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imaginesandinserts · 3 years

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Irreverent Pt. 54 - Anchor

Title: Irreverent Pt. 54 - Anchor

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~6K

A/N: Whoops on the posting schedule. Had a wedding, etc. and things just got away from me.

Irreverent Series Masterlist

It's cold in the warehouse, the drafty chill causing goosebumps to erupt under the leather jacket you still had on. You're seated in one of the metal chairs, eyes trained on the door. Your companion had his to the other side, watching the windows.

It had been over a day since you and Clyde had been taken outside the jazz club. In hindsight, it had been impulsive of you both to go along with the change in plan, and yet the fact that the club had blown up mere seconds after you stepped outside, had you feeling rather alright about your rashness. The two of you hadn't had a chance to recover from the blowback of the explosion, when you were being shoved and pushed at gunpoint into the back of a van, cloth covers thrown over both your heads.

They shouldn't have known that the two of you were undercover agents. But they had. You'd arrived and been led into another building and when the cloth had been torn off of your head, the face in front of you had your head reeling. It had been as though every fear you'd had about the assignment had suddenly manifested itself and you regretted having kept all of your suspicions from Clyde.

Erasmus Jansen had been an associate of your father's whom you'd met on a handful of occasions while traveling with him, at your home growing up, and then once more when your father had agreed to bring you in formally. In a split second decision, you called him Uncle Erasmus – banking on your father's relationship to him to offer you some protection, buy you some time and trust, imploring him to see the little girl who had ran into her father's office eager to show off her working Grand Adage, and not the federal agent who had been sent to stop him.

Your voice had harkened him to pause as recognition flitted into his eyes. Your eyes and the set of your mouth, so very much a reminder of your father. He'd brisked you away into another room where you had continued to bank on your father's reputation. You allowed Jansen to do most of the talking, as he revealed to you that your father had confided in him that he was working on getting agents into the higher echelons of each governmental agency. He had simply never guessed that one of those agents would be his own daughter. You thought it best not to dissuade him of that notion.

Things had progressed quickly after that as you acted almost entirely on instinct, working to ingratiate yourself to him and earn his trust. You'd shot Clyde, wordlessly imploring him to understand what you were doing and why, careful to aim for the thickest parts of the vest and avoid any critical areas.

You'd had to play along. For both of your sakes.

You still had a job to do.

All of your doubts and fears regarding this assignment were coming to life, and there were still two CIA operatives unaccounted for. Jansen had said that your father had been cultivating agents on the inside - that was confirmation enough for you that you and Clyde had been correct. There was a mole still somewhere within the Bureau. Someone who had been watching and waiting, feeding them information for years. Jansen had to know the identity of whomever it was, since he had assumed you were a mole who had never been utilized by your father. It wouldn't have been any surprise to you if your father had indeed even played into the idea that you were a plant. That you were his to command. That he owned you.

Now here you sat, waiting in the outer chamber of a warehouse in the outskirts of Philadelphia. The drive there had seemed vaguely familiar and as you'd driven past an old diner by the road, you're reminded of a trip you'd taken out here with John during your first year of training. Wind rushing around you, your hair tucked safely beneath a helmet, arms wrapped tightly around the firm torso in front of you as your fingers clung to the worn leather jacket. You'd stopped for food at that diner on the way back, after scoping out the property. It had been one of several on a list that you were working through on the weekends you both could spare. Ocean blue eyes and cherry pie. Milkshakes - chocolate for you and strawberry for him. Finding a song on the jukebox that had his shoulders moving along. Your laughter - both yours and his - lighting up that dusty old diner by the side of the road. It felt like a lifetime ago. A person ago.

The clanging of the door separating the outer chamber from the inner maze has you jolting towards it, as both you and Jansen's associate - whose name you'd come to learn was Ramos - moved forward to enter as Jansen's hand beckoned on in. It takes a second for your eyes to adjust to the lowered lighting as you look around. They'd established a temporary base here it seemed. You can see the outline of the ladder that you'd climbed down during your first visit, nearly six years prior. It had rattled and shook, the two of you shushing one another in the following silence. What had then been an empty space was now equipped with weapons. In the center you can see a cage – metal bars separating you from two shapes within. It is all so familiar. You should've known. You should've known then. You shouldn't have written it off as too horrific to be true.

As you draw closer, one of the two shapes moves. You watch, silently accepting the chair that Jansen had drawn out for you as he seated himself in the other one. It is only by the dim lighting inside and the beginnings of moonlight peaking through the high shutters that you can make out the shape as it moves closer. White knuckles gripping tightly onto the metal bars. A scuffed pant leg just barely visible in the darkness. You look up to meet the pale, glassy eyes of Agent Dean Novak, CIA.

*------------*

Emily watches from the corner of her eye as Hotch and Hawthorne pour over the documents they'd grabbed from the storage unit. The team had relocated to the office now that McKinney was aware they were working the case.

Hawthorne had arrived pretty quickly after Hotch had stepped out of the storage unit to call him. He'd been nice and polite to all of them, remembering their names despite her having a vague recollection of you never having gotten around to actually introducing them to him that night at the bar. Though she supposed her memory of that night was far from reliable.

None of them had known that Hotch really knew this guy and now here they were, sitting across from one another at the conference table, quietly comparing notes on anything of interest. It made sense that Hotch had called him in. He'd explained to them all, prior to Hawthorne's arrival, that the two of you had been researching your father's businesses together around the time you joined the Bureau. None of them had been surprised to hear that. Hotch had decided to call in the guy who knew all of this as well as you did. They could certainly use the help. The fact that he was also the closest thing you had to an ex besides Matthew, seemed not to matter.

"He called him Aaron," JJ whispers from beside her, catching Garcia's attention as well. Before Hawthorne had arrived, Garcia had already looked up everything there was to know about the guy. Clean record, upstanding citizen, wealthy family with dubious connections, but that wasn't exactly a surprise. Derek had been the one who knew the most about him, and even he knew very little. However, it didn't take a profiler to see that Hotch and Hawthorne had known each other beyond that casual hello at the bar with the rest of them. They'd shaken hands quickly when Hawthorne had arrived, all windswept hair and perfectly fitted suit, before Hotch had introduced him to the rest of the team.

Garcia had already declared him one of the most attractive human beings to ever exist within five minutes of his arrival, having blushed when he'd smiled at her in greeting, much to Morgan's annoyance. He'd shook all of their hands incredibly politely – soft, but not timid in the least. Confident in that self-assured manner where he had nothing to prove to anyone. He'd quickly rolled up his sleeves and dived in. His familiarity with your organizational system immediately paying off as he quickly reduced the number of boxes they had to sift through from the forty nine they'd carried out of the storage facility, down to merely ten. When asked how the two of you had had time to do all of this research in addition to your day jobs – him, logging over sixty hours a week at a major New York law firm, and you being in round the clock training – he'd merely shrugged. Somehow, the two of you had found the time. From that, Emily gathered that neither of you had had much of a life beyond this and each other throughout those two years.

The cavalry seated around the room, all of them searching for any way to find you. Emily knows that that hadn't been the case when she had been presumed dead. Instead, from subsequent conversations with Rossi and Morgan, she'd come to learn that her cavalry had consisted of exactly one, you. You, who had dedicated every spare moment to finding Doyle, avenging her death. Learning that hadn't exactly been a surprise. She'd known that Hotch was away and JJ reassigned. Morgan was busy running the team and Rossi was trying to keep everyone's head above water. You'd been all alone in your vengeance. It had led credence to the number of times she'd come close to dialing your number while hiding out in Paris. Out of everyone, you'd be the person to never stop.

Her eyes wander over once more to the two men seated at the adjacent table. Morgan was working through something with Garcia. Reid and JJ were still sifting through their respective boxes. Hotch and Hawthorne had split a box between them, both of them taking notes as they went through in long yellow legal pads. Both of their heads were bent in concentration, suit jackets long shed in favor of comfort. There was a half eaten sandwich in front of them both, which they'd only acquiesced to partake in under JJ's watchful eye – both abandoned once her back was turned. Hawthorne’s fingers tapped rhythmically against the table as he flipped through a thick folder. Hotch's thumb rubbed the outer edge of his index finger. Both of their legs bounced, the only outlet for the coiled energy within, kept hardly at bay.

Not for the first time, Emily finds herself praying – to who knew what – that they'd find you. If only so that she could see your reaction to these two men co-existing here, because of you.

*------------*

You and Jansen walk back into the outer chamber, leaving Ramos to guard over Novak and Cavanaugh, relieving one of the earlier guards to go walk the perimeter.

"They're the ones you and that other agent wanted to buy. I still have contacts with the Chinese if we want to get them off of our hands this week," he tells you, coming around to sit in one of the chairs off to the side.

You know he trusts you minimally at best right now. Shooting Clyde had been a test that you'd passed, having quickly walked over to him before Ramos could, pressing down into the part of the armpit that would help mimic a lack of pulse when checked. Ramos didn't know enough to ward against that, and Jansen had been busy taking a call. You'd willed Clyde to be passed out long enough from the force of the gunshots for you to get away with the first deception.

"Why the Chinese? Our Russian contacts have always been stronger and more responsive," you counter, tracking back to everything you'd learned from your father years prior. Jansen had to feel like you had a stake in this. You allow yourself to slip back into your old fate, just this once.

"Volkov died last year. It weakened our position with them and we haven't been able to make a new contact that's trustworthy enough."

You sigh, leaning back in the and forcing an air of ease about you. Jansen had to see you assume the role your father had once held in his life. It wouldn't be easy. Only once before had he seen you actually in the business prior to Julian's death. That too, alongside your father. However, your distinct advantage here, ironically, would be your last name. Jansen might have attempted to take over from your father, but your family name still carried weight. A certain respect in these circles that was earned by virtue of swift and calculated brutality.

"Who had been feeding you the names on the inside if it wasn't me?" you ask, side stepping the land mine that was Alexander Volkov. Jansen brought him up only due to your personal relationship with Volkov. After all, your father hadn't been able to brag enough about how you'd cultivated that particular contact for him as your first real project on the job. No one had made strides with the Russians the way you had. You'd spent the first part of your winter break senior year, in the Balkans, being firsthand witness to Volkov's methods. You'd shown no fear, however, and he'd respected that, agreeing to sit down and talk. Even now, the mere thought of the burly, intimidating Russian had your insides churning. It was no wonder that Jansen wouldn't take on any successor to Volkov. Successors in that business were created only through conquest.

"He's up in the Bureau. Sits in on the project meetings," Jansen answers, taking a swig from the flask he still carried with him. He offers it to you, but you shake your head. He wasn't giving you a name exactly, but that alright. If you got enough details, you could figure it out.

"What's in it for him?"

Jansen's face takes on a sinister quality as he takes another sip from the flask, his lips curling into a menacing grin that has your skin crawling. You're not about to like whatever he tells you next.

*------------*

Erasmus Jansen was the name that Garcia had been trying to hunt down in vain since they'd learned that he'd been the one to take you and Easter. Her computer dings, once more turning up empty. With a groan, she looks back at Emily in defeat.

"I can't do this," she wails. "He's mentioned in the Atlantis files and in some older CIA files on Y/N's father, but beyond that, on his own, there's nothing. No bank account, no physical address, not even a MySpace account. The man is a ghost."

Emily nods in sympathy before turning back to Hawthorne who was poring over yet another folder of real estate investments. "You're sure you don't remember anything at all about this guy?"

Hawthorne looks up apologetically, a frown marring his otherwise perfect face. Emily was pretty sure his was the face DaVinci had envisioned when he spoke of the golden ratio. "Sorry, no. Only met him while I was a kid and that too only in passing. Cap spent more time with her dad than Julian did so she knew all the players better." He sighs and comes around to where Emily and Garcia are sat, brainstorming through ways of potentially tracking you or Jansen. He leans against Garcia's table, one leg crossed over the other, arms holding up the rest of his weight against the table, and from her vantage point right in front of him, Emily can tell he's mentally combing through absolutely anything that could help. "The only thing she ever said about Jansen was that while he was great at execution, he wouldn't innovate. He'd rather have someone else in charge, which was why he stuck around her father for so long. On his own, he tends to flounder."

"We might be able to use that," Emily offers. "He'll stick to whatever is familiar and uncompromised."

Hawthorne nods, slowly agreeing with her. "Older properties that had other uses in the past. Places he feels comfortable." He's already walking back over to the files, sifting through until he finds one he's looking for. "Can you get aerial views of these?" He pushes a piece of paper with an address on it towards Garcia, who lights up at the opportunity to be able to do something she knows she can deliver on.

"Can I get an aerial shot?" Garcia scoffs as she types furiously, pounding at the keyboard with renewed fervor. "Give me a minute and I can get you a lot more than whatever Google Earth can manage."

Looking up, Emily can see a grin on Hawthorne's face as he watches Garcia continue her rant on exactly how much more she can find, how much better she is, could he please give her a real challenge next time because this ask was elementary at best.

Across the way, Hotch was talking to Rossi and Morgan about a profile they were creating for Jansen, leveraging the details of the Philadelphia bombing and what little Hawthorne had been able to add on. Emily's been surprised by how well Hotch had put himself back together after the video they'd all seen. The video that would likely haunt her for quite some time. Ever since Easter told him you were alive, the man had been single minded in finding you. While Rossi had mentioned looking into Easter's accusation – not out of any belief in it, but merely as a precautionary measure so they could be prepared – Hotch had brushed it aside, saying that would come later. Right then, he didn't want a single resource dedicated to anything besides getting you back. If she had ever doubted Hotch's dedication to you – which she never really had – the thought had no leg to stand on ever since he'd called in Hawthorne.

Hotch catches her gaze and quirks an eyebrow up in question – Do you have something? Emily shakes her head but offers him a small smile that he manages to return somehow. They were going to find you. No matter what.

*------------*

Jansen wanted to move both Novak and Cavanaugh to a secondary location. His paranoia was starting to catch up with him since no other buyers besides you and Clyde had reached out for the purchase, his calls to the Chinese going unanswered. Unbeknownst to him, you'd shut down his website prior to your meeting and he was now reaching out into the void, towards nothing.

He's been teetering a bit and you can see his natural instinct to follow your orders go up against that same paranoia that tells him to not trust you fully yet. You've tried to stall and calm him down and it has worked a bit but you're unsure how much longer you can continue to quell his instincts from working against you.

Your eyes meet Agent Novak's once again as you continue your silent attempt to communicate to him that you were safe. That you were there to help. Dot Dot Dash Dot. Dash Dot Dot Dot. Dot Dot. Aaron had forced you to learn morse code early on in your time with the team. He had told you it could come in handy at the most opportune of times. You'd spent a few weekends with him and Jack, learning the alphabet. Afterwards, you'd talked him into showing you some complicated knots, which he would only let you out of once you correctly tapped out your request to be released. In hindsight, you briefly wondered if he'd liked you even back then and gotten something more out of tying you up. Something to follow up on later.

You keep repeating your light taps, hoping that Agent Novak – the former Ranger – knew as much morse code as your Eagle Scout boyfriend and his equally nerdy and endearing son.

Dot Dot Dash Dot. Dash Dot Dot Dot. Dot Dot.

F. B. I.

Dot Dot Dash Dot. Dash Dot Dot Dot. Dot Dot.

By now, your email would have triggered the send to Penelope. With Clyde safe, you can only hope that Garcia would, given the circumstances, think to reach out to him. Jansen ordering you to shoot him had been the confirmation you had needed, to know that Easter himself wasn't the mole. Clyde might stand a chance at finding you on his own if Jansen and his lot weren't covering their internet traffic well enough, however you had far more faith in Garcia, despite the mere breadcrumbs you'd left behind. You hadn't known enough to leave behind more. However, together, the two parties should know enough to find you – Clyde had the profile you'd built on Jansen and his operation. Given everything you'd left for Garcia, the team would have all of the access to your old research. They would be able to isolate to local properties once they found the right folders that you'd left on top, and they'd be able to find you.

Aaron would be worried sick. You're already anticipating the lecture you're about to receive when you get back home. All about being more clear about your intentions and not leaving cryptic messages behind. It wouldn't matter that you'd try and fail to explain how you couldn't afford to be more clear for fear that someone else might also catch on. It wouldn't matter what you said to defend yourself. All he would see – all he would reiterate again and again – was that you left yourself open and vulnerable. He'd scoff at you insisting that you had faith in him, in the team. He'd rage against your insistence that this was the best way. The safest way.

Despite everything, in your head you don't hear the drum of your own doubts. Only his encouragement. His voice, which drowns out all of your fears. Reassurances that, soon, this too shall pass and you'll see him once again. He'd find you, no matter how enigmatic your clues might be. He'd find you.

He'd better find you before Jansen decided to ignore you and move.

*------------*

There's a gun in your hand once more. Thrust into it at the beginnings of sound from outside. Jansen's paranoia had kicked into full gear and Ramos had been deployed to scope out the perimeter. Nothing you said placated him any longer and you were wary of pushing your luck. He takes hold of Agent Cavanaugh, entrusting Novak to you. Both of their hands are wrapped behind their back, despite which, either one stood a decent chance at overpowering you had they been in a prime state. As it stood, Jansen had been pumping them both with something that made their reflexes slower and responses sluggish.

Your heart beats rapidly within your chest as you follow Jansen, with him leading Cavanaugh at gunpoint. Your hand is wrapped around Novak's arm, fingers tapping once more at that familiar pattern, regardless of whether or not the message is getting through. It is only as you turn the corner and meet Novak's eye, that you see that the glassy veneer to his eyes has lifted. Meeting yours, he offers an imperceptible nod – a flash of understanding. You're about to switch gears and take action, when Ramos rejoins the group and offers confirmation that there was indeed some movement outside. You're outgunned once more.

*------------*

Derek leads the group through the dark, his hand at the back of a SWAT agent. Hotch had put a tactical team on deck as soon as they'd made some leeway on potential locations you and two CIA operatives could be taken. This warehouse had been one of three locations isolated by Hawthorne as nearby options where someone could reasonably be held and were around back in the day. Prentiss, JJ, and Rossi were leading another team to an abandoned building in Virginia, while him, Reid, and Hotch had come to this other one on the outskirts of Philadelphia.

The third location had been ruled out – Garcia had determined that it had been the subject of an arson and triple homicide case from only a few weeks back. Local detectives had written it off as gang violence. None of them quite believed that given the circumstances, and so Garcia and Hawthorne were digging into it.

If anyone were to ask Derek what he thought of your ex paramour, he'd lie and say he hadn't much of an opinion. However, truth was, the guy had grown on Derek the last day or so. He'd come as soon as Hotch had called, likely having dropped whatever else he had going on. As a DA for the state of NY, Derek reckoned that hadn't been easy. He'd come quickly and while, yes, Derek was just a little annoyed at how Penelope blushed every single time the guy even looked her way, let alone called her Agent Garcia all nice and sweet, and asked her to look something up for him, Derek had to concede that he'd been helpful. He'd known exactly what to look for and all of them had been surprised by the sheer amount of research and area the two of you had covered in two years of looking into your father's businesses. Unfortunately, if Hawthorne was to be believed, the two of you had managed to only scratched the surface.

Regardless, as it stood, Derek could see how you and Hawthorne had worked, and he's a little relieved that not all of your exes were entirely trash. Even Hotch liked him. He might not have said anything, but Hotch had been a lot friendlier with the dude in only a day of working with him, than he'd been with Derek the entire first year. Prentiss had already chalked that up to you having a type – Older. Lawyer. Smart. Ambitious. You could be sure that Prentiss would give you crap for that later, though Derek had seen her eyes rake over Hawthorne about half a dozen times too.

In his ear, he can hear both Hotch and Reid taking their respective positions, with Reid just a few agents behind him. The infrared scanner had already revealed there were people inside - four men circling the perimeter with another five people closer to the center. One of those bodies was far smaller than the others, which led them to assume it was you.

*------------*

The sounds of gunfire have both Jansen and Ramos barreling quickly towards the back exit, Jansen leading and Ramos right behind you. You had no opportunity to duck away and take Agent Novak with you. You had to continue to bide your time and hope that whoever it was –the team or Clyde – would look carefully before they shot.

Down one hallway and the next. Through one door and then another. Quickly and quickly. Feet pounding against the concrete. Gun still weighing down your hand, the other still holding on to Agent Novak. Neither him nor Cavanaugh have put up much of a struggle, liking leaving it to you to take the lead. You pray that you'd about to run into a SWAT team. Once you're out in the open and you don't have Ramos right behind you. Maybe then. Then you'd have your chance.

"F.B.I. Stop where you are!"

Jansen comes to a screeching halt right in front of you, the pathway in front blocked by a tactical team. You recognized that voice. You'd recognize it anywhere.

From behind Agent Novak, you make eye contact with Derek and he wordlessly asks if you're alright. You offer him only a perfunctory acknowledgement, eyes trained quickly once more on Jansen and Ramos. Your main priority was ensuring that both Agents Novak and Cavanaugh were alright.

"Jansen, give it up. You're surrounded," Derek proclaims, gun trained at the man. From beside him, four SWAT agents and Reid emerge, all guns pointed towards the five of you in the center. Your eyes search for Aaron.

Jansen turns back towards you, his eyes wild like a caged animal. "Shoot him," he orders, his gun pressing harshly into Agent Cavanaugh's back.

You don't move. You don't say anything.

"Shoot him," he repeats himself. "Now." He shoves Cavanaugh aside, who stumbles and falls to the ground in his drugged state. Jansen's gun is now pointed past Novak and right at you. He hadn't failed to notice your hesitation to follow his orders.

Your eyes flit up to Agent Novak and then back towards Derek before landing on Jansen's crazed expression once more. You can tell then, that if you don't do as he says, he'll shoot you.

Derek and the SWAT agents will follow protocol. They won't try to take him down while he's got a gun trained on both you and Novak. No sudden movements from the group.

"Jansen. Give it up man. There's no way out for you here. Don't make things worse for yourself." Derek speaks calmly, making a show of lowering his weapon slowly. Behind you, you become aware of Ramos's presence, his gun is trained on you as well, both him and his boss watching you intensely as you continue to defy his direct order.

"I'm not going to shoot a federal agent in front of the F.B.I." you tell him, shaking your head, your heart leaping into your throat as you felt the jut of Ramos's rifle at your back. His boss had given him the order. If you turn out to be not what you claim, shoot her. Shoot her and worry about the rest later.

Your hand holds the gun firmly still, the other still anchored to Agent Novak, ready to shove him to the ground in case of gunfire.

Out of the corner of your eye you can make out Reid from behind the SWAT guys, his gun trained on Jansen. You know what he's thinking. He's assessed the room the same as you. Ramos's view was slightly obstructed as he was still behind you and Novak. If it was timed right and Reid took down Jansen before Ramos had the chance to react, you had the ghost of a possibility to shove both yourself and Novak to the ground while SWAT got Ramos. It had to be Jansen first. Jansen had a clear view of you all and Ramos going down wouldn't allow you enough time. It's the only play.

You feel your body coil, ready to move, waiting for Reid's shot.

Jansen's maniacal eyes are still trained on you. You can feel the nudge of Ramos's gun to your back, imploring you to follow orders.

From the corner of your eye, you catch a beam of red light bouncing off the wall right behind Ramos's head. Assurance that they have him. They have him if you can move fast enough.

Each second that the standoff lasts seems to last a lifetime. You become highly aware – of your own heartbeat, of Agent Novak's muscles tensing under your touch, of Reid's shoulders, tensed and ready to take the shot. You're waiting. Waiting for that telltale sign as his right shoulder will flex just barely. That sign that tells you that his finger is ready to pull the trigger. That's what you're waiting for.

One second.

Jansen shifts from one foot to the other.

Two seconds.

Ramos's gun catches the zipper on the back of your jacket.

Three seconds.

Derek opens his mouth to say something again.

Four seconds.

The beam of red flits across your eyes once more.

Five seconds.

You go down.

Your ears ring from the aftermath of the loud gunshots as you lie on top of Agent Novak on the concrete flooring. In front of you, Jansen was dead, having been hit by two shots, one to the back and another to the chest, his gun slipping from his hand and clattering to the floor. Behind you, Ramos had fallen – single gunshot to the head.

You're aware just barely of Derek helping up both you and Novak, taking the gun from your hands and reengaging the safety. You feel his hands on your arms and his eyes looking you over to make sure you're alright. There's some SWAT guys and paramedics around, making sure both CIA agents are doing well. Reid is still standing where he was when he'd shot Jansen, his arms hanging by his side. You're half expecting to see a shell shocked look on his face, but when you look past Derek and meet his eye, he only smiles at you and you know he's alright.

"Hey, you sure you're okay, Princess? You gotta talk to me here," Derek implores, shaking you just slightly to draw your attention back towards him.

"Yeah," you respond shakily. "Yeah I'm – " You break off, as you look beyond his shoulder and see a far too familiar figure making its way down the ladder, a rifle slung behind its back.

The world stops.

Next thing you know, you've broken away from Derek and taken off in a run. Through the haze of people in the space, past Reid, until you collide into Aaron's chest, his arms wrapping tight around you as he manages to lift you fully off the ground, your legs wrapping around his haphazardly.

Home. You're home.

Aaron can scarcely believe he's holding you, breathing you in – you're here, in his arms. You're real.

The familiar weight of you in his arms feels like a totem, his anchor to reality. It was his reward for never quite believing anything had happened to you. His grace for holding true to his faith in you.

His hand curls behind your back and to your neck, lifting your head that's buried into his shoulder. He needs to see your face. He needs to know he isn't imagining this.

You tilt back to meet his gaze and he can see your panic and relief mixed together, the honeysuckle sweetness of your reunion coating and soothing over the acrid burnt taste left behind by your long absence and the past few days of torment and uncertainty. He can feel the tears slipping down his face as he holds you tighter, closer, your body trembling in his arms, a deep sob working its way through, streaks of tears painting lines down your cheeks.

But you're here. You're here and he has you and that's all that matters as he feels your lips against his, causing his heart to wobble, your hands in his hair and around his shoulders, the wetness of your tears mixing together, no awareness of the surrounding world or the people awaiting the two of you. Screw people. People could wait.

You're here.

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds reader insert #irreverentseries #hotch x you #hotch x reader

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raywritesthings · 4 years

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Bird in a Storm 1/17

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, Quentin Lance, John Diggle, Tommy Merlyn, Lucas Hilton, Thea Queen Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: The confrontation between the Hood and SWAT on the roof of the Winick Building goes differently, altering the course of Laurel's career, relationships and efforts to save her city forever, the shockwaves of such an altered path making themselves felt throughout her family and friends. AU from 1x13 “Betrayal” on. *Can be read on my AO3, link is in bio*

On the island, split second decisions had been the difference between life and death, and there had never been time to worry about the moral implications. That had always come later. But Oliver already hated himself for what he was about to do.

There was only one way off this roof that would ensure his safety and his identity. One way to survive.

Oliver grabbed hold of Laurel with one arm, pulling her back against his chest. She was rigid, and he could feel the hammering of her heart. Fear. He had broken the precarious trust she’d placed in the Arrow once again.

Lance’s eyes burned with rage. “You so much as leave a bruise on her, and I swear I will drag you down to hell myself.”

“Laurel, I’m sorry.”

With a slight shove, he turned with one arm already pointing his bow to shoot a grapple hook arrow — but in the same instant the shot rang out.

Louder to his ears was the punch of air that left Laurel as she staggered back into him with the force of it. Oliver felt his heart stop as his arm came round her once more, this time to hold her up.

There had been the crack of a bone. He couldn’t tell if there was blood. What kind of bullet had Lance let his men use?

“Laurel,” he breathed, watching her eyelids flutter in response.

An anguished wail left Lance, and he teetered forward and back on his feet before whirling around and snarling at his own task force. “Guns down! Who fired?”

Another split second decision, this time with someone else’s life in the balance.

Oliver pushed the consequences to the back of his mind and spun Laurel around, encouraging her to get her good arm around his neck. She clung on as if by instinct. Then he jumped with her in his hold.

The shouting of Lance and the other officers was lost in the wind rushing past his ears. Once he regained his feet, Oliver scooped Laurel’s legs up with his other arm and broke into a run. The pained whimper that left her at the sudden movement tore at his heart. This was all his fault. He should’ve been more careful. What sort of monster was he that he’d been willing to gamble her life?

“I’m sorry,” he said again in the Hood’s voice, hardly a comfort. Oliver frowned and refocused on moving forward.

He could get her to a hospital faster than all of them, and he was loathe to trust any of them with her at the moment.

But they would never let him leave once he relinquished Laurel.

Only a split second to decide.

He changed course, activating his comm and praying that Diggle was listening.

“Get the medical supplies ready.”

“Oliver? What the hell happened to you?”

“It’s not for me.” Laurel’s breathing was growing shallower by the minute. It was possible she was entering shock. He couldn’t stop to treat her for that, not when every cop in the city was bound to be looking for them soon.

But he was unwilling to let it go without trying to reach her and keep her grounded. “You have to remain calm.”

Laurel’s breathing only seemed to pick up, and her face turned from him. Right, he terrified people like this. The Hood was the last person anyone would want at their figurative bedside.

He didn’t think Oliver Queen was much better. But he had to try.

With a soft beep he deactivated the voice modulator. “Stay with me, Laurel. Please.”

There was a hitch in her breath and then her head fell back, looking up at him.

“...Ollie?”

Without the modulator, he couldn’t hope to hide the tremble in his voice. “I’m so sorry.”

He wasn’t really sure if she was seeing him. Her eyes remained wide and shocked as he rounded the final corner into the alley behind the Verdant. Oliver took the last few steps at an even faster run.

“Just a bit farther. It’s gonna be alright.”

Digg was waiting at the exam table, but he looked up as soon as Oliver cleared the stairs.

“Oh, hell.”

“Not now, John. Please.” He laid Laurel on the table and pushed the hood back from his face. “Help me.”

Diggle held his gaze for a long moment. “Pass me the scissors. Need to get at her shoulder.”

---

John did exactly as he had always done in Afghanistan: work quietly and quickly. Oliver was much too tense for conversation as it was, and truthfully he wasn’t much better.

Laurel Lance’s gunshot wound wasn’t a penetration. From what he could feel, she had a clavicle fracture. Rubber bullet, most likely. It wouldn’t need surgery, though she was going to need some work to regain the full use of her left arm. Better that than a few inches to the left and a shot to the face that would have had much more potential to be lethal.

She’d lost consciousness, for which he was a little grateful. Oliver didn’t put much stock in painkillers, so they didn’t have much on hand. They’d want to save it for when she woke up.

But soon enough he was laying down the leftover supplies from the makeshift splint he’d crafted and stripping the gloves off his hands, the silence in the base growing heavier by the minute. He drew in a breath, then asked at last, “Oliver, what were you thinking? What happened?”

There was no immediate answer. Oliver seemed to be taking some time to gather his thoughts. He’d found a jacket to drape over Laurel in her sleep, the closest thing they had to a blanket down here, and John watched him take care not to touch her shoulder as he tucked it around her. Oliver brushed some of her hair back behind her ear, his expression utterly unreadable. Finally he took a step back and looked up.

“It was an ambush. Lance must have figured out how we were meeting, and he brought his whole task force.”

John wiped some of the sweat from his forehead. Sometimes he didn’t know how Oliver got himself into or out of these situations. “And how does that end up with an innocent woman shot? Lance’s daughter shot?”

Something crossed over Oliver’s face, darkening his expression. “The only way to get off the roof was to place her between me and them. But when I pushed her towards Lance someone must have had their finger resting on the trigger, and the sudden movement…” He trailed off, but John could gather the rest.

“So what made you bring her here?”

Oliver looked at him as though he’d just spouted pure insanity. “It was one of Lance’s men who shot her. I couldn’t leave her there. And I wouldn’t have been able to get out of the hospital without being arrested.”

It might not have been impossible, but he could see the difficulty. John looked down at Laurel Lance. They had very few options and very little time to act, but some things needed to be decided now.

“Are we letting her wake up here? Cause if we do, she knows everything,” he pointed out, no doubt needlessly. Oliver crossed his arms tight, as if trying to hold in the rising panic at what his actions had caused. “If you help me get her in the car, I can drive her to a hospital.”

But Oliver was already shaking his head. “There’s no way to explain how you or I would have found her. Lance saw the Hood take her, so that would put me right back in the station.”

“Right, and now he’s got kidnapping to add to his list of charges.”

“I’d like to add reckless endangerment to a list of his crimes,” Oliver growled. “What was he thinking, John? The only daughter he has left could have been killed tonight and all for his obsession.”

“Some people are willing to do whatever it takes when they’re on a mission,” he said, his voice carefully light.

Judging by the look Oliver sent him, the double meaning wasn’t missed.

He plowed ahead anyway. “But seeing as she is his daughter, what’s to stop her from telling him the truth whenever she wakes up? She’s gonna have the power to end this whole thing, Oliver. To end both of us.”

Oliver shook his head. “That’s not something Laurel would do.”

“Yeah, well I’d feel more confident about that if you hadn’t just got her shot.”

He watched Oliver frown and pace away, grabbing up his change of clothes to finally shed the Hood’s suit.

When he returned, he was scrolling through his phone with an even deeper frown.

“Missed calls?”

“Yeah, about twenty. Tommy, mom, Thea — hold on.”

The phone had started buzzing in Oliver’s hand, and he placed it up to his ear. “Hello?”

There was a pause where John thought he could hear the chatter of Oliver’s sister on the other end.

“Speedy, slow down. What?” He glanced down to Laurel and briefly touched her still hand. “That’s… horrible,” Oliver said, seemingly struggling for the right word for a moment. “Of course, I’ll head right down. I’ll be careful. Love you.”

“So what’s going on?” John asked once he’d hung up.

“There’s a search being organized for Laurel. And a manhunt for the Hood. Lance is on the warpath.” He gave Laurel’s hand another squeeze and looked up. “I have to go join the search.”

“Something tells me you’re not planning to be too helpful.”

Oliver gave him a dry look. “Considering I’m trying not to prove I’m the Hood, that would be the idea. Text me the minute she wakes up, please. Or if anything about her condition changes.”

“Right.”

Oliver turned to go, but stopped and looked back. “John, I — thank you.”

John nodded. There wasn’t anything that needed to be said. Whether or not he agreed with what had happened tonight didn’t matter; they were in this together regardless.

He sighed as the door shut behind Oliver, and he settled into the chair in front of the computer. From this position he could keep an eye on their patient without being uncomfortably close. No doubt she’d be disoriented enough upon waking already.

John considered their options going forward. Everything hinged on whether or not Laurel Lance considered the Hood an enemy or still her friend. Or perhaps it mattered how she considered Oliver more.

He had wondered from time to time if it might be better that some of the people in Oliver’s life knew the truth. It would lessen the constant demands on his time, anyway. And he knew the longer he isolated himself, the longer it’d take for him to come back from those years on the island. John himself had only just started feeling like a part of the world again after Afghanistan, and he had Carly in his life. A.J., too, even if his nephew wasn’t quite old enough to fully understand why Andy had never come home from the war.

But none of what John had done was technically illegal...

Laurel was a gamble but she was perhaps still the best option for who could find out first. She’d proved willing to work with the Hood multiple times, unlike the rest of Oliver’s circle who seemed convinced the vigilante was a dangerous lunatic. She was close to Oliver without being an actual family member John knew he couldn’t stand to lose. And with her in the know, perhaps she’d be less of a distraction that led to mistakes like tonight’s events.

Finding himself cautiously optimistic, John leaned back in his chair to wait. It was all they could do now.

---

Quentin was about ready to rip his hair out. How could the night he’d planned to catch that damn vigilante have gone any worse?

He’d had him. He’d had him in his sights. Then the bastard had grabbed Laurel, and he’d felt his heart stop. Only things hadn’t ended there.

One of his officers, one of his own, had shot his daughter. Starling’s supposed finest. He still couldn’t believe it.

It had all felt like some horrible nightmare where things had kept spiraling out of his control. He should’ve never taken his eyes off her. That had been a rookie mistake. As it was, that Hood had had Laurel off the roof and down onto the streets below before Quentin could do so much as turn and run to the edge. They’d disappeared in the shadows between two buildings as he’d screamed her name.

Pike had been about as furious as Lance had ever heard him when he’d called in the botched operation and requested more forces to begin canvassing the area. He’d deal with that later; right now, it was his own rage and fear he had to keep in check.

Pike’s new superior Captain Stein’s first and foremost demand had been to allow the reporters who had swarmed around the scene to believe that it was an arrow Laurel had been hit with and not a bullet. Damage control was always the first thing on the brass’s minds, none of them having learned from Nudocerdo’s mistakes, apparently. It didn’t sit well with Quentin; lying about the facts of a case never did. And he wanted justice for his daughter.

He’d see that officer thrown off the force whether the public knew why or not. As for the vigilante, he was starting to wonder if he should’ve put a bullet in him months ago. If he was willing to abduct Laurel, someone that for whatever reason believed he was some kind of force for good in this city, who knew what else he was capable of?

They’d found nothing in the immediate perimeter that had been set up. Now he stood over a map, outlining where the combined groups of police patrols and volunteers should look next. A couple of Laurel’s colleagues had come out, but nothing compared to the outpouring of aid from the Glades. Whole families had come up to him with stories from their time as Laurel’s clients. If he wasn’t so worried, he might have been proud.

But none were as much of a wreck —outwardly anyway — as Merlyn. He’d come screeching up to the edge of their perimeter and leapt out of his car before the engine was fully off.

“Detective Lance! I just saw the news. Have you found anything?”

He’d tossed his third cup of coffee and shook his head. “Not yet.”

“But why would he shoot her and then take her with him?” Merlyn had finally managed to get one of his gangly legs over the tape they had tied between two telephone poles and jogged the rest of the way to him. “I mean, I know he’s crazy, but that beats about anything yet.”

Quentin had looked him up and down, then stepped closer. “Look, uh, I’m gonna level with you. It was a misfire from an officer.”

Merlyn had reeled back. “The cops shot her?”

“Would you keep it down?” He’d growled. “It was a rubber bullet. Laurel wasn’t the target.”

“What was she even doing there?”

“She’s been talking to him. The Hood.”

Merlyn had frowned. “I told her he was dangerous.” Something had darkened in his expression. “When they catch him—”

“You’ll have to get in line. Now are you here to look or not?”

Merlyn had stuck by his elbow ever since, helping coordinate between the various groups. The organizational aspects seemed to keep him calmer, as calm as he could be given the circumstances.

“Is there a neighborhood he’s been spotted in more often than others? He’s gotta have some kind of home base, right?” Merlyn wondered aloud. “What if he ditched her out in the Glades somewhere? She’s totally defenseless.”

“We’ll comb the whole city if we have to—”

Anything else he’d been planning to say was drowned out by the motorcycle that came roaring down the street before stopping just beyond the police tape. Quentin scowled, though not as much as when he got a look at who the driver was. Oh Christ, and he’d been wondering if it could get worse.

“Queen, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Just saw the news and wanted to help join the search.”

“Yeah, you’re the last kind of help I need.”

Queen frowned, and his tone had a coldness Quentin hadn’t known he possessed as he replied, “Laurel is my friend, and the most important thing to me right now is that she is safe. I would have hoped that’s something we could agree on.”

“I know I can,” Merlyn said before Quentin could answer to that. He embraced his friend for a brief moment. “God, Ollie, you think she’s okay?”

“I have to believe that. But the longer we go without any news it seems less likely.

In this city, money talks.” He turned back towards Quentin. “I would like to pledge ten million dollars to anyone who comes forward with credible information about Laurel or the Hood.”

Quentin was glad he hadn’t been drinking his coffee. As it was, he was still left spluttering. “Ten million! For information?”

Queen’s serious expression never wavered. “Laurel is worth that and more.”

Merlyn gave a nervous laugh. “Yeah, but no one’s asking you to bankrupt yourself.”

“I lived without money for five years, Tommy. But I can’t go back to living without the people I care about.”

He and Merlyn exchanged a look, thrown by the blunt statement. Quentin cleared his throat and said, “Alright, well I can’t stop you. Are you actually gonna join this search or just throw money around?”

“I’d like to,” Queen said, his tone clipped.

“Go talk to Detective Hall, then. She could use another volunteer for her team.” As the younger man turned and left he thought he could feel the air grow less heavy. Quentin shook it off and turned back to his maps.

The hours continued to crawl by, and though calls increased as the news of Queen’s reward spread, none of it turned up anything useful. Slogging through each and every tip however legitimate was more likely to just slow them down.

Hilton approached him with another coffee and pursed lips. He knew his partner had something he wanted to say about everything that had gone down on that roof, but Quentin also knew he didn’t want to hear it.

“No word yet,” he muttered.

“Quentin, I think we gotta be honest with ourselves. He’s not gonna be wandering out on the streets for us to find.”

“I’m not giving up looking, Hilt—”

“I’m not saying you should,” his partner interrupted. “But we need to fix our strategy.”

“Alright. Well, what did you have in mind?”

“There’s been no ransom, no attempt at contact. Laurel has the only phone with a direct line to him,” Hilt said, looking to him for a nod to confirm. “We need to start a dialogue.”

“How do you wanna do that?”

“He’ll probably have an eye on the news to see what our next move is. I think it’d be best for you to address him directly.”

Quentin stood up straight. “You think I’m gonna negotiate with that nut job?”

Hilt’s gaze never wavered. “Your daughter was injured. She needs medical care, and the longer we wait the less likely that’s gonna happen.”

Quentin stared hard at the ground. He knew Hilt was right. No matter how badly he wanted to catch this vigilante, he needed Laurel back. Things had already gone badly enough once.

“The only thing we know for sure makes this guy tick is that he’s got ideas about justice. There’s no justice in taking Laurel. You gotta appeal to that.”

He tried not to scoff. “You think that’s really gonna work?”

“Well, we know he’s been willing to talk to you before. That means a part of him’s got to be willing to listen.”

Hilton got everything arranged. Before Quentin felt remotely ready Green from the nightly news was there with a cameraman, and some woman was pinning a mic to his lapel.

“We are on the scene live for the search both for Dinah Laurel Lance, a lawyer for the nonprofit CNRI, and the infamous Hood, who has — for the first time — taken a hostage,” Green stated to the camera a few paces away. “Detective Quentin Lance, who is leading the search as well as the SCPD’s anti-vigilante task force, has asked our network to broadcast this address to the vigilante himself.”

The woman who’d miced him cued him with the point of a finger.

Quentin squinted into the camera lens. “Alright, I’m gonna make this brief. You are and have always been a criminal since you showed your hood around here. I don’t want anyone thinking otherwise, especially after tonight. You’ve abducted an innocent woman. More than that, you’ve abducted my daughter. There’s not a lot of ways this can end for you.”

He drew in and let out a breath.

“But that’s not what the people of this city have come together for. The people who are out there right now searching and hoping for the safe return of one of our own. So I am asking you to turn Laurel Lance over to the nearest precinct. There will be no ambush. No armed officers. You bring her back and you have one night of immunity. I guarantee it. This is my daughter, and I just want her home.”

This felt all too familiar all of a sudden. Not that he’d ever done this, but he had watched years ago as a different father had pleaded on live television for Barton Mathis not to carry out his sick experiment on the latest woman he’d taken.

It hadn’t done any good. Quentin had found her one night later with Dollmaker’s usual adjustments. He’d broken the news to her family as gently as he knew how, but he remembered to this day the man’s sobs over her body in the morgue.

He could become one of those fathers. He could lose the only daughter he had left.

It felt very hard to breath, and whatever he’d meant to say next completely escaped him. “She’s my daughter,” he heard himself repeat. “I don’t know why you took her, what you want with her. If this is about me, then come after me. But not her.”

He could see it again, the way she’d fallen limply back into that lunatic’s arms.

“She needs a doctor. Please, just let her go. I don’t know if you’ve got a family or not. But she’s all I have. Please. I- I can’t—”

Quentin turned sharply away from the camera and the lights. He ripped the microphone off and shoved it at the assistant as he walked past. “I can’t,” he repeated hoarsely.

Behind him, he could hear Green speak again, but didn’t process the words. He was teetering somewhere on an edge, torn between his need to bury himself in the work and his desire for a stiff drink.

As he exited the ring of camera equipment he could feel a pair of eyes on him. Quentin looked up and somehow wasn’t surprised to see who it was waiting and watching.

“What is it, Queen?”

“I have to go home to arrange the reward with my mother and our bank.”

“Right. Fine.”

Queen hesitated, like he wanted to say something more. Quentin mustered up a glare to make it clear he better not. The billionaire finally gave a small shake of the head and headed back to his bike.

Good riddance. He’d be damned if the man who had gotten Sara killed somehow saved Laurel.

---

Laurel came to cold and stiff, with a dull, throbbing ache in her left shoulder that seemed to only grow worse the longer she lay there. She gave a small groan and could only seem to get one arm to cooperate as she pushed herself up from a metal table. A jacket she swore she’d seen before slipped off her onto her lap, and she stared at it dumbly.

“Try not to touch your left shoulder,” a familiar voice said, and Laurel gave a start as she looked up and met Mr. Diggle’s calm gaze. “The splint should be holding things in place, and the painkillers should be kicking in.”

“Painkillers…”

She noticed the sleeve of her shirt and jacket had been cut away to expose her shoulder, which had an angry red welt from what she could see of it under the splint. Laurel shrugged her way into the jacket for a bit of coverage, more for her own comfort than any mistrust of Mr. Diggle.

It smelled mostly of sweat, but also something familiar that had a strange calming effect considering she was in an unknown place with a man she was only tertiarily familiar with and no idea how any of it had happened.

It was slowly coming back to her; the rooftop, her father’s men pointing their guns at her and the Hood both, the shot and the shock of pain that had followed. Then things got hazier. She remembered being carried somewhere, the Hood’s voice transforming into Oliver’s midway through, and his eyes staring back at her from under the hood.

Slowly her eyes were taking in their surroundings. The tables lined with green-tipped arrows, a computer, a training mat and one of those workout ladders.

The air whooshed out of her in one soft, “Oh.”

Mr. Diggle drew in a breath. “Yeah. You get used to it.”

“Uh-huh.”

Oliver was the Hood. Oliver Queen, former playboy and the man who had broken her heart five years ago, was the vigilante who had been giving people in the city hope. Who had been giving her hope. She… she’d believed in him.

“Do you remember what happened to you?”

She appreciated the question, because it gave her mind something to focus on besides the shock. “I was shot. One of the task force members my father…” Laurel trailed off and shook her head, not wanting to believe it. “How could he?”

“I don’t know,” Mr. Diggle answered softly. “That splint should be enough to put the bone back into place, but it’s gonna take a while to fully heal.”

It occurred to her that he was apologizing. Laurel shook her head.

“That’s okay. Um, do you have some water?”

He nodded and went to get her a cup. Laurel managed to swing her legs over the side of the table to sit up properly by the time he was back, though her left side was throbbing even more in protest. She accepted the drink with a quiet thanks and sipped at it, letting her eyes take in the whole space for a second time.

“Where’s Oliver?”

“Went to go join the search for you,” Mr. Diggle answered. “I let him know you’re awake, though, so he’ll find a reason to come back.”

“The search?”

“Police saw you get taken away by the Hood. They’re saying you’re his hostage.”

Something that didn’t quite sound like a laugh bubbled up and escaped her.

“Here,” Mr. Diggle said, passing her his phone. “You don’t have to take my word for it.”

He’d pulled up a news site running what they were calling a breaking news story. Hood Takes Hostage, the banner at the bottom read. Seeing her own photo displayed along with a hotline number for anyone to call who had information on her whereabouts was bizarre to say the least.

“Oh God.” Laurel set the phone aside and placed her hand on her forehead. “This is a mess.”

He didn’t disagree.

A door somewhere above them opened and Laurel looked around as Oliver entered whatever place they were in. He stopped at the bottom of the steps as he met her eyes.

There was a look in them, an intensity she until now had only been able to guess at. Now she could only wonder how she hadn’t seen it.

Except she had, hadn’t she?

“So… when you said you couldn’t be some vigilante, that was a lie.”

Oliver looked down, then slowly crossed the room to her table. “How are you feeling?”

“About as good as getting shot feels.”

A pained look flickered across his face. “I’m sorry. I never meant for this to happen to you.”

“It’s not your fault,” Laurel replied.

“The police were after me, not you,” he insisted.

She shook her head. “Ollie, the first rule of firearms is you never point at a target unless you’re prepared to take the shot. Even if just with rubber. They were ready and willing to shoot me.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mr. Diggle nod in agreement.

“Anyway, I knew the risks.”

“I didn’t want to take those risks with you,” said Oliver.

Laurel felt the corner of her mouth lift in a wry smile. “Well, it’s a little late for that. So… what happens now?”

Oliver exchanged a look with Mr. Diggle, then drew in a breath. “You know my secret.”

“Yes.”

There was a long pause.

“I think he’s trying to ask how you’re feeling about it,” Mr. Diggle finally said. She couldn’t quite suppress a smirk while Ollie fidgeted.

“I guess a part of me knew. I would have preferred you just admitted it when I asked you, but here we are.”

“Here we are,” Oliver echoed.

“Ollie, I agreed with what the Hood has been doing. I wouldn’t have worked with you if I didn’t. Knowing it’s you doesn’t change that. If anything — well, it’s nice to know I can contact you as easily as you could me.”

He was staring at her like he couldn’t quite believe she was real. “You want to work with me.”

“Yes,” she said, dragging the word out slightly. “I’ve been working with you, if you haven’t noticed. And you’re my friend. If you needed help, all you had to do was ask.”

“But the Hood’s — I mean I — Laurel, I’ve killed people.” For whatever reason, he seemed frustrated with her. “I’m not a good person.”

“No, you’re a good person trying to do good things who has not always used good methods.” Laurel leaned a bit to the side, as much as her shoulder would allow, to try and catch his eyes which were determinedly stuck to the floor. “If you weren’t a good person, you wouldn’t have returned the money Adam Hunt stole to his victims. Or intervened in Peter Declan’s case. Or helped get justice for Joanna’s brother and the other firefighters. You are more than just a killer, Ollie.”

He finally lifted his gaze, and Laurel felt a pain somewhere in her chest at the doubt that she saw there. This was what he had meant when he’d told her of the damage he didn’t want his loved ones to see. It was not the physical scars from the island he carried, but the things he’d had to learn and to do there to make it back to them. Things he could have chosen to leave behind and live out a comfortable life, but instead was using to make their city a better place for everyone.

“No one can get it right all of the time — not even the cops do,” she remarked with chagrin. Laurel then slid off the table and took a step towards him. “But I believed in the Hood, and I believe in you, too.”

Slowly, she wrapped her good arm around his middle and tucked her head under his chin, the best approximation of a hug she could manage at the moment. Oliver didn’t move away, but he stood still for a long moment. So long it had her holding her breath wondering if she’d done the wrong thing. But then, his arms came around her, one hand cupping the back of her head, and she felt as well as heard the shuddering breath he released in time with her own.

She’d asked the Hood once if the life he’d chosen to lead made him lonely. It was clear to her now that Oliver was.

Laurel stood there as long as she dared, until the throbbing in her shoulder was too much to ignore. She pulled back and couldn’t stop herself from reaching a hand up to touch the spot. When she darted a guilty look in Mr. Diggle’s direction, however, she found him smiling.

Oliver had focused in on her injury. “We really do need to get you to a hospital. Digg’s work is good, but you should have a professional look at it.”

“I know. But can it wait? Just a little,” she added as he frowned. “I just know the minute I’m checked in somewhere my father will show up, and after what happened tonight I’m not sure I can face him right now.”

“Of course,” Oliver said, voice soft. “Laurel, I’m so sorry he did this to you.”

“It’s not your fault,” she repeated. “I just, um, I guess I wish I could be surprised.” Laurel looked up, the smile she attempted wobbly at best, and found Oliver’s eyes swimming with remorse.

“Well, while you’re here, why don’t we give you the tour?” Mr. Diggle suggested.

She turned to him, grateful for the distraction. “Sure. Where even is here?”

“We’re under the club,” said Oliver.

“Wait, really?” They both nodded and she gave a slight shake of the head, trying to reorient herself. “Is that why you’re opening it?”

“More or less.”

“Well, I hope you have somewhere to stash all of this when you get inspected.”

Oliver’s face scrunched up in confusion, and Laurel stared at him. He couldn’t really not realize — but then he asked, “What inspection?”

“The building inspection? Ollie, you have to get everything about your place of business approved by the zoning board before you open. Now I’m sure there’s an inspector or two on the payroll who would take a bribe, but that’ll come back to bite you if anybody bothers looking into your finances.”

She watched Oliver and Mr. Diggle exchange a look.

“We- we’re looking into some options.”

“Right,” she said, unconvinced.

She was shown the basic layout of the place, not that there was too much down here. Even still, it was the Hood’s base. Oliver’s base. His eyes kept going to her shoulder, and Laurel knew she couldn’t delay getting it looked at by a real doctor forever.

Mr. Diggle was the one to help her into the back of a plain black car with tinted windows. He dropped her off at the mouth of an alley just two blocks from the hospital. Laurel walked herself right into the waiting room of the ER and up to the desk.

“Hi, I was hoping someone could look at my shoulder.”

“Alright, if you could fill out this—” the rest of the receptionist’s words died on his lips as he looked up. “Oh my God, it’s you!”

“Um, yeah. I’m not missing anymore.” If she could’ve shrugged, she probably would have. “And I’m not sure I really ever was.”

---

Tommy cursed under his breath as he rounded yet another corner of the parking garage and found no open spaces. He nearly reached the roof before he was able to park and took the stairs rather than wait for the elevator.

There wasn’t a helpful flashing sign pointing out Laurel’s room, so he threw himself at the first help desk he could find.

“I’m here to see Laurel Lance.”

“Are you family?”

“I’m her boyfriend. Please? I haven’t slept all night. And I brought her pajamas and a change of clothes.”

The woman at the desk relented with a sigh. “Down to the left, third room.”

Tommy flashed her as winning of a smile as he could manage while exhausted. “Thank you.”

He should have realized which room was hers from the start judging by the officer stationed outside it. He was allowed past with little fuss and found Laurel sitting up in the bed in a hospital gown and a strange white sling that crossed over both shoulders, her father and a doctor and nurse all standing to the sides.

“Hey.”

Laurel turned to him and managed a brief smile. “Hey. I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Of course I was.” He walked forward and placed the bag in the currently vacant visitor’s chair, then leaned in to press a kiss to her lips. “I was worried sick about you.” Tommy looked back up to the doctor. “How’s she doing?”

“Better than we would have expected. Physical therapy is still highly recommended, of course, but her injury was very competently treated in a short amount of time.”

Tommy didn’t know how that was possible. “By who?”

“The Hood,” Lance said, practically a growl. “He made some sling out of scraps and put it on my daughter.”

“Your daughter who is awake and here and does not like being talked about as if she is not in the room,” Laurel added pointedly.

Lance grimaced. “We’ll, uh, we’ll leave you to get changed, honey.”

They all shuffled out and shut the door behind them. The nurse continued down the corridor, but Lance snagged the doctor’s arm before he could get away.

“Listen, is there anything you can tell me about her injuries or the job he did? I mean what kind of training would somebody have to do one of those splints?”

Tommy felt both his eyebrows raise. He hadn’t even realized there was something to be learned about the Hood from all this, but he guessed that’s why Lance had the badge.

The doctor hesitated. “Well, one thing I suppose you should know, Detective, is that the police report cannot be correct. Your daughter’s wound wasn’t inflicted by an arrow. I’d say it’s likely to have been from a rubber bullet.”

“Alright, alright, but what about him? The Hood? Is there anything we can use to narrow down just who this guy is?”

“Laurel didn’t have anything?” Tommy couldn’t help asking.

Lance scowled. “She’s not talking if she does.”

“She’s still sticking up for this guy? He got her shot,” Tommy said. He couldn’t believe how stubborn Laurel was about this lunatic in their city. He couldn’t believe she’d been meeting him in secret either.

“Yeah, well, that’s why we’ll have to make do with what we can find out on our own. So, doctor—”

The door to Laurel’s room flew open to reveal her standing there fully clothed and seething.

“I cannot believe you two. After what just happened last night?”

Tommy exchanged a panicked look with her father and decided to allow him to try first.

“Laurel—”

“My body is not a crime scene!” She glared at each of them in turn before rounding on the doctor. “I didn’t sign any sort of release of information waiver, and my status as a legal adult means my father is not entitled to it even if he is on the force. So I’d suggest you think real hard about whether you want a lawsuit or not.”

She retreated back into her room with the slam of a door, leaving a very uncomfortable silence in her wake.

“I guess visiting hours are over?” Tommy joked weakly.

“I would suggest that you gentlemen return home for the time being,” said the doctor. “Visitation will reopen later in the morning.”

Lance didn’t look to like that much more than Tommy did, but before either of them could say anything, Laurel’s door was opening again, and this time she had her coat and bag.

“Laurel, what are you doing?” Her father asked.

“I’m discharging myself.”

“That wouldn’t be a course of action I recommend,” the doctor began.

“Well, I don’t really give a damn what any of you think right now.” She strode past them all down the corridor, heading for the elevators.

“Laurel!” Tommy had to jog to catch up with her quick march. “Laurel, wait, please. I brought the car.”

She did have to wait for the elevator, so he was able to catch up. He could tell she wanted to cross her arms but couldn’t due to her bad shoulder.

“Look, I’m sorry. But do you get that we were worried? You were missing for hours. And that Hood, he- he took you.” Something churned unpleasantly in his gut at the thought. He’d never liked the vigilante’s interest in Laurel, and this had been a step way too far in his book.

Laurel relaxed somewhat as they got into the elevator. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, but it doesn’t change the fact that my father went over the line last night and still is. I have four weeks of physical therapy to look forward to because of him, not the Hood.”

Tommy thought he could argue the point that Laurel wouldn’t have even been on that roof without the Hood, but the doors opened out to the level he was parked on and they walked to the car in silence.

As they left the parking garage, Laurel sat up in surprise at all the news crews parked outside the front entrance.

“What are they doing here?”

“Probably hoping to get in for an interview,” he answered, tone clipped. “The whole thing was on TV.”

Laurel seemed to notice his mood and fell silent. They didn’t speak all the way back, not until they’d finally gotten into the apartment.

“So,” Tommy began as he hung up his coat. “Are we going to talk about it?”

“About what?”

He shook his head. “Laurel, you cancelled on me because you said you had work. Next thing I know, you’ve been kidnapped in a standoff with the Hood.”

She winced. “Tommy, I’m sorry. It was about a case. Cyrus Vanch—”

“No, Laurel, the Hood is not work, okay? Vigilantes are not your coworkers. You were hurt, and it could have been so much worse. And as much as you want to blame your dad, you were the one who went to that rooftop!”

He regretted the outburst almost immediately, and the stricken look on Laurel’s face only made matters worse.

“Look, just promise me you’re not gonna put yourself in a position where that lunatic can get to you again, okay?”

“Tommy—”

“Please, Laurel.”

She looked down. “Nothing like that is going to happen again. I promise.”

He felt himself relax and leaned in to kiss her forehead. “Okay, what do we need to do to get you ready for sleep?”

Laurel was able to do most of the work changing her clothes for pajamas. It was just the one sleeve she had trouble with, apparently, and he had a feeling it was only due to her exhaustion that she let him help. Because of the risk of further hurting her shoulder, he was going to be spending his nights the next few weeks in the guest room. A great feeling considering he’d only recently been allowed his own drawer in the bedroom.

The one thing Tommy could console himself with was that it was all over, and Laurel was safe. In time, her shoulder would heal. Maybe now their lives could get back to some kind of normal.

#lauriver #laurel x oliver #laurel lance #oliver queen #arrow #green arrow #black canary #my writing #bird in a storm

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kallypsowrites · 5 years

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Braime moments 8x04

Alright, I’ve been waiting for what happened in this episode to happen since I was eighteen and watching season three for the first time. That’s six years my dudes. So I’m not going to let the tragic ending spoil it for me. We’re gonna talk about all the little Braime moments.

1. The drinking game

- Jaime was at Brienne’s side the whole damn time from the funeral to the party and onward. He’s practically glued to her. Even his solo scene with Tyrion involved him talking about Brienne

- The way he rests his hand over hers when she lays it over her cup, as if to encourage her to let loose and have fun. But also just...that hand touch. Mirrors that scene in season three when he keeps her from pulling a knife on Roose Bolton

- The smiles. FUCK the SMILES. They are just openly grinning at each other. No boundaries at all. They are happy to have survived. They are smiling and laughing and no longer guarded as they were for most of their relationship.

- Brienne has, in general, never been this happy or dorky. Every one of Brienne’s little looks and smiles when she’s drunk. Spectacular.

- Jaime clearly remembers like...everything Brienne has ever told him because he’s able to guess things so easily during the game. Also they’re still bantering “I told you that” “no you didn’t” “I DID”. So cute.

- When Tyrion makes the “you’re a virgin” statement and Brienne becomes guarded, Jaime tries to misdirect his brother because he knows that it’s going to be a rough subject for her. He’s got hella protective instincts.

- When Tormund comes up and starts talking and Jaime rolls his eyes. Bonus, Brienne continues to be very unenthused by Tormund.

- Tormund tries to follow Brienne when she is in a vulnerable place and Jaime puts himself physically in between them. Like...in a fight, Tormund could kick his ass, but he still goes ‘not today, my dude’. And that smile and shoulder pat. That’s the most passive aggressive ‘sit the fuck down’ I’ve ever seen.

- Tyrion pouring Tormund a drink with that sassy look like ‘nice try, but you aren’t gonna get in the way of MY new ship.

The SCENE

- Jaime followed Brienne right after she left, but he obviously doesn’t immediately knock, which leads me to believe the idiot was pacing the hall nervously, having no idea what the fuck he is doing.

- When Brienne opens the door, you see a moment of panic on both of their faces. Brienne “fuck he’s at my door” Tarth and Jaime “oh god, she actually opened the door” Lannister.

- Jaime’s absolutely disaster flirting. Trying to use the drinking game as an excuse. The fact that he’s clearly tipsy and nervous. Mumbling under his breath and stuff. He doesn’t even seem to know why he’s come there, but here he is.

- Brienne having no idea what to do with this situation, because man, she never thought they’d be at this point

- Jaime finding the room hot because he is genuinely nervous. Jerking off his jacket and throwing it to the side.

- Jaime kind of sarcastically complimenting her (reverting to their old dynamic) and Brienne not taking that crap with her ‘piss off’. And yet it’s so much less aggressive than their old dynamic because they do trust each other now.

- Jaime getting closer to her with ‘I hate the fucking north’ and Brienne standing her ground.

- Jaime’s “I don’t want things growing on me” even though we see, clearly, that Brienne is growing on Jaime.

- The fucking Jaime jealousy, oh my GOD. “Is Tormund Giantsbane growing on you” and Brienne giving him a look like ‘fucking seriously. Does it look like he’s growing on me?’

- “You sound quite jealous”--even as Brienne says it, you can see she is so confused by it because, holy shit, she’s never had anyone be jealous over HER before.

- Jaime realizing that yes, he does sound jealous and then immediately saying ‘god its hot in here’. He’s such a disaster. Completely incapable of seducing anyone. What a dork.

- Jaime struggling with his shirt and Brienne getting fed up and helping him. The surprised look Jaime gives her when she does. It’s so fucking vulnerable.

- He just instinctively starts undoing her shirt as well, but stops when she stops him. Excellent.

- “What are you doing?” “Taking off your shirt” --oh my god, you’re both such disasters at this. I love you.

- The fact that Brienne stops him and for a split second he wonders if she is going to reject him and he has a very worried look on his face. But then she starts undoing her own shirt and the look turns to ‘oh fuck, we’re doing this, aren’t we?’

- How she helps him out of his shirt and they just don’t say anything. I love how much they can communicate in silence.

- “I’ve never slept with a knight before”--Jaime, you’ve only ever been with your sister, but also, the fact that you call her a knight is just fucking adorable.

- “I’ve never slept with anyone before” --Brienne emphasizing that this is a very big deal for her. They’re both standing around slightly awkwardly because they really never thought they’d get to this point.

- The kiss itself. Oh boy, I gotta talk about the kiss. First of all, I LOVE that Jaime is the one who initiates it. I also love had goddamn hungry it is. Like this man has been holding himself back from this moment and suddenly, his resistance has snapped and he’s just going for it. There’s a desperation there that really speaks to what a long slow burn this has been between them. And the fact that Brienne just immediately starts kissing him back. And his hand on the side of her face. Ugh. It’s not perfect. It’s messy. But so is their relationship, I love this moment so much.

Afterwards

- Jaime looks conflicted after they have sex, but I mean, of course he does. He loves Brienne but this is the first time he’s ever loved anyone other than his sister. And this is the beginning of him doubting if he is worthy of her.

- The fact that Jaime was going to straight up stay in the north with Brienne. That was his plan. This wasn’t a ‘rebound and leave immediately’ thing. He really was intending to stay. He even said as much to Tyrion.

- Sansa defs knows that Jaime and Brienne are together lol

- His conversation with Tyrion and Tyrion is just so fucking happy for him. Like, Jaime is expecting some sort of snide comment but Tyrion is elated that he’s with someone who isn’t his sister. And he makes tall jokes.

- The fact that Jaime tells Tyrion to, essentially, fuck off when he tries to ask crude details, because he respects Brienne

- Ser Bronn approves of his ship being canon. Also say “it must be like looking in a mirror” which emphasizes that Jaime and Cersei might be twins, but Jaime and Brienne are soul twins with twin swords. Aaaaahhhh

The Scene of Heartbreak

- Alright, I want to pretend this didn’t happen, but I’m not yet losing hope based on my interpretation so here we go. UP UNTIL Jaime heard news about Cersei in the war (which was probably after a month in the north) he had no plans to go south and was content staying with Brienne. This is important to remember. He was never using her or trying to use her as a rebound.

- Jaime’s motivation for leaving is ambiguous, but it clearly tears him apart. Also, he and Brienne were staying in the SAME ROOM and SLEEPING TOGETHER for like a MONTH and who wants to write fanfic about that? Please and thank you.

- When Jaime is going, he tries not to even look at Brienne because he does not want to see the hurt on her face. He cares about hurting her.

- How Brienne grabs his face and forces him to look and how surprised and heartbroken he looks.

- He puts a hand on hers, clinging on for a moment, very tempted to stay.

- Brienne’s vulnerability. It shows how close they have grown and got Gwen’s acting just breaks my fucking heart. She deserves better than this.

- Jaime tells Brienne his sins. For one thing, I think he does this to make her not come after him so that she will stay safe. If Cersei finds out about Brienne, she will kill her. Better Brienne stay in the north. But also, he wants Brienne to realize that he is not worthy of her. That she can do better. That he’s not a good man and he doesn’t think he deserves happiness. He thinks his only chance at redemption is death.

- I think Jaime has one of two motivations. Either he sees that Cersei might very well win and he has to stop her, or he just knows that Brienne is better off without him and that he can’t escape his old life. Both are tragic but neither lessen his love for Brienne. I don’t think he has an ‘addiction to Cersei’. He’s just so used to feeling like trash ever since he became a King’s slayer. He doesn’t know how to leave that life.

Again, I fully think leaving Brienne sobbing was a dick move, but his motivation makes sense. We’ll have to wait to see what D&D do with his arc. Either it’s in character and he dies a hero or D&D are idiots and I ignore their writing decisions and pretend Jaime never left. Still, there were so many good moments this episode, and it would be a shame not to enjoy them because of this last scene.

#game of thrones #jaime lannister #brienne of tarth #braime #jaime x brienne #brienne x jaime #got spoilers

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lajulie24 · 5 years

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And you will always find me

Part 6 in my Bespin AU/ESB AU series where Han and Leia escape Bespin before Breakfast with Vader. You can read the other parts here: Part 1: I know, Part 2: Jump, Part 3: Visions of the future, Part 4: Decisions, Part 5: Hear me.

“I know where Luke is. We have to go back.”

Leia had that look about her again. Her brown eyes determined, sure, her voice calm yet decisive. She got that look on missions sometimes, and when she did, Han knew instinctively to just go with whatever came next, even if it was a move that sounded absolutely insane even to a gambler like him.

To be fair, she had trusted him on a number of rather dicey-sounding plans, too, the most recent of which had included flying into an asteroid field, buzzing a Star Destroyer from attack position, and stopping for repairs at a mining outpost managed by his ex-boyfriend, with whom he hadn’t spoken in years. And, of course, there was the whole getting involved in an actual relationship thing, though that felt like less of a plan and more of a crashing inevitability.

Her preoccupation with Luke earlier in the day had started him worrying about the Kid, too, he had to admit.

So I guess we’re doin’ this. But Han needed a little more information.

“Back where?” he asked.

“The Nebula,” she said. “I don’t know why he’d be there, but I just—I think he’s in trouble.”

Han nodded. He wasn’t sure when he’d become the guy who put aside logic for trust, but if there was one thing he believed in, it was her. “All right. Let me tell Chewie.”

It was funny, the things that would come into your head as you sat there, drifting through space. Luke idly wondered whether it was some version of your life flashing before your eyes before you died. Only instead of flashing, it was floating. Languid, impossibly slow.

It wasn’t exactly a highlight reel, either, but more a collage of some little things he’d nearly forgotten. The swishing noise Aunt Beru’s skirts would make when she came to tuck him in at night. Uncle Owen’s gentle encouragement peeking through his gruff exterior, teaching Luke to drive a landspeeder. Biggs’ laugh. The way Wedge’s accent changed when he was angry, or amused, or drunk. The spices in Chewie’s favorite stew. The little tunes Han would whistle sometimes as he was doing repairs, the tone of his voice when he called Luke “Kid” for the thousandth time. The furrow of Leia’s brow as she read, and the way her face would change when Luke said her name or Chewie brought her a cup of tea or Han greeted her with that grin of his.

Luke still attempted to restart the engine every few hours, just in case. R2 had isolated the problem to two possibilities, one of which was a temporary issue that could potentially resolve itself, and the other of which required parts they did not have available to them at the moment. It seemed the latter was more likely.

He hadn’t given up; far from it, in fact. He was beginning to understand what “there is no try” actually meant; it didn’t mean you never attempted anything, never acted, just blindly accepted your fate. It meant that if you were going to trust the Force, you had to actually jump in with both feet and trust it fully, not claim to trust it while making a plan in case it didn’t work. (Which meant, for instance, not bringing your weapons with you into a mystical cave to face the Dark Side.)

Did it always make logical sense? Of course not. But it didn’t make logical sense to go marching into the detention area to rescue someone slated for execution when you were carrying stolen plans, or to turn off your targeting computer just as you got in firing range of a deadly space station, or to go AWOL and take off to a strange planet based on a vision you had when you were half frozen to death, either.

He remembered something Uncle Owen used to say, about how fear was a gift, that it was telling you something, and woe to you if you didn’t listen. Useful as far as avoiding raiders and staying alive in the Tatooine desert went, sure. But for life advice, Luke had always chalked it up as another example of Owen letting fear circumscribe his life, using it as an excuse never to try anything or do anything.

Maybe Luke had been wrong about that, though; maybe it meant something more. Maybe listening to the Force was like listening to your fear, learning from what it had to say. And what it had to say wasn’t always don’t act, stay safe, keep your head down, protect yourself at all costs but to act with intention. To trust what was in your gut, your heart. Luke wasn’t sure how, but he still believed in his heart that leaving Dagobah had been the right thing to do.

And now, the Force had guided him to reach out to Leia, and he knew that she had heard him and would find a way to help him. He would do everything he could to give them plenty of time to get here—preserve his oxygen, shut down except for the emergency systems—but he would trust in the Force, and in his friends.

Chewbacca’s family had been surprisingly supportive of their abrupt departure, and even though both Han and Leia had tried to convince Chewie to stay behind and visit some more, he had insisted on coming.

“But Chewie, your family—“ Leia had made one last attempt at the landing pad before their departure.

[Little Princess.] Chewie’s growl had been as gentle as she’d ever heard. [The Little Jedi needs our help. And I have to protect Cub and you, now. My debt is to you both.]

There had been two surprises in that statement: that Chewie had accepted her conviction that Luke was in trouble without question, and that he seemed to be saying something about his life debt. “To us? But—“

[You are Cub’s mate,] Chewie had said simply. [You share his debt. I do not make the rules.]

“Chewie,” she’d said softly, but he’d just ruffled her hair again and turned to bid farewell to Malla before running up the ramp of the Falcon.

They were coming out of hyperspace near the Nebula now, and Leia just hoped they were right to have believed in her. It was hard to tear her eyes away from the viewscreen—they’d managed to jump into the tail end of an electrical storm, which was making things even more exciting than usual, and had Threepio in a conniption fit—but she closed her eyes, hoping to hear the voice she’d heard before.

Luke, where are you?

The reply was faint, but it was there. Leia?

“All right, Sweetheart, where to?” Han was asking. Leia opened her eyes.

“Set 392,” Leia heard herself saying, and Chewie put it in. The cockpit grew quiet, with the exception of an occasional “oh dear oh dear” from Threepio, and they all watched intently.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Han said softly. The cloud of particles surrounding them made it difficult to see at first, but the distinctive shape of an X-wing began to emerge. The engines didn’t appear to be engaged; it looked like it was just floating there. Leia held her breath as Han hailed the ship. “Kid? You okay there?”

The pause felt like forever, but Leia anticipated the answer a split second before it came. “Han? Am I glad to hear you! Where’s Leia?”

“I’m here,” Leia said, relief washing over her.

Han looked a little amused at Luke’s response. “What, I’m not good enough for you now? Ah, I see how it is.”

“Got a stalled engine,” Luke said, and suddenly Leia noticed how exhausted and wan his voice sounded. “R2 and I have been stuck here for a while.”

“Artoo!” Threepio exclaimed with happiness.

“All right, Kid. We’ll get you and the droid into the airlock, tow the ship back with us. Don’t want to stick around here any longer than we have to.”

“Thanks, Han.”

“Three, Kid. Three now you owe me.” Han sounded like the breezy, wisecracking version of himself that he’d been on Hoth, but Leia could tell that he was just as relieved as she was to hear Luke’s voice.

Luke’s laughter sounded a little weak, too, but it was good to hear it coming across the comm.

Chewie went back to take care of the airlock, and Han turned to Leia, his eyes tinged with a little bit of awe. “Min larel,” he said, “you are somethin’ else.”

As soon as the X-wing was secured, Han and Chewie returned to the cockpit, so Leia was left to tend to Luke in the medical bunk.

“Wait here,” she said, after getting him settled with a blanket and some intravenous fluids. “Be right back.”

She reappeared a few minutes later with a steaming cup of broth and a sleeve of crackers, and handed him the cup before sitting down beside him. As he sipped, she smoothed some of the hair away from his face, watching him with obvious concern.

Luke could hardly believe she was real, that he was here on the Falcon, that she and Han (and Chewie, and Threepio) were okay, but the broth helped ground him to the present.

“Better?” she asked.

“Much,” he said, taking another sip. “It’s good.”

She smiled, and her presence exuded warmth. “I can’t take credit; Chewie made it,” she said. “I just heated it up.”

Interesting. Something about Leia was distinctly different. Besides the obvious, of course—

“You changed your hair,” Luke blurted out. Nice, Luke. Apparently being sleep- and nutrient-deprived had removed his ability to hold a normal conversation.

But Leia didn’t seem bothered; she smiled again and pulled one section of long brown waves over her shoulder, so that her hair fell down her back. “We were on Kashyyk,” she said. “I was feeling a little…hairless.”

He chuckled a little at that. “I guess you would,” he said. “Um, how did you end up—“

“On the Falcon?” she finished. Now it was her turn to chuckle. “I missed my transport on Hoth. And the hyperdrive broke, and—”

Suddenly Luke understood. He’d barely seen any interaction between Han and Leia at all yet, but he could see it in her face, feel it in her presence. He turned toward her, unable to conceal the knowing smile on his face. “You and Han—“

Leia’s face lit up with that unguarded smile, the one Luke had only seen once in a great while. He suspected it had become a lot less rare recently. “Me and Han. Yeah,” she confirmed, and then looked a little apologetic for a moment. “Luke, I’m—“

“No, no, it’s great,” he assured her, grinning. “It’s—I’m really happy for you guys.”

“I love him,” she said, and it would have sounded like a confession if she hadn’t been radiating with so much happiness. Apparently once that smile made it to her face, it had trouble leaving.

“Yeah, you do,” Luke said. “Ah, Chewie must be so relieved!” Han and Leia’s love for each other had been obvious, inspiring, yet maddening to their closest friends. It was amazing, the lengths to which they had gone in their misguided attempts to protect each other from pain by staying apart, only to end up hurting each other anyway.

“Chewie was probably about five minutes from throwing us out the airlock before we went to Kashyyk,” Leia said dryly. “He spent six weeks trapped in sublight with us while we, ah, figured things out.”

Luke laughed. Was that a blush on Leia’s cheeks? He was pretty sure he’d never seen that from her before. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who’d had an eventful few weeks.

Gods, but it felt good to be back with his friends. He accepted a cracker from the sleeve Leia was holding, chased it with another few sips of broth.

Leia slipped an arm around him, gave him a bit of a squeeze. This was like it used to be, when they would have their long talks, spend time just hanging out together between missions, or on the down time during missions.

Han was leaving to pay off Jabba, Luke remembered. Han and Leia had managed to figure out the love thing, obviously, but he wondered how much they had managed to figure out about what to do about the main thing that had been keeping them apart. If they were on Kashyyk before this, maybe—

“So—“ Luke began.

Leia’s face grew a bit more serious again, determined. “We’re figuring it out. Coming up with a plan. I’m not letting him face Jabba alone.”

At least they were talking about it. But they hadn’t quite figured it out yet, it seemed. Understandable. Tough, but understandable.

Luke didn’t say anything, but took Leia’s hand and squeezed it. They were quiet for a few minutes.

Maybe now was not the best time to bring up the other big thing. But he wanted to talk about it with just Leia, first, so this was as good a time as any. And he’d finished the broth.

He put the cup down on the table beside the bunk. “Ah, Leia?”

She looked at him, her brown eyes huge. Her hand was still in his.

“Do you know how you found me?”

#scoundressaturdays #han x leia #hanleia #and luke #star wars #myfic #han solo #leia organa #luke skywalker #chewbacca #the skywalker twins #bespin au #esb au #long post

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thegarrisonpublichouse · 6 years

Text

Hospital Bed

Hello!

This is a fic from a list of prompts I received from an Anon (thank you Anon <3). It's the first time I’ve tried anything Michael based and I’ll 100% be doing some more!

The Prompts-

6. Shh, you’re safe, I won’t let you go.

13. I’m not going to leave you. You’re never going to have to suffer by yourself again, I promise.

23. Shh, it was a bad dream… Just a dream, okay?

25. Please talk to me about it.

60. I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong, and don’t try lying to me.

62. Pack your shit and go! Get the fuck out of my sight! (I edited this one slightly as it didn’t fit the character)

113. “Why? Why are you being… so nice to me? I don’t understand.

I think a part 2 is required where I may use the other prompts.

As a nurse, you saw many patients come and go through the hospital, but none had quite taken your eye like Michael Gray. He had changed the mood at the hospital, turning your shifts from dreaded to anticipated. He had come in a couple weeks ago in a critical condition after being shot. You didn’t know the full details of the event, but you knew that it was dangerous, meaning that Michael required 24/7 protection and a nurse with him at all times.

You were on the nightshift in Michael’s room, and you were sat by his bed entertaining yourself with a book that your father had bought you after his last trip to London. You glanced up at the clock on the wall and yawned, it was gone midnight and you had had an exhausting week, you just wanted to go home. Nightshifts were the worst, often you wondered why you did them. You looked down at your patient, taking in his structured face and also the way that his night-shirt was pulled taut around his biceps and pectorals. You smiled to yourself wistfully- nothing could happen, the matron had forbidden staff-patient relationships and was extremely strict in enforcing this rule.

Michael’s body started twitching and a muffled cry escaped his lips. His arms moved erratically and he tried to push himself up off the bed.

“JOHN!” he cried out, tears rolling down his cheeks as he shook, “JOHN!”

“MICHAEL!” you cry out taking a firm hold of his shoulders and trying to gentle shake him awake. “Michael, its Y/N, wake up.”

His eyes fly open and stare directly into yours, brimming with tears as he realised where he was and what was happening. He panted as reality took over, his eyes began frantically searching the room for something.

“They were here… I saw them… John.” he panted struggling for breath.

“You’re okay, Michael, no one is here,” you grabbed a tissue from his bedside table and offered it to him; instead of taking the tissue he grabbed your hand with both of his pulling you closer to him. The fear was blatant in his eyes. “Shh, it was a bad dream… just a dream, okay? None of it was real.” He looked deep into your eyes and saw comfort there. His breathing regulated and he lay back down in his bed.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled as sleep took over his body.

A couple days later you were on the nightshift again, and, naturally you found yourself in Michael Gray’s room. Embarrassingly, all the other nurses seemed to know about your minor crush and they had worked their shifts in order to ensure that you were on the nightshift again.

Michael was asleep peacefully when you took over from your colleague and you watched him for a couple minutes before you yourself were lulled into sleep.

“Y/N!” A cry jolted you awake, Michael was gripping your knee, his nails digging in to your flesh.

“Michael! Shit. Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry, I had another dream… I don’t know what to do.” He stammered. You stood and took his hands in your own. You felt his suffering radiate through him, you just wanted to help him… so bad. You wanted him, so bad. How far could you help though without stepping out of line as a nurse? You were a nurse, not a therapist. You look at his face, his eyes gazing up at you. You exhale deeply and sit on his bed. Releasing his hands you grab a tissue and dab the sweat on his brow.

“Many of the soldiers from the war said that talking about it helped them stop dreaming about it,” you state, dabbing away at his forehead as his eyes stay focussed on yours. “Please talk to me about it. It might help.” Michael exhaled sharply grabbing your hands and placing them over his heart.

“You’re different to all the other patients here,” you murmur quietly to him, “I don’t want you to be a patient.” A sudden wave of confidence had come over you.

“Why’s that?” he asked smiling innocently at you, fear had evaporated from his face and had been replaced with mischievousness. He knew the point you were trying to make.

“The matron forbids staff-patient relations…” you murmur. “But if we manage to sort you out, Mr Gray, you will no longer be a patient. Talk to me. In fact, I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong, and don’t try lying to me, Mr Gray, I will be able to tell.”

“I really shouldn’t, but, Y/N, your proposal intrigues me. If you’re thinking what I’m thinking, its in both of our best intentions that I heal up ASAP. ” He cleared his throat, stared deeply into your eyes and explained everything. Everything. In comparison to your life, his seemed like a Hollywood movie, and you listened intently, eyes widening with shock and brow furrowing with sorrow. Your hands remain enclosed in his and placed over his heart- you could feel it beating and could feel the slight rise and fall of his breathing.

His story left you both in tears. It seemed so unfair how someone so young had suffered so much, being taken from his mother, ripped from his home and family only to rediscover it years later. He had missed out on so much, and still didn’t feel like a true Shelby, despite his position within the company.

As he spoke, you found yourself curling up next to him, your hands still remaining on his chest, your head lightly resting on his shoulder, being careful not to put too much pressure on his injuries. He his story reached recent events, the death of his cousin and his injuries. He began to sob as he retold the story. It shocked you to see such a strong man break down like this, but your heart reached out to him, and you admired him for all that he had been through.

After he had finished his story, you lay side by side, his arms wrapped around you and your hands lightly caressing his chest. His sobs had stopped, but tears ran silently down his cheeks as he relived the events in his head.

“Shh, you’re safe, I won’t let you go.” You hold him close. In the back of your mind you could see the sun rising, your shift was ending soon. You could practically hear the matron’s footsteps down the corridor and panic began to settle: if she saw you like this, lying in the embrace of a patient you would surely lose your job. Your panic was quashed when his strong arms wrapped around you.

“Its morning, Y/N, does that mean you’re going to leave me in the hands of another nurse?” He looked down to you and smirked. Despite his jovial expression, you could see the pain behind his eyes. In that split second you made a decision, this job, this life was boring. You thought about how a life with Michael would be exhilarating. Fuck it. Who cares if the matron saw, you needed some excitement in your life, and maybe it was this man who would incite it. “I don’t want you to leave me, you seem to understand me,” he added quietly.

“I’m not going to leave you. You’re never going to have to suffer by yourself again. I promise.” you find yourself saying, rather resolutely. You had surprised yourself with your boldness, but Michael’s influence brought it out in you. “Who cares if the matron sees? I have been wanting to quit this job for AGES anyway.”

“Why? Why are you being… so nice to me? I just don’t understand!” He chuckled, causing your head to bob on his chest. “You’re very quick to make your decisions Y/N.”

“Your story has inspired me, I need to do something with my life Michael, this was meant to be a temporary job and already I’ve been here for five years”- you were interrupted by the doors to Michael’s room flying open.

Instinctively, he held you close in order to protect you from whatever danger was entering. At the same time, he thrust his hand below his pillow and pulled out a small shotgun and aimed it at the door.

“Y/N!” screeched the matron, her huge shadow blocking out all light from the door.

“I quit matron.” You say boldly, remaining in Michael’s grip. The matron’s body practically shook with anger, like a volcano she was about to erupt.

“Pack up your stuff and go! Get out of my sight! This is disgusting behaviour from one of my nurses!” She yelled as you rose from Michael’s bed. He held your arm tight as you attempted to leave, forcing your body to turn and face him.

“Go get ‘em, tiger, this is your chance,” He smiled at you. You smiled back at him. This was your chance, and you were taking it.

Thank you for reading, I definitely want to do a second part of this and include some more of the prompts.

Peace and Hugs xxx

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kyluxtrashpit · 6 years

Text

Okay so now for the real post. I was prepared to write this whole big thing about the kylux fandom and why I’m staying despite some things and such but honestly the movie was pretty good? As some of you know, I was fucking TERRIFIED I’d have to leave the ship (also shoutout to those who helped calm me down; you know who you are <3). I have some quibbles, which I’ll get into below, but overall it was pleasantly surprising. FYI this post of full of spoilers and please remember I spoiled myself on a good amount of it before going in. I’m also very happy I did

And also… this was all 100% in line with the headcanons I already had for kylux? I’ve seen a lot of people freaking out and jumping ship and saying we need to completely reimagine the characters, which, sure, if you want to, go nuts, but idk I didn’t personally get anything like that? Snoke pitting them against each other, because you know if he talked shit about Hux to Kylo, he’s definitely doing it the other way around too. And yes, Kylo does attack Hux, but Hux was also about to kill him before he woke up, even if Kylo doesn’t know that, so we’re in exactly the same place as before. I could talk a lot about why their characterizations are exactly in line with the way I saw and wrote them before and why Kylo taking on the mantle of Supreme Leader does not mean Hux is inferior to him in practice in any way, shape, or form, but this post is way too fucking long already so I’ll save it for another day

Instead, here’s a list of Thoughts in no particular order:

Kylo was fucking PHENOMENAL. This. This is what I wanted. My boy being unstable as fuck and making terrible split-second impulse decisions and getting himself in way over his head. He’s going to regret taking the throne in like 3 days. Guaranteed. He’s made the biggest mistake of his life and he doesn’t even know it yet because he has no idea what he actually wants, just saw an opportunity and went ‘oh shit… the throne is empty… wait. I know how to sit?? I could sit on it??? YES THIS IS A GREAT IDEA I’M THE NEW LEADER FUCK YES’. I fucking love my disaster boy. I love him so much I can’t even articulate it

Also like… Rey shows him one small moment of kindness and he’s immediately like ‘someone was nice to me??? okay cool this is all it took to convince me to kill my abusive mentor for the last better part of a decade who’s been in my head for almost my entire life just because of that’ and like… that is both the most Kylo thing I’ve ever seen and the biggest mood I’ve ever had. This is why we always wrote Hux capable of manipulating him and why Snoke was able to manipulate him; Kylo aches for positive attention from literally anyone

“I want every gun we have to fire on that man” JFC HONEY NO. But on a more serious note, the second the mask comes off, all of his control is gone. He’s trying so hard to assert his dominance and power over everyone he encounters because he thinks that will make him feel better, that it’s what he wants, but he’s so fucking out of control and out of his depth that it just utterly falls flat, just like in tfa after the mask came off. He can Force choke and throw people all he wants, literally no one is fooled. He has no idea what he’s doing and it’s staggeringly obvious

I also really liked seeing baby Ben, even for just like 10 seconds

Literally the only Kylo thing I did not like were his pants. Like goddamn boy, that waist is way too high. No wonder your temper is so finicky. I’d be angry too if I was wearing uncomfortable, excessively high-waisted pants all the time

I, too, did not like the dumb humour with Hux (see: the entire opening bit. Like literally all of it; Poe should not have been able to pull that off and Hux is not that stupid) but I also still see the Hux I’ve come to love in there. The snark, pulling a gun without hesitation on Kylo for the double tap but being smart enough to hide it when he wakes up, the entire command shuttle bit (except the Force throw – that was unnecessary), and especially that glare of absolute rage and hatred at Kylo once he turns away inside the base on Crait. I’m okay with tired disaster Hux and you can tell he’s already planning a coup. The army seems to still be under his control anyway; he just needs to wait until Kylo finishes digging his own grave and then give him that extra push into it

That said, I’m really glad we got to see Hux bitch slap someone, even if I wish it hadn’t been Finn

Rose was the other highlight of the movie right up until the kiss with Finn. I loved their interactions but the unnecessary heterosexuality was just… no. And then the bit at the end that definitely looked towards a love triangle? *loud gagging noises* no, fuck that shit. Literally everything else with her was absolutely amazing though, especially the Canto Bight stuff

Finn felt… off somehow? I can’t explain why, but he just felt like a weaker character here. Finn was really compelling in tfa and I really wanted more with him and to learn more about him, but I feel like he didn’t do much? The fight with Phasma was a little underwhelming (also she deserved to go out more impressively than that) and most of the other stuff was someone else instigating and him just going along. He seemed… too passive, maybe? I can’t put my finger on what was off, but I didn’t like it and I’m a little let down there. I also really wanted him to be Force-sensitive and really felt he was built up to be. How else was he the only person to ever break FO conditioning?

Poe was also… not how I imagined? I always saw him as the ‘calm pal’ kinda guy but I guess he’s a little more jumped up than I expected. Not a gripe, per se, but just surprising. They also very much did demote him from main character status, which is kinda sad

Admiral Holdo was a fucking boss and I love her. So was Leia for most of it (expect what was with that space scene?). Fuck yeah powerful older women. I need so much more immediately. However, I also wish Leia had gotten more time and it also saddens me that she’s now lost her entire family. Yes, she has the Resistance, and Poe and Rey and Finn, but she has no one from her past. Literally no one. Leia had already lost so much coming into this trilogy and it’s absolutely tragic that all she did was lose more. Leia deserved better, but with Carrie gone, we know Leia won’t be getting it in 9

DJ WAS FANTASTIC. I did not see that coming. And I hope we never see him again because it would ruin the purpose of his character

I liked most of Rey’s arc. I wasn’t sure about the Force bond (I knew about it beforehand) but it ended up working for me and was actually really cool. I still do not ship r*ylo at all (it’s just not for me, ship what you want), but their interactions are intriguing and I can understand why things played out how they did. Rey wanted help for the rebellion and a teacher. She thought that was Luke, but it wasn’t, and then she thought that was Kylo, but it wasn’t. I think she just needs to realize that maybe it’s up to her to be the one to help the rebellion. She’s figured out most of the Force on her own already; I don’t think she needs a teacher. Although the jealous look towards Finn and Rose was just awful. I’m also very concerned for her arc in 9 because I swear if they make it all about trying to save Kylo, I’d be fucking pissed. She’s her own character. She doesn’t exist to help him

I’m also… not sure I buy Rey being a nobody? It’s either a lie or just bad writing to lead up to it. Because in tfa, it’s always ‘who’s the girl?’, ‘what girl?’, etc. I also always got the feeling that Kylo knew who she was, somehow? And why did the Skywalker family lightsaber choose her over Kylo? Why does she have the same amount of power as Kylo if there’s no relation whatsoever? How are her parents buried on Jakku if she saw a ship flying away? I just feel like it was built up to lead elsewhere and then it didn’t. Then again, it is possible Kylo is lying or only thinks he knows, but idk. It’s not that I hate the idea of her being a nobody, but the execution of it was tremendously clumsy

As for Luke… I don’t know. Luke has never been the kind of person to attack first. He is a gentle flower. The entire point of him is his idealism, his hope, his kindness. Even if it was in a moment of instinct, of fear, I don’t think he’d pull a lightsaber first on anyone, especially a family member, no matter how much Dark was in him. Luke saw the Light in Darth Vader, of all people. That it was stressed to be an accident and for Luke to realize he’d fucked up big helped, but I still don’t know if I buy it. I understand bringing flaws to Luke, but I don’t think these were the right flaws to bring. I… don’t know. I haven’t decided how I feel about this yet. And also his death was just odd? What killed him? Was the implication that Force-projecting that far is too hard? Idk, it was really strange and I didn’t get it. I need to think on how I feel about it. Also ‘see you around, kid’ was a pretty dumb last line. Even though I’m pretty sure it was more a promise/threat than anything else. He’s going to be haunting the shit out of everyone

I really liked the crystal foxes. I want 10 of them immediately. However, I have no strong feelings one way or the other on the porgs

THE FUCKING IRON. Jfc I was like ‘omfg that ship looks like an iron, that’s so ridiculous’ AND THEN IT WASN’T A SHIP, IT WAS JUST AN IRON. It was inordinately funny to me. I lost my shit and my friend gave me a dubious look

I wish we’d seen the KOR and I really, really hope we do in 9. Come on, JJ, I believe in you. Let me see the rest of the disaster children in action

Yoda’s cameo was kinda dumb and unnecessary. I know that was supposed to be the moment that changed Luke’s mind but… ehhh. I could’ve done without

The bit at the end with the random kid was also stupid and I wish they’d cut it

Now the biggest thing is… where the fuck are they going with 9? The Resistance is 10 people in the Falcon, the Order is being run by a guy who has absolutely no fucking clue what he’s doing and a second in command that is ready to murder the shit out of him the second he gets the chance. Leia probably won’t be there, so the OT trio is gone. This movie was also weird because it was like… the span of a day and a half? At most? It’s a really strange timeline to go with imo and it’s going to make 9 hard. I’m scared Rey will become an accessory to Kylo’s story (which is most likely going to end up as an even more ham-fisted redemption arc than it would’ve been if it had started in 8). Like no one is in a powerful place. If there were 2 more movies coming, I think it would work, but with only 1? Ehhhh, idk. I have faith in JJ but in some ways he’s been written into a corner, I think. We’ll have to see, I guess

#god this is SO LONG I'm sorry lmao #most are positive thoughts #kylo is fucking amazing #some criticisms though #I'm actually really happy I spoiled myself on some but not all things #there were still surprises but I liked piecing it together #anyways #text #shut up nerd #tlj spoilers

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jimlingss · 7 years

Text

The Wicked Witch

Words: 22k Genre: Angst, (tiny bit of) Fluff, Drama, Soap Opera!Au Summary: Your first misfortune is your parents. Your second is your brother. Your third is your husband by the name of Min Yoongi. You will not stop until vengeance has been sought. Inspired by the idea of combining all Soap Opera/Makjang Kdrama tropes into one story. Based on this drabble. Warnings: Sham marriages, betrayals, kidnappings, sibling rivalries, deaths, amnesia, infidelity, revenge, etc. Mentions of suicide, car accidents, abuse, etc.

Cr.

[5 Years Ago]

You should’ve never fallen in love with him. Your first misfortune lies within the family you were born into - a mother with a wealthy background and a father with ambitious political aspirations. It was a picture perfect family; a blissful marriage and two well rounded children, you and your older brother. But everything was merely skin deep. With the plastered smiles and exaggerated grins, as a young child, your mother would pinch you at your side to- ‘stand taller!’ ‘look at that disgusting hair, tame it!’ ‘ugh, do you not know how to act like a lady?’ The marriage of your parents was a sham, sleeping in separate bedrooms and leaving for days on end to other people. When they spoke to each other, it was cold and distant. If it wasn’t, then it was screaming and arguing. Though you never felt sadness. You never envied the children who had parents brimming with happiness. That was your reality. What could you do to ever change it? You were numb to it all. Your second misfortune is the ambitious nature of your brother; a trait he had unfortunately inherited from your father. There was a time, so long ago that you can barely remember, a time where you could be considered close to your sibling. It was when you had no one else in the house but him, someone who cared and protected you. But along the way, with the praise of your parents showered upon the boy and criticisms thrown onto you, a gap was created which only grew with the years that came. Soon, he saw the responsibilities in his future and began to utter the same judgements that your mother always whispered into your ear. ‘We’re not children anymore.’ ‘You need to grow up.’ ‘Learn how to act like a lady.’ Despite being driven away by your one and only true companion, you should’ve stayed. If you had persisted and fought against him, maybe none of this would’ve happened. Perhaps you could’ve saved his life and yours. But the past cannot be changed. It was two years ago that your brother was arrested for embezzlement.

He was taken away, thrashing and screaming profanities. The investigation somehow led back to your family and your father’s long years of corruption were exposed. The two men in your family were seized and your mother fell into pieces. It wasn’t out of despair because she loved them. It was simply her flawless reputation that she had poured decades to perfect became tainted. But you couldn’t feel anything inside - the family was never in one piece to begin with. Your third and final misfortune is Min Yoongi. You had always known him as a child, seen him at his mother’s side but not more than a simple ‘hello’ was ever said. Your ten year old self who heard rumours about the prodigy boy would never come to believe that one day, he would become the man you’d marry. But perhaps your third misfortune is really yourself - the person that you are or rather, the person you aren’t. You could’ve ran. You could’ve hid and dug into the ground with your fingernails to search for freedom. For once again, your mother was pinching your skin and whispering like the devil in your ears - ‘Marry him.’ ‘Be a good daughter. After all these years that we’ve helped you.’ ‘Do you really want to see your brother and father die in prison?’ ‘If you rejected this, could you really live with yourself, Y/N?’ ‘Wouldn’t you be so guilt ridden? You’re giving up the chance for them to live. Please, Y/N.’ Min Yoongi is the son of a prosecutor, the prosecutor that would be charging your family members for their crimes. Being unable to cope, unable to make your own decisions, you were driven to mark the contract with your signature. In the days that followed, your father and brother were released and your marriage was set into stone. In the blink of an eye, you were in a loveless marriage - exactly in the steps of your parents. Except, you should’ve never fallen in love with him.

“She was hot, admit it.” You mumble underneath your breath as the bedroom door shuts. You’re no longer in front of the flashes of the cameras, no longer gluing a perfect smile on your lips. It’s deathly quiet, uncomfortable even as you stare out the glass windows. Yoongi turns on his heel, an eyebrow raised at your abrupt question. “What?” “She was attractive, wasn’t she?” You look right into his eyes, giving a tight lipped smile that makes your cheeks numb. “That new secretary of yours.” You have no right to be jealous. There is no reason - not when the agreement clearly states that the both of you are allowed to do whatever each of you please as long as it’s safely hidden from the public. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He snaps, pulling off his tie as he looks into the mirror. “I don’t know what you’re thinking but whatever it is and whatever you may think…I didn’t cheat.” “It’s not like it would matter anyways…” He adds, moving to whisper in your ear with a sinister grin. “We’re both allowed to do whatever we want.” Yoongi pats your shoulder. “Don’t get too caught up in me, Y/N. Don’t forget that this arrangement is only possible because I feel nothing for you.” The words pierce right into your chest, blood gushing out of the wound as the final crack in your heart splits through. But as you’re trained to do, on natural instinct, your expression remains impassive like you haven’t been slapped across the face with his cruelty. He steps away from you with a smirk, moving to the closet to grab a jacket. “Don’t wait for me. I won’t be home tonight.” Yoongi doesn’t spare you another glance as the door slams shut behind him and you’re left in the middle of the bedroom. You wince, a shudder rising from your spine to the back of your head. You can’t cry. The tears won’t drip, your eyes won’t water despite the thick lump in your throat. Your heavy chest screams out for you to say something….anything. You should’ve never fallen in love with him. Even if it seemed like for just a moment, he felt something for you. Those softened eyes, the kiss pressed against your forehead, the sweet honey that dripped from his lips - they were all a part of the game. You should’ve known your feelings would’ve been one sided. A murmur leaves your mouth but he’s already gone. The empty walls are the only thing that listens. “I’m pregnant.”

You cannot remember the exact first time you encountered him. It could’ve been before you were even born into this world, tucked inside your mother’s womb and untainted from the tragedies of the world. By chance, it might’ve been when you were in the adjacent crib to his, hands curled against the railing as you looked out the room and saw your father’s exaggerated smile, heard your mother’s boisterous laughter and you cried to be held by someone. Only...the maid closed the door and you slumped back down onto the mattress. It was so long ago, that you cannot pinpoint the exact moment, the memories have faded away and for good reason. You don’t want to remember.

Why would you want to recall meeting the devil who would soon come to ruin your existence?

[? Years Ago]

“Behave.” Your mother sharply whispers as she tugs you forward, hand wrapped firmly around yours so much that it bruises. Her scowl is quickly plastered with a beam, gown sweeping the grass of the garden as she walks. “Kyungwon! How nice it is to see you.”

“It is, my dear.” The two ladies place their cheeks next to each other, kissing the air on both sides before they step back. “It’s been quite awhile.”

You smile, tipping your head downwards politely. “Hello, Mrs. Min.”

“Hello sweetheart. You look so lovely today.” She looks at you fondly and in practiced response, you nod. Though, even with her compliment, you still despise how tightly wrapped you feel by the dress. The tulle skirt scratches your skin each time you make any movement and the shoes cinch your toes together.

When the two adults begin to delve into tedious conversations, you allow your eyes to wander. Each grownup is in clusters, holding glasses of champagne and tipping their heads back in laughter...fake laughter. Even as a child, you can tell all too well.

If your mother noticed, she would’ve immediately pulled you straight again. But she is much too preoccupied to realize how your eyes have wandered to the deep blue. The luxurious garden party is not of much interest to you, not as much as the seaside tide that bumps across the rocks and sprays a cooling mist into the air. The sand has been replaced by artificial grass, foundation that rises higher than the ocean line. It isn’t much of a beach, but still the closest thing you’ve ever seen aside from the countless books in your bedroom.

You want to run to it but your mother’s hand is all too rigid.

“Where is your son?” Your mother asks curiously, taking a quick sweep of the premise.

“Oh.” The youthful madam laughs before lowering herself down to meet your height. “Do you want to play with him?”

There’s a delayed reaction as you tip your head to the side. “Play?”

Mrs. Min nods her head and stands up straight again, meeting your mother’s eyes. “He’s around here somewhere. It’s hard to keep track of him. You ought to let children be children, right?”

“Of course.” Your mother agrees ironically. Then, miraculously, by some godsend and the persuasive words of Mrs. Min, your mother loosens her grip on your hand. “Don’t go too far.” She lightly pinches at your skin, pretending to smooth out your gown. “Stay safe.”

From any outsider’s perspective, it would sound like worried but tender words from a mother but you clearly understand the underlying threats.

You nod, bowing your head one last time to the other lady before you slowly waddle off. Anticipation and excitement expands inside your chest, a grin swelling your cheeks and despite how much you simply want to take off, while still in your mother’s view, you keep a steady pace.

Once you’re out of sight, you run.

The breeze caresses your face, the hair strands loosen from your secure braids and whirl around your shoulders. A giggle leaves your mouth as you hitch your dress up higher, fistfuls of it in your hands that will certainly leave creases, inevitable to drive your mother insane. Except, you don’t care. There are no concerns in the world. As you spin around mindlessly under the clear sky, there are no boundaries. There are no rules. The course of your life hasn’t been mapped out and set by your parents. You are entirely…

..free.

Your dashes, twirls and giggles only come to a screeching halt when your curious eyes land on a particular boy. The stranger is beside the rocks, the waves crashing against shore right next to him. Yet, he pays no mind - crouching down, knees gathered together and arm outstretched. He reaches for the distant flower, far from his grasps but still in between his fingertips.

You’re about to shout, tell him that it’s much too far. Though the words suffocate in your throat when he manages to grab it. You smile but it erases as you watch him lose his balance, arms flailing into the air. The boy plummets straight into the ocean.

Without a second thought, you sprint.

Perhaps you already know that if you ran to the adults, they’d simply gasp in surprise with a soft ‘oh no’ and watch without intervening. It’s not my problem - I don’t want my clothes to get wet - Someone else will help. - He’s just a boy. You can guess their thoughts, read their minds past the fabricated sympathy. Still, those concepts have yet to corrupt your innocent being.

You kick off the shoes that pinch your toes, hold your dress within your hands and inhale a sharp breath. And you sprint. Your feet sink into the grass and you focus your vision straight ahead.

The boy that is choking, struggling in the waters to leave out a smothered cry of ‘help’ that is left unheard except by your own ears. He manages to look up once more. That is when he sees.

That is when his irises catch a figure much like his own, leap into the sky. He wonders if it’s an angel. Someone who is not pretty skin-deep and dressed in silk fabrics but beautiful and courageous, a soul that is fragile to the very touch. The angel plunges downwards with a ‘splash’ and his eyes are enveloped in deep blue.

There’s a muffled sound, bubbles that escape from your mouth to the surface as you shout at him. He peels back his lids, met with your startled face and with your arms wrapped around his waist, the both of you fight to the top.

“A-are you okay?” You manage to strangle out, laid out like a starfish on the grass next to him. If it were a winter day, the two of you would look like you were making snow angels.

“I-” He wheezes and coughs, pounding his chest. “I’m fine.”

As the both of you sit up, you exchange grins, ready to giggle from the entire ordeal of how you luckily escaped from death’s grasps except-

“Y/N!” Your mother screams, alarming you immediately and causing goosebumps to raise all over your skin.

You whip your head over to the boy, frantically whispering, “You should go.”

He lingers for a moment, a frown creasing his brows in a knot. But with another distressed nudge from you, he stumbles to his feet and walks away.

Your mother in a rage, fails to notice the boy. She instead turns around to see if anyone is watching and then she captures your arm, dragging you upwards as you let out a hurt yelp. “What have you done?!” She scans you from head to toe, gawking at your completely drenched form. Your braids are undone, dress soaked and shoes abandoned in the dirt.

“Mo-”

Your mother strikes you across the face.

The pain shocks you, as if you were electrocuted, then it grows numb. You cannot feel your cheek or your face, cannot feel how your eyes are filling with tears and how her hand is indented red into your skin. All you can do is leave your mouth agape as you stare at the boy who’s meters away, looking at you in horror.

Your dearest mother drags you away like a marionette doll.

Many decades later, you come to regret this very event. Had you known back then that the boy was Min Yoongi -

You would’ve left him to drown.

[Present Day]

“Min Yoongi.” She bows her head with haste, arms folded together in front of her. “Welcome back. Shall I inform your mother of your arri-”

“No.” He cuts her off. “Last I checked, this was also my father’s estate. I have permission to come and go as I please. Also, I would much prefer it if you call that woman my stepmother. If you didn’t know, the woman living here did not give birth to me.”

“I understand.” The maid withdraws back, head downcasted to the tiled floor.

“It’s always a pleasure to see you act so kindly.” A shrill voice causes him to lift his eyes, meeting the called upon woman. She stands at the top of the luxurious staircase, nursing a glass of wine in her hands. “Min Yoongi, my loveliest son.”

She laughs, knowing exactly what nerves to step on. He scoffs, walking up to her only to brush past and enter the study. “What are you doing drinking in the middle of the day?”

His stepmother leans against the doorway, hiccuping behind her hand before answering. “Your dad’s gone abroad. I can do whatever I want.”

Yoongi scoffs again. “Of course my father’s gone.”

She chuckles breathlessly, throwing a finger into the air to point at him. “Don’t insult my marriage. You’re the one who’s in the process of a divorce, son.”

“Don’t call me your son.”

The younger man doesn’t waste any time, grabbing the documents that he needs from the desk and marching past her again. His heavy steps stomp down the stairs, a pace that isn’t at all anxious but calculated. “You better be careful of what you say out loud, Yoongi.” She calls out to him before his hand clutches the knob. “Some day, you might find yourself six feet under.”

He cranes his neck back, “Is that a threat?”

A smirk draws up against her red lipstick printed lips. “Maybe.”

“Are you going to kill me-” His tongue is sharp and merciless, eyes narrowed into the woman who sighs, tapping her fingernails against her wine glass. “-like you killed my mother?”

“How many times must I say it for you to understand? It doesn’t matter how much I hate you, Min Yoongi; after all these years, you still have the wrong person.” She meets his stare. “I. did. not. kill. your. mother.”

The door slams shut a few moments later, not a second to linger and Yoongi’s stepmother is left deserted at the top of the staircase, laughing maniacally at her misery.

The enormous entrance creaks open, servants lined up and bowing from their waist to the ground. He secures his suit jacket around his body, glancing around the abode. It’s spotless and grand, the white tiles catching the light of the chandelier above him. The mirrors on either side of him open the foyer, doubling the vast room and causing him to sneak a peek of his reflection as he strides down.

All the workers repeat in unison, “Welcome home, Mr. Min.”

He doesn’t respond, not until a little girl with bright orbs comes running over with a loud giggle. “Dad!”

A grin matching his very own draws upon his mouth. “Good evening, Princess.” He leans down, scooping her up into his arms as he looks at her fondly. “And how are we doing today?”

She snickers. “Fine~”

There’s something that tugs in your chest when you hear the laughter. Your ears perk and you stand, spinning around on your heel. For a split second and only for the shortest interval of time, it’s the sound of what a family should be like. Or at least - what you think a family should sound like.

As you step outside the dining room, both their eyes land on you and they halt. Mina’s little smile immediately rubs off, yet, you pay no mind. You clear your throat, “I’ve made dinner. If you want some-”

“No.” He turns away from you. “I have some work to finish.”

“Oh, okay.” You force your lips to upturn, cheeks numb. Your arms open as you motion for the child. “In that case, I can take Mina-”

She whimpers away from you, hugging onto Yoongi like it’s her lifeline. He exhales a breath, patting her back comfortingly. “It’s fine. She won’t bother me in my study.” As he walks away and the girl sticks her tongue out at you, safe in her father’s embrace, he calls out once more. “Ah, but if you want to continue to discuss our divorce settlement, then you can drop by later. Other than that, I want to be left undisturbed.”

You keep your pride on your shoulders, raising your nose into the air as you turn away from him. “I understand.” Your tone is rather curt and not without purpose.

When you return to the dining room alone, the table is filled with the dishes of your labour. It only serves as a reminder that once again, you have no family. You do not belong in this house or any house. You have never had a home.

With a deep animosity that unleashes from it’s tight containment, you pick up the bowl of soup that was put out for him. From your haste, the boiling liquid sloshes over the edge and falls onto your skin, burning and causing a strangled, angry cry to leave your throat. You hurl it across the room with all your might and it shatters against the wall upon impact.

“Mrs. Min, are you okay?” A maid rushes in, wide eyes to the fragment of the porcelain bowl and to where you’re standing, hands curled around the seat of the front chair. “Mrs-”

“I’m fine.” You silence her with the wave of your hand, ignoring the sting of the new wound. “Clean up this entire table. Throw it all out. I don’t want to see any of it.”

She bows her head, a few others entering in to follow your command. “Yes.”

“And one more thing…” Upon your voice, she gives you full attention instantly. “Do not call me by that name.”

She lowers her head. “I apologize, madam. It will not happen again.”

The injury on your hand is left untouched to sear deep. It’s self-retribution, a punishment you’ve put on yourself for the chaos you’ve vowed to bestow upon each individual that has done you wrong. And it is a reminder that you do not just feel internal pain but externally too.

Sometimes, when you look into the mirror, you do not recognize the person you’ve become. The fingertips that run over the cool glass, grazing against the downturn curve of your lips and your dark pupils. A transformation has been made and it’s not one of beauty or a peasant turned into a princess. You have become the villain of the book. You are the evil stepmother that locks the daughter in her tower. You are the sinner that will burn in hell or rather, the incarnate of the devil himself. You are the picture perfect shot of evil and cruelty. But, it is a transformation that was not from choice or made from your own will. It was forced upon you. You are the wicked witch.

And you will not stop until vengeance has been sought out.

“How could you?!” Her voice still rings into your ears, permeating deep into your dreams. And like back then - there is no escape. You can only thrash against the bedsheets and sob in your sleep. “How could you, Y/N!? Do you know what I’ve done for you?”

You’re curled up in a ball, hiding in the corner with hands up in the air for mercy. Still, she grabs fistfuls of your hair and tries to rip it from your scalp.

“I’m sorry! Mom, I’m so sor-”

“Don’t call me that!” She screams out.

Your mother is not as young and strong as she used to be. Long ago, a simple pinch or smack would’ve left marks for days; that would be covered up later by a concealer, the shade of your skin. But decades have passed since you were a mere little girl. Even in the moment when your mother is hitting you with all her might, you’ve felt more pain before.

Her exhaustion grows and that’s when she stops punching you, letting go of your hair that is now all tangled in a mess. She stumbles back, chest heaving as she catches her breath. And at the sight of you, makeup completely smeared and your limbs up and ready for defense, she chuckles breathlessly and falls to the floor. “Why couldn’t you?”

Your mother, rage dissipated, is now full on weeping until her eyeballs fall from their sockets. But, you feel absolutely no remorse. You’re the one who should be crying. But with years of stained pillows and blankets used to soak up the waters, it seems like only your chest can beat itself into pain.

“You had a secure future.” She spits out into her hands. “And all because you couldn’t bear a single child - that’s why he’s getting a divorce with you!” Your mother is hysterical, not understanding that there are a million other reasons. “What are you going to do when you’re a divorcee? What will become of your life?! Of our name?! Of me?!”

Your mother has lost her mind. Somewhere on the path of riches, insanity had gotten to her and the polished woman you once knew had gone crazy. “Don’t ever speak to me again.” She shakes her head, again and again, as if rejecting reality. She picks herself up, limping away. “I don’t have a daughter like you.”

The ties that were never of a mother-daughter bond but more of a slavery one severs itself.

You awake to the bewitching hour, met with half the bed unoccupied, not even a ghost has wandered its way into the room. You replace any found loneliness with a madness, no different from your mother’s.

The plan was set five years ago. You will leave a legacy of ruin and chaos.

He looks up with an open mouth. “Wow.”

You smile, strolling down towards him. “Jimin.”

The man dressed in his suit greets you with a crinkled eyes. “I’ll never get used to how beautiful this house is.”

You laugh in response, “Oh, I’m sure your own home isn’t so bad. But what are you doing here on this fine morning? Would you like to have some breakfast? I can get it prepared for you.”

“I’m okay for now. I’m just here to check in and see how you’re doing.” He beams at you, taking in another sweep of the luxurious premise that is all too empty to be called a home. “Where’s my brother?”

You lifelessly point towards the door. “I believe he’s left for work.”

“I see.” Jimin nods to himself before he radiates another bright smile. “Will I see you tonight, sister-in-law? Need I remind you of the dinner we have planned this evening?”

The grip of your clasped hands tighten against each other. Your nails sink into your skin but you muster up turned lips. “Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll be able to attend. And really, Jimin, you don’t need to call me that anymore.”

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.” Min Jimin steps forward, reaching for your hands and taking it within his. He looks at you with feign sincerity, a mask of angelic compassion. “You will always be my sister-in-law. You will always be family to me. That other woman...I can’t accept her. I won’t accept anyone else, no matter the circumstances. I made that promise to you back when you married Yoongi, remember?”

You sharply inhale, giving a strained lipped smile. “I remember Jimin. And thank you, really. It means a whole lot but-”

“Shush.” He shakes his head in disapproval. “No buts. You’re still a Min in this house. I will have your presence for tonight’s dinner and no one can say otherwise. Not even Yoongi himself. I’m in charge.”

The boy, younger than his brother, is holding you by the shoulders and directly looking at you. You know he won’t drop this issue until you agree. But what you call into question is, behind his exterior, how sadistic was he? Did he enjoy watching you in ashes? Did he want to smile through agonizing atmospheres and hidden excruciating pain?

Why does he want to observe the graveyard of Yoongi’s marriage?

“Alright. Okay.” For the sake of reminding your dearest husband that you are still part of this household. You’ll use every single chance to make a fool out of him, even at your own expense.

You know all too well the reason of Jimin’s visit is to secure your invitation to the disastrous dinner party. “Great.” He smiles, giving a quick hug before his departure. You watch as he leaves, tugging your white blazer closer to your shoulders and the side of your lip tugs into a smirk.

Jimin is playing a game, a game that is far more dangerous than he can anticipate. He’s unaware that you’ve been a player far longer than he’s lived.

The only thing that keeps you sane is by adamantly reminding yourself that you are not your mother.

Albeit if it seems like you’re heading down the exact same path, that you’re driving yourself to insanity too - even if your marriage is a complete sham - you are not her. You are not a housewife cooped up inside four walls; gossiping over tea with other married women in the afternoons, waiting for a husband each and every day in the evenings. Despite your mother’s ill words, you had taken over your late grandfather’s business alongside your brother.

It’s something you would’ve never done, allowing yourself to be immersed in the world of dirty business, but for the sake of your goal, a little sacrifice on your behalf was necessary.

You speak to the knocks on the door and it creaks open, “Come in.”

“There’s someone here to see you, madam.” Your secretary frowns and reads the name off the slip of paper. “Someone by the name of Hoseok. Jung Hoseok. Should I let him in?”

The familiar name causes an eyebrow to lift and some distant memories to spark back. It was when you were a completely different person - happier perhaps but more foolish and ignorant.

“Y-Y/N?” His voice cracks and you notice the tremble of his hand.

The secretary closes the door and you rise from your seat with an immaculate smile. “Jung Hoseok. I never thought I’d see you again. You haven’t aged a day.”

The man, who is no longer as young as you can recall, wrinkled suit and ruffled hair with lines that show how time has done him well, is bewildered at your calmness. For all the months and years he’s imagined of reuniting with you, it was never like this. He always thought that you’d be wrathful, slap him across the face and he’d take every resentful insult from you. Another part, a more hopeful one, wished you’d run into his arms and cry your longings out loud.

“You...you haven’t aged a day either.”

But here you are, leaning against your desk with crossed arms, watching his every move. Cold and distant, like he’s no less than a stranger. “Y/N…”

“What are you doing here, Hoseok?” You cut straight to the point with a long sigh. “Unless you have business, I don’t have time to chat. Are you here to see me? Are you here to see what I’ve become as your ransom?”

“I-I’ve come back to take revenge.”

“Revenge?” You scoff and roll your eyes. “Why? So you can feel better about what you’ve done? As a method to condone for your sins and try to undo your mistakes?”

“Yes. To all of it.” Hoseok takes a bold step forward, his knees threatening to buckle and his hands still shaking. “I regret it, Y/N. I regret the life that we didn’t spend together, how I betrayed you and made you suffer. I haven’t been able to sleep at night. I can’t eat and I can’t think clearly. It’s been like this for years. No matter where I go, it’s all the same.”

“Good. At least you know what you’ve done.” You disregard his pain while biting back a bitter laugh. “I just don’t understand why after all this time you’re here. What did you think? That I would be happy that you’ve come back for me? That I would go back to you after you’ve taken your so-called revenge? Hoseok, Hoseok….a decade ago, I might’ve fallen apart without you but I’m a different person now.”

It feels like you’re lecturing a child, lowering yourself down to meet his downcast eyes. “Life moves on. Do you understand that?”

The man exhales a staggering breath, sinking his teeth into his lower lip as he fights back the tears. He didn’t expect to be the one crying today. He didn’t expect a lot of things. Certainly, he didn’t know you would be like this.

“Are you really happy?” Happiness is no longer an option. “I guess you’ve heard about my divorce.” You fall back into your chair, still scrutinizing his form. “Well, not everything is roses and butterflies. I’ve had my trials and errors but I’ll be fine. I know how to take care of myself. I don’t need a man to.” You pause, “Are we done here or do you have something you need to say to me?”

“Y/N-”

“I don’t need you to do anything for me. By making your appearance today, you’ve turned my mood sour. If you want to do any favours for me, Jung Hoseok, then I never want to see your face again.”

“My forgiveness for you is unobtainable.” You whisper cruelly, “You won’t get what you’re looking for by coming to me.”

A strangled sob emits from the back of his throat. “Y/N-”

“Get out of my office. Before I have to call people to haul you out.” You command, like a goddess to her people. “Get out.”

The man’s hands curl into fists and in a lingering gaze, he turns away and walks out the door. He was the person who was once your first love; the receiver of most innocent affections and smiles. And he is the individual who set the stage for this entire play.

“Hoseok.” It’s a haunting whisper that leaves past your parted lips. “The Y/N that you know is dead. They made me kill her.”

The world is built upon façades and personas. In order to hide the hideous monster underneath, each wears a flawless mask that has been crafted with envy, fear and a lust for perfection. Your world is a feasting ground for these disguises, ready to rip off pretty faces from any weaklings.

Along with refined exteriors, your world is one of alliances and bonds. All have shaken hands with one another, not for peace but as partners. If a partner in the agreeance has been attacked then the other will rush forward. As a result, your friend is allies with your enemy. It’s a chain system, a domino effect. If one is taken down, everyone else falls.

These two things are ultimately the weapons you wield to your goal.

“Mr. Jeon will be with you immediately.”

The lady leaves you alone in his office and you use the opportunity to look around, almost intruding in his personal space. You pick up a picture frame from his desk, staring at the little boy in the photo, presumably his son. The child wears no smile, standing straight and staring forward with his mother’s arms holding him in place. When you set it down, your fingers run along the edge of his desk until you gaze up at the huge portrait of him.

“Mrs. Min. Lovely to see you today. Is there anything I can help you with?”

Your teeth grits at the name. You’re fully aware that he’s making a mockery out of you. Still, when you spin around, you have the brightest of smiles. “Mr. Jeon. It’s lovely to see you too.”

“Please, there’s no need for such formalities. Take a seat.” He gestures to the armchair and you sit down across from him.

“Very well then, Jungkook.” You settle in, crossing your legs and putting your clasped hands in your lap. “How are things going? I know the election’s coming up soon.”

“It’s going pretty well. The other members in the party have a lot of hope for me. But really, I’m just following your father’s steps. He was a great man when he was still alive, Y/N.”

Your smile twitches, though thankfully he doesn’t notice. “Congratulations, Jungkook. I’ll be sure to attend your party when you get elected in.” You clear your throat. “At any rate, I know you’re a busy man so I won’t keep you for long. I came here to ask about my mother.”

Jungkook hums, grazing his chin as he looks away. “Your mother?”

“In the days leaving up to my father’s passing...did she...come up to his office?”

“I can’t say for sure.” He sharply inhales, returning back to his memories. “Maybe. I don’t really remember. I do, however, recall her phoning me and asking me where he was. It was right before his car accident too.” The man regains his focus onto you, leaning forward. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I know this might bring back bad times for you. Is there any reason that you’re asking though?”

“No..” You peel your eyes away, regaining a fabricated composure. “It’s just that I’m looking for one of his momentos. It’s an old watch, nothing really important. I can’t seem to find it and my mother doesn’t know if she’s misplaced it. I was just asking, it’s not a big deal.”

“Well it is a big deal if it was an important keepsake.” He puts a reassuring hand on your knee. “I’ll tell my people to keep an eye out for it.” Jungkook withdraws, sinking back to his seat. “Your father was a huge role model for me, Y/N. Even after the whole….” He gestures wildly, not being able to find the right words. “...thing five years ago, I still looked up to him. He was the whole foundation of this political party and made what it is today. A great man.”

“A great man. And an even better father.” You lie straight through your teeth, nodding. “Well, I need to get going. I have a family matter to attend to. Thank you so much for your help, Jungkook. You don’t know how much it means to me.”

The two of you stand out, arms outstretched to shake each other’s hands. “No problem, Y/N. You can call me anytime.”

When you look at the young man, hair slicked back and dressed in a crisped suit, he reminds you of your father. The father who didn’t care for his children, who manipulated people and led them in dishonesties. A father whose eyes shined with countless ambitions. An individual that never paid for his crimes and until the end, bribed his way out.

Your hand grips Jungkook’s tight until he lets go. You give one more smile before parting and this time it’s genuine - full of pity that he’s absolutely unaware. His days of devastation will come much sooner than it did to the man who you call your father.

Right as the elevator doors are about to close, a woman steps in.

She holds a pile of paperwork, sparing you a glance as she turns away and presses the button to the third floor. Suddenly, three seconds later, the elevator shaft rumbles and it goes completely dark. The emergency lights flicker on but the security camera in the corner hasn’t. She twirls around with a smirk.

“Mrs. Y/N.” She gives you a manila file from the bottom of her stack and shifts the sleeve of her blouse. It’s then that a tiny USB falls into her hand and she passes it onto you. “It has everything that you’ve asked and some other things deemed...important that you’ll need.”

You nod, taking both items and stuffing them into your briefcase. “Thank you.”

Jungkook’s secretary turns back around, right as the elevator returns to its normal state. The red light of the surveillance camera flickers back on. It stops at the floor and she exits without looking at you; as if she never spoke to you.

You exit the building at a timed pace, no one noticing how it’s quicker than normal.

“-a little longer…...inheritance….trust me…-”

“What if-...figures it out…...the girl..”

Their whispers from the concealed corner become more audible with each muted step that you take.

“You sly dog.” She giggles underneath her breath, taking a quick sweep around. “What if someone sees?”

“Shh..” He cowers beside her, hand slowly creeping lower and lower on her back.

“Ahem.” You clear your throat loudly, making the younger girl squeal and the two jumping apart immediately like they haven’t been mere millimeters away from each other. You keep your eyes trained forward. “Is there something important you’d like to share? Or shall we move to the dining room. I believe dinner has been prepared.”

Jimin inhales a breath to calm him down. He gives you a tense smile. “Of course. But I’m so glad you made it for tonight, Y/N.”

“Where else would I be?” You crane your neck over, giving the coldest glare that shakes them to the core. “Last I remember, I am still a Min and the head of this household. You’re in my home.”

Suyeon keeps her head down, for once not mumbling back a bitter comment. She smooths out the skirt of her dress and treads ahead to the dining room. You remark casually, following suit, “You better be careful what you do and say, Jimin. There are ears everywhere.”

The round table is filled with expensive dishes, made from the chefs in the kitchen, and Yoongi is already seated. The moment you walk in, his eyes flicker to your form and he wears a deep frown. “You’re joining us?”

You lift an eyebrow as you pull the chair from across him, “I can’t?”

Jimin scratches his chin uncomfortably. “I invited her.” After a minute of full silence and the clatter of utensils being picked up, Yoongi’s half-brother regains his confidence. “For old time’s sake, right? Doesn’t this remind you of six years ago? It does for me.” He leans back with a bright smile. “When you both got married and all the parents were still around. Shame that they can’t make it tonight. We’re down to only us few now. It’s too bad..”

Jimin hums out, “Some things never work out.”

As you expected, your presence is Jimin’s weapon, used to make a travesty out of Yoongi.

The ability to breathe without feeling suffocated returns when Mina enters the room discreetly. She’s in a pretty dress, hair pulled into a high ponytail and she plays with her thumbs nervously.

“You finished getting dressed?” Suyeon speaks in a soft tone that’s all too fake. It seems to surprise Mina too as she looks up with wide eyes. “Come darling, sit down next to Mommy and your uncle Jimin.”

Jimin beams at her as she crawls onto the chair next to Suyeon and him. The luxurious size makes her look like a doll in a playhouse. “Have you been well?” She nods in response. “What a cute little girl. She’ll do great one day as your heir, Yoongi.”

It’s a big pill to swallow and you feel much too out of place. This isn’t your family. This isn’t your home.

There’s a sort of desperation deep within you that you thought had died, that you had long walked away from but it seems to awaken as you break the prolonged pause. “It’s been such a long time since everyone’s been able to sit down and enjoy a meal.”

“Oh really?” Suyeon stops mid-bite, tipping her head to one side. “It hasn’t been that long for me. Right, Yoongi?”

The called upon man spares you once glance before he grumbles to his bowl. “I’m a busy man. I don’t have time for anyone.”

Mina struggles to reach for the ladle of the soup.

Her mother laughs beneath her hand and lightly smacks your soon-to-be-ex husband on his arm. “Well you always make time for me.” She peeks at you mockingly. “Speaking of which, how much longer will the documents take?”

There’s a loud ‘clank’ that startles everyone, yourself included. Yoongi’s harshly slapped down his utensil against the table, glaring at her in horror as if she dared utter such words at the dinner table. Suyeon quickly retracts her blunders, “b-because….Mina! Mina was asking when I’d get to live here…” She nods to herself. “-and we could be a family again. She misses her mommy so much. Didn’t you say that, darling?”

Suyeon turns to her daughter, gingerly giving her a pinch under the table. The little girl winces and your fist clenches in your lap. “Soon enough.” You declare loudly and the cunning lady settles back down.

No one notices Mina who is struggling. She reaches farther, her other hand that is supporting her weight, accidentally slams down on another plate. The contents fling onto Jimin’s clothing like a catapult. “HEY!” He shouts as she gasps, flinching away. As it occurs to him the sheer volume of his yell, he breaks out into a forced smile. “I mean, it’s alright, sweetheart.”

Yoongi looks over, “Are you okay?”

Jimin gives a tense laugh, wiping himself and the dressing off his clothes with the napkin. “I’m fine. She’s just so...charming, isn’t she?”

You should’ve known this entire dinner would’ve been a gong show. With the exasperated and exhausted expression Yoongi gives, you know he’s thinking the exact same thing.

“You know, I think Mina must be so lonely.” Jimin comments, getting a scoop of the soup and plopping it down to the child’s bowl haphazardly. “It’s too bad she doesn’t have any siblings...”

You stand from your seat.

“This was great. But I just remembered I have something important to do that I’ve forgotten. I’ll see you some other time, Jimin.” You swallow hard, “Suyeon too. Have a good evening.”

As you make your departure, the two of them exchange a glance before discreetly smirking to themselves. Even Mina seems more relaxed without your presence.

Yoongi, expressionlessly stares at your backside before it disappears.

The only time you have a remote sense of tranquility is when you’re out on the roof terrace, sitting in the patio swing chairs. That’s where it’s quiet and you can listen to the distant rumble of cars passing by, watch the stars in the night sky and let your cheeks be kissed by the cool breeze. It’s where you’re undisturbed and you can recall the memories of playing in a similar place at your parent’s home; when you were younger than Mina’s age, a toddler perhaps and the nannies would laugh at your antics.

It’s freeing and simply another method to keep you from insanity.

Though, you can never stow away your destructive mind. Sometimes you’d like to look off at the skyline and steal a glimpse of the ground three stories away. You always wondered...what it would be like...if you just jumped. Would you be freed from your hell?

“So this is where you run off to.” A low timber shatters your reverie. “A personal sanctuary, hm?”

“What are you doing here?” You swivel your head around, glaring at the way he nonchalantly strides forward with hands buried in his pockets.

“Last I checked-”

“-this is your house. Fine.” You finish off as he scoffs at your interruption and irritated tone. “Where’s Mina?”

“Asleep.” Yoongi replies, “I read her a story and the maids put her to bed.”

“And the others?”

“They went home.”

“I’m surprised.” You sigh out, looking ahead at the darkness like he is. “I thought you’d want your precious mistress to stay.”

“There’s a lot of time for that left.” He says, “This place will eventually become her home after all.”

It’s a delayed response on your behalf, “...Right.”

“So...” He inhales a breath of fresh air, moving to sit down on the farthest seat of the patio swing, leaving a giant space from you. Still, it feels too close for comfort. You don’t remember the last time he’s properly spoken to you, much less, be within an arm’s reach. It hurts.

You pull the shawl closer to your body as if it’s your shield. “What important thing did you have to do?”

“None of your business,” you snap in a mumble.

Yoongi scoffs again, “So it was nothing?” You don’t answer and he doesn’t need you to.

“Yoongi. Why did you agree to marry me?” It’s a question that’s been haunting you day and night. “Why did you force us both into this?”

He chuckles lightly at your sincere questions, prompting rage to boil inside your stomach. “Let me remind you. This marriage was never forced. You’re the one who agreed. I helped your father and your brother. I let you escape from your mother-”

“Then what’s in it for you?” You narrow your pupils towards him. “Why, Min Yoongi?”

“Your parent’s money. Your mother’s status.” He lists before smirking at you, “Fame.”

“Fame for marrying a girl who lost everything and had close to nothing.” He laughs to himself. “I gave out a lending hand to someone who was begging on their knees for my help. Am I not such a compassionate soul?”

“You’re a cold bastard.”

“And you’re the wicked witch.” Yoongi retorts before smirking at you. “We all have our names. But I thought you’d already get used to it by now, Y/N. I thought you weren’t so fragile and weak anymore.”

He reaches out to touch you by your shoulder but you slap his hand away before it can make contact with your skin. “Don’t touch me.” Your jaw clenches and you stand. “I don’t need any of your pity, Yoongi.”

“Don’t worry. I have none for you.”

“Why are you even here?”

“Honestly…” He exhales, moving to his feet and looking at the skyline. “I wanted to remind myself how much of a joke you are. I’m pleasantly surprised though. You’re not as pathetic as in the past.”

You regain your self-control, planting a cool exterior as you stare at him. “You’ll come to regret this day.” He raises his eyebrow at your threat, amused by it all. “Min Yoongi, there is no heaven where you’ll end up.”

“I’m fully aware of that.”

“Not for you. And not for me, either.” You leave in a murmur, something painful lodging in your throat and your chest burning in agony. Yet, you cannot cry.

He lingers back, taking his time. The man even gives a brief look to the dirt ground meters and meters below; thankful that you didn’t jump.

Yoongi is not to be misunderstood. Do not mistake him for a benevolent being who saved your life. There’s not even an ounce of concern within him for you. Simply, for some reason, when he gazed at the distressed expression spewed across your features as you looked down, he feared you would leap forward.

There isn’t much time.

As quickly and calmly as you can possibly manage, you insert the flash drive into the computer. You steal one glance at the closed door, palms sweating as you drag the files off the desktop and into the new folder.

Copying - 7% complete.

Copying - 15% complete.

Copying - 34% complete.

You tap your fingers nervously, gnawing on your bottom lip as your heartbeat drums within your ears. It’s then that you catch the sound of muffled voices, faint laughter and footsteps reaching closer and closer. You’re eyeing the monitor, mumbling a prayer to any deity that will listen.

Copying - 59% complete.

Copying - 64% complete.

This is the only way you can succeed. This is the only method in which justice will be served. No one will be able to escape through wealth, power or status.

Copying - 82% complete.

“Isn’t there….-well….call them…..-no.” His voice becomes louder and you bolt your head to the screen, reaching for the USB. The doorknob turns.

Copying - 90% complete.

“Y/N?”

Your brother is completely startled. “What are you doing here? Who let you in?”

“I did.” You grin, eyes indifferent at him. Your arms are crossed and you’re leaning against his desk. “I’m a part of the company too. We’re co-owners, remember?”

You hoist yourself back up, strutting around his office. “And I just can’t recall the last time I spoke to my older brother. So, I decided to stop by. Funny how we never run into each other. It’s almost as if one of us is going off secretly and doing their own work.” You give a tense smile as his frown deepens. “Why? Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No.” Taehyung moves to sit behind his desk, plopping down on his swivel chair. He wiggles his mouse, turning the computer back on. He fails to notice anything amiss and he visibly relaxes. “We’re co-owners, correct. But isn’t there an unspoken law to respect each other’s private spaces? Or should I visit you unexpectedly too?”

He continues, “And if you’re wondering where I’ve been then why don’t you ask our mother? Oh wait.” Taehyung leans forward, clasping his hands together and scrutinizing you. “When was the last time you’ve been home?”

“That place isn’t my home.”

“Then is Yoongi’s house your home?” Your older brother smirks at you. “Since we’re on the topic, how’s your divorce moving along? Do you need a divorce lawyer? I might know a few good people. It’s too bad you never got that prenup done. I remember our mother was absolutely distressed when you brought the topic up before your marriage. You probably had to convince Yoongi otherwise, right?”

“Is this how we’re really going to be?” You ask in a scoff.

Seven years ago before your brother was taken away, if he had been this cruel to you, you surely would’ve broken down in sobs. It wasn’t that something had changed within Taehyung but rather, he began to show his true nature and the skin of a caring sibling shed. Now, your severed bond and the distance between the both of you doesn’t even begin to faze you.

You’ve been apathetic ever since. From seven years ago when the curtains of your family’s stage fell and was revealed to the world, from six years ago when you were joined in sinful matrimony and from five years ago when you vowed to gain your revenge. You’ve lost a part of yourself; a part that was warm and tender, that could empathize with others.

The arrogant man in front of you is not Taehyung, your older brother. You have no such family.

“How what’s going to be?” He mimics in an acidulous tone.

“Shouldn’t you thank me?” You exude your confidence in a snicker. “The only reason you’re not rotting in prison is because of me. The only reason the shareholders have any remote connection to you is because of me. You really think they would want anything to do with you after the stunt you pulled?”

“Taehyung, the only reason you’re standing in the position you’re in is all thanks to me. You’re not in a place where you can mock me or try to bring me down. I am your life jacket, your oxygen tank. You - will - die - without - me.”

His mouth is left agape and his brows furrow deeper. Taehyung is silent since he knows your words are all too true. You feign a helpless sigh, “Well. I don’t expect you to understand. You don’t know what you have until you’ve lost it all, right? Who knew...the sister that you sold off would become the ruler one day.”

When you leave his office, you’re sure that it’s one more small battle that you’ve won.

It’s a little difficult to not get ahead of yourself. After all, the war hasn’t even started.

The maid returns shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I’ve repeated myself a few times but I don’t know if she heard me-”

“It’s fine.” You smile and she nods with a sigh of relief. The workers at your parents’ house have always been very sweet people. You can’t help but pity them, wondering how many times they’ve had to endure through your mother’s rage. “Thank you. If there’s anything I need help with, I’ll make sure to call you.”

When you were a child, the garden was always prim and proper. The grass was never overgrown, bushes trimmed into fancy shapes and the flowers flourished in rows. Presently, it’s unkempt and disorderly, still it has its own charm - reminding you of an untamed meadow. You’re sure it’s not because the gardeners have been slacking but because your mother’s shrieks to keep it the way it is. Perhaps the garden, once precise and now chaotic, portrays how your mother’s losing her mind.

“Mom.” You kneel down in front of her. She’s sitting out in the sun, in a chair, orbs glossed over. When you call out to her, she looks at you and her impassive expression is marred with scorn.

“What are you doing here?!” She spits at you. “I thought I said I never wanted to see your face again!”

“Yeah...well…” You take a deep breath. “There’s something I need to ask you.”

“I have no answers then.” Your mother turns the other way. “I’m sorry. I don’t have a useless daughter, especially not one that can’t keep her marriage. You’re no less of a stranger to me.”

“Mother-”

“Don’t call me by that name!”

“What did you want from me then?!” You shout and she instantly winces, taken back at your audacity. “You knew that when I married him, I didn’t love him. He doesn’t love me. You...You made me give up on everything I was working towards. I was happy….Mom, I was happy. And I had never felt that way and from now on, I won’t.” You choke back the agony in your chest. “For once I was happy and I thought-...I thought that I could escape this life. Did you think this is what I wanted for myself?”

“Oh boo hoo.” She rolls her eyes. “Everyone has their sob story and their struggles. Stop thinking you’re something special, Y/N, and throwing those pity parties for yourself. It’s pathetic.”

“I loved him.”

She raises her eyebrow. “And you’re still hung up on that?” Your mother laughs. “He sold you at a price, as ransom. He obviously didn’t love you. Why are you making a fool out of yourself, Y/N?”

You should’ve known that speaking to your mother would be torturous. She is a merciless woman with a sharp tongue. And before you can stop it, the flood of memories are recalled back into your mind.

Jung Hoseok. Your first love. The one who sold you off to your mother.

‘Y/N. There’s no one in the world I would want to spend the rest of my life with. Trust me, okay?’

Six years ago, he held your hands and promised that you would spend forever with each other. He promised that you would go somewhere far away without anyone knowing your names. The two of you would begin on a fresh canvas, a blank slate, a new start.

Foolishly, you believed him.

The two of you made plans to run away together on the night before your first meeting to arrange the marriage. Previously, you had been hiding at a friend’s apartment but with a packed suitcase and intertwined hands, you followed him blindly. Except, instead of driving you both to the airport, Hoseok made his way back to your house. The men had seized you at once and you thrashed and screamed, tears flooding down your face for him. He, on the other hand, received an envelope and gave you one last look before driving away.

Hoseok boarded a plane - a plane that he had only one ticket for.

It was only later that you would learn, he struck a deal with your mother. Your life for a lump of green bills. That was the price of your soul.

“You’re right.” You smile to yourself. “You did one good thing for me. You made me realize that he didn’t love me as I thought he did.” The taste of your mouth suddenly becomes bitter, “No one has ever loved me as much as I loved them.”

You had given up that night. There wasn’t any will inside you that could be manifested. After all, you had been betrayed by the one you loved most. Your hope as well as your love shriveled up.

“That’s life, sweetie. No one will care for you as much as you care for yourself.” She sings, mostly to herself. “It’s time to wake up to reality.”

“Did you kill my father?”

Your mother is appalled at the sudden question. She inhales a breath and lifts her arm, swinging it forward to strike your cheek. But before she can make contact with your skin, you catch her wrist and hold her back. “Did you kill him?”

She struggles but to no avail. It’s not that you’ve grown stronger. No. Your mother has merely become weaker.

You repeat again, “Did you kill him?”

“He died in an accident.” She grits her teeth.

“An accident you caused.” You lift an eyebrow, letting go of her and she draws her hand back to her lap. “I know. It took me a while but I figured it out. He wanted to get a divorce. He even signed the paperwork and before his death, you went to get them. You ripped them up, maybe burned them…..”

Your mother scoffs, “I just did what I had to do to keep my marriage.”

“So you killed my father?” You laugh breathlessly, falling back into the dirt as you stare up at the sky. It’s all so absurd; your life, your mother, the entire situation. You wonder if your life is a huge comedy. “Rather he die and your name be saved then for you to be a divorcee, huh?”

“I should’ve never given birth to you.”

“Hmm.” You hum in acknowledgement. “I wish I was never born as your daughter either.”

For the first time in a while, you and your mother are able to sit in quiet without the sound of screams.

It comes as no surprise.

Not when the phone call came, not during the drive, not when you’re walking down the white hallways. It’s as if you’re submerged in a dream, though it’s neither pleasant nor a nightmare. Rather, it’s a bittersweet flavour that’s left on your lips.

“Your mother-...” The maid stumbles in front of you, stopping you mid-step. She is sobbing within her hand and then she dives to her knees. You ponder why she’s being so emotional about it. “-she’s pronounced dead.”

Yoongi watches you with calculated eyes and placid features. He’s leaning against the wall outside the room, hands buried within his pockets.

You ignore his presence, dragging your feet into the room.

The numerous doctors and nurses are surrounding the bed, at a complete loss of what to do. The monitor runs a straight line through the screen, a noise that carries one tone rings in your ears. As you trek forward, you find her eyes closed. Her face is tainted with bruises and cuts, arms broken at her side. Surely, if she could see herself now, she would shout profanities and sobs. But instead of the usual frown you remember her by, she is calm and empty from rage.

“I’m sorry, we tried our best-” The chief of the hospital speaks hesitantly, afraid for his career and your animosity. You motion him to continue and he stutters, “It was a car accident. Paramedics arrived immediately and our whole staff came running to save her. I’m so sorry, Mrs. Min.”

In a delayed response, you manage a murmur while still keeping your eyes trained onto her dead body. “It’s-.....fine.”

Padded footsteps increase in sound, panting breaths and someone staggers into the room. “Mom?!” Taehyung howls, running past you and falling next to the bed. On his knees, his hands cup her hollow cheeks and he shakes her again. “Mom?”

“What’s going on?!” A dam of tears trickle down his face and he looks around frantically in desperation. All the people look away crestfallen and in cowardness, no one is willing to explain. Taehyung stands up, fists balling in anger. “Is no one going to say anything to me?! Do you know who I am? I could get you all fired! I could buy this hospital!”

He chokes, inhaling sharp breaths as he hyperventilates, “What happened here? Why isn’t my mother responding?”

“She’s dead.”

He cranes his neck to you, “What?”

“She’s dead.” It’s a fact. There’s no point in sugar coating it. “Car accident. And now she’s dead, Taehyung. She’s gone.”

Taehyung laughs.

He laughs out of disbelief, to the ceiling as he tips his head back and to the four walls when reality slaps him across the cheek. “You’re a liar.” He mutters underneath his breath, grief tearing him apart limb by limb. It aches and his screams, the comforts of the nurses is not enough. No. It’s when he sees you, completely unfazed and not broken as he is, does he decide to turn his lament into wrath.

And you know it best - what it’s like to turn sadness into anger.

“You did this, didn’t you?!” He shouts in front of your face, shoving you against the wall. You wince and a few people gasp, trying to restrain him but he throws them off. He grabs fistfuls of your blouse, holding you up. Taehyung shakes the living daylights out of you, as if you were a doll. “You fucking killed her! You heartless bitch, you killed our mother!”

“I didn’t.” You put your hands over his fists, challenging him. “It was a car accident.”

“You liar!” He drops you, making you plunge to the ground. Taehyung’s back slides against the door frame and his hands cover his face as he sobs. “You killed her. You killed her. You killed her.”

You’re not exactly sure how long you stay on the ground, breathless and overwhelmed. You wave away anyone who tries to ease you or provide more explanation and sooner or later, the majority of the doctors and nurses are gone. You do hear some voices outside, perhaps one of them explaining to Yoongi the causes of her death. Taehyung remains on the ground in hysterics. That is until-

“Sir. Are you Kim Taehyung?”

He lifts his head, met with two police officers. He answers weakly, “Yes?”

“Can you please come with us down to the station?” One of them coughs. “We just want to ask you a few questions on what you’ve been doing today.”

“What?” Your older brother’s eyes grow wide, wholly shocked. “You….you think….I killed her?”

“Well….” The other one speaks up. “We’re not sure of anything yet but we believe you may have something to do with your mother’s hit and run. All we ask of you is to come with us and answer a few of our-”

“She killed her.” Taehyung points to you. “She killed my mother. I have nothing to do with this! You have the wrong person! She’s the murderer!”

“Sir-”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” He stands up, backing away before knocking a metal cart down. He’s sobbing, looking directly at you as he shakes his head. “I didn’t do this.”

“Sir-”

“NO!” He resists and the policemen take him, reading his rights out loud, binding his wrists in handcuffs. Taehyung thrashes with all his might, never once looking away from you. “She’s framing me! She’s framing me! Y/N! Y/N!”

It becomes too much. His shrieks, roars and curses that condemn you to hell is too much. It’s the second time that he’s being taken away in front of your own eyes but it’s different this time. You don’t reach your hand out for him, bawl your eyes out and demand for answers. You don’t make any promises to help him. Instead, you curl your legs together. You close your eyes.

“You’re a monster!”

You put your hands over your ears.

It’s only quiet again when Taehyung is dragged away.

“Are you going to ask me if I did this?”

“Did you?”

“If I said no, would you believe me?”

Yoongi chuckles, choosing to not respond to your question. “Don’t you feel anything?” He looks at your serene profile. “Your mother just died.”

“I’m not sure what I feel.” You admit in honesty. “My mother…..she was a very bad person who harmed a lot of people. She caused a lot of pain while she lived. I don’t expect you to know.”

It’s a secret that you’ll keep buried forever. There’s no need to re-open wounds that have been closed. Your mother wasn’t only responsible for the death of your father.

She’s responsible for Yoongi’s mother too.

Min Yoongi’s biological mother; a woman of grace and beauty, someone kindhearted who you had encountered a few times in your childhood. You remember her vividly as she was a stark difference from your own parent. The memory you most recall, however, is the news of her suicide. It was abrupt, all over news and front headlines, people unable to believe that such a thing had occurred in a family that was famous. Like the rest of the world, you couldn’t believe it either.

Until you overheard a conversation, one silent night, decades ago. You had climbed out of your bed, wandering aimlessly until you stopped and peeked your eyes through the crack of the door. Your mother was speaking to the mirror, her own reflection, babbling off and laughing to herself. For not only had Yoongi’s mother died but your mother’s sanity began to unravel.

“She’s gone. She’s gone.” Your mother giggles to herself. “It’s so easy. Just pay a little money and your problems are all gone! Money. Money!”

You push the door open, scared at the person who’s in front of you. “Mommy?”

She bolts her head back with a menacing look. “Go back to bed!”

Back then, you were unable to comprehend the meaning of her words. It wasn’t until you were much older and able to fit the pieces together yourself. Yoongi’s mother and your own were founders of an organization, the two leaders of a non-profit institution. And to gain full control of it, your mother killed her.

The funds of the institution then went straight into her pocket. It’s the same establishment that would be the root of your father’s corruption. The same organization that bases your brother’s embezzlement years later. It’s ironic and well-deserved.

“What? You think I would kill her as revenge for the way she’s treated me all these years?” You laugh and he doesn't, boring his eyes into your skin until you sigh. “That’s petty, Yoongi. You should know me better than that.”

“I’m not sure I know you at all.”

“Hm..you’re right. You don’t know me.” You smile at him. “It’s a shame too, considering we’ve been married for so long...over half a decade now?”

If only Yoongi knew what your mother had done - if only he knew her as much as you did - this day would be a joyous celebration for him. But you can’t find it in yourself to be happy. Perhaps it’s because of the fact that she was the woman who brought you into this world. Of course, she never wanted you and she never held back on expressing that disappointment but still.

Your mother didn’t kill you. She wasn’t the one.

The funeral is like other funerals you’ve been to; crying, lots and lots of crying that is unfortunately disingenuous and all for show. An innumerable amount of people shuffle towards you, holding their hands and sharing their griefs. They sob in your arms, asking how you’re doing and talk about what a wonderful woman your mother was.

It makes you want to laugh.

Yoongi out of respect and since he still is your husband in name, attends the burial. He stands next to you and despite not speaking to you, comforting you or laying a strong hand on your shoulder - it’s enough. You don’t need those things. You don’t need his sympathy and compassion. But as you’re the only member left of your family at your mother’s funeral, his presence somehow makes up for the emptiness you feel.

“Why don’t you cry?” Mina nervously murmurs, curious as she looks up into your eyes. The two of you are sitting outside the service hall on a bench, waiting for time to pass. “Isn’t she your mom?”

“I can’t.” You sigh, “I haven’t been able to for a long time.”

“You…” She tips her head to the side. “...can’t cry?”

The sides of your lips tug up sheepishly as you gaze at the little girl whose feet can’t even reach the floor yet. “One day, you won’t be able to either. You’ll be like me.”

Mina looks at you in horror. She shakes and tears mark her pink cheeks. “I will never be like you.” It’s then that she vows to the heavens and to hell, any spirit that may be listening. “You’re evil and cruel. I would rather die.”

You chuckle to yourself, looking away from the child. “You know….I once said the exact same thing.”

Days bleed into weeks. The divorce is moving along quickly. They’ll be only so much more until the settlement will be reached and all the documents will be finalized. You’re running out of time.

“Y/N.” You continue ahead, ignoring the desperate man who struggles to keep up with your pace. “Y/N wait.”

“Is this man bothering you?” The security guard blocks his way and you turn around. For a long moment, you contemplate saying ‘yes’ but with his pathetic eyes, you only exhale in exasperation.

“It’s fine.” The man nods, walking back to the entrance. You give the other man a cold glare. “What do you want?”

“I-I heard about your mother’s passing…” Hoseok hesitates, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you for your condolences.” You huff out, looking around the main lobby of your workplace. No one seems to notice that you're speaking to an unfamiliar man and you're not waiting for someone to. Nothing good will come out if you're seen with him. “Is that all?”

“Y/N-”

“What did I say about not wanting to see your face anymore?” You narrow your eyes, trying to get rid of the pest in front of you. “Do us both a favour, Hoseok, and never speak to me again.”

“I want to avenge everyone who’s ever hurt you….us….” You ignore his shouts, walking away. “Please Y/N. I’m still in love with you!”

He fades into the background. You don’t look back even once.

Yoongi’s stepmother holds a glass of wine in between her fingertips. With a large sigh, she moves up the stepstool and slides the cabinet door open. A cloud of dust appears from the rough movement and she coughs before grabbing the photo album roughly. She steps down and plops to the floor, putting her glass by her ankles.

The tired woman proceeds to flip open the worn scrapbook, met with photographs of her son, Jimin. He was always a cute baby, winning over the hearts of others and he grew up to be a fine young man. However, despite loving her child, she isn’t here to dwell on him.

She continues to turn the pages, in dismay of how there are so few photos of the boy she’s looking for. Perhaps, it demonstrates how much he was neglected in his childhood and one of the many reasons he’s the way he is today. But finally she finds what she is looking for, a picture of Yoongi who is wearing a solemn expression; unlike the bright smile an individual his age should have.

Min Yoongi. At the thought of him, his stepmother smiles to the walls surrounding her. For his entire life, he had always resented her, believing that she was the cause of his biological mother’s death - whether it was forcing her to commit suicide or murdering her in cold blood. And no matter how many times his stepmother had denied any involvement, Yoongi only scorned her more.

She couldn’t blame him. Their relationship was never great to start with and with her selfishness, she never put in any effort to improve it. Her naive young self loved her own son more and doted on him, ignoring the step-son that she never bore. Yet, even with Yoongi’s hostility throughout the decades, she only felt pity for him.

For no one but two people, his father and his stepmother, in the whole world knew a deadly secret - that Yoongi was never a Min to begin with. He isn’t his father’s child.

Yoongi is the black sheep of the family.

“Kyungwon….” She murmurs underneath her breath as if the ghost of her friend can hear. “If you were going to have a child….it should’ve been with him...and not from your affair.”

Yoongi’s mother, Kyungwon, had committed adultery for years. And Yoongi was the product of that infidelity.

She had kept it a secret and couldn’t bear to rid of the baby within her womb so she lied. Her husband at the time eventually found her secret but openly chose to ignore it, for he loved her too great to leave her behind and ruin their marriage, even if it was all a sham.

He raised Yoongi and forgave his wife; that is until she passed away and he remarried. But his soul would never be the same again. Despite Jimin being his only son that was blood related, he still chose Yoongi to lead the company and take over his inheritance. Maybe it was because of the same pity that Yoongi’s stepmother felt for him, perhaps it was because his heart still belonged to the woman who betrayed him.

The man that raised Yoongi, although not being his father in blood and only in name, he still loved Yoongi like a son.

“Jimin.” His mother is leaning against the wall, nursing yet another glass as she watches his son. “I want you to stop this immediately.”

The young man frowns and his hands shuffling the piles of paper halt. He looks up at his mother, “What do you mean?”

“Don’t think you can bypass me, boy.” She struts to him. “I gave birth to you. I know what you’re up to and what you’re thinking...”

Jimin shakes his head with a laugh, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Are you okay? Have you been drinking too much?”

“You will leave Yoongi and the company alone.” She commands in an authoritative and firm voice. The timber startles her son and the floor shakes. “Your father has already decided. You will not go against his word.”

He looks away, “I’m just going to take back what’s rightfully mine.”

“It’s not rightfully yours.”

“Then what should be mine.” Jimin continues to organize the papers. He continues calmly, “Mom, don’t you want me to become successful? Why are you letting Yoongi, someone who’s your stepson, take everything away? Doesn’t that make you angry?”

“I’m tired, son.” She falls into the armchair, rotating the red liquid in her glass. “If only you would understand that. I’m exhausted from fighting.”

“Why can’t you learn to be happy with what you have? You have a lot. I gave you a lot. You have a house, cars, money. You have enough to live happily and comfortably for the rest of your life. Why do you want more?”

Jimin grits his teeth. “Because I can’t sleep peacefully knowing what should be mine is in the hands of another.”

“He’s your half-brother.”

“It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Fine.” She huffs, drained of arguing with her stubborn son. “Suit yourself but one day you’ll see. You’ll realize and come to regret the decisions you’ve made but by then...it’ll be too late. I’ve been down this path countless times before. I don’t want to be involved in it again.”

“I never asked you to.” His voice softens and he gazes at her slumped form, the redness of her eyes and the bags underneath them. “And one day...when I’m successful, I’ll make sure you live a better life than this. You won’t need him anymore.”

“He’s your father, you know. You should address him as such.”

“I don’t have a father.” He says as he leaves the room, a whisper that haunts his mother’s ears. “Not one that loves his other son more.”

Hoseok’s fingers curl together until his fist is clenched so tight that his knuckles crack.

He is driven mad, a desire of vengeance that has swallowed his sanity.

When he closes his eyes, he can see your crinkled eyes, upturned lips, swelled cheeks. He can hear your laughter. He can feel your light touch against his skin, reaching out to twine his fingers between yours. But when he peels back his lids, he finds your cold backside that has left him in the dust. Your sharp tongue and merciless glare that holds no fondness reverberates inside his head and stings his chest. It’s like you’ve become an entirely different person.

Hoseok can only wonder who’s hurt you. Who has turned you into the villain.

The Y/N that he loved - where had she gone?

“Who are you?” Mina looks up from the hopscotch chalked gravel, blinking past her eyelashes.

He swoops down, matching her height and he smiles. “I’m your dad’s friend. He told me to pick you up. Don’t you want to go home?”

She shakes her head, slowly backing away. She is smart enough to know that the stranger is dangerous, his dark aura makes his grin sinister. “I...I don��t know you.”

“Come with me, Mina. I’ll treat you to food too.”

“H-how do you know my name?”

“Because...I’m your dad’s friend.” Hoseok looms over her, a shadow that consumes her tiny figure. She turns around, ready to run off and a scream begins to rip through her throat. But the man’s hand covers her mouth. Her limbs thrash, though she is no match against his strength.

And just like that, the child is taken.

“Y/N?” Yoongi rushes to you as soon as you enter the door. He puts his hands on your shoulder and your eyes grow in alarm at the touch. “Have you seen Mina?”

“W-what?” You try to comprehend what he’s saying. “Mina….I-I haven’t seen her.”

It was nine o’clock at night, already dark out. By the frantic pacing of the workers and Yoongi’s chaotic hair, telling you he’s been running his fingers through it, there was something wrong. He lets you go, biting his lower lip as his breath staggers.

“She’s gone.”

“What?” You shake your head. “What do you mean she’s gone?”

“She didn’t arrive home. I’ve called her mother, I’ve called the kindergarten, the surrounding schools. She didn’t go meet the chauffeur like usual. No one’s seen her, Y/N. We’ve contacted the police and now they’re looking.”

The calm demeanor that Yoongi often wears is nowhere to be found. He is in distress, distraught, at wits’ end.

Without thinking or considering your place, you grab onto him. You force him to stand still and you lean your head on his shoulder, not realizing how intimate the action is or how his breathing evens. “It’s going to be okay, Yoongi. We’ll find her.”

The long moment ends when the phone rings, abruptly cutting the silence.

Yoongi pulls away from you, motioning to the maid not to pick up. It continues to ring and after the third one, he picks up the handle. There’s merely static on the other line.

“Who is this?”

“I have your daughter.”

You take a step forward as Yoongi’s brow creases deeper. “What do you want from me? Do you want money? How much?”

“No. I don’t want money. I want you.” He asserts, “If you care about your daughter then come trade in your life for hers. And don’t think about contacting the police or you won’t find her alive.”

“Where are you?”

“At an abandoned warehouse at the outskirts of the city. It’s the same one your company used four years ago.” He laughs without mirth. “You have twenty minutes, Min Yoongi. If by then, someone comes in place of you or you do not make it, your daughter will be dead and so will I. I’m not afraid of anyone or anything.”

“Fine.” Yoongi crumbles in front of your eyes. “But who are you?”

The man on the other side contemplates telling and after a second, he smirks. There’s nothing more that he wants than for Yoongi to remember his name and burn it to the back of his head in the seconds before his death.

“I am Jung Hoseok.”

He repeats it in a whisper, a questioning tone as he scours his brain. Is this an enemy of his? A business competitor or someone from long ago? Why does it ring a bell?

“Jung..Hoseok?”

You rip the phone away from his grasp, pushing it against your ear as you scream. “Hoseok?!”

He softly gasps on the other side. “Y/N?”

“What do you think you’re doing?!” You shout angrily, teeth grinding against each other and your jaw clenched. “Are you insane? Where are you?! Why did you take her? What are you doing, Hoseok?!”

He chuckles slowly, answering at such a passive state that it enrages you even more. “I’m getting revenge for us...for you. Everyone that’s ever harmed you…..”

“I never asked for this.” You choke out. “You’re not doing anything to help. You’re the one causing me harm.” You take a deep breath before speaking calmly, “Hoseok...bring her back.”

Hoseok sighs. “I can’t. It’s too late. There’s no going back from here.” And before you can retort, he’s hung up.

The phone handle falls from your hand and the maid rushes to catch it, putting it back in its place. It’s deathly quiet, breaths held and looks exchanged. The bodyguards are standing meters away, awaiting for their commands. But you keep your eyes onto him, your husband in name.

From his detached expression, you already know he’s aware of who this is. You hadn’t ever spoken about Hoseok but Yoongi had done his research before commencing his marriage with you. He gives you one lingering gaze before turning on his heel. “I have to go.”

“Sir!” A black suited man steps up.

He looks at them. “And you will follow me but at a large distance. Keep half a kilometer away and contact the police to do the same. When I emerge and signal you, you’re allowed to come forward. Keep an eye out.”

They nod, immediately leaving in groups to the cars and turning on their ear pieces.

“Let me come with you.”

“No.” Yoongi grabs his car keys, throwing on his dark coat. “You will stay here where it’s safe.”

“Yoongi...I-I know him, okay? I can deal with him and we can figure something out...together.”

“No.” He shakes his head, turning around. “I don’t need potentially another person in my life dying, okay? Just….stay here. Please.”

It’s the first time you’ve ever heard his plea. “Then…” don’t go. Stay here with me too. You obliterate the emotion before you can even identify what it is. “...stay safe.”

Yoongi nods in response and he walks out the door.

Five minutes pass as you chew on your nails and pace around the floor. The servants try coaxing you to sit down, to have a seat and drink some water, that ‘everything will end up fine’.

But you can’t calm down. Not when Yoongi is out there, Mina is being held and the root of all these problems is your fault. “I’m going.” You grab the other set of keys, taking the coat off the hook.

“No wait! Madam! Just stay inside! We’ll be informed of any news!” A maid tries to stop you but you leave anyhow, opening the car door and turning on the engine. You shift gears and drive off with the wheels screeching against the pavement.

The dial of the phone rebounds off the small interior of your car and as you swerve onto another lane, it finally picks up. “Hoseok?”

He pauses, “Y/N?”

“Don’t hang up!” You shout frantically, flooring the gas pedal and going dangerously well beyond the speed limit. “Hoseok, it’s me. Don’t hang up.”

He laughs lifelessly on the other line. “Y/N. I...I miss you.”

“You don’t have to do this.” You try your best to remain calm, persuading him to do good. “Listen, I can help you. If you just let her go and don’t harm anyone...you won’t get into trouble.”

There’s an extended pause and you hear the sound of him choking, a silent sob that he tries to swallow back. “....do you remember when I asked you to marry me, Y/N? Do you remember?”

Your eyes burn but you continue with both hands on the wheel. “I remember.”

“I got down on one knee...and before I could even say the words, you were already saying ‘yes’. We were so happy. We were so so happy. You might’ve not known but when I asked you, I was being genuine. I wasn’t planning to...betray you back then….It was only later when I-I...went to your mother and I...”

“It’s okay. It’s in the past, Hoseok. What matters is the now.”

He sighs, “I was an idiot. I still am. And I regret so many things. We could’ve been happy together. We….we could have had a family by now...lived somewhere far away….” Hoseok weeps, his voice becoming muffled. “D-do you remember, Y/N? I can still remember...the first time I met you. The first date we ever had. The first time I told you I loved you. And..and...I made myself vow….that I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“I broke that vow, Y/N. I-I broke it.”

“Hoseok...maybe once I did...but now all of those memories are so far away. It’s true that you hurt me but…” For once in your life, you speak the honest truth. “I don’t love you anymore.”

He doesn’t respond but the static doesn’t die. It’s as if he’s dropped the phone. All you can hear is faint conversation….Yoongi’s voice. You drive faster. They’re talking….shouting...screaming.

“Hoseok? Yoongi!” No one hears you and you whiz past several police cars. They try to block your way but the men from your house has already identified your license plate number, moving the others away from your path. Several seconds later, the warehouse comes into view.

There’s a distinct roar, “MINA!”

The line goes dead.

Your wheel hits a pothole and with the sheer speed you’re going at, the vehicle goes out of control. It begins to go into circles, the dirt flying into the air as you floor the brake and skid. You twist and turn and it only begins to slow down, not before crashing into the side of the concrete wall. The airbags deploy and the debris causes you to sputter and cough. With what’s left of your energy, you rip off your seatbelt and open the door.

“Dad!” Your feet stumble, vision blurry and the universe spins around you. Your ears pick up the sound of a child crying in the distance. “Dad? Wake up! Please.”

No. He mustn't die. Yoongi, you can’t die. It’s sheer will that keeps your knees from buckling and making your numb legs step forward. No. You can’t die. Yoongi. You can’t. I won’t allow you to.

Hoseok is nowhere to be seen. You find Yoongi laying on the ground. Mina is weeping by his side, shaking him. You fall beside him. He isn’t the man that you’ve been competing against. Where did his strength go?

“M-Mina…” You call the child underneath your breath and she looks up at you past her soaked eyelashes. “They’re...there are people half a block away that can help your father. Go...and hurry.” She nods, staggering as she begins to run.

“N-no….No….NO!” You press your hand against Yoongi’s head; skin soaked in crimson. In desperation, you put his head into your lap, pressing against his wound with your clothing to stop the bleeding. Your clothes soak red. “No. You can’t do this to me…...Yoongi…”

The ambulance sirens blare, the bodyguards running to do a sweep of the premise, the policemen blocking off the area with their yellow tape. The chaos around you does not make you flinch a single inch, stuck in a bubble where it’s just you and him. Yoongi looks at peace when he’s in your arms, the frown between his brows dissipating, his breathing swallowing.

“Put him on the stretcher!” Someone shouts and he’s ripped away from you. The man is strapped in, loaded into the back of the ambulance. “Ma’am, you’re bleeding!” Someone says in alarm, pointing towards the trickle of your forehead but you push past them.

“Excuse me.” You move forward, ignoring Mina who’s sobbing at her father. The paramedics and policemen block your way. “Move. I’m his wife. He’s my husband. He’s my husband!”

They exchange looks before allowing you to the back, next to him. “We have a thirty-two year old male, by the name of Min Yoongi. He’s had a head injury.” Someone reads into their transmitter. The other woman grabs a breathing mask and hooks him up to the machinery. “He was hit with a cinderblock. We suspect he’s bleeding from a hemorrhage. We’ll be there in less than five minutes.”

“Drive faster.” You calmly command to the front, your body jostling around as the ambulance barrels down the road. The constant beeping of his heart rate is a comfort, yet a curse. It mocks you, whispering that he’s on the brink of death and at any second, if it goes dead, he’ll be gone.

The two are hard at work, stopping the bleeding to the best of their abilities before arriving at the hospital. You’re clutching his cold hand within yours, muttering to him despite the lump in your throat. “Min Yoongi. You cannot die. I won’t allow it. I still have to make you suffer. You have debts to be paid. You have to suffer with me.”

“Yoongi….don’t die...I’m begging you.”

It doesn’t feel like you’re alive. You don’t feel dead either. It’s like your mind is hollow and your body is forcing itself to keep walking - maybe it’s out of habit - maybe you’re going to keep going until your feet bleed and you die of exhaustion.

“Their marriage is already over...now we just need to take the inheritance and we’ll have it all.”

“It’ll be even better if he just dies.” She giggles. “Then we don’t have to wait anymore.”

There’s a sound of lips smacking against each other, another snickering laugh and some more giggles. “Oh stop it. What if someone sees? Later. We’ll do it later.”

You turn the corner, straightening your back and darting eyes straight ahead. In a moment that you feel absolute exhaustion inside, you look strong and resolute. Your mother would be so proud.

You ignore Jimin and Suyeon, briskly walking past them.

Their eyes widen to the point where it almost falls from their sockets. They freeze in sheer terror, the daylights scared out of them and petrified at your abrupt presence. “Y/N-.....”

“Where were you when your daughter needed you most?” You pin your eyes onto Suyeon for a mere heartbeat and she withers downwards. Even Jimin retracts his outstretched hands to you, shaken raw.

You walk away, down the hallway and away from their sights. Your hands press against the glass as you watch your husband’s body on the table, a swarm of doctors around him in the midst of his surgery. His heart rate monitor is beside him, dropping lower and lower.

“Fine…” You’ve already decided as your head was being bandaged and the Grim Reaper was taunting you with his scythe. “Die. Die, Min Yoongi. For all the pain you’ve caused me.”

You’re whispering past the glass, to the Heavens and the hell you’ll be going to. “If you die then we don’t have to do this...I won’t have to hurt you. The plans I’ve made...I don’t have to go through with them. For my sake and yours...just go peacefully.”

The doors open and the chief doctor takes off his gloves, pulling down his mask.

“Are you Mrs. Min?”

“.....Yes.”

“Your husband is going to live.”

You don’t know why you feel so relieved.

The little girl is next to her father, sitting beside him on a stool. Her head bobs up and downwards, lids fluttering with sleepiness. Her eyes are red underneath from excessive crying and rubbing. You wonder if she’s had dinner yet. Her mother is nowhere to be seen.

You take extra care to slide the door closed quietly. And you take one long look at Yoongi.

He hasn’t woken up yet and it might take until tomorrow or the next day. His head is bandaged up, a slight bruise on his cheek but other than that, he is unharmed.

“Hmm?” Mina lifts her head, blinking her eyes and instantly tenses when she notices you’re sitting next to her.

“Have you eaten?”

“No…I’m not hungry.”

“Go sleep on that sofa over there.”

She doesn’t move a centimeter and you sigh, lips turning sheepishly. Though, your irises are still focused on the man asleep in front of you, you catch her staring innocently at you in your peripheral vision. “You know….” You turn to look at her. “...I was suppose to have a daughter like you.”

“You were?”

“Yes.” You feel tears prick at your eyes. You don’t allow them to fall. “A long, long time ago. She would’ve been your age too.”

“What happened to her?”

You inhale a deep breath, orbs doting lovingly on the child. But when you lift your hand to stroke her hair, to provide some sort of comfort...she winces away.

She flinches like you’re about to burn her. The girl who will never be your daughter cowers in fear. She spites you. She will never be yours. She believes that you’re the cause of why her father hasn’t woken up. The child blames you. And she has every right to.

You leave the room, chest heaving in pain. “Take care of her. Make sure she is well fed, that she goes to sleep at appropriate hours. If I hear that anything is amiss, the entire staff will be fired.” You command the maid outside and she nods frantically, entering to obey your words.

When you’re left alone in the stairway, you make a phone call. “Seokjin. It’s me again. I need one last favour.”

The black bag over his head suffocates his breathing. He attempts to struggle but it’s hopeless, not when his hands and ankles have been bound by rope. He doesn’t even know who it is that has caught him like this.

Hoseok didn’t mean to intentionally harm anyone. In spite of his words, he is a coward. He has been and always will be - that’s simply the nature of his life.

All he wanted was to make you happy, bring you back and somewhere, it had all gone wrong. So the moment where there was a crash on the other side of the warehouse and the feeble walls shook, Yoongi was hit and knocked unconscious from a falling cinder block; Hoseok had ran for his life.

It was an accident. He wasn’t a murderer. Yet, his escape was made futile.

“Who are you?” He shouts, sound muffled in the bag.

A gun is cocked nearby and the captured man swallows hard, praying for mercy in his head. When he feels the barrel press against his forehead, he closes his eyes and thinks about your smiling face.

“Hoseok. I’ll always love-”

Bang.

When Yoongi wakes up, the first thing you expect is for him to regard you with complete disdain. He would scoff, rip out the IV’s in his arm and try to remove his bandages, claiming that he didn’t need any of it. What you don’t expect however, is for him to blink at you with big eyes, his face written all over with confusion as he tips his head to one side and asks-

“Do I know you?”

“It seems like your husband is suffering with Retrograde amnesia. He doesn’t remember the events leading up to his head injury. We asked him a few questions to see where he remembers up to and it seems like the condition extends to ten years prior. We’ve ran a few more tests and we believe it may be temporary.”

“Amnesia?” You whisper out in disbelief, “...It’s temporary?”

“Yes. We can’t say for sure. It may in a matter of days or weeks before he’s able to regain all his memories again. It might help to bring in mementos, photos or films to help him but it’s important not to put too much stress on him. He must be feeling very confused at the moment.”

You’re a ghost, this is even worse than hell. You’re not yourself. You can’t be, not when for the first time in your entire existence Min Yoongi is looking at you with such innocence. He is not acting like your enemy, no snide remarks and no glances of contempt. He hasn’t been tarnished and you cannot find it in yourself to be evil.

“You….you don’t remember anything about me?” Mina asks in disappointed, orbs fogging up once more.

He lifts his hand, stroking her hair gently. “I’m sorry…”

You clear your throat, letting your presence be known. “Mina…can I talk to your father? You haven’t had breakfast yet, right? Head down to the cafeteria with Dahee.”

The little girl reluctantly looks to her father who motions for her to listen. She wipes her eyes with her sleeve and gets up while wearing a pout. The young maid follows behind her with a nod of acknowledgement towards you and the two of them leave the room. You take the spot next to Yoongi on the chair.

“Good morning.”

He grins at you, “Hey…”

“Did you have a good sleep earlier?”

“I did.” The elated man nods. “I’m sorry about this morning, Y/N. I couldn’t recognize you at first glance…”

“Why?” You let a small smile slip. “Do I look tired? Have I gotten that old?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I was going to say that you looked so beautiful. I was going to say you aged so well and you look wise beyond your years.”

Something stings inside your chest and you force your eyes away from his softened gaze. “This must be...all a very big surprise to you, huh? How much do you remember about me?”

“I remember….” He hums, leaning back onto the reclined bed and closing his eyes. “I remember hearing about you sometimes….in the news or on television. You are from a well-known family after all.” Yoongi teases, “Your dad might win the election….your brother’s doing fairly well in the company and your mother’s attending a lot of ribbon-cutting ceremonies. Have those things changed since?”

“Very much so.” You reply in anguish and from your expression, he knows not to press on. “Anything else?”

“I remember seeing you as a child, though we never got to play or interact much. Oh. And I remember that time you saved me from drowning.” Under his gentle, fixed stare, you begin to feel yourself crumble. “Have I ever thanked you for that?”

“...no.”

“Then...thank you, Y/N. You saved my life.” He smiles again at your surprised form. “This is crazy, isn’t it? It feels as if I’ve gone to bed one day and when I woke up, I’ve aged ten years. I find out that I’m married and I have a family, that I’m happy and that everything is stable. It’s almost like a dream come true...”

“That girl...is she our child?”

Wouldn’t that have been nice? If Mina really was yours and Yoongi’s. To have a little girl to call your own, despite this world being wretched and cruel. To have a place where you could come back to, a place where you could call home; a loving husband who cared unconditionally and a son or daughter that would reach out to be held by you.

You can almost see it if you closed your eyes.

“Mommy? Are you home?” She would run up to you, jump and let you swing her by her arms. She would giggle, laugh and press a kiss against your cheek when you hold her. The fatigue of the day would melt away.

“You’re finally here?” He would try to suppress his smile but to no avail, fail. He would leave a kiss on your lips and embrace you, leaning into your ear to whisper, “I missed you.”

“Welcome back home.”

“No.” You strangle the useless daydream. “She isn’t mine. She’s yours, though.”

“Oh….” He swallows the hard pill, mind wrapping around the idea as his brows furrow. “Is...is it uncomfortable for you?”

“It doesn’t matter. You can do whatever that pleases you. We’re both allowed to do whatever we want.”

“But I care about what you think.” He says with all of his sincerity. “We’re married, aren’t we?”

You don’t know how to answer that question.

In the silence that holds, Yoongi notices the bandage against your forehead. “Did you get that when I got my-” You nod slowly, lifting your hand to peel it. You wince but after a second it’s off. The wound is no longer bleeding, closed up even but now there’s a scar that’s left.

“May I?” He asks and you lean forward in allowance. Yoongi lightly runs his fingertips against the line, an imperfection on your face that your mother would’ve once been horrified by. But as unseemingly and awful it is in your own eyes, Yoongi doesn’t seem to be disgusted. He looks like he’s even...guilty.

His caress is light and placid, irises gentle as he takes time to bore his vision on each of your features. He’s a breath away from you, lips soft as the corners turn upwards. You both speak in whispers and murmurs, as if not to let the intimate moment quiver away. “Do you love me?”

“I did.”

“Did?”

“Yeah.”

You hate him.

For the past years, you’ve lived for nothing more than vengeance. And for all the people who have done you wrong or caused you harm, Yoongi still stood as your first enemy. You hate him.

Even so, somewhere underneath pride and lies, you still love him.

“Don’t you remember me? Sweetie! It’s me.” There’s a loud, distressed voice from the room and you halt before opening the door wider. Through the small crack, you can only see someone’s silhouette frantically making gestures. “We have a child together! You love me. You don’t love her. You were going to divorce that bitch!”

“Well then I’m going to hold off the divorce finalization date and all the paperwork.” He lowers his pitch. “And do not call her what you just did. She is my wife.”

“I can’t believe you! I can’t believe this!” She screams in hysterics. “She’s brainwashed you!”

“If you have nothing else to say...then you should go.”

“Ugh!” Suyeon twists around, stomping childishly as she opens the door. When she sees you, she snarls and shoves past your shoulder with a loud ‘hmph’.

“Why did you do that?” You slide the door shut, moving to put the plastic bag of snacks onto the bedside table. “She’s not wrong, you know.”

“It’s because I married you.” His pupils don’t waver, pinned deep into your skin. There are no smiles or light-heartedness in his tone. He is serious, much like the Yoongi you’re more familiar with. “If I married you, then that means we were really in love.”

You already have an explanation: No. It doesn’t mean that. You were never in love with me. Though you can’t find it in yourself to say it out loud.

There’s a shift in the atmosphere.

There’s something within the way he looks at you, something warm and unfamiliar. When he talks to you, there’s always a smile and for a long time, you thought that that was just the way Yoongi was when he was younger. Except with others, there is not nearly as much joy in his eyes.

He would sometimes grab your hands, ‘just because’ he would always say. He would intertwine your fingers with his and look away. You found out that he often asked doctors or nurses about your whereabouts when you left for extended periods of time. And most of all, when you fell asleep watching him, arms folded on top of the mattress as you rested your head, he would softly run his fingertips through your hair.

There’s a shift in the atmosphere, with the way he looks at you and the gentleness of his words.

But it’s too late.

“Where are you going?” He frowns, shaking his head. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m leaving...for a little while…” You try to explain. It’s too difficult. You never thought you would need this conversation. “It’s too dangerous if I stay here.”

He reaches out and takes your hands again, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Will you be okay?”

“I’ll be okay.” You reassure falsely. “There’s just...a few people that have debts to be paid.”

Yoongi nods. “Alright. I can understand that.” His hand tightens on yours, a slight squeeze as if he’s reluctant to let you go. “Make sure you stay safe, Y/N.”

“I-...I love y-”

You put a finger over his mouth to silence him. With a huge lump in your throat, you look up at him past your eyelashes. “Tell me when I get back, okay? What you’re about to say...tell me all about it when I return.”

“Okay.” He nods again and you walk away. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

This isn’t the Yoongi that you know. This isn’t the man who married you.

You remind yourself over and over again, hands curling at the edge of your files inside your bag. It’s too late.

The suitcase is thrown onto the bed, drawers pulled and dumped into it. He scrambles for his life, sweeping the tables and shoving in anything possible.

His mother sighs, downing the rest of her glass. “Let’s just accept fate, son. Let them take us. If we don’t repent for the things we’ve done then we’ll have to do it in the afterlife.”

“Stop it. We don’t have to repent for anything.” He grabs another bag, opening up the zipper. “I’ve already got our passports. Bring what you need. We’re leaving in two minutes.”

Yoongi’s stepmother glances once more at her frantic son before huffing out and turning on her heel, obeying his will.

On the other side of the city, Suyeon screams to the sky and throws her phone onto the ground. “Bastard not picking up my phone calls. Fine! I never needed you anyways.” She mutters to herself, grabbing her suitcase and pouring in her clothing. In the next five minutes, she zips it up and grabs her secret envelope of money, securing it in the inside pocket of her coat.

She prepares to leave...only to be met by her daughter standing by the door.

“Where are you going, mommy?” The child looks at the bags, the passport and how her mother’s well-dressed. “Are you leaving?” She chokes back a sob. “...without me?”

“Ugh.” Suyeon rolls her eyes. “Fine!” She grabs her daughter’s hand roughly, dragging her outside but the girl whines. “Do you want to stay here by yourself, brat?! I’m doing what you asked me to! I’m taking you with me!”

“What about dad?” She cries out, arm pulling out of her socket. “We can’t-”

“Leave him!” Her mother shouts, throwing her daughter into the backseat of the cab. “He doesn’t matter! You’re the only chance I have left. We’ll come back in a few years to take what’s ours!”

The taxi drives off with the two women. The rest of the city is in chaos.

Yoongi pushes the wheels of his wheelchair, exiting his room. He’s wearing a hat that covers the colour of his hair, given by a nurse he doesn’t recognize and hasn’t seen around. She had strongly insisted that he keep it on at all times. He gave in but that wasn’t the only strange event that had taken place.

This morning, Yoongi had moved to a different floor. He was now where all the other patients were, his room shared with others. Furthermore, he’s underneath a completely different name.

“Breaking news.” A man on screen interrupts the program and Yoongi halts to watch the television. “This afternoon, just two hours ago, we have received files from an anonymous source. As of now, we have been informed that four domestic media outlets and two international outlets have been given the same information.”

“Within these files reveals multiple cases of corruption, various incidents of embezzlement, collection of bribery cases and different crimes that were hidden from public eye. There are even occurrences of exploitation, fraud, theft, larceny, defalcation of well known companies, manipulations within the stock market, human trafficking and even hired assassinations.”

“It has been revealed that many businesses and well known, high status members of our society have connections to the Mafia and have been utilizing them for inhumane purposes. Citizens of our city have poured out onto the street and cried out for these injustices. As a result, police are now actively searching for everyone that has any involvement and due to the sheer mass of suspects, multiple police stations across the nation are aiding within this matter.”

There are numerous murmurs within the hospital wing, even doctors who have stopped in their tracks to watch the monitor. Yoongi’s finger twitches.

The reporter listens to his earpiece and continues, “This just in, we have received news that MP Jeon Jungkook has been taken. Min Jimin has been arrested and his father has been seized at the airport when trying to return home. The Min family, Kim family, Lee and many other respectable groups with long standing companies are being wanted for questioning and arrested as we speak. Members of parliament from all parties are being called into question under the suspicion of where exactly taxpayers’ money have been going to.”

“This is a huge conspiracy, ten times larger than the Kim Family’s corruption ten years ago. Police are currently trying to track down this anonymous individual who has leaked all this information but has yet to be successful. We will provide more updates and information as it comes. This just in, reporter Namjoon.”

With all of this, Yoongi can only frantically wonder: Where are you?

The president has been impeached, the stocks have plummeted, the world of façades and personas have crumbled. The flawless masks that each have carved have been ripped off and their monstrosities have been revealed in the light. You have severed your ribbon, the world of alliances and bonds crumbling together. It’s a chain system, a domino effect. If one is taken down, everyone else falls. Now they have all fallen and you will too.

You haven’t turned yourself in but you haven’t tried to run and hide like the rest of them.

The entire building is emptied out and you’re simply sitting inside your office, in your chair while staring out over the skyline. The skyscrapers littering across the landscape looms shadows across the roads and it hides the sun. “This will all one day become yours.” The ghost of your mother twenty years ago whispers to you.

You didn’t understand and you had merely blinked up at her, nodding. But now you reconstruct yourself, no longer a helpless child held down by her grip. “No it won’t. And it won’t be yours either.”

She raises her hand to slap you but the memory dissipates.

Finally. You’ve reached your ultimate dream, everything that you’ve been working towards for the past half a decade. Revenge has been sought and fulfilled, your wrath has been satisfied, everyone has been punished and you too, are waiting to receive punishment from the Heavens. But why do you feel so….empty?

You’ve imagined this day, played it over and over again when you couldn’t sleep and felt too weak to live. You should be joyous and cackling. Should. You’re not. You’re stuck thinking about Yoongi. What he’s doing? How he’ll fare. If he’s been captured. He is your greatest enemy, the one who you were going to bring down ruthlessly and make him suffer as much as you did. Yet, you gave him a chance to live. You let him escape for reasons you’re not sure of yourself. Perhaps it’s your own weaknesses that you allowed fate to take charge.

If fate would really allow it, then he would live. If not, then he would be captured.

Until the very end, you’ve overestimated yourself. You’re still the weak girl who’s heart swelled at a man who didn’t love you.

Boom.

There’s an enormous explosion several floors below you. The floors and walls shake, trembling and there are several screams on the streets and people running. When you look down, you notice smoke rising. Fire.

Someone, probably an individual now being interrogated in a dark room, had probably ordered for your death. You laugh. You laugh because there’s nothing else you can do. Alone in your office with the telephone lines dead and no one else in the building, you laugh in absolute hysterics.

You wonder why they’re so cruel. Why whoever it was couldn’t just stab you in the back or shoot a bullet through your skull. Why did they have to make you wait for death and suffer, wait until your body would be swallowed by flames and your lungs would be full of smoke. Why? Is this the way you’re suppose to repent for your sins?

“I’m so tired, mother. I’m so very tired.” You collapse onto the floor, imagining your mother by your side.

In your daydream, she is sitting with your head in her lap. She is stroking the strands of your hair before patting your stomach gently as if to coax you to sleep. In your daydream, your mother is much more youthful and her eyes are kind. She hasn’t succumbed to the hatred of the world. “Why, darling?”

“For revenge. For my vengeance.” You tell her. “The things that have driven me for the past five years. Now I’m wondering if it was all even worth it.”

“Well...was it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then, let’s talk about the happy things. There are always happy things in life.”

“I’m not sure if they are any in mine.”

She laughs happily while shaking her head, “Don’t be silly. Everyone has at least one or two happy moments.”

The flames are traveling faster, now outside your door and knocking. They are blazing in hues of orange and yellow, crackling as the smog seeps past the cracks of the door. You close your eyes, thinking for a long time. “There are a few moments...when I felt like we were a family. We would sit around the table, talk about our day and eat together. It was simple but I felt really happy.”

“Yes.” She agrees as your lids flutter back to stare at her, “I agree. They made me happy too. Can you think of anything else, dear?”

“When I thought….” You swallow hard, “...when I thought that Yoongi loved me. Before I learnt that those feelings were one sided. All those years ago, when for a moment, just a single second...I thought that he felt something for me.”

“I was happy, mom. I was so very happy when I thought someone could love me.”

Your mother vanishes as the flickering flames take her place. You cough from the smoke, body weakened as the black smog begins to envelop you. With the energy that you can muster, you lift your hand to focus your eyes on the wedding ring. It is thankfully without a gaudy diamond that most would use to flaunt. Instead, the golden band is faintly inscribed with a twirling design, simple but enough.

“Why do you want to marry me?” You sit at the registration office, the papers in your hand that haven’t been submitted. “I’ve been thinking and really, I benefit the most from this.”

He looks on at the blank wall with a meek smile. “I’ll tell you someday.”

“Why do you have to be so vague?”

“Because I want you to live on.” He tells you, “Find out the answer.”

“But for now, take this.” He takes your hand and opens it up, shuffling for the small object inside his pocket. He places the box in the middle of your palm. You open it up hesitantly, eyes fogging up as you feel a shift inside your chest. “It’s not much, certainly isn’t the real one that I’ll give you at the ceremony. I just thought it would be nice to have for-”

“No.” You murmur, slipping it on your finger. “It’s beautiful. It’s enough.”

That was the day that you found strength to live. The day that you felt eternally grateful for him, for finding a way for your family to escape from their crimes….a path for you to be freed from the chains of your prison. It was only much later until you would come to despise this same man.

Why did you marry me, Min Yoongi? What reason did you have? Was it really for my mother’s status? To feign an act of benevolence? You said you would tell me the answer someday.

Tell me. Tell me before it’s too late.

His voice echoes in your head, “Because I want you to live on.” It’s funny, priceless even. Out of all the people you know, you would’ve thought that the both of you mutually wanted each other to die. If the exhaust of the fire wasn’t murdering you slowly, you would’ve found the energy to laugh again. Though, somewhere as his raspy timber that’s reverberating in the hollow of your mind, you find strength like you once did all those years ago. “Because I want you to live on.”

You stumble and stagger, limbs screaming out for you to stay still and pupils shaking the universe around you. The flames engulf the desk, the black fog covering ceiling tiles and the walls like ugly paint. It sizzles, crackles and sings a soft tune to lure you in.

You walk towards it. Tell me. Min Yoongi. Tell me why. You continue until you cannot see anything, until your coughing turns to wheezing and desperate breaths. Then, you turn on your heel, nails sinking into your arm to ignore the siren creatures inside your head that whisper for your knees to buckle. Tell me.

Tell me why you could never love me.

You run towards the window and your body collides against the glass. On impact, the crack erupts into a crystal shower. It rains down like droplets of water as the particles sparkle in the sunlight. The fragments spray into the blue sky. The shards skim along your skin to reveal crimson drops. Like a child’s marionette doll that has been abandoned and thrown away, you are free-falling to the ground.

And you close your eyes. Your arm reaches out as if someone will catch your hand.

No one will. Though, you’ve come to realize that no one is to blame.

Your first fault is that you should’ve never blamed others. There were so many things you could’ve done, should have done. Instead, you chose to accuse your upbringing, your parents and your brother. You pointed at them in rage and anger for every flaw of your life. You pitied yourself, ached for someone to understand and give you solace. But you should’ve given that to yourself.

You relied on others, became too dependent and never took responsibility for your own life.

The second fault of yours is the undying thirst for revenge. The freedom that you longed so much for was held captive to your bitter resentments. For one goal that would never satisfy your soul, you laid your victims onto the alter for sacrifice. You fought fire with fire and let the flames consume your mind.

The third and final fault...is that you should have loved Min Yoongi more.

If you had loved him more, if you weren’t blinded by your own ambitions and so afraid of lending out your heart, you could have saved him. You would’ve done anything within your power to be with him. You would have fought until the ends of the world for your marriage. Yet, you let the only thing you had slip through your fingers.

The life that you so dearly dreamed of - “Mommy?”, “I missed you.”, “Welcome back home.” - was strangled by your own hand when you morphed that longing into hatred.

There’s a scream somewhere, sirens already beginning to play in the background. You flutter your lids shut, the bright sky burning to the back of them. A tiny smile slips on your lips.

You should have loved Min Yoongi more.

“Did you hear?” A nurse mutters to another, cupping her mouth discreetly. “All the doctors in every department rushed down to the emergency room. They say that lady had jumped out of a burning building. What’s her name? The one that police are looking for. Oh, it’s Min Y/N.”

Yoongi halts, “What did you just say?”

There’s yelling and shouting, your body being jostled around as they rush you inside. It’s chaotic - that much you’re able to make out despite it seeming like worlds away.

“Prepare the anesthetic!”

“Stop the bleeding first.” The metal table is cold underneath your skin. There are countless voices speaking over each other, but you hear the sound of your heartbeat loudest; how it slows and slows. “Her oxygen saturation levels are plummeting!”

On the other side of the hospital, Yoongi’s hands have started to crack. They work against the wheels, pushing himself forward at a distressed pace. A heavy lump lodges inside his throat, frustrated at how slow he is. Still, he doesn’t stop. It’s not until the wheelchair slips underneath him and he slams onto the floor.

A stranger gasps, “Are you okay, sir?”

Like a slap to the face, an onslaught of memories storm into his brain. They blitz and make a mockery of him. “Yoongi. Why did you agree to marry me?” - “Don’t touch me.” - “Let me come with you.” - “I don’t need any of your pity, Yoongi.” - “You’ll come to regret this day.”. He finds the apparition of you in front of him. Your eyes are full of despair, pain written across your features. Most of all, he meets the hatred rooted deep into your soul; it is a vine of roses, the thorns wrapped around your heart and sinking in to bleed red.

“Yoongi….don’t die...I’m begging you.” “Min Yoongi, there is no heaven where you’ll end up.”.

He shoves the people away from him. Yoongi stands. His eyes pin straight forward. He wobbles on his feet, he staggers uselessly. And then...he sprints.

“Too much time has passed.” A woman cries out. There’s a pressure on your chest, a warm trickle from your forehead. “Intubation!” The white light pierces past your eyelids. Your fingers twitch. “Her blood pressure is falling.”

Yoongi runs. The hallways and doors blur into the back. A few nurses tell him to stop. His head throbs. His knees sting. His chest aches. You can’t breathe. A doctor presses their hands against the middle of your chest. They push fast, using their body weight to revive you. There’s another shout. A machine is switched on.

“Charge to 300 joules.”

The heartbeat steadies into a single tone. Yoongi falls on the floor. “Step back!” There’s a pause. “Shoot!” The electric current charges to your heart. Yoongi gets back up. Your body jolts on the metal table.

“Y/N...please.” He runs again.

They press the pads of the defibrillator against your body, again and again, shooting currents.

“Min Yoongi. I’m sorry. I should have loved you more. If I did...would you have loved me then?”

Yoongi slams his fist against the glass of the window. Your heart does a flutter, there’s another beep.

He steps onto the accelerator of the car and steals a peek at your form.

“She’s alive. But your wife is in a coma.” They had told him with a face marred in sadness. “It’s likely that she’ll never wake up again. We tried our best. I’m sorry.”

In the few days that had passed, he had been by your side. Yoongi spoke to you as if you were still awake. He clutched your hand and wiped your forehead. He slept and ate next to you. Yet, you were oblivious. You were unconscious and unable to wake up. Still, for once, you looked at peace.

“Excuse me. Are you Mr. Min?” A policeman tapped him on the shoulder. “Can you please come down to the station with us? We believe you’re involved in the recent corruption cases.”

There was nothing left. In your wake, truly everything had been destroyed.

“Please.” He had begged, tightened his hands in yours. “My wife was just in an accident. Give me one more day to spend with her.”

In compassion and empathy, by looking into the poor man’s eyes, they gave into his will.

“Don’t worry. I have hope she’ll wake up.” A nurse once coaxed him, though the lies in her words were clear to see. “She’s a strong woman. Especially after what she went through six years ago. Ah! But I-I...didn’t mean to bring up your loss. I’m sorry.”

He had looked on in confusion, “What?”

Yoongi’s hands grip tighter on the wheel. His teeth sink into his lower lip as his eyes cloud up. “You should have told me.” Angered by his own actions, Yoongi shoves his elbow against the window. He moves his hand over his mouth and looks out the window.

He cries to your empty ears, “You should have told me.”

He had pulled out your medical records. And in the quiet room, he had fallen to the ground and clutched the files against his agonizing chest. As sobs ripped through his throat, he had moved his irises onto your lifeless form. Six years ago. Min Y/N. Miscarriage.

Yoongi stops the car. The dusk horizon that seeps from the windshield removes the shade of sickness from your skin and soaks in warmth. “Do you know who Mina reminds me of?” He turns to you, gently moving a strand of hair away from your forehead before lightly caressing your cheek. “You.”

“But she isn’t your child.” He inhales a breath. “And she isn’t mine either.”

Because unlike what others thought, he hadn’t laid a single finger on any other woman. The night that he was passed out drunk at some hotel room, in his bleary mind, he still knew. He knew that it was a setup. The clothes that were littered to the ground, the woman beside him and the events she had told him about in the morning were all fabricated. A DNA test a few years later proved that it wasn’t just his imagination. The child belonged to his brother.

“When I saw her…..I wanted to help her the way I was unable to help you as a child.”

To grow up without pitches and scowls. To live happily and away from judgements. To be free from the groomings of a monster. To be liberated from the world of façades and masks. These were all things he wished for both you back then and the child now.

“That’s why I married you, Y/N.” He tells you past a choked voice and tear stained cheeks. “A way to undo my regrets. But I made you suffer even more. I pushed you away because I knew...I could never return your feelings. And I made you despise me. I made you this way.”

“If you will so take me again, in my next life, I will be indebted to you.” Yoongi whispers as he steps onto the gas pedal. “I’m sorry I couldn’t love you the way you loved me.”

The car leaps off the cliff. He holds your hand and braces for the shock.

A tear drips down from your closed eye.

#bts scenarios #bts fanfic #yoongi angst #yoongi fanfic #yoongi #bts scenario #yoongi scenario #yoongi scenarios #I gotta admit this is like borderline crack #but damn #i had a lot of fun tapping into my inner dramatics

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