.”

“It was only a few weeks ago, so it’s still pretty fresh. He’ll heal from it okay, Duck’s a tough cookie. And I’m sure you guys’ll get along eventually.”

---------------------------------------

“Juno, please, you gotta come with me.”

“I would bud, except it’s April and I’s fifth wedding anniversary that weekend. And no, we already have plans, so we can’t just take over this assignment as part of the celebration.”

“Fuck” Duck leans back in his chair.

“...You really asked everyone?”

“Ye-no, fuck-”

“Duck.”

“I ain’t asked Indrid yet.”

“There it is.” Juno smirks, “you gotta ask; besides, we were gonna have him do illustrations for the feature, but photos would be even better. And we both know it ain’t his fault y’all broke up.”

Duck nods, promises to ask Indrid after lunch. He finds the photographer flipping through his files from his shoot for next issues cover. His silver hair is pulled back, red glasses sitting on the desk beside him so he can gauge color correctly.

Duck kind of wants to pull the silver locks just to see what happens. It’s not his fault Indrid looks like his Sophomore roommate who he had a raging crush on, only with more tattoos and a much more captivating face. Pity he helped fuck up Duck’s last chance at a stable relationship.

“Hey, Indrid, you got a minute?”

The photographer cocks his head.

“I, uh, so we got a feature on this whole chunk of places touting themselves as ‘sustainable romantic getaways. I booked a bunch of places, but a lot of ‘em will turn me away if I turn up solo. And the person I was supposed to go with ain’t an option any more. Neither is anyone else. You get my drift?”

Indrid pinches the bridge of his nose, “you realize this is a terrible idea, yes?”

“Hey, we been workin together just fine. Ain’t we? Wait, fuck, I ain’t been treatin you bad even when I’m tryin to be professional, am I?”

“No, you’ve been perfectly polite. But there’s a world of difference between being cordial in an office and going on what’s functionally a vacation together.”

Duck crosses his arms, “I ain’t about to lose eight hundred bucks in deposits.”

Indrid blinks, then chuckles, “Fair. What day do we leave?”

-------------------------------------------------

The temperature rises and the air dries as they speed south on Five. Indrid fiddles with games on his phone as cover for the list of “will this be a disaster or not” he’s mentally constructing. So far the signs are positive; Duck isn’t very chatty, but neither is Indrid. They have similar tastes in music, which makes much more sense when Duck explains he was a burn-out in high school. He also isn’t agitated by Indrid stimming, which makes it easier for the photographer to relax and enjoy the drive.

But they haven’t spoken about the elephant in the car, and Indrid resolves not to be the first to do so. No point in poking the sore spot if he doesn’t have to.

They stop at a Sinclair for gas. Duck reaches into his glovebox for something as Indrid climbs out, comes away with a photo instead. It’s one of those ones from a photobooth, faded but unmistakably him and his ex. His face falls for a second and Indrid scurries into the Dairy Queen attached to the convenience store.

As he waits in line, he turns one fact over in his mind like a picture he’s trying to make sense of; it would be easier to let their awkward first meeting go if he did not genuinely like the other man. He’s charming, in a quiet way, and very friendly. He’s built like the guys Indrid always got useless crushes on in college, usually third tier frat boys or--if he was lucky--a bear a few years older than him who liked his men on the odd side.

He doesn’t like seeing Duck sad. The sadness isn’t something he can fix. The stalemate between these two facts annoy the living hell out of him.

He’s next in line, glances up to confirm what he wants, and gets an idea. Last week, he overheard Duck talking with Aubrey about roadtrip snacks of their youth.

“One chocolate dipped cone, on me.” He holds the treat out to the other man.

“Oh. Uh, thanks. These are my favorite from when I was a kid.” Duck’s smile returns.

“I remembered. Or, ah, that is, I remembered you saying that.”

The smile changes, “you didn’t need to.”

“I wanted to. Shall we?”

“Yep. Uh, you gonna be able to drive and eat that at the same time?”

“Do not doubt my ability to consume ice cream under difficult circumstances, Duck Newton.”

They make it to their first stop unscathed. It’s what Duck refers to as, “eco-bespoke,” a fancy spa and hotel built in a former school, the kind that was made in an era of beautiful instead of grim educational architecture.

“Goats!” Indrid claps his hands, delighted, at the two animals stabled near the main building. One of it’s supposed sustainable elements is the small farm that helps feed the on-site restaurant. Duck smirks and Indrid suddenly feels the gulf in their upbringings, “Ah, I suppose they’re not exciting to someone who grew up in a rural town.”

“Nah, but they’re damn cute.” Duck checks the tag on their room keys, “okay, we’re in the green building, room 2B.”

Indrid snaps some photos as they cross the grounds, more to remind himself of things he wants to come back to later than anything else. He’s busy studying a strange mark on the wall by their door when Duck says, “I can sleep on the floor.”

“Why--oh” he stares at the single bed, “in retrospect, we should have seen this coming.”

“Yeah.” Duck drops his bag near the closet, slides the door to look for spare linens. Indrid summons his courage, finds it lacking, and so bolsters it with nonchalance.

“It’s a king, we could easily share.”

“You’d, uh, you’d be okay with that?”

“It is only narrow definitions of masculinity that mean something like sharing a bed is inherently sexual.”

He’s not entirely sure that made sense, but Duck nods, “You want the right side or left?”

“Right, please.”

“Great. And, uh, Indrid? Thanks for rollin with all this. I, uh, I know it’s fuckin weird but this is a huge feature for the magazine and we woulda been fucked if we had to pull it.”

Indrid gingerly sits on his side of the bed, “You’re welcome. And I don;t know about you, but” he smiles, catches Duck watching him intently in the mirror, “I’m enjoying myself so far.”

------------------------------------------------------

“Why has an activity that renders one incapable of using their thighs been deemed ‘romantic?” Indrid mumbles, face-down on the bed to offer his burning legs relief.

“Fuck if I know.” Duck groans as he sits next to him, “Kinda fun, but if I was doin this to get you in bed, I’d be fucked.”

“I am in bed” Indrid teases.

“And if I tried to put the moves of you you’d toss me outta it. Assumin I could even move myself that close.” Duck nudges him, then clears his throat, “uh, I mean, not like we’d be doin that-”

“Nono, point taken.” Indrid rolls over. The horseback ride was one of the “couples exclusives;” a trot out to a beautiful oasis for a gourmet picnic. Indrid got some excellent shots, including one of Duck with honeycomb dripping down his chin, which he will not be offering up to editors but may keep for himself. For it’s beautiful composition, of course.

Mercifully, their next stop is the pool. Indrid settles himself in the hot tub while Duck types some notes on his phone. Then his friend doffs his bathrobe and Indrid may as well be in a dream. In the steaming, echoing paradise of multi-colored tile and ecstatic shouts, Duck stands like one of the angelic fountains at its heart has come to life.

“You okay there, ‘Drid?”

“Yes.” He hopes his lack of glasses means Duck will mistake his blatant staring for trying to get his vision in focus.

“Then scoot your cu--uh, your butt over so I can sit down.”

Indrid gladly moves aside, finds he’s so comfortable with Duck pressed against him that he begins nodding off in the warm lull of the water. When the other man nudges him, saying it’s time to go, he finds a strong arm draped over his shoulder and Duck’s smile the most relaxed it’s been all trip.

Their last task at this location is to locate the speakeasy somewhere on the premises and order the “lovers delight” (only available to couples). To do so, they follow clues purple light bulbs, doors that lead to tiny, art-filled rooms, secret staircases, and a false supply closet to a dark wooded, dimly lit, incredibly pleasant bar looking out over the property. The drink turns out to be a massive goblet (more a bowl that someone stuck on a stem) of ginger syrup, prickly pear juice, and silver tequila.

It also turns out to be incredibly strong. So much so that when they get back to the room, Indrid loses his balance getting his shoes off, which makes Duck laugh, which results in both of them flopping onto the bed.

“S’fun. You’re, you’re real good at the clues. Should, should go to an escape room when we get home.”

“Wasn’t, hic, that hard. They, they want, hic, want you to find it.”

“Take the compliment, goofus” Duck pushes his shoulder.

“You’re, hic, the goofus.”

“Nuh uh.” Duck sticks his tongue out. Indrid does the same, then licks his cheek just to hear him laugh.

Duck rolls onto his back, giggles dying down to a contemplative sigh, “He woulda hated this.”

“Your ex?” Indrid crawls to stay close to him.

“Yeah. Everythin I like, or, or thought was fun, he thought it was a waste of time or just plain worthless. He, he wasn’t like that at the start. Dunno what changed. Probably me. Probably got borin. Got worse.”

Indrid is not so drunk that he believes he can fix this. But he’s just drunk enough to stroke Duck’s cheek and murmur, “No. Nono, hic, you’re th’best.”

He doesn’t remember falling asleep after that, but he must have, because his phone is beeping at them to get up and face the day. They do so with to-go coffees in one hand and their bags in the other, neither speaking of the night before until Indrid has turned the car into deeper desert.

“Sorry for gettin on a thing about Alex last night.”

“It was a three year relationship; goodness knows you’re allowed to have feelings about it.”

“Even relief?”

Indrid glances at him, “Of course.”

His friend leans back in his seat, sipping from his travel mug, “That’s half the reason I been in such a funk. I feel like I oughta be sad, then I feel guilty for the fact I’m relieved instead. But if I really was that unhappy in it, why did I hang around so long? Maybe that was the best I deserved, y’know?”

“I know the feeling, yes, but I can’t say I agree with your statement. You deserve someone who sees you for who you are and adores it, not someone who loved what you once were and became bitter when you grew.”

Duck looks at the console between them, at Indrid’s chipped black nails and the hand he hopes isn’t shaking. He squeezes it a moment longer than necessary, “Thanks, ‘Drid. It’s nice to hear that from someone who’s still gettin to know me. Juno and them, they’re my friends, I know they’re in my corner but, uh, sometimes I worry that anyone new is gonna find me dull or somethin like that.”

“I’m sure some people would, just as some take one look at me and decide I’m a weirdo who they don’t want to deal with. But I can say with certainty that I don’t find you that way.”

Duck grins all the way to their destination. It’s a quirky trailer park full of amenities and built mostly from salvaged materials, doing it’s best to run off the grid. It also gives each trailer a theme, and Indrid flaps his hands when he sees they’ve been booked in the “The Cramps” themed one.

“Hell yeah.” Duck mirrors his excitement as they open the door. Their haven from the desert sun is full of kitschy horror artifacts and a much smaller bed than the previous spot. There’s no debate this time; Indrid settles on the right, Duck on the left, and they settle in for a nap before venturing out to work.

They take in the bar, the arcade, the mini-golf course, and the “couples supply room” (“damn, didn’t know they made eggnog scented massage oil” “ooh, I like how that smells”), but Duck turns out to be most excited to rent a stargazing kit and guide Indrid out into the dark desert. They’re on their backs, shoulder to shoulder and munching chocolate covered fruit, when he discovers the source of his glee.

“There!” Duck points to a crackling streak of silver.

“A meteor” Indrid wiggles happily as a second one speeds through his view.

“It’s the Perseids, and this is a damn good place to watch ‘em. Look, there’s another one.” He’s breathless each time and Indrid’s heart threatens to beat hard enough to crack the earth at the sound.

“Did you ever wish on stars when you were little?”

“Yep. Never asked for much worth notin, though I’m pretty sure I wished once to just wake up and be a boy. Or, uh, guess for everyone to see me as one. What about you?”

“I wished...I wished for someone to do things like this with, some who’d kiss me and tell me that they didn’t need to wish because what they wanted was right here.. I love the world, I want to see so much of it, that’s half the reason I chose my profession.. But when I was young I thought I’d be with someone when I did. I thought it was easy to find that kind of love. To be worthy of it.”

“Hey now” Duck rolls onto his side. He’s backlit by the moon, meteors zipping behind him as if they, just like Indrid, are pulled to him, “what happened to all the stuff you said in the car about deservin someone who adores you?”

“It’s easy to apply such things to you, harder to believe them about myself.”

“How come?”

“Because you are everything a sensible person could want in a man and I am not.”

“That’s where you’re wrong” He sets a hand next to Indrid’s shoulder, “Can think of at least one sensible fella who wants to get to know you a whole hell of a lot.”

“He’ll get to know me plenty, we’re co-workers.”

“There are different kinds of gettin to know someone.” Duck dips down, brushes their noses together, “for instance, the last few days I’ve gotten to know you’re a damn good travel companion and that Ned was smart to hire you. But I’ve also gotten to know there’s some things about you I really wanna know.”

“Such as?” Indrid’s fingers find Duck’s sides.

“Such as whether you wanna go on a date with me when we get back. No assignment, just the two of us gettin some time together.”

“I want nothing more.” He leans up to kiss him, feels him shudder happily when their lips meet. Indrid wonders how long it’s been since someone kissed Duck like they meant it, and resolves to make up any deficits with an enthusiasm that would put horny eighteen year olds to shame.

Indrid nips Ducks ear, “you know, were it not for the threat of mosquitos and scorpions, I’d suggest we make good use of the non-food items in that basket.”

Ducks grin lights Indrid up like a comet, “Then howsabout we go test just how conducive our trailer is to romance?”

Indrid kisses him adoringly, “Lead on, sweetheart; I’ll follow you anywhere.”

#indruck #indrid cold/ duck newton #meet ugy

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bellafarallones2 · 3 years

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last night i dreamed that Barclay was like. Just doing his thing and Stern comes along but in this world, Stern's assignment with the feds is actually to cover up the existence of cryptids and not to prove them, so Stern joins a weird cryptid hunting gang that's trying to find bigfoot so that he could thwart them and idk this just sounds like an intriguing fic premise to me if u want to do anything with it KAHSKAHDJ

thank you so much for this!! this is such a fun idea

Barclay stuck his head into Mama’s office. “Mama, why are your rates so goddamn reasonable?”

“Lose the cussing and you could be an insurance commercial.” She put down her mug of coffee. “What’s up?”

“A group of seven just called to make reservations.”

“I’ll tell Jake to help you with the cooking.”

“A group of seven bigfoot hunters.”

“Oh.” She leveled him with a calm, penetrating stare. “Well, when they’re gone you can use their money to buy yourself something nice and call it a victory.”

Barclay turned around and went back to the kitchen.

He had planned to spend as much time as possible hiding in either the kitchen or his bedroom, but he couldn’t resist poking his head out into the lobby when they arrived. A herd of late-middle-aged paunch, a couple of gangly twenty-somethings. And one who was Barclay’s age, or at least the age he appeared to be, and movie-star handsome, with dark, neatly-combed hair.

The handsome one was the first to arrive for breakfast the next morning. Barclay delivered him his coffee in the otherwise-empty dining room, sunlight streaming through the windows, and the bigfoot hunter smiled so winningly that Barclay froze. He could smell the pleasant pomade the guy used to slick back his hair, and dared to glance down at his elegant hands: no ring.

Barclay cleared his throat. “So, why do you believe in bigfoot?”

“Faith. It’s not like there’s evidence.”

That was patently false. Ned Chicane’s video, for one.

“I’m Joseph, by the way,” the bigfoot hunter said when the silence stretched a moment too long.

“Barclay,” said Barclay. “Good to meet you. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you around.”

Later he overheard one of the other bigfoot hunters gossiping that Joseph was independently wealthy, and Barclay wondered vaguely if Joseph lived in a mansion with a hot tub in it, and whether he might like someone to keep him company in it.

Joseph Stern was far more impressed with the accommodations than with his fellow bigfoot hunters. Amnesty Lodge was comfortable, the food was amazing, and looking at the lobby decor was enough to keep him entertained during even the most directionless of the anecdotes told by his fellow hunters. And the eye candy, oh lord, the six-and-a-half-foot Bounty paper towel man in the kitchen.

Once he’d been to a gathering at the house of a woman who hung food up in the trees outside her house and took its absence come morning as proof of intelligent, bipedal forest-dwellers rather than, you know, raccoons being able to climb.

At least he was being paid to be here. Not that any of the other bigfoot hunters knew that, of course. He’d explained his brand-new state-of-the-art equipment by telling them he was the heir to a frozen-dinner fortune, a cover story he was rather proud of.

This morning was his turn to check the camera trap they’d set up in the woods. He sat in the lobby, the camera plugged into his laptop, and clicked through the pictures the device had taken. Lots of birds and squirrels, a few times the camera had gone off for no apparent reason. A herd of deer, including a rather adorable fawn.

And then - a bipedal creature, captured in three images as it moved across the frame. Auburn fur, long, powerful limbs. Joseph could tell from the angles of its body that it was sprinting full-tilt. He could just see the edge of its face from the angle of the camera, and… but surely not.

Joseph allowed himself a moment to admire it, and then pressed the delete button three times.

“You don’t want to find bigfoot.”

Joseph jumped about a foot in the air and looked around. “Christ, Barclay, you scared me.”

Barclay gestured. “You just deleted the evidence.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Those three pictures.”

“The pictures of a bear?”

Barclay looked at him like he was trying to read his mind, and Joseph struggled to maintain the expression of a frozen-dinner heir who honestly believed he had not just seen bigfoot.

“Come with me.”

Joseph got a little too quickly to his feet. Barclay’s warm hand closed around his and tugged him into the kitchen off the lobby. When they were both inside Barclay shut the door behind them. Joseph’s heart was pounding as he looked up into Barclay’s face.

Barclay pulled the hempen bracelet off his wrist. “You don’t want to find me.” His body lengthened, the hair on his arms and visible at the collar of his shirt thickening. Without a doubt, this was what Joseph had seen on that camera trap.

“Oh,” Joseph breathed. Up close he was even more magnificent, tall and powerful. Then he cleared his throat. “No, I don’t want to find you. I’m actually an employee of the FBI, in the Unexplained Phenomena division, and public knowledge of your existence would cause problems. So I think we have the same goal, really.” Joseph tilted his head. “But why would you intentionally show yourself to me?”

Barclay fidgeted with the bracelet in his hand. “Because I like you,” he said, and closed the bracelet around his wrist. His brown eyes were soft.

Joseph dared to take a step forward. “I like you, too.”

#sternclay #thank you for the prompt!!!

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apageinthecastle · 3 years

Text

A Quarantined Reunion - Chapter One: An Apple Pie Kind of Day

Karen Page and Frank Castle haven't seen each other since their exchange at the hospital. Now, in the middle of a pandemic, the two have been brought together again and have no choice but to quarantine together. What will come of the reunion?

Karen slipped her heels on, reaching for the hook where she always kept her keys and, thanks to this pandemic, her mask. Grabbing her purse off of the table by the door, she started out, careful to lock up behind her. She looped her mask over her ears, adjusting it as she left the building.

It had been months since this pandemic had started, with no end in sight. All of New York City was on lockdown except for essential errands only. It was the empty refrigerator that had Karen currently outside of the walls she’d been confined to for the last few weeks. Even her job with the Bulletin had gone completely remote.

She hurried quickly down the street to the grocery store just a fifteen minute walk from her apartment. Hell’s Kitchen was too quiet for the former Vermont woman. It had taken her months to get used to the noise of the bustling city and now that it was gone, she desperately wanted it back. New York, and it’s loudness, had become a warm familiarity that was now missing from her nights.

Frank adjusted the mask on his face for what must have been the tenth time in the short distance between his apartment door and the street below. When the lockdown was first initiated, the pandemic had only been expected to last a few weeks – Hell’s Kitchen residents were hopeful that life as they knew it would return to something next to normal by the end of Spring Break. After a short reprieve from full lockdown, December saw the restrictions return full-force. Easy enough to lay low when everyone else is doing the same, Frank thought to himself. Still, a creature of habit, he was annoyed with the constant change in pandemic rules and regulations.

In the midst of the neverending flux around him, however, at least one thing had remained the same: the weekly walk to 5 Napkin for a Double 5 Cheeseburger Smash and Bourbon spiked S’mores shake. If he was in a particularly annoyed mood, he might even add a slice of apple pie. Yeah, he decided as he shoved his hands in his pockets against the mid-December cold, it is definitely an apple pie kinda day.

Karen breathed into her hands as she walked, pulling her scarf a little tighter around her neck. Yes, she’d grown up even further North than her current residence, but eventually cold was just cold. Today was one of those days and she’d forgone the gloves, per usual. In the event she did need to use the firearm she concealed in her purse, it was much easier to do without fabric to get in the way.

For all the attention the woman usually paid, the empty streets had lowered her guard. She allowed herself to become absorbed in her thoughts as she walked, musing over her newest assignment from Ellison. Consumed in her own head, the hand that grabbed her by the arm and yanked her into a small space between buildings caught her completely by surprise.

It took a moment to register what was happening - the police officer shoving her against the bricks behind her, pinning her with his body. She didn’t have an opportunity to reach for her gun before the moment was gone and it was too late. A scream erupted from her throat, only to be cut off by the hand that clamped down over her mouth.

Tossing his regretfully empty milkshake cup into the trash as he continued along 9th, Frank haphazardly shoved the apple pie container and compulsory five napkins into the pocket of his coat; he was too hungry to wait to eat anything that required a fork. Tugging his mask down and unwrapping the foil around his burger had become one swift, instinctive motion over the months, not unlike the simultaneous action of dropping one magazine and replacing it with another in the heat of a firefight.

The burger was almost in his mouth when he heard it.at The sound, abrupt but unmistakably a scream, cutting through the eerie pandemic quiet and reverberating off of the buildings nearby. God damnit, he thought, can’t a man eat a burger in peace?

Any potential for cheeseburger peace now ruined, Frank frowned to himself and re-wrapped it, dropping it into the other pocket of his coat. Screams like that - the kind that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end - didn’t happen without good reason. Having spent the last year keeping a low profile (and the one before, working with Madani and the CIA in that god forsaken desert to earn what little amnesty he had), the Marine was conflicted. If the year laying low had taught him anything, it was how to effectively contain the restlessness that had a way of seeping through his better judgement. Hell’s Kitchen has survived this long without the Punisher bullshit, it sure as hell doesn’t need another pile of bodies, he thought. God knows they’re running out of toe tags.

The thought was wiped clean and his blood turned cold as a familiar voice filled his ears. Her voice.

“Help!”

His feet, which had been tracking the source of the sound of their own accord, fell silent against the pavement as he closed the half-block distance and saw Karen Page in the meat hook hands of the NYPD. So much for laying low.

Everything was happening too fast for the blonde to register as she tried to fight against her assailant. She was barely keeping him at bay, let alone making any headway in getting him away from her, and she felt her heartbeat drumming in her ears. Her vision was a flurry of limbs as she continued to struggle, crying out as her wrist was turned to an unnatural angle at a violent speed.

A moment later, she felt space around her as the man was shoved away. Her eyes went wide as she looked, trying to take in the scene playing out in front of her. Her breath caught in her chest. No. She thought, blinking back the pain filled tears that threatened to spill over her onto her cheek. It can’t be. It had been two years since she’d seen him and she’d convinced herself she never would again. Not after that conversation in the hospital when he’d told her he didn’t want to choose to love someone over another goddamn war.

Swallowing as she sank down the brick wall, Karen couldn’t deny the sight anymore. Seeing the meticulous nature of the attack of what had moments ago been her attacker, there was no room for doubt. It was him.

Frank Castle.

He let the incoming right hook catch his cheekbone, and used the cop’s sluggish moment of recoil to throw his weight into the man’s middle, tackling him hip-first against the pavement. Driving his knee into the base of the officer’s spine as he pinned him to the ground, Frank snatched the government-issued firearm from its holster and readied it, knocking his opponent’s hat off with the barrel.

Armed, ready, and itching to pull the trigger, Frank knew that this split-second decision would make or break any opportunity he would ever have to speak with Karen again. He took a deep breath to counter the adrenaline, flicking his eyes over to her just long enough to try for her attention.

“Karen, get out of here.”

No response.

She couldn’t see this. After everything they had been through, everything they had fought over, everything that had fallen apart between them that day in the hospital, the slightest chance of a clean slate would be blown away the instant he-- he grabbed the cop by the hair and slammed his head into the pavement in frustration.

“Karen. Now.”

She was frozen in place, eyes locked on the two men. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. Whether it was from the shock of the attack or the shock of seeing the Punisher in front of her again, she couldn’t tell. All she knew is the only thing holding her upright was the wall behind her. She didn’t have the strength or coherent thought to get her limbs to respond to Frank’s command.

His mind swirled with a multitude of thoughts in a single second, trying to decide the best course of action. This asshole had gone after Karen. He wouldn’t let him get away with that. Not a goddamn chance in hell would anyone get away with putting their hands on the last remaining family he had if he had any say in it. At the same time, could he really jeopardize whatever miniscule chance he might have with making things right with her if he pulled this trigger right in front of her? As the seconds continued to tick by - one, two, three - and she continued not to move, the choice was made for him.

He squeezed.

Clicking the safety on the firearm into place, he jumped up, shoving it into his waistband and abandoning the body to take the three strides it took him to get to her. He knelt down without hesitation, putting himself solely in her line of sight so that she had no choice but to meet his eyes.

“Hey, sh, sh, sh, you’re okay. Can you stand up?” Once again, his words were met with silence and a distinct lack of movement from the woman. Her eyes were searching his, but distantly. She was looking at him, but she wasn’t seeing him at all. He held his hand up to her before slowly resting it on the back of her neck to keep her steady, doing a quick once-over for any signs of obvious injury. She was leaning to one side but didn’t dare to brace herself against her wrist - a sprain, maybe? Frank didn’t see any blood pooling. She looked terrified, more than anything. Definitely in shock, he thought as she shook. Satisfied with not having to call an ambulance, he looped her uninjured arm around his neck and helped her to her feet.

“Come on, Karen, let’s get you home.”

She leaned against him, unable to take her eyes off of him even as they started to walk. He kept glancing over as they made their way out of the alley, brows furrowing. He couldn’t read her face, couldn’t tell what she was thinking, and it made the man more anxious than he cared to admit. He’d learned a long time ago not to care what people thought of him. Karen Page was a rare exception to that.

When they’d gone two blocks toward her apartment and she still had neither said a word nor taken her eyes off of him, Frank knew he couldn’t leave her alone. She was in absolutely no condition to take care of herself right now, of that much he was sure. Clearing his throat and stopping, he looked over at her.

“I’m going to take you to my place, okay?”

Whether he was met with the faintest of nods or a particularly violent shake, he couldn’t tell. He didn’t think it would be fair for him to be in her apartment when she couldn’t tell him to fuck off if she wanted to, anyway. It was his place or they parted ways here, and that wasn’t an option.

A quick survey of the area told him she was probably on her way to get groceries. He made a mental note to pick some up when she came to. Should he text Red to drop some off? Were they still seeing each other? Would he lose his ever loving shit if he knew what had happened? Frank shook his head and gently urged Karen to start walking alongside him again. His top priority was getting her to safety, the other details could be ironed out after.

#frank castle #karen page #kastle #punisher #daredevil

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etraytin · 4 years

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Quarantine, Day 149

August 7

I've been too busy or distracted for the last few days to properly inundate you all with kitten pictures, but that ends now! You have been warned! Today I had lights and a fully charged phone and the will to use them, so you are going to feel the wrath of this fully armed and operational cat lady. I am also posting this during first dinnertime, so my background music is tiny Katara making improbably loud smacking noises while she eats babycat food mixed with warm water.

Clockwise from top left: Zuko, Sokka, Katara, Aang

Now that the kittens are debugged and down to about 30% of their original hissiness levels, they are ready for cuddle times. Zuko won the best cuddler award today by actually purring when I picked him up, so he is my current favorite. Sokka needs his nails trimmed very badly, Katara is picking up the hissing slack for her unacceptably trusting brothers, and Aang has finally started using the litterbox but cries when he poops. (This is not uncommon for kittens who are first learning to go unstimulated, but I'm going to keep an eye on him to make sure he's not constipated.) Four weeks is a very fun age, so this should be a good kitten week, knock on wood. They are all eating well and don't need a bottle, which makes my life way easier.

Zuko and Aang

Katara still thinks I might be planning on eating her. She is the size of my hand but will go down hissing all the same.

It is just as well that these guys are weaned because the MPRE snuck right up on me. I started studying a couple weeks ago, but there's always so much to do. BARBRI's MPRE study program is funny because it's basically a taste test of their bar review program for the 2L students who typically sit for the MPRE. It's set up exactly like the bar review course, but where the typical bar review lecture is 2-3 hours, these lectures are about 15-20 minutes and each one covers a discrete subtopic of professional responsibility. Altogether, they are maybe just a little bit longer than the professional responsibility lecture I listened to for the bar review back in February. (Many states do not include PR on their bar exam at all because of the MPRE, but Virginia has more testable subjects than any other state and throws that one in as well, so I got a module on it.) In any case, I have been listening to these little bite sized lectures and doing the learning questions, then looking at the outline, then moving on. I plan to have all the modules done by tomorrow, then spend the weekend doing the three practice tests, sixty questions each. All three practice tests together are not as long as the bar exam practice test! I keep reminding myself that even though the subject matter is limited and I've covered the material many times before, I have to take it seriously. It would be both inconvenient and extremely embarrassing to pass the bar exam and fail the fucking MPRE at this late date. I'm also going to have to take at least one of those practice tests with a mask on, bleah.

Ha, I have successfully tricked the kittens out of sleeping in their yucky litterbox (they are too young for nice clumping litter because they might eat it) by offering them a decoy litterbox with a towel in it. Cats do love boxes!

(Sokka is behind the box, he is so fuzzy I cannot get him in focus for a solo picture.)

The kiddo and I went to the library today for the first time since March! It only opened on Wednesday and there were very few people there, but they'd arranged it so there's lots of open space and a counter right by the front where a friendly guy offered us hand sanitizer and reminded us about social distance. We were finally able to turn in March's library books, which had fine amnesty thank God, and snagged some new stuff. I wasn't feeling creative so I took advantage of the lack of patrons to snag a couple of newer Nora Roberts books, the kind that are usually hard to get hold of. I read a funny meme the other day of "2020 As Described by Nora Roberts Books" that showed Happily Ever After for January, Storm Warning for February, and then seven copies of Shelter In Place for March through August. The kiddo got a couple of graphic novels and also picked out two books with no pictures at all after I promised I'd get him a magnifying glass if he wanted it. Kiddo is farsighted and has glasses to read, but he may need a new prescription. I should get on that.

Okay, knowing myself as I do, I took a brief break there to order some cheap little sheet magnifiers off Amazon because I try to keep my promises. It is hard when you are very forgetful, but I try! Not too much else to report today, oh, except I went into my primary doctor's office for the first time in many months. It was for a heat rash, of all things, but I just couldn't get it to go away! I could probably have done it online, but when it's a rash it's kind of easier to just go in there than to try and find the right light and the phone with the best camera, and this way I don't have a lot of weird pictures of my armpit for posterity. She gave me a steroid cream prescription and it is starting to feel better already.

While I was getting the prescription filled, I got way, way too excited about the electronics clearance at Rite Aid and bought fifty dollars worth of stuff. (By Rite Aid's calculation it was 200 dollars worth of stuff because I spent 50 and saved 150, but you know how their prices are.) In any case, I got two wall chargers and a car charger, two sets of earbuds, a stereo headset with microphone for virtual school, and the piece de resistance, a waterproof Bluetooth speaker that also has a multicolored light display. The kiddo is in love already and I hope it encourages him to more frequent showering. My 50 also bought me some melatonin gummies, some multivitamin gummies, a bag of chocolate snacky stuff, and two packs of Magic: the Gathering decks that the kiddo was distinctly underwhelmed by. He likes Pokemon cards so much despite not having the first idea how to play, I thought these might be good too. I'll set them aside in case he gets interested later. I am pretty sure that four dollars apiece is not bad for 60 card decks, even if they are planeswalker themed. Anyway it was a nice haul and now I can stop bitching at everyone and no-one every time I can't find a wall charger to plug into. A small price to pay for peace of mind! (And the cream itself cost $2.19, so at least I can feel a little good about our truly exorbitant health insurance this week.)

Who wouldn’t believe this guy can save the world?

#quarantine #feral kittens #atla #aang #zuko #barbri #mpre #katara #sokka

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jiejie-eonni-onee-sama · 3 years

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This fiction is dedicated to @sergeant-donny-donowitz. Thank you for your wonderful works and good luck with your exams! 👍👍👍

The fanart does not belong to me but to his righteous creator and so are the characters from Inglourious Basters who are the property of Quentin Tarantino.

TW: violence and swearing.

Also, English is not my first language, so don’t be too harsh on me!

Past hurts as a baseball bat...

Nantucket Island, autumn 1947.

After a long day of work, Hans Landa was eager to come back home. His job as an executive of the Nantucket Bank was exhausting. Oh, he did not complain: he had a comfortable house, a massive wage, a good job, and he was free.

Something he could not have afforded if he did not negotiate with the American general staff, that famous night of June 1944. In exchange for letting the Basterds taking down Hitler and his government.

The Basterds... Thinking of them made Hans wince with pain as he grazed his infamous scar. For two years, he had hidden under a wig this painful souvenir left by Lieutenant Raine.

Every night, he heard this low and threatening voice laced with the Tennessee accent :

“I'm gonna give you a little somethin' you can't take off.”

Then, this unbearable pain when he felt the knife carving his flesh until he was permanently cursed by his past. The Apache wanted to be sure he won’t get away so easily...

When he finally arrived home, the former SS sat on a chair and poured himself a glass of wine. This house seemed too big for him... but he did not complain about his loneliness for now. He even appreciated to be the only inhabitant of this place.

His glass in his hand, he got up and went to the living room when he took place in his armchair. He looked at the sunset with wonder: another day ended in his paradise when no one would ever hunt him down...

Suddenly, he heard a soft creaking that startled him. He asked:

“Who is there?”

No answer. Hans put his glass on the table and went to see where did come from the noise. But nobody was here. Reassured, the Nazi criminal took a book and started to read...

He was reading for an hour and a half when he perceived a sound. Not a sound, but a feminine voice who whispered:

“Hans. Did you miss me?”

He jumped from his seat, scared to death: he recognized this voice. It belonged to the actress Bridget Von Hammersmark. This bitch who dared betray her country... But it is impossible: she is dead in France, when he strangled her at the premiere...

But he was sure he heard her voice. It could not be anyone else... Suddenly, he heard another voice who soughed:

“Do not dare forget your victims... They might come back to haunt you...”

The other voice was masculine, with a slight German accent. Hans trembled with fear: he was sure he heard the voice of Wilhelm Wicki. One of the Basterds who died during the standoff in this tavern. Where was it, already? Oh, yes: it was in the small village of Nadine... May he was hallucinating?

“Landa, did you think you could escape us?”

For sure, Landa thought he became crazy : he heard another voice from a deceased Basterd. This time, it belonged to Hugo Stiglitz, the one who murdered 13 S.S. officers. He died... Well, he was supposed to be dead with Wicki and Hicox in France...

“Looks like you’ve missed your chance, Colonel.”

Speak of the British spy, his voice ringed into Hans’ears. He grabbed his hair as he tried to convince himself that he is hallucinating. It was the only rational explanation...

As he tried to reason himself, Hans nearly lost his mind when he saw Bridget Von Hammersmark, Archie Hicox, Whihelm Wicki, and Hugo Stiglitz appearing in front of him. Their eyes shot deadly glares and their smiles were... predatory.

“It’s been a long time, Herr Colonel.”

Hans turned around and felt a pang of fear clutching his guts as he saw Smithson Utivich appearing next to him. The “Little man” smirked at him in a devilish way he never expects.

“Do you see that, guys? The terrifying colonel Hans Landa is shitting in his pants!”

Landa watched with horror as Hirschberg made his entrance in his living room. One of the youngest Basterds had a wicked smirk on his face that would scare anyone who would cross his path.

“Looks like you’ve seen a ghost!”

Near Hirschberg was Omar Ulmer, the soldier who slaughtered so many high-ranked officers during the premiere. The slight burns on his face proved that he survived his encounter with the Grim Reaper...

“So, Jew Hunter, how does it feel to be trapped? Scary, ain’t cha?”

And as he expected, Aldo Raine appeared in his uniform, an arrogant smile on his lips and his knife at his belt.

“Did ya think we’ll forget? How stupid of you! Remember the last time we met, I gave you a little somethin’...”

Stuttering, Hans tried to negotiate:

“L... Listen: you can’t kill me. I made a deal with your general and I was amnestied!”

“Yeah, right. But, as you can guess, a Basterd’s work is never done. And we want to finish the job once for all!”

The other Basterds approved, with enthusiasm. Hans wanted to cry for help, but he quickly realized that no one would hear him. No one would rescue him tonight.

Resigned, he shrugged and asked:

“So, what do we do, now? If you want to kill me, I beg you to do it quickly!”

Aldo retorted with despise:

“Don’t cha dare thinking we would grant that wish? Oh no: for you, we saved a special treatment. A long and painful one...”

The Apache smirked and added:

“You pretend to be one of the best investigators of Europe, but I’mma pretty sure you did not notice someone is missing. Don’t worry, he’s coming for you...”

At the same time, Hans heard this infamous sound: a baseball bat slamming on the floor as if it was a countdown before his impending death.

And under the applause of his fellow comrades, Donny Donowitz made his entrance, his bat firmly held. At his moment, Landa believed the “Bear Jew” was, in fact, a Golem sent by his victims to avenge them.

“Ready, Landa?”

The Bostonian accent sounded so scary from Donny’s voice that the Nazi was unable to speak.

“Ya know what? I don’t care... You’re on decks!”

And just before the bat collided with his face, Hans Landa thought that, no matter how hard he would try to erase the past and escape to the justice, the Basterds would have the last laugh on him. And tonight, they will dance on his grave...

Do not hesitate to leave comments and thanks for reviews!💌💌💌

#inglourious basterds imagine #halloween fic #gift #inglourious basterds fanfiction #revenge

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barry-j-blupjeans · 3 years

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aaaAAAAA!!!

Thank you!! And hi to everyone new!! A lot of people have followed within the past month, I think? So I’m just gonna take the chance to do a lil introduction :O!

My name is Issac, but you can call me Ise if you want (pronounced Ise like an Ise Cube, haha). I use he/him pronouns. This blog is 90% TAZ/McElroy stuff, and 10% my random bullshit, so just stick me with.

If you want a fun fact, here’s a fun fact: my first experience with TAZ was to weird out-of-context snippets while my sister drove me places, because she was listening to it at the time. The only thing I remember vividly is the first monster hunt from Amnesty because as Griffin was describing them being chased down a lonely road, we were on a lonely road and it Freaked Me Out.

Another fun fact is that I walked around a cosplay-themed event with my sister dressed as Lup and I had No Idea who the fuck she was trying to be besides “weird elf lady who awkwardly smiles at other drivers when they stare at her ears”.

It’s not like, an offical thing but? If you wanna send asks ‘bout this big big milestone, feel free to? Writing prompts or just talking or whatever. I have literally nothing else to do, so feel free to drop by slkfjd (but also feel free to send me writing promps Whenever, unless i say otherwise.)

And again!!! Thank you all for following me!! 400 is a Big Number and I get anxious trying to imagine that many people in my head, but I rr appreciate you all.

#i am speaking #400 #wowie!!!#will reblog again later probably #bc it's real early in the morning #also i sometimes rb vent art to here but Dont Worry About It #it wasn't meant for this blog i'll realize soon enough and fix it!!

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factoffictionwriter · 4 years

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Tiva Fic Amnesty #14

More from Chaval Extras. Things to know: Ziva has 2 Aunts back in Israel whom she took Tony to meet. The Aunts are friends with Shmeil as well. Oh, and Tony and Ziva are totally a thing. Like a thing thing.

“Wait a second. So I wasn’t imagining it? Ziva really did have a motorcycle?”

Shmeil nodded enthusiastically, “My Ziva had a motorcycle before she even learned how to drive!”

Tony chuckled to himself, “That explains a lot, actually.”

“What explains a lot?” His beautiful Israeli asked as she breezed into the room, delicate looking teacups in either hand. She carefully handed one of them to Shmeil before crossing the room to take a seat next to Tony on the couch.

“I was just telling Anthony about your, shall we say, preference for dangerous modes of transportation.”

Her eyebrows came together as she wracked her brain for what he could possibly be talking about. But when she saw Tony’s smug little grin beside her, she put the pieces together.

“The motorcycle?” She asked.

“Oh yeah,” Tony chimed.

She eyed him warily, “Remember what I said about stories being exaggerated? Keep that in mind.”

He just laughed at her.

“What is so funny, Anthony?” Nettie asked as she too emerged from the kitchen, her two sisters trailing behind, each with their own teacup.

“Ziva was just about to tell me about her motorcycle.”

“Oh, goodness. Why would you want to hear about that horrible thing?” Adina asked as she settled into the couch across the room.

“Because he is a man,” Shmeil laughed, “And men like two things: hot women and fast vehicles.”

Tony nodded, “And this story promises to have both.”

“Very well then,” Nettie sighed as she sipped on her tea.

“We do not know where she managed to get such a horrible contraption, much less how she managed to keep it secret for so long,” Hinda was giving Ziva a disapproving look, “But somehow she managed to drive that thing to school every day for an entire year before we even knew it existed.”

“She parked it a few spaces down from her father’s car in one of the neighbor boy’s spaces. Lord knows how she convinced him to let her have such a coveted spot,” Nettie shook her head.

“I can think of a few ways,” Tony whispered to himself, but Shmeil managed to hear it.

“David women can be quite convincing,” the old man winked at Tony, causing his smile to grow wider.

“Anyways, we never would have even known about it if she hadn’t gotten in that accident.”

“Which was not my fault, by the way,” Ziva added.

“They never are,” Tony remarked, sending her a look of such pure adoration that she couldn’t help but forgive his jab.

“Okay, but this one really was not. The man should have looked over his shoulder. Even I look over my shoulder when changing lanes.”

“And how fast were you going, dear?” Nettie asked, the stern look on her face telling him she already knew the answer.

“That is not important. He still should have looked.”

“I seem to remember the officer telling us you were going 110 mph… in a 45 mph zone,” Adina provided helpfully.

Tony let out a long whistle before pausing, “Actually, I’m not that surprised. That does sound like something you would do.”

She rolled her eyes, biting back a tiny smile.

“She was thrown clear across the highway. A couple more feet and she would have rolled right off the cliff and into the sea below.”

Ziva just shrugged, “I walked away with a few scratches.”

“If by scratches you mean 3 broken ribs and road burn up your entire left side,” Hinda corrected, “But yes, you were able to walk away. You were very lucky.”

Tony leaned into the couch cushion, slowly sliding his hand over to rest it on her side, right where he remembered seeing a long patch of scars, mostly faded until they looked like delicate white flames dancing across her skin.

She nodded slightly in his direction as if confirming that the marks were, in fact, the remnants of this exact accident.

“Tali would not go near the thing,” Nettie spoke, breaking up the moment between the couple on the couch.

“Of course Tali wouldn’t go near it. She was smart. She understood the concept of danger,” Hinda acknowledged.

Ziva let out a quiet huff as she leaned back against the cushions, and inadvertently his arm.

“Yes, but I understood the concept of fun.”

Tony let out a hearty laugh at her comment before smoothly transitioning it into a cough when the aunts shot him disapproving looks.

“You only truly understood how to piss off your father. Let this be a lesson to you, Anthony. When you have children, do not rule with an iron fist, lest they turn out to be anything like their mother.”

“Doda!” Ziva cried, sending Adina a truly incredulous look.

---

“Did you ever get the chance to meet Eli, Anthony?” Nettie asked.

He felt Ziva stiffen beside him, and took that as a sign to proceed with the utmost caution.

“Yeah, I did. A couple of times, actually. He… wasn’t a big fan of me.”

“Nor you of him, I assume,” Hinda offered.

“I think Eli David was a complicated man… in a complicated situation. It’s really not for me to judge. I will never understand exactly what he was going through.”

“It is quite alright, Tony. You are surrounded by fellow Eli-haters here. I am sure there is nothing you can say about the man that Ziva has not already heard from one of us,” Shmeil assured him.

Ziva’s shoulders heaved as she let out a long sigh.

He watched her carefully out of the corner of his eye as he spoke, “I obviously don’t agree with many of the decisions he made, particularly in regards to his children. But at the end of the day, I think he was doing what he thought was best. He just happened to be wrong.”

“He just happened to be wrong?” Hinda spat.

“Doda…” Ziva warned.

“No, Zivaleh. I am tired of listening to Eli’s excuses. He may have brainwashed you into believing them, but I will not let you bully Anthony into believing them as well.”

Tony sat forward, sliding his arm out from behind Ziva and resting his elbows on his knees, “She hasn’t bullied me into anything. Well - she has - but not with this. I just think that I’m coming at the situation from a bit of a… different angle than the rest of you.”

“How so?” Shmeil asked.

“Well, for starters, I didn’t meet Ziva until after Eli did a number on her. I can sit here and listen to you guys tell stories about her tending to a garden or flying off a motorcycle, but I’ll never fully understand what she was like back then.”

“All the more reason you should be upset,” Hinda grumbled.

Tony shook his head, “How do I explain this…”

He looked around the small living room for a few seconds, trying to find some sort of inspiration for-

“Star Wars!” He exclaimed.

Five heads all turned in his direction, their eye brows furrowed in confusion.

“A movie. Really?” Ziva asked from beside him.

“Not just a movie. A series. 7 movies. Filmed and premiered out of order. 3 movies, then 3 prequels, only to return back to the original timeline for the new one.”

“I do not follow,” Adina sighed.

“Okay… it’s like you guys are watching the series in chronological order, and I’m watching them in the order they premiered. And you,” he pointed a long finger at Ziva, “are Darth Vader.”

She looked confused, “The guy with the mask?”

“Exactly,” he brought both his hands up to cover his mouth, creating a deep echoing sound as he pulled out his oldest and most adored character impression, “Luke, I am your father.”

She had to focus hard to keep the corners of her mouth from curling up into a small smile. They both knew that she would never admit it, but she liked his little impressions. She thought they were cute, even if they were annoying.

But then she remembered the single Star Wars film he had forced her to watch after one of his million references went over her head, and her face fell a little, “He is the bad guy, yes?”

“No. Well, yes. But no. That’s just what they want you to think. In the original series, he’s portrayed as a total monster who betrayed his friends and killed his father. It’s not until you get to the prequels that you realize, hey, this Darth guy isn’t so bad. In fact, he was just a normal Jedi until his master took advantage of him and made him a monster.”

“And as the series comes to a close, he gets one of the most epic redemption arcs in movie history when he realizes that he had been duped into using his powers for the wrong side and then kills his master to save his son,” he turned back toward the Aunts, “So, if you guys watched the prequels first, then you would have already known that Darth was actually a good guy before he joined the dark side, making his fall all the more dramatic. But when I watch it in the order that the movies were made, I can’t help but think about how different the story would have been without that corrupt Jedi Master.”

“And this changes your perception of Eli… how?”

“Well, when I met Ziva, she was already a Mossad super spy. And yeah, the more I learned about the way her Dad treated her, the more I started hating the guy. But I will never be able to see him the way you guys do because without him, I likely would have never even met her.”

“Because without what happened in the prequels, there would have been no need for the original series,” Adina nodded along as she slowly made sense of his convoluted explanation.

“Exactly!” he flashed a dazzling DiNozzo grin at the older woman, thankful that at least someone had been able to follow his train of thought.

#somehow i forgot to post this?#but here it is #one of my favorite little conversations ive ever written simply because it was fun #and i got to explore ziva's roots in a different way #tiva fanfiction #amnesty fic #tiva fanfic #tiva #factoffiction #factoffictionwriter #factoffiction amnesty week

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bcketts · 4 years

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TASK 09. GOODBYE ALLIE!

thank you.

it's bittersweet waking up the next morning. she doesn't bring much with her, most of her stuff is still at georgetown, but she remembers thinking of when she first arrived at gallagher; how scared she was, how much she wanted to leave. she looks back at the fortress and pretty much thinks the same things, and by the time the hour-long car ride to washington d.c. is done, gallagher already feels a bit like a dream. the only thing that makes it seem real at all is jack's old watch, heavy on her wrist and clunky. it's already got a few scratches from where she keeps banging it on things, throwing her hands up in the air or about, whacking it on doors and windows. but it's a sturdy thing.

dazed and confused.

they're all allowed to pick up their things, which have been packed haphazardly into boxes for them by residential life, but allie gets two boxes. there's not much she can do with them but decide to ship them home, so she takes an uber to the post office with two boxes of things, not caring enough to go through what's inside, but mostly scared that she might start bawling. it's a weird thing, getting her phone back, and she doesn't expect it to be so dang heavy! she also thought she'd have missed a lot more text messages, but she supposes that she traveled with all her best friends, so how could they have texted her? she gets chipotle in town with a few of her friends before heading to the airport, and it feels nice to sit with the other members of the club and do something normal, just for a little while.

bring it on home.

getting home is the hard part, because she hasn't seen her parents in months and she's worried they hate her, but the second she sees them near the baggage claim, tears spring to her eyes and she's running at them full-force into a big bear hug. they smell the same. she loves her mom's perfume and her family's detergent and the way her dad laughs with his belly. but it's obvious that there's something missing, they can all tell, and the presence of their daughter just hammers home the absence of their son. the group hug feels awkward with just three people, like she's not sure where to put her hands without jeremy around, and her parents keep finding themselves saying "you two" or referring to allie as a plural when she's really just one, a half of a whole.

that’s the way.

"i'm sorry about that phone call, while i was at school," allie says.

"that's alright, you were under a lot of stress."

"no, dad, i meant it. i don't believe the same things any more." and she expects to get yelled at, to get chewed out, but he just looks at her and nods and there's a moment of prolonged silence between them.

"sometimes, i'm not so sure myself. but what else is there?" and that makes allie very quiet, and she thinks she understands why her dad clings so hard to the things he believes in, and it's the exact same reasons why she can't keep clinging to them any longer.

over the hills and far away.

what allie doesn't do: visit her brother's grave and mope around her sad house. what she does do: says forget about it and takes off to the hamptons.

she gets one perfect week. that's what she keeps calling it – her perfect week. where she goes to visit levi in his home in the hamptons, flinging herself into his arms and covering him with tiny kisses just because she can. it's a whirlwind of a week where she gets very sunburnt, laughs all the time, and forgets for a while what it's like to be arkansas allie. she misses gallagher allie sometimes, and she wonders if she'll ever figure out how to be the perfect balance between the two, but right now, she's happy to spend many hours feeling someone else entirely: and that someone is rich! or at least as rich as levi madden is! and that someone has a lot of sex and spends a lot of time laughing and even though she's getting a college degree from an ivy league that could make her a whole lot of money someday, allie thinks that maybe being a trophy wife wouldn't be so bad. she loves the way he smiles, or the way he smiles at her, and she tries not to count the amount of times he does it like each one might be the last and she's got to save every single one of them.

she cries her eyes out when they say goodbye at the airport because she knows it's for real this time, and the thanks him for all the ways he made her feel sane, made her feel like herself again when personhood seemed like an impossible label to reclaim. but she also knows that despite all their pretending, that he's from a different world than she is. "don't let yourself be alone," she says, "just because you won't have a normal person life doesn't mean you shouldn't have people." because most of all, she's terrified that one day levi will be forty-something and he'll look like jack, packing his bags up with no one to go home to. "okay? and please write. you promised. or, i guess you could text me, if you want to be all twenty-first century about it." and she kisses him one last time but she's so caught up in her head about it being the last time that she can't really enjoy it, not properly.

what is and never should be.

allie goes home sunkissed and smiling, because it's sad but it's the final goodbye in the weirdest chapter of her life thus far. and then, summer resumes like normal. she's going to church on sundays with her parents, working the food drive and the bake sale, and facetiming imogen, marlowe, or luce, or...whoever will pick up the phone at any chance she can get.

on the fourth week, she develops a urinary tract infection. this is because she hates to go to the bathroom and she's always holding it, because she knows to get to the toilet, she's going to have to walk by jeremy's room and remember that he's not inside, and wonder what it looks like. so, she makes herself sick, from holding it all in. but it's sort of a wakeup call, a way too obvious metaphor – almost like it was created by a really uncreative writer. she's got to face things eventually.

since i’ve been loving you.

allie can't even open the door to jeremy's room at first, mainly because her parents have plopped his big box of stuff right in front of the door. everything else is exactly how he left it. there's gum wrappers in the trash can, socks strewn across the floor. she checks under the bed and that's how she knows her parents haven't been there – there's still that box of dirty magazines, which atty used to make fun of jeremy for having. "you do know there's the internet, right?" but jeremy was into it for the aesthetic, there was something so much more authentic to jerking off to something on print rather than pixelated. and atty would say it was pretentious. conversations like this used to make allie want to die, and they still do, because she kicks the box back and whispers, "euch." and his weed is still in the sock drawer, which is a remarkably boring place to have put it. he never used to smoke or do anything until he went to college, but allie blames atty's influence. a while ago, allie would've been a good sister and thrown it out, in case her parents ever did catch him for all the weird stuff hidden in different drawers, but instead, she puts one of his led zeppelin records on and lights up, but she has to facetime milena to figure out how to use the grinder, so perhaps it's not as poetic as it sounds.

and then she goes through the box of stuff from his dorm. there's a lot of pictures of imogen, of course, and that makes her heart hurt, because she can literally see where he used to keep them on his walls, the holes of old push pins. his violin, his skateboard, all the things he used to do to keep himself occupied. allie never knew someone so busy and so lazy at the same time. she sighs, lays down on his bed and looks up at the ceiling, knowing every crack and line by heart. it aches, everywhere, but she has to get up to skip stairway to heaven, since that's just too dang ironic.

ramble on.

allie visits his grave on the last day of summer, but it's nothing like his room. she goes with her parents and allie's a sympathetic crier, so when her mom cries, she cries too, but she can't help but think that this isn't where jeremy is. with all the dead people. he's in his room, with all the things that made him himself, or he's at georgetown, laughing with her and her friends in an amnesty international meeting. he's still around, in a way. he's just not here.

bring it on back.

it's the first time that she's ever traveled from pointsett to washington, d.c. alone, but by now it's late august and she's feeling alright, almost excited for the fresh start – to see steph, hudson, and matt again, to start dreaming again how they'll save the world. because it's always more exciting to conspire with friends than alone. but of course, thoughts of gallagher academy linger in the back of her mind, and as she moves to get her bag, she whacks the clunky watch on her wrist on the overhead compartment. she shakes her wrist out, but she smiles as she wheels her suitcase down the aisles and head to hail an uber, grateful for the small reminder that she's not alone, and that it wasn't a dream.

#gallagher:task #muse.#never thought led zeppelin would be the vibe to send allie off with but yk #it's just right

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thepilgrimofwar · 4 years

Text

Lady Swiftquiver

Judereth made her way from the office of Lord Emberheart, with the weight of responsibility heavy on her shoulders. As far as she was concerned Shalemarch was going to be a right mess one way or another, but it was better if it was her mess. The alternative was to leave it to the mercy of Stenden, who no doubt would have turned it over to the coalition and all the violence that entailed.

Making her way downstairs and towards the guest rooms in search of something to drink, she sighed. For all the good that the veterans of the Phoenix Wars had done for her and the smashing of Illithian lines, they were not suited for pacifying rogue states- Unless you counted putting any and all traitors to the sword. Even if they conducted themselves dutifully and loyally, just born to the wrong Lord.

Finding a half finished bottle of whiskey, no doubt from either Zarannis or Vaelrin, she opened it and proceeded to mellow her thoughts away from the potential death of thousands. Instead, she focused on the notes from a bell, echoing through the halls of the manor. She followed it, knowing it belonged to Lirelle- The Banneret had given it to her so the undead priestess did not scare the living daylights out of the patrols in the manor with her ceaseless wandering as she had not needed sleep.

“Dawnbrook,” she said, finally catching up with her. “Guess I’m nobility now. When Stenden said ‘glowing recommendations from the members of the Coalition’ I’m assuming he meant glowing recommendations from you.”

Lirelle slowed down as her ringing steps were joined by a quieter gait, the eerie chime stopping as they walked outside to the fresh air. She turned to Judereth, observing her for a moment, noting that the responsibility did not seem to cow her at all. “Was it not warranted? There are scant few choices these days. You were the only suggestion that made sense.”

“There’s Zarannis- Well, there was Zarannis, before she found the reserves of whiskey in the store room. Do you know if she’s still being considered for taking over the Bulwark despite herself?” Judereth sighed even deeper. “But I suppose you’re right. Only other choice would be to turn Shalemarch over to some local Lordling and Light knows that might turn out even worse than anything I can do there.” The newly appointed lady took a swig from her bottle. “Any suggestions? You’re the least noble-like noble I’ve ever met, so there’s bound to be a way to ease into this.”

“The Bulwark is the only thing she is competent enough to manage considering that there is absolutely nothing there. Right now she is an alcoholic who is far out of touch with who she is or what her responsibilities are. Solendis should know that much, and if he doesn’t then this all might be making him too tired.”

Lirelle squinted at the apparent new alcoholic in the making in front of her. “Talk to your people. Find out what they want, and explain to them why certain things that they want cannot be done. Sederis might have been right and what works in Dawnveil won’t work here, but you’ll have to try. But first of all, take stock of Goodember’s accounts. Have someone outside take a look at them to make sure that everything adds up, because who knows whether it does. Once that’s done, decide if you want to do things differently, or let them continue as they are.”

“We’ll see how much talking I can get done while the war’s still running. Because by the looks of things, I’ll be making demands of them almost immediately. To have the militia lay down their arms, or better yet, turn them against the remaining enemies of the state.” Judereth sighed heavily. “You are right though, things that work in Dawnveil don’t work here. Explaining things can only go so far. The people here much rather them tell them what to do, and then leave them alone to do it. They’re a stubborn people. Bullheaded, but honest and hardworking.”

“Then ask Solendis to give them amnesty if the militia goes to the front lines in Westheath. It’s not their fault that their lord was a moron, so don’t punish them for it if they’re willing to do things right," Lirelle propped one shoulder up on the parapet, crossing her arms in front of her.

“As for the rest of them, if you believe that, show them why they should work for you.”

“That I may be from the Heartlands, but I am nothing like Sederis,” Judereth stated quietly. “You know, it isn’t obvious to the rest of the Coalition, but Sederis’ wasn’t exactly liked in the Glades. It felt- in a way- like he was just like his father. That we were no more than chess pieces to him. Pawns to sacrifice. Knights and castles to threaten. Because one day, after eight years of warmongering, he swoops in and claims his birthright- then goes straight back to the Guard.” Lady Swiftquiver took a long swig from her bottle. “Then, for the most part he was absent. Drawing soldiers to his units. Requesting we mobilize for Legion Fall. Like we were an instrument, a tool, to be used and leveraged for his own influence and gains.”

Judereth shook her head. “That may not have been the case, since he did return and acted like a proper Lord in his last year, but the impression to the people stuck. Likely why so many under Illithia are true believers in this rebellion. Which makes me wonder if there are true believers in Shalemarch too that I’m going to have to deal with.”

Lirelle waited for Judereth to meet her steady gaze before speaking, the crimson of her eyes coloured even deeper in the dim light. "If those are the only complaints, then I would say he did his job well. The Emberglades might have had its resources and its people drained, but it never saw the aftermath of the Burning Legion. It never saw a man killed by demons in his house, in his fields, or in front of his children. And in the end, not a single Alliance solider stepped past its borders. Sederis asked for resources and men to stop those things that were happening elsewhere before it happened here. He might have been an idiot in the way he went about it, but that does not change his intentions. The rest of the Coalition don't see it because we were there fighting with him. Because we all knew it was what needed to be done."

“It was, and that was the reason why I hold no ill sentiments to him, even if my father and brothers all died under his command. It was a risk we were all aware of when we were born into a family of marshals.” Judereth watched the crimson gaze as it fell upon her and did not feel its weight as they saw eye to eye. “But I was close enough to the ground to know that the regular peasant- The sort that I’m going to have to win over- The sort who only understands the things that were taken from them and not the blood spilt and treasure spent for his sake… They don’t appreciate the bigger picture. Which makes persuading them both easier and more difficult at the same time.”

“If you’re not looking for reasons but rather solutions, I suggest you talk to his brother. Maybe Beathyn.” She pauses for a moment then adds, “And Vissehn. If you need someone to spin a narrative, Solendis is the one to start with. Vissehn is excellent at connecting with them and getting that story across and if Beathyn doesn’t fuck up his words, he’s just about as helpful. If it’s as you say and they need to be told, then tell them what to think.”

The newly appointed Lady nods. “Thank you Ms. Dawnbrook,” she says, grateful for the advice. “As long as what we’re telling them is true.”

@retributionpriest @stormandozone @thanidiel

#Epilogue #Judereth

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

If you are still taking meet ugly prompts, sternclay 22 nsfw???

Here you go!

22: you’re on a date with this awful, awful person who keeps getting under my skin because my friend and I have been eavesdropping all night and your date says something that makes me snap … I thought it was a first date, not a three year relationship.

Note: I interpreted "first date" loosely. Slight content warning for mentions of blackmail, including blackmailing someone into a relationship.

It’s hard to tell where the sting of gin on his tongue ends and the sharpness of the pines through the window begins. The combination would invigorate him were it not for the conversation playing out at the other end of the short bar.

“...Last time, I’m not leaving.” The bartender, a mountain of a man who Joseph would love to climb, has been dealing with a persistent suitor for the better part of an hour. They’re the only people in the place; ski season is far behind them and summer isn’t here yet.

“C’mon, you’ve got no reason to hang around.”

“Yeah, actually, I do.” The bartender finishes cleaning glasses, turns to put them up.

“Don’t you fucking turn your back on me! I’m not through with you, oughta drag you outta here by your hair you cheap, dull-”

The next word is an unkind name for men who, like Joseph, prefer men in their beds. The bartender doesn’t respond, though his hands tighten around the glasses. Damn it, the world did not go for a second war just for him to let everyday evil slide by.

“That’s enough.” Joseph stands, moving to where the other patron wobbles on his stool, “him being uninterested doesn’t give you the right to abuse him.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, pretty boy.”

“I know that if you don’t leave, I’ll escort you out.”

The man throws up his hands, spits at Joseph’s feet before stumbling and stomping for the door, “Three years, Barclay, you’re throwing away three years in one night, and you’re gonna regret it. I’ll make sure you do!”

“Don’t think you will.” Barclay mumbles as the door slams. He’s twisting his dishrag to the point it’s ripping.

“Three years? Good lord, I thought he was just a run-of-the-mill drunk.”

“Nope. If you can call him tracking me down every few months a relationship.”

“I’m sorry.” Joseph pulls out his handkerchief, kneeling to clean up the spit, “still, I apologize for getting in the middle of a, um, lovers quarrel.”

“Please don’t, I’m glad you stepped in. Don’t know what I woulda done if you hadn’t.” His brown eyes study Joseph more closely, “have I seen you here before?”

“Through there.” He indicates the pass-through to the kitchen, “I come here as often as I can since the food can’t be beat.”

“Thanks.” Barclay smiles, starts wiping the counter, “yeah, Dani usually tends bar after the kitchen closes but her wife is down with the flu. Only seemed fair to let her take time to look after her.”

A big heart to go with a big frame? Joseph’s in big trouble.

“You, uh, you up here for the lakes or…” He’s now directly across from Joseph, sliding a fresh gin and tonic in front of him.

“I’m a private detective, a one man operation as of 1949; Kepler’s the optimal spot for me, since it’s between the mountain towns and the eastern edge of the city. That’s a lot of people who might need help. Not to mention lots of the residents closer to the lakes are wealthy, the kind where they’re always looking for someone to trail a straying spouse or track down the pearls their no-good layabout son sold for dope.” He lets a little bit of scorn enter his voice in hopes of letting Barclay know he doesn’t always agree with his clients, but that a man has to make a living.

Barclay rolls his shoulders, then leans forward, “any fun cases so far?”

Joseph pulls off his jacket as he thinks; if Barclay’s really interested, they might be here awhile.

---------------------------------------------------

He’s an early riser, so the banging on the door to his house (and office) interrupts his breakfast and not his rest. Joseph opens it and then fights to keep it that way.

“Detective Hayes. This is a surprise.” He smiles.

“I’m not here to catch up, Stern. I’m here so you can answer one, simple question: where were you between eleven-thirty and midnight last night?”

“In the dining room at Amnesty Lodge, talking with the bartender. If you need to verify that, just go to the Lodge and ask for Barclay.”

Hayes glowers in a way he recognizes as, “this won’t be an easy case like I assumed” and turns without a word. Two officers follow him. The third, Dewey, hesitates. He’d always been a pal. Joseph shoots him a confused look.

“Guy got shot in the woods near the Lodge last night. His only known contact in town was the bartender, and everyone else we questioned said the two had been arguing for a few days. Hayes thought the cook was a shoo-in to book but, well, his alibi aligns with what you said. Plus, some ranger Owens talked to said he saw Barclay talking to someone in the dining room at the time of the murder. Guess he was walking by the window on his way to-”

“Dewey! Get the hell over here!”

As his informant scurries up the hill to join the others, Joseph steps back inside to finish his toast. He only gets through one piece before the phone rings, summoning him to the managers office at Amnesty Lodge.

Madeline “Mama” Cobb sits behind her desk, whittling with the kind of force that suggests she’s doing this in place of putting her knife to another use.

“Barclay tells me you’re a detective.”

“That’s right, Miss. Cobb.”

“Great. I’m hirin’ you to find out who the hell killed his useless ex and is tryin to frame him for it.”

He sits down, intrigued, “I thought the police were handling the investigation.”

“I ain’t inclined to trust ‘em. Barclay can’t think of someone who’d set him up, and the police don’t think he was. Yet. But I happen to know there were scraps of a shirt Barclay owns on the trees nearby and that the fella who died had this on him.”

She holds a crumpled paper out. He unfolds it, reads, “Come to the old mill at a quarter until midnight. B.” He looks up, “meant to stand for Barclay, one would assume?”

“Yep. Whoever wrote that did a decent job forgin it.”

“How can you be sure it’s fake?”

“Because I got plenty of documents where Barclay describes a time. He just uses numbers, not words like ‘quarter until.”

“Did you suspect a set-up before you lifted this from the body so the cops wouldn’t find it?” Joseph tucks the note into his inside pocket.

“Course I did. You’re new in town, but there ain’t a person here who’d say Barclay is anythin but gentle. He ain’t about to shoot someone in cold blood, even that fucker.” She sighs, takes off her hat and runs a hand through greying hair, “that boy is as good as a brother to me. I know he’s been through some rough shit. He don’t deserve to get caught up in some goddamn murder scheme. So name your price, Mr. Stern; so long as it keeps him outta trouble, I’ll pay it.”

---------------------------------------------

He’s elbow-deep in Barclay’s dresser when the cook returns from his shift; he gave Joseph permission to search his room for signs of whoever took his shirt, but still, the other man doesn’t seem pleased with his presence.

“I’m sorry, but I have to be thorough. I’ll be out of here as soon as I can.”

“S’fine.” Barclay slumps down on the bed. After a moment he murmurs, “I know Mama hired you, but is there anyway I can convince you to quit? She, the Lodge doesn’t have much cash to spare this time of year. I don’t want anyone going without on my account and, and maybe this will all blow over if I just lie low, y’know?”

“It might. But until I think that’s the outcome, I’m inclined to agree with Miss. Cobb that we should work to keep you clear of this. And” he watches Barclay stand, moving to the window so he won’t have to see Joseph rifling through his life, “I promise that if it comes down to getting paid or bankrupting the Lodge, I’ll stop taking my fee. This is a good place and, um, it clearly means a lot to you. That makes it worth some belt-tightening on my end.”

“Thanks.” Barclay stares into the woods, then looks over his shoulder, “Joseph, I-”

It’s only because the mirror is above the dresser that he sees the black barrel peek from the trees. With no time to yell, he dives forward, pulling Barclay to the floor as the first bullet makes shards of the window.

“What the fuck?!” Barclay covers his head as another shot flies over them

“I think we just confirmed Miss. Cobb’s theory!” He pops up, fires once, and drops back down. Whoever’s in the trees isn’t expecting someone armed, so in place of another bullet they get breaking branches.

Joseph gives chase, leaping out the window and sprinting into the trees. Were they in downtown L.A, hell, even if he was still in Chicago, he’d have a better chance of staying on his target. But there’s no paths, no short-cuts, and every tree looks the same at this speed, cloaking the shape in the distance. Worst of all, he discovers that instead of dead-ending at a brick wall, he dead ends at a rockface.

Oh, and his hand is bleeding. He must have cut himself jumping out the window.

It looks like his investigation just took on a bodyguard element, and his wish to spend more time with Barclay could end with them both looking like swiss cheese.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

“You could talk to Duck.” Barclay finishes bandaging the slash on the back of Joseph’s left hand, “he works in the state park near here and knows a ton about the layout of the woods. There, not too tight?” He sits back on his heels as Joseph tests the tightness of the bandage.

“It’s great, big guy. Um, I’m sorry, I don’t know where that came from.”

“I don’t mind it” he winks, “pretty boy.”

His visit with Duck the next day, while informative, doesn’t give him much insight into how their assailant disappeared, especially when Duck points out that the rock face he ran across is over a mile long and hard to climb without equipment or a death wish. At least the ranger outfits him with a map with written-in details; most are about trails that are likely to be muddy (and thus hold prints) or spots where a person might be able to hide. And some hike recommendations, just because.

He tries not to think about taking Barclay on the one to a secluded lake and fucking him under the stars.

His schedule alternates between sitting in his office taking and making calls, shadowing Barclay when he’s out on errands or otherwise vulnerable (he’s spent more than a few nights on the floor of his room, that velvety baritone talking to him until they both fall asleep), and scouring the woods for clues.

A jay heckles a squirrel, which surrenders it’s pinecone and scrambles along the rocks. He’s wishing he could be so nimble when it climbs up and then...disappears. Following it, he discovers what he dismissed as endless rock is an optical illusion; the rocks above and behind align with the ones in front and below to make it seem as if it’s a flat face. But when he climbs over the bottom rock, he finds a narrow slot canyon. One big enough for a human.

Fifteen minutes of granite scratching his back later, he’s at the other side of the rocks. Smoke curls up his nose, and he trails the scent to a cabin which, according to Duck, is on a strange pocket of private property, just up a frontage road. Stranger still is the sign out front.

I.C All

Tarot, Palm Reading, and Other Psychic Services.

He knocks as wind chimes sing lazily around him.

“Come in!”

The first room is divided by a curtain, the half he’s in a rather eclectic waiting room. The dining room and kitchen are probably on the other side of the pink and yellow cloth.

Waiting for him in the next room is a man with a distinctly beatnik air about him, from his red glasses down to his brightly colored shawl and shoulder length hair. Laid out before him is a tarot deck, crystal ball, and several black candles. But that’s not what concerns Joseph.

“Before I sit down, can you ask your friend hiding in the bureau to come out?”

“Fuck” the beaura hisses, “uh, I mean, uh, there ain’t, uh, fuck-”

“It’s alright dearest, I suspect we may all benefit from this.” He gestures for Joseph to sit, “Apologies, but my hope was you were either a client I could turn away or one in search of a brief reading that I could perform before returning to more...pleasurable activities.” He grins as none other than Duck Newton steps from the creaky wooden bureau, looking like he’s been wrestling a very amorous tiger.

“Afternoon, Joe.” Duck sits on the nearby couch, “didn’t take you for the fortune tellin’ type.”

“I’m more interested in whether Mr…”

“Cold, but my friends call me Indrid.”

“Whether Indrid has noticed anyone coming and going on his property without permission?”

“I can’t say that I have, though it’s hard to do so; the walkway is guarded by Beacon, our dog, and everything but the walk up to the cabin is fenced off or, well, a massive wall of rock.”

“...Come with me.”

Soon, Duck is studying the slot canyon while Indrid worries his lower lip.

“I had no idea this was here.”

“No one did. It ain’t on any of the maps, and I never heard of anyone findin it on accident.” Duck pulls back, popping his hat on as he turns to Joseph, “this got somethin to do with Barclay?”

“I think whoever shot at us used this to get away. For all we know, the person who killed Mr. Douglas did the same.”

“To think, I encouraged Barclay to come here even more often once he told me his predicament; I thought no one could approach us without me seeing them coming. No, no this will not do at all” he shakes his head, “he needs to go see her.”

“You know he won’t, sugar.”

“He must. It’s the safest place for him. And the last anyone will look.”

Joseph looks between them, but before he can ask Indrid simply says, “You should ask Barclay about the Greenbank House. That story isn’t ours to tell.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------

“Home sweet home.” Barclay grumbles as he and Joseph step out of the car and into the shadow of a mansion in the most exclusive neighborhood in Lakeshore. It took all of his friends telling him he should go--and Joseph assuring him it’s location meant it wouldn’t look like he was trying to run away from the scene of the murder--for the cook to agree to a stay at his family home.

“What are you afraid of?” Joseph keeps his tone gentle as they climb the front steps. His friend had simply said he had unhappy memories of the house and would rather live in a mausoleum then stay there.

“It’s more dread. You’ll see when we get inside.” He knocks on the front door. It’s opened by the least congruous face imaginable; a man with greying hair and a groundskeepers clothes. When he sees Barclay, a smile bursts across his face.

“Barclay! How are you kiddo?”

“I’m...I’m okay. It’s good to see you Thacker.” He offers a genuine smile as he opens his arms and gathers the older man into a hug. When they separate, Joseph offers his hand and introduces himself. Having an extra guest delights Thacker, and he ushers them in with a promise that he’ll have rooms ready to go in a jiff.

“How’s Maddie doin’?”

“She’s good, and she’ll still slug your arm for that nickname.”

“Good old Maddie.” Thackers cheer falters, “do you wanna go see your ma? If I didn’t know you were comin, gonna guess she didn’t neither.”

“Yeah. Yeah I should go see her. Joseph, you don’t, uh, you don’t need to come with me if you don’t want to.”

“It’s only polite to meet my hostess.”

Barclay leads him up a flight of stairs, then down a hallway where dust substitutes for walllpaper. Waiting for them in a red and orange toned bedroom is a woman with greying, black hair and a face not unlike Barclay’s.

“Dear heart” she rises from her armchair, drawing her son to her, “you came back.”

“Just to visit, Ma. Uh, this, this is Joseph. He’s a friend of mine. He’ll be staying here too.”

She studies him with a critical eye; Joseph thought Hayes had a judgemental gaze, but she could beat him any day.

“Hmm. The more the merrier, as she always said. How long will you stay?”

“A few weeks.”

She nods, regards the photo of another woman above the mantelpiece as if seeking council, “You’re not here for pleasure.”

“No.” Barclay rubs his arm, “I...I got into some trouble. Andrew Douglas was shot the night I broke things off with him. The cops are leaving me alone for now but someone else wants me dead.”

The woman’s face suggests she both recognizes and despises that name, “We will keep you safe.”

With that, she sits once more and picks up her book. Barclay hesitates, then bends to kiss her forehead before pulling Joseph from the room.

--------------------------------------------------

“How long ago did your mother die?” Joseph kicks his legs up onto the ottoman. Barclay alluded to her passing previously, but never gave details.

“When I was eighteen. Car accident. She went off the Kepler bridge. They, uh, they never found her, and just found part of the wreck.”

He intends to leave it there; they’re on the back porch overlooking the garden (“Thackers pride and joy”), early summer dusk on their skin and their arms occasionally brushing from the edges of their chairs. No need to kill the mood further. He just wanted some kind of context for the house and the widow within it.

“Ma never recovered. She loved mom so much that losing her was like losing a lung; she can get through her days, even enjoy them, but it will always be hard. She tried to keep mom around however she could; the whole goddamn house is the same as it was the day she died, even my room. She wanted me to stay too, but Mama offered me the job and I just...I couldn’t live in a haunted house anymore.”

Joseph tips his hand to the right, extending his fingers into the space between them. Barclay takes it and holds tight.

“I’m so sorry, Barclay. You had every right to leave, to make your own life.”

“I know.” He runs his thumb across Joseph’s knuckles, “okay, pretty boy, my turn for a tough question; why’d you really leave the police force.”

It’s not that tough a question, not when he knows the man he’s confiding in won’t go running to Hayes, “I joined the force because I wanted to solve mysteries and help people. But it turned out there was a lot less seeking justice and a lot more chasing off drunks who just needed a place to sleep off benches and harassing certain neighborhoods. Then I worked out that the chief was taking bribes from all kinds of places and was naive enough to think someone might listen to me and help me when I told them. Instead they threw me off the force. In hindsight, it could have been worse; they could have killed me and covered it up.”

“Jesus.” Barclay polishes off his drink, contemplates the ice, “glad they didn’t. Both because, y’know, world is better with you alive, but, uh, also because if they had we’d never have met.”

Joseph meets his eyes, smiling in a way that makes the other man blush, “that would’ve been a damn shame.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is turning into one of the stranger cases he’s worked, in good ways and bad. The good is that his work days, when he’s not on the phone or digging through his notes, are spent with Barclay. His friend insists on cooking, has even brought him lunch at his desk, and usually the two of them have dinner with Thacker in the garden. They read or play chess in the study, take walks through the labyrinthine grounds, and even swim in the open air pool. Barclay in his swim trunks is a fine sight indeed. Joseph wonders if he ever brought boyfriends here, ever kissed them in the blue water or let them have their way with him in some hidden patch of lawn.

But it’s not all roses and revelry. The more he roots around in Andrew Douglas’s past, and in Barclay’s, the more questions he has. Why did Andrew come and go? What happened to large portions of Raquel and Sylvia (Barclay’s parents) fortune? And who wants to kill someone with no criminal record, no known enemies, and no heirs? If it’s the same person who murdered Andrew, killing Barclay would remove their fall-guy, so that makes no sense as a move.

His best lead comes when he learns Barclay’s family and Andrew Douglas lived in San Francisco at the same time. A friend in the city agrees to do some sniffing around there for any information that might point towards their killer. Two days later, he calls back and says he’s sending Joseph a “fucking brick” of evidence in the mail.

It’s been several days and he’s still waiting. He dozed off in his room after dinner, intending to cat nap, but it seems he’s overshot; it’s after ten. At least the mail must have come by now.

“Barclay? Did anything come--you have five goddamn seconds to explain yourself.”

His friend stammers from his seat on the bed, surrounded by papers, photo’s, newsprint, and a manila envelope with Joseph’s name on it.

“I, uh, I, it isn’t-”

“This is all evidence collected for the purpose of protecting you, so if you have something you’re afraid of me finding you’d better start talking now.” He snaps, looming over the other man from the edge of the bed.

Wordlessly, Barclay hands him a piece of newspaper. It details a kidnapping, one that ends--happily--with the victim being returned to their family. Four names are mentioned, but none of the perpetrators are the man in front of him.

“I was sixteen. A stupid kid. I had this perfect life and I got a little stir crazy, a little bored, and fell in with some other rich kids who felt the same. It started out harmless. Then James, the guy in charge, decided we should dream bigger. I was so, so fucking in love with him, I didn’t try to stop him. Not right away, anyway. I...I was their look-out for that kidnapping. But I couldn’t let them keep it up.”

“You struck a deal.”

Barclay nods, “Best part is, I managed to do it without either of my parents getting wise. We moved here soon after. I thought I could put it behind me.”

Joseph takes a closer look at the paper. The byline for the article is one A. Douglas.

“He blackmailed you.”

“Not at first. He, he” Barclay takes a shaky breath, “he went to mom first. Asked her how much she’d pay to keep my name out of the papers. James had told him about me and he was going to spread the story. That’s why she was on that fucking bridge in the middle of a fucking storm; she was meeting him.”

“Oh, Barclay.” Evidence crumples under his knees as he sits to comfort his friend.

“Then he came to me; now not only was I paying to keep the story quiet, I was paying to keep him from telling Ma why Mom died.”

“She died because of a blackmailer, wet cement, and a weak guard rail. Not because of you.”

Barclay looks at him, eyes coffee cups of sorrow, and simply shakes his head. Then he crumples forward and Joseph catches him, holds him tight while he finishes his story through his tears.

He paid off Andrew for three years. Ned Chicane, owner of the Kepler Museum of Curiosities, helped him with the family accounts so Raquel wouldn’t notice anything suspicious. Whenever Andrew came around, he demanded Barclay act as his “boyfriend” for the duration of the visit.

“Everyone must think I have terrible taste in men.”

Once they establish that, as far as Barclay is aware, only Ned knows about the blackmail, Joseph cups his face and says, as firmly as gentleness allows, “From now on, I need you to be truthful with me. You said you didn’t want me putting the pieces together because you were ashamed, but all I want is to help you. I can’t do that if there are big things you’re hiding from me. Understand?”

Barclay nods, and apologizes the entire time they’re gathering the strewn pieces back into the envelope.

“Barclay?” Joseph cuts him off and eases him down until he’s on his back, “I forgive you. Now please go to sleep before you pass out from stress.”

The cook smiles at him, eyes already fluttering closed, “You’re the boss, Joseph.”

He ignores all the urges that kickstarts in him and leaves his friend to sleep in peace.

-------------------------------------------------------

“Y’know, kind of wish we’d known each other back then.” Barclay looks up from where he’s helping Joseph sort the new evidence on the floor, “when I was in San Francisco, I mean.”

“It would have taken more than just a change of scene for me; my family does alright, but I’d have been way outside your circles.”

“So? Maybe then I coulda had a boyfriend who was ‘disreputable’ for bullshit reasons instead of real ones.”

“I’ve never once been disreputable.” He looks up from the photos in his hand, “and is that your way of telling me something, big guy.”

“Yes. I, uh, you can tell me to knock it off, but I, uh, I think you’re swell. It’s okay if you don’t feel that way but you said I should be…” he trails off as Joseph leans into his space,”honest.”

He kisses him once, so brief it barely counts but the larger man whimpers and tries to grab him before he pulls away.

“If we’re going to do this, I need you to promise me that you’ll tell me to hit the brakes if you need to; it won’t change my dedication to the case.”

“I promise.” There’s no dishonesty in his face, just boundless hope and affection.

“In that case, big guy” he lunges forward, pinning him to the rug, “you’re all mine.”

An unexpectedly high whine leaves his lover.

“You like when I’m rough?”

“Uh, uh huh, so much, people always want me to be and I don’t want to, wanna be, wanna beAHHHhhnnn” he arches his back as Joseph bites the patch of skin just below his beard.

“You’re so gentle, big guy, I thought you’d go straight to making love but” another bite, another gasp, “I think I’d better fuck you instead.”

“Please.” Barclays hands glide up to cup Joseph’s face and guide him down into another kiss.

Joseph rolls his hips forward and his sleeves up as speaks, “Now that you mention it, I can see how things would’ve gone if we met earlier. I was an obedient son but not beyond sneaking someone into my room when my parents were away” he undoes Barclay’s shirt, keeps grinding against him and licking his lips as he feels him getting hard, “or maybe we met down here, and you’d sneak me into the backyard.”

“Fuck, yes.” Barclays chest heaves as Joseph cards his fingers up through the dark hair to tease his nipples, “god, if how I, fuck, feel now is a clue, I’d have been so fucking mad for you.” He makes a charming groan as Joseph tongues his nippls and then nibbles his way up to his ear.

“It’s funny” Joseph kisses his cheek, “I knew so many guys like you on the force. Not you now, used to hard work and worry, but you then; spoiled and softer than a boiled egg.” He allows himself a moment of savoring their cocks teasing each other through their pants before continuing, “always wanted to discipline them, because it was clear no one ever did.”

“Please show me how.”

“Why?” He grins down at him, toying with his left nipple until it’s bright red.

“Because I wanna be good for you, Joseph. Wanna be every fantasy you ever had.”

“...Lord god almighty how am I supposed to say no to that?” Joseph undoes his suspenders, laughing at Barclay’s triumphant smile, “you’re a dream, big guy.”

He crawls so he’s straddling Barclays face, cock dripping pre-cum onto his lips. Barclays tongue keeps peeking out from between them, but doesn’t go further without permission.

“Since this is disciplinary, you don’t get a say in how it goes. You’ll take my cock as long and as deep as I want it, because I’m superior to you and you’re here to do what I say”

“Fuckyeah” Barclay paws Joseph’s thighs, opens his mouth so he can guide the head in.

“That, ohyes, that being said, if it’s really too much, tap my thigh twice.”

Barclay nods to show he understands, but is already pre-occupied sucking his cock like he’s starving for it.

“A good start, big guy, but if I just wanted my cock wet I’d have gone swimming.” He cups the back of Barclays head in both hands, “I want something to fuck, and your face is it.”

The man beneath him moans, fucks the air uselessly as Joseph pushes further in. He finds the resistance of his throat with a half-inch to go, and decides that’s good enough. He pulls halfway out, pushes back in, repeats the process a few times before finding his rhythm. Weeks of wanting mean it’s hurried and greedy, but the resulting moans suggest Barclay approves.

“You look so good like this, Barclay. God, if you’d been some fresh-faced officer, one look of those doe-eyes is all it, shit, would’ve taken for me to make this the only discipline you ever got. Any time I needed to put you in your place or just, fuck, just needed to let off some steam, I’d do this, get my, my cock in your mouth so often you’d run out of spit and be thankful for my cum in, in it’s place.”

Barclay is groping him again, eyes bright and lips managing some upward curve as his cock forces them apart.

“Then again” he tenderly massages Barclay’s scalp, “there’s no reason I can’t do that in this universe. Oh, ohshit, Barclay-” his words desert him as he cums, the other man swallowing eagerly and sucking him clean before he pulls out.

Joseph glances over his shoulder, “Can I take care of that for you?”

“Fuck, please?”

He rolls off of the cook, stays on his side and slips one arm under his shoulders. Then he sets his palm on the monstrous bulge in Barclay’s jeans and sets to work.

“I, I should unzip-”

“No” he kisses him, “we’re surrounded by evidence that I can’t have you cumming on. Don’t worry, I’ll clean up the mess you make cumming in your pants like a teenager.”

“Promise?” It’s an odd thing to say, but Joseph thinks he understands.

“I promise.” He quickens his pace, Barclay’s grunts growing louder when he does, “I’ll take care of you, big guy. I’ll look after you. You don’t have to lift a finger when I’m around.”

“Joseph.” Is all the reply he gets, Barclay already turning as cum spreads across his fly and clinging to the detective. His breath is hot, stays shaky even as his cock stops pulsing.

“Barclay? Baby, are you alright?”

“So fucking good, babe. I, I uh” he holds him tighter, “this is the first thing to make sense to me in years. Loving you, having you in my life, I get how we fit together so easily. Everything else, the murder, Ma, this person lurking around the last place that feels like home waiting to hurt me or hurt Mama or someone there, all of it, it’s so goddamn tangled I’m worried it’ll never get straight.”

Joseph rests their cheeks together, “We’ll figure it out, big guy. I promise.”

#sternclay #agent stern/ barclay #TAZ amnesty #noir au #detective au

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joonbug21 · 4 years

Text

Beyond the Facade | knj

Pairing: HandyMan!Namjoon X Pregnant!Reader, BestFriend!Taehyung X Pregnant!Reader

Word Count: 11k

Genre: fluff/smut/angst

Warning(s): strong language use, childbirth, mention of infidelity, alluding of a love triangle, evidence of a sheltered background, angst involving family matters, smut, oral (f receiving), nipple play, hand groping

It’s been four months since you deemed the fellowship hall your home, and appreciatively, the area has been vacant since the falling of the church which saves even more stress than what you’ve been in since moving here. Achingly, your legs stretch to move off the bed before your feet land onto the grainy carpet. Your right-hand slips to steady your back, maneuvering your body to scoot to the bed frame, which has become a daily routine, weak fingers gripping the wood until your digits become pale white. Letting out a steady sigh, with all your strength you lift yourself to where you can stand, “Oomf,” a small whimper escapes past your lips, tensing at the cringe plaguing your shoulders.

Being seven months pregnant sometimes has its perks, but this isn’t one of them. Bending your body forward slightly, you step sluggishly toward your dresser, pulling out maternity clothes lent to you before the move.

“So, when are you going to tell us?” The soft murmur belonging to your mother echoes from the driver’s side. Her expression submits an evident mixture of exhaustion and exasperation; though it’s been a month since the announcement of your pregnancy, your mother is currently driving you to a doctor’s appointment for a checkup on the baby to make sure everything is okay, “we have a right to know.”

Arms crossed over your chest in mild annoyance, you bite the corner of your mouth until the side of your head meets the window, getting lost in the line of trees zipping by.

Waddling into the bathroom, the vague memory fades, your hand reaching to turn the knob of the shower. The squeaky sound along with rushing water splatters against the shower curtain sending a soothing jolt of excitement. Chilly air springs goosebumps over your limbs once you’re freed of your clothes, waiting patiently for the water to warm before inching into the tub. When steaming liquid soon dribbles among your frame, a grin of satisfaction sparks brief happiness you needed an escape to. The heat of the downpour eases your aching bones, fingers clasping behind your neck to lean your head back, “Oh!” You gasp in surprise when the instant feel of a kick happens within your tummy. Eyes flutter down in the direction of your swollen belly, palms moving to caress it, “Look at you, what are you trying to do? Escape?” Cooing with a light giggle, when the baby kicks again, you can’t help the giddy smile tugging at the corner of your lips. Now, this- this is what you love about being pregnant. Finishing up, you dry your hair before swiftly dressing along with brushing your teeth.

Thoughts still pertaining to the small life growing inside you, you’ve decided since your first doctor’s visit that you do not want to know your baby’s gender until the day that you give birth. When you presented the idea to your mother, she was all on board, proclaiming how she had done that with your younger sibling. Running a brush through your hair, you skim one final look into the mirror formerly then head to exit the bathroom.

Gradually sauntering through the mini hallway, you’re more zoned on the way your hand pats upon the wall in some form of maintaining stableness to the point you hardly notice almost slamming into a tall figure.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry!” A deep voice panics, raising his arms in a way to catch you though your arms mirror the same. Heart ramming, a breath of relief winds past your parted lips- your eyes scanning the slim legs that follow to the handsome face of Kim Namjoon. His eyes enlarged apologetically.

“Oh Namjoon, you scared me,” a tender chuckle sets the feel of calm for he sees the amnesty etched in your eyes.

“I’m so sorry, [Y/N], I was about to head out to mow the lawn, but just wanted to check and make sure you’re okay,” he timidly scopes the view of your huge abdomen, gulping once his hands rest loosely at his sides, returning his eyes to search yours before a sweet grin spreads upon your face.

“It’s no biggie. Thank you for checking on me,”

Kim Namjoon works for your father, making sure the church grounds continuously stay clean and cut creating a pretty environment to the eye. Protecting the land is another part of the job description- protecting it from any loiterers, wild animals, protesters, etcetera- maintaining flower bushes encircling the area as well as mini projects your father will want Namjoon to build. The swing set, including the shed, happen to be plans that Namjoon successfully constructed due to your father’s wishes. In return, Namjoon is provided a place to live- the room that once held your father’s office, is now changed into a bedroom.

It’s strange for you to think about it now- how so much has changed in just seven months, when a year ago the church was thriving, unaware of the secrets that clouded within the audience. Squeezing your eyes shut, a reminiscent from the beginning of your pregnancy rears its head causing a tiny brink of nausea to form.

Taehyung’s arms drape around you tightly, embracing you in all entirety that your eyes shut against the crook of his neck. Your fingers squeeze his shoulder, legs bent across his thighs while tepid tears spill onto your cheeks.

“Shhh,” he tries to comfort, his breath tickling your exposed ear- your face still buried beneath his chin, “It’s going to be okay,” he whispers just as soft as the flicking fire burning amongst numerous candle wicks. Scents of vanilla blends with birch fitting the dimly lit bedroom that you’re thankful exists other than the man refusing to let you go until you feel better.

“How?” You choke back another sob, “How am I going to tell my parents? How am I supposed to confront the church if that’s what it comes down to? Shit… My dad is going to fucking kill me,” Taehyung’s shirt is soaked, but he could care less, tangling his long fingers into your hair to stroke the back of your head.

“Okay, now, you’re being dramatic,”

“So, maybe I am? But you know very well that my parents aren’t going to take this lightly,”

“Yeah, but I think it’s safe to say that telling your parents you’re pregnant is far better than if you were to tell them how you truly feel about religion,”

“Okay? Perhaps, you’re right,” a snippet of a frustrated huff leaves your trembling lips, “especially not with what’s been going on with the church, I don’t know how much more they can take,”

“Well, your dad should have thought of that before he had an affair with my mom,” Taehyung’s icy tone brings chills to your frame before he loudly swallows, lips firm from the anger boiling behind his almond eyes. Tendrils of his bright, red hair glow regardless of how dark the atmosphere is, and you hardly hold back the sheer pain stabbing your heart from the guilt you can’t help but endure.

“Tae, I’m so so sorry,”

“Hey,” he peers down at you, realizing he may have taken his comment too far, even though you’re just as angry towards your father as your best friend is, “you didn’t know,” sniffling back the remaining mucus clogging your nostrils, you desire to face Taehyung no matter how foolish you think you may look, scooting your body to where your palm indents in his mattress next to his legs, his arm now rests around your waist, and for a split second, you’re close enough to where the tempting appearance of his striking face beckons the strange glimmer of longing. A longing of curing whatever loneliness you’re going through, but you’re not the only one experiencing this moment for Taehyung’s lips part just enough to plead your attention.

You can’t stop yourself, and you don’t, because before either of you comprehend, you close the gap letting the delicate wave of his kiss caress yours. “Tae,” you breathe against his lips, reuniting with his kiss almost immediately while a dizzy spell of want travels through your chest. You know this isn’t right. He knows this isn’t right, but too many pent-up emotions between your hearts have gotten out of hand, and for now, all the two of you have is each other. His fingertips move to tenderly trail your jaw, gasping into his mouth when the tip of his tongue circles yours before you move to trap him in a perfect straddle. You need something, anything to feel whole again- something to forget about the people you lost and the people you will lose. And, if there’s anyone in this world you do not want to lose it’s him.

There’s no refraining, there’s no hesitation, just the growing pace of the kisses, and the way you’re so enthralled with how beautiful he feels squeezing you tighter to him. “[Y/N],” he moans, hating himself for how far he wants to go with you, yet he craves your touch, nearly supplicates for it. You want to feel his skin, and the aching throb below you seems to deafen any other screams of stopping, and yet, your fingers move to the end of his shirt, peeling it just enough to expose the solid wall of his abdomen. “[Y/N],” he stops you, breaking the final kiss, his hand covering your wrist, while your eyes frantically search the side of his face, “We- we can’t,”

You haven’t seen him since, because of the boundaries that were crossed and would have been farther crossed if Taehyung had not had the strength to stop. The pair of you have been best friends since childhood, and neither of you wants to take anything beyond for the sake of feeling empty, but he assured you that night, even after your panic of apologies pouring from your mouth, after the humiliation that shackled your system, even after the daunting assumption that your friendship was over- he cupped your cheek, promising that he was still here and that he would never end your attachment over something, you both will never regret.

It’s a secret you’ve suppressed for some time. Taehyung calls every so often when he can; dealing with his broken-hearted father on top of two jobs consumes every bit of his time. Yet, you can’t help but miss him, the one person who loyally stayed by your side even when you came forward to your friends about your pregnancy. And, the one friend who still loves you all the same, even after discovering his mother’s affair with your father.

Rage isn’t enough to describe the resentment against your father, and ever since you told your parents that you were expecting, and ever since your move, you haven’t spoken to him. You’ll never forget how torn your mother was- depression weighing heavy on her, and that’s something that’s hard to forgive.

Your mother looks frail as she twiddles the crumpled tissue in her hands. Tears brim her eyes through the silence in the car, sparse sniffles breaking your heart into a million pieces. The two of you had just come back from the grocery store to restock the kitchen in your recently new home and are now parked at the church’s back door to drop you off. You hesitated upon leaving because the thought of your mother having to return home to a place of remorse is the last thing you want for her. The promise of a car was granted to you, but you turned it down, refusing to accept anything from the man who caused so much pain to your family. To Taehyung’s family.

Running the tissue underneath her eyes, she speaks, “[Y/N]?”

“Yeah?” Your voice is barely a whisper, but the guilt from how stressed your mother has been is something you wish you could carry instead of her. After the betrayal of your father as well as him resigning from the church to send people away from the place they once sought refuge in- on top of her oldest daughter being pregnant with her first child is already a lot to handle. The other frustration you bite your tongue from expressing is the fact of your parents refusing to let you get a job until the time after you give birth. You want to make the money to provide for yourself and your son or daughter without the dependence upon your parents- your mother especially, yet you’re grateful for her adamancy on keeping you from any risks outside of the walls of your home.

It takes a moment before your mother gathers her words, “Do you- do you think you could ask Namjoon to help take you to the hospital? Whenever it’s time… for you to have the baby?”

It was easier for your mother to ask that of you because he lived in the same building, and if any emergency of your water breaking happened earlier than expected, at least you would have someone available to take you to the hospital. Your gaze clears from the zone out you’ve had the whole time standing in the entrance of the hallway before Namjoon left. Turning on a heel, you decide to return to your bed, slipping under the covers- you’re too wide awake to sleep as of now, yet the foam of the mattress eases the soreness of your back once you lean against the pillows.

-Four months earlier-

Queasiness envelops your abdomen to where you recognize the cue, rushing to the porcelain throne to heave whatever yellow liquid is left- spurting it into the toilet while you grimace through the pain. The door swings open behind you mixed with heavy footsteps quickening to you. When large hands swoop to hold your hair back, you don’t have the strength to look at the intruder due to the continuous retching that deems you defenseless.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” the deep voice is soft, and relief brings tears to your eyes when you recognize it to be Kim Namjoon. You’re embarrassed once your stomach gives you a break, your palms pressing to your forehead while you slump against the wall.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, swiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Namjoon scatters to find a tissue, patting the corners of your mouth.

“You don’t have to be sorry,”

“That… wasn’t what I was apologizing for,”

A knowing glance is all he must give for you to share whatever thoughts you can’t bring yourself to voice. He was your friend before all of this, yet you failed to mention to him about the pregnancy, and with him being the worker of the Church- he didn’t discover your budding stomach until the day you moved in. His eyes flicker away from your stare toward the slight protrusion of your baby bump due to your ruffled t-shirt. He settles on the floor across from you, silence being the only conversation held. He isn’t one to hold anger, and though you kept him unaware until your third month of pregnancy, he refuses to leave your side, making a pact to himself he will do whatever it takes to provide the care that you will need. As well as the little one.

Despite the emotional roller coaster, you remain amazed with how he keeps his patience with you. A day of depression to a random bout of laughter- memories turning of the betrayals of close friends who judged you immediately the day you put your trust in them- the freedom you craved away from the sheltered life your father forced upon you- even days where you can’t seem to put your tears on pause, yet Namjoon holds you through every grieve.

“What if… what if I’m not good enough?” Your voice shakes between sobs- you had been dreaming restlessly yet another night, tossing within your bed to the point Namjoon came to check on you- rushing to pull you into his arms the moment your eyes fluttered to reveal pained tears. Your words nearly shatter him- pulling away just enough to where his eyes lock with yours.

“How can you say that, [Y/N]?” The faint light of your lampshade causes his face to glisten- angelically, you decide, yet the shadowing doubt of motherhood plagues you still, because what if you genuinely can’t care for the child that you’re six months away from holding? Fears encompass you like an ocean, smashing along your mind in harsh waves. “Look at me,” are the words that snap you from whatever sea you were suffocating in to realize you had unintentionally switched your gaze from him. It’s the calming effect the warmth of Namjoon’s eyes bring when he exposes whatever faith he has in the woman you are and will become. “You’re going to do just fine, believe me, I know it,”

Sniffling, you run the back of your hand along your chin where an escapee of a tear dangled, “How can you be so sure?”

“Because when have you ever given up on anyone that you care about,” it’s not a question, he’s stating what he knows to be a fact. Something he learned of you when he first was hired to tend to the property. “You’re stubborn when it comes to winning someone over. I was determined not to befriend anyone here. But you changed that for me, remember?”

A knowing tug of a smile trembles into a stretch upon your lips, “I do,”

“Same with the baby. I know you will love that little one more than life itself. It doesn’t have a choice, and you’ll let him or her know the second they’re born,”

When a hearty snicker leaves your mouth, you notice the sticky feel of your drying face- you are no longer crying.

“You don’t have to do this alone, [Y/N]. You showed me that even when I didn’t know what else to do. Now, get some rest, okay? You have a doctor’s appointment bright and early,” the bed creaks from the gradual movement of Namjoon standing,

“Wait!” You speak before you can stop yourself, Namjoon immediately pausing- the heat of his arms is felt beneath your palms from your pounce of panic, and with evident chagrin, you shyly stare at his chest, “Can you uh, … Can you stay in here with me tonight?” You’ve refrained from asking sooner due to the shame of not telling him the news that’s become apparent, and even now, you haven’t been able to comprehend how he’s not the slightest bit angry with you. When his arms encircle you closer to his frame, no words need to be said because he’s already answered by just this gesture. Nuzzling into his embrace, the side of his chin pressed to your forehead, “Whoever it is, I hope they grow up to be half the person that you are,” you whisper, squeezing him tighter, infinite smiles now ending the night that cures any ounce of uncertainty.

By the fifth month of pregnancy, you finally come to the realization of how selfish you have been- it’s no longer about you and your needs; it is now about the needs of your son or daughter growing within you. Namjoon catered to every grocery store trip, stocking the kitchen and in return, you choose to cook for him every meal, hoping to show as much appreciation to him that you can.

“Have you thought about any names?” Taehyung’s voice muses on the other line of the phone, the sound of him bringing a small smirk upon your face. You’ve missed him terribly so, yet the acceptance of surprise phone calls is all you can settle with for now. At his question though, you pause with the tilt of your head, taking a quick sip of the broth that you’re currently heating on the stove.

“No?” It’s a brief question of guilt, something you haven’t been ready to ponder, “Honestly… haven’t thought that far ahead yet,” you add in the vegetables to boil within the broth.

The familiar, deep chuckle is all you hear to gain an idea of what your best friend is about to say next, “I should have known,”

“Alright, Birkenstocks. What do you mean by that?”

“Breezing past that mistake. You named your Parakeet, Bird,”

“Well, in my defense, I was seven years of age,”

“And in my defense, playing basketball in Birkenstocks was supposed to start a trend,”

“Since how? I-”

“Ask Hoseok,”

“You lost a bet didn’t you-”

“And, I will pay for it for the rest of my life, now won’t I?”

“With me around, you will,”

Hoseok is the deacon’s son who’s dream of fashion has been shunned by his family, yet he designs in a sketchbook Taehyung hides for whenever Hoseok and he share the same work shifts. He’s not one you have had the opportunity to communicate much with, but you’re thankful Taehyung has someone to maintain a friendship with while you two have been apart. A short response of silence settles while your cheek and shoulder squeeze the phone for a moment as you stir the steaming vegetables.

“You could have named the bird, Tweety at least-”

“Oh!” You playfully growl, “Back with that again, huh?”

“Do I need to send you a link of baby names-”

“I promise you, Tae, I do not plan on naming my child, Kid, okay?”

“You’d be surprised-”

Taehyung’s excitement for his future Godchild brings a simmering joy to the surface of your pattering heart. Almost as equal to the eagerness, your mother has shown with this being her first grandchild. Graciously, your mother has never been as strict as your father, hence why the past five months have gone much smoother then they would have if your father had never had an affair with Mrs. Kim.

Small talk ensues with the typical questions of how each of your days has gone once the pair of you take your seats. One secret, yet another you and Taehyung have harbored, is the awareness of Namjoon’s atheism- something your father must never learn of his worker. Namjoon, who will not admit it, works on the church grounds in order to provide for his family who lives a few miles up the road. Ultimately, there are many secrets not worth sharing to your parents, not only for the sake of sanity but for the protection of the ones who you’ve kept close, especially Namjoon. With your father being the tyrant of a priest, he used to be, there is still the potential distress of him firing Namjoon over the mere difference of beliefs. Something you refuse to let happen while you’re around.

Clinking spoons replace conversation, for how long, you’re uncertain; the fog of your thoughts seem to consume upon one in particular- something that has remained festering long enough, yet you have never said it aloud- figuring this moment may be the time that you do. Namjoon confided in you and Taehyung once he found comfort in trusting the pair of you- even subjects that one would have never expected him to open about. Guilt presents itself to the point your eyes squeeze shut, opening them to move your spoon to play at a piece of broccoli swimming in the potage.

“They don’t know,” your words are careful- slow even- continuing your vision on the dinner before you. You can feel Namjoon’s soft eyes on you, his expression confused. “They don’t know who the father is,” that’s when your gaze trails to meet his eyes just for more guilt to manifest behind them. By they, you’re referring to your parents, as well as every other soul excluding Taehyung, “I won’t tell them.” Namjoon slowly nods with the sense of understanding, knowing the cost that will be taken if your father were to know who you’re trying to bury beneath this web of fear. “Besides,” you sigh heavily, “I’m surprised my father was lenient enough to let me live here,” you confess, “if he wasn’t so guilty over the affair, I would be homeless-”

“I wouldn’t let that happen,” Namjoon says suddenly, destroying whatever anger you were dwelling upon. Your mouth falls open in shock at his words and the frilly flutter of your heartbeat is hard to ignore. After living here for two months, he’s proven time and time again that he means what he says; what he just said. Speechless, the rest of dinner continues in fond silence, your heart refusing to steady for the man slowly captivating your heart.

The sixth month of pregnancy gifts swollen feet and aching bones on top of your belly growing heavier by the week. Namjoon has stayed loyal- tending to your pregnancy cravings in the dead of night, aiding to your discomfort whether it involves a heating pack or a cup of ice, slipping under the covers on nights you want him to hold you, driving you to every doctor’s appointment without any hesitation; with all that he’s been doing for you, it’s like your feelings have blossomed deeper which you know shouldn’t be happening with the peril of your father finding out. The unexpected visits from your father are few, yet you usher the reminder to yourself of protecting Namjoon, though he carries the weight of facing your father instead of you who avoids the confrontation.

Night comes quickly after a day spent cleaning up the nursery that seems to be coming together, other than the crib Namjoon’s been building- something you accidentally discovered when strolling close to the shed one sunny day. He’s so dedicated to the unborn infant, it nearly brings you to tears, glancing around the elegant hues of multiple pastel colors painted across the room with stuffed animals, blankets, and furniture he continues to gift you amongst different items your mother has added to the collection. You always enjoy the sporadic visits from your mother, because she’s free to celebrate the life that she refuses to consider as a sin.

“Are you thinking boy or girl?” Your mother elbowed your side earlier today after moving around the furniture.

“Hm,” you hummed happily, thankful for the relationship that’s being redeemed with her, “you know? I’m not very sure,”

“I can tell from all the colors you’ve chosen,” she teased, “it looks beautiful,” she cooed, pulling you into an accomplished side hug. You didn’t want to stick to just pink or blue, so you chose every other shade in between, colliding the space with colors that could go for either or. “You’re going to be a wonderful mother,”

“Hiya,” you greet, trying to ignore the subtle increase of your heartbeat. Namjoon flashes a kid-like smile once he shutters out of his jacket, “How was your day?”

“It was good, thank you,” he replies, taking long strides until he makes it to you, “How was yours with your mom?” His right-hand steadies the small of your back while his left one clutches yours to help settle you into your seat. It’s hard to focus on the question he just asked when the scent from outside seems to heighten the attraction you already feel towards him, “It was good,” you manage to say, reaching for the silverware to begin digging into your food, “Thank you… For helping me,” the distance between your stomach and the table now is something you’ve been trying to get used to as well as the turmoil of trying to stand and sit.

“Anytime.”

“It’s okay,” you chortle at his reaction, “it’s just the baby kicking,” his response reminds you of the moment you felt the baby kick for the very first time- similar to a weird flutter that’s hard to describe, and it had taken you a second to realize what it was exactly- just your baby making its presence known to you. Namjoon swallows the bite of food in a nervous gulp, the pang of his silverware mutes from where he lays it on the napkin.

“Here,” you murmur affectionately preparing to stand to your feet. Namjoon immediately jolts from his chair, rounding the table to gather your hand in his. Instead of relying on his strength to help you position yourself, you plop back onto the seat, sliding his hand to the area where the baby kicked a few minutes prior. Namjoon kneels to level with you, his plump lips ajar mirroring the widen stance of his eyes while he patiently waits, his nervous heart pounding in his temples. It’s the exuberant joy in his smile that meets his eyes in a dazzling glow the pure second the baby kicks again, and the bliss of delight smothers your heart in so many ways imaginable at this moment the pair of you are capturing together. Your hand remains resting upon his while your eyes lock repudiating from breaking contact.

“I told you that you don’t have to do this alone,” he whispers, and it’s then you come to the awareness of how near his face is from yours, his dimples visible from his smile to the point you press your lips to each one, shocked at your act of boldness, but you can’t refrain. He’s too handsome and too wonderful to stay away from any longer. That’s all the invitation needed, for Namjoon’s lips brush yours igniting the sparks of what you’ve been trying to suppress for way too long. Your fingers find his hair when he leans to deepen the kiss, moving his hands to rest on the chair, fingers pressing into the wood until pale white.

At this moment, you don’t care what anyone thinks.

You are in love with Kim Namjoon, and there is nothing in this world that’s going to scare you away from that.

-Present day-

The pitch black outside the window brings frustration when you awaken to scold yourself for how long you’ve slept. Gathering yourself once the fatigue rolls off, you cautiously sit up, scooting to the bedpost until you’re on your feet. Taking a trip to the restroom, you notice upon exiting the clock on the wall reads seven pm, and you wonder if Namjoon has made it inside for the evening. It’s eerily quiet save for the air conditioning, but you pause when you see the lights are on in the main area of the building. Shrugging, you waddle around the corner until the sudden shouts of, “SURPRISE!”, nearly knocks you to the ground.

Gasping, your eyes widen while your hand flies to your chest. A prolonged second interferes before your brain deciphers the two individuals cheering before you. Numerous pink and blue balloons hover to the top of the ceiling matching the colors of a cloth decorating the one table now adorned with a cake and wrapped gifts. “What?” You can barely speak from the light headiness taking over, but the tears that well in your eyes when you see the boxy smile of your best friend sends you in an attempt to run just to crash into his arms. He meets you halfway, surrounding you within his embrace as he rocks you back and forth muffling your wails of joy into his checkered sweater. Your soaked cheeks are wiped away from the material as been done countless times before, and his tepid palms squish your cheeks when he steps back to gesture toward your belly.

“Wow look at you! Your belly is huge!”

“I’m still in denial of how fast this pregnancy is going!” You say breathlessly, you’re so happy to see Taehyung, you can hardly contain your composure. Namjoon steps forward with his hand reaching to squeeze your best friend’s shoulder. Taehyung’s fiery strands are curled upon his forehead, lustrous beneath the lights as it always has before, “Your father let you come?” There’s a seriousness behind your voice at the question because you are cognizant of the fury Tae’s father has against the church from the events that occurred what, in some ways feels like a lifetime ago.

“Well, no,” Taehyung winces mischievously, “I told him that Namjoon and I were going to a basketball game,”

“Of course, you did, you sly fox,”

“You know you love me,” Tae pecks your forehead before leading you to the table where the sweet whiff of cake flatters your nostrils.

“You guys didn’t have to do this,” you’re still wiping tears off your face, though it’s evident that your crying is from untainted gratitude, “What did I do to deserve the two of you?”

Namjoon kneels, intertwining his long fingers with yours, using the tip of his thumb to tickle circles upon your skin, “Taehyung mentioned how when you were kids that you loved surprises, especially if it involved a small party of some sort so,” he tilts his head toward Taehyung, “And I knew how much you missed him, too. I just wanted to do something to celebrate you. And, the baby,”

It doesn’t take much to smother this man in kisses nowadays, and once you express your thankfulness to the men before you, Namjoon reads your mind, snatching a small kiss in return.

“You two are on kissing terms, again?” Taehyung teases while you poke your tongue at him in mild embarrassment. Namjoon does not know of the moment you and Tae shared, and that’s something you’re not ready to talk about, and with the cutesy scrunch of Namjoon’s face, the memory escapes to the back of your mind for now.

By the end of the night, the frosting had met all three of your faces- some smushed into Taehyung’s hair while some swiped across Namjoon’s neck, and your eyebrows are smeared along with the possible suspicion of some getting up your nose. Cleaning the mess takes a while, but nobody in the room would trade it for anything, and it’s good stalling to prevent the night from completely ending.

Walking Taehyung to his car is the only dread overwhelming your system because you’re not sure of when you will get to see him next. Tears flood your eyes, breaking Taehyung’s heart as an awe of shame gusts past his lips, “I’m sorry, [Y/N]. My dad’s expecting me home soon,”

“I don’t want you to go,” you choke, on the brink of bursting at the seams- Tae fumbles to tighten his arms behind your back- him trying to be mindful of your abdomen being pressed too firmly against his frame.

“Please don’t cry,” he whispers near your ear, “Please, please don’t cry,” His lips curl from the tears burning within his own eyes wishing with all his strength he could rid of the aching hurt that has kept your friendship separated. Tae swiftly pulls away when he remembers another present, he meant to give you earlier, whirling around to unlock his car, bending into the vehicle while his hands shuffle around the floorboard in a desperate search for whatever he wants to show you. When he turns to face you, a sharp inhale of glee echoes into the night- the lopsided plush of a heart is attached to a blue body ornamented with yellow polka dots that match its mouth. “Oh my gosh!” You squeal, “Tae, it’s adorable! Where did you find this?”

Wiggling his eyebrows in pride, he hands it to you, “I made it myself. And,” he pauses for effect, “since you have trouble naming things, I did the honors and named it for you. I introduce, Ta Ta.”

“Ta Ta?”

“Yeah, like ‘Ta Ta… for now,’”

“Just when I thought I couldn’t love your dork of a self even more,” you exhale, slamming your eyes shut just to bury your face further into his chest, not able to breathe in his scent from the clog of mucus stuffing your nose.

“I love you, too.” His voice thickens with emotion, “Now, quit saying it like you’re never going to see me again, because you know I’m not going anywhere.”

“You promise?” Your cold nose moves to press into the corner of his jaw where steady breaths move between your parting mouth. It’s a serene moment where he turns just enough to glimpse at you, engaging in the beauty he’s always found within your heart. Taehyung’s agape lips now rest centimeters from yours when his large hands raise to rest his fingertips along your flushed cheeks- the curls of his frizzy hair pressing to your forehead, prickling your closing eyes. You discover your free hand enfolding around his wrist from the daunting desire looming from what’s been left unspoken, and the shiver in his breathing brushes your chin once the light touch of his nose cuddles to yours. You both stand there for a seeming reel of eternity, battling the inward mayhem of choice that’s displayed itself on the invisible line tempting to be traversed.

“I promise.”

He hadn’t kissed you, but there was no denial that he wanted to, especially with the way your face has haunted his dreams since the night your lips met in emotional patterns of sorrow. But, deep down, he knows it’s too obvious of a choice if the one for him is to be you, but the love that has been kept for you will never go away. The same as a tether of your heart will forever be his no matter how deep your love goes for someone else. Kim Taehyung will always be your poise- your muse- the soulmate of a friendship that you will always need.

Toddling to the nursery upon Tae’s departure still presents the boiling tears from your tired eyes dripping off your cheeks as you set Ta Ta beside the koala plushie Namjoon gifted you; the humor involving the struggle of both Taehyung and Namjoon carrying the crib Namjoon built for the baby taunts a smirk at the corner of your lips. It’s dark besides the faint light of the hallway behind you, giving you just enough to admire the scenery around you- sniffling back what you can before reaching to cover your quivering chin with your hand. You’ve missed Taehyung. You miss him. And, how beautiful of Namjoon to surprise you with your best friend’s presence? Reuniting the three musketeers from once upon a time?

Little do they know, from the unearthing of your pregnancy to now, the two men have mended your broken heart and stitched it back together again piece by piece. You’re highly uncertain of where you would be without them, and just the thought alone is one you refuse to dwell on. While memories turn like a spindle of loosened thread, a revelation halts you in your tracks. The thought rings loud and clear gracing a wide smile on your face while one more set of tears dampen the corner of your eyes.

After scolding yourself for so long for not thinking hard enough on the subject,

right here, hands grasping the handlebar of your future child’s cradle,

you finally have a name picked out for your little one.

2 months later….

“Namjoon, I’ll be fine,” the pointed look you flash him prompts a nervous chuckle once his hands rest to rub gently along your sides. He’s concerned as he’s been almost the entire pregnancy, but of course, now his worries are heightened to an extreme, “I’m not due until next week. Don’t worry,”

“I know,” he groans, tugging you closer just enough to plant a warm to kiss to your neck, “But, I can’t help it.”

“I’ll be fine,” you drag the word with a teasing sound of a whine. Namjoon shaking his head at you with a smile you’re now feeling upon your lips. “Mm,” you hum into his kiss, your hands sliding to squeeze his shoulders in reaction to how impeccable it feels. You end the moment simply to gaze at him, “You’ll be back before you know it,” you assure him- his trip to the grocery store being the plan for the afternoon.

“Okay,” he says tenderly, eyes flickering to your lips once more before leaning to brush them to his own, “I love you,”

There’s a small pause, one that entails warmth smothering your chest in giddy sensations when his eyes steal yours after pulling away, “I love you, too, Joon,” watching him head out the door until the truck disappears along the road.

Of course, the day doesn’t go accordingly the way you expect, because on carefully prodding to the kitchen in preparation to cook breakfast, a slight ache ensues within your abdomen. “Oh,” you groan, stroking the area with your fingertips before deciding to lay down for a bit instead. When reaching your room, the sharp pain of a cramp returns causing a harsh cringe as you lean against your bedpost, hardly able to concentrate on the attempt of climbing onto the mattress. You remain hunched over for five minutes, forcing slow breaths to prevent from panicking, and when you find the coast to be clear, you straighten yourself out.

Suddenly, before you can comprehend what’s happening, a gush of water splatters onto the carpet soaking your feet in the process.

“No,” you whisper, eyes frantically scanning your room for your cell phone. Namjoon shouldn’t be far with the grocery store only being a few miles away, but in order to get a hold of him, you must find your only way of contacting him. Hands pat your bed, thrusting off the bed covers and shaking them roughly, yet no ’thump’ is heard before you cast the covers in a pile onto the ground. The next destination leads to the restroom, with no luck of your phone being in your bedroom- when another wave of pain shoots within your stomach, you gasp, trying to endure through the discomfort with all your might.

Leaving a water trail behind with every step you take, you desperately search the countertops before stepping into the area that holds the kitchen, wondering if there is any possibility it may have been left behind there. Your feet meet the cool surface of the tile floor, your gape scanning the entirety of the space before a pant of relief escapes past your dry lips the second your shaking hands gather the device. “Agh!” A contraction surges, hands squeezing your phone unintentionally, yet you grimace just enough to maintain your focus on the task at hand. Managing to get the phone ringing, it doesn’t take long until you hear the man of your dreams at the other end of the line.

“Hello?”

“Joon, it’s time,” you choke, voice thick with pain.

“Oh, shit! Hold on tight, I’m on my way, just hold tight, I’m coming-”

You just happen to be running by the church in favor of dropping off the work truck keys to your father when he unintentionally introduces you to the new employee you assume he plans to hire, “[Y/N], this is Kim Namjoon. He’s going to be taking care of the church grounds for us, isn’t that wonderful?”

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you,” you greet, underlyingly suffering from the attraction swarming to your reddening cheeks. When your father mentioned of hiring, you never anticipated the person to be this overwhelmingly breathtaking.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Ma'am,” Namjoon’s polite nod mirrors the dimples evident from a soft grin, his hand reaching for yours to shake before your father continues the tour of the place you’ve grown up memorizing. But something initiates you to stay, eyes lingering on the back of the tall figure decked in a turtleneck covered by a green jacket complementing a pair of jeans along with brown shoes. There’s a spark of intuition that day, one that ignited the prominent determination that you want to get to know this person even if your father ends up finding out.

Namjoon busts through the door with pure alarm etched in his voice, “[Y/N], I’m here! Baby, I’m right here,” he immediately jumps to where you are, keeled over on the floor, throwing his arm around you until he lifts you out of the fellowship hall and into the work truck. Words you attempt to form are muted by whimpers, tears brimming your eyes from the pain that doesn’t end, “I’m going to grab the suitcase, I’ll be right back,” time must be faster than you can measure for Namjoon arrives, slinging the suitcase into the backseat before slamming into the driver’s side.

It takes a while for the newly found employee to warm up to every opportunity you take in order to get to know him. One thing he’s slowly but surely learning is that you’re not one to give up so easily- something you’ve noticed him picking up on, especially on days, you annoy him when he’s on call to build a project. You make it clear to talk to him nonstop until he acknowledges your existence, and the times he doesn’t breathe a word results in a call to Taehyung.

“Come help me,” you plea hearing Taehyung’s exasperated sigh on the other line.

“You are so annoying,”

“You know you love me, fool,” you gloat because with defeat, your best friend reluctantly joins you, even accompanying a basketball just in case if Namjoon happens to fancy sports. Your girlfriends, Luna and Jo, were informed of your undying crush on the mysterious worker, crossing their arms in jealousy that you half-heartedly ignored.

“He doesn’t even come to the services,” Jo droned, “Don’t you think it’d be best to get to know someone that’s more… active in the church? Like the pianist’s son, Min Yoongi. You two had such a cute relationship when you were three-”

You can’t get past why no one seems to understand that you must win Namjoon over, and though Luna and Jo have seen the world along with you since childhood, you roll your eyes, turning on a heel, “I’ll catch you later,”

Tires screech along the road while Namjoon swerves past cars on the highway, hands ghost white from the tight grasp he has upon the steering wheel. Meanwhile, your hand grips the bar above you while your other rests upon your belly- the keenness of getting to hold your baby in your arms is all you’re thinking about other than Namjoon who’s keeping you sane.

“Just a few more miles and we will be there. Just breathe,” his voice is unsteady from the fright of this situation, but he upholds his enlarged gaze upon the road. He fumbles for his phone- trying to contact anyone from your family in order to tell them the news.

“GAH!” Leaning forward, a wail echoes within the vehicle as another contraction attacks.

“You guys aren’t going to stop until I’m your friend, am I right?” Namjoon’s elbows are folded from the hold he has on the basketball meeting his chest. Tae jumps sporadically in front of him with outspread arms preparing to prevent the ball from flying into the hoop.

“Damn straight,” you shrug your shoulders in observation of Namjoon’s tilting head.

“I thought church girls didn’t cuss,”

“And I thought you’d have more game than the basketball,” Tae halts, straightening his frame, eyes flickering between you and a quiet Namjoon, “Now hurry up. If you win, I will leave you alone for good. If Tae wins then we treat you to dinner and a movie. How does that sound?”

With an incredulous shake of his head, Namjoon smirks, “Okay,” the scuffle of his converse is heard on the pavement when he briefly turns to toss the ball toward the hoop. The basketball pangs the ring, twirling ferociously to the point, your heart begins to sink, but to your pleasure, the ball tips off the rim, landing in a rejoicing Taehyung’s arms.

“HAH!” You sprint, colliding into Taehyung’s embrace while Namjoon tries to stifle the smile overtaking his lips, “Looks like it’s going to be a burger and fries’ kind of night,” you wink, unaware of the hope that Namjoon has of wanting to gain your friendship just as much.

The hospital entrance appears after the rush of Namjoon turning into the parking lot soon helping you out of the truck. The suitcase will have to wait being he can retrieve it later, his ultimate goal is getting you within the building to where you’re safe. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he tries to appear relaxed, but everything becomes a blur until a nurse with fluffy, black hair approaches with a wheelchair to help settle you in. His nametag reads 'JIMIN’ – him rolling you quickly down the hall when the presence of a female nurse whose nametag reads 'MONNIE’ helps you change into the nightgown upon arrival of the hospital room. Voices are mingling together from the pounding in your temples, but Monnie keeps her hands gentle on your back to lead you to the bed where she hooks you up to what seems like a million machines whilst providing as much comfort to you as possible.

Namjoon’s calloused hand covers yours when one other nurse, Jungkook, floods the room, bringing a chair for him to sit in. You’re not sure of all the commotion that’s overwhelming the room, but you steady your breathing as Namjoon directs, squeezing his hand through each contraction. You recognize the doctor, Kim Seokjin, a tall man already dawned in a scrub hat, mouth mask and gloves, scurrying to where you are, “Alright, I am going to check your dilation Ms. [Y/N], just breathe in and out.” Slamming your eyes shut, you whimper from the discomfort, “Alright, she is dilated three centimeters. Once you are at ten centimeters [Y/N], you will begin pushing. No worries, I will alert you as soon as I need you to begin. Keep breathing. Everything will be okay,”

“Taehyung… My mom… Dad-” you murmur deliriously between breaths, the foggy sense of your conscious outweighing how to speak properly.

“No worries baby, they’re on their way. They’re on their way right now,” he sweetly kisses your perspired forehead, running his free hand through your tangled hair.

The three musketeers were official after the day at the basketball hoop, eventually learning of Namjoon’s atheism as well as him providing for his family.

“My dad couldn’t find a job that pays enough, so I promised him that I will do whatever it takes,” it had been six months since Namjoon had been hired, and currently is finishing his final paint to the shed while you and Taehyung sit Indian style in the grass. “Thanks to the job here, I can afford the rent for my parents as well as give them my car since here, I just use the work truck…” Namjoon sharing more in-depth with his life story- you finally get what you’ve been determined to gain since meeting him.

It’s weeks later that you’ll never forget, leaning against a mini, red monkey bar after sharing your feelings toward the man you’ve grown so fond of. There’s no denying the feelings he’s had for you, and once he inches closer, the crave to hold his hand has never been stronger. Boldly, your fingers trail to intertwine with his, your nerves close to getting the best of you despite the persistent smile that hasn’t left him. When you find the bravery to look up at him, he swallows calmly before leaning in, you stand on your tiptoes to meet halfway until your lips touch. The slide of his arms encompassing your frame feels so inviting when he presses his body to yours. The world is put on pause to you and nothing else matters other than the way his lips move so elegantly- your arms wrapping around his shoulders while he sways you from side to side.

Time doesn’t seem to speed up through all this pain, but the adrenaline swimming in your veins peaks when Dr. Seokjin prepares to check your dilation again. “Ten centimeters-” He confirms, “Alright, [Y/N], the baby’s coming. When I say push, you push. Okay,” he positions himself though you can’t see anything past your gown and raised knees, “One, two, three! Push!”

“AGH!” You grunt, a small scream vibrating at the back of your throat once you push with every fiber of strength, you can muster.

“Breathe, breathe,” Namjoon’s hand hasn’t once left yours- sweat pouring from your scalp while the burning agony overpowers your body.

“Is she here!?” The click of darting heels enters the room and are loud enough for it to catch your attention. “Oh, honey, I’m here!” It’s your mother- scampering to your side with the undeniable blur of Taehyung’s red hair following suit. You want to ask where your father is, but before a chance is given, the doctor shouts, “Push!”

“AAAAAAAGH!” You manage, body straining in all its entireness. Taehyung jolts to let you squeeze his hand along with Namjoon’s. His features show nothing but fear at the sight of you being in so much strife, yet he holds it together enough to cheer you on.

“I’m- I’m so glad you both are here,” you cry- another sixty seconds drifting before the shout of, “Push!” erupts.

“I’m scared,” you murmur in the dimness of the room. On your knees, Namjoon’s soothing hands glide along the tops of your thighs motivating you to run your hands along his forearms. You don’t know where your parents are, and you’re too angry to care. You’re bushed of the fighting so, you sought comfort in being here, with Namjoon. Taehyung dropped you off at the fellowship hall with the promise of not breathing a word- because if your parents were to find out remotely of your whereabouts, you’d hate to discover what the consequences will be.

“Me too,” his nervous eyes investigate every inch of your face. You’ve never been with anyone this way before- secretly hidden away from the world outside trying to suppress the revealing crave of what you’re curious about. Scooting forward, you drape either leg around him, propping yourself enough to where your arms lace around his neck.

His breath hitches from the gesture- your lips erotically aligning with his in slow movements, heat rising below you when you feel the hardening of his being beneath your sense, “I want you,” you whisper. He knows that you’re a virgin, and with care, he lays you on the bed, hovering above your frame where your bodies align perfectly. “Are you sure this is what you want,” concern consumes his countenance, but you desperately bring your hands to cup his cheeks.

“I don’t think I’ve wanted anyone so much in my life,”

You gasp into his kiss where he slips his tongue along yours- the sensation one you’ve grown used to from the slovenly kisses leading up to this very night. You give Namjoon permission to sneak his large hands underneath your shirt, trailing up your ribcage before swallowing your breasts whole in his heated palms. Nipples so sensitive, your heat drenches the moment he realizes the effect it has on you just by merely brushing the rising buds, lipping at your neck while he basks in the beauty of your moans. “More,” you beg, “Please, Joon, more.” When clothes start to be thrown off, you’re determined to pleasure him, but have not an idea on how to do so. “Show me,” you breathlessly demand, Namjoon’s palm leading yours to encircle his twitching being. You stroke his erection as shown, biting your lower lip from the throbbing feeling of your core- him instantly finding your entrance to fill it with his fingers as carefully as he can- both of you pleasuring each other, yet still getting lost in kissing so deeply, the two of you forget to gasp for air. The sensation of heated pressed bare skin can be the most beautiful thing, especially with the way your legs entangle with his. You’re surprised the feel of his prodding fingers didn’t bring as much discomfort as you would have originally anticipated, but when he brings a hand to his penis, he rubs his tip along your slit letting the sloppy sound of you leak onto it. “Holy shit,” he moans from how soaked you are for him- his fingertips finding your clit while yours dig into the backs of his shoulders.

Smoldering kisses move from your lips to your breasts, down your abdomen to your inner thighs where you tense underneath his touch that slides to hold your bottom half where he can scan your heat. The tip of his tongue swipes upon your slit excruciatingly slow to the point your fingers tangle with the material of the bedsheets. The smacking sound of his lips savor your taste while his tongue circles your core- you’re hyperventilating from how deliciously he flicks his tongue upon your slit, screaming his name relentlessly- the speed of his skilled mouth driving you wild from the growing climax beckoning your stiffening thighs, “Oh, Namjoon, oh- Joon- I- Oh!”

He’s not ready for you to finish because there’s more he wants to show you. Hovering above you once again to see you coming down from your high, your heaving chest longs for his touch, and he nearly comes undone from the smile embellishing your face. His tracing fingertips parade along the outline of your body in featherlike tickles while the sounds of panting breaths mingle with shifting sheets bring subtle music to your ears for the rest of the night. The gentle parting of his lips grasps your own in smooth movements persuading arousal streaming from your core. Your fingers now link with frilly tufts of his hair, gripping the strands in reaction to the pressing of his bare chest to yours, dreaming of nothing more than to be entwined with him for what you hope will be forever. Hips grinding into yours prompts the light moan teasing his ears for more before his mouth trails to pause above your pounding heart. His hair brushing your chin, your arms glide to wrap around him holding the hope that he will never let you go. Not even for a second.

“Alright, one more! Almost done! Push!”

Sucking in one long breath, with a compulsory scream, you push with all you have left in you. Exhaustion weakens your limbs, yet a rush of relief floods your body when the cries of an infant reverberate within the room. With heavy eyes, you turn to see your mother with tears cascading down her face and onto the back of her hand covering her agape mouth- eyes remaining locked in front of her. Taehyung’s gaze doesn’t drop though his fingers loosen from yours at the small bundle immediately apprehending the eyes of every individual. Right then, you move your head to your other side where Namjoon gradually rises in awe- his hand still has yours. Gathering any ounce of strength, you’re ready to see the child you’ve been waiting to hold for nine months, so cautiously you sit up until your stare meets Dr. Seokjin’s. You can see the smile in his eyes despite the mouth mask, and what he says next brings you to tears, “It’s a girl,”

“Oh!” You thrill, anxious to meet her while the nurses scurry to clean her up.

“Sir, would you like to do the honors?” The doctor gestures a pair of scissors towards a stiffened Namjoon whose eyes are welled with hushed tears. He can’t even speak, yet he nods from the happiness exploding beneath his chest.

“Wait,” Your mom says, “Is- is?”

It’s a moment that seems to fit the setting for your father walks in, as if on cue, shoulders slumped from the anticipating tension now darkening the room. Taehyung’s shoulders tensed at the sight of the man he despises, but for the sake of you, Namjoon and his Godchild, he keeps his composure enough to ignore the elephant now standing in the room. The fear that used to consume you upon your dad unraveling the truth about your secret vacates you when you know that you and the two men present can conquer anything.

“Yes,” the answer is to your mother, but your stern glower of warning is only connected with your dad’s although your mother’s stare remains on you, “Namjoon is the father.”

Namjoon stands with pride while he accepts the pair of scissors from Dr. Seokjin- your father, with a shocked expression, watches as the man he hired happens to be the same man who stole his daughter’s heart without his knowledge. Yet, he refrains from anger, because who is he to ruin such a precious moment about to unfold here?

Pictures are taken of Namjoon cutting the umbilical cord, his fingers gently rubbing his daughter’s cheek while he wipes at the tears dripping from his eyes. Jungkook takes her into his arms to weigh her before wrapping her in a plush pink blanket, “She is seven pounds and five ounces,”

Endless joy envelops your heart from the scene playing out before you; especially, when the vision of your father’s quivering chin, admiring his granddaughter leaves you speechless along with the hope of redemption entering your beating heart.

“Are you ready to hold her?” Monnie’s kind eyes match her smile when she touches your arm.

“Yes,” you stifle a sob, “I want to hold her,”

Monnie poses her arms to where Jungkook places your daughter, Monnie guardedly turns to rest your baby into your arms. Her small face chortles, her eyes closing while she puckers her tiny lips. “She’s so perfect,” you cry, love in all its beauty falling from your eyes while you watch your daughter’s fingers fold individually upon her chest.

“Just like you,” Namjoon whispers, locking eyes with you before inching forward to give you a loving kiss.

“I love you, Joon,” you whisper, pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth.

“I love you, too.”

“Uh,” the deep serenade of your best friend interrupts, all attention abruptly turning to see him raise an index finger in the air, “So, as the Godfather, I must ask a very serious question,” the room chuckles along with him as they patiently wait for his request, “What’s her name?”

“Ah,” you nod, realizing that hasn’t been made known to anyone other than to yourself. Your mother steps forward to place her hand upon your shoulder while your father keeps his distance enough to not cause any trouble- though the two of you share a small smile to let him know all is well. Namjoon watches you in admiration- the woman of his dreams holding his child in her arms while facing her deepest fear yet holds her head with pride about the man she will spend the rest of her life with along with her daughter swaddled to her chest. You are everything he’s ever longed for and more, and he’s ready to defeat any storm in life if it’s with you and his daughter.

To answer Tae’s question though, you return to face him, tears gathering in exhilarating bliss.

“Taejun.” Her eyes slightly open at the hearing of her name as a tiny smile adorns her lips,

“Her name is Kim Taejun.”

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layce2015 · 4 years

Text

John Wick Chapter 3 Parabellum (John Wick x Reader)

Chapter 4: Sometimes, You Have To Kill What You Love.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 3

You and John arrive at Casablanca as the boat pulls up to the port. John helps you out of the boat and the two of you walked along the pier and into the busy streets of Casablanca.

At one point, you two walking through a tunnel and was heading back out in the street when a man appeared at the end, standing ominously. John places his right arm in front of you, protectively, and you turned around and saw another guy coming up. You sigh and shake your head as these two men pulled out their blades and started to attack.

John fought one and you fought the other as you two blocked the blades as best as you could. Finally, you two had the upper hand as John was able to shove one of them up the wall, the man's blade in John's hand as he aims it at the guy, and you had the other guy pinned down on the ground and his blade aimed at his chest.

"Enough!" A voice shouted and you and John look up to see another man walking, casually, towards you. "I'm afraid our friend here is off limits." The man said. "But he is excommunicado." The man, John had pinned to the wall, said. "It seems the manager has granted him amnesty." The man said and both you and John look at him confused.

"Mr. Jonathan, would you and your wife be so kind as to come with me?" The man asked John. John backs away and hands the guy's blade back to him and you move your blade away and tossed it aside. You go over to John and take his hand when one of the men tried to make a move towards you two. But the third man turned and fired his gun at the assassin, killing him. "Welcome to Casablanca, Mr and Mrs Wick." The man said as he turns back to you two and holsters his gun. "Thanks." You and John said, sarcastically, making the man laugh.

"Mr. Jonathan, it has been a long time since our fine city has been graced with your presence." The man said as you two walked along the busy streets as the sunset. "I need to talk to..." John started to say but the man finishes his sentence. "Yes, Miss Al-Ashwal, she's expecting you." He said and he leads you two to a large door and leads you inside a building, where there was tons of people inside.

"My, my. Welcome to the Moroccan Continental. I hope you find it to your taste. Right this way. Miss Al-Ashwal, she waits for no man." The man said and he leads you two to another door. "Best of luck, Mr. Jonathan. Best of luck." He said and he laughs as he walks away, leaving you and John alone in front of a door.

Both of you walk in to see a large room with couches and a fireplace and some tables. Off on the side you noticed some pictures on a desk, you walk over to it and see it was several pictures of a woman smiling as she was hugging a little girl that had some resemblance to the woman. John walks up next to you as you hold up one picture of the woman and the girl. "I guess this is Sofia?" You asked John as you point at the woman, he nods at you.

Not only did he tell you everything about his past but he told you about this blood Oath that he had, which involved this woman and helping hide her daughter, and that's why you two were here.

As you were looking at the picture, you heard some paws trotting on the floor then a growl. You and John look up and see a dog standing in front of you two, growling before it started barking at you two. Then you heard another set of growls and look to your other side and see another snarling dog glaring at you two.

"You and your wife dog people, John?" A woman's voice said and you two look over at see the woman from the picture, Sofia. "Sofia." John said as he holds up his hands, showing he means no harm. You started to raise your hands as well when Sofia raises her gun and shoots John, knocking him back. You gasped then grabbed a gun, the one you stole from that motorcyclist, and aim it at her. "Sofia! You can't kill the bearer of your marker." John said just as Sofia aimed her gun at you.

"I didn't kill you. I just shot you. Nice suit" She spat as she glares at him then you and her glare at each other. "Good to see you, too." John said then she looks at him. "I should shoot you in the head right now." She growls. "I know." John said. "I wouldn't advise it." You growled at her. "Oh really?" Sofia said, in disbelief, at you and you cock the gun and aim it at her head. "Wanna find out?" You asked her, angrily.

"(Y/n), don't. Put the gun down." John said to you, calmly but also in a firm tone. You glare at Sofia then glanced over at John before you let out a heavy sigh and slowly lowered your gun, still glaring at Sofia, while John starts to pull out the Blood Oath. "Don't you do it." Sofia growls, aiming her gun at him, but John pulls out the marker and holds it up as he stands back up.

"You're excommunicado, John. And that marker... doesn't mean shit." She said and John opens the marker and holds it up, showing the bloody thumbprint inside. "This is your blood. Your bond. When you needed help, I was there." He said and she let's out a sigh and lowers her gun. "Sit." She commanded and you two look over at the dogs, thinking she was talking to them. "I was talkin' to both of you." She said and you and John go sit on one of the couches and she goes to sit in the one across from you.

"You do realize that I'm management now, right? I'm not service anymore, John, so I don't go around shooting people in the head." She replied. "I'm not asking you to kill anyone. I just need you to get me to him." John said. "To who?" She asked. "Your old boss." He replied. "You wanna kill Berrada?" She asked, confused. "I'm not gonna kill him. I just need to talk." John replied.

"What could he possibly give to you?" She asked. "Guidance." He said. "Oh, come on. I made a deal when I agreed to run this hotel. And that deal said that I had to follow the rules of the Table. If you're not gonna kill him, he is gonna kill you. And then probably me, too for walking you up in there. If I make one mistake, one enemy, maybe somebody goes looking for my daughter. And I know what you did, John, to get her out. But that's not a chance I can take. Sorry." She said to him.

"Do you want to know where she is?" John asked her. "No. I don't ever want to know. Because I don't trust that I won't go find her. A part of me longs for her. And I have to kill that part of myself every day just to keep her safe. Because sometimes, you have to kill what you love. That's why I gave you that marker in the first place. And that's why I'm sitting here right now. And that's why I'm fucked!" She exclaims, her eyes tearing up in anger and hurt.

"Consequences." You said, quietly. "Yeah. Consequences." said Sofia, tearfully. "I'm just asking you to try. Either way, you and me, we'll be even." John said and he sets the marker down on the table and slides across it to her. "No. After this, we are less than even." She growls then slides the marker back to him as she stands up. "We leave in 10 minutes." She says and she walks away.

"We're not going in like the old days. It's just a conversation." John tells Sofia as she walks back into the room, wearing different clothing. "Nothing's ever just a conversation with you, John." She said to John as she puts bullet proof vests on her dogs. "Let's go." She said, once she was finished. You and John exchange looks then get up and follow her out.

She leads you two through the building until you three came up to this large doorway. Some guards come up to you, Sofia and John and started to pat you three down while you guys hold your arms up. "Sofia!" A voice exclaims and the three of you look over to see an older man in a suit with slicked back hair walking towardd you, this had to be Berrada.

"Always so nice to see you. And the dogs, of course, how marvelous. May I pet one?" He asked as he approaches Sofia. "Certainly. Dazir, Havan." She said and the two dogs go up to Berrada and he kneels down to pet them. "Fantastic." He said then he looks up at John. "Jonathan Wick. I had heard you had made your way to our shores." He said then he looks over at you. "And this must be the wife I've heard so much about." He said as he stands up. "Come along now. I'm certain we have much to discuss." He said and he leads you three and the dogs through the building.

"I must admit, I am curious. What brings you to my domain?Tell me, you come here to kill me?" He asked John. "No." John replied as you guys enter Berrada's office. "Mr. Wick, do you know where the word assassin comes from? People argue. Assassin. Hashashin. Followers of Hassan-i. Eaters of hashish." He said as he goes over to his desk and pours some drinks then goes over to you guys and hands the drinks. You and John take a cup but Sofia shakes her head. "No, thank you." She said and Berrada nods at her.

"But others contend that it comes from Asasiyun, meaning men who have faith and who abide by their beliefs." He said as he walks back to his desk then turns to face you guys and points at a large extravagant shelf with one of those gold coins John carries. "You see that coin? The first coin ever minted in this facility. Next to it, the first mark." Berrada said then he points to another shelf with the Blood Oath Marker in it.

"Not easy to track down, believe me. Now this coin, of course, it does not represent monetary value. It represents the commerce of relationships. A social contract in which you agree to partake. Order and rules." He said then he walks up to you and John. "You have broken the rules. The High Table has marked you and your wife for death. Why would I allow you to leave here alive when your life and your wife's has been, by your own actions, forfeit?" He asked as he steps away from you two.

John kneels down to one knee and said. "I seek to make amends. To pay for what I've done. I seek a meeting with the One who sits above the Table." John looks up at him as Berrada looks at one of the dogs.

"This dog... I do so love it. Tell me, does it shed a great deal?" He asked Sofia. You were thrown off by this question. What the hell does that got to do with anything? You thought and you look over at Sofia, who seemed to share the same mindset before she shakes her head. "Occasionally." She said and Berrada nods and takes a few steps away.

"When I leave, you can tell the Elder I'm coming. And if he wants me and my wife dead..." John started to say then Berrada talks over him. "Then he will see to it that your bounds bleach under the sun. I see. And I would have provided him with a choice." He said then he goes to his desk and opens up a small box on the table and pulls out a cigar. "I'm sorry, Mr. Wick. I cannot tell you where to find the Elder. You fail to understand. The Elder is not a man you find. He can only choose to find you. You wish to speak with him? Go to the edge of the desert, look up. Canis Minor. The dog the followed the lion through the sky. You follow the brightest star. Walk until you are almost dead. Then, keep walking. When you are on your last breath, he will find you. Or he will not." Berrada said as John gets back up to his feet.

"I am grateful." He said and you and him set the glasses on his desk. "Thank you, sir." Sofia said as you give an appreciated nod to Berrada and the three of you began to walk away.

"Perhaps you were not listening before." Berrada said, making you three stop and turn to face him again. "The social contract. The commerce of relationships. You have received a great gift. I have hosted your friend. What do you offer in return?" He asked Sofia and he walks over to one of her dogs. "So soft, and yet so fierce. I love it, this dog. I will keep it." He said as he pets the dog. "Excuse me?" Sofia asked, confused.

"This will be my gift. This will be how you show me your fealty." Berrada said. "No." Sofia said, firmly. "Surely, it's the least you can do." Berrada said. "No. You cannot keep my dog." She said, firmly. "Very well. Very well." He said as he raises his arms up then walks over to his desk and digs into the box and pulls out a gun.

"Then I will kill it." He said and he fires a bullet at the dog. Sofia let's out a yelp as the dog drops to its side, luckily the dog was okay thanks to the vest around him. "Dazir!" Sofia cries as she kneels down to her dog and pets it. "I'm sorry, Sofia. This was for you to learn." Berrada said and Sofia starts to look through the vest and found a gun she tucked in the vest.

She looks up at you and John and both of you shake your head at her. "Don't." John warns her but she pulls out the gun and shoots Berrada. All of his guards come out as she shoots a few and you and John started to fight them and take their guns.

Berrada gets up but one of the dogs runs at him and latches it jaw on his crotch area, making him scream out and fall backwards. Another guard tried to fire at you, but one of the dogs jumps up and grabs his arm and pulls him down. John goes over to that guard and shoots him.

Berrada was still screaming in pain and Sofia goes over to him and aims her gun at him. "Sofia, don't." You shouted at her. She looks at you then back to Berrada before she shoots him in the leg. "He shot my dog." She said. "We get it." John said as you nodded. Sofia lowers her gun then starts to walk away. "We gotta go." She said to you two and all three of you, along with the dogs, began to leave.

But the guards all started to come out after you three and you guys answered back with bullets or with hand to hand combat. "Now!" Sofia yells and her dogs began to attack some of the men. The three of you make it to the main area of the place when more guards come out and shoot at you.

The place turned into a warzone as you three fired, punched or kicked at the threat or, in Sofia's case, the dogs would come up and latch their jaws on them. A few guards came at you but you would head shot them or pull out your knife and stab at a few, John would mostly use a gun but there was a few times he had to grab one fo the guard's knife and stab them or fight them.

Finally, you, John and Sofia regrouped and looked around and it seemed everything was clear so you guys began to leave until a car came up and some men started to get out. But you three raise your guns and shot them while the dogs jump through the window and attacked a guy you guys missed.

The three of you get into the car and pull out the dead bodies. Sofia gets to the driver's side, you and John get in, and she begins to drive off.

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