#you can’t just run away in an ambulance with a bomb inside it and expect everyone to be okay

[luciferssworld]

The rest of the BAU: *follows orders*

*finds safe solutions*

The armed and highly dangerous UnSub running away: *can possibly injure anyone if alone*

Derek:

#goddamit Derek #you can’t just run away in an ambulance with a bomb inside it and expect everyone to be okay #Derek Morgan #Spencer Reid #agent Morgan #agent Reid #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #elle greenaway #jason gideon #Penelope Garcia #david rossi #beard hotch #hotchniss #ssa hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #cm

[jooniyah]

Poison Apple : The Finale

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

AU: Yandere!au, Moneylender!Taehyung

Genre: Angst, Mature, Smut rated R

Warnings: NON CON, Violence, Hard Yandere behavior, implied forced pregnancy, childbirth, emotional abuse, blackmail, kidnapping, child maltreatment, vehicle crash, surgery, hospitals, character death, degradation and physical abuse, slapping, cum play, choking, spanking, manipulation, heavy profanity, smut, blood, knives, guns, assassins, and murder.

Word count: 37.1 K

Cover edit: @dameleia ᵗʰᵃⁿᵏ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵒ ᵐᵘᶜʰ ˡᵒᵛᵉˡʸ ᵖˡᵘᵐᵎ

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

This is a non-consensual setting, please proceed only if you are not triggered by the warnings. All warnings for Chapter 1 and 2 apply. I repeat, please be sure to read all the warnings carefully.

Author’s note:  This is the final chapter of the Poison Apple Trilogy. Please make sure to read Part 1 and Part 2 before proceeding.

Chapter 1  |   Chapter 2

The vapor from the milk swirled up Taehyung’s nostrils. He slowly withdrew his lips from the cup.

“I’m ready to die if that’s what you really want, Y/N.” He looked at the cup, gently twirling it in his hand.  He crinkled his nose and raised his eyes to yours.

“Will you kiss me goodbye?” He hesitated briefly. “Kiss me like you mean it. Will you?”

Heavy salty drops streamed down your face. Dipping your head, you slowly pressed your lips against his. He deepened the kiss, lapping at your mouth like a man dying of thirst. You closed your eyes, fighting your instinct to flinch and step back. He sighed into your mouth, moaning something that clearly resembled your name.

His fingers tightened around the cup. When you broke the kiss, he looked up with teary eyes.

“I’m ready, Y/N.”

He raised the cup to his meet his lips again. Something snapped inside you, and you instinctively reached out to stop him.

“I am not a killer,” you whispered, voice breaking. “I am not you.”

His features became gloomier. He shook his head, not letting his grip slacken.

“You only want to know about where he is buried.” He dropped his gaze. “Before you try to kill me again.”

Hot blood rose to your cheeks. You did want to go to your husband’s grave. Taehyung was a monster. Undoubtably so. But killing him wasn’t going to bring back all that you had lost.

“No. I-” You had nothing to say. You had all the reasons in the world to want Kim Taehyung dead. But you could not find a reason to want him alive.

“I just- I don’t- you could just let me go, Taehyung.” The words came out in a whisper, sounding like a prayer.

A bitter wince shot through his features. Before you could react, he swatted your arm away and tipped the cup over his mouth in one quick flash.

You watched in stunned horror as he downed all the poisoned milk, witnessing his throat bob around the liquid. He wiped his mouth, setting the cup down.

“I’d rather die, Y/N.” He licked his lips slowly. “Like I just did.” A tired smile stretched over his lips.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Taehyung? Taehyung!”

His body was convulsing, froth trickling down the side of his chin. His eyes were fixed on you, but there was no emotion in them. They were devoid of animation. Like the eyes of a ghost.

You crouched down, trying to hold him still.

“Ambulance!” you shouted, trying to get up from the floor. His arm wildly slashed at the air, finding purchase on your ankle.

“No…” he croaked, his face twisting with agony. “Don’t, Y/N.”

You shook him off, running to fish your phone out of your bag. Just as your finger circled the call button, a cold wave of realization hit you. You couldn’t call anyone but Taehyung on your phone.

Spinning around, you caught sight of the man convulsing on the floor.

“I’ll be back. Just- just stay here,” you whispered, making haste to rush out of the kitchen.

You flew like the wind to the brigade of guards patrolling the mansion.

“Help!” you screamed, waving your hands above your head. “Get an ambulance!”

The men turned and looked at you weirdly. It was as if your screams had simply vanished into thin air before falling on their ears. They made no move, there was no sign of acknowledgement.

“Can’t you hear me?” your voice grew even louder. “Taehyung is dying in there!”

Still, no one moved.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Are you a bunch of morons?”

They lowered their weapons, holding them so the muzzles were facing the ground. A guard jogged over to you, removing his Aviators as he did so.

“We know what’s happening, Mrs. Kim. We were ordered to stay out of anything that happened this evening.”

“What?!” Time was ticking on like a time bomb over your head. “What the hell? Get the ambulance this instant!”

The guard’s face flinched. “You don’t understand, Mrs. Kim.”

You bit your quivering lips. “Who had the nerve to give such an order?”

“It was Mr. Kim, ma’am.”

Your gaped in stunned surprise.

The guard went on. “He talked to us before stepping into the house. His instructions were clear. He ordered us not to intervene or stop you in any way.”

“Not to stop me? But I’m trying to save him! Help me!”

The man shook his head, his face betraying the pain he was going through.

“Fuck you! Fuck all of you!” You thrust your hand at him. “Hand me the damn car keys!” He placed them on your palm, and you ran back into the mansion.

Taehyung was writhing on the floor, and his dull eyes lit up when he saw your outline.

“…..came back…” he mumbled, still foaming at the mouth.

“You’re a stupid bitch, Taehyung!” you spat, latching your hands under his arms, and pulling him up.

He was so damn heavy, and you wheezed as you dragged him to the door. Adrenaline gave you inhuman strength - strength you never knew you had possessed. Huffing and wheezing, you reached the porch with Taehyung clinging onto you like a withered leaf.

The guards were huddled by the car, visibly distressed. They didn’t, however, make any attempt to help you lug Taehyung into the vehicle. The guard from earlier stepped forward, blocking you when you tried to hop into the driver’s seat.

“Ma’am- I was instructed to ask in case… “ He quickly glanced at his boss, “… you know what you’re giving up by saving Mr. Kim, don’t you?”

You glared at the man and turned to see Taehyung collapsed in the backseat. He had passed out. Turning back, you shook your head helplessly before pushing the guard away.

Strapping on the seat belt, you sneered at him.

“I know.”

The tires screeched loudly, the smell of hot rubber on gravel filling your nose as you tore out of the gates in full speed.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Kim Namjoon was watching the blue skyline out of his penthouse suite when his phone buzzed. He didn’t like loud ringtones. Naturally, it wasn’t a surprise that his phone was on vibrate mode. The glass coffee table vibrated, humming along with the phone. He didn’t hear it. Nor did he see the way his phone slightly moved with each ring.

“Um, Excuse me? My phone- can I have it back?”

You bit your lips, resisting the urge to dissolve into a puddle of tears. Handing the phone back to the stranger, you sniffed and retreated to the sofa.

Hoseok’s phone had been switched off. Calls to Bo Na and the Jung house didn’t go through either. You had hoped to run back into Hoseok’s arms, away from all the horrible tangles you were ensnared in.

But you were left alone. Your best friend wasn’t around to hold you. What had happened to him? The deafening loneliness had driven you to do the unthinkable – calling Kim Namjoon.

And he hadn’t picked up either. What were you supposed to do? Were you free to leave? What about the man in the ER? You couldn’t leave him to die. Or could you?

Breathing deeply, you rose from the sofa, making your way through the corridors in a daze. Your legs felt incredibly heavy with each step. You had expected to feel relieved. Joyous even. But why then was it so hard to turn your back? You stopped midtrack as if you were shot. Monster or not, you weren’t leaving a dying man alone. Turning on your heel, you slowly retraced your steps to the sofa.

Right on cue, a nurse opened the door and called out “Who’s here with Mr. Kim Taehyung?”

There was only a split second to make your choice. Would you regret it? You didn’t know.

You raised your hand.

“I am.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Taehyung was unconscious and he remained so for hours on end. You found yourself internally struggling during the whole time. You kept walking to the door, turning back, sighing, and sitting down again. It was a hell of a torture to reason with yourself. Weren’t you a better human being? Shouldn’t you stay at least till he woke up? But what would happen then? Would you still get to leave him after?

It was the twelfth time that your hand was on the doorknob, ready to turn it, when his groggy voice called out.

“You… still here?”

Spinning around, you stared at him with wide eyes. He wasn’t fully aware of his surroundings. The dazed look on his face confirmed that.

“Y/N… where am I?”

He looked at the IV cannula hooked to his arm. It came flooding back to him. You had poisoned him. He remembered drinking the milk. He had vague memories of feeling incredibly lonely for a while. But then you had returned. You had helped him up to stand on his feet. But he didn’t know what had happened after that.

He saw your shocked face, his mind still buzzing.

“Y/N, who brought me here?” Speaking made his throat burn. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to tide over the pounding headache. “I left clear instructions.”

You remained by the door, looking at him warily. “I did.”

He raised his eyebrows in shock. “You?” A sudden bout of coughing interrupted him. “You brought me? How- why?”

Good question. Why indeed? Because you were a fool? That was probably right. You hadn’t expected to feel so guilty when you had planned to poison him. Who poisoned a monster and then drove him to the hospital without fleeing for their lives? Fools did.

“Y/N,” he repeated, his eyes latched onto yours. “You didn’t leave.”

The statement hung in the air like a smothering wet cloud. You stared back at him, finally finding your voice.

“I am now.”

When you turned again, the question whipped on your back like a hot rod.

“Why didn’t you let me die?”

The words rolled into a tight ball in your throat. What were you supposed to tell him?

“I- I’m not a cold-blooded killer like you, Kim Taehyung. I can’t live with that.”

He strained his burning throat to whisper hoarsely:

“Stay with me then. Come here.” He patted the side of his bed.

You scoffed in mock surprise. Folding your arms in defiance, you gave him your toughest glare.

“I’m leaving now.” You took a step forward and hissed “I let you live. And now I’m going.”

He chuckled, and then coughed before smirking at you. “I have your passport. You don’t have a penny to your name. Hoseok isn’t here to bail you out either.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Hoseok? Did Taehyung do something to him?

“H-Hoseok? Where is he? What did you do to him, you bastard?”

He beckoned to you with his finger. “Come here and I’ll tell you.”

You sidled closer, worrying your lip so much that you could taste the blood. His hand shot to your face, the back of his fingers caressing your cheeks before his thumb traced the tiny bitemark on your lip. With a firm tug, he pulled you so that you were sitting haphazardly on the bed. His hand resumed brushing your face.

“Now- where was I?” he purred, a gentle smile tugging the corners of his lips.

“Hobi- where’s-?”

He hummed, nodding. “Oh, yes. Well, I got him on the run. He won’t be coming back in a hurry.”

“What did you do to him?” Your voice was lower than a whisper.

His finger continued drawing lazy circles, slowly working its way down your arm. “Pass me that glass of water, honey,” he said, unmindful of your agitation. You didn’t move, too stunned to react.

“Honey? The water?” His voice grew deeper, the slight stern note kicking you into action.

You passed it to him with shaking fingers, and he grinned happily, like a child who had won his first race. Each second dragged on, as you watched his mouth sip the water in agonizing slowness. He enjoyed tormenting you for a while longer, before giving in to the painful suspense on your face.

“I set him up for tax fraud, baby. He decided he’d rather exile himself than stay and get his ass thrown in jail.”

“Where-”

He shook his head prettily. “Oh, I wouldn’t ask that question, honey. He can’t contact you or he’d be dragged back into the country through call tracing.”

He loved the shocked look on your face. He had begun to miss the surprised wide eyes of older days. These days, it was increasingly difficult for him to catch you off guard.

You shook your head, fighting back the angry tears.

“You’re like mold, Kim Taehyung. You destroy everything you touch. I despise you.”

He stared at you, bringing your palm up to his lips and dropping a kiss in it.

“I love you.” He stopped himself before saying out loud : “You saved me. You love me too.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

It was a warm and toasty day, with crisp blue waves lapping at the beach in serenity. Hoseok propped his legs up on the deck chair, rubbing his feet together and shaking the grainy sand off his soles. He looked at Bo Na who was approaching with two martini glasses.

“Baby?” she asked, concerned. “Are you okay?”

He sighed, blowing out his cheeks.

“I just- Y/N…  I feel so goddamn guilty for leaving her.” He shook his head sadly. “I’m a coward, aren’t I?”

She set the glasses down, reaching over to pat his head over the brown straw hat.

“We had no choice, Hobi-yah,” she said, taking his hand in hers. “That asshole completely ruined all of our lives.”

Hoseok looked straight ahead at the kids surfing along the waves.

“Poor Y/N,” he said, heart dropping. “She’s chained to a monster. Poor girl. She’s pregnant too.” He clenched and unclenched his fists. “I feel like crap, Bo Na.”

Hoseok’s wife patted his hand soothingly.

“We’ll go back as soon as we sort this out, Hobi. We will.”

He shook his head in resignation. He knew that Taehyung had completely fucked him over. The guy was like a damned viper. He would find some way or the other to keep throwing Hoseok out of your reach. The only way he could go back was after he killed that bastard.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

When she pushed the door open, Taehyung was doubled over his desk, passed out.

“Mr. Kim?”

She reached out to touch him, feeling his weak breath ghost her fingers. She leaned over the table, picking up the phone to call emergency. A weak hand grasped her forearm, and Taehyung slowly raised his head.

“Y/N,” his lids were half-shut, skin cold and clammy to touch. “Y/N, don’t leave me.”

“Let me call emerg-“

He pulled her closer, pressing his forehead into the warmth of her hips.

“No, just stay.”

Soft hands combed through his hair, and gently brushed the long strands away from his eyebrows. He was definitely in heaven. The fingers traced his earlobe, drawing lines along the side of his neck.

“Sit on my lap,” he croaked, gripping the hips tight.

And then he felt the heavenly weight sink on his thighs. You were being so compliant.

“Kim,” the voice drew him in, sending jolts of delight throughout his body. “You need to rest.”

He shook his head, the sudden action making his delirious brain go into overdrive.

“No, you’ll disappear if I do.”

The hand cradled his jaw, and a wet kiss spread a lovely warmth over his clammy forehead.

“I promise I won’t.”

“I feel so tired, Y/N.” His lids fluttered closed, a cold silence blocking his ears. He could feel you panting and struggling to hoist him up. His mind started losing focus. The last thing he heard before passing out cold was:

“I love you, Kim.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“How much longer, Se Jong?” the man asked, irritation evident on his features. He was in a bad temper, and the cheap wine had served to infuriate him even further.

“Patience, man,” Se Jong said, leaning back in his chair. The bulb above their head was covered in grime, and it flickered like a dying candle.

“Let me do something. Anything. You’re making me sit on my ass all day every day for months now.”

Se Jong tsked. “You don’t know how dangerous Kim Taehyung is. One wrong move could cost us our lives, man. Why else do you think I’m stuck with you instead of all those hitmen I could have hired?”

The room was silent, the stale smell of cigarettes lingering in the air like unsaid words.

“No one is ready to cross Taehyung,” Se Jong continued. “I’m having such a hard time finding guys to join us without blowing my cover.” The chill running up his spine was very real. “Taehyung’s men would empty their guns inside my head if they even smelled our plots.”

The man opposite him shook his head dejectedly. “What if- what if we change the target? Can’t we do something to his wife- what’s her name? You said he follows her like a blind puppy.”

Se Jong straightened up, looking at his mate carefully. “It’s a bit risky, he drives her around wherever she goes… But that’s certainly an idea…”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

When Taehyung opened his eyes, bright light was streaming in through the windows. His neck was sore. The headache was a terrible bitch, throbbing and making his temples hurt. What puzzled him the most though, was the fact that he was lying on the couch in his office. He didn’t remember going over to the couch.

What he definitely remembered was the warm crook of your hips against his face. But- he looked around- you never visited him in his office. The throbbing resumed with renewed vigor. Had he been dreaming?

“Mr. Kim? Sir?”

His secretary hesitated at the door, hand on the doorknob. He shook himself, sitting upright.

“Yeah?” His eyes were groggy and took a second to focus on the woman.

She worried her lip, unsure.

“Are you alright?”

He didn’t know. “Did you see my wife? I thought she was…” He looked beyond her, expecting to see you around the corner. He swung his eyes back at his secretary. Her blank face told him the answer. No one could bypass Na Yeon and reach his office. He nodded to himself.

“…Never mind.”

“Sir, do you want me to call the doctor?”

“What? No. I’m fine. I just-” He looked around, still uncertain. “-did you come in earlier?”

Confusion spread on her face like ink on parchment.

“I have been with HR all day, going over this quarter’s staffing plans. I came back just now.”

He took a deep breath, coughing immediately after.

“Let me fetch you some water, sir.”

She left, leaving behind a very concerned Taehyung.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Throughout the day, Taehyung’s thoughts kept returning you. He was sure it had been you. He didn’t remember a lot of details, but the words “I love you, Kim” came back to him, your sultry voice calling his name.

He was agitated on the drive home. He had called his guards just to make sure. The head guard at home had confirmed that you had in fact never left home.

Who then had uttered those words to him?

“Bin-ah,” he called out.

“Yes, boss?”

The man was seated on the front passenger seat.

Taehyung told him where he wanted to go, and Wo Bin nodded. The car changed course, making a full U turn.

── ⋆✩⋆ ──

“I assume you don’t have an appointment?” the psychiatrist asked.

Taehyung shrugged. He wasn’t a man who made appointments. He was a man of very little patience, except when it came to matters concerning you.

“So, how can I help you, Mr. Kim?”

It wasn’t easy to exactly define what he needed help with. In fact, it was obnoxious that the doctor thought he even needed help.

“I only came because I…I was confused.”

“Alright. What are you confused about?”

Taehyung pursed his lips. He didn’t really know. He felt like the doctor wouldn’t truly ever understand it either. Nevertheless, he hazarded a try.

“My wife- I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“I see. It’s only natural to-“

Taehyung clucked his tongue in exasperation. “No, you don’t understand. I keep seeing her. Hearing her. I feel like I might hurt her.”

The doctor considered the statement for a second.

“Let’s talk about the first part. You keep seeing her? Could you explain that?”

It would probably sound crazy. Maybe there was nothing wrong with him. He might have just been tired. Taehyung sighed.

“I- I saw her at my office today.” He ran a finger over his brow. “I faintly remember her touching me and talking to me. She helped me lie on the couch.” His brows creased, internalizing the words as he said them. “But when I woke up, she wasn’t there, she had never left home today, in fact.”

The doctor nodded his head softly, as if he heard stories like this all the time.

“Has this happened before?”

The times he had conjured up fantasies about you were innumerable. How many times had he imagined your plush lips around his cock? How many times had he almost felt your breath on his neck? Too many.

“No.”

“You talked about feeling like hurting her. How exactly do you mean?”

Apart from the fact that he had killed your husband before your eyes?

“She…” Taehyung swallowed thickly. “… she’s pregnant. With her first husband’s child.”

“Does it bother you?”

Well, he did want to fucking rip it out of you. It made him tremble in revulsion to see the bastard growing inside you, flourishing and mocking him every day.

“Sometimes, yes.”

“How does it make you feel?”

Like a fucking loser.

“I love her. I want her all to myself. I can’t share her.”

“Sharing her love with the baby irks you?”

Fuck yes. You couldn’t and shouldn’t love anyone or anything that didn’t involve him.

“I guess.”

“Could I suggest getting a pet, Mr. Kim?”

Why a pet? So that you could hand an even bigger slice of your love to it and ignore him?

“What good would that do?”

“See, Mr. Kim, you have a problem adjusting to the fact that your wife is pregnant, and that you’ve been left out of a significant part of her life-“

This guy seems to be getting somewhere

“-So, adopting a pet could help you bond with her more. It’s like having a baby too, you both would get to participate in raising the pet. It might help you get closer and feel less bothered by the baby.”

What kind of logic works that way?

“I guess I can try getting one.”

“Well, I would suggest adopting one after making sure you’re both not allergic.”

You weren’t allergic to dogs. Or cats. You used to love walking your neighbor’s dogs when you were single.

“Fine.”

“Right, Mr. Kim. Would you like to come back for another session to discuss further? You might have some issues I’d like to help you with.”

Like hell he would.

“We’ll see.”

“You see, Mr. Kim, you seem to be carrying a lot of emotional baggage. We could talk more over another session….”

Taehyung stood up, giving the doctor a firm nod that was supposed to convey his thanks. Without another word, he stepped out and left.

Once outside, the car again changed course towards an animal shelter. Taehyung had no trouble choosing the pet he wanted. You loved dogs. He had seen you eagerly asking your neighbor if she wanted help with her dog. He even knew which breeds you liked.

“Do you have Golden Retrievers? Corgis? Pomeranians?”

The attendant nodded. Leading Taehyung to the kennel, he said “We have a Golden puppy. He’s a great little guy.”

The puppy in question was curled up in a corner, his silky coat littered with burrs. He looked up at Taehyung, cute eyes shining in expectation. There were other pups with him, but he seemed to seriously miss human interaction. His leg was bandaged, and he whined at the human looking at him through the bars.

“The bandage?”

The attendant clicked his tongue.

“They get into fights, and another pup nipped at his leg. But he has had his shots, no worries.”

A lone puppy. Picked on by other pups.

A couple hours later, Taehyung walked out of the shelter, carrying the Golden pup in his arms, all cleaned and spruced up, with a huge red bow around his neck.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

You were cursing in frustration at the needles. The old school sentimental mom in you had wanted to knit your baby a warm fuzzy sweater. But the damned stitches kept falling apart. It was bizarre, considering you were very good with needles. You had even embroidered Yoongi’s initials in all his pocket squares with seamless finish.

“Damn it!”

You threw the ball of yarn over your shoulder, cross at the stupid thread. Sighing in frustration, you were trying to calm yourself when something butted your elbow. It was wet. Was it him licking you? You shuddered and turned slowly.

A wet nose was against your elbow, yes, but the owner of the nose wasn’t Taehyung. It was a handsome puppy. The ball of yarn was securely nestled in his mouth, and he wagged his tail at you, shaking his pretty bow in the process.

“Hey…” You crooned, smiling down at him. “Who are you, boy?”

Taehyung stood at the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms folded.

“We adopted him.”

You stood up, all the messed-up yarn falling to the floor.

“We did what?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“We have a puppy together.”

You looked down at the puppy in disbelief. His starry eyes were bright as they looked up at you. You knelt down and patted his head, happiness filling up your heart.

“And I don’t get a say? You should have asked me.”

“Well, you love him. So why bother picking a fight with me?” He found your pouting attractive. “Of course, you get a say, you get to name him.”

You never thought anything Taehyung did could ever delight you. But fate had its way, and you were grinning as you booped the pup’s nose, saying:

“Almond. You’re Almond.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Namjoonah?”

The younger Kim stopped outside his father’s study, popping his head in at the door.

“Yeah, dad?”

“Your mother didn’t say you were coming tonight.”

“Ah, I wanted to drop by before I headed to Ha Ni’s.”

“Give your girlfriend my love.”

Namjoon nodded. He saw his father’s face twist in uncertainty.

“What is it, dad?”

His father wiped his glasses, signaling Namjoon to close the door and grab a seat.

“I can’t say much, boy, but Kim Taehyung showed up at my office today.”

Namjoon did a double take.

“What?” His mouth went dry. “What did he want?”

His father rubbed his temples, deep in thought.

“He came for help. Saying he feared harming his wife.”

Namjoon’s jaw clenched. “Y/N?”

“Yes. He apparently doesn’t enjoy Min’s baby disrupting his life. Do you- Do you think he would hurt her? Or the baby?”

The hooded eyes burned with anger. Exhaling sharply, Namjoon’s thick voice growled:

“Well, she would deserve it then. I don’t give a shit about that bitch.” He rose, clenching his fist tight. “I don’t even think it’s Min’s baby anyway.”

He stormed out, leaving his dad staring at the doorway, worry creasing his features.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Mr. Kim?”

Taehyung was grabbing his coat and keys when he heard the voice. He raised his eyebrows at his secretary.

“Mr. Jinyoung is waiting to meet you.”

Na Yeon’s boss looked at her in confusion. “Isn’t he supposed to be here at 3 pm?”

“No, Mr. Kim, his appointment was at 11 am.”

He didn’t believe her. He had carefully scheduled his appointments around your ultrasound. He wanted to go with you.

“Let me see the appointments journal.”

Sure enough, his secretary had jotted down Jinyoung’s name for a 11 am appointment. But he remembered saying 3 pm so clearly

“Tell him to come back at another date. I am leaving.”

“But, sir –“

He flashed her a warning look. Kim Taehyung was never contradicted. Except, of course, by you.

“I am taking my wife for her sonogram. Don’t call me unless it’s urgent.”

── ⋆✩⋆ ──-

At the doctor’s, he held your hand, squeezing it gently. Your attempts to shrug his hand off were futile. Besides, it was an expensive clinic that only the elite could afford. It was a given that everyone knew who you both were. The social eyebrows would frown on you if something awkward happened.

The gel was cold on your belly. It made your toes curl. The transducer wand moving all over your belly produced images of your baby on the monitor. Involuntary tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you watched, spellbound. A deep ache in your heart reminded you that Yoongi wasn’t present to see his child’s sonogram.

In his place, however, was another man, his murderer, holding your hand and blowing on your knuckles as he too silently watched the child’s images.

Taehyung couldn’t understand what he was feeling. There was a tiny version of you, getting ready to come out to the world, trusting him and you to be loving parents. His mind screamed at him that it was part Min too, but his heart wanted to focus on the part Y/N at that moment.

“You have a very healthy baby, Mrs. and Mr. Kim,” the doctor said, smiling down at you. While you wiped yourself clean, Taehyung thanked the doctor and murmured some questions which you didn’t quite catch.

“Very well, then.” You saw her nod in enthusiasm.

As he steered you out the door, you hissed at him, asking what he had been up to.

“Nothing.” His face was sincere. “I told her that we didn’t want a gender reveal.”

You spun around.

“We? You fucking impose your ideas on me all the time, Taehyung.” You hadn’t wanted to know the gender either. But it was rude of him to take all decisions on his own, tying it up with the ‘we’ bow.

“I know what you want, love.”

You faced away, fuming. It was maddening how he seemed to read you so well.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Taehyung was at a loss for words. He had missed eight appointments, each one just as important as the other. Just because he seemed to have his schedules mixed up. Each time his schedule clashed with plans to take you out, he chose you over his own appointments. He couldn’t understand how his time got so muddled however much he tried to keep his professional appointments away from personal time.

Na Yeon was standing before him, worrying her lip, looking meek.

“Sir, if you don’t mind, can I suggest something?”

A sharp sigh gave her the permission she sought.

“Can I arrange Mrs. Kim a personal chauffeur?”

“What?”

She took a step back instinctively, scared at his tone.

“I just think… that it would be easier for you.” She looked like she would faint with fear. “I mean, she could have the chauffeur to take her to her appointments. And- and he can keep tabs on her whereabouts.”

Taehyung was about to deny the idea. But then, he remembered the eight missed meetings, and the deals that hadn’t gone through because of them. He grudgingly admitted that it would perhaps be better to get you a chauffeur of your own.

“Well, tell Wo Bin to arrange for one of the guards to-“

He was interrupted by a file, which she extended to him meekly.

“I have already chosen very skilled people to shortlist from, sir. Using our guards might make Mrs. Kim feel uneasy.”

He thought about it. Hiring one of his own men to drive you around was safer. But you would feel on edge. As if having dozens of men around you at the house wasn’t enough. Na Yeon was right.

He skimmed through the file. There were five shortlisted candidates.

“The best out of these five?”

She drew nearer, leaning to turn the pages. Her perfume reached his nostrils. The smell brought some vague memories back. Weird, faded ones.

“This man,” she pointed at a picture, and then turned the page over to point at another.

“And this one. These two are contenders, very skilled and trustable.”

Taehyung nodded.

“Hire whichever one is the best.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Jinyoung was deep in discussion with Taehyung, talking over the nuances of their deal. The water in the crystal glasses started to ripple, and Jinyoung scowled at his counterpart, pissed. The source of the vibration was Taehyung’s phone-and it flashed your name on the caller ID.

Taehyung didn’t hesitate.

“Yes, love.”

“Stop calling me that, asshole.”

“Tell me, my sweet.”

“Blueberries.” Taehyung reached for his notepad, jotting down. “Chocolate ice cream. Apricots. No, Dragon fruit. Oh, and Hershey’s kisses. Get me the almond ones.”

Taehyung subconsciously nodded his head, writing all your demands down.

“Anything else, honey?”

“Fuck you.”

“I love you too. I’ll get them to you.”

Taehyung grinned when you cut the call abruptly. He was still grinning when Jinyoung glared at him.

“What the fuck, man?” He was peeved. “In the middle of a business meeting?”

Replacing the phone on the table, Taehyung glided his hand to the file he was reading.

“It was my wife.”

Jinyoung scoffed. “You ditched my appointment once already. And now this? I can’t deal with you.”

He got up, nose flaring. “Fuck you. And your dumb cunt. You’re pathetic, running after a pussy who already got knocked up for fuck’s sake.”

Jinyoung’s head made contact with the glass tabletop, smashing it to bits, blood pooling on the sharp shards. The collision had a heavy impact, shattering everything and leaving only the steel frame intact.

“What the hell did you say, motherfucker?” Taehyung grabbed the man’s head by his hair, driving him into the steel frame. “How dare you insult my Y/N?” He kept banging the man’s head against the metal, not satisfied until he passed out and went limp.

“Fucking piece of shit.”

He spat on the unconscious figure, kicking his midriff with violent force. He was heaving with the exertion, sweat wetting his collar and trickling down his neck. His eyes landed on his phone and his face slowly lit up again.

You had called him and ordered him to get you the things you craved. You wanted him. You had thought of him. His smile radiated in his eyes, and his heart smiled too.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

It was the seventh month of your pregnancy. Fuck the calculation of weeks. It made you crazy if people asked in which week you were. The hormones were completely off balance. You snapped at anything and everything under the sun. Almond was the only living creature you didn’t snap at.

Taehyung received a fair dose of kicks and bites, mostly when he tried initiating kisses and make-out sessions. He couldn’t bear to have sex with you, not when your belly was swollen with Yoongi’s child. But he couldn’t stop himself from trying to kiss you.

He got angry when you pushed him away. He was scared that your baby was quickly becoming the center of your attention. It felt threatening that a weak bundle of muscle inside you was challenging his position in your life.

It was one similarly exasperating day when he saw you knitting a scarf, you had given up on a sweater because it was too puzzling, and Almond was lying contentedly at your feet. He sneaked behind the couch, trying to put his hand around your neck so he could kiss you. But a harsh jab of the knitting needle poked his ribs, leaving him gasping in pain.

“Y/N, what the hell?” He clutched his chest in agony.

“Keep your hands to yourself, you bastard.” You spat at him in anger, already irritated by your hot flashes and frequent need to pee.

Almond whined at the sudden raise in voices, and you instinctively bent to soothe him, rubbing his nose.

Watching the fucking dog getting better treatment than him led Taehyung to fly off his handle. Mouth curling, he grabbed Almond by the collar, dragging him out of the room. You shouted at him to stop, swearing angrily, but he pushed you away. He was muttering at the dog in anger as he pulled and tugged, slamming the door shut on him.

You could hear the whines and soft scratching of paws against the door.

“What the hell are you doing, Taehyung?” Your voice was a scream.

“Showing you who is in charge.” He ground his teeth, anger lending a murderous flash to his visage.

He pushed you carelessly, sending you flying to land on the couch. The sudden push made your head throb.

Unbuckling his belt, he pulled it free from the loops, throwing it away, the metal buckle hitting the floor with a clang.

Your voice caught, and you half choked out: “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Reaching his hand out, he pulled the straps of your dress down, exposing your breasts to him. Pregnancy had led to swollen breasts, so you were usually braless.

The only good side of the pregnancy, to him, was that your breasts had become bigger and hence he had more soft flesh to rub his face into.

He didn’t lay a finger on you. His attention was focused on your breasts, and he took his already hard member out, stroking himself. The pre-cum glided on his thick shaft, generously coating him and making lewd noises.

“Eyes on me,” he breathed, seeing you attempt to close them.

“You are a shitbag, Taehyung.” Anger made your face feel feverishly hot.

“Don’t take that tone with me, Y/N Kim.”

You flinched at the surname, and his devilish smile flashed at you.

“You’re a Kim, my Y/N Kim. Remember that, sweetie.”

He stroked himself, an intent gaze fixating on your breasts, watching the way they heaved with each breath. The sight made him go wild, and he stroked harder, hand working in a frenzy. Before he knew it, he was panting your name out, taking strangled breaths and shooting his cum on your breasts. He licked his lips as he witnessed his essence dripping in globs onto the cloth bunched over your belly.

He was shaking, and he squatted down, his breaths labored and heavy.

Almond whined again, and he snapped his head towards the door, shouting in rage:

“SHUT UP!”

He turned back to face you, a blissed out look on his face. An adoring smile stretched his lips wide.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Almond was banished from the house. He was put in a kennel outside, and he wasn’t allowed to go near the main house unless the master desired. You weren’t allowed near him either.

“Why are you doing this?” you had asked, and he had shrugged simply.

“Nothing is more important to you than me. Remember that Y/N. It’s a lesson.”

He dropped his gaze to your bump, and grinned when you put your hands on your belly protectively.

“Cute. But you can’t protect your baby unless you listen to me.”

“Why are you this way, Taehyung? Haven’t you tormented me enough?”

His heart felt stabbed. He had done everything for you. Everything he had done was out of love. Why couldn’t you understand? You were so ready to give your whole heart on a platter to that fucker Yoongi. But why weren’t you throwing even one morsel of love his way?

You put your hands on your hips.

“If you love me as you say, let me go. Let me live my life.”

He was looking down.

“Taehyung?” You sighed in pain. “Do you really love me?”

He looked up directly into your eyes.

“Do you?”

You stood motionless, the heavy silence smothering him.

“Yeah. I thought so.”

He scoffed and got up. You had to learn to love him. It would take time. But he would wait. He almost turned, but stopped when he remembered something.

“I want you to embroider my initials in my pocket squares. They’re all on the dresser. The maid will bring the needles and thread.”

He advanced towards you with a disarming smile.

“Remember, it’s KTH. I’ll let you take Almond on a walk after you finish doing it, my dearest.”

He pecked your cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I’ll see you in the evening, love.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Taehyung was in hot water. You were dangling his pocket square in your left hand, holding his tie with the right.

“What is this stain, bitch?” you growled, leering at him.

The lipstick stain was bright red, the lip prints visible clearly on the white fabric, right above the embroidered KTH. You had found it on him as soon as he walked in.

He had been taken aback when you had jumped on him, pulling his tie in anger.

“You fucking kill my husband, lock me up in this goddamn house and go get a whore’s lips on you? Who do you think you are?”

His face was ghastly, shocked at the accusation. He didn’t know how the lipstick stain had got on the fabric. He always wore suits, and he always wore his pocket squares to show off the beautiful KTH embroidered by your pretty fingers.

What angered him more than your being mad at him was the fact that someone had ruined his precious monogrammed pocket square. He had no idea how it had happened.

“Is this a trick, you sick fuck?” you spat, “Did you make me embroider that just to insult me like this?”

“Y/N, no, I would never,” his tone was panicked. “I have no idea, I swear. I don’t know how it got on me.”

Your bitter stare sliced through his heart. Who had played such a sick prank on him? Who had the fucking nerve to? He couldn’t think of anyone other than you having the balls to mess with him. Balls. He scoffed. More like boobs. And a fucking baby.

You let go of his tie with a spiteful tug.

“Bitch. You are a bitch, Kim Taehyung.”

He controlled his urge to slap you. He had refrained from hitting you as much as he could. But your favorite swear word was making his blood boil. You kept calling him a bitch. Maybe he was, but you were the real bitch. The bitch who just wouldn’t let him love you.

“Wash the stain yourself. Don’t touch me, I loathe you.”

You were about to move when he tugged on your elbow.

“Don’t be a bitch, Y/N. I won’t cheat on you. You are my wife.”

“Yeah. And the mistress of this fucking house. Watch me, I’ll come with a man’s cum on my kerchief one day, and-“

The slap was incredibly harsh, leaving a hot red print of his entire hand on your cheek. Your hand flew to cup your smarting cheek, but he slapped again, and again. The force made your head lurch left and right. The tears washed down your cheeks, staining them and burning the sore skin.

His hand found the nape of your neck, cradling it. His blank manic eyes stared deep into yours.

“I will snap you in two if I smell another man on you.”

The tone was cold as ice, making your gut churn. He stared for a long time, unblinking and stern. Finally, as if he were out of a trance, he let go of your neck and pushed you away with unnecessary force.

You didn’t say a word, moving away from him with flaming hot cheeks.

He didn’t argue when you slept on the couch that night. But when you woke up at midnight to pee, you saw him lying on the floor, just adjacent to the couch, fast asleep.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Taehyung brought his work home in the last trimester of your pregnancy. He wanted to be near you, soothing you and making sure you were alright. Besides, he found that he was having zero productivity at his office while you were at home. He didn’t want one of his guards helping you up the stairs or fetching you hot chocolate. It had to be him.

He would be dictating to his secretary in his study and you would shout out to him.

“Grapefruit. I fucking want grapefruit.” If he didn’t respond, you would punctuate with a “Can you hear me, asshole?”

He learned to get on his feet as soon you called. It was amusing to watch his secretary squirm in her seat when he got shouted at. He didn’t really feel ashamed. Rather, he felt happy that you wanted him.

It was hard to watch you struggle at night. He couldn’t sleep, not when he knew you were wide awake. Even if you did doze off, you would awaken screaming, drenched in sweat. He would ball his fists; hands itching to cuddle you and provide comfort. But he suspected he was probably the reason for your nightmares in the first place.

So, night after night, you both lay awake in your beds, pretending to sleep, trying to fool each other. He would assist you to get up and turn to lie on your side. But the rest of the time, the bedroom was filled with heavy sighs and muffled sobs.

Na Yeon once tried commenting on his dark puffy eyebags.

“Mr. Kim, your eyes-“

“Huh? What about them?”

She shuffled her feet nervously.

“You don’t seem to be sleeping enough.”

Just then, you yelled out:

“Kim Taehyung, black currant ice cream.”

He bolted out the door, returning only after a good thirty minutes. When he came back, Na Yeon risked another comment.

“Sir, she is being really… “

Taehyung had looked at her sternly, cutting her short.

“Say a word against my wife and I’ll fucking fire your ass.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

It was a fine spring day. Taehyung had made sure to check on you before making his way to the study. You had looked ripe. He was sure it was coming soon. The half bastard – half angel was coming soon.

He was talking about a drug deal with another drug lord. The door was closed because the man had demanded it.

Na Yeon was outside, waiting for the meeting to end. She rummaged in her bag to find something. Her hand made contact with the slender wire of her earphones. She started blasting a song, turning the volume up and pressing the buds hard into her ears.

The phone in the study rang, and Taehyung picked it up whilst he was still talking to the man, not noticing the caller ID.

“Taeh-I-I aarghh” The line disconnected.

In a second, he was on his feet, running to the bedroom and throwing the door open. You were lying on the floor, unconscious and out cold. The phone had dropped and switched off on impact with the floor.

“God, Y/N!” he dialed emergency, simultaneously checking your pulse. It felt very weak. “Stay, stay, stay with me,” he muttered, ears ringing in anxiety.

── ⋆✩⋆ ──-

A couple hours later, he was prancing outside the ER, unable to breathe. He didn’t care about the baby. He really didn’t. But you had looked shockingly ill. Your lips had been blue. Dangerously low blood pressure, the nurse had said. He swore he wouldn’t forgive himself if something happened to you.

“Mrs. Kim’s attendant?” The nurse called out, peeking her head out.

“Yeah?” His voice came out dry and raspy. “I’m her… husband.”

“We’re taking her to the labor room, she’s stable and prepped.”

He wiped the sweat off his forehead in relief. He felt like he had just run a marathon. Taking deep breaths, he went off to go wash his face and join you in the labor room.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Ah, shit shit,” he was cursing, the hard squeeze almost breaking his palm. “It’s okay baby, you’re doing great.”

The contractions were fucking painful, and you took great joy in squeezing his hand to death. You were 10 already centimeters dilated, so what was keeping the baby so long?

Taehyung was going crazy by your side, and it didn’t help that at every painful contraction, he screamed at the doctor:

“Get it out, get it the fuck out!”

The pushing started, and you squeezed even harder, inflicting as much pain on him as you could. He took it like a champ, though he swore till his mouth was dry.

“I can see the head, Mrs. Kim! Great job, keep pushing!” the doctor’s voice sounded from between your legs.

“Just a bit more, just a bit more, honey,” he cooed, biting his lips to contain his cussing. He was sure you had broken a few bones in his hand.

With one blood curling scream, you gave one final push, and the room was filled with a hearty cry of an infant.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Kim, it’s a beautiful baby girl.”

The doctor held up the beautiful bundle you and Yoongi had lovingly created, and tears wouldn’t stop trickling down your cheeks at the thought of him missing his daughter’s birth.

“Mr. Kim, do you want to cut the umbilical cord?”

Taehyung went to the foot of the bed. The man who had ruined the father of the baby you had just birthed. His hands were shaking when he snipped the cord. A killer, witnessing the miracle of life. Fucking ironic.

He had the skin-to-skin, as you watched bleary eyed. It was so unfair. Yoongi was supposed to be holding your baby. He was supposed to be crying tears of joy. He was supposed to have the first skin-to-skin

After being cleaned, she was given to you, and the brilliant black eyes made you gasp in happiness. They were exactly Yoongi’s shining ones.

“Do we have a name yet?” the midwife asked mildly, smiling at you.

Taehyung clenched his teeth. It had been the deal, after all. You did get to name the baby if you took his name.

Looking out the window, you smiled at the blue sky. You had chosen the name with great care.

“Ha Neul.” You looked down at the mini Yoongi in your arms. “Min Ha Neul.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Sure, it was a fact that babies needed to be near their mother and stuff, but Taehyung was quickly losing all his patience. Considering your health, the doctor had advised you to stay back for a couple days to monitor the hypotension. And to Taehyung’s annoyance, almost ninety percent of your time was dedicated to rocking, crooning, and- he shuddered- breastfeeding the little tyke.

He hated it when you nursed the baby. It took all his self-control to prevent plucking the little bastard from your arms and throwing her away. You had seen his face a few times, and you had ordered him to get out whenever Ha Neul needed feeding. It only served to make him resent the child more.

He had asked his secretary to send news of the baby being born to the circle. He didn’t want to, but some traditions were traditions, and he couldn’t change them.

A steady stream of visitors came and left, bringing the little one a lot of gifts and clothes. To them, the child was a descendant of the Min family. And that in itself warranted their inclusion in the celebrations of her birth.

Namjoon’s father had called him.

“Joonah, Y/N has given birth to a daughter.”

There were mixed feelings crashing inside Namjoon’s heart when he heard the news. When he didn’t reply, his father pressed.

“Your mother and I have already seen her. She’s just like Min Yoongi.” There was a pause. “You go too, son.”

It was a very confused Namjoon who arrived at the hospital, carrying flowers and a Penguin plushie. He was an uncle. His best friend’s daughter had been born. He remembered how Yoongi had smiled his gummy smile, confiding in him that he wanted his first born to be a daughter. Namjoon’s small fond smile evaporated. Because Yoongi had wanted a mini version of you. You, the bitch who married fucking Kim Taehyung as soon as Yoongi died.

Part of him believed that the child wasn’t Yoongi’s. He told himself that you had probably been screwing Taehyung behind Yoongi’s back, and the girl was possibly Taehyung’s.

You had just burped Ha Neul and laid her down, when Taehyung was hot on your tail.

“You don’t remember Almond, do you?” he hissed.

You turned incredulously. “What is that supposed to mean?”

His lips trembled as he shot a murderous look at your daughter.

“Do you want her to be locked away like he is?”

You leered at him. “The fuck do you want? Don’t you dare threaten me.”

He scoffed in derision. “Kiss me.”

“Fuck off, Taehyung.”

He reached his hand down to the giggling infant. “Well, in that case…”

You threw a punch at his ribs, screaming at him. “Fuck you, bitch.”

He smiled. “So that’s a yes?”

Namjoon raised his hand to knock at the already open door, stopping when he saw Taehyung lean down to kiss you. He gritted his teeth when he saw you kissing him back.

“My tongue, lick my tongue,” Taehyung moaned, and Namjoon’s face crumpled in disgust when you complied. Bitch.

He rapped on the door loudly, making you jump and withdraw back to the propped cushions. Clearing his throat, he spoke tonelessly:

“I- uh, I came to see the baby.”

Taehyung and Namjoon exchanged murderous stares, and your husband stepped away to let the man see the baby.

Namjoon’s doubts vanished as soon as he saw the lovely eyes of your daughter. Just like Min. The little lips were like orange pulp, delicate and soft. He placed his gifts on the bedside table and bent down, crooning at her.

“Hey, little Min, it’s uncle Kim!”

He didn’t bother looking at you, throwing the question at no one in particular.

“Her name?”

You whispered softly, chest puffing up with pride.

“Min Ha Neul.”

He nodded, smiling down at the child, touching her nose gently. If only his best friend had lived to see his fine daughter.

When Namjoon left, he was not sure if he simply disliked you or abhorred you. True, the baby had been Min’s, but he had witnessed you kissing the slimy Kim bastard as if you were eating his face. He called his father after he reached his apartment.

“I saw her, dad, she’s exactly like Yoongi.” His tone changed. “You don’t have to worry about Y/N being unsafe, she is in fact very comfortable with Kim.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Your days were spent changing poop diapers and chasing after your daughter when she crawled near guards with guns. Having the baby and raising her all alone, with zero help from Taehyung, was hard. He was a diva, he wouldn’t even go near a soiled diaper, let alone touch it.

“You made her, you take care of her,” was always the reply when you demanded him to pitch in.

One day though, you had left her in the nursery and gone to take a shower. The water was running, muffling all the sounds from outside your room. You were halfway through your shower, shower gel suds all over your palms and shampoo dripping down your eyebrows, when a piercing squeal almost stopped your heart.

There were a few more squeals, and then Ha Neul’s bawls filled the whole mansion. Wrapping a towel around your soapy body, you dashed out towards the nursery. The cries were still loud, and you tumbled at full speed in her direction.

The door was open, and when you slid to a halt before her crib, Taehyung was there, holding her with a disgusted expression.

“Little piece of-“ he was muttering, shaking her like a ragdoll. When he saw you, he stuffed her into your arms, crinkling his nose up.

“Ger it to stop! Get it to stop! God, I’m going crazy!”

You shushed her, letting her nestle into the safety of your arms.

“What were you doing to her?” you snapped, glaring at him.

He scowled at you, showcasing his arms.

“That dratted bastard- shat all over my hands. Ugh.” He shuddered. “Where the fuck were you? I tried to change her but she wouldn’t fucking shut up.”

A smile threatened to pry your lips open.

He ground his teeth, glaring at the now-calm baby.

“Fucking screams like a hyena,” he said, turning away and stomping off to wash his hands.

When you returned to the bathroom to finish your shower, he was holding the bottle of shampoo, reading the label.

“Funny,” he said, glancing at you as you entered the bathroom. “This label doesn’t mention any fragrance.”

“Huh?”

He squeezed a dollop of shampoo onto his palm and sniffed at it. “I was right, it has no scent.”

“Get out, Kim Taehyung. I need to shower.”

He grabbed the towel and pulled you closer, turning the shower on. The water ran down your damp hair, letting all the bubbles wash away. The wet towel dropped to the floor, bunching around your feet. His hands were all over your shoulders and back, gently kneading your muscles.

You tried to rebel, but his grasp just grew tighter. Deciding to get it over with, you let him caress you. Much to his joy, he pulled you closer and kissed you sweetly. Usually he was aggressive and went for your tongue. But this time it was soft and almost romantic.

He moaned softly into your mouth, cupping the supple flesh of your butt as he thrust his lower body against yours. His eyes were closed when he broke the kiss and roamed down to your neck. There was a sharp prick on the side of your neck, and it vanished just as suddenly when he bent to suckle on the mark.

“God, Y/N,” he murmured, kissing the hickey fervently. “You make me go wild.”

He grabbed your wet locks, sniffing at them like he always did. When he opened his eyes, he was smiling, realization dawning on him.

“It’s not the shampoo. It’s you. You smell like berries.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“It’s time, Se Jong,” the caller said, breathing into the phone conspiratorially. “Her car just zoomed past mine.”

Se Jong drew a deep breath. It had been goddamn hard to get you alone in the car. You only came out of the Kim mansion rarely, and usually a guard accompanied you if you took Ha Neul with you. Taehyung was wary and paranoid that you would try and run away with your daughter.

Se Jong couldn’t risk being identified by any guard. It had taken a whole damn year for him to plan your accident.

Things had started to turn bright for him when the guard stopped accompanying you when you went out without Ha Neul. The chauffeur might recognize him, but he was willing to take that risk. If any of Taehyung’s guards even heard a whisper of what he was about to do, he’d be skinned alive. He was sure of that. Those men were fiercely loyal to their boss. Se Jong scoffed. Dogs. He would become the next mafia lord and they would all come running to worship his feet.

He started the ignition, carefully glancing at the road, waiting for the sleek black car to appear. He had tried to get a hitman, but the wimp had backed out as soon as he had started saying “Kim…” So, he had no choice but to get his hands dirty.

The afternoon rain had left the roads slippery, and it was a stroke of luck on Se Jong’s side when your car came careening around the corner a bit faster than needed. He released the hand brake, hurtling forward at full speed and crashing right in the middle of your vehicle.

── ⋆✩⋆ ──-

The air was filled with smoke, and you couldn’t see properly. The impact had been sudden, and the chauffeur had been knocked out. Coughing and trying to clear your burning throat, you reached out to open the door when it swung wide open. A man’s pants and belt were visible, but it was all so blurred that you couldn’t make out who it was.

His hand reached in, clamping tightly around your eyes as the other arm worked on pulling you out of the car.

“What?” you started to ask before your mouth was covered with the grime-covered hand.

“Shut up,” the man hissed in your ear, pressing your back against his chest as he pulled you to your feet. “Don’t make any noise.”

He was hugging you from behind, one hand covering your mouth and the other pressed against your eyes. He slowly inched you forward, telling you to move one step at a time.

The smell of burnt tires filled your nostrils, and you staggered forward blindly, trying your best to lean away from the man’s chest. The distant sound of a car grew closer and closer, and just as he tried to make you crouch down, you elbowed him sharply.

He cursed in pain, grabbing you by the hair and trying to push you into his car. You attempted to veer around, and a heavy strike sent your head crashing against the doorframe. Your vision blurred, and everything seemed to grow dark.

“Hey!”

A man was calling from somewhere to your left, but you couldn’t focus.

“Hey! Let the lady go!”

The voice was louder now, and you blinked in confusion. Crinkling your eyes in desperate concentration, you tried to see who your assailant was. But just as you turned to face him, a sickening punch hit you like a gunshot, throwing your head back and causing you to tumble. The last sound you heard before your head hit the gravel was the hasty squeal of tires racing away from the scene.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

The lights were making your head pound. There were so many people bustling around, but it all seemed to be happening in slow motion. The voices were too hard to comprehend. But you could feel that something was definitely different with your head. There were thick bandages wrapped heavily around your head, feeling like a big boulder was tying you down.

People came in and shone lights into your eyes, telling you instructions in voices so muffled that you couldn’t understand what was being asked of you.

He wasn’t there. You knew that much at least. It was more by instinct that you knew that.

Your body hadn’t tensed up into a tight coil the entire time you were conscious. Maybe you could slip out of the room unnoticed when you felt better. But the pounding in your head was too much to risk an attempt anytime soon.

It was only on the next day that your hearing got clearer. The clogged sensation slowly alleviated, and you could hear the doctors discussing your charts with their colleagues. You wondered if you could try and make a run for it.

You were debating internally as to what should be done. Just as your toe touched the cold hospital marble, the door opened, and your daughter ran in. She made straight for your arms, jumping into the bed, and clasping her little hands around your waist.

“Mmommieeth!”

“Oh! My baby Min!”

Hugging her in joy, you exclaimed at the shiny truck she had dropped in her haste to run to you.

“Oh, what a gorgeous truck!”

She giggled innocently, bunching your gown tightly in her little fingers.

“Daddath,” she lisped happily, and your breath stopped for a second. Slipping in through the doorway was the embodiment of all your worst feelings in the world.

He casually waltzed in, taking note of your foot resting on the floor. He raised one eyebrow cockily.

“Going somewhere?”

He was holding a slew of wrapped lollipops in his hand, as if it were the most common thing in the world for him to carry candy around.

You refused to answer, choosing to settle back into the bed instead. So much for planning to run away.

He sauntered nearer, placing the lollipops down on the bedside tray and reaching a hand out to touch your forehead.

His fingers made slight contact with the bandages, and he sighed heavily.

“Oh, sweet baby wife,” he murmured, his deep baritone voice sending unexpected thrills up your spine. “I shouldn’t let you out of my sight anymore.”

God, was he going to ban you from leaving the house?

“It was an accident…” you whined, hoping that he wouldn’t press the issue any further.

“Lollipop!” your daughter interrupted, thrusting the candy into Taehyung’s big hand. He silently unwrapped it, handing it to her before turning to face you. He moved over and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Y/N,” his tone was serious, “you had surgery. You were out cold for a whole day. You can’t imagine how much I was-“ He bit his lip, and you squinted hard to see if it was a tear shining under his lids.

“I had surgery? What- how? He hit me that hard?”

Taehyung’s jaw tightened in silent fury.

“About that, yeah,” he said, gently pressing your hand. “Who was that? Did you see that son of a bitch?”

You could see his nostrils flaring. It was quite a sight, your daughter cheerfully savoring a candy while Taehyung seethed in stony anger near her, clearly fighting his urge to throw and break things.

“I’ll get that fucking son of a bitch, I will,” he muttered, making you scowl.

“Don’t swear before my daughter,” you snapped, and he nodded absently. When he looked back at you, his eyes were loaded with concern.

The pads of his fingers traced your forehead softly.

“A subdural bleed-“ he was talking to himself at that point, “- how much it would have hurt…” His lips trembled. In anger or in concern you weren’t sure.

The moment was broken when a doctor came in, requesting Taehyung to stay outside for a few minutes while she inspected your bandages.

She smiled at your daughter, pinching her cheek gently. Ha Neul popped the lollipop out just long enough to say “Docthor Mogo.”

The doctor chuckled and nodded. “Hi Mrs. Kim. I’m Dr. Montgomery, I’ll just need to take your vitals and ask you a few questions.”

You smiled at her, throwing the question at her. “Mogo?”

She laughed. “It’s easier to pronounce. You have a very intelligent child.”

You beamed in pride. “Yes, she is. Wait, how does she know you?”

The doctor paused in surprise. “Oh? Mr. Kim- he was here the whole time ever since you got admitted. He simply refused to leave your side. When you went in for surgery, he went home and fetched little Kim too. He hasn’t slept for two days, he’s such a devoted father.”

You looked down at the angelic little girl on your bed. “Little Min,” you said slowly. “She’s little Min.” The doctor didn’t say anything and chose to scribble your vitals down on the chart instead. She turned to leave, but you caught hold of her arm.

“He took care of Ha Neul? He had her the entire time?”

“Yes, Mrs. Kim. I need to jog your memory a bit, can you answer a few questions?”

“What? Yeah okay.”

“Let’s see. What’s in this picture?”

You stared at the flash card dumbly. Was she kidding?

“An umbrella.”

“Good. Can you spell that for me?”

The curiousness got the better of you.

“Why are you asking all this?”

She gazed at you, turning to look at the frosted glass windows. Taehyung’s mop of long hair was barely discernible, he seemed to be talking to another doctor.

“Mrs. Kim, there were complications during the surgery. You have a risk of developing seizures. We are closely monitoring you.”

You had no suitable reply. It was too much to digest.

“Now, Mrs. Kim, can you spell ‘Umbrella’ for me?”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Previously, 3 hours after the accident

“Mr. Kim?”

Taehyung leaped out of the sofa, rushing to the surgeon.  Wo Bin followed him with equal haste. The surgeon was in his scrubs, he had come out to give an update.

“Mr. Kim, I understand this is a very tough time for you-“

Taehyung was shaking all over. He had been unable to breath properly ever since he you had been wheeled into the OR. God, the blood. His precious little bird all cut up, bleeding and bruised.

“Is she- is she-“ he couldn’t form the words, too scared to ask.

“She’s still in surgery, but she’s stable for now Mr. Kim. That’s why I came out. I need to let you know that there was an unexpected complication…”

“What? What happened?”

Taehyung plunged forward urgently, and Wo Bin had to use his full strength to keep his boss from pouncing on the reedy doctor.

“There’s seizure activity in her brain, which might exacerbate post-surgery-“ the doctor said, his eyes round and wary.

“Treat it then,” Taehyung hollered in his deepest growl. “Isn’t that what you do for a living?”

The man in scrubs seemed to grow perplexed.

“You see Mr. Kim, we might have to remove a portion of her temporal lobe to treat it.” He paused awkwardly. “It might lead to significant memory loss. Statistically speaking, around 70% of the patients…”

“No.”

Taehyung cut the doctor midsentence. “No. I won’t consent to it.”

“But Mr. Kim, it is…”

There was a deep sigh. One that Wo Bin was accustomed to fear. He glanced at his boss in alarm.

“I. Said. No.”

The doctor made as if to open his mouth to protest, but Wo Bin shook his head at him. Taehyung fell silent and Wo Bin took charge.

“You will not perform that procedure on Mrs. Kim,” he said, folding his arms. “Isn’t there any other method you could try?”

The doctor explained that the risk of seizures would be dramatically reduced, and that the patient’s quality of life would be so much better if her husband consented to the suggested surgery.

“I will take care of her if she seizes,” Taehyung said sullenly. He was looking down at his shoes, refusing to look at the doctor. “She’s my wife. I will tend to her.”

The surgeon talked to Wo Bin for a couple more minutes and went back into the OR. After the door closed behind him, Wo Bin rounded on his boss, unusually angry.

“Why did you refuse to consent, boss? Don’t you understand? She’ll forget stuff! She might forget Min entirely. Why would you pass up on a chance like that, sir?”

Taehyung collapsed onto the sofa, putting his head in his hands.

“I can’t do that Wo Bin-ah.”

Wo Bin looked down at the bent man in confusion.

“Why not? It’s a second chance. I don’t get it-“

Taehyung had gone completely silent. There were faint sounds of sniffing. When he lifted his head to look up at his aide, tears were ready to spill down his cheeks.

“Don’t you see? She’ll forget Min. She’ll lose whatever little memories she has of him. I can’t do that to her. I have already taken too much from her. I can’t rob her of her memories too.”

He paused to take another sniff. “I don’t want her to be a clean slate. Because her memories and battles make up the woman I love today. I just want her to forget him and learn to love me.”

Wo Bin knew he had crossed the line even before the words left his lips.

“With all due respect, sir, this might be the worst mistake of your life.”

Taehyung stared at him with a defeated smile.

“Then I shall live to regret it.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

You seized only twice after the surgery, and Taehyung was there both times. He had made you lie on your side and had held you until they passed.

When you were discharged, he brought home flash cards to keep working your brain. He was ruthless and adamant, and just wouldn’t leave you alone until you finished all the cards successfully.

It was raining one night, and he had been in a particularly long meeting with his mafia men. He kept screaming at Wo Bin to drive faster, he knew you would have skipped dinner and tucked yourself into bed. He never worried about Ha Neul. That tyke was well cared for anyway. It was you who kept him worried.

“Y/N?” He shrugged his coat off, not bothering to hang it on the rack. “Y/N?”

He was right. You were curled in a ball, pretending to be fast asleep so he wouldn’t bother you.

The bed dipped, and his warm breath tickled your skin. He simply rested his head in the crook of your neck, supporting his entire weight on one arm so you wouldn’t be crushed.

“Baby,” he whined, unusually softly. “Come eat.”

You lay completely still, hoping he would leave you alone. But he just didn’t budge.

“Y/N,” he whined again, twisting a strand of your hair around his finger. “I know you’re awake.”

Sigh. Of course, he did. What monstrosity was he planning to put you through? Shrugging him off your body and hoping it hadn’t pissed him off, you got to your feet. There was no point in stalling.

He was mysteriously in a good mood though. Reaching out to entwine his fingers in yours, he dragged you to the living room.

“You ordered Pad Thai?” you asked incredulously.

“Mmm hmm,” he nodded before plopping down on the couch. He proceeded to mindlessly unbutton his shirt and remove his cufflinks. He knew you liked Pad Thai, he had been on his toes all through your pregnancy, running to fetch it for you from the best fast food places in the city.

The muffled jangling of the cufflinks as they dropped down onto the carpet brought a fresh wave of dread crawling over your skin. You stood gaping at him, unsure of what he was up to.

He raised his head and stared at you quizzically. Three buttons of his shirt were open, revealing his sculpted chest perfectly. Propping his legs up on the coffee table, he reached over for the remote.

“Well, aren’t you gonna sit down?”

“I- yes. “

You glanced at him from under your eyelashes. He looked relaxed, there was no indication of anything horrible about to happen.

He casually handed over a food box to you, patting the couch to indicate that you should sit closer to him. When you pretended to not understand, he simply scooted you over even closer.

“There,” he said, sighing happily. “Let’s watch this movie, shall we?”

As if you had a choice.

You had expected the movie to be a typical action flick, filled with stupid car chases and shooting sequences. It was a complete surprise when you found out that it was a romantic film. Taehyung had picked a romantic film? What kind of sorcery was that? You had been sure that he only had an iron padlock for a heart.

The empty food boxes and chopsticks were scattered all over the carpet, and your eyes flickered over to see his reactions when the scenes were particularly unhappy. His face was like a canvas, and a myriad of emotions flashed on it with each scene.

It was almost like the usual Taehyung had vanished and another person had taken his place. The man sitting with his arm over your shoulders, the one who was stealthily sniffing away a few tears, was in no way the man you knew.

It felt natural to Taehyung when he pulled your body snug against his, cuddling into your neck comfortably. He didn’t understand why you were trying to squirm. He wound his arm around your waist, butting his head against yours.

The heavenly scent of berries made him heady with happiness. How perfectly lovely it was, to be able to cuddle and watch a movie with you. Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner?

Taehyung was simmering away in euphoria, lost in his own happy world, while you were subtly squirming in his arms. The movie was going to end, what would happen next? Was he going to violate you? The seed of apprehension grew and grew with each passing moment.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice ever so soft. “What’s the matter? Need a bathroom break?”

His features showed confusion and apparent concern. At that moment, you wished he were his normal sneering self. This new side threatened you and kept you on edge. You knew how to tackle his mean and arrogant side. But you had no understanding or control over his new side. It was scaring you more than you had expected.

“No, I just-“ you couldn’t think of a coherent reply fast enough.

He cupped your face, bringing it closer to his. The final scene played on TV, with the leads kissing each other and then the credits started rolling. He smiled- but it was a very different smile. It wasn’t the leering one he flashed at you often. It was a genuine boxy smile, and it pulled the corners of his lips up naturally.

“Perfect timing,” he crooned, gently pressing a kiss on your lips. It felt extraordinary, and you didn’t know how to respond. An inner voice screamed in your head, shouting that he was going to violate you after all.

So, it was yet another surprise when he pulled away after the kiss, letting his fingers brush your hair into place.

“Let’s go to bed, hm? It’s late.”

He undressed and changed into his pajamas, completely oblivious to the mental rollercoaster you were experiencing. When he turned the lights off and climbed into bed, he stayed on his side of the bed without attempting to trespass into yours.

He patiently waited for your lids to close, and when he was sure that you were asleep, he whispered: “I love you.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Several weeks after, the traces of brain injury completely vanished, leaving you behind with nothing but a scar on your forehead. That would take a good amount of time to vanish, you knew.

You were fit enough to take care of Ha Neul on your own, but Taehyung insisted on keeping the nanny.

“You might seize out of the blue, so I’m not leaving you alone without someone.”

And that was it. He rarely let you argue. It wasn’t like he cut you off deliberately. It was just the tone of his voice that sounded finality before you could think of a retort.

Taehyung had to go and check on a deal in Berlin, but he hated being away from you. Sure, it was just a 3-day trip, but it was a full 72 hours of not seeing you or touching you. He was annoyed when your eyes brightened on hearing the news.

He stood and sulked as he watched you bustle around Ha Neul, trying to get her to stop spitting out her breakfast.

“Someone really is happy that I’m leaving, huh?”

You let your lips stretch in a semi-smile. You enjoyed the little moments when you could spite him and smugly smile without being reprimanded. He might punish you later, yes, but you would deal with that when it came.

Oh, how he wanted to slap that smirk off your face! But he couldn’t. No, he would spend the next three days immersed in guilt if he did. You wouldn’t be near for him to kiss and make up. He was at a loss to find a way to break you.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he glared at Ha Neul, irritated that she was taking so much to time to swallow the damned food. Just like Min, getting in other people’s ways and eating their time.

“Be ready at 7 tonight. We’re going out for dinner.”

He turned to leave after announcing it, but your scoff stopped him.

“We? Who’s we?”

He shrugged. “You and me.”

The arch of your eyebrows wasn’t lost on him.

“Look, you can have all the time with your bastard for the next 3 days. Leave her with the nanny tonight.”

And there it was. That tone again. The tone that simply blocked out further arguments.

You had an ominous feeling that he was warming up to you being his wife, salty or otherwise. Movie and dinner? This wasn’t the Taehyung you knew. He surprised you occasionally with cheesy romantic shit, but he was usually hard and cold. He took what he wanted, claimed you if he needed to, bought you stuff that you threw out without even glancing at them, but he hadn’t ever tried to engage in romance.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Why the hell are you fiddling so much with that?”

Conjuring up your harshest scowl, you snapped back at him. “It’s fucking riding up my ass, that’s why.”

He bit his inner cheek to stifle a chuckle. You looked devilishly cute when you were angry.

“Just fucking let me dress myself, you bitch.”

He hummed, one hand on the steering wheel and the other reaching out to squeeze your thigh.

“Oh, come on, Y/N. We both know you’ll wear a dowdy sweatshirt and torn jeans if I let you dress yourself.”

You decided to emphasize your annoyance by going silent and staring out of the window. Taehyung always chose what you wore. Even at the mansion, when you went nowhere, you had to wear pretty dresses and skirts during the day. You had rebelled at first, but he had simply ripped a good number of tees and shorts that you eventually gave up and aligned to his will.

He had picked a luxurious wine-red dress, he had fallen in love with how beautifully it accentuated your body. It screamed elegance, and you carried it so well even though you swore like a sailor the entire time.

When the maître d’ left after seating you in Taehyung’s chosen table, you pursed your lips at the uncomfortable sensation again. Taehyung noticed it, and something snapped in him.

“Damnit Y/N, can you just wipe the scorn off your face for one fucking minute?” he hissed, his feathers thoroughly ruffled.

“You wear a thong that keeps riding up your butt then,” you sneered back.

Shocked surprise lit up his features, and he burst out laughing. He took your hand and patted it affectionately. His smile was innocent and sickly sweet when he murmured discreetly:

“I’ll rip it off as soon as I can, I promise.”

He talked and talked, telling you stuff he had heard from the elite circle. It was unusual of him to chatter and gossip away, but the change was so different. You ate in silence, listening to him and occasionally nodding your head.

You wished you could prolong the ride back somehow. He had dolled you up for a reason. And it was obvious what he was going to do.

Taehyung was losing patience, watching you slide the panna cotta all around the plate in a lame attempt to buy time.

“You do know I can bend you over this table right now, don’t you sugar?”

He bit his lower lip cockily, staring you down. When you didn’t answer, he simply stood up and reached your side, placing his hands on your hips.

“Don’t!” you whispered urgently, alarmed that he actually proceeded to pull you up to your feet in full view of the entire restaurant.

“Well, let’s go home then,” he crooned into your ear.

“All right, all right, you made your point.”

Taehyung grinned like an imp throughout the car ride back to the mansion, gleefully thinking of ripping off the offending thong. He hadn’t meant for you to be uncomfortable in it. But he wasn’t complaining because he now had a chance to right something for you. Even if it was so trivial as tearing off a thong.

He pounced on you like a starved animal as soon as the door closed. His lips were everywhere, licking and sucking marks into your skin.

“Ha Neul- I need to check on her-“ you moaned, unable to remain passive in the face of the sensual attack.

“No…” he groaned, fingers feverishly roaming on your skin, trying to breathe before he crumbled to dust. “She’s asleep… the nanny-“ he dropped a wet kiss on your collarbone before panting out “- texted me. She’s fine.”

His slender finger reached for the zipper, pulling it down in apparent haste. He loved the way the fabric pooled around your hips, leaving your chest open for him. You had worn a plain bra just to spite him. But to him, simple garment looked infinitely sexier than the choicest lace.

Tugging the dress down, he lifted you and practically threw you on the bed, discarding his coat and shoes urgently.

“Oh, God, Y/N!” he whined, flipping you over and watching the thong in fascination. “So pretty. So incredibly pretty, laid out just for me.”

His big veiny hands caught hold of your wrists, lending you helpless. His brain was short circuiting at the delicious sight before him. Engulfing your tiny wrists in one hand, he reached down to knead the soft flesh with the other. One finger slipped under the elastic band and pulled, snapping the flimsy fabric with ease.

“There, baby” he cooed, his hand cupping your ass. “It can’t disturb you anymore.”

You moaned something into the pillow, but the sound was too garbled to comprehend. Turning you over, he shifted his position, so he was hovering just inches over your body.

“Just let me take care of you,” he breathed, nudging his knee into the crook of your knees. “I’ll make you feel so good.”

You parted your lips to protest, but he drowned out the words with a searing kiss. His hand still had control over your wrists, and he slowly moved down to your navel.

His tongue drew hot lines down your belly, inching tantalizingly closer to your core. Using his free hand, he parted your legs, exposing your swollen core to his depraved eyes.

“Such a pretty cunt,” he said, licking his lips sinfully.

But when he bent down for a taste, you kneed him hard, making him hiss in pain.

“The fuck!” he yelled, clutching his precious nose. He tilted his head up, praying that it didn’t bleed. Goddamn, his wife really was a fighter.

“I don’t know why-“ he leaned over and rummaged through the drawers of his bedside table, “-you keep making this so hard.” He produced a shiny pair of handcuffs, dangling them before your nose. “Now look what you got yourself into.”

“No, I…” you tried to shake your wrists free, eyes wide in alarm.

“Shh, baby. Don’t make me tape your mouth too.”

It was not the rickety sex toy version either. The handcuffs looked like standard issue police ones. Taehyung grinned at your shocked face.

“These,” he ran a finger over the cold metal “-these are from a policeman I shot in a drug bust.” The metal cuffs turned and glinted at you.

“He cuffed me to him, silly bloke. As if someone could cuff me.” He threw his head back and laughed. “I shot his hand to pieces. Served him right. And this- I kept this as a souvenir.” He smiled affectionately, the faint clink of the chain sending shivers up your gut.

He was in a strange temper, and you weren’t sure about escaping unscathed if you rebelled. So, you remained still while he clicked the cuff onto your wrist, securing it to the bedpost. He winked at you, proceeding to take off his shirt while you lay motionless under him.

He now had both hands free to work on you, and he set about parting your legs for him. Smirking coyly, he dipped his head down, pressing his tongue flat against your sensitive bud.

You threw your free hand at him, pulling on his long hair, but his grip around your thighs tightened in response. He didn’t even flinch when you yanked at his thick locks, focusing on leaving kitten licks on your clit.

He groaned into your core, pressing his face harder against your silky folds. The sensation of his quick tongue darting all over you left your knees trembling like jelly. You had a hard time containing your moans, determined not to give him the satisfaction of hearing you moan.

But it spurred him on harder, and his licks became raunchier. He felt your core pulsate, and he knew you were close. Opening your legs wide, he attached his lips to your bud, starting to suckle on it sensually.

“Mm hmm, yes… Cum on my tongue, baby,” he encouraged, nibbling on the swollen hood ever so lightly. He held your thighs tightly, peppering your core with soft kisses as you climaxed and shook like a leaf.

He lapped at your sweet essence, helping you ride through your high. His mouth was wet and shining when he rose up to meet your eyes.

“So fucking sweet, Y/N,” he said, flicking his tongue out and smacking his lips brazenly.

You expected him to unzip his pants and get it over with. But he surprised you yet again. Simply crawling back up, he buried his nose into your chest, not minding the way your nails clawed at him.

He inhaled your scent like he couldn’t get enough of it. He so badly wanted to bury himself inside your velvety walls. He craved being united with you as one body. But no, he would wait.

He would go to Berlin first and then come back to claim you heartily. Maybe being away from him would soften your heart. He couldn’t imagine staying even one night away from you. Would you begin to feel the same way? After all, patient men did get the ripest fruit.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Taehyung kept looking at his phone, not caring about the subtle looks thrown his way. His fingers kept drumming against the table, impatient and jittery. His index finger subconsciously went to the notification shade every two seconds, but there was just nothing there to see.

A new notification popped up just then, and his eyes lit up.

Wo Bin

9:28 am : Everything fine at mansion.

9:29 am: Se Jong becoming troublesome.

He swiped it away furiously. He couldn’t care less about some stupid banker acting up. He was sure Wo Bin could handle it. No, he was looking forward to something about you. Just a scrap of news about you. But Wo Bin had to go and text him some random shit like that. He sighed and turned back to the man who was talking.

“We need to be more vigilant; the police are sniffing us out somehow.”

Taehyung tried to focus, but his gaze fell on his phone again exactly three seconds later.

Two hours later, Taehyung was about to push the door and leave when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Kim?”

It was Andrei. He was one of Taehyung’s acquaintances in Berlin.

“Yeah.”

Andrei dropped his voice low. “Care to join me for a drink?”

The bar was weirdly empty, there weren’t a lot of people hanging around. Well, that happened when mafia lords booked the hotel by the dozen. They were a careful bunch; they always played their cards close to their chests. Outsiders were never trusted when one of their meetings was underway.

Andrei toyed with his shot glass, slurring his words slightly.

“So Kim Taehyung is a married man now, huh?” he asked, chuckling slightly.

Taehyung nodded, sipping his drink. A small part of his mind wondered if he should check his phone.

“How did you ever settle down?”

Andrei looked genuinely curious. He only knew of Taehyung’s philandering side. He had been surprised on learning about the wedding.

“She’s-“ Taehyung racked his brain for words “- exquisite. I just knew. That she was the one for me.”

Andrei raised his glass in agreement. “Good for you, man.” He considered for a moment, gazing at Taehyung before parting his lips again.

“If you want, I can send Victoria to keep you company. You know, tonight.”

The Taehyung of older days would have jumped at the suggestion, launching into an interested inquiry of what the woman could offer. But now, he only shook his head, gripping his glass tight.

“No, Andrei. I’m married.”

The man smiled slyly. “You absolutely sure? She’s damn hot.”

“I’m sure. I’m a changed man, Andrei.”

Andrei nodded, looking at Taehyung thoughtfully. “I can see that.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Yoongi was humming to himself, hammering away at his laptop. He usually didn’t carry his work home. But this one was important. He had to finish drafting the presentation he was going to make the next morning.

“Busy much?”

You were leaning against the doorframe, playing with the sash of your dressing gown.

He looked up and crinkled his nose cutely.

“Just a couple more hours, baby girl.”

Clicking your tongue in disapproval, you loosened the sash and let your dressing gown drop down your shoulders to the floor.

“Can’t wait that long,” you crooned, giving him your sexiest drawl. “Need you inside me. Now.”

His fingers stopped typing, and a slow smirk dawned on his lips. He was so damn handsome when he smirked like that.

He kept his eyes focused on the screen, uttering the words in a blunt tone: “Come and take what you want then.”

Giggling in excitement, you rushed over to him, throwing your legs over his lap to straddle him. He smelt so good, just like he always did. You knew his scent by heart. It was the faintest note of cologne, fresh and pleasant like morning dew. He could come back dripping with sweat after gym, but he would still smell heavenly. It was just- so Yoongi of him.

“You’re blocking my view, Mrs. Min,” he said, not caring to look at your eager face.

“Oh, I’ll be out of it in a second, Mr. Min,” you replied, licking the shell of his ear.

The smug devil didn’t bat an eyelid, concentrating on typing whatever was clearly more important than his hot wife eating his earlobes. You decided to accelerate things further.

Grinding against his crotch, you hooked your chin on his shoulder to keep out of his way. You could feel him stirring in his pants, and soon enough he was hard as nails. Allowing yourself a proud smile, you nibbled on his shoulder blade, making him moan despite his best efforts.

You were satisfied at his response. Besides, you were aching for him already. You got off his lap, sinking down to your knees. He still wasn’t looking at you. Well, he would soon.

Instead of taking him out, you chose to palm him through his night pants. The tent in his pants left your mouth watering in anticipation. You looked up; he was still typing. Time for drastic measures.

Leaning forward, you pressed your mouth against the hard muscle, the thin fabric dampening up with your saliva. The friction of the cloth was too much to bear, and he moaned out loud.

“Fuck, Y/N!”

He shut the laptop down with a snap, to hell with the presentation. Grabbing you by your hair, he pulled you in level with his crotch. You stared back at him, tracing your lips with your tongue. Damn you. Want flooded his veins, sending a searing sensation shooting through his length.

“Up,” he said, snapping his fingers at you.

You loved it when he was horny and pissed. It made for a deliciously passionate Yoongi. Hastening to stand up, you looked at him expectantly. He motioned towards his pants, his dominant streak glinting dangerously in his eyes.

“Get my dick out.” He bit his lip before adding: “And lose your bra.”

Without a word, you peeled his pants off, shaking in excitement. His thighs were strong and muscular, just as perfect as the rest of him. He waited until you freed your breasts and patted his lap.

“On my thigh, slut.”

You pouted in disappointment. He noticed that and laughed impishly.

“What? You don’t get to sit on my cock until I say so.” He narrowed his eyes at you, loving the lust shining raw on your features. “Serves you right for teasing me.”

“But Yoongiiiiiii….” you drawled, only to be silenced with a piercing glare.

“Ride my thigh, come on,” he said. “Let me see those tits bounce.”

Fuck, he was making you so wet. Climbing into his lap again, you grabbed his shoulder and steadied yourself. He hadn’t told you to get out of your undies yet. You knew the friction was going to make you go wild.

“Go on,” he said, settling back lazily against the headrest of his chair. You slowly started moving, gripping his shoulders tight. He didn’t make any move to touch or hold you. He simply watched your face in fascination, observing every fleeting emotion with pride.

You were inching closer to your orgasm, and he stilled your hips with a steel grip. Your protesting mewls were music to his ears. A long bony finger pushed your soaked undies away, and his firm hands pulled your hips onto his hard cock.

He slammed his hips up, and started thrusting into you in a punishing rhythm, eliciting fierce curses and strangled moans from deep inside your chest.

“Damn, that’s it baby, bounce on my cock,” he praised, growling in primal want.

You could have sworn you saw the bushes outside the window move. But when you looked down to tell Yoongi, the feral lust swimming in his eyes washed every thought off your mind. He really was fucking your brains out.

“What is it, baby girl?”

Your mind was in complete shambles, and you knew he loved it. Especially when you struggled for words while he had you impaled on his cock.

“I- spank me…”

He grinned, landing a soft slap on your butt cheek. “Use your words and ask me nicely.”

“Oh, damn you Yoongi,” you whined, throwing your head back and exposing your neck. “Spank me, please.”

“Now, that’s a good girl.”

Min Yoongi had the smallest and most delicate of hands. But that didn’t mean his slaps were any less harsh. He could give you a mean spank, leaving hot red prints all over your ass if he liked. And right now, he chose to use that to his full advantage.

He lifted his hand, licking his lips and preparing to rain a volley of slaps on your butt. Closing your eyes, you rutted against him, waiting to feel the first sting.

“Y/N!”

When you opened your eyes, Yoongi was staring at you blankly. His eyes were shining with unshed tears.

You cupped his cheeks, puzzled. “What’s it, honey?”

A set of big hands snaked around your waist. You looked at Yoongi in confusion.

“What-“ you started to say, and froze in horror as Yoongi’s face slowly faded away, wiping all your happiness away with it. Everything went suddenly dark, and an unbearable coldness settled in, smothering you.

“No!” You thrashed about violently, desperate to see Yoongi, desperate to touch him again.

“Shh, Y/N, it’s fine.” The voice hummed in your ear, pulling you towards something warm.

You opened your eyes and gazed directly into Kim Taehyung’s radiant eyes.

“It’s okay baby, I’m back.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Dawn was beginning to break, and Taehyung was severely jetlagged. He assumed you would go right back to sleep. But you remained wide awake, silent tears streaming down your cheeks.

His heart felt all mushy and happy. Had you missed him? Were you crying because your feelings were overwhelmed? Maybe you had felt relieved that he had woken you up from your nightmare in time.

“Bad dream, darling?” he asked, carding his fingers through your hair.

He wouldn’t leave you alone anymore, he would always be there to chase away your nightmares. He resolved to himself that he would protect you from anything, even your own mind.

You lay still, not bothering to respond.

The semi-darkness lent your face a mysterious look, and Taehyung wasn’t sure if the gleam in your eyes was anger or joy.

His unusual softness assured him that it was joy. He told himself that it would be confusing at first and you needed time to warm up to the idea of loving him.

Birds started chirping outside, sunrise was very near. He traced your cheek with his thumb, wanting to kiss you. When he pulled you closer, there was no resistance. Cheering up considerably, he brushed his lips against yours.

When you didn’t flinch, he deepened the kiss, softly moaning into your mouth. The smoldering hunger stirred deep in his belly, consuming him completely. He climbed on top of you ever so lightly, kissing your neck and leaving wet splotches all over your chest.

He had waited for so long, and the tension had built up into a crescendo. He was panting when he fished himself out of his trousers, one hand fiddling with your shorts. He shimmied down the fabric, clawing at it in haste.

The first rays of sunlight broke the darkness, lighting up the room with a rosy hue. He whimpered when the head of his member made contact with your entrance.

“I’m home,” he said, pushing himself inside in one long shove. He slowly started to rock his hips, he wanted to be slow and sensual for a change.

You closed your eyes, and everything came flooding back. It was like your lips had a mind of their own. Before you knew, you had moaned it out loud.

“Yoongi…”

Taehyung’s hips stilled, his hard member still buried inside you. It hurt him like a violent slap. Slipping out of your core, he could hardly contain his angry tears while he dressed himself back up. You had moaned… for Yoongi?

He wanted to leave without saying anything. But he stopped just near the door.

“Tell me just one thing- whenever we… had sex, did you….”

Your vacant eyes chilled his blood. You mumbled silently, almost like you were talking to yourself.

“I Imagined Yoongi…”

He stormed out of the room, rushing to the guest bedroom to unleash the sobs bubbling up his throat. Taehyung never knew that he could hate you. It surprised and upset him to know how much he despised you for insulting him like that. It left a bitter aftertaste in his tongue.

When Taehyung finally stopped sniffing, he made up his mind. You weren’t changing. He would be fighting a dead man for the rest of his life. If you couldn’t warm up to his romance, it was fine. He would just return to being a mean bastard you rebelled against. Being feared was better than being insulted and trampled upon.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Taehyung’s behavior went from romantic to mean and waxed meaner over the course of days. He ignored your presence completely, choosing to leave home at dawn and return at midnight just to avoid seeing you.

He broke things in sudden fits of temper, and every morning you woke up to more and more smashed vases and glass. You kept Ha Neul well out of his way, there was no telling what he might do if he got his hands on her.

Taehyung, on the other hand, was torn between his all-consuming obsession over you and the new-found disgust he had for you. It scared him when he realized how much it was affecting his mind. He had to choose a way to saddle his dark feelings and rein them in. Because, after all, you were his Y/N. His precious Y/N he would do anything for.

Almost a month after he returned from Berlin, almost a month after avoiding you like the plague, Kim Taehyung decided that enough was enough.

He returned home in the evening, slamming the door unnecessarily loud. That was a signal these days to announce his arrival and departure.

“Y/N!” The slight bitterness in his voice surprised him.

Ha Neul’s giggle sounded from somewhere deep in the nursery, and he followed the sound until he was standing before you.

You were kneeling on the floor, clutching onto your daughter fearfully. You didn’t care if he hurt you. Hell, you would even karate chop him right back. But you were nervous when he was around your child.

He glared at the toddler, throwing his most hostile look her way.

“Bedroom, now.”

You dragged yourself to the bedroom after handing Ha Neul over to the nanny. You had no clue what he was going to do to you. He had been like a zombie for the past month, slinking away into the shadows and disappearing all day. What was in store for you in the bedroom?

Taehyung was sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for you. When you entered the room, he manspread his legs and snapped his fingers.

“On your knees,” he tapped on the floor with his shoe, “here.”

You hesitated, and his eyebrows knotted dangerously.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Swallowing your pride, you knelt before his spread legs, his crotch in full display right before your eyes.

He bunched your hair in his fist, pulling you towards him. He rubbed your face against his clothed crotch a little harsher than he had planned to.

“This cock-“ he said, pressing your face against him, “this cock is the only one you’ll get in this lifetime. Better get used to it.”

Yanking your hair, he tilted your head, so your eyes were staring into his.

“If you say his name again, I’ll break your daughter’s neck.”

He was pulling hard on your hair, and the roots were beginning to sting.

“Am I clear, bitch?”

You silently nodded, not trusting your voice enough. He let go of your hair with a mean tug, and you wobbled on your knees.

“Open your mouth.”

You were late in complying, earning a hard slap in reward. Your cheek felt burning hot. He ground his teeth and slapped the other cheek, releasing all the pent-up anger boiling in his chest. Grabbing you like a ragdoll, he gripped your jaw tight and puckered your lips open.

“You don’t deserve my cock,” he spat out, forcing two slender fingers into your mouth. “This is all you get until you earn it.”

He pumped the fingers in and out, setting a harsh rhythm. His fingers were long and slender, and it was a feat to accommodate them all the way up to the knuckles. He added a third finger, not slowing one bit when you whimpered in protest.

“Shut up and take it,” he growled, driving them deeper and deeper until you gagged and coughed around the digits.

He waited until you regained your breath. Then he removed his fingers, scooping up the drool running down your chin. He then dragged his fingers on your cheeks, painting them in drool.

Grabbing you by the neck, he leaned over to breathe in your face:

“You can hate me all you want, but I’m never letting you go. Imagine him all you want, but the dick fucking into you will always be mine.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

The days rolled by quickly, and before you knew it, Ha Neul had turned 2 years old. She had started running and jumping, and she followed Taehyung around whenever he dressed up for work, hoping for a ride in his car.

It was a sunny April morning. You had asked your chauffeur to take you and Ha Neul shopping. She had to get vaccinated, and you had to pick some stuff from the store on the way back. The car was ready, and a guard quietly gave you the message.

Knocking on the bathroom door, you shouted to Taehyung.

“I need your credit card. I’m going out.”

The sound of the running shower immediately stopped. The door opened, and he leaned on the frame, his whole body on display.

“And where exactly is my baby girl going?”

Trying to forget the way his cock stood half-erect, you mumbled out: “Ha Neul’s vaccination.”

Taehyung didn’t let you have money of your own. He wanted you to be dependent on him. That way, you would always stay with him.

He had never forgiven you for moaning Yoongi’s name that one time. Whenever you wanted something, he made it a point to make you beg him. Usually, he made you suck him off, or ride him, just to go to the store or to grab cake for Ha Neul.

You weren’t allowed to ask the guards to get stuff for Ha Neul. They would simply nod their heads but not comply. Because they served Taehyung. And his orders took priority over yours.

“Just give me the card,” you huffed, annoyed at him.

He shook his hair like a puppy, sending water droplets flying all around, some landing on your face and clothes.

You took a step back, patting at the random drops spraying on you. “Ew. Cut it out, Taehyung.”

He grinned, grabbing you and grinding himself against you, wetting your clothes slightly. He was stark naked, in full contrast to your fully clothed body.

“Where’s the brat?” his tone was casual.

You bit back a curse word. “She has a name. Min Ha Neul is in the nursery.”

The annoyance on his face satisfied you to no end. “Why do you insist on calling her that every time?”

“Calling her what? Min Ha Neul? That’s her name.” You weren’t backing down in the slightest.

He leaned down to nip at your jaw. “Hmm. Very well, Y/N Kim.”

It was your turn to snap at him. “Stop calling me that.”

He smiled into your skin. Riling you up was so much fun.

“That’s your name, baby. To get the credit card, come soap me up and wash me.”

“Forget it, bitch,” you sneered, shaking him off.

“Not so fast, honey. Don’t you want her to get vaccinated?”

He thought you looked absolutely beautiful when you were angry. Oh, how he wanted to slam you against the door and fuck you into oblivion!

Not sparing a glance at him, you peeled your clothes off, stripping down to your underwear. He grinned.

“Might as well remove them, no?”

You wanted to slap the smile off his face.

“Fucking get back in the shower, Taehyung.”

He felt a sizzling electric jolt down his spine when you soaped him, lathering up and spreading the foam all over his chest. He was choking on his breath when he whined “My cock, ah Y/N, grab my cock.”

He shivered at the feeling of your warm hands slipping around his length. The feeling was delicious, making him roll his closed eyes under his lids. He enjoyed your little fingers caressing his skin, and when you knelt to soap his legs, he went wild.

The shower washed off the lather, leaving him sparkling clean. Before you had a chance to get up, he dug his hard dick into your face. Your head was caught between the wall and his strong thighs, and you were left with no other choice.

“Shit, suck me, go on, suck me with that hot little mouth.”

He slapped his dick against your cheek, ruining the makeup and leaving a mixture of water and pre-cum glistening on your skin.

“Go on, baby, I’m oh so clean. Suck my cock.”

He popped your mouth open, sliding himself in and hissing at the sensation.

“Like my cock, baby? Nibble along the shaft, yes,” he panted, looking down at you, face contorting in pleasure. “Like having my fat cock inside your mouth?”

You replied something, probably a curse, but it came out muffled around his cock. The vibration made him lose himself, thrusting deeper and deeper against your throat.

“Ah, swallow me, yes, fucking swallow my dick, Y/N.”

He bottomed out against your mouth, the prickly hair on his balls making the tip of your nose itch. His fingers felt around your throat, trying to feel himself through the skin of your neck.

“Swallow, baby,” he cooed, and you gagged a little, trying to swallow around him. His fingers felt the bulge in your throat, and his dick pulsed at the heady sensation, making him cum hard into your mouth. You almost choked on the cum, your throat feeling raw and sore.

He picked you up on your feet, muttering praises and kissing whichever part of skin he could find. Wiping your mouth, you stared at the floor and asked, “Can I get the card now?”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Baby,” he called, calling your attention to him as you tried to sneak past the living room. “Forgot something?”

You took a deep breath, giving up. There was no point in sneaking around him. The guy seemed to smell your presence.

“I’m going to tuck Ha Neul in,” you replied, not quite looking at him. “She fell asleep on the way back.”

He turned his gaze from his laptop, nodding absently. “Come back in five. And don’t forget.”

You went away, preoccupied with thinking of the man who had followed you around in the store. He had worn a mask, covering his lower face, and had been hot on your tail until you had reached your car. He had looked like he had something to say to you. But as soon as he had laid eyes on the car, he had disappeared. Who could it have been? You had no idea.

When you returned after getting your daughter to bed, he was waiting for you. He extended his hand, and you slipped the papers into it.

Taehyung always wanted the complete receipts and details of what you had bought, where you had gone and whom you had met whenever you went out. It was mostly to make sure you weren’t planning an escape or meeting some other guy.

His quickly scanned through the receipts, suddenly pausing, and looking at you ominously.

“Tampons, honey?”

His tone was controlled, but chilling, nonetheless. You had deliberately bought a lot of useless items to cover the fucking tampons.

“Yes. What about them?”

He sighed, skimming through the rest of the items on the bill.

“Y/N, it’s been two years.” He sighed again. “You know we want a baby.”

You recoiled, you had suspected he would say that, but to hear that out loud terrified you.

“Well, I don’t.”

He didn’t answer. He knew you would of course reject him. But it had already been two fucking years. He had tolerated that little tyke Min had sired just because he loved you. But however much he thought about it, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that Ha Neul was more important to you.

He had sent Almond away; the dog was under Wo Bin’s care. But he couldn’t separate Ha Neul from you. He burned with jealousy whenever you kissed her or ruffled her hair. The dratted child had inherited her father’s gummy smile, much to Taehyung’s annoyance.

He wanted to feel closer to you, he needed to make you love him. Seeing you showering your love on the fruit of another man’s seed was humiliating to say the very least. He would give you a child, making you tend to his baby, effectively pulling you closer to him.

He wasn’t sure he liked babies. He hated smelly diapers and wet beds. But he would have to bear those if he wanted you to carry his child.

“Y/N, it’s time we started a family. You know it.”

You felt like screaming and breaking things.

“What part of ‘I hate you’ do you not get?”

He stood up, asserting his dominance by rising to his full height.

“I let you have that bastard’s child, I let her eat and sleep under my roof, I let her fucking have her damned surname,” he said, inching closer and closer, “And this is how you repay me?”

You perked up your chest, standing upright and biting the words out: “I don’t owe you anything. You ruined my life.”

He scoffed, a spray of spit landing on your face. “Don’t you dare talk back to me. You’ll only make things worse for you.”

“Oh? And how, exactly?”

He flushed in anger, looking out the window. It had started drizzling. Making up his mind, he stormed out of the room. You weren’t sure if you should follow. A few seconds later, you heard your daughter wail.

“Ha Neul?” You rushed to the nursery but stopped midway when you saw Taehyung carrying her down the stairs.

“Wait, what are you doing?” you screamed, following him in hot pursuit. He was quicker than you, and just as your feet touched the landing, he slammed the door on your daughter, letting her stand outside in the rain.

“What the hell, Taehyung? Open the door!”

You saw him turn the key in the lock, and he grinned sneakily as he dropped the key into his pants. Throwing yourself at him and pummeling at his chest, you sobbed at him to open the door.

“Please,” you begged, seeing through the window that the rain had started falling in torrents. “Please let her in.”

“I think not,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning his back against the door.

“What do you want? Please, anything…”

He cocked his eyebrows.

“Anything?” When you nodded, he thrust his hips out, still leaning. “Fish the key out of my pants.”

You dropped to your knees in haste, unzipping him and searching for the key. Your fingers brushed against hot muscle instead, and he lazily drawled above you:

“Kiss the tip and tell me you love me.”

Furious tears pricked your eyes, and you swallowed the bitter taste at the back of your throat. Taking his dick out, you kissed the angry red tip, muttering a weak “I love you.”

“Say, I love you Taehyungie.”

You couldn’t wait to grab your cold wet child shivering outside. Kissing the tip again, you looked up at him and bit the words out.

“I love you, Taehyungie.”

He grinned and let you take the key. He was already uncomfortable by sensation of the cold metal rubbing against his hot dick.

You hit him across the jaw, punching with all your might. He responded by shifting his position to let you put the key in the lock.

Before you turned it though, he grabbed you by the hips, his fingers searching under your dress for the crotch of your undies. Ripping it easily, he slammed himself inside you. You turned the lock. But you couldn’t open the door, not with him buried inside you.

“Let me get her first,” you whimpered, struggling to get away.

“Take me, baby,” he said, pushing himself deeper. “Make me cum and you can get her.”

Blowing out your cheeks, you clenched your pelvic muscle tight around him, repeating it mindlessly until he was a gasping mess.

“Oh, oh yes,” he whined, driving harder and harder, finally cumming hard. He slid himself out, letting go of your hips.

“Go get her. She’ll catch a cold, sweetie.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Mrs. Kim?”

The voice of your chauffeur cut through your thoughts, catching your attention.

“Your pills, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Seung Jo,” you breathed. Taehyung never would know how you got your birth control pills. You were so grateful that Seung Jo was loyal to you. You had no idea why, but he was very friendly, he seemed to understand that you were living the life of a caged bird.

He had been smuggling you the pills for a long time, and no one had ever found out. Taehyung had been vocal about you not getting pregnant however much he tried. He didn’t let you get up after sex, rather he made you lie down and tuck your legs. He carefully calculated your ovulation dates. But nothing came of his efforts. Except monthly bills that included tampons, of course.

“Seung Jo, can you do me a favor?”

He looked at your image in the rearview mirror. “Anything, ma’am.”

“I- can you check on Mrs. Min at the Klammer Institute on my behalf?”

He nodded silently. “Anything else, ma’am?”

You looked down at your shoes, chewing out the question. “Why are you not more like Taehyung’s men? What makes you keep secrets for me?”

He smiled and shrugged lightly. “I like you.”

The signal turned green and you lurched forward a bit. “Excuse me?”

He repeated patiently. “I said, I like you.”

“Are you aware that Taehyung would blow your brains out if he heard about this?”

Seung Jo glided the car to a stop. “You hadn’t any idea that I liked you all this time?”

You fell silent. There was no way to know if he was being serious. Maybe it was a trap Taehyung had set. You had to be cautious.

“Well, Mrs. Kim? Tongue-tied?”

“Get the car moving, Seung Jo,” was the only thing you could reply.

Just before the car nosed into the mansion, he whispered in a low voice:

“I think I love you.”

You stared at his reflection, dumbfound. He continued.

“I’ve known you for more than two years, do you think I can’t see how unhappy you are?”

“Seung Jo,” you said, warningly.

“Just think about it,” he said, turning the ignition off. He got out of the car and held the door open for you, meeting your eyes for a brief moment, the look laden with meaning.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Mommy?” Ha Neul called, her cute lips curving around the words. She was very smart, and had started talking in long meaningful sentences.

“Yes, honey?”

She tugged at her pigtails, forming the sentence in her head.

“Why- my name is Min? Father’s name and yours are Kim?” The lilt of the second question suggested innocent curiosity.

Taehyung lowered the newspaper, glaring at the back of her head. You smiled, gathering her up and sitting her down on your lap.

“Because, sweetie, mommy was married to Min Yoongi, your daddy.”

Her sweet voice took on a confused tone. “What happened to daddy?”

You sent a scorching glare to Taehyung before replying, “He died, baby. A bad man killed him.”

Taehyung threw his paper down. “Is this necessary? Should she know the details?”

“She deserves to know the truth,” you snapped.

The child looked at you, not understanding the banter. “Bad man?”

You nodded sadly. She asked again, crooning: “Daddy was a good man?”

A smile dawned on your lips, and you replied earnestly, “He was the best man in the world, sweetheart.”

She went silent, her little brain working to grasp the information. Taehyung’s eyes shot daggers at you, which you steadily ignored.

“Mommy,” she said again, “Can I call father daddy?”

You looked up at the man in question. His face registered surprise. He hadn’t quite expected that.

He cleared his throat and replied gruffly, “You can call me that, Ha Neul.”

The brightness of her gummy smile melted your heart. God, she was just like Yoongi. So adorable.

“Daddy,” she said, feeling the word rolling off her tongue. She ran towards Taehyung, innocently clinging to his forearm.

“Daddy, when can I go to school?”

Taehyung’s eyebrows shot up. He addressed you, asking, “Didn’t we decide to homeschool her?”

Ha Neul spoke up for herself, waving her hands. “Daddy, Mr. Soh says school is wonderful! Pencils, paper, desks,” she started counting them off on her little fingers.

“Alright, honey,” you said, attempting to steer the conversation towards calmer topics. “Daddy and mommy will think about it.”

Mr. Soh was Ha Neul’s homeschool teacher, he came by thrice a week. He had probably planted the idea of school in her mind.

After Ha Neul got bored and ran off to play ball, Taehyung hissed at you angrily.

“I’m not letting you or her out of this house.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

The sound of the waves crashing filled your ears, salt heavy in the air and reminding you of the terrible day you had spent dangling on a suspension bridge.

“Mrs. Kim?” You turned. “Thanks for meeting me.”

You were silent, the blank look on your face replaced with shock when he removed the mask and took off his shades.

“Bong Ju?” you gasped, a wave of fear jolting your heart. “What do you want?”

He took a hesitant step forward; palms open to show he meant no harm.

“I have to give you something, I tried hard to meet you, but it was almost impossible.”

You watched in fear as he dipped his hand inside his coat pocket, your breath relaxing when he pulled out a sealed envelope.

“I’m sorry for a lot of things, Mrs. Kim, I have betrayed you so much. But this,” he extended the envelope to you, “this belongs to you.”

“What is it?” you whispered, scared to touch it.

“Mr. Min, he gave it to me for safekeeping. He-“ the man gulped, “-he wanted you to have it in case he was gone before you.”

You shook your head in disbelief.

“Why did you wait so long then? You fucking betrayed him and me. Why should I believe you?”

He nodded, guilt weighing his features down.

“I had to do it, Mrs. K- Mrs. Min, I was blackmailed to do it. Kim Taehyung threatened to kill my sister and her family if I didn’t help him.”

Tears streamed down his face. “I took the money and fled, but my sister- she died in a plane crash. Her whole family.” A loud sob interrupted his flow. “I think it’s karma, I deserved it for betraying you. I am really very sorry, Mrs. Min.”

“But you- you were the prime witness…”

“Witness? What witness? What are you talking about?”

You shrank back in alarm.

“You don’t know about the inquest? Weren’t you the state’s prime witness?”

He tilted his head in confusion. “I don’t understand. An inquest, you say?”

Cold dread filled the crevices of your heart, rising up steadily, threatening to crush your ribs.

“But- I thought… How did you know where I was?”

His features were still confused when he answered:

“Kang Minsook, a lawyer called me a few weeks ago.”

Your mouth widened. “Where were you three years ago? How do you know Minsook?”

He shrugged, wide eyed.

“I fled to the Bahamas after you ran to rescue Mr. Min. I didn’t know he was dead until Mr. Kang called recently. I flew back and saw you had married Taehyung. I thought you didn’t require to read the letter, but…” his voice trailed off. “…But I asked around and heard a lot about what had happened. Mr. Min made me swear I would deliver it to you.”

“Didn’t Minsook tell you about the case?”

“I don’t know of any case. He only asked if I used to work for Mr. Min and whether I knew he was dead.”

The whole earth stopped spinning. There had been no prime witness! Bong Ju hadn’t even known about the case. Minsook hadn’t discovered about Bong Ju at all. You swallowed the truth. It dawned on you that Minsook never mentioned a witness in court, only Taehyung and your attorney had hinted that Bong Ju was the prosecution’s witness. Taehyung had well and truly played you.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Fragments of Yoongi’s letter kept returning to haunt you. It had been five pages long. You knew he had poured his heart into it, there was such emotion in the words. According to the date, it had been written on the day of your first wedding anniversary.

His words filled the deep void left by his sudden departure, at least to a certain extent. The papers had creases in them, caused by your repeated folding and unfolding over the course of weeks. You kept re-reading it whenever you had the chance, just to hold on to the ghost of his memory a little longer. Dear, wonderful, passionate, loving Yoongi.

“Y/N?” the arms gently shook your shoulders, breaking the spell.

“Huh?”

“I said, I love you.” He leaned into you, his concerned look searching your face. “You okay?”

“I-“  You looked at Seung Jo’s chocolate brown eyes. “I don’t know.”

He let go of you, leaning against the car. “What do you mean?”

“Seung Jo.” You took a whiff of the salty air. “I have a 3-year-old daughter. My husband is a businessman with roots in the mafia. He would kill us if he knew.”

He scoffed, taking your hand, and pressing it lightly.

“Y/N, remember, I love you and your daughter. I am not afraid of Taehyung. I can make you happy. Just say yes and I’ll take you away.”

It did sound alluring. But you didn’t love him back. He seemed sweet and genuine, but that was it. You looked at the brown wisps of hair dancing on his forehead. He was young, the honey toned skin was taut over his prominent veins. He was cute, yes. Did you love him? No.

Yoongi’s letter fluttered back to your mind.

I have kept aside 5 million dollars for us, Y/N. We can use it for our baby, we can add to it every year. I will be so proud on the day our baby is born. I am sure our firstborn would be a girl, just as beautiful and wonderful as her mom. I can’t wait to see you glowing with our child, I can’t wait to hold her tiny fingers in mine.

You stifled a sob. The pain was still fresh. You would never believe that three years had gone already. His letter ended with a note, saying that if he ever died, you were supposed to use the money in case it wasn’t withdrawn already. He had written that he would add a million dollars for every anniversary he celebrated with you. The account details had been written in his neat handwriting.

If I go before you, Y/N, even if I’m 60 and you’re 59, if we haven’t already used up the money, take it. Live happily. I want only the best for you, my love.

It made you guilty that you were even thinking of eloping with Seung Jo. You didn’t love him. But he was your entry pass to the outside world. Maybe, just maybe, after you got out of Taehyung’s clutches, you could explain it all to Seung Jo and part ways. But you knew you needed Seung Jo’s help to get out. You wouldn’t tell him about Yoongi’s secret trust fund, you weren’t sure about revealing that.

Your resolve crumbled, and you caved, asking for more time. He drove you back home, dropping you off dutifully.

When you entered the house, Taehyung was coming out of the basement, unaware of your figure standing on the hearthrug. His torso was naked, save for the chain around his neck. He was holding the key looped in the chain in his hand as he ascended the steps, not seeing you in the least.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Wo Bin sought a meeting with Taehyung, giving him the security update for the week.

“Mr. Kim,” he started cautiously, looking at his boss in wary apprehension.

“Yes?”

“It’s Se Jong again, he has been a sore pain in the ass for months, boss.”

Taehyung blew out his cheeks and sighed.

“I know, Bin-ah, but his brother was very loyal to me. He took a bullet and died for me. And Se Jong is helpful with the money matters.”

Wo Bin hesitated. “Yes, about that…”

“What is it?”

“Mrs. Kim was seen at the bank yesterday. She was enquiring about a withdrawal. Se Jong brought it to our notice.”

Taehyung sat up in concern. It was unusual of you to go to any bank. You only had credit cards which he gave after you satisfied his quirks. What was the need for going to the bank? He knew that more details were yet to come, else his man would have already told them without being prompted to.

“Keep an eye on her banking interests, tell Se Jong to be alert.”

Wo Bin nodded, readying himself to speak again.

“Also,” he drawled, waiting until he had his boss’s attention. “Our man at the docks informed that Bong Ju was seen in the city. We don’t have the details of where he went or who he met yet.”

Taehyung leaned back in his chair, a faint worry nagging him. Bong Ju had been told to stay put in the Bahamas if he wanted his sister’s family to stay alive. It was a breach on his part to flout the order. Why had he come? Did it have anything to do with you?

“Keep asking around. I need to know if he crossed paths with my wife.”

He decided to leave early and be near you for the rest of the afternoon.

On his way out, Taehyung absently walked by the aisle of cubicles, thinking about your new interest in finance. What were you up to? His guards always gave him clean reports of your whereabouts, it didn’t seem like you had found a new guy.

As he passed a cubicle, a pair of sultry eyes looked up at him. He froze spontaneously. Stepping towards the eyes led his gaze to a prominent cleavage, a beauty mark right at the middle of it. His mind raced to the masquerade ball, the night when the mysterious masked woman kissed him.

“You.”

She got up, eyeing him steadily. She never broke eye contact as she traced her vixen steps, affirming his suspicion. She flicked her hand at him, dipping it into his breast pocket and pulling out the pocket square. She was still gazing at him when she pressed it against her lips, winked coyly, and tucked it back in its place with a smoot pat.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Where’s Taehyung?” You inquired casually, careful not to look too interested.

“He is at the cottage, Mrs. Kim.”

Cottage. Basement. Yoongi.

The word opened a dam of traumatic memories. “Oh, yes, I see.”

Your hands were shaking nervously when you returned to the bedroom. So, he was away. He’d probably be late. It gave you ample time to rummage around for passports. Ha Neul had her own passport too, he had taken you and Ha Neul to Paris on a vacation. The passports had to be somewhere, right in his closet.

There was a vault with an electronic keypad. You hoped that the passports were in there. But what was the combination? You tried everything you could think of. Birthdays, birth years, anniversaries, but no luck. It just stubbornly flashed a red light and vibrated.

What was it?

Your fingers punched the numbers in, doubt weighing heavily on your mind. Could it… be the day Yoongi died?

The vault clicked open.

── ⋆✩⋆ ──

Taehyung was seated on a chair, his legs crossed. The woman was kneeling, held in place by two guards. The musky smell of the room brought back memories of the night he killed Min Yoongi. He was not in the glass room, but the basement was the same anyway. The faded light flickered outside the door. It was fucking cold. Well, basements did get damn cold in the winter.

“It was you.”

She smiled, licking her crimson lips, her lipstick and sharp canines lending a fiendish aura to her. Like a vampire.

“It was always me, Kim,” she cooed, the smile turning sinister. “Took you long enough.”

He tilted his head, creasing his forehead.

“What do you mean?”

She smiled again, the genial expression morphing instantly into a dangerous sneer as she ground her teeth.

“You don’t remember me, Kim. But I do. You thought I was an easy fuck. You kicked me out on the streets even before your cum dried.” She glared at him. “I was not and am not a fucking whore, Kim Taehyung. I’m the heiress of the damned Song Shipping Line,” she spat.

“Song? But that is owned by Song Joong-“

“That’s my cousin. I had more pressing matters to deal with.” She smirked and raised her brows. “Because, Kim, you cannot just fuck me and throw me out.”

The pleasant beam was back on her face. “I let my cousin run the company and came after you. I changed my name, solely to crush your heart under my heels.” The smile took on a shy turn. “But what can I say, I’ve fallen for you.”

He looked at her as if she were out of her mind.

“You? Have fallen for me?”

Even the guards holding her looked at each other in confusion.

She laughed, letting her head roll back. “What?” Her eyes were streaming with mirth. “You can’t believe that?”

He didn’t respond, suspicious that she was playing him. Who on Earth actually fell for him? She must be crazy. But Song? Was she Song Jun Hyi? He didn’t even remember meeting her. When he found his voice, it came out croaked.

“Why- why would you leave everything and become a secretary? Why?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Why? Don’t you understand? You of all people should get me. It’s simple, Kim.” She pouted her plush lips. “I’m in love with you.”

He darted out of his chair. “What are you, crazy?”

“Uh huh.” She winked at him, drawing her words out. “Crazy about you.”

Taehyung looked at the guards, and they dropped her hands, leaving the room immediately. But she remained kneeling. Taehyung sat down again, leaning against the backrest, and establishing the power dynamic.

“I don’t believe you.”

She scoffed. “What should I say to make you believe me?” She smiled her crooked smile. “Should I say how your wife is sneaking behind your back?” The smile deepened. “Should I say she’s hiding secrets from you?”

He gripped the armrests tight. No, his Y/N would never. This woman knew nothing about you. She was a crazy bitch who had no idea how pure you were.

“Well?” she teased. “Wanna know, baby boy?”

He pressed his lips together, fighting the urge to slap her silly. The sound of her voice was grating on his nerves.

“Don’t you dare call me that.”

She gave him her best puppy eyed smile. “Aw, look at you, so pretty when angry.”

“I would never love you back,” he snapped.

“But that didn’t stop you from grabbing Y/N, did it?”

He bounded forward, catching her throat in a strangle-hold.

“Don’t fuck with me, Na Yeon.”

His hand was gripping her like a vice. The bob of her throat was evident as she choked out “I’m not. It’s the truth.”

His mean streak got the better of him. “Oh, yeah?” His fingers tightened. “Tell me my wife’s secrets so I can spit on your face and say that I already know them.”

Even though death was beckoning, she remained stoic, looking at him steadily. “I will. But kiss me first.”

He knew an obstinate bitch when he saw one. Dipping his head down, he ghosted his breath just down her nose.

“Tell me and I’ll give it to you. If you really deserve it.”

Her tongue flicked out and traced his lip. “Okay, tiger.” She pushed herself a bit and butted his nose.

“Hmm, how do I put it eloquently, honey boy? You aren’t going to have a baby anytime soon.”

His glare burned into her face. “I’m not impot-“

She rubbed his nose with hers. “Shh, I know, tiger boy. You’re well equipped to make a lot of cubs inside me, I’m sure.”

He remained silent, not liking how she knew about his weakness for nose rubs.

“Tell me, bitch.” His nostrils flared in anger at being called a boy.

“You’re staying at the winter villa, right?” She licked his lips again, causing him to recoil. “Well, my source tells me that she hides pretty little things in a shoebox. Third closet from the left. An old shoebox, baby boy. Go look.”

He smiled mockingly at her. Did the bitch think he would believe her?

“You’re pathetic.”

She grinned again. “Aren’t you, too?”

He rose from his crouch, ears pink. Walking rapidly to the door, he looked back at her one hard time, biting out the words:

“We’ll see what’s in the closet. I’ll fucking snap your neck if you’re lying,” before slamming the door behind him.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

So Na Yeon or Song Jun Hyi to be precise, looked up with hysterical joy when he returned. She saw the tousled hair, deathly pallor and the unsteady gait of a man defeated. The strange mix of anger and disappointment plastered on his face told her all she wanted to know.

“You saw it, didn’t you?”

Taehyung couldn’t believe that his Y/N had betrayed him right under his nose. What hurt him more was that you had kept a lot more stuff inside that box.

He didn’t know how you had gotten your hands on them, but there were suit buttons, bits of paper with Yoongi’s handwriting, cuff links, tie pins, movie ticket stubs, and a lot of odds and ends crammed into it. Beneath the box of souvenirs, the yellow pill bottle was tucked safely, full of birth control pills.

He had gone feral, throwing everything out of the closet and fucking losing himself. He had almost hit you, but he had exacted revenge another way.

He looked at the woman squatting on the floor. Her ass was probably freezing on the cold hard floor. But her face had all the warmth in the world as she gazed at him.

He couldn’t control the anger coursing through his body. His eyes were burning.

“How did you know about it?” He hated the defeated tone of his voice. He hated losing. Ever.

“I think I’ve earned my kiss now,” she replied, pouting her lips up at him expectantly.

His glare was sharp enough to cut diamonds. “I only ever kiss my wife.”

“Come on, tiger boy, you made a deal.” Her whine was bratty, yes, but he knew she wasn’t as weak or harmless as she looked. She had no business inside his wife’s closet, yet she knew where exactly you kept your secrets.

His heart weighed down with guilt as he extended his hand to her, pulling her up so she wouldn’t fucking lose her butt to the bitter cold. Once up, she slithered her body against him, humming in content. He let his hands hang limply at his sides, not even attempting to hold her.

She didn’t seem to mind. Pushing him to make him sit on the lone chair, she straddled him, not paying attention to his limp hands. She moaned in luJst, purring like a cat as she hungrily licked strokes on his Adams apple. Her tongue found its way to his lips, kissing the corners teasingly.

Bunching his hair in her fists, she kissed him with such intensity that a subconscious moan escaped the depths of his throat. Her tongue fought his own for dominance, and he couldn’t help but give up. She was a fricking wildcat. But it was when her hand slid to cup his crotch that he drew the line.

“I only agreed to a kiss. Get off me.”

Her glance was mocking. “Seriously, you don’t want it? You don’t want to be loved back? I’m offering you my whole heart on a platter, and you still want her?”

He didn’t respond, the words cutting him harder than the sharpest blades. She traced her finger down his chest. “I’ve got everything, baby, I am a fucking heiress. She’s got nothing.”

He pushed her off, the malice back in full spirit. His voice was laced with hatred when he hissed at her:

“She is everything.” No one could match up to you. Your half-hearted kisses, sloppy blowjobs, angry punches, they all made more sense than the fiery kiss he had just received. No, he loved you. The whole you.

Na Yeon hugged her knees, smiling up in that annoying manner. “You’re a business man, Kim. How about we talk a deal?”

── ⋆✩⋆ ──

“I’d rather sit on your lap if you don’t mind,” she said, eyeing the chair that had been brought into the room for her. God, she was driving him insane.

“I do fucking mind.”

She pursed her lips, settling into the chair with an air of defeat. He cut to the chase immediately.

“What is your deal?”

She regarded him with blank honesty. “Let’s have a bet, actually. It’s better that way.”

“Spit it out.”

“Let’s see, you killed Y/N’s husband just to get her. Right?” The innocent question had a sinister hook lurking underneath, which Taehyung immediately caught.

“What about it?”

“Well, in that case, if killing an obstacle is right to get to the person you love, doesn’t that law apply to me too?”

He had expected that hook. He understood how her mind worked because she was exactly at his mental place. Obsessed with a person who just didn’t return the feeling. He realized that she was very much like him.

“Do you expect an answer?” He sounded calm and relaxed.

“No, I know you know what I’m talking about, Kim.” She cracked her neck, sighing a little. “I will kill her if that means I can get you.”

“So, what is your deal?” He fought to keep the condescension out of his tone.

She grinned. “My businessman,” she purred. “I try and kill her. You try and stop it. Just leave the odds to the stars.”

“Why would I agree to such a stupid deal?”

“Because, Kim, the clock has already started ticking for your Y/N. I’m only offering you a chance to save her before I kill her.”

“If I win?” He smirked with confidence.

“You get your way with me. Kill me, lock me up, whatever you want.” Her casual words did send a jolt up his spine. “But, if I win,”

“What if you win?”

“I get you.”

She winked and laughed before adding, “And she dies.”

He didn’t bat an eyelid. “Deal.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

The deal was that Na Yeon would try and kill you within a month, and he would have to prevent it from happening. The nuances were:

Na Yeon wasn’t allowed anywhere near you. She had bragged about already having set a plan in motion. So, she had only that plan to rely on. She was fired from Taehyung’s office with immediate effect.

Taehyung wasn’t allowed to tap into Na Yeon’s phone calls or personal correspondence. He wasn’t allowed to involve any other person into the deal. His attempts to save you were to be his alone. No cops, guards, or any backup for him either.

When Taehyung returned home, his ears were already buzzing. He had almost drowned your daughter, trying to teach you a lesson. He went in search of you, finding you curled into a ball by your daughter’s bed.

“She got a fever?” he enquired, attempting to balm your pain.

You flew at him like a lioness, punching him in the chest, pushing him out of the room.

“What the fuck? ‘She got a fever?’ Is that all you got, you cruel piece of crap?”

He let himself get pummeled; he did deserve it. He had jeopardized the only string that was tying you to him. He shifted his gaze down, looking at your pants when he saw something that caught his attention. Dog hair. Almond.

He caught your fists, shushing you as he did so. “What’s that? Almond’s fur?”

You froze briefly, collecting yourself just as quickly.  “Yeah. What about it?”

He tsked. “I don’t remember giving you permission to walk him. Or go near him.”

Holding your head, you shook in anger, hissing “I don’t want your permission to fucking breathe. I’m done.”

He was tempted to say that he knew. He knew you were upto something behind his back. The words almost slipped his lips. But he had to play it out. He had to win you. It was almost objectification, trying to win you. But Na Yeon had placed him in that uncomfortable fix. If he justified killing Yoongi as an excuse to scout your love, Na Yeon did have the right to employ the same tactic. It was only fair.

“I know you’re upset, Y/N. I…” He swallowed the lump in his throat, “… I am sorry.”

You were taken aback. You had thought that apologies never existed in his world. To hear it for the first time, the sound of it felt so unfamiliar.

“I- need to be alone.”

He nodded and withdrew silently, leaving you to your own. Almond. He had to know how you had gotten near him. Also, he had to find out about the shoebox. Was it one of the guards? He became paranoid. Was one of him own men cheating on him with you? Was that why he only got squeaky clean reports of you all the time?

He trusted his guys with his life. No, there had to be something else he was missing. It didn’t make sense, especially when you vehemently hated the guys and their guns. You never allowed them anywhere near your daughter.

Who had clearance to talk to you, to pass you pills? Who did you meet that no other guard got suspicious of? Who was in the circle approved to be in contact with you? Who was the invisible person hiding in plain sight?

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Seung Jo had packed all his stuff and sent them ahead to Malta. He only had to pick up a couple of things. Oh, and the tickets. He smiled at the couple of tickets he had tucked inside his diary. He was going to Malta with the love of his life. It felt too good to be true.

Na Yeon’s steady paychecks, coupled with Taehyung’s had given him a lot of money to enjoy a life of luxury over there. His phone vibrated, interfering in his pleasant daydreams of lazing on hammocks and sipping beer.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Has anyone begun to suspect you?”

“No, everything is fine.”

“And Y/N? You’re positive about her?”

“Oh yes. We’ll continue as planned.”

“Good. Six more days.”

The caller hung up. He lay back down on his bed, thinking if he should get married in Malta, or wait to get to an even better destination.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

There was a knock on the door, waking up Seung Jo. His blurred vision made out 3:18 am on the digital clock. The knock grew louder, and he swore under his breath as he hit his foot on something. Waddling through the darkness, he flicked the light on and rubbed his toe. The sudden brightness took some adjusting to. The knock persisted, getting faster by the second.

“Chill the fu-“ He threw the door open, the curse freezing on his lips when he saw who was standing outside.

“Mr- Mr. Kim?”

The man in sweatpants looked so different, as if he were a whole other person, and not the suit and tie guy Seung Jo knew of.

“I’m coming in, it’s fucking freezing.” Taehyung brushed past Seung Jo, making straight for the couch.

Sweat lined Seung Jo’s neck, even though it was winter and bone-chillingly cold.

“Is something the matter, sir?” He couldn’t imagine the boss man coming to his house at such an odd time. Whatever it was, it surely wasn’t good news.

“Let’s cut the bullshit, Seung Jo.” Taehyung waved a file at the man in front of him. “Who hired you?”

The sweat was coming in torrents now. “Uh- Miss Na Yeon did, sir.” He wasn’t sure how much the boss had found out. He didn’t know if he was owning up to the plan or to the fact that she hired him as the chauffeur.

“As the-?” Taehyung persisted, patience wearing thin.

Seung Jo shut up, he was not going to readily own up. He wouldn’t give up and lose Malta and love to empty threats.

“As the chauffeur,” he replied sulkily.

“Oh?” Taehyung’s lips remained in the surprised pout for a whole minute. “Well, I have a whole file of papers that proves otherwise.”

Seung Jo knew now. His breath stuck in his throat. “Mr. Kim, let me explain…”

Taehyung waved in dismissal. “Just spit out the truth. I don’t have time. Bare facts.”

When he received just a beseeching look in reply, Taehyung opened the file and pulled out sheets of paper.

“Two tickets to Malta.” He waved them at the man. “By flight.” He removed some more sheets and waved them. “Three tickets to Santorini, by ship.”

Taehyung clucked his tongue. “Tell me I’m wrong, Seung Jo, how can you be on a flight and a ship on the same day?”

Seung Jo knew that he was beyond saving. He knew Taehyung’s violent temper. And living around men with guns had already shaken him enough to know when to give up.

“Mr. Kim, sir, I was asked to trick Mrs. Kim into going to the harbor. I was supposed to get out of the country as soon as she left to go to the harbor.”

“And what’s in the harbor?”

“I don’t know, sir. I really don’t. Ms. Na Yeon told me to not poke my nose into it when I asked.”

“And you were going to Malta.” Taehyung leaned back as he surveyed the man shaking before him. “With your boyfriend.”

Seung Jo nodded, wiping his sweat with his palm. “I wanted to live a better life, Mr. Kim. My boyfriend- he’s a barista. He has been through enough in life, that’s why I accepted Ms. Na Yeon’s offer. I wanted money.” He sniffed. “I wanted to marry my boyfriend and give him the life he deserves.”

Taehyung looked at the man closely. “Did you ever… kiss my…”

The man shook his head with violent passion. “No, sir! No. I could never cheat on my boyfriend.”                                                                                    

Taehyung’s chest deflated. “So, you never had feelings for her?”

“I swear I didn’t, sir.”

Good. The guy hadn’t held you or touched you with any lustful intent. Taehyung would have chopped the fucker’s fingers off if he had. He felt lucky.

“Na Yeon doesn’t know that you’re gay?”

She had made a very foolish mistake, overseeing that important detail. One that was going to cost her dearly.

“No, sir, I wanted the money. I couldn’t risk not being hired. She has no idea.”

The man was visibly shaking. He kept wiping his sweaty palms on his sides. “Please, please don’t kill me, sir. I …”

“Oh no, Seung Jo. Here’s what we are going to do...”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Y/N?”

You turned to Seung Jo. His almond skin was glinting in the afternoon sun. “Yeah?”

He passed the tickets to you. Your hands shook when you opened the envelope. The destination made your head swim. Santorini. It was real. You were really going. Your baby girl and you were finally going to be free.

You nodded at him absently before asking “And yours?”

He chuckled, nodding. “I have it safely locked at home. Can’t risk carrying it around, babe.”

“Yeah. Right.”

You fell silent, looking at the cottony clouds sailing above. “It feels so scary-” You took a deep breath – “Getting out of there.” The silence resumed for a moment. “I’m scared I might wake up and find this is all nothing but a dream.”

Seung Jo’s conscience pricked him for the first time. He was dangling freedom in front of a woman who would never get out of the cage. But he had gotten into the sticky mess; he had to get out of it alive.

Taehyung had threatened to kill his boyfriend if he didn’t finish the game he had started.

He squeezed your hand, gently assuring that you were going to escape for real.

“But we’re going on Friday, not Thursday.”

You stared at the ticket closely, surprise written on your face. “I thought you said Thursday. I clearly remember.”

He looked ahead, avoiding your stare. “Yeah I did. But I could get tickets only for Friday. Just a day, babe, hold on for one more day.”

You nodded, gulping down the fear nibbling at your heart. Taehyung would go ballistic if he knew your passports were missing. Just one day.

“So, be ready and I’ll come pick you and Ha Neul up on Friday. You told him you’re going to the dentist, right?”

You nodded again. The alibis were already ready.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“You ready? It’s time. Get going, Seung Jo.”

“Yes, ma’am. I am on my way to the house.”

“Text me when you get there.”

She cut the call and picked up her burner cell. The room was silent except for the low sound of the dial tone.

“You there yet?”

“Yeah. I’ve already set up the scope.”

“Okay. Remember, she’ll be there with her daughter. Wrap it up nice and clean.”

“For sure.”

The sniper hung up, looking at his neon watch. He had some time to kill before his target would be arriving.

Meanwhile, Na Yeon was micromanaging Seung Ho, calling him every few minutes to check up on him. She was in her apartment, biting her fingernails and praying that everything would go right.

Seung Jo hadn’t told her anything that was the least suspicious. Had Taehyung really not found out? Was she winning? Her controlling nature was bursting at the seams, not being there to witness your death. She didn’t like putting her fate into other people’s hands. But some battles were better fought remotely.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“I never miss a target.”

Her fingers trembled, causing the cellphone to shake. She drew a shaky breath.

“Fine. Abort and return.”

When she turned, she had a violent start. A dark outline was standing the doorway, moving towards her. Taehyung stepped into view, his devilish smile lending unnatural charm to his features.

“Guess I won then?”

She had no choice but to surrender, tail well between her legs. All the confidence in her had evaporated away. Not because she failed to kill you. Rather because she had lost him. He was never going to be hers.

“What’s it gonna be? She asked softly. “Death by what? Guns? Poison? Explosives?”

He chuckled lightly. “None.” He took great pleasure in seeing her startled expression.

“What?!”

He flashed his boxy smile, melting the living soul out of her.

“You can never get me, Na Yeon. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t live.” He crossed his arms and pursed his lips. “You did try to harm the singularly most important person in my life. For that though, you’ll have to pay the price.”

He dipped his hands into his pockets.

“A sniper? Really? I never expected that much class from you. I’m amazed.” He chuckled lightly. “Your sniper couldn’t shoot my wife because according to Seung Jo’s new plan, they’re leaving tomorrow, not today.” He loved the way she gulped in shock.

“You played me, so I played you by using your own man against you.”

That evening, So Na Yeon was restrained and taken to the Klammer Institute, where she was placed in a psychiatric ward reserved exclusively for her. Her registration form simply stated ‘No next of kin. Hold till end of life.’

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

You couldn’t sleep all night. What if something raised Taehyung’s doubts? You weren’t going to take any luggage. Getting yourselves out of Taehyung’s clutches was enough for now. You had prepped Ha Neul for the big plan, telling her that it was a surprise for daddy and she absolutely should not say anything before him.

Taehyung was tired and slept soundly by your side. It eased your mind to know he wasn’t aware of how fidgety you were. That man had the sense of a bloodhound.

Dawn came, and soon it was bright and sunny. Taehyung smiled into his glass of juice when you announced that you were going to the dentist.

“Sure, honey. Be back soon.” He resumed scanning his newspaper.

You waited and waited, biting your lips, and stealing looks at the clock. The ship was going to sail away soon. But no Seung Jo came. He had talked to you the previous evening, going over the entire plan. Where, then, was he?

You jumped whenever a shadow fell across the foyer, hoping to see Seung Jo bounding in. But every time, you were disappointed.

Taehyung kept a straight face when he asked, “Do you want one of the guards to drive you?”

You shook your head, biting your lips harder. “No, I’m fine.” You looked up at the clock again. He wasn’t coming. He had let you down.

You had chased a fickle drop, and it had vanished, leaving you stranded in the desert.

At that exact time, Seung Jo was inside the plane bound to Malta, holding hands with his boyfriend, waiting for the takeoff.

His boyfriend pressed his hand warmly. “What is it, babe? Sad about leaving this place?”

Seung Jo gave him a watery smile. “Uh, yeah. Kind of.”

The plane took off, carrying them both towards a new phase of life. Seung Jo leaned and peered down the window, wondering about you. He had done everything Taehyung had ordered him to. There was nothing more to be done. He hoped you would be alright.

“I love you,” his boyfriend said, leaning on his shoulder and sighing happily.

“I love you too.”

“To better places, love.”

“Yeah, babe. To better places only.”

With that, Seung Jo erased you off his mind.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Wo Bin discreetly cleared his throat, standing at full attention before his boss.

“What’s the matter, Bin-ah?”

The man hesitated slightly, unsure of how to best word it.

“Mr. Boss, no, Kim… no, Mr. Kim….”

Taehyung shot a penetrating glance at his aide, peering at him over his reading glasses.

“Spit it out, Bin.”

“I don’t know how to…” He saw his boss’s nostrils flare up, and he blurted it out. “I- I’ve been in-“ He swallowed hard, “-in love with So Na Yeon for years now.”

He nervously watched his boss digest the information, waiting to have his head bitten off.

Taehyung crossed his arms and stared at Wo Bin hard.

“For years?”

Wo Bin nodded silently.

“Help me understand, Bin. You say you love her and then she tries to kill my wife? Were you two planning…”

“No, no, boss!  I never told her. She doesn’t know. Not an inkling. I never even asked her out.”

Taehyung leaned back a bit. “So, are you going to fight me for putting her in an institute?” He looked at the gun in Wo Bin’s holster. “Are you going to shoot me?”

“Of course not, sir. I loved her. I still do in fact.” The man wiped his brow. “But I would never choose her over you.”

Taehyung’s brow shot up, intrigued.

“Why is that?”

“She doesn’t love me.”

The soft voice made Taehyung uneasy. Was Wo Bin mad at him that So Na Yeon was in love with him? Would he kill him for her? He wouldn’t be surprised if Wo Bin decided to go down that road.

Wo Bin looked down at his boots and continued: “She’s not So Na Yeon anymore. I didn’t fall in love with Song Jun Hyi.” He snapped his head back up to look at Taehyung square in the eyes. “And most importantly, I would never betray you.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

One year later

“Mommy, will daddy get candy?”

“Yes, baby.”

Your little girl shook her pigtails cutely, saying “Will I get gummy bears?”

You smiled and nodded at her, assuring her that she would.

Taehyung was talking to Wo Bin, who was complaining loudly about the lack of discipline in the ranks. “Some guys are just too unruly, boss. They’re like a bunch of school boys.”

Taehyung’s phone vibrated, and he smiled as he picked it up.

“Yes, sugar?”

“Min Ha Neul wants gummy bears. Don’t be a miser. Get her some M&Ms too.”

“And you, love? Can I get you anything? Cravings?”

“Fucking get hit by a car and die.”

“I’ll remember not to,” he replied, grinning.

You sighed and looked down. 6 months pregnant. It was humiliating to carry his child around. But you couldn’t hate the baby. No, you weren’t evil enough to do that. He was such a bitch to you, yes, but you would never hurt babies. You would never stoop that low.

You still randomly thought of Seung Jo. Where had he gone? Had Taehyung found out and killed him? But Taehyung was a man to gloat. He would have laughed in your face and told the news. So, what else had happened to Seung Jo? The thoughts came occasionally, out of nowhere. And every time, you daydreamed of escaping on that ship, far far away from Kim Taehyung.

When Taehyung returned home, he couldn’t find you in the bedroom. Waltzing over to the kitchen, he froze when he saw you downing something straight out of a bottle. He bounded over to you, snatching it, and raining slaps on your face.

“You’re trying to kill my baby,” he screamed in hysteria, shaking you by the throat. “You bitch, you’re poisoning my baby!”

“Let me go,” you croaked, “it’s – it’s just cough syrup.” You threw the bottle down, fighting to breathe.

His hands abruptly left your throat, his pupils still dilated in the surge of adrenaline. You looked over his shoulder and saw Ha Neul peeking around the door, scared by the loud noise.

When he bent and looked at the label, he hung his head sheepishly. It was cough syrup.

“Don’t worry,” you snapped, brushing past him, “Unlike you, I don’t hurt children.” You paused and glared at him. “Or anyone, for that matter.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

The baby was due in a few weeks. You had to get a breath of fresh air. You had been going to see your parents for a few weeks, but then the back pain had become too much to handle. You had missed a few weeks, and suddenly you decided on a whim to visit them. It was a long walk, yes, but it would help clear your mind.

You wanted to take Almond too. The poor boy really needed some love. Those brutes with guns didn’t exactly shower him with the love he deserved.

When you knocked on the study door, there was no response. Taehyung worked from home just like he had done when you were pregnant with Ha Neul. You tried the handle and opened the door, but he wasn’t there. Fuck. He usually went wild if you didn’t ask him before taking Almond out. Screw it, you couldn’t be bothered to call and ask.

The crunch of gravel underneath your sneakers felt oddly satisfying. The elation of taking Almond along without Taehyung knowing stirred rebellious joy in your heart. The guards might probably tell him, but you would deal with it later.

Almond happily sniffed at the flowers by the roadside, wagging his tail and occasionally pressing his body against your legs to show his appreciation. Such a dear little thing. You were smiling when you entered the cemetery. Walking past the headstones, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion when you saw two bouquets of white carnations laid neatly on your parents’ graves. You hastened towards them, Almond bounding closely behind you.

The water droplets on the flowers were still fresh, the candles had just gone out. You touched a wick. It was still warm. You looked around wildly, almost missing the man walking far ahead of you, amid the maze of graves.

So, you had finally lost your mind. Were you seeing Yoongi? Had you gone crazy? What would happen to Ha Neul if you were sent to a psych ward? A billion questions buzzed in your mind.

“Almond, stay.”

The dog sat down faithfully.

You trailed behind the apparition, unsure of what to expect. Turning around a row of headstones, he turned to the side, and his side profile was thrown into light. Your breath stopped, heart hammering away inside your ribcage. He sauntered away, unaware of the heavily pregnant woman following him. You ducked behind a headstone, watching him walk out through the other entrance, making straight for his car.

The car revved up and glided away, leaving you staring open-mouthed. He had been the mysterious flower guy the whole fucking time? The fact flashed at you out of the blue. It was Wednesday. Your parents had died on a Wednesday.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

When you walked back home and left Almond at his kennel, the car was already parked in the porch. A bouquet of lilies was on the kitchen counter. Near it was a bag of Tootsie Pops and gummy bears for Ha Neul.

You walked down the hallway to his study. The door was half open. He was writing something and turned in surprise when he saw you.

“What is it, Y/N?”

You couldn’t coherently form a word. His gaze roamed down and settled on the flecks on your pants.

“Is that… dog hair?”

“I went for a walk; you weren’t there when I came to ask about Almond.”

You waited for him to say something. Anything.

“Well, it’s okay just this one time.” It looked as if he wanted to say something else. “I.. uh, brought you some flowers. Didn’t want them to be thrown on my face, so I left them on the counter.”

Mustering up a great deal of courage, you breathed out, “The flowers-“

He didn’t give away anything. There was no dawning recognition on his features.

“Yeah, lilies. You love lilies.”

“Uh, yeah. Yep, I do.”

You silently removed yourself from the room, too dazed to think. The man you had met at the cemetery had said that he had been paid for like- what? Five years? You realized that his job was to scrub wax and get the shrunken flowers off the graves before you went to see them on Thursdays. Taehyung knew your parents had died on a Wednesday. How much did he actually know about you?

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Y/N?”

Taehyung had woken up thirsty, and had gone down to get a sip of cold water.

The fridge door was open; and the soft light fell on his favorite person in the world, with an ice cream tub cuddled in her chest. At the sound of his deep groggy voice, the spoon fell on the floor with a clang.

“Here,” he picked a fresh spoon and handed it to you. “Oh my, Y/N, you’re so beautiful.”

You raised an eyebrow, licking the back of the spoon and smacking your lips. Was he fucking kidding you?

“I’m round as a ball, wearing sweatpants twice my size, leaking through my hoodie, stuffing my face at 3 in the morning with blackcurrant ice cream, and you find me beautiful?”

He snorted, spilling the water on his shirt. Wiping his mouth, he laughed at your indignant face.

“Of course. You don’t believe me?”

“Like hell I would,” you grunted, digging into the tub to scoop up some more.

He clutched your arm, steering you forward as he kicked the fridge door closed.

“Come, let’s go. No, bring the ice cream with you. It’s okay.”

When you reached the bedroom, he flicked on the light, the sudden radiance dazzling your eyes.

He pulled you to the mirrored closet, standing behind you with his chest pressed against your back.

“Look,” he said, taking the ice cream tub from your hands and placing it on the bed gently. “Look ahead.”

His fingers grabbed the hem of your hoodie, his knuckles grazing against your belly and leaving goosebumps in their wake. He slowly lifted the fabric up, bunching it up so your belly was naked and vulnerable.

“See?” he asked, his hand cupping the widest part of your belly, the other hand squeezing your shoulder. “See how beautiful you are, carrying my child. Don’t you see? We made that together.”

His finger traced delicate lines along the bump.

“You’re growing a little Kim inside you, Y/N. Look how pretty you look, swollen with my seed.”

He bent slightly to breathe into your ear: “So fucking perfect.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Kim Taehyung, you miserable bitch!”

Taehyung shot up to his feet, rushing to your side.

“Yes, honey. I’m here.”

The midwife tried her best to pretend that she didn’t hear you insult him every few seconds your contractions came on.

“You made this happen. You put me through this, you asshole!”

He didn’t care about the midwife squirming behind him. You were his Y/N. You had every right to call him names. He held your hand, attempting to help you focus on your breathing.

“Breathe in, baby, just follow my lead.”

“Fuck you,” you screamed sobbing in agony.

“You can do this, Y/N. Just hang on a little more.”

“I can’t, I can’t,” you whimpered, wanting to smash his head against the wall for putting you through the whole ordeal.

“I know,” he said, rubbing your palm and looking hopelessly at the midwife. “How much longer?”

“Just an hour or so, Mr. Kim.”

He sighed and leaned down to wipe your clammy forehead. “Just a little while longer, baby.”

Taehyung could remember the last time he was in a delivery room only too clearly. He had been seething in white hot rage, furious at Min for letting you handle so much pain.

But now, standing nervously by your side, he felt radically different. He couldn’t wait to get the baby out of you and end your suffering, yes, but there was a small feeling of awe that humbled him.

This woman, the one screaming out curses and clawing at his hands, was birthing his child. He was no more just a man; he was a father. The very thought affected him more than he had anticipated.

── ⋆✩⋆ ──-

“That’s it, Mrs. Kim, you’re doing great,” the doctor called, her head between the stirrups. “Give me one more push.”

Taehyung felt something odd going on. The pressure on his hand was weakening by the second.

“Y/N?” he called out, bending to look closely. “Are you alright?”

The machines started beeping in a frenzy, and the doctor yelled for help.

“She’s seizing!”

More doctors rushed in, and one of them jabbed at his chest, trying to push him out of the way.

“Please get out of the room, sir,” he said, using his weight to buckle the tall man.

“Yeah? Try and make me,” Taehyung said, rooted to his spot.

People in white coats were barking orders at each other, pushing and pulling his beloved wife all over the place.

The young doctor opened his mouth to argue, and Taehyung sneered at him angrily.

“Look, you moron, that woman is my wife, and I swear I will rip your balls off if you don’t back off!”

Suddenly, all the pandemonium stopped, and the doctors began filing out of the room.

“What, what?” He shouted, kicking himself for losing track of you.

Your doctor glared at him, pissed.

“If you are done heckling my intern, Mr. Kim, you may be pleased to know your baby is coming. Now.”

Taehyung ran over to the doctor’s side, watching her expertly handle the teeny tiny head coming through.

You were slumped against the pillows in exhaustion, the final push had usurped all your energy.

Before he even saw the baby’s face, Taehyung rushed back to you, hugging you tight. His body shook in emotion.

“I almost died, you scared me so much.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Kim Jaemin was born hale and healthy, his cute cheeks and glittering eyes making you wonder how such a wonderful little human could have been sired by Kim Taehyung.

When you took him back home after a few days, the entire staff of Taehyung’s office showed up to celebrate the baby. The mansion was decorated with festoons and balloons, welcoming the Kim heir heartily.

Taehyung threw a party in honor of the birth of his son, sending out handwritten invitations to every person in the elite circle.

He played the part of the generous host to perfection, moving around the hall with a gracious smile. He had bullied you into wearing a pretty dress and greeting the guests.

You were hastening to get yourself a drink when his sonorous voice chanted your name and piqued your interest.

“… is such a talented person. Yeah, it’s a pity she couldn’t work on projects, I am sure she could work from home. Her artistic sense is impeccable. Come, I’ll show you how tastefully she has decorated the study. You couldn’t see such perfect harmony and rhythm anywhere.”

── ⋆✩⋆ ──-

Ha Neul was elated to have such a cute younger brother. She eagerly brought all her toys to stuff inside his crib, her gummy smile widening every time he giggled.

Jaemin took after you, most of his features resembled you. Taehyung took absolute pride in that. He had made a baby with you. A baby that looked so alike you. A part of him and you were inside Jaemin. Curiously though, he felt like he loved you more than he did his own boy. Yes, Jaemin was his offspring, but it was you that he loved. And you always came first.

Not an ounce of his jealousy had changed. He still hated when you coddled Jaemin or breastfed him. His son was stealing your love. He hoped he wouldn’t grow to regret having Jaemin. He would have much preferred a girl, just so he could compare Min’s daughter and his own and tell himself that he had won over Yoongi, producing the best child.

But when he saw Ha Neul kissing Jaemin’s forehead with her tender lips, he wondered if he were really a monster to even think of comparing children. How could Ha Neul love Jaemin so much? Wasn’t she the least bit jealous? He was baffled and lost, stressed at the complexity, and wondering why everything was so fucking difficult.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Ha Neul was off at kindergarten, you had fought tooth and nail with Taehyung so she could go to school. He had reluctantly agreed, just to get a break from your constant swearing.

After sending her off with Wo Bin, you looked at the clock. You had an appointment with the pediatrician. Taehyung had already given you a credit card, kissing the top of your head before leaving to his office. Strangely, he only ever patted Jaemin’s back, there were no kisses. There weren’t any kisses for Ha Neul either, but you couldn’t help wondering why Jaemin got the same treatment. Wasn’t Jaemin his own flesh and blood?

Wasn’t the war he waged against Yoongi over already? He had gotten what he had wanted. He had ruined the Min clan, taken you and made you a Kim, and finally gotten his own child. What else did he want?

The grandfather clock chimed and startled you out of your musings. You had better shower; the appointment couldn’t be missed. Laying Jaemin down in his crib, you told the nanny to engage him while you got ready.

“Mrs. Kim?” The nanny was standing at the door meekly. “Ah, good. I thought you had already gotten into the shower.”

“What is it, Dana?”

“Little Jaemin broke the harness of his stroller, I wanted to remind you.”

Oh yeah, you had almost forgotten it. You had to buy a new one. Wait. Ha Neul’s old stroller was still in the basement. It could fill in until you bought another one.

“I think there’s a 5-point harness somewhere, I’ll get it.”

Taehyung always insisted that you never go down. He just forbade you from going to the basement. But you had sneaked there a few times. The walls were definitely wallpapered for some reason. Who wallpapered basements? Apart from that, there wasn’t anything suspicious whatsoever.

When you went down, there was so much stuff boxed up neatly in the basement. Ha Neul’s boxes took just a couple minutes to find. The harness was packed along with it, and you grabbed it and turned to leave before something curious made you stare harder.

The wallpaper had previously disguised it, but the ageing and peeling had revealed some parts of the wall. The paper dipped into parts of rectangular crevice almost the exact size of a door. A door? Was it a secret door? A tunnel? Maybe that’s why Taehyung had forbade you from coming to the basement? What was that crevice for?

You felt around the paper, knocking, and pressing, and sure enough, it was a door. Fiddling around, your fingers found a keyhole. It was so small that you almost missed it. How could you open it? There had to be a key somewhere… You tried pushing and jiggling the door. But it was firm and unrelenting. The curious side of you itched to know what was on the other side. Something like an escape tunnel, surely, because Taehyung had been so stubborn about shooing you away from the damned basement.

When you went back up, you passed the harness to the nanny and hit the shower. You were still thinking about the door. Well, you would find out soon enough.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Se Jong was waiting impatiently, smoking his last cigarette, and cursing at no one in particular. How long was it going to take for those stupid dickwads to get the job done? It was getting late. He had to have heard from them a quarter of an hour earlier. The loud ringtone startled him, and he cursed again, shifting his phone to his ear.

“You done?”

“Yeah, man.”

He smiled, licking his lips eagerly. God, he was going to be so rich. He took his sweet time finishing his smoke, dialing Taehyung’s number lazily. A deep voice answered.

“Kim Taehyung.”

Se Jong grinned into the phone. “I’m Se Jong.” He snorted a bit, the chuckle making a gross sound in his throat. “Wanna talk.”

Taehyung was puzzled. His guys never called him directly. It was always Wo Bin who dealt with their calls and reported to him. Was the bastard drunk?

“I’m busy, keep it short,” he snapped.

The voice on the other end laughed stupidly, pissing him off even further.

“Did you just- laugh at me, Se Jong?” he shouted, slapping the table. “Why are you even calling me? Quit wasting my time!”

“Simmer down, Taehyung,” the voice drawled, shocking Taehyung into stillness. He dared call him by name? He was certainly asking for a bullet in his brain, the damned son of a bitch.

The cocky chuckle repeated itself, and then the voice came out low and menacing.

“I got your kid. I’m gonna rip him in pieces if you don’t do what I say.”

Taehyung’s blood chilled. His fingers clutched the phone tighter. His son Jaemin? What the fuck was happening? He shot up, sprinting out of his office, phone pressed against his ear. He raced through the paneled offices, taking the stairs at a frenzied pace.

“Get me Wo Bin. Now!” He screamed at the driver, hopping into the car and slamming the door. Se Jong was chuckling on the other end of the line when he panted into the phone, out of breath.

“How much do you want?”

“Oh, Taehyung.” There was a mocking whistle. “How much can you give me?”

The car was racing towards home. Taehyung’s mind was spinning in circles, nothing was comprehensible. You? What about you? Was it only Jaemin that had been kidnapped?

“I… What do you want?”

Silence.

The man chuckled again. “Power. Everything. All that you have. Oh, including that pretty piece of ass, your wife. The whole deal.”

Taehyung gritted his teeth, relapsing into stony silence, willing the car to move faster. The tires squealed, and he jumped out even before the ignition was turned off. Another car pulled up right behind him. Wo Bin jumped out, concern written all over his features.

Taehyung sprinted towards the nursery, heart thudding and making him feel sick.

“Y/N? Y/N?” He shouted at the top of his lungs. “Y/N!!”

No baby in the crib.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

Se Jong laughed, snorting again. “No boy at home? Ready to talk business now?”

Wo Bin watched Taehyung collapse onto the floor, squatting weakly. Sweat was pouring down his clothes.

“What do you want?”

“Now that’s the right tone, that pleading tone is good to hear. I’ll call in five.” The line went dead.

Taehyung stared at his phone screen blankly, feeling numb throughout.

“The fuck were you shouting about?”

Taehyung looked up startled, and saw you standing before him, your face cross. Most importantly, a child was on your hips, hugging you like a koala. His son. Jaemin.

He sputtered his words out.

“I- was just… looking for… never mind, Y/N.”

You gave him the hardest glare you could muster, wild at being interrupted in the middle of a diaper change.

Taehyung got up, pulling his subordinate by his sleeve, dragging him to the window.

“What the fuck is Se Jong high on, Bin-ah?” he spat, staring at the confused man.

“What exactly did he say, sir?”

Taehyung could hardly contain his loudness. “He told me he had kidnapped my son for fuck’s sake?”

“Kidnapped?”

You spun around on hearing Wo Bin hiss the word.

“But little Jaemin is here, sir.” Taehyung blew out his cheeks while Wo Bin scratched his head.

“Get me that bitch, that loser bitch in Klammer.”

Taehyung was pacing angrily when the orderly at Klammer Institute let Na Yeon talk into the phone.

“What have you done, bitch?” He screamed, anger rising exponentially. “What is the deal with Se Jong? I’m going to fucking ruin you-“

“What happened?” There was an agonizing silence spanning a whole minute. And then the woman giggled into the phone. “Ooh, something juicy did happen, huh?” She sounded surprised. “Se Jong? Who, the banker? What did he do? Spill the tea, it’s so boring here in the psych ward.”

He held his nose, trying to force himself to calm down. “You didn’t fucking send him?”

She chortled, annoying him to no end. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I hope he kills that bitch.  So that-“

He disconnected the call, cursing out loud.

── ⋆✩⋆ ──--

Se Jong was in the mood for celebration. He was going to strip everything Taehyung had built and become the new lord. Everything Kim Taehyung had built, all his drug cartels, his businesses, everything was going to be his. He was going to be so fucking powerful.

His phone rang again.

“Man, everything OK?”

“Yes, everything’s smooth. How you holding up?”

“Alright here. Little biter we got here. Bit my arm. Can’t wait to get rid of her.”

Se Jong was slow to catch the last word.

“Her?”

“Yeah, man. Kim’s girl.”

Se Jong spat the whiskey he was sipping all over his car’s windscreen. “What the hell are you saying? I told you to get his son!”

“But his wife was late from the clinic, we couldn’t hang out there no more without no one bein’ suspicious. Chill, dude, we snatched the daughter from school. What difference is it gonna make? Boy or girl, both are his, right?”

His entire neck vein was bulging prominently when Se Jong shouted into the phone:

“He doesn’t give a fuck about that one!”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Did you say ‘kidnapped’, Wo Bin?” You advanced towards him, suspicion setting off a loud alarm in your brain. “What is happening here?”

Taehyung stepped nearer to you, murmuring that it was nothing of significance.

“No,” you pushed him away, snapping at him. “Tell me now.”

“He was probably drunk, or high on something, he said he had kidnapped our baby,” Taehyung said, the relieved expression on his face changing as he saw the horror on your face.

“Y/N? Jaemin is safe. So- so… why are you….”

“Oh my God! Ha Neul! Where is my daughter?” Bunching his shirt in your fists, you screamed at him. “Tell me you checked on her. Did you call the school? Did you?”

He looked helplessly at Wo Bin, not daring to answer. Ha Neul hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“You’re pathetic,” you spat out, rushing out to get your shoes.

“Y/N! Where are you going?” he called after you, running to keep up with your pace.

“To fetch my baby. Because you clearly don’t give a shit about her.”

He pulled on your elbow, stilling you. “Listen. I will get her. You stay here with Jaemin.”

“You think I am gonna trust you? You forgot my baby girl, you bitch!”

Taehyung winced at the word, fully aware that Wo Bin was listening.

“Y/N, fucking see reason…” His phone rang again. “Se Jong, I’ll end you, do you hea-“

You snatched the phone from him, screaming into it. “Listen, motherfucker, give me my baby back, or I’ll shove your balls down your fucking throat.”

Taehyung wrestled the phone away, motioning for you to be patient. He swore and cussed briefly, nodding at Wo Bin and they bolted out of the door before you could blink.

“HEY!”

But they had already gone. When you tried to run after them, armed guys blocked your way, brandishing rifles and guns and making you retreat.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

You were pacing nervously around, not able to think clearly. Jaemin was sent to his nanny, under strict orders to stay put. Your baby, your little Min Ha Neul, was she alright? How foolish and ignorant these goons were, letting a guy kidnap a kid right under their armed noses. Fucking losers. Poor baby Ha Neul, she was probably scared out of her wits.

It reminded you of when Yoongi had been locked up in that basement. The scary memories wrapped you in sheets of terror, smothering your lungs. You collapsed in a half-faint, hitting the floor with a thud. Something poked at your butt. Bleary eyed, you reached down and removed the cold object, cursing at it for jabbing you.

The object glinted in your fingers. You had seen it already; it was the chain Taehyung always wore around his neck. There was a small Abloy key attached to the chain. The key was somehow special. It opened something. But you had no idea what.

You threw it away, the faint cling of the chain resounding against the flooring. So what if it was special? You couldn’t be bothered to worry about it. Not when your baby was somewhere, cold and probably scared too. She was only a child, your precious child. It made your blood boil that Taehyung had completely forgotten about Ha Neul in the first place.

It felt like history was repeating itself, mocking at you cruelly. First, Min Yoongi. Now, Min Ha Neul. At least you knew where Yoongi had been. You knew he had been locked in the basement, waiting to be saved. But for Ha Neul, you felt so helpless, not knowing where she was. You traced your thoughts back. Basement. You looked at the chain lying forgotten on the floor. The key.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Se Jong! Show your face, you filthy cocksucker!”

The garage was eerily empty, unused cars parked at odd angles, jamming the place. Everything was dusty and forgotten.

“Bin-ah, cover the right flank, I’m going to towards the left,” Taehyung whispered, cocking his gun.

There was utter silence, not even the rustle of leaves providing any relief. Taehyung listened for a sign, any sign, to deduce where your daughter was. It would take hours to comb through each rattled car, not to mention the time it would take for just two men to accomplish the feat.

The loud ding of Taehyung’s phone echoed around. Sliding against a car’s door, Taehyung squatted down and slid his phone out.

03:10 Unknown sender

Throw your guns away & raise your hands. Both of you.

Taehyung turned on his phone’s flashlight and shone it under the maze of cars. There were no feet anywhere. That meant his enemy was most probably in one of the cars. But which one?

“Boss,” Wo Bin hissed, his voice slicing through the silence. From his vantage point, Taehyung saw Wo Bin crawl under a line of cars.

Tucking his phone back, Taehyung started crawling too, inching slowly forward. Wo Bin gestured towards a black Chevrolet parked a few paces ahead. He pointed to his eyes, and then to the floor. Taehyung squinted hard, and then he realized what it was.

There was a wet patch under the car. AC condensation. They had found the car.

Taking careful aim, Taehyung took a shot at the tires, and Wo Bin followed suit. Just as the first bullet hit the wheel disc, Ha Neul’s voice rang out in a high-pitched scream.

“Daddy!”

Wo Bin advanced ahead, rushing in the direction of the scream. Taehyung’s fingers were groping for his gun when a bullet hit the ground dangerously close to Wo Bin. More gunshots followed in quick succession, and Ha Neul wailed again, this time her voice broken by a sob.

“Daddy!”

Despite his better judgement, Taehyung crept out from under the cars, in full view of any hidden attacker.

“Min Ha Neul!”

“Daddy!”

“I’m coming, baby!”

A bullet whizzed through the air, hitting him square in the forearm. Every angry nerve in him was roused, and he ran like a cheetah, ducking under cars and jumping over hoods, not minding the rain of bullets showering all around him.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

The key fit like magic. You had initially thought that it was too small to fit. But it clicked open just fine. What were you going to find behind the door? It was scary and mysterious, but if there were a tunnel you could crawl out of, you would do it in a heartbeat just for your baby.

Slowly, you pushed the door open, met with eerie darkness. You fumbled, feeling around, and touching what felt like a toggle switch. You flicked it on, and the room was flooded with blinding radiance. The sight before you knocked all the breath out of your lungs.

There were shelves and shelves made of crystal, filled with hauntingly familiar things. Photos of you adorned the walls, framed in gold.  There were little boxes, which you found to contain empty candy wrappers, used lipstick tubes, hair ties, juice straws, every little odd thing collected in each box. There were your old shoes, ones that you had thrown out before you had even met Yoongi.

On the far left was a shelf of books. There was also a chair with a reading light. You looked closer, and found that the books were Virginia Woolf, Charlotte Bronte, and a few other authors you exclusively read. They weren’t from your own collection; they had the seal of the district library on them. Leafing through the pages, you found out that you had borrowed every one of those books at some point in time. Your signature was on all of them. So was Taehyung’s. The dates showed that Taehyung had borrowed them long ago. Long before Yoongi came into your life.

There were more boxes, more things to go through. But you were drawn to the turquoise colored crystal trinket box that was right at the center of the room. You reached out and took it, the cool crystal sending a subconscious shiver up your back. You opened it slowly, and your jaw dropped.

Nestled in it comfortably were your and Yoongi’s wedding rings. They sparkled and winked at you, catching the light concentrated by the crystal they were placed in. You were holding them, not knowing what to feel, when you heard Taehyung’s muffled voice.

“Y/N!”

Your heart turned cold. He couldn’t catch you at the basement. It was incredibly creepy, and you had no idea what to do with the sudden sensory overload. You almost dropped the crystal box, hastening to replace it. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a framed photograph.

You. With your parents. It had been hanging in your childhood home.

Forgetting about the man calling your name, you reached over and took the photograph. The glass had not a speck of dust. It had been wiped so clean that it gleamed. You stood there, quietly sobbing, not sure how to deal with everything, when soft footsteps stole behind you.

“Y/N?”

He was carrying Ha Neul over his shoulder. “Shh, she’s sleeping.” He beckoned to you, inviting you into a group hug. You silently sidled over to him, crying into his shoulder.

“Sh, baby, she’s fine. She’s fine. It’s okay.” He patted your hair, kissing the top of your head. “Here.” He passed your daughter to you.

You cuddled your sleeping child, all the worry easing away. You held her against your bosom, chest heaving with the force of your sobs. Her sleepy little fingers clenched and unclenched, finding purchase at your shirt.

“Taehyung… all this? Why didn’t.. how.. I never knew…”

“It’s alright,” he repeated, soothing you. “We’ll talk about it later.”

The wetness of his elbow soaked a red patch on your shirt.

“You’re bleeding,” you hissed, pupils wide with horror.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, attempting to draw the injured hand away. It didn’t really matter. Because he was with you.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Taehyung was sitting on the couch, staring into the space. He hadn’t meant for you to see the memento room. It made him feel embarrassed. His cheeks were hot. He was fanning himself with his hands when he heard your light step.

“Taehyung?”

He gazed at you, no words filling the silence that stretched over several seconds.

You took a step forward, unsure. “Why- the flowers- how long-“

He patted the couch, motioning for you sit down. When you silently glided to the couch, he took your hand in his.

“Now, tell me, baby. Ask me anything but take a deep breath first.”

Man, breathing was so difficult. “I saw you at the cemetery.”

“Oh.”

You stared longer, hoping for another word to fall from his lips. “Why? Every Wednesday? What do they have to do with you? Why do you-”

He blinked, clearing his throat. “They gave birth to you. They deserve to be worshipped. Centuries of destined ancestry and lineage led to their making you. They gave you to this world. They gave you to me.”

You were taken aback. “And the room? Those things there? You stalked me?”

He scoffed lightly. “I loved you. Still do. Always will.”

“But wasn’t it Yoongi you wanted to destroy? You…“

He squeezed your hand. “He was an obstacle. Nothing else. I was blind with hatred, angry that he’d taken you away from me.”

“Why didn’t-” you forced yourself to breathe. “- why didn’t you let me know? Even before I dated Yoongi… Why?” Your voice broke. You would have probably declined, but who knew, you might have even agreed to go on a date with him.

He simply sighed. “Thinking about roads not taken seldom gives you peace of mind.”

You blinked back the tears. “And Woolf? You read Woolf?”

“It is all rather pointless and second-rate without you,” he quoted, flashing a boxy smile.

You didn’t know what to say. It was impossible to love Taehyung. He had killed Yoongi. He had almost drowned Ha Neul. But…

Ha Neul peeked her pretty head around the door.

“Mommy, can I play with baby Jae in the nursery?”

“Yes, you can, sweetheart.”

She ran away happily.

He had saved Ha Neul from the kidnapper. He had taken a bullet to protect your daughter. It was all so crazy and complicated.

“So,” he drawled, breaking into your thoughts. “Do you think you can love me?”

“No.”

He nodded and bowed his head. He hesitated before asking the next question. He feared hearing something he wouldn’t like.

“Maybe you could learn to like me?”

He held his breath as you thought about it.

“I –“

Your words hung in the air, unspoken, when the sound of guns going off echoed throughout the mansion. Taehyung jumped up, drawing his gun from the holster, and pulling you behind him.

“Stay back, Y/N,” he said, rushing towards the door. “Don’t come out until I call for you.”

A bullet whizzed in through the window, hitting a framed picture and shattering the glass.

“Down, stay down,” he shouted, bolting through the door. He stood there for a moment, hesitating. Turning on his heel, he ran back to you and knelt on the floor. Cupping your cheeks, he kissed you hastily, as if he were scared that you would disappear the next second.

“Y/N, don’t move,” he urged, shaking your shoulders until you nodded in response.

He was out of the door the next moment, before he could hear you shriek urgently:

“Ha Neul and Jaemin! What about the babies?”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Taehyung ran towards the source of the gunshots. He knew it was from his own guards. He knew the sounds of the rifles by heart. But who were they shooting at?

The sounds grew louder and louder, and he ran up the stairs in hot pursuit. There he was, dressed in all black, the man responsible for all the chaos.

Taehyung ground his teeth. He should have expected the asshole to show up sometime. He hadn’t pegged him to be one of the vengeful types, but here he was, proving his assumption wrong.

The guards were all pointing their rifles at the man, but the indecision was palpable.

“Don’t hesitate, just shoot!” Wo Bin cried, egging the guards on. “Casualties are unavoidable in battles.”

The guards looked at each other, fingers still unmoving on their triggers. They needed someone from higher up in the chain of command to issue an order.

Taehyung calmly walked onto the damp terrace floor, the click of his shoes enough to instill reassurance in his guards.

“Let Wo Bin go,” he said, addressing the man holding a gun to his aide’s head. “It’s only you and me. We’ll sort it out between us.”

The man cocked his gun, pressing the muzzle firmly against Wo Bin’s head.

“Y/N and the children, where are they?”

Taehyung tilted his head to the side, rolling his tongue into his cheek.

“Let him go and I’ll take you to see them.”

The man only snickered in response. “I wouldn’t trust you with a penny. Bring them here or I’ll drill holes into his head.”

Turning his gun so the muzzle was facing the sky, Taehyung took a step forward.

“Now, Namjoon, you know you aren’t capable of-“

Kim Namjoon removed the gun for a split second to fire a bullet straight into a guard’s chest. The guard toppled over like a tile of dominoes.

Bringing the gun back to Wo Bin’s head, Namjoon snapped at Taehyung. “Yeah?”

“Alright, alright. I’ll fetch them.” Taehyung turned to a guard, and the man scurried away to fulfill the order.

“How did he get here?” Taehyung barked at Wo Bin, who was still trapped in Namjoon’s hold.

One of the guards moved forward cautiously, reaching Taehyung’s side.

“Wo Bin was cleaning up after Se Jong and his gang, sir. Half our manpower was out in the field assisting him. He… dropped by at Klammer Institute, alone, on his way back. He left his gun at the security desk for frisking.”

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Taehyung kicked the pebbles scattered on the rugged floor, overwhelmed with anger. Damn Wo Bin for going out and getting caught unarmed. By Kim Namjoon of all people.

“Just shoot me, boss,” Wo Bin said, his voice steady and calm. “Don’t think twice.”

“Shut up, Bin-ah,” Taehyung snapped. He wasn’t losing his best man and his family in a single night. Not to Namjoon; Not to anyone.

“Listen, Namjoon. Don’t involve the rest of them in this. It’s just you and me. Man-to-man.”

“Namjoon!” your voice cut through the cold night air. Jaemin was gathered to your chest, and Ha Neul’s little hand was secured tightly in yours.

“Y/N! Come on over here,” Namjoon shouted, gesturing to his side.

“Oh no, no, no,” Taehyung said, firmly planting himself in front of you. “You have to kill me first.”

“No!” you screamed. “The children! Think about the children! Stop!”

Namjoon bit his lip, glowering at his rival. “Get rid of the guards, then. We’ll see how much of a man you are without a gun. Without your army of gunmen.”

The barb in his tone got to Taehyung, and he shouted at his men to get the hell out of there. He turned to you, yelling at the top of his lungs.

“You! Get back downstairs and send a guard to prepare Namjoon’s coffin.” Ha Neul winced at the shout and tugged at your hand urgently.

“Mommy, I’m scared.”

The guards filed out of the terrace, encircling you and the children so you wouldn’t try and make a run for it. They settled themselves on the stairs, waiting with anxious expressions and bated breaths.

You huddled with the children on the sofa, whispering soothing words to Ha Neul and reassuring her as best as you could.

The three men on the terrace were left alone at last. Namjoon knew that Wo Bin was trained in combat. Wo Bin had been a Captain in the Army before his discharge. The man wasn’t Taehyung’s commander-in-chief for nothing.

“Drop your gun,” Namjoon said, brandishing his weapon at Taehyung.

Taehyung complied wordlessly, dropping his gun, and kicking it away. Mustering all his strength, Namjoon whacked the gun against Wo Bin’s skull, the blunt force knocking him out completely.

“It’s just you and me now, huh?” Namjoon said, kicking his gun away to the side.

“Honestly didn’t take you for the fighter type, Namjoonah,” Taehyung goaded, settling into a boxer stance.

Namjoon charged forward, landing a solid punch in his rival’s ribs.

“Enough chit-chat.��

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Y/N!”

It was a high-pitched scream; in a voice you knew only too well. There was a sickening sound of glass crashing somewhere to the left of the building.

“Y/N!” this time, the yell came from the stairs, a deathly hush replacing the babble of the guards’ murmurs. The men parted silently, letting the wounded man stumble down the steps one at a time.

“Sweetie, hold your brother’s hand tight until I come, okay?” you whispered to your daughter, running up the stairs to meet him halfway.

“Namjoon!”

His face was ghastly, there were cuts all over his eyebrows and jaw. Blood dripped down his brows in a steady trickle. He was wheezing, all the wind knocked out of his lungs. A few guards rushed past you up the stairs, jostling each other in their hurry.

“Namjoon,” you repeated, kneeling on the steps. “Did you- did you…”

He coughed, spitting blood in the process. When he finally wiped his mouth, he simply nodded.

“He’s as good as dead.”

“What?!”

Without a second thought, you dashed up the stairs, not heeding Namjoon’s cries of dissent.

“Y/N, no, come back!”

── ⋆✩⋆ ──-

The guards were all clustered at the edge of the terrace, and they silently let you pass, letting you see the sight for yourself.

Kim Taehyung was sprawled out on the ceiling of the greenhouse, broken shards of glass jutting out of his body. The fall from the terrace had sent him crashing onto the glass. There was no support under his back, only the metal frames shielded him precariously from falling to his death.

His eyes had been flickering back and forth, waiting to see you. And when you came at last, a small smile graced his features. He was losing too much blood too fast.

“Y/N, come back.”

Namjoon was standing behind you, not minding the hot glares he drew from the guards. “It’s time. Come, let’s go.”

Taehyung’s mouth was twitching, and the glass had turned into red glinting blades with all the blood. His legs and hands were jerking uncontrollably, but his eyes never wavered from you.

You felt Namjoon’s hand on the small of your back.

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered, gently turning you away from the ghastly sight. He had taken one step forward, pulling your arm, when you shrugged free.

“No.”

Namjoon’s mouth set in a straight line. “What?”

“Get him help, please! I can’t leave him to die. I can’t!” you pleaded, your words tumbling out fast. “Please, just save him. Please.”

The guards looked at one another, and a man cleared his throat.

“Mrs. Kim, ma’am, we tried to help but Mr. Kim waved us away before you arrived.”

You snapped your head to bark at him:

“Now I’m telling you, get that man all the help he needs.”

Everyone rushed into action, until only Namjoon and you were the ones standing frozen on the terrace.

“Really, Y/N?” Namjoon said, disgusted. He barely tried to conceal the contempt in his tone.

You puffed up your chest and looked at Namjoon in the eye.

“Yes, really. I am not a killer. Neither are you.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Namjoon’s doctor was stitching his eyebrow up when a nurse came looking for you.

“Is Mrs. Kim here?”

“Yes?”

You had to admit that you were terrified. Utterly terrified of what news she might be bringing.

“The surgeon will be briefing you about Mr. Kim’s surgery in a few minutes.”

“Yes, thanks. I’ll be there.”

Namjoon exhaled, nodding at his doctor. He took your hand, squeezing it tight.

“I’m with you. Y/N.”

You stared at him, remembering all the hot insults he had thrown at you over the years. He had been mean and cruel to you whenever you had chanced to meet him in social gatherings.

“How did you come? I thought you had pegged me as a gold-digging whore.”

Namjoon winced at your words. He had been wrong to judge you. But he was gracious enough to own up to his mistake.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I am sorry I behaved so badly. I was wrong and I am heartily ashamed of myself for not trusting you. I am sorry I didn’t honor Yoongi’s faith in you.”

You marveled at his fierce loyalty to Yoongi. Your husband would have been immensely proud of his friend.

“But how did you realize? I had no way of contacting you or anyone else.”

Namjoon nodded, agreeing. “Kang Minsook, the prosecutor, called me last year and told me that he had found about Bong Ju, Yoongi’s manager who went missing.”

He ruffled his hair, squinting at the window. “He said that there was something off about the whole case and told me that Bong Ju knew something more. But he was missing, there was no trace of Bong Ju anywhere.”

You didn’t interrupt, choosing to listen in silence. He went on.

“I hired a detective to find out Bong Ju’s whereabouts. I was notified that he was back in the city for a brief time, but he vanished again. But as it turned out, I needn’t have hired a detective after all.”

“What do you mean?” Your curiosity was thoroughly kindled.

“Bong Ju got in touch with Minsook, saying that he had found someone called Seung Jo in Malta. I learned that Seung Jo had once been your chauffeur and had mysteriously disappeared too.”

You felt blood rush to your cheeks on hearing the name. But you let him continue without interrupting.

“I went to Malta and got hold of Bong Ju. He told me he had gone there to find out about Seung Jo. I talked to Seung Jo and Bong Ju, and finally realized what Taehyung had been doing to you over these years.” He looked at you with soft eyes. “I am so sorry that you had to go through all that alone, Y/N.”

You were at a loss for words. So many emotions were pelting at you, making it hard to breathe.

“I…” you looked at the sincere face gazing at you. “It’s okay now, Namjoon. I am grateful that you came when you did.”

You didn’t have any grudges against him. You rubbed your nose and looked at the corridor teeming with elderly people.

“I have to go to Klammer and see Ma tomorrow.” Taehyung had kept you from visiting Yoongi’s mother for some reason only known to him.

The nurse returned, walking up to you briskly. “The surgeon is waiting, Mrs. Kim.”

Namjoon whispered softly, “Ready to go?”

You shook your head. “I- I don’t know.”

“Hey,” he said, tucking your hair behind your ear. “I’m gonna be there with you, okay? I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You nodded, summoning a bit of courage from the universe.

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

── ⋆✩⋆ ──--

The surgeon looked stern, and you felt like you were going to be sick. Clutching Namjoon’s hand tight, you drew closer to the surgeon, heart hammering away so hard you thought you were dying.

“Mrs. Kim, the surgery went well, the patient is stable for now.”

Your breathing grew raspier.

“But…”

The nerve in your temple started pounding in fear.

“There was a complication, his spinal cord was damaged too much…”

Namjoon’s hand was going numb with how tightly you were gripping it.

“… and he stroked out in surgery, causing him to be paralyzed completely.”

The stunned silence hung around you like a smothering wet blanket, muffling everything else.

“Paralyzed? You mean he can’t-?”

“I’m truly very sorry, Mrs. Kim.”

Namjoon saw that you had gone mute, and he stepped in to ask the surgeon some questions.

“Can he talk?” you heard him ask, and the doctor shook his head.

“Speech therapy can help….”

You zoned out again, unable to take any more.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Are you sure about this, Y/N?” Namjoon asked, looking at the papers in your hand.

“Yes,” you beamed, smiling at him. “You are the best person to do this. I’ll join in and do my bit as the Chairperson, sure, but what the company needs right now is you. I know you have that fire in you, Namjoon.”

He smiled, his dimples popping out.

“I want the Min empire to return to its formal glory,” you said, passing the papers to him, “Before Min Ha Neul is of age and inherits it. She’s going to be the next Min to sit in her father’s office.”

Wo Bin had set up a therapy room in Taehyung’s mansion, overlooking the garden. You held the rails tightly, gazing at the butterflies flitting over the flowers.

Behind the one-way glass, Kim Taehyung was in his wheelchair, struggling with gripping his pen.

Ha Neul was tiptoeing on her tiny little feet, trying hard to reach the paints on the shelf. The nanny helped her lift the paint set, and she clapped her hands in delight.

“I’m so happy,” she squealed.

Her nanny smiled mildly. “Oh, really? And why is that?”

Ha Neul considered the question seriously.

“Daddy lets me paint his face.” She glanced sideways at Taehyung. “And he lets baby Jae sit on his lap.” She put her finger on her lips and beckoned her nanny to come closer. “I thought daddy hated me. He always shouted. He always went away.”

She stole a glance at her father again. “But now he is here all the time. And he doesn’t talk.” A huge gummy smile lit up her face. “And I paint his face.”

Taehyung had speech training all day. It was agony to fail at uttering the simplest of sounds. Whenever he tried to speak, it came out in a croak. The drool accompanying it humiliated him. He couldn’t bear to be reduced to such a state. He almost wanted to give up trying to speak, just to save himself the embarrassment of letting you see his spittle running down his chin.

Physical therapy took up a good chunk of his time too. His legs were completely paralyzed; but his hands had very limited movement. He couldn’t grip a cup, but he could hold a pen if he tried long enough.

“You can do it, Mr. Kim,” the therapist said, encouraging him to go on. “You already wrote so many letters, you can write one today too!”

Taehyung was screaming obscenities inside his head. He was able to write just one alphabet per day. Just one! The pen kept falling out of his stupid fingers, and he wanted to scream till he went crazy. It had taken him 7 days so far, to write something so simple.

The nib tore through the paper, bleeding some ink and smudging on the side of his palm. He had finally done it. He had produced a wobbly, crooked ‘U’.

The therapist took the paper like a proud parent, waving it in joy.

“You did it, Mr. Kim! That’s such a great job!”

Taehyung wanted to kick the man’s balls. All the exaggerated joy was making him paranoid. He wondered if the therapist was actually mocking him.

His eyes swung to the one-way glass, and he saw you deep in discussion with Kim Namjoon. There was a hatred burning inside him so hard that it seemed to roll off his skin in waves.

── ⋆✩⋆ ──-

“So, Wo Bin is gonna be the next mafia kingpin, I hear,” Namjoon said. “I believe Taehyung already named him his successor.”

You shrugged. “I have no problem with him as long as he does his thing without poking into my life.”

Namjoon’s scar became wobbly as he raised his eyebrow. “You really don’t mind? The man’s a fricking clone of Taehyung.”

“Well, he considers Taehyung family. So, I guess he considers me family too. He is good with the kids at least.”

Namjoon’s phone buzzed, and he reached for it in one quick flash.

“Ha Ni?” you asked, referring to his girlfriend.

“Nope. Not Ha Ni. We broke up long ago. There’s no one, in fact.” His eyes were scanning his phone screen. A slow smile spread over his face. “Guess what?”

“What?” you asked, the energy catching on.

“Jung Hoseok just texted, he’s coming back with his wife and daughter. I sent Kang Minsook to help him out of all that tax fraud stuff, and he’s finally out of the mess.”

“Oh!” You couldn’t help the squeal of joy. “Oh my God, Joon that’s wonderful! Thank you so much!”

You threw your arms around him, squeezing him in a tight bear hug. Namjoon butted his forehead against yours, gazing at you fondly. On some impulse, he bent his head down, his plush lips brushing against yours.

Before they could touch properly, you pulled back, shaking your head.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed, “I’m just- I’m not… I’m sorry”

Namjoon’s eyes were tender. “Hey, don’t worry. I understand.”

── ⋆✩⋆ ──-

Taehyung boiled in rage when he saw Namjoon bend his head to brush your lips. He looked at the paper rustling in front of him. It had taken him eight days. Eight fucking days to spell it out. The bitterness smoldered in his chest, spilling into the pupils of his eyes.

A rush of wind caused the paper to flutter, and it flew down to the floor. Taehyung’s eyes focused on the lopsided letters.

I LOVE YOU 

His therapist snapped his head up from his position on the floor. He had been massaging Taehyung’s feet when he saw it happen.

Taehyung had just twitched and moved his left foot.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

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[hoodoo12]

The Ties That Bind (And How to Follow Them) 5/?

@bunnys-beetlejuice-blog @werwulfy @turtlepated @infptarius @mel-time @fireflower1015 @go-whovian-universe @sweetcat-666 @strange-n-unbluusual @monsterlovinghours @rainingpaint @genderless-cryptid @heresathreebee

SFW. A simple solution is suggested. Family is mentioned and summarily dismissed. Name calling.

She’d stuffed him haphazardly into her jacket pocket, but Beej didn’t complain. If Pate had slipped her mirror into her purse, he probably wouldn’t have been able to hear what she told the cops.

Listening to her talk about Lillian being her mentor (not a lie) and calling her so late because she had a bad dream that she hoped the older woman could help her with (partial lie that would be backed up by phone records), then coming over at Lillian’s request (total lie, but couldn’t be proved otherwise) to talk about things, then scaling the fire escape because the door was supposed to be unlocked and wasn’t, Beetlejuice was inordinately proud of the easy way Pate wove fact and fiction together. He was a good bad influence.

He worried a little about a question asking why she didn’t try to call Lillian again once she arrived, but it never came. The officers took her statement with little request for more. She even volunteered to show them her dream journal, allowing them to skim through it, adding weight to her words of continued nightmares.

Pate sat in the driver’s seat of her car, the door open, watching the ambulance pull away from the curb, lights flashing but no siren. She’d already given her statement to the responding police officer and was informed that she could leave. The EMS said it was probably a heart attack, but something about that explanation simply didn’t sit right with her.

Either way, there was nothing more to be done but go back home.

She’d driven home after it was all said and done and now she looked small in the blanket she’d pulled around herself on the couch. Beetlejuice wished he could be beside her, snuggled into her warmth, but he was still stuck in this goddamn mirror.

Dawn found her sitting on her living room floor, the mirror propped up on her coffee table so she and Beetlejuice could see each other, sharing a forlorn look.

They had run out of options, and Pate had no idea what sort of trick or spell or whatever Lillian had used in order to try and undo it herself. An idea had come to her that she had kept to herself, feeling certain of what Beetlejuice’s response would be. But now, with their one other avenue no longer available to them, perhaps he would surprise her.

“I was thinking, Bug,” she began tentatively. “You might not like it, but we do know someone else who might be able to get you out.”

She briefly averted her eyes and sucked in a breath, sighing out the words on the exhale.

“Your brother.”

When she sighed and ran her hands over her face, he knew her well enough to recognize the set of her jaw. She’d put some serious thought into something and was ready to share it with him. Like when she told him no to converting the bathtub to a pond for piranha or yes, she was okay with him occasionally ‘borrowing’ her underwear.

What came out of her mouth was a bomb that he was completely unprepared for.

She didn’t say his name. She didn’t have to say his name. Bile instantly rose in his throat and he imagined his dull hair shot through with red as she mentioned asking his brother for assistance.

“No! No! Absolutely not!” he shouted impotently in the soundproofing he was trapped in.

In case she couldn’t read his lips or his agitation, he tried to fog the glass so he could write it out. No dice. There was no difference in temperature between him and the glass, apparently, so no condensation. In frustrated anger, Beetlejuice spit directly on the glass and used a fingertip to make a large “NO!”. It was backwards for her, so he wrote it again with the letters facing Pate correctly, in case she couldn’t figure it out.

Growing more agitated because he truly could do nothing to stop her from going ahead with her plan, Beetlejuice ground his teeth and pulled his hair. No Rigel! No Bellatrix! No Saiph! Oh sweet god, nobody from his family! He’d rather be trapped here than owe any of them anything. He couldn’t do anything to protect Pate from in here, and there was no way Rigel or any of the others would hold true to a word of helping them out.

A thin keening whine escaped him. He didn’t know what to do to make her understand.

Beetlejuice responded precisely the way she expected he would: with abject rejection of the whole idea. Pate threw up her hands in surrender as he drew an outright denial in his own spit inside the mirror.

“Yeah, that’s about what I thought you’d say,” she admitted, leaning forward with a sigh and resting her chin on the edge of the table. “But I don’t know what else to do to get you outta there.”

Pate watched the flaming red of his hair gradually simmer down as his temper cooled, wracking her brains to figure out some alternative to demonic assistance that he was so stridently against.

She had none of Lillian’s tools, much less her expertise and experience, no idea how to go about reversing what had been done. And something about Lillian’s sudden death still nagged at the back of her mind, and she caught herself speculating that it couldn’t have been natural. But then that was ridiculous, of course it was natural. People died of heart failure all the time.

Ugh, focus! She told herself impatiently. How do I get my demon boyfriend out of this mirror? Come on, think!

With no Lillian there to explain or offer guidance, no knowledgeable supernatural assistance and Beetlejuice unable to offer any insight that didn’t involve charades, Pate sat in the silence and thought.

And then it came to her, like a bolt from the blue.

She straightened, not quite looking at Beetlejuice in the mirror, still formulating in her head to see if the logic of it worked out. As far as she could tell, it seemed like a solid strategy. Beetlejuice had first entered her life and her world when she said his name three times. Now that he was no longer in her world technically, maybe saying his name three times would bring him back to it.

“Bug, I think I have another idea,” she said, relaying the thought to him to see what he made of it.

It was comforting that she let her train of thought derail at his insistence. Beej gave a sigh of relief. He pressed his hand against his side of the glass, found it slick with spit, and wiped his palm on his trousers before putting it there again, wishing he could touch her.

Pate’s open hand was large compared to his, but it being somewhat against him made him as happy as he could be, stuck here. She was quiet in thought again, looking increasingly tired.

She jumped as if startled, her eyes wide. Beetlejuice couldn’t hear anything that may have done it, so he cocked his head in pantomime confusion.

Breathlessly, Pate told him her next idea, and waited expectantly for his thoughts on it.

"Baby . . ." he began. It was difficult to break the habit of talking to her.

The concept was intriguing. He was bound to his name, and her suggestion just might be enough, have enough power, to yank him to her side despite whatever spell Lillian had cast. A hastily concocted binding couldn’t be as tight as what tethered him to his name.

Beej shrugged with a smile, feeling suspiciously like he’d been trapped here like a puppet or a clown.

"Yes. Try it baby," he said, just to help break that bug under glass--haha, wasn't he the comedian!--feeling. He raised his voice, even though that didn't help. "I can't wait to kiss you!"

With Beetlejuice’s affirmation of the plan, Pate got to her feet and stood in the middle of the living room with the mirror held out at arm’s length. In her head, she hoped it would give him plenty of room to appear. He looked eagerly out at her from the glass, both hands pressed against the inside of the mirror. Flashing him a grin, Pate steadied herself and took a breath.

“Bheteljuz . . . Bheteljuz . . . Bheteljuz!”

Pate stood alone in her living room, holding the mirror that was now empty but for her own reflection. A thin crack had split the glass all the way across, but she wasn’t troubled by that. What was troubling was the fact that Beetlejuice had failed to reappear.

She gave him another minute, in case it took longer because he’d been stuck in the mirror, but as the minutes wore on she began to fret that something had gone wrong.

Had she performed the summoning incorrectly? She’d been very careful to pronounce his name just the way she was supposed to, she’d said it three times for sure, and he certainly wasn’t in the mirror anymore. What could have happened?

After thinking for a bit she remembered the other caveat of his name: three times to summon, three times again to banish. What if she’d banished him by accident?

Cursing to herself, Pate set down the broken mirror and quickly recited his name three more times, preparing her apology for sending him away, more than ready to feel his arms around her after this strange and upsetting day. Seconds ticked by, but still the grinning ghost did not reappear. Was he angry with her for the banishment?

Her pulse picking up at the growing sense of foreboding balling tightly in her gut, Pate took a shaky breath and said his name again. But still to no avail.

Something was wrong. She wasn’t sure how she knew it, but she knew it. Beetlejuice wouldn’t stay away unless something was stopping him from coming to her. Increasingly desperate, Pate called his name again, louder this time, as if maybe he just couldn’t hear her.

“Please come back,” she begged the empty air, feeling tears threaten in her burning eyes.

⁂

He gave himself a shake. Ran a hand through his hair. Straightened his tie--then wickedly thought that maybe he should appear back at her side completely nude except for the tie; he never minded a little playful tie-pulling as a precursor to some adult fun, especially from her. Pate was tired, of course, she’d had a long night. That didn’t mean he couldn’t just take care of her.

Kind of a reward for breaking him out, he reasoned. She could just lay back and let him indulge her with his mouth, then when she was sweaty and mostly spent he’d crawl up her body and slip his cock deep inside her--

The typical tingle in his fingertips that accompanied someone saying his name was sharper. It was more like pins being shoved under his nails. The mirror must have amplified the sensation.

The second repeated made the pain worse, shooting it up his arms and legs towards his torso. Beetlejuice gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. He could handle this, just one more and he’d be out!

The third recitation doubled him over. No matter! He was free, he was out no more endless white mirror world to be stuck in. No wonder vampires hated them so much. Mirrors sucked.

He’d have expected Pate to say something or grab his hand. She was oddly silent.

Forcing himself to take a deep breath, Beetlejuice opened his eyes. He didn’t think it was the fog of pain that made nothing seem familiar. This wasn’t Pate’s apartment. This was somewhere else. This was surrounded by people who looked too excited to see him, outside a circle drawn on the floor where he stood.

He was immeasurably glad he hadn’t stripped down to his tie.

tbc . . .

#writing #fanfiction #Beetlejuice #Ties That Bind

[spencers-renaissance]

Mayhem

Summary: Imagine that scene in S4E1 when Derek is driving the ambulance loaded with a bomb about to explode, except it's Spencer on the other end of the phone and they finally get their shit together. 

Tags: canon divergence, spencer is the tech analyst, death-bed love confessions, getting together, mutual pining, insecure spencer, angst with a happy ending, fluff

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 4.2k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

A Gift For: @habs252117 — anybody can request fics in my ask box :)

A quick recap as this follows S4E1 which is technically a follow-on from the last ep of S3:

The BAU was called to the NY field office to investigate a series of random shootings in the city, often on subways and shit. They realise that this is actually a terror cell practicing for their big attack, and as this fic starts, they believe that the shootings were all in locations they planned to bomb in order to test 911 response times. Kate Joyner is Hotch's old friend, the blonde English one from Scotland Yard and Lisa is Lisa Bartleby, the NY field office tech analyst assigned to help Penelope in the show, Spencer in the fic.

The case had been stressful enough from the beginning. Spencer doesn’t often get to join the team in the field, usually staying in his computer den back in Quantico, so he’d initially been quite excited: he’d get to spend more time with Derek, plus visit New York, which he’s always had a strange sort of affinity for, as well as see his team in action. But then he’s working with equipment that isn’t his and they slowly piece together just how complicated this terrorism ring is and things seem more… bleak rather than exciting. 

They’d all been starting to make their way back to the hotel when the news of the bombing hit the networks, and Spencer’s heart is in his mouth as he rushes back to his post, meeting Lisa Bartleby with harried nods of acknowledgement. Almost as soon as he’s settled at his desk the phone starts ringing.

“Spencer,” Rossi greets as soon as he picks up, “you’ve seen the news?”

“Yes, I— do you know where anyone is? What should I do?” he asks, feeling the panic settle on his chest, his stomach clenching in fear he doesn’t dare try and address.

“I’m here with Penelope, she’ll handle the media,” Rossi says, and Spencer realises that he can hear her low, steady voice she always employs in moments of extreme stress in the background of the call. “I need you to call homeland security and direct them to every site of the recent shootings. Tell them to pour troops in. If our profile is right we’re looking at eight suicide bombers who are about to hit every one of those locations.”

“Actually, if we’re correct, there’ll be sixteen suicide bombers,” Spencer realises with a start. “We predicted they’ll hit the second wave of first responders, too.”

Their conversation is interrupted by the news reporting that the bomb was inside a black SUV near the Federal Plaza and Spencer is pretty sure his entire body stops for a moment: cells stop replicating, blood stops flowing, hair and nails stop growing. This is his family. And he doesn’t know where any of them are, spread across an unfamiliar, dangerous city.

“Right, Spencer, do you have eyes on the Plaza?” Rossi asks, controlled urgency colouring his voice as he tries to keep himself and everyone else as calm as possible.

“Uh— yes, I’ve got like three hundred cameras there,” he says, glancing at Lisa, the NY field office’s contribution to his technological complex, as they jump into action, “give me a minute.”

“I’m here with Penelope, but I don’t know where anyone else is,” Rossi says, and for the first time Spencer can hear the panic rising in his voice. It’s quickly suppressed, but it’s there, and it does nothing to help him calm down. “Find them.”

He instructs Lisa to find every camera feed 20 blocks out concentrically from 26 Federal Plaza before fiddling with his headset, taking a deep breath, and, naturally, trying Derek first. His name has been circling round Spencer’s head like a prayer ever since they heard that it was potentially one of their own hit by the bomb, and the knot in his chest starts to unravel when he picks up the phone.

“Yeah, I’m still here,” Derek says, sounding impatient and stressed, but Spencer doesn’t mind. He’s alive. He’s okay. 

“Thank God,” Spencer breathes. He keeps him on the line while he tries Emily, who sounds just as anxious when she picks up. He doesn’t mind though, he’s keeping a tally of everyone he knows is safe and it’s the only thing making him any less panicked. When JJ doesn’t pick up, the knot tightens a little and he tries to ignore the little string of ‘no no no’s dancing through his mind. 

He hears Emily’s distressed exhale and closes his eyes for a second before forcing himself to get his head back in the game. The phone goes dead mid-JJ’s voicemail message, and then Emily drops off the call, Derek following, and that’s it. He’s lost contact with his team, JJ and Hotch still unaccounted for. Before he can actually lose his head, Lisa is calling him over, and he finally has eyes on the bombing. 

He has to watch the man he sees as a father projected through the air by the blast from the bomb, and all he can hear for a solid five seconds is the fear buzzing in the static electricity around his ear. 

⭐️

Derek arrives at the site of the explosion riled up in a way he hasn’t been for a long time, his only consolation being that he knows Spencer is safe. God, you can definitely count on working a terrorist attack in New York City to accentuate your crippling crush on a coworker; a subtle burn has settled itself across Derek’s chest, the urge to hold and protect Spencer far too distracting for the circumstances. 

He reports immediately to Captain Warner but before he’s even able to identify himself, he hears Hotch shouting desperately for help and he slips immediately into rescue mode. 

“Hey! This area’s restricted,” an ESU shouts at him, as soon as he dashes for the barrier, and he forces the blinding anger flaring in his stomach to simmer down as he turns to the Captain again. 

“That’s my boss down there,” he shouts, making himself as intimidating as possible. 

“I have my orders,” the Captain replies simply, eyes hard and unrelenting. 

“I don’t give a damn what your orders are.” He’s finding it increasingly hard to restrain his anger as he hears Hotch shout again, turning to look hopelessly down the road at him. 

“Look, I get it agent,” Warner attempts to placate him, “but we’ve been told by you that responders are the targets. So until the blast site is cleared, no-one goes in.”

Derek spins around to face him again. “You’re Marine Corps, right?” By the look on Warner’s face, he’s found his way in. “Right?”

“Please, go back to the marshaling point,” he replies, the fight draining out of him. 

“I’m not doing it,” Derek yells stubbornly, furiously. “I’m not just gonna let my man lay down there like that.” Conveniently, Hotch’s miserable call comes down the road again and Derek meets the Captain’s eyes with a hard gaze. “Never leave a man behind. You do remember that, don’t you?”

“Help us!” Hotch screams again. “We’re here! Please!”

Derek glares at the Captain, and sprints as fast as he can towards Hotch as soon as he nods his okay. His boss is clearly disoriented and in a state of obvious distress but he doesn’t look terribly injured. Kate, on the other hand, is clearly a different story, and any hope Derek has for her survival melts away as Hotch explains her arterial bleed and he has to tell him that they can’t expect an ambulance any time soon. He tries to tell the kid crouching down by Kate to leave, but he seems reluctant. 

Derek doesn’t have the headspace to analyse why until he’s finally got him to run off and Spencer’s ringing him to tell him that he’s the bomber. 

⭐️

As soon as Spencer hears Derek run off after the bomber he feels his stress levels rising again. If Derek dies before Spencer finally works up the courage to tell him that he’s in love with him, he’ll never forgive himself for being such a coward, and he’ll never forgive Derek for leaving him. 

Immediately, he patches into the marshaling point and tells the rest of them, who have only just all reunited, what’s going on. 

“The bomb,” he explains, talking as fast as he can, “it was under Kate’s SUV. Hotch is out there with her, he seems okay but Kate is really hurt; they haven’t been able to move her.”

“Where was her SUV parked?” Rossi asks as they all gather around the computer.

“Two blocks east of Federal Plaza.”

“Two blocks east and they target Kate’s SUV?” He sounds incredulous. “Have you identified the bomber?”

“Lisa’s running him through VICAP,” he says, but shrugs hopelessly. He knows it’s a lost cause.

“Call Homeland Security,” Rossi instructs Penelope. “They should be at all the murder sites. See if they found anything.” She nods and stalks away on her heels, still managing to stay cool under pressure. Spencer would envy her, but he knows it’s only an external front, only a mask she has to wear out of complete and utter necessity.

“Okay, okay, but Morgan,” Spencer says, feeling more impatient and stressed than before, “he’s run after the bomber.”

“He’s run after the bomber?” JJ asks, bewildered. “Why?”

“He was at the bomb site,” he replies. “I’m trying to trace him on the city's CCTV network, but the feeds are grainy at best and completely severed at worst.” This is feeling more and more hopeless by the second, and the light at the end of the tunnel is only dimming. 

“Keep trying,” Rossi says, and then he’s turning to the rest of the team. 

Spencer takes a few calming breaths and focuses back on the computer in front of him. Find Derek, he thinks. Find Derek and, when this case is over, stop being a coward and tell him how hopelessly in love with him you are. The pool of dread and fear weighing his stomach down only seems to deepen as he searches relentlessly through the CCTV feeds he can access, looking for Derek and the bomber chasing through the streets of the city. Eventually, he finds him and follows his movements down to the subway station. He watches with baited breath as Derek looks around the empty platform, clearly shouting to the unsub, though Spencer can’t hear what he’s saying. He speeds up the feed, seeing as it’s delayed slightly and fast forwards to Derek entering the tunnel, his sense of dread only intensifying as he loses visual. 

Trying desperately not to panic, he fast-forwards until he’s watching in real time, but Derek still hasn’t emerged, and neither has the bomber, both still hiding in the secrecy of the depths of the city’s transport network. There’s a vague spark of light — which he later finds out was the bomber electrocuting himself on an exposed part of the railway — only barely visible on the poor quality of the camera feed, before Derek emerges, looking rattled but very much alive. 

He doesn’t have much time to celebrate Derek’s livelihood, however, because JJ and Penelope are patching him back through to their conversation. 

“Spencer, Homeland Security has poured tactical teams into all the locations on the geo-profile — SWAT, bomb techs, HRT, hazmat, the works — they found nothing,” Penelope says, clearly puzzled and frustrated.

JJ’s about to reply when something catches her eye. “Yeah, all except one,” she says. “Kate’s SUV — none of the shootings were near it.”

“Maybe it’s personal,” Penelope muses. “I mean, this death card they gave us; they delivered on it.”

“No,” Spencer jumps in, realising what JJ’s getting at, “that’s just it — they haven’t. A cell as large as this one and multiple targets to choose from, they target a single SUV?”

“It’s a diversion,” JJ says, “Everything that’s happened so far has appeared to be something it’s not. The seemingly random acts of violence, Emily’s suicide by cop to make us believe it’s all over. Hotch and Kate as an endgame; they want us to think this is over. They’ve deliberately skewed our profile to make us believe they would be at the sites of the shooting.”

“You’re right. That was memorable” Rossi says, finally chiming in as he gestures to a picture of the twin towers on the wall. “This is not. There’s something else.”

⭐️

As soon as Derek manages to calm Hotch down, he summons the rest of the team to St Barclay’s and for the first time since the bomb went off under Kate’s SUV, the team is back together again.

“Are you okay?” Emily asks Hotch as soon as the team walks into the hospital. He’s scratched and bruised all over, visibly shaken, and clearly in a lot of pain but, Hotch being Hotch, he’s stubbornly refusing to accept the necessary medical attention and probably just wants to see the back of this whole ordeal, not unlike the rest of them. 

“I’m fine,” he says, clearly not fine at all but shouldering his jacket on anyway. “I just want to understand why I’m still alive. Did you identify Sam, the bomber?”

“Spencer put Sam and the other dead unsub into every known database,” Penelope offers. “Nothing.” At the mention of Spencer, Derek feels his heart clench in his chest. God, Spencer’s intelligence is so attractive to him, even though he knows it’s something his pretty boy can be so unreasonably insecure about it. He can’t wait to see the end of this night and touch him, reassure his aching, restless heart that he’s safe, alive, protected. 

Once again, he thinks cynically, nothing like a terrorist attack to leave him on the brink of finally telling Spencer how he feels. 

They quickly get back on topic, deducing as a team the terror cell’s real endgame: they’ll use a single chemical bomb planted in the ambulance. If Sam wasn’t calling 911 every few minutes but a number that went dead minutes after he died, then there’s only one reason he stayed with Hotch and Kate. To make sure the ambulance got to them. The ambulance they drove into a hospital, with the paramedic’s help, housing someone important enough to have the Secret Service protecting them. 

Derek doesn’t think. He runs. 

“Spencer?” he says, into his ear piece as he runs down the stairs, refusing to let fear come to the surface. “I need you to jam the frequencies in this cell block for as long as possible, okay?”

“What’s going on?” Spencer asks, clearly concerned, but Derek can hear him already tapping away at his computer.

“Just,” Derek pauses, takes a second to feel, process, and then suppress his panic, “just… I need you to do this for me, alright, pretty boy.”

“I’m already on it.” Spencer sounds exactly he does: carefully, artificially calm. He runs down the last few flights of stairs and into the parking garage, locating the ambulance before he hears Spencer again. “Morgan?” 

“Yeah, baby,” he says, panting half from the exertion of sprinting down far too many flights of stairs and partly from the pressure of the situation settling on his chest — the stakes actually registering for the first time. 

“You sound stressed,” Spencer says, deliberate and light. “Where are you?”

“Not where I want to be right now,” Derek replies, a little self-deprecatingly. Really, it’s just deflection; a last ditch attempt at avoidance of the likelihood he dies tonight. “Reid, take this down for me: FDNY 108.”

“That’s an ambulance, are you okay?” His voice is quick and rises ever so slightly in pitch. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just track it for me.” Tentatively, he opens the door to the ambulance, heart sinking and blood pressure rising as soon as he clocks the monumental bomb stowed neatly in the trunk of the seat. “Reid, how long can you keep jamming the cell block?” He knows he’s sounding breathless now and he knows Spencer is probably panicking, unable to know what’s going on but clearly reading enough of the situation to understand that asking would be decidedly unhelpful right now. 

“Uh, maximum of a few minutes, Morgan,” Spencer replies. “Why?”

“I’m going to have to get this ambulance out of here.” This is it. The culmination. 

“Or you could just evacuate the building like everyone else,” Spencer says urgently, sounding outraged at the idea. 

Derek cringes at the disapproval, but he doesn't have a choice. “No, as soon as the airwaves are clear, this thing’s going up.”

“Going up?” Spencer doesn’t bother concealing the outright panic in his voice anymore. “That’s like… in three minutes, that’s when the satellite moves position.”

“Reid, listen to me,” Derek says, climbing into the cab of the ambulance and beginning to fiddle with the wiring. “I need you to find me an area of town I can drive this thing, and you tell everybody, you hear me, everybody that I’m coming.” He finally gets the engine to start and begins to drive out of the garage. “Alright. Talk to me, Reid.” He prays desperately that they get this right, that Spencer helps him, that they manage to subvert this terrorist attack. 

“Okay,” Spencer says, back to his measured, calm tone of voice, and Derek sighs in relief at the sound. “Okay, head north… and floor it. I’ll tell you where to turn.” He’s almost out of the garage when the ‘paramedic’ starts shooting at the back of the ambulance, screaming in rage as Derek manages to escape both van and bomb unscathed. “What was that?”

“It was nothing,” Derek shouts, heart pounding in his ears as he turns the sirens and lights on, stepping on the gas as he heads north, “it was nothing. Just… talk to me. How am I doing, Reid?”

Derek hears Spencer ask Lisa for an update before exhaling hard. “1 minute, 50 seconds,” he replies, despair spilling into his voice. “Why does it always have to be you? Why do you always have to do this?” His stomach clenches at the sound of Spencer on the edge of tears and feels himself tearing up in response, swallowing his grief in lieu of actually replying. “Derek, you don’t have much time. Please be smart about this. Signal’s coming back on line, there’s thirty seconds until full coverage.”

Derek’s never driven so fast, his hands pinching at the steering wheel and every muscle tensed. He tries very hard not to think about the fact that there’s a bomb only a metre behind him, set to explode in less than half a minute.

“Derek, drive to the opening and then get the hell out,” Spencer says, no constraint to his emotion at this point, he’s almost shouting down the phone, very clearly crying, now. 

He swallows. He has no choice; he has to tell him. “Spencer,” he says, nearly choked off by a sob, “there’s something I really want you to know.”

“Save it,” Spencer shouts. “Just get out!”

“No, you know what Reid? If I don’t make it out of this alive, I need you to know that I love you, alright?” he says, finally confessing to the secret he’s been holding close to his chest for so long, but as soon as the words are out of his mouth, he’s throwing himself out of the ambulance and running as fast as he can away from it, still not outrunning the blast picking him up and tossing him across the field. 

Slowly, getting back to his feet, he turns to face the fire as he catches his breath. He has no idea how he’s still alive. 

Fiddling with his earpiece, he tunes back into Spencer’s line to hear him crying on the other end. “Oh, God, Derek, I love you, too,” he sobs as soon as he hears Derek click back into the call.

“Spencer, I’ll tell you what you are to me,” he says, relief and warmth and love blooming across his chest, driving out the crippling fear and panic previously rooted there, “you’re my God-given solace. Baby, you promise me one thing… whatever happens, don’t you ever stop talking to me.”

Spencer laughs wetly, and it’s the most beautiful sound Derek’s heard so far. “I’m so mad at you, right now,” he says, but his happiness is written across every word, “I’m so angry. But… I love you, too.”

Derek laughs, too, the relief of being both alive and loved by Spencer almost euphoric as he walks away from the still blazing ambulance. He guesses he has a terror cell’s failed attack to thank for his long overdue admittance of his love for Dr Spencer Reid, and the frankly wonderful news that it’s actually reciprocated.

⭐️

Derek and Hotch arrive back at Quantico 12 hours after everyone else, having driven home instead of taking the jet with the others due to Hotch’s rather inconvenient ear trauma. That only gives Spencer more time to panic over seeing him for the first time since their deathbed love confessions; they’d spoken briefly on the phone the morning before Derek and Hotch set off, promising to talk about it in person as soon as he was home, and now he nearly was.

Penelope had made a beeline for Spencer as soon as the others had arrived and taken him out for coffee, despite their mutual exhaustion. She’d deduced the situation based on Spencer’s incredibly cryptic HELP. IT HAPPENED. text message almost immediately after the explosion, having been the only one Spencer had confided in about his feelings for Derek. No matter how much she promised him Derek felt the same, he refused to do anything about it, leaving her to watch her two favourite people pine miserably for one another, and actively choosing to remain in said misery instead of confessing and being happy. 

He now actually felt bad for her. 

“Just tell him what you want,” Penelope says over the top of her latte, croissant crumbs littering the table in between them. “You want to get married and have lots of babies with him.”

“Okay, first of all,” Spencer says, fixing her with a look, “you know that neither of those things are true. And, secondly, it’s not that simple. What if he isn’t looking for a relationship or anything? Why hasn’t he said something before now?”

To her credit, Penelope avoids slamming her head into the table in frustration despite how much he looks like she wants to. “Spencer,” Penelope says, levelling a look right back at him, “Derek thought he was about to die. And in that moment, all he felt like he needed was to be sure that you knew he loves you. How could you possibly be that in love with someone and not crave a relationship with them?”

Spencer finds it hard to argue against that. 

Derek reclines on Spencer’s sofa, comfortably surveying the organised chaos of his living room, while Spencer tries to gather the snacks and drinks as calmly as possible in the kitchen, finding it much harder to assume the seemingly unaffected air Derek pulls off so easily. He walks back to where he’s sitting, and he almost drops his only slightly wobbly tray at the blinding smile Derek sends his way. 

“Oh, pretty boy, you’re spoiling me,” he teases, sitting upright and leaning forward to survey the snacks Spencer had rushed out and bought earlier that afternoon. Naturally, he blushes immediately at the compliment and sits next to him on the sofa, grabbing a drink for something to do with his hands. 

“Well, if all it takes is some cheese puffs from Walmart to make you happy then I think this is going to be alright,” Spencer says, trying for cool, calm, and collected and hitting somewhere near nervous and frenzied instead.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Derek scoffs as he breaks off a piece of chocolate and takes a bite. “I’m here for you, not the refreshments, luxurious as they might be. I don’t remember confessing my love to snack food in the moment I thought I was going to die.” He ruffles Spencer’s hair as his face heats up even more, smiling bashfully over at him. 

“No,” Spencer agrees, feeling all warm inside, “you told me.”

Derek looks serious all of a sudden. “I did,” he nods, leaning forward to put the chocolate down on the tray so he can focus all his attention on Spencer, taking his hands in his own, “and I meant it. I’ve probably been in love with you since you joined the team, Spencer, but I realised it properly last year, and I was always too scared to say anything. I’m sorry it had to be in that moment, and I’m even more sorry that if I’d died you would have had to live with that for the rest of your life.” He pauses and looks down at his lap for a moment. “That was unforgivable.”

Spencer smiles at him, gripping Derek’s fingers a little tighter. “I’m not mad about any of that, Derek,” he says, “I’m just glad it finally happened. And so is Penelope, apparently. She’s been telling me you loved me back for years but I never believed her; I didn’t think this would ever happen.”

Derek chuckles fondly at that and brings his hand to Spencer’s cheek, brushing his fingers across the warm skin for just a moment, but Spencer can’t help but lean into his touch, eyelids fluttering half-closed as they meet in such an intimate manner. “So, pretty boy,” he says, smile warm and eyes bright, “shall we give this a go?”

Spencer looks back up at Derek and takes a second to let the moment he’d daydreamed about for so long sink in, let himself marinate in the love that Derek has for him. “Yes,” he replies. “Please.” And then Derek’s lips are on his own, his hands around his face, and the future’s never looked so bright.

taglist: @strippersenseii @criminalmindsvibez @drinkingcroissants

Just a note: a lot of the dialogue was stolen directly from the episode and Derek & Spencer's conversation on the phone is almost an exact transcript; it's from my notes though so it may not be perfect. It also follows the case very closely and none of that is mine. 

#criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds writing #moreid #moreid fic #derek morgan #spencer reid #derek morgan/spencer reid #moreid angst #moreid fluff #moreid au #criminal minds au #moreid writing #derek morgan x spencer reid #my writing

[elphiej]

Be My Light - Chapter 2: Her Devil, His Angel

*Pairing: Yoongi X Reader

*Genre: Mafia, angst, eventual smut, slow burn

*Warnings: Language, violence, reference to physical / emotional abuse, blood 

Author’s note: Hi everyone. Thank you for sticking with me. I am also uploading Be My Light up on AO3 under the same username. I’ll link below. Please feel free to comment and let me know what you think or what you liked about it. I get really excited when I see what you guys like. I hope you like it. 

Tag list: @lolalalooo​ @bangtan-sonyeonddaeng​, @barbikatherine​, @mrsfortune1306, @lovesick-heart0​, @iamnamjoonsbxtch​, @deathkat657​, @deeepvibes​

                                  Chapter 2: Her Devil, His Angel

               Almost there, you thought as you quickened your pace to your bus stop. Nothing had passed you on the road, so you were sure there was plenty of time before the bus arrived just beyond the construction. But with the morning you were having, you wouldn’t stop worrying until you were seated at the bench. You felt yourself smile a bit as you drew closer and closer to the shopping center; it was so large, and you were sure there were so many surprises lurking inside. You hoped it wouldn’t be too long before you could go in and find something special. 

               A black car went racing past you as breakneck speed, from seemingly nowhere, leaving you shivering from the blast wind that trailed behind. I must not be the only one having a crazy morning, you thought as your eyes followed the SUV’s taillights. As you passed in front of the construction zone, you saw the gate of the fence that surrounded it had been opened, leading to the paved entrance. Could the car have come from here? You stopped walking long enough to look around; nothing looked out of place, at least to you, and there didn’t seem to be any vandalism. Did they go inside? The chain on one of the doors had been unlatched and left hanging from the handle of the propped open doors. Or it would have been one of the workers checking on things and needed to leave quickly? You supposed there could be a lot of conclusions; instantly thinking something bad had happened just because of the gang activity wasn’t the best thing to ease your anxiety. It was best just to keep going. The bus stop was in sight at the edge of the fence.

               Before you could sit on the bench, you heard a loud ‘popping’ sound from the building behind you. You wanted to say it was a car backfiring or a firecracker, but it was too rapid to be anything else. Ever since you had lived in Central, you learned how to tell the difference. You could hear some loud yells that sounded like it was coming from the other side of the building. But the shots were coming from inside the building. You should run away and hide somewhere safe; you know you should. And you started to back away, reaching for your phone to call the police. You heard more yells and footsteps heading your direction. There was nothing close by to duck into, so you hid yourself behind a trashcan on the other side of the bench. Peering around, you see two large men, both dressed in black suits, holding semi-automatic handguns. They were looking, wildly, up and down the street. You prayed they wouldn’t find you, not knowing what would happen.

               “They’re not here! I don’t see a car anywhere! They must have got away,” one of the men said, out of breath.

               “What did you expect after that fucking chase? Everywhere they ducked into was rigged with one of Vante’s traps! I can’t believe that fucker got in there and did all that with no one noticing him. My eyes are still burning from that pepper spray.”

               “Tell me about it,” the first one replied, “On the third floor, he set off another smoke bomb and had trip wires all over the place. I almost busted my ass! He had every floor rigged with some kind of stupid trap. Yao went into an empty shop on the third floor and the security door came rolling down and locked him inside; they’re still trying to get him out.”

               “Well, Vante and the blond are gone. And Choi’s going to have our heads. No matter how many traps we suffered through.”

               “Maybe, but there are still the other two. I heard them chasing someone above us when we were pepper sprayed. Chen had said one of them was shot twice; there’s no way he’s making it out alive. Fairly sure it’s the youngest that’s still running around. Choi would be pleased if he could lay one of them out and get that secretive maknae they’re always protecting.  If we can corner him and capture him, that teaches them not to mess with the Royals. Let’s go check around back and help corner the fucking brat. Bet he’s hiding in some stairwell.”

               “As long as there’s no more damn traps…,” the other man trailed off in a low grumble.

               The two men turned and ran back towards the side of the building. So, the speeding car must have been who they were looking for. No wonder they were driving like their lives depended on it, you thought. Whoever they were looking for must have wandered into a gang meeting? And there were more still in the building, hurt, being hunted down. You needed to leave, call the police, protect yourself. But you found yourself looking back at the building, and a thought emerged that really affected you. For much of the life you remembered, you had been bullied. You wished, back then, someone had stood up to protect you. Now, after all the therapies and hard work, you were trying to stand up for others like you. These gangs were nothing but bullies and the city was you, looking for someone to take a stand and help. You knew you were nothing compared to the men with guns and weapons, but there were people who needed help. The police would take too long, and you couldn’t stand the idea of letting someone die. Sometimes people need to do scary things to help people. Your father had always helped people; as a police officer he had ran into danger. You were a nurse; you could help them until the authorities came. All you needed to do was stay out of sight. Suddenly, the person Amber wanted you to be took over and that scared girl hiding behind the trash can disappeared, as you stood up and eased over to the open fence, peering around to see if anyone was there.

               You pulled your phone out and called 911, quickly telling the operator what was going on; you were a nurse at Central Mercy, there was an active gang shooting with possible multiple injuries, and that you needed an ambulance to Central Mercy along with police. You hung up after the operator confirmed that they were on the way and to stay away from the scene. There was no talking you out of it. Someone needed to help before someone lost their life unnecessarily. The area around the open fence was clear of people, but from inside you could hear people were running around and yelling. You ran to the door, and slipped in once you saw the coast was clear.

               Inside was dimly lit, and every noise echoed in the open concrete building. You couldn’t see anyone on the ground level; the noises seemed to be coming from the upper floors, where you could hear people yelling commands, breaking glass, and throwing things around. Whoever they were looking for must be hiding. You moved, quietly, into the open food court area, looking for some sign. This is stupid, you are so stupid, you kept chanting as you kept moving. On a box next to you, there was a crowbar and you snatched it up, holding it as if it was a bat. It may not do anything against a gun, but it made you feel a little secure as more shots were fired above you. There was a bunch of yelling; from the sounds of it, they hadn’t caught the young man the ones outside had mentioned. And you hoped they wouldn’t. But then, you heard someone yell, ‘He’s running towards the fire escape! Take him down’. It was quickly followed by more shouting, more shots fired, a scream, and the sound of glass breaking.  As you made it to the fountain in the middle of the space, really wishing you would get out of there, you heard someone running. It was closer than the ones that echoed above you, and you could hear heavy breathing getting closer and closer. You crouched down against the wall of the fountain, gripping the metal bar tighter and trying to keep your breathing as quiet as you could. The footfalls got closer and closer, and they were not even steps like the two suited men from outside, and the breathing sounded labored and strained.

               Around a corner, the owner of the steps came into your view. It was not a suited man, but a younger looking man with sweaty, blond hair, and a pale face. He was alone and swaying on his feet as he moved, with difficulty, towards the fountain. His breathing came in harsh gasps. He stumbled and hit the ground hard, hissing and struggled to get back up. From your hiding spot, you saw there was a massive blood stain on the red coat he wore from a bullet wound in his shoulder, with blood dripping from his limp hand. His other arm was wrapped around his waist and his black shirt seemed like it was wet, as well. As he tried to push himself up, you saw blood on his other hand, too. This had to be the one the two gang members were talking about, the one who was hurt. Instantly, you felt your heart break seeing someone so hurt. As he struggled to push up on his shaky arm, he tilted his head up.

               Then, he finally noticed you.

               Your eyes locked with his dark brown eyes. At first, he just stared at you, as if he couldn’t figure out if you were real or not. His eyes – you couldn’t help but think that they were so captivating and beautiful- kept searching yours for some kind of sign, like he was expecting you to turn into something else. But then, he realized that you were not a figment of his pain-induced imagination and that you were really sitting there. His eyes got bigger as he pushed himself to get to his unsteady feet, but his arm gave out and he dropped back to the ground. Some of the strands of his blond hair were stained red from an open cut at his hairline.

               Before you could move to him, you heard someone coming. The young man heard them too and tried again to stand up, only to fall again. He turned his eyes back to you. His lips moved but you were so focused on the steps that you didn’t hear him. A man in a black suit, like the ones from outside, came around the corner. He looked around before his eyes fell upon the bleeding blond. The smile that cracked his face made your pulse race in your ears. It reminded you of the smile Daniel had shown you when you said you were leaving. The suited man let out a chuckle as he stalked over to the young man.

               “There you are, you son of a bitch. Who would have thought you would have made it this far in your condition. Choi’s going to be so happy that he’s gonna get to finish you off.” He kneeled down next to his prey and fisted his blond hair, pulling him up to his knees. “And I’ll get such a reward for capturing you. And it’s only a matter of time before they catch your little friend. Last I heard, they cornered him on the second floor. He almost made it to the fire escape. I can’t wait to see your face when I smash his skull against the floor. After Choi has his own fun, that is.”

               You couldn’t stop the gasp from escaping your lips as the mental image filled your mind. Two sets of eyes slid over to you. The suited man seemed startled at your presence and it took him a moment to fully process you. Slowly, that predator look he wore slipped back into place. He, roughly, released the youth and rose to his feet. His steps towards you were slow and heavy. And with each step, his well-tailored suit changed to a pair of worn jeans and a whiskey-soaked jacket. With each step, he became your ex as he stalked you against the wall of your apartment. Then back to the suited gang member with a gun in his belt. The edges of your vision started to darken and get fuzzy from panic. You pushed away from the fountain, trembling fingers releasing the only weapon you could protect yourself with, and tried to crawl away from his gaze. But he grabbed you by the ankle and dragged you back to his grasp. He grabbed you by the collar of your coat and crouched on top of you.

               Just like Daniel had done after he backhanded you for asking why you couldn’t leave.

               “Well, what do we have here? A little bitch who wandered into the wrong place at the wrong time, maybe? Do you belong to him? Or were you trying to play hero? What a fucking joke! You should have minded your own business! Now, I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson.”

               You just couldn’t be the happy little bitch I asked you to be. You had to go sticking your nose where it didn’t belong. Guess I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson, Daniel’s voice echoed behind the suited man’s words.

               “No,” you gasp, not sure who you were responding to, “please stop. I’m sorry!”

               He pulled you up to your feet, fingers biting into your arms. “Sorry isn’t gonna help you. You’ve seen too much. I doubt the boss will want to keep you around for a quick fuck either; you’re not pretty enough for that.”

               You should be thankful someone like me even wants to be around you. You’re nothing but useless. You’re not even good looking. Not even pretty enough to call a girlfriend.

               Your heart was racing; all the emotions were flooding your mind. Suddenly, you were back in your old apartment wanting to leave to make everyone happier. Daniel was screaming at you, breaking down every shred of courage you had mustered to tell him you were leaving. His hands were bruising your arms as he was about to throw you against the coffee table when you moved towards the door. There was a crack echoing in your mind as your head contacted with the wood then the wall as he slammed you against it. No, this wasn’t happening again! But the suited man kept changing forms, both faces sharing that venomous smirk. You were gonna be a victim again, forever trapped by his words and actions.

You were useless.

               “No!” You squeezed your eyes shut and brought your knee up as hard as you could, hitting him right in the stomach. The man stumbled back and it gave you enough time to reach down for the crowbar and swing it up. It connected with Daniel’s face as he moved towards you again. You swung it again, and it hit the suited man in the back as he doubled over. With a surge of rage that had been hidden within all the fear and anxiety, you swung again and again.

               When the red in your vision faded, the suited man was on the ground, unmoving. You stared down at him, breathing hard. For a moment, you weren’t sure what had happened. Was he dead? How did that happen? The weight of the crowbar in your hand brought it back to you. You were protecting yourself the way you wished you had before. The suited man had triggered your memory so strongly that all that pent of anger Amber had always said needed to be addressed came surging out. You stared at the crowbar in utter shock. How did you do that? You glanced down at the unconscious suited man before you; you nudged him with your foot and let out a sigh of relief when he let out a moan. He may have been trying to attack you, but you really didn’t want to kill anyone. It went against your whole purpose of running into this hell hole.

Your eyes darted back to the bleeding man leaning heavily against the edge of the fountain. You dropped the crowbar, making a loud ‘bang’, and ran over to him, wrapping your arm around him and steading him. He, unknowingly, leaned his weight against you and his head pressed against your shoulder. You got a better look at his wounds; the cut on his forehead was long but not deep, and the gun shot wound in his shoulder was bleeding quite a bit. There was no exit wound, so the bullet was still lodged somewhere in his flesh. You reached down and moved his shirt from his side to see another gunshot wound, deep and heavily bleeding. He tried to push you away.

               “What are you doing here,” he hissed at you through clenched teeth. “Get out of here! They’ll kill you.”

               “I handled that one,” you said, nodding your head in the direction of the suited man, “didn’t I?”

               “Barely. I could have handled him.” Was he seriously dismissing your effort? “A few lucky swings aren’t gonna save you from a gunshot. You need to get out of here. Just leave me here. They’re coming.”

               You eased his limp arm over your shoulder, wrapped your arm around his back to his uninjured side, and pulled him to his shaky feet. “I’m not leaving you here. You’ll either bleed out or whoever is looking for you will finish you off. Come on, I’m gonna get you out.”

               “You shouldn’t be in here. What were you thinking?”

               “Are you really berating me right now? I am trying to save you, you know. From where I’m standing, my lack of skills would have fared better than you. Why are you here, anyways?

               Despite his weakened state, the man struggled in your grasp, trying to push you away. “Are you crazy?”

               “No,” you said as you lead the way towards the door, “I’m a nurse at Central Mercy. And I don’t like bullies. Just focus on staying awake, alright? I promise I’ll get us out of here alive. And when we do, I want the full explanation of who I just knocked out and what I got myself into saving you. Deal?”

               “Whatever-“

               “Look down there,” you heard someone yell from behind you, “I heard something! He couldn’t have gotten far.”

               You felt the man flinch in your grip at the sound of the harsh voice. The sounds of heavy steps sounded like a rolling thunder in the wide space. There was no way you were going to make it out the door before someone noticed you, especially with the way the blond man was stumbling with each step. He was losing too much blood, and whatever headwound he had sustained had him straining to keep conscious. You looked around for something to hide behind. There were some boxes and crates but that wouldn’t be good enough. With the steps and voices getting closer, you made your way to one of the food service counters, and crouched down behind it. The thunder of footsteps seemed to patter off into different directions, but one could still be heard walking into the space. There was the sound of something scraping behind them. You braved to glance around the edge of the counter to see. At the fountain, right where you had hidden yourself a few moments ago, was a tall, well dressed man in a light blue suit. While he seemed the type to take care of his appearance, he looked crazed and disheveled. In one gloved hand, he held a gun while the other was a silver, ornate cane. His eyes were locked on the fallen man; This had to be the big boss based on his attire, you assumed. He made a noise of disappointment before turning his attention to a small pool of blood from where the blond had fallen. He dipped the edge of the cane in the crimson liquid, and brought it up to his eyes. At first, you worried he was going to taste it, like some modern vampire. But he smiled and started to walk forward, dragging the cane behind him, leaving a red trail. The way he stalked through the space you couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread. Your heart was beating so fast; this was beyond terrifying, but you needed to focus. You felt a shaky hand reach over and grab hold of yours. He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. The young man, despite chiding you earlier, was trying to keep you from falling too far into your fear.  

               “I know you’re here, Agust,” the chilling voice called out into the space. “Come out, come out, wherever you are. Still have some fight in you? You did a number on my man. I should return the favor.”

               The voice made a loud yell and a sudden crash exploded in the space. You brought your hand to your mouth to keep your gasp of surprise from alerting the walking embodiment of death. The man had brought his cane down upon the boxes you thought to hide behind, and smashed them. He kicked the shatter pieces out of his path and moved on, dragging the cane again. The steps were closer, and you figured he had come to one of the other food counters. You prayed he wouldn’t find you because you weren’t sure what would happen if he did. Suddenly, the blond let go of your hand and reached behind him. He pulled out a black, studded gun. You couldn’t begin to wonder what you had actually gotten yourself into. His hand was shaky too much and he pressed it into your hand before placing his over yours; was he intending to have you shoot him? Could you? Or was he using you as a steady when you were shaking just as bad as him? You stared at him with wide eyes, but he shushed you and moved your hands where he needed them.

               “Hiding like a scared child? I thought you were better than that. But we have the same problem as before; you still have a heart. You should have let your boy die, Agust. Then, you could have gotten away to face another day. But now, you’re bleeding out. You’re gonna die. Unless I find you.” The cane hit against one of the counters and scraped across it. The sound made you shiver. The blond held you hand tighter, his finger against yours near the trigger. His eyes were feverish, and he was getting paler than before. The voice continued to move closer. “I’m gonna take my time with you. I’ll make sure you don’t die yet. It’s a matter of time before we find your boy. I want you to watch while I unmask him and break him. And I’ll remind you how it’s all your fault as I make him scream. Only after I break him so no one can ever fix him, then I’ll take my time with you. I’ll make sure to take pictures to send to your friends. I’ll make sure they know who they’re dealing with.”

               The voice was so close now, you were sure he was only a few steps away. The footsteps stopped and you could hear the man taking a deep breath. Then, he was quiet. You were holding your breath, your lungs burning. The menacing man, then, took an audible sniff of the air. He did it again and again, as if he was a bloodhound. What was he smelling? Or was this just another tactic to try and scare them out of hiding. Another few steps and you were sure he was in front of your counter. The blond’s hand started to move, ready to use your hand to help him get a steady shot. The man beyond the counter started to lean over when-

               “Sir!”

               The man stopped and turned his attention away from the counter. “Chen, what did you find? Did you track them down?”

               The man, Chen, came up to him.  “No sir, the two escaped in a vehicle. They lost our men running through different levels and shops. They set up a bunch of snares and traps. I had men ready to chase them but Vante did a number on the cars. They’re long gone.”

               “What about the boy?”

               “We couldn’t catch him.” You felt the blond let out a sigh of relief. “He jumped through a window on the second floor.” That explained the broken glass sound you heard. “By time the men got out there, he had dashed into the alleyways and we lost his trail.” A cell phone rang, and for a moment, you feared it was yours, but Chen answered it. “Sir, we need to go. Police are on the way here. The men can hear the sirens. Someone tipped them off.”

               “Damn it,” the man snapped. He slammed the cane against the counter. “Did anyone find Agust?”

               “No, sir. He must have gotten out. The front door and gate are opened. He must have escaped. Maybe the two in the car swung back around and got him.”

               “No, he’s still here somewhere. I can feel it. He’s too hurt to have gotten away from me. There’s too much blood splattered. He has to be close by.” The man took another deep breath. “Do you smell that?”

               “Sir, I can’t smell anything. But we really need to leave. The police are close. Please, if he’s that hurt, he won’t make it until the police get here. You’ve won the battle, sir.”

               “Unless there’s a body, there is no victory.” You heard as he started to move away from the counter. “Grab that idiot over there. Tell the men to get us out of here.”

               You waited until the steps disappeared and the space was all quiet. In the background, you could hear the sounds of police and ambulance sirens coming closer and closer, and the fear you had started to ebb away. You glanced around the counter to make sure they were truly gone before dropping your hand and taking a deep breath. It was going to be ok. The young man’s hand slipped from yours and dropped to his side. Suddenly, your panic started to return. You dropped the gun and moved in front of him, tapping his cheek to keep him awake and checking his pulse. His eyes were glossy and unfocused, his skin so pale and cold. The blood soaked his clothes and wasn’t slowing. You shrugged off your backpack and stripped your jacket off, ignoring the chill of the space, and pressed the material against the wound to stop the bleeding. The man jerked and hissed but his body was too weak to fight it. The sirens got closer still, but it felt like an eternity for you to hear the rush of police calling out. You yelled out for a medic, alerting the police where you were and who you were. Then, you leaned close to the blond stranger.

               “Hey, you got to stay with me, alright? I’m gonna get you out of here, remember? We’re gonna get you to the hospital and patch you up. But I need you to stay awake. Remember, you promised to tell me what I got myself into.” His eyes couldn’t seem to focus on yours and kept slipping closed. You patted his check again, leaving bloody prints. You reached for his hand instead. You squeezed it as he had done not so long ago, trying to bring his focus on you. “Come on, stay with me. Can you squeeze my hand? Talk to me? Tell me your name. Tell me how dumb I am for running into an active shooting scene. Tell me I’m a hot mess. Anything, just stay with me.”

               His hooded eyes caught yours and he tilted his head to the side. He slipped his hand from yours and laid it against your cheek. “Angel,” he whispered, before his hand dropped and his body went limp.

#bts fic #bts imagines #bts mafia au #bts mafia fic #yoongi x reader #bangtan boys #ot7 x reader #min yoongi #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #jung hoseok #park jimim #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #bangtan fanfic #Bemylight #elphiej

[kimberly-spirits13]

Right Hand Man (Loyal to the End) Pt. 8

Pairing: Damian Wayne x reader

Synopsis: You were like Talia’s daughter. The only thing was that you weren’t and instead, you had grown up in the foster care system and at a young age were taken by and personally trained by Talia. Along the way, you meet Damian and the two of you start to work side by side and eventually, after some time become closer and closer. However, when disaster in the league strikes, you face balancing an old, forgotten life as a normal child and the burden of right hand to the demon heir.

Note: I know that this is long and that there are a good number of time skips, but I didn’t want to make this into a series and just wanted it as a long fic because .... well because I can lol

Also, I didn’t want to have Damian so young in this so just go with it. I’m thinking maybe early 15 or almost 16 at the most. Idk I just don’t like writing for young Dami.

Warnings: angst, almost losing someone, buildings on fire, bombs, the usual lol

Word Count: 2181

Masterlist for Series

Both you and Damian had now been secretly dating for two months. It was an exhausting game of cat and mouse of either running from his family, or the prying eyes of the press. You had just excepted at this point that this was just going to be a new normal for a long time. There was nothing you could seriously complain about much however. This was all you had wanted for years and if the company of clandestine meetings was going to be a center of attention in this relationship, that was what was going to happen.

        Dates were mainly just tea or coffee on the rooftops late at night for only a short amount of time if it was on patrol, and longer if it was at the manor. Right now, you were sitting in the library, laying in Damian’s lap, both reading your own books. No one but Alfred was in the manor however, you were sure that he knew about you and Damian. Light streamed in through the windows and silence blanketed the room as Damian ran his fingers through your hair, occasionally braiding it. You fiddled with the matching golden ring on your left ring finger some as he did this. This was the most relaxed you had been in years and you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

        He didn’t know this until recently, but the only professor that had ever lived was one that you had. Your voice professor used to braid your hair during warm ups. She was the closest thing that you had ever had to a mother and in return for this, you begged Talia to let her live. You decided not to make it out so that you trusted or cared for her, but rather that she had connections to people that the league could use. With this tactic, Talia actually allowed her to leave but under a life- long oath of secrecy to protect the league. You braid your own hair when you were stressed or anxious but it’s better having someone else do it. Damian only found out when you started braiding and braiding your own hair in the roof tops one night at the league, only to let the piece unravel and start again.

        “Beloved are you going to go on patrol tonight?” He asked breaking the silence.

        “Of course.” You answered, “Is there a reason you asked?”

        “No, I was just checking.”

        “...Damian, how long do you think we’re going to stay a secret? I’m not upset or anything of the sort, it’s just a bit exhausting sometimes.” You questioned, flipping the page of your book.

        “I don’t really know Beloved. How long do you think you’d want to stay like this?” Damian set down his book to give the conversation his attention seeing as this one was important.

        You audibly sighed as he started braiding a portion of your hair, twisting it around and then letting it lose again, “I don’t really know, 3 months at most maybe?”

        “Are you tired of seeing strangers online pine away after me?” He asked smirking.

        You rolled your eyes and jokingly slapped his arm making him laugh, “What about me? I’ve seen plenty of suitors for myself.”

        “Don’t remind me Y/N.”

        “Oh no, I’ll remind you. First there was one that actually messaged me asking if I was single. Oh, another that tweeted asking if I was single. Then, there was another that mailed a love letter to the man-“

        Damian cut you off, putting his hand over your mouth making you laugh. You sat up and sat crisscrossed in his lap facing him, running your fingers through his hair.

        “You didn’t really think you could shut me up that easily did you demon?” You asked quietly.

        “I’d gage you would find a way to get your point across any way you could General.” He kissed the corner of your lips which made you glare at him some before pulling him in for a real kiss.

        “Next time some girl gets a hold of you at a gala though, just make sure not to charm her for me, will you?”

        “Whatever you say.”

_______________________________________________________________________

        Patrol started off boring and uneventful. Nothing exciting was happening but for maybe a few ally level crimes. You and Damian were perched on the rooftops looking down at the city lights and occasional people. Damian had obviously gotten the whole Robin outfit, in his own version of course. You however, took the same style as your past uniform. It was similar in the sense that it was amour and a hood, you still had your knives and compartments, this time though, the color was different. He couldn’t see the look on your face through the mask you were wearing which covered your lower face to your eyes, but he was sure you were bored. He was going to start a conversation when the comms came on with Bruce talking loudly.

        “I need everyone at the Rosehill Apartments on 7th Street! There’s multiple bombs spread throughout the building, civilians are inside.”

        You looked at Damian who nodded at you before you both swung off the building.

        “ETA 2 minutes.” You replied back getting onto your own bike and speeding off towards 7th St. following Damian.

_______________________________________________________________________

        Upon arrival to the building, you could see that everyone else was already inside but for Nightwing who on crowd duty until you two had gotten there.

        “There’s one more bomb in the kitchens. Everyone else is either getting their own or helping the residences escape.”

        You looked around for an entrance that wasn’t in terrible condition. Once you found one you ran towards it at full speed with a bomb on your mind.

        “Stick close, the roof might not be stable anymore.” You said, “If the bomb goes off, I expect you to leave immediately.”

        “Beloved I’m not leaving you if anything happens.” Robin replied running beside you.

        You didn’t reply, instead bursting into the kitchen and jumping over one of the carts in the way of your path. Using the locator on your wrist device, you scanned the room stopping when it got a hit.

        “It’s in the freezer!” You ran over and opened the door into the large room, “Hold this open and make sure it doesn’t close, I’ll disarm the bomb.”

        Damian nodded and did what you said as you went inside and ripped open one of the floorboards to find a massive collecting of wires and buttons connected onto one device. The type of timebomb was one that you had seen plenty of times before in training and when you yourself had used them. Part of training was learning to make one so it wasn’t too terribly difficult to disarm this one. The hard part was getting out.

        “Y/S/H/N!” You heard from behind you as you were about to stand up, “The place is on fire.” Damian called out, “We have to leave!”         You turned around and saw the place ablaze. Damian already had his other mask up over his face so he could breathe when you got out of the freezer. The two of you started running out to find the hallway also up in flames.

        “Don’t come near the kitchens, the whole place is going up in flames.” You said, “Bomb has been disarmed however.”

        “Good, now get out of there.” Batman replied back.

        “Working on that.”

        You and Damian sprinted down the hallway making sure no one else was inside on your way out. Once in the lobby you turned hearing someone screaming from a room nearby.

        “I’ll be right back.” You said turning around locating the person who was a small child.

        “I can’t find my Mommy.” She said sobbing into your arms.

        “I promise you I’ll find her.” You said running back up front, “I’m going to give you to Robin and he’ll take you outside, I’ll find your mommy.”

        You reached the front of the building where Robin was, “Take her, she can’t find her mother, I’m going in after her.”

        “You can’t, the building is going to come down at any minute!” Damian said taking the girl in his arms.

        “I have to check, I can’t let her grow up without parents like I did.”

_______________________________________________________________________

        You ran inside not really aware of what was happening outside anymore. Looking around you saw no sign of anyone but that didn’t mean that they couldn’t be buried under something. As you did this, you pulled out the scanner again but this time had it scan for biological creatures instead of machinery. There was nothing at the point where you were. Going farther into the structure was a no go at this point but it was your only option.

        Outside, Damian was trying to find the girl’s mother in the crowd as he mentally cursed himself for allowing you to go inside. He should’ve done more, he could’ve done more but he didn’t. Running to the line of ambulances, he looked for someone that matched the girl’s description of her mother. When he finally found the person, he rushed over just in time for the lady to see her daughter and burst into tears. She hugged her daughter and thanked Damian for bringing her back to her before Damian rushed back to find you.

        “Y/N!” He screamed getting inside catching your attention.

        Further down the hallway you heard Damian yelling for you. You turned around and started headed quickly for him and once he saw you, he announced that they had found the mother outside of the building. The two of you started running for the exit when you looked up hearing a faint beeping. The exit was 50 feet ahead and the closer to it you got, the louder the sound.

        “Damian! There’s a bomb above us, I- I think it’s about to blow.” You said as pieces of wood from the building came down little by little, “5 seconds now!”

        Damian had a look of terror as he picked up the pace. You knew that both of you wouldn’t make it without a little boost so you got behind Damian and launched him out of the way where Nightwing was standing right as the building was coming down. The last thing you heard was a defining thunder and then the screams Damian who was kicking and trying to get away from Nightwing to go back for you.

        “Y/N is still inside you idiot let me go!” He sobbed trying to elbow his oldest brother in the rib.

        The second round of explosions came, only making the structure collapse more, fire raining down.

        “Beloved!” He screeched making Nightwing almost drop him in surprise at what he called you.

        He understood why Damian was fighting so hard now, but that didn’t mean that he could let him go. The rest of the family standing by heard it as well. It would’ve been hard to miss anyways.

        “You can’t go in after her!” Nightwing yelled over the explosion.

        “I have to! She’s the only one I have, I have to go! Let me go!” Damian got lose just as the dust was settling.

        He ran to where he last saw you and started digging, tears filling his eyes so that he couldn’t see. There was no chance you were still alive and if you were, it wouldn’t be for long. That was when he heard you try and move something. He was looking in the wrong place, only a few feet away. When he saw where you were, he lifted the piles of wood and debris off of you to find you badly injured and hardly awake.

        “Beloved stay awake for me okay?” He said lifting you up out of the rubble.

        There was a part of your side where you had gotten impaled. It didn’t look like it hit any vital organs, however, you were bleeding out rapidly.

        He swept the hair out of your face and gently held you to him as he ran for the Batmoblie quickly trailed by everyone else. With you in the backseat, Nightwing front, and Batman driving, you were quickly headed for the cave. Damian wrapped your wounds tightly and held your head up in his lap checking your pulse every few seconds.

        “How is she?” Bruce asked sparing a glance at the back seat.    

        “Unwell, I-I don’t know how she’s still alive.” Damian responded.

        “Enhanced strength from the pit.” You groaned some in pain.

        “What the hell?!” Dick turned around to see you trying to sit up, “Enhanced strength my ass, how many times did you take a dip?”

        That earned a sharp glare from Damian and a reprimand from Bruce. He apologized realizing that he overstepped.

        “Beloved don’t move like that, just stay down.” Damian said gently, “You’ll only hurt yourself more.

        Getting to the cave, you don’t remember much, just waves of pain and floating in and out of consciousness. The only part that you really remember was the worst part, but that was later to come when everyone really thought you would die.

Tag List-

@we-want-mini-mini​ @a-door-into-my-mind​ @idkmanicantenglish​ @queengeorgiaaa​ @lucy-roo​ @wolfiemichele​ @grey-water-colors​ @random-fandom-girl-24​ @crumpets-are-better-with-jam​

#damian wayne x you #damian wayne x y/n #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne #robin imagine #robin x reader #robin x you #robin x y/n #teen titans x y/n #teen titans x reader #teen titans #teen titans x you #batfam imagine #batfam x y/n #batfam x you #batfam x reader #dc x you #dc x y/n #dc x reader #dc comics #dc characters

[jinmukangwrites]

Whumptober day 13

Chemical Pneumonia | Oxygen Mask

Ao3

Warnings: hospitals, coughing, vomiting, near death experiences,

-o-o-o-o-

Even now, Jason's not really sure how it all went wrong. It was supposed to be a simple look-see and bail. Just watch the newest batch of criminals with their newest batch of illegal weapons, then take note of what their plans are, and then plan accordingly to take them down at a later date.

But here's the deal. Things more often go wrong than go right when it comes to Gotham. Things get complicated and sometimes someone is smart enough to look up. Sometimes, Jason has to duck just in time to not get shot in the skull. Sometimes, Red Hood has to make a quick escape while a small army of armed thugs chase him out of the warehouse, armed with the fun calibers like .223 or 9mm.

Sometimes, you make the dumb idea to team up on these kinds of missions, and sometimes you're forced to watch Nightwing take a lungful of some mysterious gas that definitely doesn't look friendly.

Sometimes, life just sucks ass, doesn't it?

"Wing!" Jason calls, slamming the back of his glock across some random bad-guy's jaw. He watches Dick stumble back, throwing the inside of his arm across his nose and coughing so hard he doubles over.

Jason doesn't have the mental headspace to deal with this kind of crap today. So, instead of trying to grab Dick's attention, he fires his gun into the leg of the closest thug, runs into the diffusing cloud of yellowing gas, then he grabs Dick around his thinner waist. He doesn't squander a single second grabbing Dick's grapple from his hips and firing up towards the warehouse ceiling windows.

He just manages to keep a grasp on Dick as they fly up and crash through the glass. Jason comes to a rolling halt on the slanted roof, but immediately rolls the other direction as a bullet whizzes through the rusting metal just to the left of his chest.

Escape after that is easy. Dick's blinking like an idiot and looking pale, but he's able to at least hold on to Jason while Jason uses the grapple to swing about a block away to where he parked his bike.

The moment Jason lands by his bike, he shoves Dick from him, rips off his helmet, and hopes his glare underneath is scary.

"What. The. Hell ."

Dick at least has the decency to look ashamed. "Sorry? I wasn't expecting the guy to just whip out a gas capsule like that."

Jason growls and runs his gunpowder covered gloves through his hair. He takes a deep breath. Tries to calm down. He gets so angry so easily .

He inhales. Exhales. Looks back at Dick. "What did it do?"

Dick shrugs. "It smelled badly? Seriously, Jay, I think I'm fine. It must have been a fluke."

"You saw the same guns in there that I did, right?" Jason folds his arms and gives an unimpressed look. "They were more advanced than the rifles in the military . You think they'd have a gas bomb that was a fluke?"

"Lucky me?"

Jason glares. "I hate you."

Dick shoots finger guns.

With a sigh, Jason stuffs the helmet back onto his head. He jumps on his bike. "Just, at least get it checked on? I don't want the entirety of the family wanting my head on a stick because you died teaming up with me."

"Yeah, yeah," Dick replies, waving his hand. Dick clears his throat. "I think you're being-" he clears his throat again- "a little-"

Dick clears his throat, louder this time. Jason frowns. "Wing?"

Dick shakes his head, clears his throat one final time before a single cough bursts from his throat. Suddenly, Jason's watching as Dick dissolves into a fit of coughs, his arms wrapping around his chest as he bends over forwards.

"Dick?" Jason jumps off his bike and approaches Dick with a spike of concern sprouting in his chest. Dick takes a gasping breath, spits out a disgusting lob of phlegm, then looks up at Jason with wide eyes behind his mask.

Jason stops in his tracks. Dick's lips are blue.

"Shit," Dick rasps, then his legs give out below him.

-o-o-o-o-

For the better part of an hour, Jason's been sitting inside the medbay of the cave, watching as Dick sat forward in the cot over a bucket. He's vomited in it a few times, but that was a little while ago. The bucket has since been washed by Alfred and returned so Dick can cough and cough and cough into it, spitting out pink tinged phlegm. Dick's eyes were puffy, the skin around his cheeks and eyebrows red from what's probably the beginning of a rash caused by irritated skin.

Jason originally didn't have plans to sit in the cave and watch Dick be sick, but because the chemical doing a number inside Dick's lungs was unknown, Jason didn't really have a choice. He walked into that cloud of gas, and while his helmet came with a filter, it didn't necessarily rule him out from being completely and totally at little risk of catching the same problems Dick's currently suffering through.

So, Jason's been confined to the medbay while Dick continues to hack into the bucket until he's choking and gasping. Bruce and Alfred work on finding a cure to the chemically induced pneumonia. Damian and Tim—who just happened to be visiting—were banished to the manor while this all went down.

Tim, because without his spleen there's no telling what could happen if the gas happened to be contagious somehow. Damian, because the kid really didn't need to be down here anyway.

Dick coughs wetly and makes a horrible sounding gag. Jason sighs and leans back in his chair, incredibly bored out of his mind and thankful that not the symptoms that appeared were not much more than coughing, small rashes, and blue tinged lips.

The door to the medbay opens, and in walks Alfred. Alfred frowns as Dick continues to cough and choke out bloody chunks of mucus. They've tried multiple times to get Dick to wear an oxygen mask, but the guy keeps having to cough and spit, which results in him tugging the mask off a couple seconds after it was pulled on.

"Any news?" Jason asks, ignoring Dick continuing to cough.

Alfred's shoulders fall ever so slightly. "I'm afraid not. How is master Dick fairing?"

Dick makes a half-hearted thumbs up and Jason rolls his eyes. "I'd tell him to shut up, but I don't think he can."

"Hmm." Alfred walks forward with a frown matching the downward tilt of his brow. He walks towards Dick and checks him over, pressing on what must be aching ribs and checking his temperature. He carefully inspects the rashes on Dick's face, and Dick just manages to hold in his coughing for the few minutes that it takes. However, the moment Alfred let's his face go, Dick returns to the bucket. Gagging.

Jason wrinkles his nose.

"Try to get him on the oxygen mask," Alfred says, turning towards Jason. "Miss Thompkins is still on her way with the breathing tubes and a solution for the IV."

"Traffic that bad?" Jason asks and Alfred hums.

"Apparently, there was a seven car pile up on the bridge. Traffic is being sent on rather long detours out and into the island."

Seven cars huh? "Jesus. Gotta love Gotham."

"Indeed," Alfred replies with a bit of a smirk. But then Dick //coughs and the tense reality of the current situation settles back over them like a sopping wet blanket. "Watch his rashes as well, grab me if anything changes."

"Will do, Alf."

They both exchange a smile before Alfred leaves; abandoning Jason to listen to Dick suffer alone.

Jason sighs and tries not to let his brain travel down dark paths. Like what kind of damage is really going on in Dick's lungs. Like if suggesting a team up tonight really was a bad idea. Like if this is all Jason's fault for being spotted in the first place.

Instead, he stands up and grabs the oxygen mask and shoves it over Dick’s face.

Dick tugs it off not two seconds later to spit more mucus into the tank.

“You’re disgusting,” Jason snorts.

Dick doesn't respond because he’s too busy hacking out a lung, but Jason catches a small smile.

Dick's coughing soon becomes white noise.

-o-o-o-o-

Jason knows immediately that something is very wrong when Dick goes silent. Then, he knows something is tremendously wrong when Dick chokes with cut off, painful sounding whimpers. He shoots his eyes up from where he’s been twiddling his fingers and then immediately jumps to his feet.

Dick is shaking almost like he's having a seizure, except Jason knows it's really his lungs struggling to take in air. Jason almost runs forward to help, but thinks better about it when he realizes he has no idea how he'll be able to help in the first place.

Instead, he turns tail towards the bay doors.

He's about to tear the door open, but he finds himself stumbling back as it opens on its own.

In runs one of the only people Jason truly respects and fears. Leslie Thompkins rushes past Jason towards Dick without even sparing a glance. Immediately, she's checking him over. Trying to get his attention. Listing to his gurgling that can hardly be called breathing. Bruce and Alfred enter as well, looking distressed.

Leslie doesn't take long to look up and glare at every single person in the room.

"He needs a hospital."

And no one argues. Alfred quickly leaves the room to call an ambulance while Jason and Bruce rush forward to undress Dick from his Nightwing suit. Leslie presses an oxygen mask to his mouth and keeps it firmly in place even though Dick begins to try and struggle, his eyes dazed and panicked.

Leslie snarls Bruce's ears off, something about her not knowing it was this bad and how he should have gone straight to the hospital, but Jason can only focus on getting Dick into normal civilian clothes so the hospital doesn't ask anything.

By the time they rush Dick upstairs and through the manor doors to where an ambulance made it over in record time—the perks of being rich, Jason supposes—Dick's hardly responding to anything. Hardly breathing.

The ambulance rushes away and Jason's left with Damian and Tim watching with matching looks of fear.

And for a single, strange second, Jason wants to tell them that it'll all be okay.

But he can't find it in himself to speak and possibly lie.

Dick will be okay. He has to be.

He has to be.

-o-o-o-o-

He will be okay, Jason thinks as he settles in Dick's private room. He's unconscious, hooked onto a crazy looking ventilator, trussed up to all kinds of tubes and wires. The doctors say they got most of the gas out from his lungs, but the damage left as a result is severe.

Severe enough for Dick to completely stop breathing on his own.

But he will be okay.

Even if it takes months for Dick to recover. Even if he'll be plagued by respiratory issues for the rest of his life.

He'll be okay.

Bruce's hand lands on Jason's shoulder. He looks so tired. So worn. Jason wonders if he looked like this when Jason died, or if he looked worse. He doesn't wonder for too long, he's not sure if his stomach could take it.

"He'll be okay," Bruce says. To Jason. To himself. To Dick. To nothing and no one at all.

Jason nods.

He'll be okay.

Because Jason's pretty sure no one in this quilted family of mismatch textiles could go on for long without him.

He'll be okay, because he has to be.

Dick continues to remain completely unconscious to the world, a machine breathing for him.

#dick grayson #jason todd #nightwing #red hood #dc #dc comics #batman comics #fic #fanfiction #jin writes #whumptober 2020 #no.13 #chemical pneumonia #pnemonia tw #sickfic #hospitals tw #medical fic #unresolved ending #coughing tw #vomit tw

[saedii-gilwraeth-simp]

Another World - TDC Holidays - Day 8

DISCLAIMER: ANY FICS I WRITE USING HISTORICAL EVENTS ARE NOT INTENDED TO PROMOTE MY OWN VIEWS ABOUT THESE EVENTS, THE PARTIES INVOLVED ETC. I AM ONLY USING THESE EVENTS AS INSPIRATION AND INSERTING CHARACTERS AS I SEE FIT

DAY 8

AU: 1945 JAPAN

POV: BILLY

They had been sent to investigate a hospital and kitchen being run out of an estate in the Saikai district. It belonged to some rich family that had seemed to have weathered the storm of war, although many were unsure of how they were still standing even in the collapsing economy.

Their general had put Billy in a group of just four, so as not to seem threatening and off they had gone, driving through the town to the front door of the estate. Tommy in the drivers seat had flashed his badge to a bored man who looked as though he was a staff member and they were allowed through up the curling front path. Martel whistled in appreciation and Billy met Pietyr’s eyes in equal exasperation. The two may not get on but they were united by a deep hatred of Martel.

“Alright gents, let’s keep it respectful and I’m sure the man of the house will understand our presence,” Tommy said as they exited their vehicle and climbed the staircase that could have used a good sweeping. Pietyr knocked on the door and it was answered by a young women. She stood at a small stature but her posture and bearing spoke to a rich upbringing. Billy, the chosen diplomat of the group, spoke as he offered his hand.

“Hello, ma’am, we were wondering if we could speak to the head of the operation running from this estate,” he said in English as Tommy translated. The young women watched them for a beat, before waving them inside and crossing the inner courtyard to a building that was filled with wounded and sick to the point where they were sitting around the door. The young women walks into the hall and they follow her, all four reeling as the smell of sick and heat hits them in contrast to the crisp autumn air outside. Billy didn’t miss the hateful looks they got shot but frankly he wasn’t surprised.

The young girl stops and looks around before she seems to spot someone.

“Arsinoe,” she calls. Billy sees a head poke out of the masses and deep dark eyes lock on the soldiers in the room that the patients are recoiling from. The person stands and begins to wade towards them, pulling latex gloves off of their hands and tugging a surgical mask away from their face, revealing a pretty women that looks similar to the girl they came in with. Although as she gets closer, Billy can’t miss the sharp scars stretching across her right cheek.

She reaches them and says something to the other girl in Japanese. The shorter women says something back and the nurse turns to them, gesturing for them to follow her from the room. They  enter an office to the south of the courtyard and the woman gestures for them to speak. Billy begins again.

“We need to speak with the head of this operation,” Billy announces again. Tommy begins to translate but the women holds a hand up to stop him.

“You’re speaking to her. I’m Dr Arsinoe Queen, one of the owners of this estate and the person to talk to about this operation,” she says in an accented English, throwing air quotes up at the word operation. Martel scoffs beside Pietyr.

“Of course she understand English, why do we even need Stratford?” Pietyr rolls his eyes as Arsinoe watches him for a moment before saying something to Tommy who laughs. “What? What’d she say about me?” Martel questions the translator. Tommy turns to him.

“She said she wasn’t taught the English words she needs to tell you what she thinks of you,” Pietyr chuckles and leans forward to shake Arsinoe’s hand as Martel scowls. She graciously shakes Pietyr’s hand as the door slides open and two more people join them in the office. One is the short woman who had allowed them inside the estate and the other is slightly taller who resembles both of them. Billy assumes the three are related as the two smile and join Arsinoe.

“These are my sisters, Katharine and Mirabella. Kat helps identify and record the people we help and Mirabella works in our kitchens. Which one of you speaks for the group?” Billy raises a hand and Arsinoe nods before turning to her sisters, speaking with them briefly before turning back to them and examining their name badges “Mister Stratford, you can go with Mirabella to the kitchen and Misters Martel and Arron will go with Katharine.”

Billy’s three fellow G.I’s leave with the women and he is left alone with Arsinoe. She offers him a seat on the opposite side of the desk she sits at, patiently waiting for his questions.

“Our general wanted to know why you’re running this operation and how you’re funding it what with the country in complete collapse-“ Billy is cut off by Arsinoe slight sound of indignation, “what?”

“My country is in collapse because of actions on both sides of this war,” she points out. “We are running this operation because this our town is the closest city with people who could help those affected by the atomic bomb your president dropped on Nagasaki and we have the money to run it because we were smart and made a fortune from the war by playing the money game, not the ideology one. What else does your army want to know?” Billy watched her carefully.

“We had heard that you rejected American scientists when they requested access to the patients with radiation poisoning. Why?” Billy asked. Arsinoe stared at him for a moment before frowning.

“Because I knew that those scientists would do nothing to help those people. My country poked yours at the Harbour and failed to anticipate the reaction or the horrors that followed from both sides, but those bombs that your president ordered to be created and dropped on civilian cities are inhumane. And then your scientists want to experiment on the victims of their crimes and then leave them to die. Death by radiation poisoning is slow and painful and these people deserve to at least have someone hold their hands when they go. That is why I refused your scientists,” she says it calmly but Billy can hear the underlying sadness.

“I understand. I’m sorry we’ve come in demanding answers,” Arsinoe waves him off and the conversation continues.

~

He goes back to the Queen estate a week later. He wants to help so he goes on an off day. Pietyr and Tommy go with him, none of them wearing their uniforms. Katharine lets them in, with a blush in Pietyr’s direction.

Billy spends the day helping Arsinoe in the hospital ward, sharing soft conversations about how Japan was changing. Billy was happy to find that she could genuinely hold a complex conversation, even if it was while patching up her patients. Turns out they shared the same passion for food and literature and they were becoming fast friends.

Not that it stopped her from sliding acidic comments about the US army his way when a new ambulance load of burn victims flooded the complex. It was a mammoth task to record all of the victims and Billy nearly wanted to hurl at some of them. Instead he helped Katharine with triage. The ones who weren’t going to survive went to another portion of the estate where Mirabella was waiting and Arsinoe was in surgery, grafting skin for so long her sisters had sent him and his fellow soldiers back to base.

When they return the next day with some more soldiers to help, Billy finds Arsinoe in the medical ward, looking like she hadn’t slept. He sat with her in her office and when she drifted off on his shoulder, he didn’t stop her.

~

Three years later, Billy and Arsinoe watched as a plane lifted from the runway at Nagoya Air Base. Billy pretended he didn’t see Arsinoe wiping her eyes as tears slowly fell. No one had really expected it when Pietyr and Katharine had announced that they were going back to the states to get married and settle down, least of all Mirabella and Arsinoe. But the couple were happy and no one was going to stop them from continuing to be.

They waited for the plane to disappear before they left. Arsinoe seemed to recompose herself as they drove back to Saikai, her eyes watching towards the ocean. Billy took her hand to comfort her and she squeezed his hand. Neither spoke.

TAG LIST: @nataliaarronn​, @poisonerrose​, @alwaysbored005​

#three dark crowns #one dark throne #two dark reigns #five dark fates #kendare blake #queen mirabella #queen arsinoe #queen katharine #billy chatworth #pietyr renard #thomas stratford #nicholas martel #another world #holiday special 2020

[disasterghaster]

SEPTEMBER 26th - 2013 - 3AM

PART 1 ] [ PART 2 ] [ PART 3 ]

News died down and people calmed down. Slipped under the radar like so much background noise about bombings in far off countries. I could imagine it to be like how you get used to bullets reporting off the sand and brick and hot earth after it goes on for days and weeks and years. 

Tsunamis you never drown in, riots you only see as rushing masses on the screen, earthquakes you can’t comprehend, cancelled flights you’ll never be on, borders closed that you never intended to cross, and hospitals creaking under the pressure of illness that’d been packing them for months. What was some spoiled wheat when you came from the land of agricultural plenty? Nevermind that end of season harvest was recent.

And, anyway, I still had bills and to pay those I had to keep working. Natural disasters notwithstanding.

Thankfully, night shift usually meant I could relax. The current site I was working at was a warehouse facility. Took big trucks in and out all day, but shut down around the time I rolled in. Mostly I did patrols by car or foot. Since it was only what a proper northerner considers ‘chilly’ for my last patrol, I decided to walk.

All I was really looking for inside the warehouse was fires or leaks. Outside was more about checking out the parked trailers along the outer fence line. Making sure the plastic seals weren’t broken. That people weren’t climbing the fence to steal anything.

I honestly didn't expect any trouble. I heard more from the day shift about fist fights over boxes from the workers in the building than I did actual attempts at theft.

Hell, mostly I ran into lone coyotes. Or a racoon. They’re all kinda cute if you keep a distance. Sometimes I’d purposely only look at the stray rabbit from an eye corner and keep moving. They were just there for the choice, crisp, grass on this side of the fence.

Somewhere in the back, I found a hole in the fence line. Low to the ground and mostly under the fence where dirt had been dug up. Not super uncommon. Looked like an animal had dug it up. Another lone coyote lookin’ for one of those rabbits, probably. I sighed out a puff of condensed air and tucked my flashlight under my arm with the cone of light pointing at the breach.

Phone came out of my pocket and I took a flash lit photo. Put that away and took out a bit of scrap paper and a pen I kept in one of my coat pockets. Scribbling the time, 0349, and the look of the hole. I’d have to document it and let the supervisor know in the morning to have it checked out.

It also meant I’d be walking this every half hour instead of every couple hours. Thankfully, I only had three more to go.

I paid some extra attention to the trailers nearby. Checking their seals were intact and making sure the tops of the doors were adequately locked still. Scoped out the area and thought all looked well enough to move on.

Mind you, there was some unease. Might be a coyote around after all. Normally I wouldn’t think much of that. Alone, they’re not really keen to scrap with a human. Most didn’t desperately dig through a fence, either.

Thankfully, I was allowed a taser with this company so I kept it in hand in my pocket. I just couldn’t shake the feeling on the back of my neck. Cold and prickly and not from the bite in the air. Left over combat instinct or plain, embarrassing, fear of the dark mixed with primal fear of wild animals? I resolved to walk with a longer stride and dipped down the figurative hallway between two trailers. There was more light to see by coming off the warehouse at the other side as opposed to along the perimeter fence.

I nearly tripped when I came out. Ahead of me, in the dark place between trailers still in their docks, was something. Low and crouched. With two eyeballs that gave off a sheen of an amber glow. Like a coyote.

Mmm, great. Maybe it had rabies. In which case, a taser wasn’t going to do it.

I avoided shining a light on it to keep it from attacking. Instead I pulled at my radio and turned the volume down before speaking into it, quite and calm,

“Candice, you got a copy?” Relieved when that alone didn’t cause the animal to stir. Beyond a slight shift and a low rumble. A growl that sounded...pained? I didn’t get an inch closer. Rabies or not, injury was even more liable to launch at me with intent to maul if I wasn’t mindful.

“Go ahead.” She responded. Unaware of my predicament.

“We’re gunna need to call Paul and the non-emergency number for the cops, I guess?” I paused, but held the button to keep the line. “There’s a cranky, possibly rabid, coyote back he--shit!” I let the button go, my voice cracking on a high pitch, as the animal came screaming out of the dark across the pavement toward me.

By the way? Not an animal! It turned out to be bipedal! PERSON! A person was streaking toward me with a howl of rage I hadn’t heard since the desert. The only thing that kept me from getting bum rushed straight down into the ground was that time in the war. Muscle memory and understanding of how bodies work allowing me to shift into mindlessly diverting all that failing momentum into the ground under me instead. Face first with me holding an arm and pressing a knee between shoulder blades of the squirming ball of bizarre fury under me. Pinned down.

They kept hollering, but I spoke to them at an even pace despite the adrenaline threatening to make me rattle too fast with my words. “Hey! Are you okay? You can’t just hulk out in the middle of private property. I am going to have to call the cops if you don’t calm down.”

That didn’t seem to work any better than telling me not to eat a fifth slice of pizza on a Tuesday morning.

I mumbled a cuss as I worked on adjusting my hold to free up a hand enough to respond to Candice calling me over the radio with increasing concern.

“Dro? Dro, you copy?”

“Yeah, co--” I paused to let the latest howl come and go. “Copy! We’re going to need the police. It’s some person--” Growled back when the next long winded scream came. “Some person on drugs I think?”

“Copy, you need backup?”

“Nah, you can’t leave the guardhouse. Just...tell ‘em to hurry. They’re not--” I didn’t bother to take my finger off the button for the next roar. “--not real happy about all this.”

“Copy.”

I sighed and buckled down on holding them down without hurting them. Drugged out or not, this person didn’t deserve to get their ribs or wrist inadvertently broken. Or to choke if my knee got jostled out of place from all the wild writhing they were doing. I started trying to talk them down when they started whining instead of roaring.

“Sorrysorrysorry.” They sounded to be openly weeping. “Hurts, I’m sorry!” Mashing their own face into the ground where I couldn’t see them. I grimaced.

“It’s fine.” Drugs are wild. I tried to be understanding. Hard and worked up as the both of us were. Wasn’t my first run in with an intoxicated trespasser. Get out of your mind and you don’t know where you are and shit that’s a big fucking lady throwing me, around time to FIGHT. “It’s alright, hey, it’s okay. Police are comin’. With some doctors, I’m su--”

Apparently that wasn’t the right thing to say, they kicked back up into doing their damndest to trash free. My muscles were starting to burn by the time I heard the sirens rolling in close enough to hear. I was running out of breath to deal with this. They couldn’t get through the gate and around back to me fucking fast enough as far as I was concerned.

The police officer that came out of his cruiser looked the sort of troubled that my colonel had in his eyes right before he was expecting us to get blown away by an IED any second. The EMTs that came out of the ambulance were dressed to deal with something infectious. Like...face shields, multilayered plastic white clothing, and were on the person under my knee in seconds with a large syringe.

No one said anything to me as my perp went limp by the time the plunger on the shot fully depressed. I awkwardly got up and stepped away as they gave me the impression of mopping up an undesirable pile of barf. Packing themselves and their charge away into the back of their ambulance on a stretcher board before they took off.

The police officer barely even thanked me for my help and told me to have a good rest of my day before he left right behind them only to overtake them. Flipping on their lights to escort the emergency vehicle he accompanied.

Leaving me in confused and stunned silence as I caught my breath.

What?

The cop didn’t even try to get a statement. Or my name. Or even my number to ask me my statement later. I wasn’t even sure how I was going to write my report up and not sound like I didn’t do my job right without that interaction with the officer.

My brows knotted as I leaned into a brisk walk back for the guardhouse.

#tlouverse devang #nice #prt4

[altankatt]

Neal and Peter after the plane exploded

Peter's focus was to get Neal inside the hangar, away from the blazing fire.

"Neal! There's nothing you can do! Listen to me!"

He never thought he would have to fight Neal. The kid had never, ever made resistance. Until now. As flames went from explosion to burning fuel and material they also became less chaotic and more real. Diana had joined them and she got the picture fast enough.

Sirens were heard and Peter managed at last to guide a stunned and chocked Neal back inside the hangar. Firetrucks arrived in plenty, together with an ambulance. Diana took charge as the communication center. A police car came last.

"Can you just stand still and stay here?" Peter asked Neal. "Just stand still, okay?"

Neal stared at the burning plane, leaning against one of the airplanes in the hangar.

"You know when the last time I touched her was?" the kid asked, tears running down his cheeks.

"No." It was not true. He did. Or at least he thought so. But he did not want to think about it.

"When you arrested me. Four years and six months ago. I just wanted to pick it up where we left off then. Like those years never happened."

Peter noted that Neal did not blame him. There was no hate or bitterness in his voice. Just sorrow. Like when he told about the wine bottle, just a hundred times worse.

"Just stand there, will you? I'll be here. I just need to call Hughes, okay?"

Neal nodded. Peter got eye-contact with Diana and she nodded. She would keep an eye on the kid. Peter walked away a bit. He called his boss and told him what happened.

"Is Caffrey unharmed?" Hughes asked.

"Physically, yes."

"And he's without anklet because he cut it?"

Peter sighed.

"Yes."

"You know what that means, Peter," he heard Hughes' voice of reason in the other end.

It made sense. And yet not. Because he knew Neal and knew about the deal with Fowler.

"Hughes, he wasn't running. It was legal."

"Perhaps. And he may not have anything to do with the bomb on that plane either. But until we know…"

"We have to see him as a fleeing felon and a murder suspect," Peter filled in. He glanced back at Neal. "As soon as he's ready for it, I'll take him back to prison."

"I'm sorry, Peter, but you're still under suspension, and Caffrey is an inmate of a maximum-security prison. I'll call the marshals. Let them handle it. They're no animals."

"Reese…" Peter began, "I…" He was about to tell he gave the kid a promise. But it would not help. He searched for words for a protest he knew would be in vain. He would not even need to put ordinary handcuffs on Neal. No one would need more than that as long as they treated him fair. Diana? No, for her Neal was just another villain. And she would never agree to transport him in just cuffs, and Peter could not blame her.

"I'll keep an eye on him until they arrive." He ended the call.

He watched Neal where he stood, like a wreck. Peter felt helpless. The kid was going through the worst moment of his life right then, and would soon be taken away in chains as if he was the cause of the disaster.

He returned to Neal's side, wondering how he would be able to tell him.

The kid watched him.

"What aren't you telling me, Peter?" Observant as always.

"I wish this could be done differently," Peter started. "I made you a promise. But as it is, I don't have a badge."

"I'm going back to prison, aren't I?"

"While all this is investigated, yes. I'm sorry, Neal."

The kid nodded in acceptance.

Peter's eyes wandered away.

"Neal... " He forced himself to meet the kid's eyes. "You're considered a high-risk transport."

"Leg-irons and black-box, I know the drill, Peter."

Neal's assurance sent a shiver through Peter. He had always seen them as something needed in extreme cases for violent people. Neal had faced them as standard procedure in prison without being violent. When he had arrested Neal for that necklace he did not steal, Fowler had called the marshals for the transport. Then he had seen it as a provocative gesture from Fowler, but it was standard procedure.

"You can stay here as long as you need to. There's no one who wishes to drag you away in chains until you're capable of handling it."

"Could you put them on me?" Neal asked. Peter stared. "Please?"

What was it with this guy?

"Why?"

"I'll be having them on for quite a while before I'm back in prison. Believe it or not, but those things aren't very comfortable in the first place. I know you wouldn't pull them tighter than needed."

Peter sighed. Putting him in restraints of that kind was nothing he wanted to do at any time but Neal would be far more uncomfortable than him, no matter who put them on. And it was as close as keeping his promise as he could.

"Alright, I'll talk to them, see what I can do. But it's not my call."

Neal nodded.

They both saw the marshals coming. Four men, one holding the chains. They pinpointed Neal quickly enough and approached. Diana sent him an eye as if to ask what to do. He shook his head.

"I'll talk to them," Peter said. "And tell them to wait until your ready."

"I'm ready." Neal looked far from ready.

"Are you sure?"

"A distraction would suit me fine right now. This will at least be familiar grounds. Yes, Peter, I'm ready." He even sent Peter an assuring smile. "Go ahead."

Peter walked to meet them.

"Agent Burke, FBI," he introduced himself. He still was, even if he was suspended.

"U.S. Marshal Sam North," their leader said. They shook hands. "Does he know?" He nodded in Neal's direction.

"Yes. He'll follow with you without any fuss, but he has one request."

"Which is?" asked North.

"That I pat him down and put those restraints on."

The man's eyebrows went up in surprise.

"I've no problem with that, but you're a civilian at the moment, Agent Burke. I'll have to supervise it."

Peter nodded. He was not going to argue against it.

The marshal followed him back to Neal with a handful of chains in his hand. Neal stood as a composed wreck, leaning against the airplane, exposed and harmless.

"Neal Caffrey, I'm U.S. Marshal Sam North. I'm going to supervise your transport back to Sing Sing. Agent Burke here tells me you want him to restrain you. Is that correct?"

Neal nodded. The marshal explained to Neal why he had to supervise it. Neal nodded again.

"Well then, Mr. Caffrey, I think you know the drill."

The marshal said it gently and gave a safe impression. Yet, Peter saw Neal's shoulders tense as he stepped away from the plane with a blank face. He took off his shoulder-bag and his jacket and held out his arms. The Marshal gave Peter a nod that the kid was all his.

Peter started with Neal's hair, dusty from the explosion. The collar, the sleeves. Since he had no jacket, there were few places to hide anything. Peter did not expect to find anything, but he did it correctly. Neal did not expect him to do anything less.

The marshal handed him the restrains.

Neal continued to hold his arms out until Peter had locked the belly-chain around his waist. The cuffs around the ankles were not uncomfortable in themselves at least. It was the chain that restricted the length of the step that constituted the restraint. Peter rose to lock the final cuffs around his friend's wrists. He knew he was supposed to do this before the legs, but no matter how correct he was with this, it would be unpleasant for Neal.

Neal already stood with his hands in position.

"Want to put your jacket on?" Peter asked. Neal shook his head.

The cuffs were directly linked to the belly-chain which forced the hands and arms in a fixed position which in the long run could become painful. The black box on top of that removed every option to move the hands. Neal did not flinch once. Not even when Peter put that box on top of it all.

Peter remembered when he had cuffed Neal in the interview room for the transport to the detonation center four and a half years ago. Neal had tried not to flinch when the cuffs closed around his wrists. Peter had cuffed him front with ordinary cuffs. More of a psychological restraint. What he put on Neal now was the opposite, and his CI had not moved a muscle in his face. Prison-time had made its mark, and Peter was not sure if that system created better citizens. It felt healthier to flinch than be used to leg-irons and black boxes.

Neal was restrained, and there was nothing more for Peter to do.

"See you, Peter?"

A question? Did he have to ask?

"Any time, kiddo" he assured Neal. "And I'll do my best to get you out as soon as I can, alright."

Neal nodded.

"Ready to go?" the marshal asked. Peter watched Neal's face transform into one of smiles and playfulness. An imitation of his normal state. Neal turned to face the marshal.

"Can't wait" he replied with a grin.

Peter picked up Neal's jacket and searched its pockets. He hung it over his friend's shoulders. It was December and cold outside. Then he stepped aside, and the marshal took over. With a grip around Neal's upper arm, he led him out of the hangar in the pace the chains allowed, followed by the other three.

Like this? Read more at https://archiveofourown.org/users/AltanKatt/works

#white collar #Neal Caffrey #Peter Burke #neal and peter #peter and neal #white collar fan ficiton #matt bomer #jeff eastin #tim dekay

[emotionalcello-makefanfics]

Ferris Wheel (Jaydick Fanfic for Fictober... Part 1/3)

Prompt number: 12.  “What if I don’t see it?”

Fandom : DCU

Rating: General Audience

Warnings/Tags: No Warnings/ No Powers AU

Summary : 

Dick spotted bloodstains by the Ferris wheel that trails from the bottom cabin to the very top one. What he found inside is a boy can't be older than 15, bleeding down from the stomach, and even so, he refuses to come down from the Cabin.

“I want to see the stars, one last time, just... one last time.” The boy still muses upon the sky, mesmerized. Dick looks up, and the starless sky that’s tinted red from light pollution. Then, with great sorrow and resignation, the boy whimpers, “You ruin that from me.”

Word count : 2k

Part 2

Click link to read on AO3

Click keep reading to read on tumblr~

Dick hears metal clashing and creaking from the pathway towards the entrance area. It could be something, or it could be nothing. In this city of Bludhaven, anything can happen. Maybe it’s just a bird, or trespassing kids – that one is often –, and the worst ones will be if someone plants a bomb, that won’t be the first too.

Just to be safe, Dick turns on his radio and held it a finger away from his lips, “Come in, Wally.”

“This is Wally.”

“I hear a voice near the Ferris wheel, can you cover my grounds for me? I’m going to check it out.”

“Okay, be careful blue wing.”

“You too, speedy.”

The Ferris wheel is not the highest one in town, but it’s always busy during the weekends and holiday season. As he walks down the path, one of the trash bin tips over and spilled across the granite bricks.

Dick leaves that worry later when he sees some sort of stain on the metal structures. The contraption is painted all over, from the carriages to the metal structures in blues and yellows. Going in closer with the help of his flashlight, he sees an odd stain starting from the entrance platform that trails to the support tower and ends at the cabin on top. Red stains.

Dick’s first guess is that someone climbed it to the top. It’s possible, he has seen the maintenance guy climbs it over. Looking closer to the stain on the carriage right on in front of the platform, it seems like blood. He leans closer and sniffs the stain, it smells like iron, but it could’ve been the metal. Still, with the bizarre stain, there’s someone up there. With the probability that it’s blood, that person could be injured. Despite being a disappointingly small Ferris wheel, it’s still a high climb.

Whoever it is at the top cabin is either hiding from something or already dead. Either way, it’s his job to check it out.

“Come in Wally, I think see blood on the Ferris wheel.”

The radio buzzes and clears, “Do you need me for back up?”

Dick thinks it over and follows his gut.

“No, but can you look around the borders? He’s pouring down heavy, maybe he came from the haunted house.”

“Copy that Blue Jay.” Wally signed off.

Dick put his radio back on the holster hanging by the belt. He tips the end of the flashlight up to where the carriage where the bloodstain ends.

“Someone there?” Dick shouts out.

No reply.

“Hello? I can see your blood all over this thing, are you injured?”

Still nothing.

“Want me to call 911?”

Not even a creak on the carriage.

Dick grips the sets of keys hanging on the other side of his hip, grabbing the one for Ferris wheel’s control board and enter the room on the side of the platform.

“I’m going to turn the Ferris wheel on!” Dick warned to probably nothing.

Lights glare from the ride. Pink, yellow and green shine from the rows of lightbulbs on the metal crossmember, three lightbulbs on the hub of the wheel, fairy lights on the side of the cabins,  and more lightbulbs on the legs of the support tower. The song came up next, your basic ‘carnival music’ that they got on youtube.

The wheel starts turning, the brightly colored carriages turn until the cabin where the blood trail ends are in the bottom.

The cabin is a small windowless four-seater, sets of two facing each other, with a metal railing that reaches your chest as the only safety precaution.

Dick flash his lights inside the bloody cabin, expecting the worst, and what’s inside exceed his worst.

There’s a pool of blood at the bottom of the cabin, pouring from the seat, where a boy lays limp across the two-seaters. Damp dark hair sticks on half his face, barely showing it. Dick’s attention goes right towards the damp part of the hoodie where the boy’s bloody hands are clutching, the source of all the red.

“Oh my god, how did you even get there.”

His hands reach out to the boy, and not even halfway towards him, the boy grunts and shows his eyes.

“Don’t touch me,” the boy hisses, glints of wary in his eyes like a feral kitten.

“You’re injured an-”

His mouth freeze open when he –a boy that couldn’t be older than 15– hold a gun to his face.

“Put... put me... back up.” The boy says between panting breath. His eyes a pale blue, even though his blood pools at the bottom of the bright orange carriage, he still has the energy to glare at Dick.

“Kid, if you look down, you can see how much blood you’re losing. You need medical help,” he presses firmly, but he’s scared out of his life for the boy in front of him. He doesn’t know how much this boy bleed before he steps into the carriage, but he might not make it just judging by the pool of blood Dick sees.

“I fucking know that, why do you think I’m pressing on my wounds?” The boy shouts, flailing the gun. “Just... Just let me... Put me back up now!” he growls, taking off the safety of his gun. “Please,” he continues after seeing that Dick is unfazed.

The boy doesn’t hold out the gun too long. His arm gave up and the gun falls to the pool of his blood.

Dick takes the gun in a heartbeat, throwing it away to the bushes then scoops the boy in his arms. In a few wide strides, he carries the boy down the platform’s stairs and lays him down on the brick pathway. The kid is wearing a red hoodie, and a darker red is coming from the side of his stomach, right where the boy’s hand resides.

“Put me... put me back,” he croaks, “Put me back and get me up there.”

“Nope, it’s not your time yet kid.” Dick scrunch up the kid’s hoodie and press on the wound along with the boy’s hand. Dick’s other hand reaches out to his radio, smearing the matte black surface with a thin red hue.

“Wally, I need you to call the ambulance.”

“Are you hurt?” Wally sounds worried.

“No, there’s a kid on the Ferris wheel, he’s bleeding a lot.”

“Okay, right, okay I-I’ll bring first aid kit.”

“Call the ambulance first, he’s rapidly losing blood.”

The other side sounds clamorous and clatter, Wally’s breathing hard like he’s running, “Aah shit, okay, I’ll call ‘em. I’ll be there after bringing some kit, put pressure on it!” and he abruptly hangs up.

A hand grabbed his collar, the same hand that couldn’t even hold the gun straight.

“No, no hospital,” The boy hisses.

“Yes hospital, you’re dying!” his heart starts racing, trying to focus on pressing the wound to calm himself. His hands began to feel cold, trembling when he realized the weight of the situation.

“I just want to be up there,” the boy looks at the top of the Ferris wheel. Colorful lights shine on his adolescent face.

Only then Dick could see his face in detail. Through the colorful lights, his eyes stay blue. There are tear stains down his pale face. Blue-ish bruise peeks on the neckline. Eyes empty as he stares through matter. The boy’s hand no longer presses on the wound, both lay limp between his body. Slowly, he breathes. Breathing out one long sigh, a tear escaped from his left eye.

Upon seeing the barely teen boy, the feeling that resides is fear.

“What’s your name?” Dick asked, leaning close, hoping to get the boy’s attention. Hoping to ignite some kind of light behind his eyes.

It’s futile. “I want to see the stars, one last time, just... one last time.” The boy still muses upon the sky, mesmerized.

Dick looks up, and the starless sky that’s tinted red from light pollution.

Then, with great sorrow and resignation, the boy whimpers, “You ruin that from me.”

Dick’s body stiffens and rigid when electricity strikes his nerves. Pain concentrated from the exposed part of his neck. His body twitched into a spastic mess on the ground. His vision caught the kid standing above him, throwing a taser he recognizes his before he finally passed out.

+++++++

“I told you before, there’s nothing there.”

“How could it not be there!” Dick exclaimed frustratingly, as he keeps clicking the rewind button, replaying the same footage over and over again.

It’s been 30 minutes since Dick came into the surveillance room, which is a small room with three split screens. The only one in charge of the screens is Barbara and some other guy Dick doesn’t know covers dayshift.

There are only a few minutes till the opening time, and Dick is still in his blood-stained uniform. A few dots on his chest, and the ones on his hands he had washed out. Dick has been in this room for 30 minutes and their shift had finished 30 minutes ago.

“I hate to ask, but...” Barbara doesn’t bother to finish, Dick knows what she meant.

“This isn’t the doppelganger incident, I’m not making this up!” Dick Rebukes.

“Okay, okay,” Barbara resigned, not without skepticism.

“I swear, he was running towards behind the Ferris wheel, but!” Dick rewinds the footage shooting towards the Ferris wheel entrance when he replayed it. The footage displays the bottom half of the ride, the platform to step in and the first half of the waiting line. Nothing changes in the footage, not even the grass by the corner.

“Where are the footage where I came in and turn the Ferris wheel on?” Dick points aggressively towards the screen. It buzzes and glitz in every loud tap. “And when I take the boy from the carriage? The Ferris wheel isn’t even on the entire time in this footage!”

“Maybe it’s a glitch, you knew boss’ too cheap to buy better stuff. I’ll write a note to the day-shifters to take a look at it.”

Huffing defeatedly, Dick finally sits back, making the chair creaks, “What am I going to do now? The boy was badly hurt, look at my shirt! There’s blood everywhere!”

“The paramedics say they’ll get back to us for the DNA result. I gave them my number, all we can do is wait.”

“Fine,” Dick exhaled his frustration and stands up abruptly. When looks at Barbara, his annoyance goes down the drain, “Thank you for waiting on me.”

Barbara quirks up her pale pink lips, “That’s why I’m here Dickie. C’mon, we had a long day, let’s get back home.”

++++

The DNA test result came. Barbara told Dick as soon as graveyard shift starts.

“Unregistered?” Dick almost shouts, his voice echo’s through the empty park.

“Uh-huh, the kid is not in the system,” Barbara adds.

“Is it about yesterday’s Ferris wheel ghost boy?” Wally chirps in.

“He’s not a ghost! He’s real, I carried his bloody body in my arms!” Dick tensed on the neck, veins showing under the skin.

“Okay! I’m just jokin’. It’s what the day shifters called it.”

Rubbing his face, Dick breathed out the rest of his frustration, “I just want to know if that kid is alright. That’s all.”

Wally and Barbara share a knowing look to each other, then back to their best friend with a pitying smile.

“Let’s hope he is,” Barbara comforted.

“I bet he is if he got the strength to stand up and tase you, he’ll be fine. Heck, maybe he’ll be back for revenge when you stop him from getting a free ride,” Wally joked.

That one makes Dick smile. He rubs the tenseness on the back of his neck off and looks up from staring at his shoes.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

After their night shift is done and Dick was waiting for Wally by the entrance gate. After taking two steps outside of the locker room, Barbara pulled Wally to the side, whispering.

“Yesterday, did you see the Ferris wheel turned on?”

Wally smiled nervously, “I dunno babs, I was around the walls when Dick called in.”

“This is serious Wally,” Barbara warned. “The Ferris wheel can be seen from your location, and I don’t think the surveillance system is glitchy. I can see your footage just alright when the Ferris wheel allegedly turned on because I didn’t see it. So, did you see it turned on or not.”

Sighing, Wally looks down at his tennis shoes, “No. Not once in the entire night.”

#fictober19 #jaydick fanfic #jaydick #jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #dick grayson fanfic #emocel's

[somethingjustsouthofbrilliance]

I Got You (Tony/Rhodey secret service AU) Chapter 3

For the purposes of this chapter, I borrowed a bit of dialogue from... well, you’ll know where I borrowed it from ;-) Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

Links to chapter 1, chapter 2

Tagging @jamesrhodey @supernaturalyloki @chanderefk @aimeeroot21 @markedplaces @mostly-marvel-stuffs @matre-dee @le-ephemere @lo-anlurui @savedbyholmes @kimmycup @typicalcampbell

Chapter 3

 The next time he runs into Stark it’s at the hospital in an ICU cubicle – a fittingly surreal diminuendo to a harrowing nerve wreck of a day.

 Happy.  Happy is in the hospital.  ICU.  Barely clinging to life after getting thrown halfway across the parking garage by a bomb that tore apart the presidential limo and damaged the nearby vehicles.  A bomb he’s pretty sure was meant for him. And James can’t process it, hasn’t even begun to process it, what with being whisked away from the scene by overeager agents and all but hauled down into the bunker while the police, ambulance and security stormed the scene.  And it isn’t until much later, until after things calm down a bit, his own minor cuts have been tended to, the scene is secured and plans are being discussed (nay, shouted) all around him about increasing security and possibly putting the entire White House on lockdown for the time being until the perpetrator is identified and neutralized, that he announces loudly and unequivocally that he will agree to whatever security measures they deem necessary as long as he can get to check on his bodyguard.  

 A cacophony of outraged worry meets his request, but he stands firm on that, he won’t budge. Because it’s Happy’s crumpled, bloodied form he sees whenever he closes his eyes.  Because he can’t help thinking that if he hadn’t stopped to answer his mother’s text, leaving Happy to go on ahead of him, he would have been the one spilling blood all over the floor of the parking lot.

 He has to go check on the man.  He owes him at least that much.

 Surprisingly, it’s Obadiah that comes to his defense, bringing up the point that another attempt in such a short time span is unlikely, that the perpetrator has probably gone to ground, waiting for things to settle down, that nobody would be expecting the president to be out and about so soon after this incident.

 It’s settled after that, and James spares but a cursory glance to his Chief of Staff, who shakes his head in disapproval before walking off to the side, phone glued to his ear, and then he’s off, huddled between two stone-faced agents in the back of a nondescript sedan on his way to the hospital.

 It’s well past visiting hours, but his office carries a certain clout and he is led through to the ICU without much hassle and directed by a sleepily flustered nurse to the room that has two security agents posted outside the door.  He nods to them as he approaches, motions for his own detail to wait with them, and walks inside, allowing himself the barest of hesitations to prepare for what he’s about to find there.

 The room is quiet save for the faint whirring of medical equipment, the comfortable semi-darkness broken only by the flickering of a muted TV screen on the wall opposite the bed. It strikes him as odd –having the TV on when the person for whom it is intended lies there so completely unaware of the world around him.  He reaches for the remote, intent on turning the useless device off.

 And whips around, nearly dropping the remote, when a slightly raspy and vaguely familiar voice calls on him to stop.

 “Leave it on, please.”

 The shadows behind the bed move, a human shape molding itself out of the blackness, stepping forth into the feeble light.

 “Stark?” he blinks, trying to reconcile the rumple-clothed hollow-eyed man before him with the sharply dressed confidence exuding professional that had sauntered into his office a few days ago.  “What–?”

 “Sunday nights. PBS.  Downtown Abbey,” Stark continues as if James hasn’t spoken, arms crossed with an almost defensive awkwardness on his chest.  He looks tired, drawn, a suspicious glint in the dusk-hooded eyes.  “It’s his show.  He thinks it’s elegant.”  There’s a barely audible catch in his voice, and Stark covers it up with a cough, hitches his shoulders up in a shrug that seems a bit too forced to be nonchalant.

 It unsettles James seeing him like this – so uncharacteristically vulnerable, so decidedly human.  He wants to say something, to reassure the man, to apologize for getting his friend hurt. But something in the way Stark holds himself, in the tension James can feel emanating from his body, stops him short.

 “How did you get in here?” he asks instead.  Because there are agents posted outside the door, and he can’t imagine them letting anyone in.

 “I have ways,” Stark replies enigmatically.  Throws an almost derisively disapproving glance in the direction of the door. “Your agents aren’t as good at their job as they believe themselves to be.  If they were, your bodyguard wouldn’t be lying here right now with a fucking tube down his throat.”

 James flinches at the barely disguised venom in the man’s voice, bristles at the unprovoked affront. “I’ve always been under the impression that secret service agents are the best of the best,” he counters coolly, hoping to rein the man in with his words.  Because, yes, Stark is upset, understandably so.  But that is no reason to take it out on his men.  

 It was, apparently, the wrong thing to say.

 Stark takes a step toward him, eyes flashing hot with fury.  Stabs a hand blindly in the direction of Happy’s bed.  “You just lost your best man, Mr. President!” he hisses, chest heaving as he sucks in a sharp breath, as if preparing to say more.

 And then he stops, steps back, blinking as though coming awake after a trance.  Snaps his mouth shut, visibly forcing himself to relax. A mask slides over his face – cold, calm, professional.  

 “That’s why I’m here,” he says simply, and James gapes at him, brow furrowing in confusion.

 “I’m sorry, I don’t–”

 “I’m taking the job, Mr. President,” Stark cuts him off bluntly.  “I’ve changed my mind.”

 James considers him silently for a long moment, trying to get a read on the man before him, to gauge what his motives might be.  He comes up blank.

 “Why?” he wants to know.

 Stark shrugs, looks over at the bed, seeming to study Happy’s slack face, half obscured by the breathing tube.  “Because that bomb was meant for you,” he responds, fury still thrumming a quiet beat through his words.  “Because this person, whoever they are, will try again, and if they succeed,” he points at Happy again, “then he went through all of this for nothing. And I can’t accept that.” He pauses, fists clenching at his sides.  Takes a deep breath.  “Whoever this person is, they made it personal now.”  He turns his gaze back to James, the dark, menacing intensity of it nearly causing him to recoil.  “And as far as I’m concerned, they’re already dead.”

 James swallows tightly, finding himself completely at a loss as to what to say.  On the one hand he’s thrilled to have this guy finally come around, especially now that these death threats he heretofore considered a mere annoyance, a product of someone’s sick imagination, have suddenly become all too deadly and all too real.  But Stark seems to be wound up so tight that he wonders if the man is even gonna be up to the task.  

 He is about to express his concerns when the door to Happy’s room opens and his Chief of Staff walks in, a small bag in hand.  

 “Ah, the ever-unruffled Agent,” Stark enthuses before James can even wonder out loud what Phil is doing here.  “Just the man I wanted to see.  Did ya bring what I asked?”

 Coulson nods, face unreadable as ever.  Opens up the bag to pull out a credit card, a flip phone and a set of car keys.  “Untraceable prepaid card,” he recites as if checking off items from some invisible list, “clean phone with new SIM card and no GPS tracker, and a car parked out back.”

 “Good boy,” Stark praises with a smirk, pocketing the items.  Pulls out his own cell phone and drops it into the bag still held open by Coulson. “Your turn, Mr. President.”

 James shakes his head, puts up both hands like a shield.  “Would someone, please, explain to me what the hell is happening here?” he snaps.

 Coulson cocks his head at him, throws a mildly disapproving gaze Stark’s way.  “You didn’t tell him?”

 “You interrupted me before I could… Agent,” Stark defends, winking at the man, and grins at Coulson’s exasperated eye roll.

 “I called Stark earlier, Sir.  Asked him to take over,” Coulson explains, and James thinks back to that moment in the bunker when he watched Phil walk away, phone pressed to his ear.  “He was already at the hospital, so it worked out.”

 “Take over how… exactly,” he wonders, scowling at Coulson’s bag.

 “I’m gonna take you to a safe house, Mr. President,” Stark cuts in, all business.  “This person that’s after you, they know your schedule, they know your itinerary, they have access to your office.  That leaves too many suspects that are in too close of proximity to your person.  Trying to protect you in Washington would be like trying to protect a bucket of chum in shark-infested waters.  I wanna increase your chances of survival.”

 “By making me go on the run.”

 “By making you disappear,” Stark corrects patiently, reaching his hand toward him. “Your phone, please, Mr. President.”

 “I got everything under control, Mr. President,” his Chief of Staff intervenes once more.  “The media will have a cover story – you’re taking some personal time in the wake of the tragic incident.  Vice President Stane will temporarily take over your duties. All you need to do is follow Mr. Stark’s direction and stay safe while we take care of things here.  The police and secret service will continue their investigation and we’ll hopefully have our guy behind bars or on a slab before you know it.”

 James gapes at the two of them, his head spinning from the unexpectedness of it all.  It’s madness, he thinks.  Utter madness.   Woodenly he pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, placing it in Stark’s waiting palm.  “How do you even… how do you propose we disappear? There are agents all over this hospital, I-”

 “The hallway and the stairway are clear,” Coulson interrupts, and Stark nods to him in approval as if he was expecting this exact response.  “The cameras will be down in exactly…,” he glances at his watch, “one minute thirty-two seconds.  The cameras at the parking structure will be down exactly 5 minutes after that.  You will have about 7 minutes altogether to get out unseen.”

 “This is insane,” James huffs out, feeling a stab of irrational anger at such definitive loss of control.  “You two, you’ve got this whole… this thing plotted out behind my back and you never even bothered to…”

  “All due respect, Mr. President,” Stark steps closer, pushing far into his personal space, “you wanted to hire me because you heard that I’m the best at what I do.  Right now you’re the guy with a large bullseye on your back and I’m your only chance of surviving into your next term.  So it’s up to you, Mr. President.  If you want to live, you come with me, you do as I say and when I say it.  No questions, no arguments, no complaints. If not, you walk out of here with your man Phil and you take your chances in the shark pool.  Understood?”

 James grits his teeth, struggling against a near-overwhelming urge to break Stark’s nose.  

 “Twenty seconds, Mr. President,” Coulson calls out, and James closes his eyes briefly, forces himself to exhale, to relax.

 “I don’t seem to have much choice at the moment,” he grinds out, admitting his temporary defeat. Takes a deliberate, threatening step toward Stark, bringing the two of them virtually nose to nose.  “But let me make something clear, Mr. Stark: I don’t like your attitude and I don’t like you.  And if you overstep your bounds with me one more time, I will not hesitate to punch you in the face.  Understood?”

 Stark flashes him a plastic-looking smile.  “I think we’re gonna get along great, Mr. President,” he asserts with enthusiasm that seems entirely out of place.  Heads to the door, pausing in front of Coulson.  “You take care of my boy Happy there, alright?” he tells him, and it sounds more like a warning than a request.

 Coulson, for his part, doesn’t bat an eye.  “You take care of mine, I take care of yours,” he deadpans and Stark grins in response.

 “It’s a deal.”  He grabs the door handle, motions to James over his shoulder.  “Mr. President, follow my lead.”

#tonyrhodey #ironhusbands #secret service au #special agent tony stark #president james rhodes #hurt/comfort #angst #intrigue #somethingjustsouthofbrilliance writes

[edsbrak]

Ok, but imagine this...

Reddie + Reincarnation AU

Two souls, destined to be together but the universe seems determined to keep them apart – from diseases to wars to relationships between two men being unacceptable.

It starts off hundreds of years ago:

Two men, both reaching for the last crop of corn available in the market streets. A fight expects to break out, but instead, the taller of the two offers the corns over to the other, seeing how malnourished he is. The shorter is grateful, and hopes to see the other man again someday. Only then, a plague so deadly had swept over their town, and the chance was lost.

Years later, in a time where gun violence was becoming more and more frequent in the local streets, people were more cautious, never leaving their homes unless absolutely necessary. One boy, with a mother so crippled, knew they had to leave if she was ever going to get better. They sneak away in the dead of night, pushing along in a small cart he’d built himself. They come across another young man with a horse and cart heading east, and he offers to give them a ride. It’s a risk, but the two escapees accept, hitching along until they insist they can manage the rest of the way. The young son watches the other man disappear into the hazy night, waving goodbye, sad he could never hope to repay him.

When more people were taking to the sea, a young man, eager to get away and travel the world, hops on a transport ship and begins to pay his dues. It’s a life unlike he’s ever known, meeting all of these different people and seeing parts of the world he’s only ever dreamed of. When they come across another ship that has been ransacked, they cross over to see if there are any survivors. Just when they think there couldn’t possibly be anyone left, the young man finds someone, hidden underneath the floorboards, bleeding to the point of near death. He can do nothing but hold him close, watching the life drain from his eyes as he sings him to sleep. The other boy looks happy to see him, though, and passes away, in his arms, with a smile on his face.

When war had begun to rule the earth, with people fleeing for their lives, one man wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps and join the coalition. Years pass by, and he’s surprised to still be here, battling through thick and thin, pushing his body to the limit as body after body fall to their deaths right in front of his eyes. And one time he’s not so lucky, hurting his leg so bad he can’t walk, so they send him away to the closest hospital. While he’s there, a young nurse, a man, helps him. It’s unusual to see a male nurse at times like these, but he can’t help but feel safe around him, like he… might know him. Over the time he’s in hospital, he and the nurse grow closer, sharing intimate touches and building a connection so strong it’s almost overwhelming. When his leg is healed, he promises the nurse he will win this war and come back for him. The nurse hides his smile, and bravely leans in to kiss him, wishing him luck and holding him to that promise. But it turns out luck wasn’t enough, and the young man dies that week on the shore of the enemies land, and soon after, a bomb is released into the hospital, killing everyone inside.

It isn’t until two boys, named Richie and Eddie, meet on the playground in 1958. It’s an instant friendship, as easy as breathing, almost like two friends reuniting once again.

They go through everything together that summer, fighting off an entity they could only pray to see in their nightmares, but not in real life. But they come out alive, thankful to have each other, only to slowly forget each other, years later, almost looking to be like the end.

Only when they’re called back to Derry, to once again face off against their fears like they had all those years ago, it’s only from the love that they have for each other that helps them to defeat It once and for all. Except Eddie can feel himself drifting away, in the arms of Richie, a man he’s sure to have loved at one time in his life. Maybe still does.

Richie holds him close, and Eddie can see he is crying. Eddie so badly wants to tell him it’s okay, that they’ll see each other again. But it’s too late, and the words never come out.

It’s only then that the Universe wonders about giving them one more chance.

And after another 5 years pass, it does.

Richie and Eddie do not grow up together this time, but rather, meet in college one day, at a party in a friend’s loft.

Eddie isn’t sure he wants to be here, exactly, never really one for drinking or loud music. But his old friend Bill insisted on it, so he agreed. Only now, he stands outside, away from the crowds, and looks out towards the city, basking in the breeze of the summer night.

Another figure comes to a stop next to him, and Eddie hopes they don’t have to make conversation. It happens anyway.

“Hey, I’m Richie,” the guy says. A hand extends out towards him.

Not wanting to seem rude, Eddie shakes it, and frowns when some kind of pull shoots straight up his arm. Richie’s hand lingers before slipping back.

“Eddie,” he says back.

“How come I’ve never see you around before, Eddie?”

It should sound like a line, but for some reason, has shivers running across Eddie’s skin. “Uh, I don’t really… go out much.”

Richie nods his head, still keeping his gaze locked on Eddie. And Eddie stares right back, not knowing how to describe what it is he’s feeling between them at the moment. It’s electrifying. It’s scary. It’s…

“Why do I feel like I know you?” Richie asks, unknowingly confirming every thought that was racing through Eddie’s mind right then.

“I don’t know, but… I feel it to.”

Richie’s mouth begins to pull up in a smile, big and joyful, and Eddie is shocked when a hit of déjà vu almost knocks the breath right out of him.

So they talk more, going well into the night, laughing and sharing stories and soon, without realizing it, stand closer and closer together until there’s hardly any space between them at all.

“Eddie…” Richie says after a beat of silence, almost breathless. Except suddenly there’s a loud crash inside: someone’s cut their leg open, badly, and Richie, being one of the few sober people still at this party, excuses himself to go and help them.

An ambulance comes, and the paramedics insist on Richie coming along to help with the details. Still caught off guard and both of their attentions on the scene in front of them, Eddie completely forgets to ask Richie for his number.

Later, he asks Bill about him, to find out where Richie’s dorm is so he can find him again. Bill frowns, and says he doesn’t’ know a guy called Richie. Suddenly realizing Richie was just a party crasher, Eddie deflates, wondering when and if he’ll ever get the chance to see the other man again.

It isn’t until two weeks later, when Eddie finds himself at the store, standing in front of the ice-creams, ready to drown himself in his sorrows, does someone stop a few feet away from him and say, “Holy shit.”

Eddie turns and almost drops his basket when he sees it’s Richie standing there.

“Richie…” Eddie says, almost rooted in place.

“Eds,” Richie laughs, so familiar and welcome, that Eddie can’t even bring it in himself to care about the stupid nickname. “Fuck, am I glad to see you.”

“I think…” Eddie starts, “This may sound crazy, but… I feel like we were meant to meet, you know?”

And Richie smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners, and he’s so, so beautiful. “You know what? I think you’re fucking right, Eds. I don’t know how, but… I know one thing’s for sure…” and Richie steps closer, until he’s got both hands resting on Eddie’s cheeks, stroking softly with his thumbs. Eddie feels warm all over.

“And what’s that?” he almost whispers.

Richie grins. “I’m never letting you go again.”

Eddie grips the front of Richie’s shirt and beams.

“I like the sound of that.”

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #one shot #i made myself sad with all those deaths but #gotta do it to em #99

[feelingsdusk]

Count to five, do it again (chapter 1)

(Warnings: Anxiety, anxiety issues, spooky, creepy, oppressive atmosphere, Silent Hill-y.)

Stiles wakes up with a gasp, his heart jack-rabbiting in his chest and its pounding deafening in his ears. He lies in bed, taking deep shuddering breaths and trying to force his body to stop shaking. A bead of sweat crawls slowly across his temple until it disappears at his hairline and he grimaces, disgusted with himself. Dammit, Stiles.

The door is locked.

She can't get in.

She's not even in the house.

She hasn't been for a while.

(Stiles can't recall the last time he was able to go to bed with his door unlocked.)

(He can't remember the last time he slept peacefully either.)

He takes a deep breath and then another. He counts to five and then does it again. Then he forces himself to push the covers away and to get up. People say that it's fine to waste the day away if you can when you don't feel like doing anything, but nowadays Stiles would waste his entire life away if he lived by that motto, so he doesn't let himself give into temptation.

He has a routine. Routine is good. Shower, clothes, teeth. Open window, check phone's battery, tuck it in pocket, turn on laptop. Tidy room, make bed. Stand in front of the door, take in a shuddering breath, count to five. Breath out, count again. Take in a steadier breath. Try and fail to touch the lock. Count again. Unlock the door. Wait. Listen. Breathe.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Routine is good.

He never lingers in the shower and today's not any different. Less than five minutes later he's toweling himself dry briskly. He leaves his pajamas and the towel in the hamper. He'll come back for them after breakfast and take his dad's laundry too, if there's any. He chooses his clothes quickly and puts them on equally fast. As he brushes his teeth, he opens the window, checks the phone's battery and then tucks it in his pocket. Before going back to the bathroom to spit out the toothpaste, he turns on his laptop. Then he tidies his room and makes his bed.

He stands in front of the door, takes in a shuddering breath, counting to five, and then breathes out, counting again. He breathes more. He reaches to touch the lock and chickens out mere millimetres away. He counts again.

He grabs the lock and immediately freezes. Why is it unlocked?! He never- he never leaves it unlocked, he just doesn't! He's been thinking about it, he has, but he hasn't been able to do it yet! So why is it unlocked then?! There's no way he forgot. It's impossible. It's- No- He wouldn't-

She's not in the house.

She hasn't been for a while.

He forces himself to count. He waits. He listens. He breathes.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

She's not in the house.

She hasn't been for a while.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

He's been thinking about it for a while anyways. Isn't this better? He slept without locking himself in and nothing happened. This is good. This is what he wanted. It is. Now he just has to get used to it. It won't be easy but he will. And it will become routine for him. Routine is good.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Routine is good.

He leaves his room when his hands have finally stopped shaking. He swallows thickly and then he hurries down the stairs, because they always give him a chill down his spine but for some reason that response's intensity has multiplied tenfold today. He doesn't remember ever falling down the stairs, even as a little kid, so it's ridiculous and irrational. He knows that, he really does, but he's still uncomfortable and unwilling to challenge his limits further today, when he's already spooked by the incident with the lock. He'll try another day, of course, because he refuses to live his life crippled by his fears. But not today.

Today he's already won. Today he managed to not lose his mind because his room was unlocked. Today he recognized the signs of his anxiety skyrocketing and controlled his reaction. Today he's a champ and he deserves a break. Today he's just going to follow his routine and chill. Because routine is comforting and soothing. Because routine is good.

Which means he takes care of his daily chores first.

He used to hate dusting and sweeping the floors but nowadays he doesn't mind because the repetitive movements sooth him. For some reason, at some point his mind empties completely and by the time he's done, he always feels settled and centered again.

He grabs the cleaning tools that he needs and gets on with it. It takes him a little more time to reach that fugue state today, but Stiles has learned to not get anxious or frustrated about that, and he just lets it run its course. Sometime between tidying the living room's table and dusting the shelves beside the TV, the jittery feeling in his limbs disappears and he doesn't have to focus on breathing anymore.

When he's done, he starts preparing lunch to go. According to his dad's schedule, he should be free after lunch, but Stiles knows better than to expect him to come home. Lately his dad is pulling a lot of extra hours at the station. (Or, if he's not there, he's visiting her at the hospital, but his dad knows to let Stiles know when he's going to be there and he hasn't today.) He only comes home sporadically and more often than not, Stiles finds out about it because he has left his dirty clothes in the hamper. If left to his own devices, his dad will eat takeout for every meal of the day, and Stiles will not have that because one scare was one too many. So this past week, since it's summer vacation and he can, he's boxed a lunch and swung by the station every day. Stiles figured that way he'd get the chance to spend some quality time with his dad in addition to watching his diet. Kill two birds with one stone and all that.

While the rice cooks, Stiles prepares a big mug of coffee and munches on some cereal absently. He's not very hungry, but he's learned his lesson and he tries to at least have something solid (cereal, scrambled eggs, for example) even when he's not feeling like it.

With the mug of coffee in hand, he goes outside to pick up the newspaper, but he doesn't find it in its usual place. He frowns and looks around for it for a bit before giving up. Grumbling, he goes back inside to search for the customer service's phone number. He tracks it down easily and calls. The ringing goes on and on, but no one picks up. Stiles frowns and tries again, getting the same results. How strange. In the end he leaves a message in the answering machine and makes a mental note to check if the complaint went through later.

He puts the cereal back in its cupboard and starts preparing the vegetables and the chicken that go with the rice. Stiles tastes them after they're done and nods satisfied. He's no Jamie Oliver but it's good. (Or good enough that he won't have to spend half the lunch time convincing his dad to eat the vegetables, that is.) He leaves them to cool down on the side. While the rice cooks, he takes a notepad and does the grocery list. When the alarm for the rice rings and he turns the stove off and sets it aside too.

It's still too early to go to the station so he hurries up the stairs and goes back to his room to work on one essay he's pretty sure he'll be assigned when school starts in September.

Stiles does this every year. His ADHD is a bitch to deal with sometimes, even with the Adderall, so every summer he prepares a bunch of essays when he's feeling inspired. There are some topics that teachers repeat every year, so this method hasn't failed him yet. In fact, last year he only had to do one lone essay, so Stiles calls his method a huge success. His grades have never been better, really. Although, to be fair, Finstock will always give him a good grade no matter what he turns in... if it's well researched, that is. Stiles is pretty sure that the man welcomes the change after having to read more than twenty essays on the same exact topic. Stiles hasn't been able to decide if he loves the man or hates him yet, and he doesn't think he'll ever be certain.

He opens the folder that contains all the essays and frowns because it's taking too long to load. The computer has been getting slower and slower ever since he updated the OS, and he regrets installing the new version. (He should get a new computer, but Stiles never changes what he has until it doesn't work at all.) The folder's content finally shows up and he clicks on the document he wants to work on. He taps his fingers against the wood of his table and waits for it to open. When it finally does, he starts working. And that's a feat in and of itself, because these essays are so, so boring. He doesn't even need the Internet to compose them, it's that bad.

Minutes tick by slowly. His attention lasts about twenty minutes on the intricacies of white-washed American history before he starts thinking about his grocery list, so he tries the Physics essay instead. About forty minutes later, his eyes start straying every ten seconds to that stubborn stain on the wall that just refuses to be cleaned no matter what he tries, so he calls it a day. Despite feeling frustrated about how little he's written, he pats himself on the back for the progress.

With a sigh, he saves the document and then turns off the computer. It's still a little early but he'll just drive to the station anyways. He can always talk to Tara for a bit. Stiles likes Tara. She's funny, nice and doesn't look at Stiles like he's a ticking time bomb.

(Stiles will never forget it. The feel of the walls closing down on him, his clothes too tight, the lights too bright, the sounds too loud despite the deafening ring in his ears. Dad-dad-dad he was crying as deputies rushed in. Dad-dad-dad he was crying as they took him away and loaded him into the ambulance. Dad-dad-dad he was crying into her arms as it sped away.)

(She calmed him down, she brought him to the hospital, she held his hand as they waited for news.)

(Stiles likes Tara a lot.)

He goes back to the kitchen. He takes the food out of the pan and divides it into two containers carefully. He places them inside a bag along two cups of yogurt, two bottles of water, napkins and eating utensils. He washes what he used to cook, dries it and then places it back in its place. He takes in the sight of the clean kitchen with a mental satisfied nod.

After a moment of consideration, he also packs a couple of the chocolate cookies that he knows Tara loves. She's going to glare at him something fierce, because she's been trying to cut out the chocolate and he shoots her determination straight to hell every time he shows up with his homemade cookies. As always, he'll compromise and eat one of them for her. Stiles smiles in anticipation. He likes Tara a lot.

He heads to the mudroom to put on his sneakers. Once he's done he grabs both the house and the jeep's keys from the basket on the shelves to the right and exits, closing the door behind himself.

An extremely dark sky greets him the moment he's out and Stiles frowns. He doesn't remember it being this dark when he went looking for the newspaper a couple of hours ago. The dense clouds filling every inch of the sky are the type of really dark grey that forebode a big storm in the near future. Strange, because the weather lady had forecast sun and high temperatures for the rest of the week.

Well, it wouldn't be the first time they are wrong, he thinks absently. For a moment he considers going back to grab an umbrella, but then he decides against it. He shrugs mentally and goes to his jeep. He climbs into the driver's seat and settles the food on the passenger side, making sure it's secure and won't go flying everywhere every time he steps on the brakes. Then he fastens his seatbelt and inserts the key in the ignition.

Before turning the jeep on, he calls his dad to let him know he's on his way, like he always does. It rings and rings but no one picks up. He tries again and it goes straight to voicemail. Stiles sighs. His dad must be busy if he's not picking up. He hopes he won't show up there only to see his dad is gone. It's wouldn't be the first time, but it would suck all the same.

When he turns the key, the jeep emits a pitiful sound and Stiles cringes.

"Oh, come on," he groans. "No, no, no. Don't do this to me."

He tries again and again but to no avail. He lets his head hit the wheel and whines. He's already had to send his poor Roscoe three times to the shop this past month. If his dad finds out it's broken again, he may decide retire his baby for real this time.

"Come ooonnn," he whines, turning the key one more time.

He sighs. What a wonderful, wonderful day. He takes out his phone and dials his dad's number. It goes to voicemail after a few rings. Stiles takes a deep breath and calls the station instead. It rings and rings but no one picks up. He raises his head from the wheel and frowns at his phone, an uneasy feeling starting to creep in. He calls again.

No one picks up.

That's not normal. Not at all. He calls again. No one picks up. He swallows thickly. Ok. Ok, there must be a completely normal and rational reason for it. No need to worry.

He calls one more time.

No one picks up.

Stiles' heart speeds up. He gets out of the jeep and paces beside it. He calls again, again and again. No one picks up. He takes a deep breath. He counts to ten. He counts again. He paces. He calls. He breathes. He counts. He calls.

No one picks up.

Stiles knows himself, he knows this slippery slope like the back of his hand and how he's going to go down, down and down. He sits down where he stands. He breathes, he counts, he breathes, he counts. Because it's not about not being anxious, it's about not letting his anxiety have the upper hand.

Panicking won't help. Getting anxious about his dad or the station not picking up the phone won't give him the answers he needs. Being calm and getting there to see what happened will. The jeep is broken, and that's undoubtedly bad luck, but his legs work just fine. It could definitely be worse.

He walks a few steps before he remembers the food in the jeep. He bites his lip and then goes back to retrieve it from the passenger's seat. Because everything is fine, there's just a problem with the phone or something. In about one hour he'll be eating lunch with his dad and this will be just a stupid scare. His dad will grumble at the lack of red meat and the abundance of veggies in his lunch. He'll make noises about getting a Meat Lovers pizza that Stiles will absolutely not let him have. Stiles will roll his eyes at Tara when he leaves and mouth how he's making a tofu burger instead. She'll snort and Stiles will smirk. And this will be just a stupid scare. Just his mind playing tricks on him again.

He walks and walks, his mind focused on that to keep his anxiety in check. It's unusually quiet today and that's not helping, because there are no distractions to occupy his thoughts with. But it seems like the horribly dark clouds have scared his neighbors away today. Not even old Mrs. Lyle is outside, and Stiles is convinced that woman feeds off rumors and gossip instead of actual food.

He walks more and more. Halfway through, his stomach is in knots despite his resolve to not let anxiety steer the boat. He speeds up into a jog. The more time passes, the more he notices that he hasn't crossed paths with anyone. No cars, no people. Not even animals. The only sound that reaches him is that of a distant thunder.

It's not normal. This is not normal. Now that he thinks of it, he didn't even hear Mr. Paulson's dog. And that little ugly beast (as ugly as his owner's personality) is the kind of yappy dog that never ever shuts up. It continuously drives Stiles crazy because it distracts him when he's working. But nothing today. Not a peep from the little monster. Just. It's not normal.

He breaks into a run, unable to rein himself in. He runs and runs, never seeing anyone in the streets. No vehicles, no people, no animals. An utter silence only broken by own his harsh breath and the thunder of the oncoming storm.

He runs and runs and runs.

When he reaches the station, he nearly sobs in relief. He composes himself and takes a deep breath. Because he's just being overdramatic and silly, and if Tara or his dad see him like this, they'll worry. And he doesn't want the other deputies to look at him like he's a ticking time bomb again. He breathes, he counts, he dries his face with his sleeve, he counts again.

He looks down and remembers he was carrying the food while running like a madman. He looks to make sure that the containers didn't spill anything inside the bag. He's been lucky and the tupperware held. It all will probably be a little scrambled but it doesn't matter because it will taste just as good. He sighs relieved. Then he plasters on a smile and pulls the door to open it. His greeting dies before it even goes past his lips. His smiles falls, just like the bag.

"Dad?" he calls into the empty station, trying to not let his voice tremble. "Dad?"

Stiles breathes and counts and counts and counts. He's just overreacting, there must be a perfectly logical explanation for what's happening. He's being silly. There's no sign of a fight or anything like that. Paperwork is lying around in controlled chaos just like always. The computers are still on, as well as the air conditioning.

Stiles swallows thickly and crosses the bullpen until he reaches his dad's office. The door is open as always and he swallows again. He takes a step in and finds it empty. Stiles' hands tremble as he reaches to take out his phone. He calls his dad and it goes to voicemail. He calls again. Voicemail.

Call.

Voicemail.

Call.

Voicemail.

Call.

Voicemail.

Call.

Voicemail.

Stiles trembles. Then he breathes and counts again. There must be a logical explanation for this. Maybe he's missed something? Maybe... maybe... Maybe there's something in the news? Maybe...

He calls his dad. He dials each digit instead of just using the already saved contact. Maybe he... maybe he somehow edited the contact and that's why it's not working. Yes, that must be it.

It rings and rings and rings. And then.

"Dad!" Stiles shouts when it connects. Relief is a hot and then wet and cold sensation. "Where-"

"Stiles, oh kiddo," his dad cuts in. He sounds on the verge of tears and it makes Stiles' heart constrict. "I'm so sorry! I'll make it right, I promise. I... Please, please..."

"Dad? What's happening? Where are you?! Where's-"

"I'm so sorry, kiddo," his dad continues. "I promise I'll find a way to bring you back. Please, plea-"

And then the call gets cut.

"NO," he cries. "NONONO!"

He dials again, number by number. It rings and rings and rings. And then. Voicemail.

---

He calls 911 and no one picks up.

---

The air smells of vomit, sharp and pungent. His limbs won't stop shaking. His head is pounding, a sharp staccato beat that matches his racing heart. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

---

In.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Out.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

In.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Out.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Again.

And again.

And again.

---

He pushes himself up with shaky arms that threaten to give up on him the moment he shifts some weight onto them. He has to find his dad. He has to. Panicking and giving into his anxiety won't give him back. He can do this. He'll find his dad. He will find him. He will. He's strong. He may have problems and struggle with things, but he's strong. His legs may be shaking but they will still carry him. He's strong, he'll do this, he'll find his dad.

---

First, he searches the station thoroughly but nothing weird jumps to his eye, which is weird in itself.

There are the usual piles of paperwork on Johnson's desk, the usual mess of coffee cups on Michaels' and the usual notebook on Tara's. Usual, usual, usual. Nothing out of the ordinary there. His dad's office doesn't look any different either. Same piles of pending cases to the left, family picture to the right, same things in the drawers, same locked safe. The evidence room is locked, the cells at the back are empty and closed, the changing room is tidy but showing the usual signs of use. The breakroom is still somewhat tidy and the coffee machine in it is still broken while the refrigerator is working perfectly well and has the deputies' labelled lunch inside.

For all intents and purposes, it looks as if everyone just got up and left, leaving everything as it stood. Stiles swallows thickly. He needs a working TV and he needs it now.

When searching the station fails, he leaves it and looks around nervously. Still no one but himself in sight, no sounds besides the ones he makes and the thunder that draws nearer and nearer. His own heart is beating obnoxiously loud in his ears and it's making keeping his anxiety in check a difficult task.

"HELLO? ANYONE HERE?" he calls at the top of his lungs and then waits.

He receives no answer.

Stiles takes a deep fortifying breath and crosses the street towards the shopping area. Not long after, he steps onto the main street and walks it until he makes it to Mae's diner. He holds his breath and goes inside.

"Hello?" he calls once the door closes behind him. "Hello?" he calls again but louder.

No answer comes and Stiles rubs his mouth nervously. He breathes in, counts, breathes out, counts. He doesn't even remember closing his eyes, but he has. He reopens them to look around. Just like the station, it looks as if the people inside just got up and left, leaving everything behind as it was. There are halfway eaten dishes and halfway finished drinks on the tables. A broom and a dustpan are in a corner, the latter full of glass and dirt. The TV is on and airing an episode of Friends that he has watched before.

Stiles approaches the counter warily. He ducks and gets inside the service area. He looks around until he locates the remote and then changes the channel to watch the news, because hopefully they'll shed some light on what's happening.

"What the-" he mutters confused.

He changes the news channel again and again but gets greeted with the same sight. The screen shows an empty desk with an equally empty ticker. He tries other channels, but they're only airing reruns.

Stiles is really confused. He takes out his phone and tries calling his dad once again. After he gets the voicemail, he calls 911 and, on a whim, the hospital. No one picks up. Stiles swallows thickly and then forces himself to get moving.

He needs to finish checking the diner, just in case there's some kind of note that's been left behind. Whatever has happened, he can't be the only one that's been left behind, right?

Right???

There must be someone else here other than Stiles. There must...

He suddenly feels nauseated. He breathes deeply to control it. In and out, in and out. Then, once the feeling isn't as strong anymore, he searches for a glass to have some water. His mouth tastes horrible and it's so parched that his tongue feels like sandpaper. He fills the glass and takes little sips, because it feels like he'll be sick at the very first provocation.

Then it registers. There's electricity and running water. He looks at his glass thoughtfully. That means that someone is ensuring at least the minimum of those services... right? What if he calls...? But will that even work? Because he called the hospital and 911, and no one answered. So that doesn't make any sense and...

His head is pounding and the nausea is rearing its ugly head again. Stiles leaves the glass on the counter to massage his temples until the pain ebbs away enough to think clearly again. The nausea won't go away until he calms his nerves, so he focuses on that. He's a champ, he can do this. He can.

He wets his lips and starts searching around again. He notices that no personal effects have been left behind and that there aren't any cars or bikes parked outside. He looks inside the toilets and finds them empty. He walks towards the employee only area and pushes on the door. He grunts when it doesn't give in even an inch. He frowns and looks through the peephole. His eyes widen.

It's completely destroyed, as if a wrecking ball somehow made it inside but managed to not damage the walls.

No amount of pushing will get him inside.

---

He spends hours looking around.

He finds no living being, animal or human.

He finds five cars and one motorcycle in total, and all of them at the workshop, missing parts and not working at all.

He finds that, outwardly, every building he's checked looks normal, but they are, if not partially, completely destroyed inside.

He finds that the only places untouched are the police station and his own home.

---

It's not about not being anxious, it's about not letting his anxiety have the upper hand.

He may have problems and struggle with things, but he's strong.

His dad is out there and Stiles will find him.

---

He calls.

Voicemail.

#SteterWeek2017 #my fan fiction #steter

[against1a1dark1background]

Jakarta Legacy

My mental state began to deteriorate when the Australian Embassy was bombed on the 9th September 2004. I was standing on my balcony, eight hundred metres away from the embassy when the bomb went off. The sound was like no other that I have ever heard, it was like a flat smack! The blast wave almost knocked me over. Foolishly, I decided to have a look at the bomb site. My Indonesian ex-boyfriend Todo, whom I had only broken up with about a month before worked in the embassy in the AUSAID department. I tried to get him on the phone, but it just kept going to voicemail. I was worried about him; I still had the remnants of care from our relationship. 

When I got there, the scene was carnage. People were walking around aimlessly in a dazed state Windows within a 500-metre radius were shattered, cars were destroyed, body parts were strewn around the bomb crater. I felt myself going into shock and there was obviously nothing I could do for anyone. I couldn’t get Todo on the phone and I couldn’t get into the embassy. I had to leave.

I would never have guessed that on my first day in Jakarta I would be leaving in a state of extremely poor mental health. 

My first day in Jakarta was somewhat of a disappointment. My boyfriend at the time, Todo had decided to go to work that day in this strange, wondrous — and confusing city, leaving me to my own devices, not speaking a word of Indonesian and not knowing a thing about Jakarta.

 I had come to Indonesia because Todo had arranged a job interview with English First, a private English language school. Luckily, I had organised an internet friend to be my tour guide. His name was Jojo and he was ridiculously cute. He was a little shorter than me, with close cropped hair, kind almond-shaped eyes, and kooky teeth like David Bowie’s. He met me outside the Australian Embassy; we grabbed a taxi and set off to explore Jakarta.

Jojo took me to the huge roundabout, where the Hotel Indonesia and the Plaza Indonesia sit side by side in a circular formation. Plaza Indonesia is a giant shopping mall with all the Western trappings one might expect to find. Next, we went to Monas – Monumen Nasional, sometime jokingly referred by westerners as “Sukarno’s Last Erection.” This is chiefly because it resembles a phallus and I’m assured that this is no accident. We climbed all the way to the top and looked out over the city, then went back down to the museum at the bottom and took in some of Indonesia’s great history. After this, we went to a karaoke bar on the north side of the city and we sang a few songs and made out like teenagers. The day having been spent, Jojo and I returned to the Australian Embassy where I waited for Todo.

 Todo did not stay my boyfriend for awfully long. I had lived with him in a shitty little boarding house known locally as a kost. These were everywhere in Kuningan, central Jakarta, some of them cheap and rat-infested and others at the more luxurious end of the scale. Todo was a tightwad and even though I had my own cash, in those first few weeks of being in Jakarta, I had no idea of what to do or where to go — and I couldn’t speak the language yet. So, we lived in one of the shittier kosts. We never went anywhere and never ate out, despite this being a cheap thing to do. He left me to my own devices day after day as he went to work, and I suppose this was kind of a good thing — I got a crash course in Bahasa Indonesia from the other residents of the kost. 

One night Todo took me to a gay nightclub called Two-Faces where he spent the night guard-dogging me against any guys that showed an interest in me. But that all changed when Arman walked in and we locked eyes from across the room. He managed to sidle his way over to me and sit down next to me. We exchanged pleasantries and he gave me his business card — he was a finance worker for Mitsubishi and this is the lie I told Todo — that I was interested in buying a car from Arman. Three weeks later Arman and I were living together in a more upmarket kost where they cleaned your rooms daily and did your laundry, and there was a little café out the front where you could get breakfast. Salted duck eggs, rice, little fish called terasi served with peanuts. It was paradise.

 My medical troubles in Jakarta began in earnest in September 2004 when I woke up having vomited a chocolate-coloured mess and having no feeling down my left side — a result of an MDMA overdose, along with morphine, and diazepam. 

As ambulances in Jakarta were mostly for ferrying the dead to graveyards, we had to call a friend who had a car as we didn’t have one at this stage. They were reluctant to help us initially until I shouted down the phone “I’ve had a stroke!” 

On the way to the hospital, I insisted on smoking several cigarettes as I knew I wouldn’t be able to smoke in hospital. Arman, now my husband, to his credit took a week off work and slept beside my hospital bed every night. I had only known him for three months, so that’s when I knew he was a keeper. 

With Arman’s help and a lot of effort, I recovered from my stroke and regained the use of my left side. My speech was not affected but to this day, I sometimes transpose letters when I’m handwriting, as I’m left-handed. I credit Arman and my neurologist for my return to health. My neurologist, Dr Priscilla, was a fabulous woman in her thirties who had long, red, fake nails and whose lipstick bled through her cloth mask. I got on with her very well and it was her psychiatrist father who treated me later.

The next knock to my mental state occurred when we were living on the top floor of a 46-storey building. Arman was managing a company for his friend in Japan at this point and they had bought an apartment for us. At 02:00 one morning, there was an earthquake that shook the whole building, waking us up in fright. We ran all the way down the stairs — 46 storeys took us over forty-five minutes to get to the ground. As we descended the stairs, a realisation dawned upon me — there was nothing supporting the stairs. We made the decision to stay in our apartment if another earthquake hit, as we’d be dead either way — we lived on the top floor. I suppose you could say that I had PTSD at this stage, as I had nightmares and slept poorly, waiting for the next earthquake.

My other medical troubles involved prescription drugs. One afternoon after I had finished work, I decided to go to the Rumah Sakit Tebet, which is a typical, small, Christian-run hospital. I went into the emergency waiting room and there was a cliché nurse in a pressed, white uniform. She even had a little white hat on.

“Bisa Bahasa Inggris?” I asked

“Ya, sedikit-sedikit,” she replied

“I’m having a panic attack, I can’t breathe properly, and my heart is racing. Can you please help me?”

“Ok, you wait here,” she said.

I sat down in the waiting room, my legs jiggling and my hands shaking. I waited for what seemed like an eternity, but it was only about twenty minutes. A tall grey-headed doctor came out and waved me in. He sat me down and asked for my symptoms. I repeated what I had told the nurse, can’t breathe properly, heart racing, I feel panicked. He asked me what I wanted him to do and I said,

“I need some diazepam.”

“Oh, I see. Have you ever had it before?” he asked.

“Yes, I used to be on it when I lived in Australia. It’s essential medication for me.”

“Well, I can give you some tablets today,” he said.

This doctor, this soft touch, became my go-to for my future diazepam needs. I would present at emergency, spin the same yarn about having a panic attack and I almost always got what I wanted. Sometimes it was diazepam, sometimes it was lorazepam, sometimes I even managed to convince the good doctor to give me a 10mg diazepam injection, which was magnificent. When this doctor finally wised up to my act, I went above his head and bribed the doctor in charge of the hospital to continue to supply me with the drugs I craved to calm myself. Corruption is endemic in Indonesia - it pervades all levels of society.

My mental problems grew increasingly worse after another earthquake struck. I was in the lift of my apartment building at the time and it began to sway from side to side, smashing into the walls of the elevator shaft as it went up. When I got out of the elevator, I couldn’t stand up because the building was swaying so violently. There were several people there with me and one of them was yelling “Oh Tuhan, oh Tuhan, oh Tuhan,” right in my ear. Tuhan being a cry to god. I couldn’t stand it, so I got up along the wall to my apartment and went inside, smoked three pipes worth of weed and lay on the couch until the earthquake subsided. I didn’t care if the building collapsed — there was nothing I could do about it.

It was at this point my mental health took a turn for the worse. I engaged in further drug-seeking behaviour and would often turn up for work under the influence of whatever I could get my hands on — diazepam, morphine, tramadol, gabapentin. No one at work noticed but I was buzzed every day. It wasn’t at all for pleasure, it was self-medicating for the mental trauma I was suffering.

Our next brush with death occurred on the 14th July 2009 when we ate at the Srivijaya buffet in the J.W. Marriott hotel in Kuningan, Jakarta. Three days later, on the 17th  of July, a man walked in with a backpack full of explosives and detonated them. I was shaken up by this experience. At the same time, another suicide bomber tried to enter the Ritz-Carlton Hotal, opposite the Marriott. He didn’t make it past security and detonated his bomb in the foyer.

At the time the bombs went off in the Marriott and the Ritz-Carlton, I was teaching a Study In Australia Program to captains and majors in the Indonesian military. The SIAP IELTS program was designed by the Australian Embassy TBI, and the Australian Department of Defence, in conjunction with ABRI — the Indonesian military, to ready these military personnel to a level of English that would allow them to undertake master’s degrees in counter-terrorism and the like in Australian universities. When we heard the bombs go off, I asked my military students if they knew who was behind the bombings. I was with several majors and captains, smoking outside during a break from class. I had some idea as I had heard gossip in Indonesian (they thought I couldn’t understand them,) from my regular students, some of whom were the children of government workers and big businesspeople.

“I think I know who was behind the bombing,” I said.

“Who do you think it was?” asked one of the majors

“Was it the guy who’s running for vice-president with XXXXXXXXXX?”

“Don’t say that again - to anybody,” said the major.

“So, am I right?” I asked.

“Please, you can’t talk about this anymore. It is dangerous for you,” he said with finality.

Since then, I have been enduring the weight of knowing who was behind the twin bombings of the Ritz-Carlton and J.W. Marriott Hotels in 2009.

Arman and I decided that it was best if we go and live in Australia, where I could get the medical help I so desperately needed and the support from my family. So, Arman set out to become a permanent resident of Australia. He had to do this all on his own as I had to work and was of no use. 

My mental state began to decline further and people at work noticed there was something wrong with me. I missed a promotion, and my reaction was ugly to say the least. I began to act out and soon other teachers noticed my behaviour and would ask me if I was ok. I lied and said I was, but things were deteriorating. My manager called me into his office

“I’m going to get down to it straight away,” he said. “Would you like to take a few weeks off, to get your head right?’

“No,” I shook my head in denial. “No, please. I’m fine. I can still teach. I’m doing my job well, I think. There’s been no complaints.”

“I’ve heard things from the other teachers, they say it sounds like you’re not coping well. Please consider a holiday. I think it’ll be of great benefit to you,” he said.

“No really, I’m okay. I’m coping well. I really don’t want to take time off. I don’t need it.”

After this, things became so bad that I broke down and cried in a class full of children, who I’m sure were scarred by the experience.

Arman was working hard getting his Permanent Residency and I became too much to handle. We went to see a psychiatrist, the father of my neurologist, who put me on a raft of psychoactive drugs and then decided that I should be admitted to a psychiatric hospital. 

It was an odd feeling being in an Indonesian psychiatric hospital, for a start I couldn’t communicate well with the other patients and it was hard interacting with the staff. I did make one friend — a 19-year-old boy who was suffering from major depression. His parents had admitted him when he failed to thrive at ITB university. He and I would talk every day while we smoked in the outdoor area. I developed a bond with him and after a few days, we were fast friends. He told me all about his inability to cope at university and his parent’s insistence that there was something wrong with him. The food was abysmal — sloppy rice with fish and other such tasteless muck. My psychiatrist insisted that I stay in the hospital for three weeks, which didn’t mesh with Arman’s arrangements for us to go to Australia. He telephoned my parents who in turn telephoned the Australian embassy. They then sent out two consular officials who demanded my immediate release from the hospital. My doctor had no choice but to comply.

 Arman had organised everything, his permanent residency, our tickets to Australia and he had arranged for our belongings to be sent via air freight to Brisbane airport. So, I found myself on my way home to Australia doped up to the eyeballs on Alprazolam, Largactil, Haloperidol and several other drugs. It was a rough flight home but I’m usually a good flier. I found myself popping Alprazolam every other hour because I couldn’t cope with the panic.

When we arrived home, my parents almost didn’t recognise me, I knew because I saw their shocked looks. My face was all puffy, I was bloated, I had put on weight and I had dark circles under my eyes. My mum cried when she saw me, so I must have looked a mess. 

My mum and dad had organised a caravan for us to live in in my sister’s backyard. It was a dramatic comedown from living on top of one of the tallest buildings in the middle of one of the largest cities in the world. 

I began to get proper medical care. I saw a G.P. who referred me to a psychiatrist who then took me off most of the drugs they had put me on in Jakarta. I slowly began to improve but to this day I still have Bipolar II Disorder, PTSD, anxiety and panic, and ADHD. I’m on the Disability Support Pension. This account is just one of the legacies of my time in Jakarta.

#Jakarta Legacy #Fictional Memoir #Charles' Fictional Memoirs & Sci-Fi & Pop Culture #excession

[against-a-dark-background]

JAKARTA LEGACY

       My mental state began to deteriorate when the Australian Embassy was bombed on the 9th September 2004. I was standing on my balcony, eight hundred metres away from the embassy when the bomb went off. The sound was like no other that I have ever heard, it was like a flat smack! The blast wave knocked me backwards against the wall of the balcony. 

Foolishly, I decided to have a look at the bomb site. My ex-boyfriend Todo, with whom I had only broken up with about a month before, worked in the embassy in the AUSAID department. I tried to get him on the phone, but it just kept going to voicemail. I was worried about him; I still had some remnants of care from our relationship. When I got there, the scene was carnage. People were walking around aimlessly in a dazed state. Windows within a 500-metre radius were shattered, paper was falling from these jagged openings like rain, cars were destroyed, trees and bushes were shredded, burnt, and stripped of their leaves, and body parts were strewn around the bomb crater. 

After about ten minutes, I realised I was going into shock, so I ran back home and called Arman to find out where he was. I was so terrified he had been near the blast. He was on the north side of Jakarta and had not even heard the bomb explode.

I would never have guessed that on my first day in Jakarta I would be leaving in severely deteriorated mental health. My first day in Jakarta was somewhat of a disappointment. My boyfriend at the time, Todo had decided to go to work on my first day in this strange and wondrous — and confusing city, leaving me to my own devices, not speaking a word of Indonesian and not knowing a thing about Jakarta.

I had come to Indonesia because Todo had arranged a job interview with English First, a private English language school. Luckily, I had organised an internet friend to be my tour guide. His name was Jojo and he was extremely cute. He was a little shorter than me, with close cropped hair, kind almond-shaped eyes, and kooky teeth like David Bowie’s. He met me outside the Australian Embassy, we grabbed a taxi, and set off to explore Jakarta.

Jojo took me to the place where the Hotel Indonesia and the Plaza Indonesia sit side by side in a circular formation. Plaza Indonesia is a giant shopping mall with all the Western trappings one might expect to find. Next, we went to Monas – Monumen Nasional, sometime jokingly referred by westerners as “Sukarno’s last erection.” This is chiefly because it resembles a phallus and I’m assured that this is no accident. We climbed all the way to the top and looked out over the city, then we went back down to the museum at the bottom of the monument and took in some of Indonesia’s great history. After this, we went to a karaoke bar on the north side of the city and we sang a few songs and made out like teenagers. The day having been spent, Jojo and I went back to the Australian Embassy where I waited for my boyfriend to finish work.

Todo did not stay my boyfriend for long. I had lived with him in a shitty little boarding house known locally as a kost. These were everywhere in Central Jakarta, some of them cheap and rat-infested and others at the more luxurious end of the scale. Todo was a tightwad and even though I had my own cash, in those first few weeks of being in Jakarta, I had no idea of what to do or where to go — and I couldn’t speak the language yet. So, we lived in one of the shittier kosts. We never went anywhere and never ate out, despite this being a cheap thing to do. He left me to my own devices day after day as he went to work, and I suppose this was kind of a good thing — I got a crash course in Bahasa Indonesia from the other residents of the kost. 

One night, Todo took me to a gay nightclub called Two-Faces where he spent the night guard-dogging me against any guys that showed an interest. But that all changed when Arman walked in and we locked eyes from across the room. He managed to sidle his way over to me and sit down next to me. We exchanged pleasantries and he gave me his business card — he was a finance worker for Mitsubishi, and this is the lie I told Todo— that I was interested in buying a car from Arman. 

Three weeks later Arman and I were living together in a more upmarket kost where they cleaned your rooms daily and did your laundry, and there was a little café out the front where you could get breakfast. Salted duck eggs, rice, little fish called terasi served with peanuts. It was paradise compared to my previous kost.

My medical troubles in Jakarta began in earnest in September 2004 when I woke up vomiting a chocolate-coloured mess and having no feeling down my left side. As ambulances in Jakarta were mostly for ferrying the dead to graveyards, we had to call a friend who had a car as we didn’t have one at this stage. They were reluctant to help us initially until I shouted down the phone:

“I’ve had a stroke!” 

On the way to the hospital, I insisted on smoking several cigarettes as I knew I wouldn’t be able to smoke in hospital. Arman, now my husband, to his credit took a week off work and slept beside my hospital bed every night. I had only known him for three months, so that’s when I knew he was a keeper. With Arman’s help and a lot of effort, I recovered from my stroke and regained the use of my left side. My speech was not affected but to this day, I sometimes transpose letters when I’m handwriting, as I’m left-handed. I credit Arman and my neurologist for my return to health. My neurologist was a fabulous woman in her thirties who had long, red, fake nails and whose lipstick bled through her cloth mask. I got on with her very well and it was her psychiatrist father who treated me later.

The next knock to my mental state occurred when we were living on the top floor of a 46-storey building. Arman was managing a company for his friend in Japan at this point and they had bought an apartment for us. At 02:00 one morning there was a 7.3 earthquake that shook the whole building waking us in fright. We ran all the way down the stairs — 46 storeys that took us over 25 minutes to get to the ground. I suppose you could say that I had PTSD at this stage as I had nightmares and slept poorly, waiting for the next earthquake.

My other medical troubles involved drugs but not illegal drugs. One afternoon after I had finished work, I decided to go to the Rumah Sakit Tebet, which is a typical, small, Christian-run hospital. I went into the emergency waiting room and there was a cliché nurse in a pressed, white uniform. She even had a little white hat on.

“Bisa Bahasa Inggris?” I asked

“Ya, sedikit-sedikit,” she replied

“I’m having a panic attack, I can’t breathe properly, and my heart is racing. Can you please help me?”

“Ok, you wait here,” she said.

I sat down in the waiting room, my legs jiggling and my hands shaking. I waited for what seemed like an eternity, but it was only about twenty minutes. A tall, grey-headed doctor came out and waved me in. He sat me down and asked for my symptoms. I repeated what I had told the nurse, can’t breathe properly, heart racing, I feel panicked. He asked me what I wanted him to do and I said,

“I need some diazepam.”

“Oh, I see. Have you ever had it before?” he asked.

“Yes, I used to be on it when I lived in Australia. It’s essential medication for me.”

“Well, I can give you some tablets today,” he said.

This doctor, this soft touch, became my go-to for my future diazepam needs. I would present at emergency, spin the same yarn about having a panic attack and I always got what I wanted. Sometimes it was diazepam, sometimes it was lorazepam — sometimes I even managed to convince the good doctor to give me a 10mg diazepam injection — which was magnificent, and it eased my troubled mind — at least for a short while. 

When this doctor had finally had enough of my histrionics, I went above his head and bribed the doctor in charge of the hospital to continue to supply me with the drugs — it worked, corruption is endemic in Indonesia and it penetrates all levels of society — I craved those chemicals to calm my traumatised mind.

My mental problems grew increasingly worse after another earthquake struck, this one worse — 7.6 in magnitude and only 170 km to the north-west, off the coast of Jakarta. I was in the lift of my apartment building at the time and it began to sway from side to side, smashing into the walls of the elevator shaft as it went up. When I got out of the elevator, I couldn’t stand up because the building was swaying so violently. There were several people there with me and one of them was yelling “Oh Tuhan, oh Tuhan, oh Tuhan,” right in my ear. Tuhan being a cry to god. I couldn’t stand it, so I got up along the wall to my apartment and went inside, smoked three pipes of weed, and lay on the couch until the earthquake subsided — I did not care if the building collapsed — I was on the top floor, and there was absolutely nothing I could do.

It was at this point my mental health took a turn for the worse. I engaged in further drug-seeking behaviour and would often turn up for work under the influence of whatever I could get my hands on — diazepam, morphine, tramadol, gabapentin. No one at work noticed but I was buzzed every day. It was not at all for pleasure; it was self-medicating for the mental trauma I was suffering.

The next brush with death occurred on the 14th July 2009, when Arman and I ate at the Srivijaya buffet room in the J.W. Marriott Hotel in Kuningan, Jakarta. Three days later, on the 17th July, a suicide bomber walked in with a backpack full of explosives and detonated his bombs. At the same moment, another suicide bomber walked into the foyer of the Ritz-Carlton, directly opposite the Marriott, but he was stopped by security, wherein he detonated his bomb. I was quite disconcerted by this experience.

At the time the bombs went off in the Marriott and the Ritz-Carlton, I was teaching a Study In Australia Program (SIAP) to captains and majors in the Indonesian military. The SIAP IELTS program was designed to ready these military personnel to a level of English that would allow them to undertake master’s degrees in counterterrorism and the like at Australian universities. It was a cooperative effort between my school, the Australian Embassy, the Department of Defence, and ABRI, the Indonesian Military.

When we heard the bombs go off; I asked my military students if they knew who was behind the bombings. I was with several majors and captains, smoking outside during a break from class. I had some idea as I had heard talk from my in-school students, some of whom were the children of government workers and big businesspeople.

“I think I know who was behind the bombing,” I said.

“Who do you think it was?” asked one of the majors

“Was it the guy who’s running for vice-president with XXXXXXX?”

“I don’t want you to say that again,” said the major.

“So, am I right?” I asked.

“Please, you can’t talk about this anymore. It is dangerous for you,” he said with finality.

Since then, I have been enduring the weight of knowing who was behind the twin bombings of the Ritz-Carlton and J.W. Marriott Hotels in 2009.

Arman and I decided that it was best if we go and live in Australia, where I could get the medical help I so desperately needed and the support from my family. Arman set out to become a permanent resident of Australia and he had to do this by himself, as I had to work and was of little use. 

My mental state began to decline further and people at work noticed there was something wrong with me. I missed a promotion and my reaction was ugly to say the least. I began to act out and soon other teachers noticed my behaviour and would ask me if I was ok. I lied and said I was, but things were deteriorating. My manager called me into his office

“I’m going to get down to it straight away,” he said. “Would you like to take a few weeks off, to get your head right?’

“No,” I shook my head in denial. “No, please. I’m fine. I can still teach. I’m doing my job well, I think. There’s been no complaints.”

“I’ve heard things from the other teachers, they say it sounds like you’re not coping well. Please consider a holiday. I think it’ll be of great benefit.” 

“No really, I’m okay. I’m coping well. I really don’t want to take time off. I don’t need it.”

After this, things became so bad that I broke down and cried in a class full of children, who I’m sure were scarred by the experience.

Arman was working hard getting his permanent residency and I became too much to handle. We went to see a psychiatrist, the father of my neurologist, who put me on a raft of psychoactive drugs and then decided that I should be admitted to a psychiatric hospital. It was an odd feeling being in an Indonesian psychiatric hospital, for a start I couldn’t communicate well with the other patients and it was hard interacting with the staff. 

I did make one friend — a 19-year-old boy who apparently was suffering from major depression. From my perspective, he seemed like a shy, introverted nineteen-year-old boy, whom I suspected was gay. His parents had admitted him when he failed to thrive at ITB (Institut Teknologi Bnndung) university. He and I would talk every day while we smoked in the outdoor area. I developed a bond with him and after a few days, we were fast friends. He told me all about his inability to cope at university and his parent’s insistence that there was something wrong with him. I strongly believed there was nothing wrong with him at all. 

The food was abysmal — sloppy rice with fish and other such tasteless muck. My psychiatrist insisted that I stay in the hospital for three weeks, which did not mesh with Arman’s arrangements for us to go to Australia. He telephoned my parents who in turn telephoned the Australian embassy. They then sent out two consular officials who demanded my immediate release from the hospital. My doctor had no choice but to comply.

Arman had organised everything, his permanent residency, our tickets to Australia and he had arranged for our belongings to be sent via air freight to Brisbane airport. So, I found myself on my way home to Australia doped up to the eyeballs on alprazolam, chlorpromazine, haloperidol, and several other drugs. It was a rough flight home but I’m usually a good flier. I found myself popping 2mg alprazolam every other hour because I could not cope with the panic.

When we arrived home, my parents almost did not recognise me, I knew because I saw their shocked looks. My face was all puffy, I was bloated, I had put on weight and I had dark circles under my eyes. My mum cried when she saw me, so I must have looked a mess. My mum and dad had organised a caravan for us to live in in my sister’s backyard.

It was a dramatic comedown from living on top of one of the tallest buildings in the middle of one of the largest cities in the world. 

I began to get proper medical care. I saw a G.P. who referred me to a psychiatrist who then took me off most of the drugs they had put me on in Jakarta. I slowly began to improve but to this day I have Bipolar II Disorder, PTSD, anxiety, and panic, and ADHD – Inattentive Type.

I am on the Disability Support Pension.

This is one side of the legacy of my time in Jakarta. One day, I shall tell the rest of my Jakarta legacy.

©2019 against-a-dark-background

#Jakarta Legacy #Fictional Memoir #Psychotic Break #Self Medication #Drug Misuse #Bipolar II Disorder #PTSD #9th September Australian Embassy Bombing - Jakarta - 2004 #2009 JW Marriott & Ritz-Carlton Suicide Bombings #7.5Earthquake while on the 46th floor of an apartment building #Charles' Fictional Memoirs & Sci-Fi & Pop Culture