#Please ignore if hes depicted with a neck officially somewhere

[finleyeatsrocks]

"how did vox wear this" "how did vox wear that"

He doesnt have a neck!!! Hes got no neck!! You see him in so many neck high outfits to hide this!! Hes got a floaty object head, hes a floaty object head !!! He fits these clothes on between his head and body !!!

Thanks for coming to my sleep deprived 6 am ted talk

[leapyearkisses]

Director’s Cut Commentary - Orbs Are Bad News Part 2

Second part of me blathering my thoughts all over this old story per the request of a very nice anon! I am still sleep-deprived, so yay~ Sorry, this commentary is probably way less interesting, since this part is just the sexy stuff, but if you have any particular questions, please send me another ask!

Happy to do any of my stories or just answer asks, whatever. I clearly enjoy reading myself talk XD

Comments in bold below the cut! This part is NSFW. Well, it’s all kinky but there’s also sex.

I forgot to mention this in Part 1, but the title of this story is because the homebrew campaign I ran for my friends involved magical evil crystal orbs. Hence they are bad news.

"Are you ever going to stop sneezing?" Remembrance asked.  At the same time, Cordes said, "One thousand blessings, Llewellyn, one for each."  The two of them were several yards ahead on the road, and only Cordes was looking back over his shoulder.  Right now, the four party members were the only travelers on this particular stretch, although as they got closer to civilization, they'd started to pass the odd wanderer, farmers with wagons, even a merchant or two.  The woods here were broken up periodically by stretches of arable land, clear-cut several decades ago and now waving with wheat, flax, or various vegetable leaves.  The fields were golden in the late sun.  Their shadows stretched behind them like taffy, rippling on the cobblestones.  The day was vanishing quickly, and Gerrit could sense his companions' impatience to move on even as he stopped again himself, drawing out his handkerchief in a now very familiar motion.

 Stick your people in a world. That’s my advice. Don’t have them just floating around in a no man’s land of generic scenery. (Also why I like period/historical snzarios and fantasy stuff, because reading about plain people in an apartment somewhere is boring to me.)

Llewellyn, for his part, could not answer them, face buried in his elbow as he ducked with another reluctant outburst. "Hahktschiu!  Hahh- happtsch!"

"Bless," said Gerrit, and he stepped in front of the elf to shield him marginally from view.  He laid one warm hand on the back of Llewellyn's neck and lifted the handkerchief with the other, capturing the next sneeze in the flannel folds.  He settled his fingers firmly around Llewellyn's nose.

This was an arrangement that had been born out of necessity three days ago when the party had raided a bandit camp's plundered stores.  Along with a good stash of gold and gems, they'd found a blue crystal orb, cursed perhaps, that had summarily become attached to both of Llewellyn's hands, rendering the sorcerer unable to do most anything... including take care of his cold on his own.

 On the last episode of Orbs Are Bad News...

Llewellyn blew his nose into the handkerchief, wetting the cloth and dampening Gerrit's fingers through it.  Originally quite opposed to such a display outside of the most private circumstances, the elf had been forced to put his pride aside and let Gerrit help him.  His fever had abated the previous day, but the frequency of his sneezing had increased, as if his body was insistent now on ridding itself of whatever illness remained.  It was a horrific prospect to Llewellyn to catch the resulting mess every time in the sleeve of his robes... so he suffered Gerrit to hold the handkerchief, even though they were walking along the road where any might see them.

Despite some initial teasing, Remembrance and Cordes had quickly grown accustomed to the practice and now cared not at all, except to complain.  "We're going to have to camp again," grumbled Remembrance.  "Five miles from Veigh and we're going to be stuck without a bath!"

 Is five miles a realistic figure here? No fucking clue! I frequently engage in excessive and specific research for my stories, but I didn’t look up how long one might hike for in D&D. Oh well.

"Is there anything I could do for you?" Cordes asked, somewhat exasperated.  The priest had made several herbal concoctions for Llewellyn over the past few days, but none had helped the elf's nose much.  Cordes's specialty was unfortunately not the curing of disease but the mending of bones and flesh.

 I will take any opportunity to make up an excuse as to why the snz cannot be contained. You’re welcome lol

"Ndo," Llewellyn growled, as fed up as the rest of them.  "I'm beyond heh- help. Hngtschiu!"

"Bless you, arimelda," said Gerrit, trying to keep his voice even.  He shifted the handkerchief so that Llewellyn could have a drier spot, trying to ignore a glimpse of slickness on the elf's face.  "Remembrance, Cordes, why don't the two of you go on ahead?  Find an inn, get a room, take a bath, whatever you want.  It might be prudent also to send a message ahead to the Mages Guild about the orb.  Will you do that?  Llewellyn and I will join you when we arrive."

 An elvish word appears! I researched this but not walking.

Cordes nodded.  "Yes, I'll draft a letter as soon as- Hey!"  Remembrance had grabbed his arm and was rushing ahead already.

"Let's go, man!" she said.  "Everyone loves a damn priest; you're my ticket to a good room, so may your god help you if you dawdle."  Her pointed tail swished as she practically jogged down the road.  Cordes spluttered but could no more stand up to her as to a tornado, so off they went.  It was a remarkably short time before the two of them were out of earshot, disappearing around a bend.

 And again, removed so that the main characters can bang, lol.

Gerrit sighed but turned his attention back to Llewellyn, who was blowing his nose again.  The handkerchief was running out of clean corners this late in the day, but the elf leaned back this time when he was finished.  "All set?" Gerrit asked.

"Yes."  Llewellyn rubbed his eyes on his upper arm, wiping away a spare tear from the effort.  "...My apologies."  He cleared his throat, refusing to meet Gerrit's gaze.  "We may arrive after dark."

"You're ill," said Gerrit, trying to fold the flannel in a way as to avoid his pocket getting wet.  "We'd move faster if you let me carry y-"

"No."

"Then I don't mind taking a more leisurely pace."  Gerrit smiled.  Even after everything, Llewellyn was stubborn.  Honestly, since they weren't really in a rush, he didn't really care when they reached Veigh; they'd only detoured here to try and remove the orb.  If Llewellyn, the most inconvenienced, didn't want to give up his pride and piggyback on... well, Gerrit found his noble hauteur inexplicably cute.

 Me too, buddy. Don’t worry, you can carry your elf later.

He also wasn't in a particular hurry because it was awfully uncomfortable to make any sort of time with his arousal pressed flush to his thigh.

A reminder that sex is usually going to be involved in my stories. The snz is not enough by itself.

Llewellyn coughed into his elbow and then started walking again.  Gerrit had pulled back his hood for him in the morning and braided his hair, and the crown of plaits caught the afternoon sunlight like an obsidian.  Gerrit tried not to let his eyes linger on the sorcerer's pale nape.  Or any other part of him.  He and Llewellyn had been travelling together for close to three years, working for their current patron in the capital, and in that time Gerrit had felt himself growing closer to the elf.  Wanting to be closer, anyway.  

Llewellyn shot a glance at him and caught him looking.  Gerrit flushed and turned his gaze back ahead to the road.

"You've been very accommodating during all of this," the elf said, tone carefully neutral.

Gerrit shrugged.  "It doesn't bear mentioning.  We're comrades."

"Comrades," Llewellyn repeated, an edge to his voice that Gerrit couldn't quite place.  "Is that all it is?"  He kicked a stick that had fallen to the cobblestones, sending it into the brush. Somewhere to the right, bumblebees droned over a meadow.

 Llewellyn is kind of a asshole and not super great at communicating with any level of affection, although he does get better.

Gerrit swallowed.  "Yes?  You and I, we've helped each other before.  I consider you to be a steadfast companion."  Eyes on the road.  Eyes on the dappled play of shadowed leaves and light on the ground.  "Why do you ask?"

"So shy," Llewellyn exclaimed, a tad mockingly.  "You've never been shy about taking me to bed, Gerrit."  Despite his short height, the elf seemed to find it easy to look down his nose at the much taller fighter.  "Has something changed?"

 Height difference is also personally sacred to me.

"Changed?"  Eyes on the road.

Llewellyn stopped walking.  "You called me 'arimelda.'  'Dearest.'  Did you think I wouldn't hear you over my sneezing?"  He couldn't cross his arms with his hands trapped by the orb, but the set of his jaw was determined and his firm brows were arched.  "I wasn't so distracted then as you seem to have thought."

Gerrit shoved his hands in his pockets.  He stopped walking but didn't turn.  "Apparently not," he muttered.  "Look, we can set it aside.  Doesn't have to mean anything – doesn't have to change anything.  I know a highborn elf like you wouldn't consider an official relationship with a half-elven bastard, and I've known that from the start.  For my whole life.  So... I care about you.  But it can just be as comrades, or whatever you want it to be."  Llewellyn was quiet, and after a long minute, Gerrit did turn on his heel, desperate to know what kind of reaction he'd provoked.

 The angst of the half-elven existence! Gerrit is a very typical half-elf in terms of D&D characterization, lol. Despite that, I do find these different-lifestyle pairings interesting, so they keep happening, cliche or not. There is a definite pathos in the elf/human relationship because of the different lifespans, of course - most famously depicted through Arwen and Aragorn, probably, although he’s not the exactly typical human. Anyway, it kind of varies how people like to determine elven and half-elven lifespans in D&D depending on the PHB and your DM’s weary forbearance lol, but Gerrit and Llewellyn will expect to live similar lengths because I’m a sap.

He saw Llewellyn standing with his eyes closed and head titled back, lips parted.  The elf's nostrils flared as he gasped.

"Are you going to sneeze again??" Gerrit asked.  He threw up his hands, then went for his handkerchief once more.  They ­did have an arrangement.

He strode back over to Llewellyn's side and tucked the cloth around his nose again, thumb and forefinger just resting on the elf's nostrils.  He started to rub Llewellyn's back.  "You have the worst timing, you know?  Here I am, spilling my heart to you and everything."  

 I laughed writing this part, too. You can’t always let things just be angst.

"Sh-hhuh-t up, I jh- just nih-" Llewellyn gasped again and gave in; he had no other choice.  "Hahktscht!"  He moaned and pressed closer into the handkerchief, thick congestion only aggravating the itch that remained inside.  "Hkktschtt!  Hngtscht!  Hahh- ah-- ankcxttschiu!"

 That sure is a bunch of letters crammed together!

"Easy... it's okay."  Gerrit massaged Llewellyn’s nose, tried to soothe the irritation.  He guided Llewellyn to the side of the road, and, in a moment of calm, settled him to sit on the grassy bank.  He followed, kneeling at the elf's side.  Llewellyn was tearing up again and his nose was twitching against the pads of Gerrit's fingers.  Gerrit felt electric all over.  He found himself wishing the handkerchief was gone so that he might touch the soft, heated skin of Llewellyn's septum, coax the elf to relax and loose his tension, sneeze into Gerrit's palm.  The mess didn't bother him; none of it bothered him.  He was supremely unbothered.  His cock was almost painfully hard.

It took several more minutes punctuated with more urgent expulsions before Llewellyn seemed to trust himself to speak.  His eyes were wet with unshed tears, eyelids tender and reddened.  His nose was brightly ruddy, running to chapped.  He had to take a shaky breath, collecting his thoughts.  "Gerrit."

 I’m a very visual writer. This kink is extremely visually-based for me. I wish I could draw as well as I want to so I could depict these scenes how I imagine them, but eh.

"Yes?"  Gerrit lowered the handkerchief, gently pinching as he did to clear any lingering moisture.  He wasn't ready to hear a rejection, nor did he feel particularly ready for a lecture or a tirade or even a logical exploration of why a relationship was a bad idea.  He wanted, if possible, to keep walking to Veigh, side by side, listening to the bees and dragonflies and songbirds settling in for the evening, feeling the light breeze on his face, replete with the scents of summer.  

"Kiss me."

Gerrit blinked, mental caravan bunching to a halt.  "What?"

 i am so funny omg

Llewellyn nudged him in the chest with the orb.  "Kiss me.  You're all worked up."  He cleared his throat.  "And judging by the state of you, you're not put off by my cold.  So?"  He tilted his head to the side, gently, closed his eyes.  "I want you to kiss me."

 An example of the B character not really forcing the admitting of the fetish but just kind of not caring. That is also okay, and I think it’s normal. People don’t just admit to all their kinks immediately upon entering a relationship.

Baffled, but feeling as though maybe all was not lost, Gerrit obliged, pressing their lips together.  His own eyes slid closed and he cupped Llewellyn's cheek, deepening the kiss, touching their tongues together, trying to convey how he felt.  Whatever had changed.  The kiss lasted for too short a time; Llewellyn broke away to breathe, eyes half-lidded, but he didn't lean away.

 I’ve never kissed anyone, but I consume media. I feel like I am pretty good at depicting things regardless of experience.

"I'm not going to dismiss you out of hand," he said.  "You or your feelings.  But I would ask for some time to think."  He looked up through his lashes.  "Are you feeling better?"

 Another thing I like in romance, even in kink short stories like this, is a more realistic portrayal of the confession than just “It was obviously meant to be~”

Gerrit could feel his pulse in every extremity.  "Not really," he managed, and he kissed Llewellyn again, this time sliding one hand under the elf's head and one at his hip and pressing him back to lay in the grass.  He moaned in his throat as Llewellyn kissed back, and when they had to break for breath, he started to kiss at Llewellyn's forehead, jaw, throat, wherever he could touch skin.  His hands roamed over the elf's body, smoothing over hip and thigh and belly until he could start to undo the buttons on Llewellyn's close-cut robes.

"Gerrit," gasped Llewellyn.  He moved the orb between them, jamming it into Gerrit's sternum.  "You are not going to sleep with me on the side of the damn road!  Get ahold of yourself!"

 He has standards!

Gerrit growled at the quick pain in his chest, then shook his head and leaned back.  He flushed deeply and pulled his hands away.  "Oh.  Oh, fuck, sorry.  I-"

"Pick me up."  Llewellyn lifted his arms.

"What??"  Gerrit's brain was having a hard time keeping up at the moment, all of his blood being elsewhere.

"There was a thicker copse of trees back about thirty feet, on the left."  Llewellyn waved the orb at him.  "Pick me up.  We can lay down there."

 His standards are NOT that high! But he does have them!

So.  So Gerrit ducked his head into the circle of Llewellyn’s arms and picked him up, holding him securely and setting off down the road again, back the way they’d come.  The elf was right; there, about twenty feet back from the bank, was a thick copse of pines, all grown together with wild geranium and maidenhead ferns.  Gerrit pushed through, shoulder first.  Despite its proximity to the thoroughfare, the inside of the stand was quiet and shielded completely from view.  This would do nicely.

 Told you you’d get to carry him soon.

He set Llewellyn back on his feet and made short work of undressing him, first freeing the sorcerer from his pouches and bags, then undoing the silver buttons on his robe from his collarbone to his crotch.  The rich fabric fell open appealingly.  Next, Gerrit freed the elf from his boots and leggings.  A long white shirt, woven from the finest of elven angora, still covered him, but Gerrit pushed the fabric up over Llewellyn’s belly, leaning in to kiss the elf again and touching him intimately.

Llewellyn moaned and nudged Gerrit’s hip with the orb.  “Now you,” he said.  “I want to see your body.”

Gerrit complied, making quick time shedding his cloak, pack, leather armor, breeches, boots.  Two daggers, two short swords, caltrops, a bow and quiver, a glaive, and a spiked whip followed.  He pushed them to the side as Llewellyn rolled his eyes.

This is another funny trope lol, like when a hero or assassin or someone has to go through airport security and the metal detector keeps beeping because they’re carrying 18 knives on their person. Fighters are proficient in every weapon, so why not have one of everything?

"You can't possibly have a use for all of those," the elf said, and then Gerrit captured his mouth again.

He laid Llewellyn down on the soft carpet of pine needles, using his cloak to cover the ground and double as a makeshift pillow.  The elf was beautiful in the shifting shade, skin flawless.  He had the orb resting on his chest and it glowed intermittently in the inconstant sunlight.  The gold chain netting that encapsulated both the orb and Llewellyn's fine-boned hands glimmered.  "You know," said Gerrit, smoothing a hand down Llewellyn's bare thigh.  "You'd look pretty good bound up in gold chain."

"This isn't enough for you?"  He scoffed.

Gerrit laughed.  "It would be fun to tease you.  I love it when you fuss at me.  So cute."  He dodged Llewellyn's elbow and settled down on his stomach, hooked one of Llewellyn's legs over his shoulder, and nuzzled the base of the elf's cock.  "Ready, arimelda?"  His own cock was under him, pressed to his stomach in the confines of his shirt.  He could feel his pulse in the head of it, quickening with the scent of his lover.

"Yes, you prick," sighed the elf, and he moaned when Gerrit started to kiss him and lave his skin.  His fingers flexed on the orb, longing to wind into Gerrit's hair.

 Licking is kind of thing, and I love writing about fellatio so. Yay~

Gerrit took Llewellyn into his mouth eagerly, fingers curled over the elf's thighs, fingertips pressing at the sensitive inner surface as he sucked and teased and swallowed.  Like this, he could focus on Llewellyn's pleasure.  The noises the usually stoic and prideful sorcerer was making were enough to make Gerrit moan, mouth full, and rock his hips.  Nothing pleased Gerrit more than seeing Llewellyn undone, seeing the elf flushed and open and undone for him.  And he shivered, all over, when he heard the elf's breath catch and his tone go wavery.  He thought he could come from this, listening to Llewellyn sneeze while pleasuring him implacably with a heated, well-placed tongue.

 This is also VERY IMPORTANT. Caretaking to the point of like, partner worship idk. It’s good!!

"Aa, aa, ahh- ih- Gerrit, I-" Llewellyn drew his knee up, curling, heel drawing along Gerrit's back.  "I nih- need to snih- hh-"

Gerrit drew his head back, let Llewellyn's cock free for a moment.  He didn't loosen his grip on the elf's legs, though, wound up and desirous.  "Okay by me, melda, it's okay.  Feel all right?  Want me to stop?"  He was breathless himself, had to force the words past the distraction of his arousal, but he would abide.

 Consent is the sexiest thing.

"No, don't stop," Llewellyn groaned, then turned his head to the side.  "Hpptscht!  Hah- Haktschiu!"

"Bless, bless."  Gerrit kissed Llewellyn's thigh tenderly, then nipped it, drew his tongue over the hurt, sucked a bruise to mark its place.  He swallowed Llewellyn down again as the elf cried out in pleasure and then bent with another helpless burst.  Gerrit wondered if he could make Llewellyn come simultaneously with a sneeze and what that might feel like.  The fantasy set him alight.  His abdomen was tight, his cock like a brand on his stomach. He redoubled his efforts.

Gerrit felt it first, when Llewellyn came, in the tightening of the elf's thighs and stomach, then tasted the salt of his release.  His world narrowed down to taking it in, swallowing, milking with his mouth while Llewellyn cried out, going until the elf was pushing him away, keening, oversensitive.  He didn't wait to lift Llewellyn then into his lap, cradling him with one arm and stroking himself with the other hand, desperate to come as well.  Llewellyn pressed his face to the junction of Gerrit's neck and shoulder, tightly gripping the cloth of Gerrit's shirt as they rocked together.  The elf's nose was gently wet and he was panting, sniffling.  Gerrit came with a shout, holding him close, shaking with an overabundance of pleasure.  He let go of his cock and embraced Llewellyn fully.  He had enough presence of mind not to confess to anything, but he couldn't stop himself from murmuring how beautiful, how soft.

 okay. o__o There’s only so much I can say about writing the porn lol. I write what I want to read.

Gradually the world came back.  Birdsong, first, and the bees, the sounds of the trees swaying in the light breeze.  The lingering heat of the day, dampened by the shade and the growing dusk.  The musty smell of pine needles and the sharper hint of sap, the scents of sex, the pressure of Llewellyn astride his lap, the bite of uneven ground against his knees.  Llewellyn was touching his cheek, trying to say something sweet, failing because of his cold again.

 I tried to write this part so that it would not be immediately obvious to the reader, as it is not to the characters, that the orb is gone.

"Ah- hh- Ttschgktst!"

Wetness against his neck.  Gerrit wound his fingers with Llewellyn's and kissed his jaw.  "Bless you," he said.  "I'll find you a healer in Veigh.  We'll get you well again.  Right after we free you from the orb."  He laid his cheek against the back of Llewellyn's hand tenderly.  Then he paused. "Wait."  Straightening, he brought his hands between them.  The right was laced with Llewellyn's left.  "The orb is gone."

Llewellyn straightened also, looking down at his hands.  His hands with no orb.  He lifted them both, amazed.  And then wiped his nose on his wrist, sighing in pleasure.  Gerrit tried not to blush despite everything.

 Me too, buddy.

"Where did it go?" he asked, looking past the elf's shoulder.  "Why did it come off?"

"Who even cares at this point??"  Llewellyn had let go of him and was stretching, running his palms over his body, touching his own arms and face and cock, finally able to move and feel again after three days of magical bondage.  He wiggled his fingers and then clapped his palms together, raising a small flame with their parting.  "I have my freedom back.  I can cast spells again.  I can-" He smiled brilliantly.  "I can touch you, too."  He dropped his hands suddenly to Gerrit's lap, nimbly taking Gerrit's cock between them.

Gerrit lost track of the orb immediately.

 Me too, buddy.

---

It was dark indeed when the two of them made it to the inn in Veigh, but both were in high spirits.  Gerrit had relinquished handkerchief duty back to Llewellyn with a great internal mourning, but he could always fantasize about this again in the future (he did, frequently), and he knew that Llewellyn, despite his best efforts, would catch more colds on the road (he did, more frequently than he would like).

I would love to play a fetish-friendly D&D campaign, but it would be way too embarrassing, probably. My current PC has allergies, but I have never mentioned them in-game and probably never will lol. God help me if my DM ever remembers that I wrote them into my character sheet.

Remembrance and Cordes had only been able to secure one room, it seemed, with two beds.  Gerrit resigned himself, going up the stairs, to sleeping on the floor. But... it was apparent upon entering the small space that... well, their priest and thief had ended up taking up only one of the beds, together.  Gerrit and Llewellyn traded glances.

"I don't think I want to ask," said Llewellyn, going for the free bed.

"Sounds like a plan to me," Gerrit replied, joining him.

The untold story, lol

In the morning, Cordes, with great dignity sprung from embarrassment (the cause of which he did not volunteer) informed them that a letter had not been sent to the Mages Guild yet.  He was immensely relieved to find that one was no longer needed and quick to congratulate Llewellyn on his newly regained freedom.  Remembrance just chuckled from the bed and took her time buckling her armor back on.  

Already in Veigh, the party spent some time stocking up on medicines and liquefying some of the heavier treasures they'd liberated from the bandit camp.  Gerrit sent a message on to their patron to expect them back in the capital in a couple of weeks, barring disaster.  They purchased horses and set out, ready for the next adventure.

---

The orb lay still in the pine thicket, nestled like an egg among the ferns, waiting for the next hapless traveler. 

 Faust’s Orb of Rope Bondage. Make a Will saving throw [DC 15] upon touching the orb with any body part, wearing clothes or not. Upon a failure, the orb will find its way to adhere to the hand of the hapless adventurer. If both hands touch the orb, they will both be stuck. If two people fail the save, one of each of their hands will be stuck. The spell can be broken only if each attached party has an orgasm.

I GUESS

[cryoculus]

Hello! I just saw demon!Oikawa official art and was wondering if you could write anything with that version of him? 🙏🏻 It could be funny or whatever. Thank you(´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀)

»Word Count: 4,529 words Cross-posted on AO3

Ugh I finally finished this. But heads up, Tumblr’s formatting system is a little ugly right now and I can’t put timeskip lines like I used to. But that hardly makes a difference on mobile. If anything, the asterisks make it easier to read on the mobile app. Anyways, I’d recommend reading on AO3 instead, but it’d mean the world if you left a like on the first one shot (cough potential fanfic cough) I’ve posted in a good while. 

***

“Another gas leak?”

Your ears perk up at Kawanishi’s concerned voice resounding from the cashier. Curious, you throw him a curious look over your shoulder, momentarily tearing yourself away from your current duty which takes form in replenishing the shelves with fresh pastries. From where he’s seated, Kawanishi stares at the small television propped on the counter with a prominent crease marring his brow. He must be watching the news again. It is only two in the afternoon—far earlier than the designated time slot for the regular news broadcasts. But for the past week, flash reports were invading TV screens in sporadic times of the day, all of which depicted the same message.

“The Miyagi Police Department are diligently looking into the matter, but the evidence at hand is supposedly still inconclusive. But it hasn’t escaped the public’s notice that all the victims of the aforementioned gas leaks were customers of a single company that refilled their gas tanks regularly. Today’s victims from downtown Sendai have been sent to the hospital and are yet to regain consciousness—”

“The world is becoming a real scary place to live in.” Kawanishi clicks his tongue before promptly switching off the TV. “I’m probably going to start cooking my food with bonfires now.”

“You can’t even cook for shit, Taichi.” You snort, re-adjusting your plastic gloves before resuming your previous task.

He returns your jab at his lack of the particular life skill with a grimace. “Hey, I man the cashier way better than you ever will.”

“Your point is…?”

“Could you just shut up and get back to the kitchen?” Kawanishi rolls his eyes, pretending to busy himself with the sales logbook on the counter even if there aren’t any customers inside the bakery.

A jeering chuckle slips past your lips at his dismissive behavior. But knowing full well that you still have a pot pie scheduled for delivery later in the day, you decide to leave Kawanishi to his own devices so you can get started with the order. However, when you set foot in the kitchen, you are met with the sight of Reon teaching the newest recruit, Goshiki how to properly hand-knead pie dough without making too much of a mess.

“Reon, I thought it was my turn to handle deliveries,” you half-whine before peeling off your plastic gloves for disposal. After, you pull out one of the folded metal chairs tucked away in the corner to watch Reon’s demonstration. Though from the knowing look in his eye, he is well aware that you are more than glad that he took over your responsibilities to give Goshiki a quick tutorial.

“Tsutomu here told me he was tired of inventory,” he reasons with a shrug, hands still occupied with the task before him. “He’s been here for almost a month and I’m sure Wakatoshi won’t mind if I teach him how to bake.”

Your gaze meanders to Goshiki who is staring at you with a hint of timidness to his posture; those dark eyes of his conveying a subtle plea. “I-Is it okay, senpai?”

Before you can even think of holding it in, your lips curl into a wide smile, cackling at the younger boy’s formality. “Tsutomu, it’s more than okay! And don’t call me senpai. Makes me feel old.”

Reon eyes you with amusement. “Aren’t you a few years away from turning thir—”

Before he can finish the sentence, you stomp over towards him to jab a finger in his face. “I don’t make offhanded comments about your life so don’t you make any about mine.”

“Ah, what is it with the youth these days?” a fourth voice intrudes in the conversation. “Always so insecure about aging. The older you become, the more things you’ll know about the world, you know~”

You whip your head to the direction from where it came from, and lo and behold, one of the bakery’s owners shoved past the kitchen’s double doors to grace you with his presence. There was always something about Tendou Satori that put you on edge; not in a bad way, really. You’ve long convinced yourself that maybe it’s his unconventional appearance that you find unsettling. That fiery hair and those glinting rubies for eyes certainly cater to his reputation. But besides the occasional eccentric comment from him, the way the air crackles with an intangible tension that you can’t quite wrap your head around in the rare instances that you’re in the same room is still hard to ignore.

“Tendou,” Reon acknowledges him tentatively. “You’re here early. Don’t you usually drop by at seven on weekends?”

Tendou perches himself near the tiled sink, the heels of his sneakers colliding with the wooden cabinets underneath as he sways his slender legs. “Eita-kun told me told me to haul my ass here as soon as I could or he’ll skin me alive.” His mouth puckers a little, eyes darting around. “Yet the present audience only consists of one head baker, one trainee, and one age-conscious little bird.”

A soft sigh escapes Reon as he quietly asks Goshiki to retrieve the rolling pin from the cabinets. The younger man carries it out with the most enthusiasm you’ve seen on someone who usually just acted upon another person’s orders. Quite the cheery one, he is.

“Where’s Eita then?” Reon inquires with upturned brows.

“Beats me,” comes Tendou’s indifferent reply. “He’s probably out there bullying Kenjirō. You know how Eita-kun has regressed into the embodiment of bitterness when Kenjirō finally grew his wings and outperformed him in his own game.”

“I don’t think putting it so casually is a good idea.”

“Senpai!” Goshiki’s voice is too loud for a too quiet room as he hands Reon what he asked for. “Will you be needing anything else?”

Reon shakes his head, taking the roller from Goshiki’s grasp. “Could you go start making the filling? I heard from Shirabu that you knew how to cook.”

“Really? Shirabu-senpai put in a good word for me?”

“Uh, I wouldn’t say it’s ‘good’ exactly…” His voice trails off once Goshiki launches himself into the storage room presumably to gather the needed ingredients. Chuckling to himself, Reon dips his hands in a nearby bag of flour and proceeds to knead the dough into flatness. You watch him with careful vigilance since pies aren’t really your forte. Your expertise lies in bread, which isn’t as demanding as that pastry that needs too many conditions satisfied to be considered good. Making a crust that isn’t too brittle and a filling that shouldn’t be too savory is beyond you. You’re quite relieved that Reon took over for reasons that lie beyond your own laziness.

“So, (Name) was it?”

Your attention retracts back to the most peculiar out of your bosses. Tendou gazes at you with a glint of mischief crinkling his eyes, lips upturned into something akin to a sneer. “Yes?” you respond, shifting a little in your cramped seat.

Tendou hums an unfamiliar tune without letting up his thinly veiled interest. The way he’s staring reminds you of how a scientist would look at a foreign specimen, and you  aren’t very sure if you are glad to be on the receiving end of it. You’re drawing blanks as to why it seems like he is addressing you like it’s your first day on the job, but you’ve been told that Tendou has a habit of forgetting employees’ names and faces. He’s probably just familiarizing himself with your presence in the store since your shifts usually didn’t last long enough for you to cross paths with him. When he doesn’t speak any further, you decide to shift your line of sight back to Reon’s devoted handiwork.

“Wakatoshi-kun did a real good job on this one, huh?” A low chuckle rumbles from Tendou and though his voice has dipped into a whisper, you’re certain that he meant for you to hear.

With one brow quirked, you turn around with the intent of asking what he meant by that, but your plans are abruptly derailed when Goshiki walks back from the storage room, cheeks tinged with pink as he approaches you.

“What is it, Tsutomu?” you ask.

He reaches out a hand to scratch the back of his neck. “Um, could you please teach me how to open the stove? The one we have at home isn’t as hi-tech…”

You can hear Tendou sputtering behind you, causing Goshiki turn a few shades redder. You offer him a soft smile before hopping onto your feet to help him out and his face seems to light up a little at your willingness. The reaction makes you presume that he might not be used to getting helped around a lot, given that Shirabu, the guy in charge of keeping Goshiki in check, has an apparent dislike for slow learners. Speaking of which…

“Do you know where Shirabu is?” you ask him, suddenly hyper aware of the lack of staff inside the shop. Early afternoons aren’t the most hectic time of the day, but you aren’t used to having only three people with you in the kitchen. Hayato and Soekawa are nowhere to be found either. If Semi was here, he would be squawking like a parrot, appalled at their unexcused absences. But even the supervisor himself isn’t present.

Goshiki shakes his head as the two of you stalk off to the stoves lining the westernmost wall of the room. “He told me I was under Reon-san’s care for the day because he had somewhere to be with Ushijima-san.”

You nod slowly as you instruct him about the different buttons and switches on the stove. He seems to have committed every word to mind and begins tinkering with what he could with experimental curiosity. After asking if he needs any help with the actual cooking, he insists that he can do it on his own. When you slump back to your seat, Tendou is gone and Reon is already placing the flattened dough on a pie tray.

“Hey, Reon?”

“What?”

“Where the hell is everybody?”

The set of his jaw tightens ever so slightly. When Reon says he doesn’t know about the others’ whereabouts, you would’ve been convinced of his cluelessness had you been any less perceptive. With that sincere face of his, lying through the skin of his teeth would be a breeze if he needed to do so. But of all the people in the shop, Reon is someone that you’d spent the most time around alongside Kawanishi, so spotting a few chinks in his unflustered demeanor comes easier to you than most.

Just as you’re about to press the topic further, the sound of the back door of the kitchen slamming open makes you jolt in surprise. Emerging from outside are the very same people you’d been pondering about not ten seconds ago.

“Reon, get the herbs and incense now!” Hayato barks as he drags the metal chair you were occupying earlier across the floor to prop it against the wall. There, Ushijima gently sets down a half-conscious Shirabu and—

“S-Shirabu-senpai?” The terror creeping from Goshiki’s voice rattles you all the way to your bones when your eyes train themselves on the discolored skin of Shirabu’s neck. His pale complexion is marred with a bruise that runs too dark a shade to be considered normal—the purplish red slowly fading into black. A trail of blood dribbles from the corner of his mouth as he stares into the space in front of him with a dazed look in his brown eyes. Ushijima is calmly telling him to stay awake, but you aren’t sure if the message is getting through when Shirabu doesn’t even give him so much as a minimal reaction. Soekawa, Tendou, and Semi appear a little shortly, with the latter two apparently engrossed in one of their untimely banters.

“Hah? You guys purposely kept me out of it ‘cause you’re concerned?” The furious scrunch of his face takes you aback. “And where did that plan lead to, huh, Semisemi?”

Semi clicks his tongue. “You wouldn’t have been able to handle them with that injury of yours.”

Injury? From what you can see, Tendou looks like he’s in perfect shape. But from the way his frown deepens, he might have taken Semi’s words to heart.

Reon hurries back to the scene (when did he even leave?) with what seems like a jar with kanji engravings on the lid that are too small for you to read in one hand, and a bundle of incense sticks and a lighter in the other. He tells the others to give Shirabu some space to breathe and they comply, save for Soekawa who took action to assist Reon with whatever he planned to do with the strange jar. Why a mortar and a pestle are inside Soekawa’s messenger bag is beyond your understanding, but no one else in the room seems to find anything amiss when he procures it, so you decide to keep your questions to yourself.

Reon crouches by Shirabu’s feet to uncap the jar, setting the lid on the floor. Inside is a solid surface divided into two sections: one that seems to hold stark white herbs you’ve never seen before and one with three holes poked into the clay. Reon immediately shoves three incense sticks into the holes, igniting them with the lighter without a second thought. Smoke rises from where the sticks burn, diffusing the air with the sharp scent of pine needles and musk.

Soekawa gathers the ivory leaves in his hands to crush them on the mortar while he asks Semi to hand him ‘the salve’ from his bag. He rummages through Soekawa’s belongings and hands him a dirty reagent bottle. Soekawa pours a slimy, transparent substance from the bottle onto the mortar and mixes it with the crushed leaves with his bare fingers. He mutters something that’s out of earshot when he rises to his feet and applies his concoction onto Shirabu’s affliction. The contact seems to finally rouse him from his stupor when his face contorts in agony and a blood-curdling shriek pierces your ears.

Your skin prickles at the sight of Shirabu thrashing against Ushijima’s and Hayato’s restraining grasps as Soekawa covers the entirety of the bruise with the salve. When you feel Goshiki shuffling closer to you, you whisper, “What the absolute fuck is going on, Tsutomu?”

There’s prominent hesitation in his eyes, like he knows exactly what’s going on, but he isn’t allowed to tell you. As the filling he was previously preparing lay forgotten on the stove, your stare hardens. You’ve been working here for half a year now, and not once did you witness anyone else barging in the kitchen sporting a malignant bruise that required herbal treatment. Yet Goshiki, who’s spent less time in the shop than you have, is already in on the situation?

“A strange sight, isn’t it?”

Out of reflex, you jump away when you hear Tendou’s voice whispering in your ear. With the convoluted display in front of you, your boss’ outlandish behavior does nothing to aid your peace of mind, but the way he’s observing the others as Soekawa treats Shirabu makes you feel like this isn’t an uncommon occurrence.

“You aren’t really supposed to see this, little bird.” Tendou sighs, stretching out his limbs before draping one arm across your shoulder. “Wakatoshi-kun doesn’t really like picking fights, but Kenjirō can be a little stubborn. I’m all in for a beatdown any time, but couldn’t they have delayed that little scuffle until you weren’t in the shop?”  

You frown. “Wha—”

“(Name).”

Your eyes snap back to Semi, whose thin lips are pressed into a line. “Is it okay if you take your time off now? We’re not going to cut it from your salary, don’t worry.”

“Eita-kun, don’t you think we’ve kept her in the dark long enough?” Tendou groans, sounding rather annoyed. “She’s bound to find out either way.”

Semi glares at him. “That isn’t your decision to make, Tendou.”

“It isn’t yours, either,” the redhead rebutts, staring him down with resilience.

“But it is mine.”

The sincere baritone of Ushijima’s voice envelops you like a warm blanket. At the same time, his domineering presence overshadows his candor and you’re left thinking that this man could be such a walking contradiction at times. He stands tall above the rest of the men around you. When you sneak a glance behind him, Shirabu has calmed down enough to deem him worthy of release. Reon is speaking softly to Shirabu as Soekawa wipes off the blood on his face. Strangely, the dark bruise on his neck has already lightened into a softer shade of purple—the skin around it yellowing at the edges. When your gaze shifts back to Ushijima, he’s staring at you with intensity pooling in his olive eyes.

“We are seraphim,” he speaks flatly.

Those words garner a variety of reactions: Tendou bursts out laughing, Semi drags a palm over his face, Goshiki is stunned into silence, and you’re craning your head to the side, wondering if you heard him right.

“Wakatoshi-kun, you don’t just drop a bomb like that without any context,” Tendou says, wiping a tear from his eye.

Ushijima’s brows knit in confusion. “What bomb?”

“Even after making a million souls, you’re still terrible at talking to your own craft, aren’t you?”

“Excuse me,” you interrupt, “but can someone tell me exactly what’s going on? I feel like the useless extra character that isn’t involved in the overall plot.”

Tendou’s mouth curves into an eerie smile. “Oh, but you’re actually the main protagonist, little bird.”

“Would you lot stop talking in riddles?” Semi snaps before turning to you. “Look, (Name). I know this is a lot to take in but Wakatoshi is telling you the truth. We are seraphim. Angels. You see Shirabu over there?” He jams a thumb behind him, gesturing towards Shirabu as his prior hesitation to enlighten you is completely cast aside. “The reason why he got that blight is because he tried to jump the demon king on behalf of Wakatoshi himself. Of course his retainers wouldn’t allow that so they grabbed him by the neck to restrain him—”

“Hm, I wonder why Eita-kun just let that happen to poor Kenjirō when he could have warded them off with a single wave of his hand,” Tendou sneers at him, to which Semi responds with a hard glare.

“Tendou, there is nothing Semi could have done,” Ushijima insists. “We were outnumbered. The fault lies within myself. I should not have heeded Shirabu’s request of having an audience with the demon king in light of the incidents happening today. It could have been settled in a different manner.”

“Tch, unless it’s about completely eradicating that demon clan scum, I’m not hearing it.”

“You’re being an idiot again.” Semi smacks Tendou’s shoulder. “They’re assholes, but their existence is necessary, just like ours. Unless we want the balance of nature tipped, the best we can do is keep them in check.”

Tendou shrugs. “They’re the ones devouring souls left and right like it’s no one’s business. Stupid brutes are consuming souls faster than Wakatoshi-kun can make them. Would nature really go haywire once those who are out to destroy everything in it are erased from existence?”

“You know that’s not how it works.”

“Then how does it work, huh, Eita-ku—”

“Silence.”

You didn’t know that it was possible, but the pitch of Ushijima’s voice dips even lower when he utters that single word that has everyone in the room cowering at his authority. Even Hayato and Soekawa have paused to take a look at what’s going on in their side of the kitchen. Ushijima’s face remains unperturbed even after his assertion and the room is plunged into pregnant silence, not a soul daring to speak after Ushijima himself. But the tension is ultimately shattered when the kitchen doors fling open to reveal Kawanishi poking his head from the entrance.

“Oi, (Name), your favorite customer placed a milk bread delivery again,” Kawanishi shamelessly announces. If he noticed the tense atmosphere, he doesn’t show it.

It was all too much. You couldn’t bring yourself to stomach every word that the three men had fed you. Seraphim? What is this, some fantasy series? What would angels be accomplishing by running a damn bakery? Hearing Kawanishi spouting something about deliveries makes you have some semblance of normalcy to grab onto, and you want nothing more than to take it. This was probably just some sick joke that they managed Ushijima to go along with to spite you. And a demon king injuring Shirabu? You’ve never heard of that story before. Without so much as a backwards glance, you head over to the front with Kawanishi, pushing all thoughts of seraphim, and the demon king, and Shirabu’s bruise at the back of your mind.

Kawanishi is silent when he places two packaged loaves of your signature milk bread in a paper bag, and you’re glad he doesn’t probe you for any reaction about the scene from earlier. At the back of your mind, you wonder if he’s in on their game. Did he notice what was going on back there? Is he going to convince you that he’s seraphim, too?

But Kawanishi has never been the confrontational type. Instead, he writes up the receipt for the order as usual, tears it from the pad and hands it to you. “If he asks for another discount, you can tell him to piss off.”

“That’s not very nice.”

“It’s not very nice to keep ripping the shop off by charging the guy less than the actual price just because you think he’s cute either.”

Your face heats up at his accusation. “I-it’s not like that! He’s just been such a frequent customer. H-he deserves a little mark down, don’t you think?”

Kawanishi stares at you, unimpressed. “I’m pretty sure he never drops by the shop and prefers deliveries because he’s only interested in you.”

“Shut up, Taichi.”

***

You park the shop’s delivery motorcycle by the curb of one of the most lavish houses in the neighborhood. You don’t spend a lot of time in this part of the city out of your usual deliveries to this one business tycoon. The man seems to have taken a liking to the milk bread which no one in the shop makes better than you do. He hasn’t really given you his name, but he told you that he earned the nickname ‘Grand King’. You snorted at that and insisted on calling him King instead.

When you ring the intercom to King’s residence, his familiar voice greets you with enthusiasm. “Oh, (Name)-chan! You’re here early. The snobby cashier told me that the delivery would take about an hour or so.”

You find yourself laughing at the way he addresses Kawanishi. “You’re in luck, King-san. I just made a fresh batch earlier this afternoon. That’s why you didn’t have to wait.”

“Alright. I’ll head down to fetch it.”

Static rattles from the intercom and you know that King has ended the exchange when the red button stops glowing. You hum a song you heard on TV yesterday as you count the cars that roll by the street. Seven have already zipped past when the smaller gate creaks, revealing one of the most attractive people you’ve laid your eyes on.

Usually, King would greet you wearing his complete three-piece suit, hair slicked back into perfection while a condescending smirk danced across his lips. But on weekends, you could hardly imagine him being one of the most powerful men in Japan, given that he opts to wear a rumpled shirt that’s two sizes bigger and pajama pants with aliens patterned onto the fabric. His chestnut hair is sticking out in all directions in a way that suggests that he just rolled out of bed.

King half-greets, half-yawns, “Helho, (Name)-chwan.”

“Long night?” You quirk an eyebrow before handing him his purchase.

“Mmmm not really,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “I just ran into a couple of…business rivals. They didn’t make my morning very enjoyable.”

“I see.” You spare him a nod of understanding, trying your best not to stare at how adorable the way his brown eyes droop when he stares inside the bag. He makes a satisfied noise as he fishes his wallet from the pocket of his pajamas.

“A thousand yen, right?” You don’t miss the teasing lilt in his voice.

The way you giggle at that makes you want to slap yourself, but you manage to regain your composure before he notices it crumbling. “Sad to say the snobby cashier is giving me shit for the discounts. Could you pay for the full one thousand four hundred yen in the meantime, King-san?”

He chuckles before pulling out a single banknote from his wallet. “Keep the change then.”

You receive his payment with a curt bow but when your eyes land on the value of the money in hand, your jaw nearly drops to the ground.

“K-King-san, this is too much! Way too much!” The ten thousand yen bill quivers in your hands as you insist that you’d be alright with a smaller bill.

King waves away your concern. “Then just hand over the amount that snobby-chan wants. Keep the rest for yourself. Consider it as my compliments to the chef.” The grin plastered on his handsome face leaves you wondering how the hell this guy is still a bachelor. Your pretty certain that your face is as red as Tendou’s hair by now, and you’re glad he doesn’t point it out.

“It’s been nice seeing you today, (Name)-chan,” he chirps. “But I really have to go. I still have some matters to deal with after I’ve had my fill of this delicious treat.”

“You’re t-too kind,” you sputter.

Deliveries to King’s household last longer than your typical trips, since the man always charms you into some small talk. But that’s usually it. Nothing really lies beyond these swift meetings in front of his house. Even if he’s expressing some subtle interest towards you, at the end of the day, you’re just a humble baker and he, a successful businessman.

But today is quite different. Before he disappears behind the gate, King tells you, “I’m thinking about dropping by the bakery to see you in action. Expect me in a few days’ time.” His velvetine voice draws you in like a moth to a flame and all you could do was nod dumbly at his proclamation. He bids you a quick farewell with crinkled eyes and a peace sign. You know for certain that his sunlit smile is already imprinted in the back of your eyelids.

As you head back to the bakery on your scooter, King’s words only seem like one of his musings; something he won’t really act on given his tight schedule. What good would it do him to go out of his way to pay you a visit?

But little did you know that demons never lie.

[justoneday-namjoonii]

It burns, doesn’t it? [Pt. 7]

Genre/au: Mafia!au, Mature, Fluff, Angst. Violence and all that good mafia stuff. Warning: Depictions of graphic torture and brief/mentioned sexual assault. This story contains graphic imagery, mental health problems, mature subject matter, improper drug usage, suggestive language, self-medication, including but not limited to crude/unnerving behavior, intensity, bloodshed. If you’re easily triggered, please proceed with caution or don’t proceed. 

Members: Jungkook x Yoongi x Namjoon x Jin x Hoseok x Jimin x Taehyung  Feat. Got7

Pairing: Jungkook x You

Summary: Why am I hurting alone? Why am I in love alone?

| Prologue | Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5 | Pt. 6 | Pt. 7 | Pt. 8 | Pt. 9 | Pt. 10 | Pt. 11 | P. 12 | Pt. 13 | Pt. 14 | Pt. 15 |

Yoongis POV

I walked in through the back door and caught the eye of the flickering tv in the living room. You could hear the try-hard show host make a crappy joke and the crowd would force exaggerated laughter. Coming home late hours of the night wasn't abnormal to me. I glanced over at the couch, cutting my eyes to the brunette sprawled carelessly on the sofa. She brought a cigarette to her lips and inhaled deeply before exhaling it slowly. She wore her usual lounging attire, a flimsy slip dress that rode up noticeably as she shifted her thighs. 

“Yoongi...” She cooed when she heard footsteps coming from behind her, knowing exactly who it was. She got up and prowled over with a drunken gait. She cracked a promiscuous smirk, by her eyes I could tell she was tipsy. Wrapping her arms around my neck she fixated her eyes on mine. Boy did she love his eyes, she gawked at them every chance she got.

"You shouldn't stay out so late, where have you been baby..." She twisted her index fingers in the black locks and I rested my hand on her side.

"Why the fuck would I tell you?" She pouted at the harsh reply as if I'd never talked to her like that before.

"Now, is that any way to talk to your mother?" She began peppering kisses on my jaw and I let her play her little game.

"Mother?" I scoffed. "You're not my mother. You're drunk..."

She said things like that to get to me, we’ve had verbal fights numerous times because of it. She always found it amusing to rile me up when I was younger but now she picks her fights cautiously. She laughed halfheartedly before shoving her hands in my hair, bringing her lips up to mine hastily.

The kiss was feverish and desperate, like all of her kisses; fast, sloppy, tasteless, she was like that. She urged me to move and I gave in, just for the heck of it. Alcohol and cigarettes lingered on her tongue, the taste was bitterly familiar. "You're so loose, it's tacky..." I let out a growl when she yanked on the back of my hair to show her disdain, she knew I hated that. 

I countered with a harsh bite on her bottom lip. “Ah!-...” She hissed and pulled away, looking at me like she wanted to take a bite of me. She knew I was aggravated but she insisted on going further. She pushed herself flush against me and lunged up to try and kiss me again. She almost lost her footing when I pulled back and let her go.

 "Making out with your boyfriend's son... Slut." Her expression soured and in a split second, her hand went flying across my face. On her way back to the couch he murmured curses under her breath. My hand went to the tender skin and it was numb to touch. She was ten years older than me, eleven years younger than him, morality wasn't her strong point. She knew what she was doing was low and maybe even cheap but she didn't want to be reminded. Instead of telling her off I gathered my bearings and went to the refrigerator to grab a can of beer.

"Yoongi, get me a drink and we can drink together; like we used to." She chirped from her spot on the couch.

"Fuck that, get it your damn self." I closed the refrigerator door and went upstairs. Looping around the corner I kicked the door closed and tossed my bag to the corner. I slouched back on the edge of the bed while sipping from the chilled can of bitter liquid and scrolled through my phone. Going to my favorites, I pressed the name at the very top and brought it to my ear.

"Yoongi-ah, you called~ How're are you sweetheart?" 

Her voice was enough to get anyone to forget their troubles, forget the alcohol, the drugs, those things meant nothing when it came to her.

"I'm fine..." She giggled at the bland response, she had come to find my nonchalant mannerisms amusing.

"I miss you, I wish you would call me more. I know we can't see each other all the time but...at least it's something, you know?..." She trailed off, tone becoming solemn and dejected.

"Eomma..." Most of our conversations would lead to this, she would bring up our complicated situation and end up in tears.

"When I had you, I-I was so young and I didn't know anything, Yoongi. H-he was beating me and...and I would've only been hurting you if I stayed...I'm sorry, I didn't have a choice, I didn’t want to leave you, but..." She sniffled, her voice noticeably cracking.

"I told you not to worry about that. You didn't have a choice, I understand that. I’m ok." I've told her countless times, it's not her fault, she didn't have a choice; it was either stay and get beaten to death or leave her child behind and live. He never physically hurt me like he hurt her, but he wasn't like a father and I didn't treat him like a one, I lost all respect for him as soon as he laid hands on her. End of story. Now she was safe and happily married, to a government official at that. I didn’t like him all that much, but he made her smile.

What more could I want for her than that?

"I know, I know...I love you Yoongi, I love you so much..." I could just see her smiling through the phone and relaxed at the thought.

"I love you too..." Hesitantly I hung up, setting the phone down.

Throwing myself back on the bed, I stared up at the white ceiling. I pondered over what Namjoon had said earlier today. 'You can come live with us, what'd you have to lose? There's nothing for you there.' That's what he'd always say. Honestly, I’ve thought about leaving but I never seriously considered it until now. I thought a lot that night, inevitably I had taken him up on his offer.

POV end-

He hated that broken old house, remembering the nights he'd walked past as if he didn't live there; in hopes, he could run away from the association with the man inside. It's been years since he last saw it, and it hasn't aged a day. He twitched at the thought. An energetic young couple bought it out, refurbished it and now it was near unrecognizable. That was for the better, a few years back it almost burned down. But to Yoongis disdain it stayed standing.

Taunting him.

Despite the rage that one day leads him to set it ablaze, that part of his life couldn't be erased by fire alone. He learned that the hard way. Somewhere along the lines, the pain, the anger, the hunger for revenge ceased. He let those feelings lie dormant. He thought, if he really couldn’t stand it he would just leave. Living with that bastard was equal to living alone. Living with that whore was hell, she persistently threw herself on him whenever she got the chance. He tries not to reminisce about the past, it only brought him painful memories. After a while of living on his own, doing what he wanted to do, he refused to wallow in self-pity anymore. 

He set his elbows on the desk, rubbing his temples with an exasperated sigh. The higher-ups in the organization knew not to call him before seven, he didn't answer unless it seemed important. He's lost count of how many calls he's ignored this morning, he watched the phone buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. For once, it went silent. If that phone rings one more time...

*Buzz*

He snatched it off the desk and brought it to his ear, “There better be a good reason for this, it’s six fucking fifth teen-”

“Hakyeon's dead.” Hoseok cut him off, his tone bleak. 

“What?...”

Hakyeon...dead?

“I just got word last night. His network is up my ass for answers and I don’t know anything.” The stress in his voice was evident and Yoongi's mouth opened as if to say something but closed. "What'd you want me to do." He was growing impatient by the silence of his leader.

Yoongi was thinking of a way to respond without coming off completely baffled, even if he was. "You-...You have full control of his Operations, just do what you can to keep his people from acting out. I'll keep you updated."

He just lost one of his right-hand men and if he doesn’t get some answers soon he'll go get them himself.

While he listened to Hoseoks rant, Jimin peeked into the office to see Yoongi in a familiar state. His tongue protruded from his cheek as his gaze drifted from one side of the room to another; that normally meant he was thinking or something went wrong. 

"Hyung," Jimin emerged from behind the door, "I'll be out until noon, Y/N hasn't been checked on for a few days now and-"

"I need you on the east side of town until noon, you can check on her after that." Yoongi pushed himself up from the chair and he was about to walk out before he placed his hand on Jimin's shoulder. "You know better than anyone that Namjoon is sick, you remember what happened to Tae’s sister, he could do that to her. He could've killed her for all we know."

"Hakyeon's dead.”

“Dead?” He couldn’t believe it. 

“Hoseok has to take over his network and he's scrambling to pick up the slack. We don't have any leads, we don't know if it was a suicide or who did it and why- I can't worry about you slacking off. Doing your job will keep some type of structure. Until I say otherwise, don't act on your own." He waited for a reassuring nod from Jimin who wasn't pleased by the orders.

"Ok..." He nodded before the two went their separate ways.

Most of the guys were surprised to see Yoongi walking around the base, it was rare to see him wandering in the middle of the day. For a mafia boss, he really didn't show his face too much. He surveyed the area in hopes of finding Jin. 

"Y-yoongi, sir." One of the guys spoke up with an unsure voice. "Jin just went to your office, he said he had to talk to you." 

He groaned nobody was where they were supposed to be when he needed them there. He made a b line back to his office, walked in to see Jin pacing from one side of the room to another. "Can you stop with the pacing..."

“I think I have crucial information about Hakyeons death. I found out last night that someone else was involved..." Jin looked up to see Yoongi resting his jaw in his palm.

"Jungkook was spotted leaving his apartment after the cops showed up. I'm not saying it was him but I thought you might want to know." Jin tossed a few photos on the desk and Yoongi picked them up. And surely the man in the picture was Jungkook; with blood seeping down his forehead, clothes tattered. He choked back a bitter laugh.

"I assume you got this from his men?" He raised a brow at him. Hakyeon was the hands-on drug trafficker, he handled all things drug-related along with Hoseok. Losing someone that important is undoubtedly gonna slow up their progress. 

"Yeah, last night. They said he told them they could go but they kept an eye on his apartment anyway."

"And this is serious all the information they got?" He scoffed a bit unimpressed. Hakyeon definitely didn’t have as much authority as him or Jin but he was a higher up. He should have his men near him almost 24/7, this was starting to make less and less sense; unless he did this on purpose, maybe it was a suicide...

Jin sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, "All I know is what I just told you." His tone was a matter of fact.

Yoongi sat up and began to plunder through his drawer. He grabbed a gun and stuck it in his jacket in his waistband. He couldn't wait around for answers right now, he had to go get them himself. 

“Where’re you going?”

“I’m going to check some things out, I’ll be out late to take over while I’m gone.” Yoongi exited the room swiftly while Jin lingered behind. When he was sure he was alone he took out his phone and his thumbs started working on the key. He typed, ‘Just a heads up, Yoongi’s out in the field.”

Yoongi stared out of the car window as the phone rang in his ear, he was waiting for an answer.

 “Hello?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you.” He spat.

“What?” Namjoon laughed lowly, he was sort of taken off guard.

“You let your men run around on my turf and think they can do whatever the hell they want, is that it?" His tone was cold.

"What're you implying Yoongi?” 

"Hakyeon was killed. Jungkook was spotted leaving his apartments after the cops showed up, care to explain.” 

"What? Let me get this straight, Hakyeon was murdered...and you think I had something to do with it? Come on Hyung, you know me better than that-"

"Don’t fuck with me. Jeon Jungkook is more than capable of executing your twisted plans. He’s always been your puppet to do the dirty work for you, don’t deny it.” Yoongi didn’t hesitate to get personal. They knew their past, they knew the things that took place were sensitive topics but at this point.

Their friendship is dead, what’s there to lose?

“Don’t fuck with you? You should remember I still have the little doll you gifted me, what was her name? - ah right, Y/N. Her life is precious to Jin so it’s precious to you, right? In a heartbeat, I can have some unspeakable things done to her, but if it really came down to it you wouldn't let that happen to Jin's baby sister. He’ll be the death of you, Min Yoongi.” 

“As far as the girl goes...she’s just one of the cards sacrificed to play the game. Taehyung's is dead, all because of a simple mistake on his part. He told her too much, she dabbled in things she shouldn’t have and you threw her to the dogs. Just like that. And to think he still looks up to you...you killed her to save yourself. And I’m sure you don’t have the slightest bit of guilt.” Yoongi hit hard, prying every bit of reason not to call an ultimatum on this man.

As if cotton was lodged in his throat, his mouth went dry. His palms began to sweat and holding the phone became more difficult. His past getting thrown in his face never phased him but he was starting to get peevish by the memory of it. “Yeah, It was a hard call but I called it. I didn’t see you jumping any fences to change my mind-” He paused, a devious smirk creeping onto his lips.

“You know, that’s all in the past Hyung, it means nothing to me. I think you’re a little on edge. Because something happened that you didn’t see coming, is that it? My, my, my there are things about you Hyung, that I have yet to understand.” He laughed, biting his bottom lip in anticipation of Yoongi’s reaction.

“Did Jungkook do it or not, all evidence leads to him.” He deadpanned.

“I don’t have to tell you anything, Yoongi... You’re a smart guy, figure it out yourself.” 

“Ok, I will,” Yoongi spoke eerily calm before hanging up. When he hung up the phone Namjoon tensed. A simple ‘ok’ was never a good sign, ok meant, ‘screw you, watch your back’, that’s what ok meant. He had to consider himself and anyone who has any association with Jungkook on Yoongi’s bad side. 

Sitting in the corner of the bed with your knees pressed against your chest and arms wrapped around your legs. Yesterday was the longest day of your life. After all, you went through physically, emotionally, mentally, you couldn't lie down any longer; your neck was painfully stiff and your entire body ached. To make matters worse, you constantly heard footsteps rush to pass the door every few seconds causing you to flinch in paranoia. You couldn't stop the acute thoughts of someone barging in here and taking you away, and doing worse than had already been done to you, it scared you to death. You heard the fiddling of the doorknob and kept your eyes fixated on the door. You hid your face behind your knees so that only your eyes were showing. The door suddenly opened and you tensed before quickly relaxing, seeing that it was only Jungkook. He held a bag that looked like a bag of food and two drinks in his other hand.

“Hey, I brought food." He cracked a slight smile when you perked up with puppy-like eyes, you were too cute. As he approached the nightstand you crawled to the middle of the bed to sit up. He sat the food and drinks down, took off his flannel and tossed it on the chair. He kept a steady watch on you while situating the food. While he did that you would look at him and then glance at the door as if you were anticipating something. He sat the styrofoam plate in front of you. It smelled delicious and your stomach responded to it audibly. 

"How'd you sleep? You were tossing and turning all night." He cupped the back of your neck, kissing the side of your brow than your lips briefly. 

"Not good, I feel like I got ran over by a bus..." You both laughed at your bluntness, it was actually close to how you physically felt but it was nice to laugh about something. He sat at the far end of the bed with his drink in hand waiting for you to eat. You slowly opened the plate and inspected the food. You licked your lips and swallowed, despite your stomach screaming for it you were still hesitant. Jungkook brought his hand up and lightly flicked your forehead."Ow! What was that for..."

"I know you're hungry," He paused, "your stomach was growling earlier this morning, eat." You were taken aback by his command but followed it nonetheless. After clearing your throat, you brought the fork full of food to your mouth to eat. Quietly, you ate your food and his eyes were steadily fixated on you. In a paranoid kind of way, you were constantly eyeing the door, what was wrong with you?

"Did something scare you?" He commented, breaking you from your daze.

"Uh, no. Why'd you say that?..." You nervously pushed the little bit of food around with your fork.

"You keep looking at the door like something's wrong, did something happen while I was gone?" He demonstrated by looking back himself.

"It's nothing, sorry." You looked down at your food, hoping he'd lower his suspicions. You took a few more bites then sat the half-eaten plate on the nightstand. Jungkook held half a bottle of water and popped two tabs in it. You watched the little tabs fizz up and soon disappear, he gave the bottle to you.

"I used to take these when I would pull a muscle or something. It dulls the soreness, it'll make you a little drowsy but it helps." He gave you the bottle and threw away the excess wrapper.

"Okay..." You opened the bottle and sipped from it. He into the bathroom and came back with a tube of cream, bandages and cotton swabs. He sat it on the nightstand and grabbed a bottle of disinfectant from the top drawer. He sat on the edge of the bed like he's done many times before.

"W-what're you doing?" You curled in on yourself before his hand could touch your leg. Narrowing his eyes, he scooted closer so you couldn't escape him easily. "It’s okay,” He placed his hand on your knee,  “calm down, I'm just gonna change your bandages."

"Oh." You relaxed, letting him bring down your legs. Gently he peeled off the bandage and discarded it in the trash. You shivered at the cool air hitting the deprived skin. With a disinfectant-soaked cotton swab, he dabbed at the wounds to clean off any dry blood.

You couldn't hold back your wincing or erratic jerking when he continued to apply the stinging antibacterial on more severe spots. "T-that stings..." You clenched your teeth painfully.

"It's gonna sting baby, there's alcohol in it." He noticeably lightened the pressure and dabbed the skin delicately. You shot him a shy glance. He's never called you baby like that...You liked the way it sounded coming from him.

"Baby? You've never called me that before..." The word had never been directed towards you so to hear it was different. He looked up with a nervous grin, "Yeah, I've never really called anyone that before. But it's just- that's sort of what you are to me now..." He applied an ointment and bandaged the area. He grabbed the hem of your oversized shirt and tried to pull it up. 

Your hands flew to pull it back down, surprising him, "No- no it's fine, I'll do it myself." You insisted.

"You're sure? I don't mind." 

"I'm sure." He didn't want to pry any further so he went to the bathroom to wash his hands.

You eased out of the bed flinching when your feet made contact with the cool floor. You knelt down to look through the bottom drawer with your clothes in it. You didn't realize how little you had, a few pairs of pants and some shirts. You went with a shirt and a pair of yoga pants, it was comfortable enough. You took off the baggy shirt, letting it fall to the floor while you replaced it with a different shirt. You slipped on the pants, lifted your shirt and began to rub the welts with a soothing cream but each time your hand would make contact with the wounds you would hiss.

"It pisses me off, Y/N." When you looked up Jungkook he was just centimeters from you, his hands ghosting over the dark scars decorating your skin.

“What?” You dropped the hem of your shirt, making him withdraw his hand. He touched the abrasion on your face to remind you that it was still there. Your hand instinctively went to touch it, your heart sank. You knew where this was headed, you were too exhausted for this, “...Jungkook, don’t-”

“They fucking beat you," He cupped your jaw, looking down at you intently, "I should’ve been there to stop it. I know how afraid you are, you try to hide it but it’s so obvious to me...” His voice was low and solemn. 

“And the way you looked at me, I can’t get that out of my head y/n, I can’t stop thinking about it. The way you look at me, it makes me feel like I have to protect you or something, you’re doing it now...” He knitted his brows, making deep lines appear on his forehead. 

"I- I don’t know what to tell you, Jungkook..." You wiped your tears hastily, you didn't want to hear anymore, what were you supposed to say? Halting your thoughts, he firmly pressed his lips to yours with an unfamiliar force.

”W-why’re you like this-” He let out little unsteady sighs as he attempted to form a sentence through his unyielding touch and his arms kept you from moving away. “J-just talk to me...” You slowly pulled away so you could say something. He tried to lean down for more but you pushed at his chest. 

He tried again to get to your neck but you pushed him off again. “Stop that..." You turned away to avoid contempt gaze. "I can’t talk when you keep kissing me.” You wiped your mouth with the back of your sleeve. 

“I don’t want to talk about it, so please, don’t force me to...” You twiddled your fingers anxiously. He ran his hand through his hair like he always did when he was feeling stress. He had to step back, his mouth agape as if to say something but nothing came out. The fact that he was taking it too far in almost forcing you to talk had made him apprehensive so do anything else. 

You yelped in surprise when, without warning, the door slung open and Namjoons intimidating aura permeated the room. He glimpsed at you before focusing his attention towards Jungkook, who's jaw tightened in annoyance. He always seems to ruin his milestone-in-the-relationship moments with you.

"My office. Now.” He hissed. Jungkook quickly went after him leaving you baffled. Although your heart sank when Jungkook was whisked away from you. Another part of you was somewhat glad Namjoon came, Jungkook was bringing back all the bad thoughts you’ve been trying to forget about. Quickly you closed the door and jumped into bed, you were feeling a bit loopy, you slipped your eyes closed to take a much-needed nap.

"Shut the door."

Jungkook closed the door. Namjoon took a seat behind the desk, he rubbed his temples, pacing back and forth. The silence was only making the tension in the room more evident, the air was thick and even a sigh would suffice.

"So you just go around doing whatever the hell you want now?" He broke the silence with a curt statement.

"Hyung..." Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck while he attempted to form a convincing sentence. "Hyung, I know what it looks like-"

"It looks like you just don't give a fuck anymore, that's what it fucking looks like. What the hell were you thinking? Why the hell were you even there? You know we're not on good terms with him, and yet you-...You better have a damn good explanation for this Jungkook."

Jungkook pressed his lips into a straight line, pondering over what to say, he didn’t expect this to blow up in his face like this. Meanwhile, Namjoon awaited an answer while tapping the wooden desk impatiently. Jungkook plopped into the chair with a sigh, "The other day he said he had something to give me and to come to his apartment. When I got there he was overdosing. Before he knocked out he said some random numbers-...The guy who killed him was trying to get out, he had a mask on so I tried to get it off to see who it was but he got away."

"Numbers? What were the numbers?"

"I think it was one, eight?-...no nine. One, nine, two, seven. Yeah, something like that...." His hand slipped into his pocket to pull out a small white folded piece of paper. "This was in his wallet." He placed it on the desk.

He picked up the crinkled little paper, unfolding it so he could read what was written. It read exactly what Jungkook said, 1927. He chanted the string of numbers under his breath, maybe it might ring a bell, but he got nothing.

"1-9-2-7, does that mean anything to you?" With the rise of his brow, he glowered at the piece of paper.

"No, I was hoping it might mean something to you. I'm gonna ask around, maybe Gwangmin knows something-"

"You need to lay low. If you step one foot on their turf, their network will kick your ass and mine."

"I'll be careful. Besides, I know him, he’ll give me info for free." As serious as this was Jungkook showed a pretty relaxed attitude and Namjoon couldn’t take it. He held his hand up gesturing for Jungkook to stop what he was saying. 

“You're not untouchable Jungkook, the shit you do is on me. Go with Tae to pick up the shipment payments, then come straight back. Got it?" His tone was serious and Jungkook knew it wasn’t the time to voice his opinions, not that Namjoon would hear it anyway.

“Yeah, I got it...” He got up and trudged back to his room. 

When he trudged inside his gaze drifted to the bed where you were, sprawled out with your head resting on your hand. You slept calmly, dark bags under your eyes and snoring softly; you looked exhausted. Shaking your shoulder lightly, you stirred. You were knocked out cold and he couldn't blame you. Being tormented for hours on end would take a lot out of anyone. You were worn out, he let you sleep.

He wasn't talking much and Tae couldn't help but smirk at the reason. The perfect Jungkook, not so perfect anymore. Jungkook looked out the window like a bored child in a car and they pulled in an old parking lot behind a club. Tae got out the car and met the man waiting outside the back door. Jungkook watched as they exchange very few words and then the man pulled out a wad of cash. When he saw Taehyungs boxy smile he couldn’t stop the smug look from appearing on his face.  

They finished their exchange and Tae hoped in the car, handing Jungkook the cash. "So, you told him?" He pushed the key into the ignition.

"Yeah." He deadpanned.

He nodded. That was the last of their conversation. Jungkook didn't speak a word, he nodded or sighed and by the time they got back, it was dark. He gave Tae the cash and went his own way. He went to his room and was surprised to see you still fast asleep curled up on your side. It seemed like you slept the whole day away and you were still tired. He began to wonder if he gave you too much medicine. Whilst he changed, he watched you toss and moan with the furrow of your brows—you were having a nightmare.

"Shh, shh, it's okay, shh..." He soothed, rubbing your back until you relaxed under his touch. He noticed you sort of took up the middle of the bed. He would normally get in with you but he opted to sleep on the floor so he wouldn't disturb you. He grabbed an extra pillow and laid flat on his back. He saw the street light outside along with the moon illuminated the room and found himself staring up at the dim light. "J-Jungkook?" You groaned, rubbing your eyes sleepily.

"Down here..." You looked over the edge of the bed and immediately tried to crawl out and lay down there with him. He raised his arm to stop you. "No, sleep up there. You'll get sick if you sleep down here, it’s cold..."

"But- I keep having these nightmares...please...someone’s gonna take me away a-and kill me, they want to kill me Jungkook....i-it's scary..." He saw your eyes began to water. He quickly got into bed and pulled you to rest your head on his chest. Tears seeped from your eyes and you were shaking out of fear. Your shaking ceased as soon as he got close enough. 

"Shh, you're okay, it was just a dream, I won’t let anyone hurt you..." He whispered. You just clung to him, it helped block out those thoughts, he let you escape when he would hold you like this. He didn't have to say much, his embrace was enough to tell you that you were safe. You had to admit, you never thought you’d come to this. Falling for someone who would otherwise never cross your path if you hadn’t been in the circumstance you were in.

"It was just a bad dream..." He rubbed your shoulder comfortingly and waited for to fall asleep. Soon, the room fell silent aside from your low inhaling and exhaling. He looked down at you, thinking to himself, you were broken inside, you tried to hide it but he could see it so fucking clear. The fact that you thought someone might take you away is even more reason for him to hold you closer. 

He would die before he let anyone take you away from him and he was prepared to kill anyone who tried.

*

*

*

“And what was your name?”

“Kim Seokjin.” He handed her the invitation and she let him inside. He frequented this place quite a lot when he had to attend meetings and negotiate huge trades but today he was overseeing a meeting. He situated his suit and a server offered him a drink. “No, thank you.”

He surveyed his surroundings, seeing that most people didn’t see him come in yet. Before he was whisked away by his many acquiescent he pulled away to a secluded corner near the window. He pulled out his phone to make a call.

“Sir?”

“You have 48 hours to tell me why Jeon Jungkook was in that apartment.”