#Whisper White Medium Envelopes

[szariahwroteit]

FUNGIRL A Trent Alexander-Arnold + Original Character Erotic Series.

Chapter 2

18+ Minors DNI

In the week that saw Trent photographed by paparazzi on a rather intimate date with an emerging model, Amber had gone radio silent. Completely ignoring him was as mature as she was willing to be.

Every message and FaceTime went unanswered; he followed her on Instagram before she promptly blocked him, confident that this time would be the last.

Although Amber understood that he wasn’t looking for anything serious, the fact that he’d stepped out so publicly with a woman felt as though he was claiming her, and in a way, shitting on her.

“Are you going to walk around looking like a sad puppy?” her older sister Natalia smirked empathetically.

Unlike her younger sister, who had left their hometown in Los Angeles to study law in Harvard before moving to London when she was offered a job within one of the most reputable firms in the city, Natalia stayed home in Los Angeles with their parents and younger brother.

By no means was it her proudest moment, but one night Amber officially reached her breaking point. She needed to get the hurt she felt off her chest, and her older sister offered an ear without any judgment.

“Maybe,” Amber pouted as she made her way back into the office, smiling politely at the familiar faces she passed as she returned from her lunch break. 

“You're way too cute to have any man making you feel this way,” Natalia smiled empathetically. 

As Amber made her way back towards her desk, the floor’s receptionist called her name and waved her over. “Amber! You have a delivery,” she said, holding up a medium-sized cardboard box and a small bouquet of pink roses.

Amber’s heart skipped a beat as she approached the reception desk, her mind racing. Could it be from Trent? She quickly squashed that thought, reminding herself of the last week’s events. Still, a flicker of hope ignited within her as she took the flowers and box from the receptionist.

“Who are they from?” Natalia asked curiously, her face contorting into a curious frown on her sister’s phone screen as Amber turned away from the receptionist to make her way over to her desk. 

“I don’t know yet,” Amber replied, carefully removing a small white envelope from the flowers. Inside, she found a white piece of card with something scribbled on the back of it. Turning it over, her heart skipped a beat.

“Call me when you get these. - Trent,” she read aloud, her voice tinged with surprise and a hint of disbelief. The words echoed in her mind, stirring a mix of emotions that she had been trying to suppress. 

“What’s in the box?” Natalia asked, leaning in closer, her curiosity piqued.

Amber carefully set the flowers down on her desk, propped up her phone and opened the box, her heart racing with anticipation. Inside, she found an unmistakable ox-blood box and instantly froze.

“No fucking way!” Natalia gasped into her sister’s ear-pod, her voice barely above a whisper. “He brought you Cartier?”

Amber’s hands trembled slightly as she lifted the lid of the jewellery box, revealing a set of beautiful diamond earrings. 

The earrings were absolutely beautiful, dancing against the low lighting of the office floor. As the daughter of a high-powered lawyer and a former beauty queen turned relationship guru and therapist, she knew luxury. Her childhood was one filled with debutante balls and societal engagements. 

But this was different. The diamonds she held in her hand symbolized so much more than beautiful jewellery. 

“Diamond earrings!” Natalia exclaimed, her voice a mix of disbelief and caution as she watched Amber’s face drop.

“I…I don’t want them,” Amber stammered, her heart racing for a different reason now. “This is too much. It feels wrong, I have to send them back.”

“What do you mean?” Natalia asked, her brow furrowing in confusion.

“We’re not together, I’ve been avoiding him since the pictures of him came out on the internet. If this is an olive branch it feels wrong.” The idea that Trent thought she could be brought made her skin crawl, that her pride and self respect came at a price no matter how beautiful the jewellery was. 

The gift, or olive branch, or whatever he thought this was, felt as though it had been given as a means of balm for the hurt she felt and keep her in a place of wading. A means of keeping her around and, most importantly, as if that was what he thought she wanted from him.

Amber’s vision blurred slightly as she fought back tears. “I don’t want to be someone’s consolation prize,” she said, her voice trembling. “I don’t want to feel like I’m being bought or have a price, this doesn't make up for my feelings.”

Natalia sighed, her expression softening. “I get it, Amber. But maybe he’s trying to show you he’s serious about wanting to make things right. This isn’t just a random gift; it’s a statement.”

“Or it’s a way to keep me there without actually keeping me,” Amber countered, shaking her head. “I don’t want to fall for it. I need to stand my ground.”

“Then do that,” Natalia encouraged, placing a comforting hand on her sister’s shoulder. “But you should at least talk to him. You owe it to yourself to hear him out instead of beating yourself up about it. You can’t just ignore everything and pretend it didn’t happen.”

Amber took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside her. “I know you’re right. I just… I don’t want to keep hurting myself. I don’t want to be vulnerable with him.”

“Then set your boundaries,” Natalia suggested. “You can tell him how you feel without giving in. You’re stronger than you think.”

Amber nodded slowly, her resolve hardening. “Okay, I’ll call him. But I’m not keeping the bag. I’ll return it, and I’ll make it clear that I don't see him as a meal ticket.”

“Good plan,” Natalia said, her voice filled with support. “You deserve to be treated with respect, not as a prize to be won back. Stay strong and call me later, I love you.” She continued before ending the Facetime call. 

Placing the lid back on the orange box, Amber packed it back into the bigger cardboard box it was delivered in and placed it safely beneath her desk. 

With a newfound determination, Amber picked up her phone and dialled Trent’s number. As it rang, she felt a mix of anxiety and empowerment. She was ready to confront him, to voice her feelings, and to reclaim her power in this situation.

“It’s me,” she said when he finally picked up, her heart pounding. “Trent, I don't want it.”

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line, and Amber could almost hear Trent processing her words. “What do you mean?” he finally asked, his voice a mix of confusion and concern.

“I mean the bag,” Amber clarified, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside her. “I don’t want it. I don’t want any of this. It feels wrong, and it feels like you’re trying to buy my forgiveness.”

“Amber, I—” he started, but she cut him off.

“No, let me finish,” she insisted, her heart racing. “I’ve been avoiding you because I needed time to think. I saw those pictures, and it hurt. I know you said you didn’t want anything serious from anyone, but those pictures suggested otherwise. So I’d rather quit while I’m ahead.”

“Amber, please,” Trent interjected, his voice rising slightly in urgency. “I never meant to hurt you. Those pictures… they were a mistake. I was trying to figure things out, and I didn’t think about how it would affect you.”

“Exactly,” Amber replied, her voice firm. “You didn’t think about me and I wish you did,” she sighed sadly. 

“I know,” he said, his tone softening. “And I’m sorry. I should have communicated better. I should have been more considerate of your feelings. I just… I got caught up in everything, and I didn’t handle it well.”

Amber felt a pang of sympathy for him, but she quickly reminded herself of the hurt she had felt over the past days. “Please just give me an address I can send the purse and flowers and I’ll be out of your hair, Trent.”

Thankful for the current scarcity of staff on the office floor, Amber squeezed her eyes shut as she pulled the phone away from her ear before hanging up abruptly. 

She knew if she stayed on the phone to Trent any longer her true feelings were liable to slip and she refused to take any more blows to her pride where he was concerned. 

Hours away from the capital in Liverpool Trent sat completely stunned. He gathered Amber wasn’t impressed with his recent antics, based on her silence over the last week or so, but the hurt in her voice had caught him off guard. He had expected anger, maybe even some tears, but the way she had calmly stated her boundaries made him realize just how serious this was. 

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He had thought the bag would be a way to bridge the gap, a gesture to show her he cared. But now, it felt like he had only made things worse. 

“Fuck me,” he muttered to himself, sinking into the edge of his bed as he took a seat. 

Trent stared at his phone for a long moment after Amber ended the call. He felt like he'd been punched in the gut, her words echoing in his mind.

"Please just give me an address I can send the purse and flowers and I'll be out of your hair, Trent."

Out of his hair? Those were fighting words if he ever heard them. He wanted to argue back, to tell her she was being ridiculous and that he cared about her more than any bag or public appearance could prove. But something in her voice stopped him cold.

She wasn't asking for apologies or promises, or even his attention. She was setting boundaries, making it clear what she would and wouldn't accept from him moving forward.

Trent sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair as he tried to process everything that had happened. What made matters worse was that he liked Amber, she was a beautiful woman and a pleasure to be around in more ways than one. 

Each of their encounters had been intense passionate, exhilarating...and sometimes messy. But he loved his life as is, he loved the freedom to do as he pleased without consequence or explanation. 

To Trent, going to dinner with a girl he’d been introduced to by a friend was him exercising his freedom as a single man, a man without consequence or explanation.

As one of the brightest stars in football, he had always been in the spotlight, and he had revelled in it. But now, he was faced with the reality that his actions had consequences, and those consequences were hurting someone he genuinely cared about.

He leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling as he replayed the conversation in his mind. Amber’s voice had been steady, but the hurt was palpable. He had never intended to hurt her; he had just been trying to navigate his chaotic life, and in doing so, he had.

Trent picked up his phone again, scrolling through his contacts until he found Amber’s name. He hesitated, his thumb hovering over the call button. What could he say that would make any difference? He had already hurt whether or not it was in his intention to, and now he was left with the aftermath of his choices.

He thought back to their time together—the laughter, the late-night conversations, the way she lit up when she talked about her dreams. She was more than just a pretty face; she was ambitious, driven, and had a fire in her that he admired. But his admiration didn’t outweigh his desire to do as he pleased.

His desire to look for those same qualities in other women. 

Trent felt a pang of guilt wash over him as he acknowledged the truth of his actions. He had taken Amber for granted, assuming she would always be there, waiting for him to figure things out. But now, he was faced with the reality that he might lose her for good if he didn’t change his approach.

He set his phone down and stood up, pacing the room as he tried to gather his thoughts. He needed to do something meaningful, something that would show Amber he was serious about wanting to make things right. The bag and flowers had been a misguided attempt to bridge the gap, but now he realized that they were just superficial gestures. What he needed was to confront his own feelings and be honest with her.

After a long fortnight of football matches and travelling, he had plans of spending his hard-earned weekend relaxing, but instead, he now stood trying to map out the quickest route to drive from Liverpool to London. 

His decision was impulsive, but he couldn’t shake the hurt in Amber’s voice from his mind no matter how hard he tried. The way her Southern Californian accent lacked its usual charm. 

Letting out a sigh, Trent stood from his bed and made his way into his closet to find something appropriate to wear. He rifled through his clothes, pulling out a crisp white shirt and a black sweatsuit. 

As he dressed, he mentally prepared himself for the conversation he hoped to have with Amber. He needed to be honest about his feelings, to show her that regardless of whether or not wanted to do as he pleased, he understood the gravity of his lack of consideration. He wanted her to know that he cared about her.

Once he was dressed, he grabbed his keys and headed out the door. The drive from Liverpool to London was about two and a half hours, but he was determined to make it in less time. He needed to see her, to talk to her face-to-face. 

As he drove, he replayed their last conversation in his mind, trying to anticipate her reactions. Would she be open to seeing him? Would she even want to talk? The uncertainty gnawed at him, but he pushed it aside, focusing instead on the road ahead.

When he finally arrived in London, the sun was beginning to set, casting a warm glow over the frost-bitten city. 

As he drove towards the city centre he came to a humbling realization, he’d sent the gifts to her office building not because he knew that’s where she’d be, but because he didn’t know where she lived and he was able to obtain the office’s addresses with a google search. 

Every time they’d been intimate it had been in the confines of a hotel room, a fleeting moment of passion and desire before he went on his way again, before he went on to the next. 

Pulling onto the side of a street, Trent pulled out his phone sifting through it until he found Amber’s contact again. 

Part of him knew she didn’t owe him her time or attention, but he still felt compelled to reach out. He hesitated, his thumb hovering over the call button once more. What could he say that would make any difference? He had already hurt her, and now he was left with the aftermath of his choices.

Taking a deep breath, he decided to send a text instead. 

Trent: Amber, I’m in London. Can we meet?

He hit send and waited, his heart racing as he stared at the screen. The minutes felt like hours as he watched the three dots appear and disappear, a constant reminder of his anxiety. Finally, his phone buzzed.

Amber: I’m busy, Trent.

The response stung, but he refused to let it deter him. He quickly typed back. 

Trent: I understand, but I really need to see you. Please, just a few minutes.

He waited, his palms sweaty on the steering wheel. After what felt like an eternity, she replied. 

Amber: fine. 

Trent let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding as her previous message was followed up by an address to her apartment building. 

Amber: Meet me at my place in 20 minutes.

Trent's heart raced as he typed a quick acknowledgement. He quickly entered the address into his GPS, feeling a mix of excitement and dread. This was it—his chance to make things right, to show Amber that he genuinely cared about her feelings.

As he drove through the bustling streets of London, he couldn’t help but think about how selfish he’d been, not only to Amber but the others. The laughter they shared, the way she challenged him, and the warmth of her presence. He had been so caught up in his world that he hadn’t considered how his actions would affect her. 

Arriving at her apartment building, he parked and took a moment to collect himself. He could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on him. This wasn’t just about the bag or the flowers; it was about their connection and the trust that had been shaken.

He walked up to the entrance and buzzed her apartment. After a moment, he heard her voice through the intercom. “Who is it?”

“It’s me,” he replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

There was a pause, and he could almost hear her weighing her options. Finally, the door clicked open. He stepped inside, his heart pounding as he made his way to her floor.

When he reached her door, he took a deep breath and knocked. The sound echoed in the quiet hallway, and he felt a rush of nerves. What if she didn’t want to see him? What if she slammed the door in his face?

But the door opened, and there she stood, looking both beautiful and guarded. Amber’s expression was a mix of surprise and wariness, her arms crossed over her chest as if to shield herself from whatever he might say.

“Trent,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey,” he replied, his heart racing. “Can we talk?”

Amber hesitated, her eyes searching his face for something—an apology, a reason, a sign that he understood. Finally, she stepped aside, allowing him to enter. 

The apartment was cozy, filled with soft lighting and the faint scent of vanilla. It felt like a sanctuary, a stark contrast to the chaos of their recent interactions. 

“Sit down,” she said, motioning to the stylish small white couch. He took a seat, feeling the weight of her gaze on him. 

“I’m sorry for everything,” he began, his voice earnest. “I didn’t think about how my actions would affect you. I was caught up in my own world, and I didn’t consider your feelings at all.”

Amber remained silent, her expression unreadable. He could see the hurt in her eyes, and it made his chest tighten.

“I thought sending the bag and flowers would help,” he continued, frustration creeping into his voice. “But I realize now that it was a stupid move. I was trying to fix things without really understanding what I needed to fix.”

“Trent,” she finally spoke, her voice steady but laced with emotion. “You can’t just throw gifts at someone and expect everything to be okay. It doesn’t work like that.”

“I know,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I was an idiot. I thought maybe if I showed you I cared tangibly, it would make up for everything.”

Amber’s expression softened slightly, but she still looked guarded. “You hurt me, Trent. Seeing those pictures… it felt like a slap in the face to have you tell me you don’t want anything serious with anybody and then be out so publicly with someone. I feel worthless.”

“You’re not,” he insisted, leaning forward. “You’re not worthless, Amber. You’re an incredible woman.”

“Just not one you care to take seriously,” Amber said, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as tears threatened to spill from her eyes. “I’m just sex to you Trent.”

Trent felt a sharp pang in his chest at her words. “That’s not true,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re so much more than that to me. I’ve never seen you as just a fling. I care about you, Amber. I really do.”

“Then why did you let the world see you with her?” she shot back, her voice rising slightly. “As a man who’s adamant he wants to be single, why claim her like that? Because I’m just pussy to you, worthless, replaceable pussy.”

Amber couldn’t even articulate the idea of her not being enough for him, it hurt entirely too much. But deep down that is exactly how she felt. 

Trent's heart ached at her words, the raw pain in her voice cutting deeper than he had anticipated. “Amber, please don’t say that,” he pleaded, his voice trembling. “You’re not just sex to me. I’ve never treated you like that. I was trying to figure out my life, and I messed up. I didn’t think about how my actions would affect you, and I’m so sorry for that.”

“Maybe this should be it, Trent.” Amber interrupted, her voice trembling with emotion. “Maybe this is where we draw the line. I can’t keep putting myself in a position where I feel like I’m not enough for you. I deserve better than that.”

Trent felt a wave of desperation wash over him. “No, please don’t say that. I don’t want to lose you. I know I’ve messed up, but I want to make it right. I want to show you that I can be better.”

“Better?” she echoed, her eyes narrowing. “What does that even mean? Do you think a few nice words and a bag can fix this? You think I’m just going to forget how you made me feel? How I've made myself feel?”

“No, I don’t think that,” he said, his voice earnest. “But I want to try.”

Amber shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Please don't say things we both know you don't mean.” 

“Amber, I mean it,” Trent said, his voice filled with urgency. “I know I’ve hurt you, but that wasn't my intention.”

“The thing is Trent you did and it's both our fault, when you told me you had no interest in anything serious I should have listened.” Amber pointed out painfully, her voice soft. “But I let myself hope for something more. I thought maybe you’d change your mind, that we could be something real. And then I saw those pictures, and it shattered everything.”

Trent couldn't bear the look on Amber’s face, standing from his seat he strode over to wear she stood clutching her body for some form of comfort in such an uncomfortable situation. 

Amber’s breath caught in her throat as Trent pulled her body into his arms, allowing her to cry into his chest as he held her. 

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured again, feeling the warmth of her body against his and the weight of her tears soaking into his shirt. “I never wanted to hurt you. I was foolish and thoughtless, and I can’t express how much I regret it.”

Amber’s sobs began to quiet as she leaned into him, her body trembling with the release of pent-up emotions. “This isn't right, this isn't what you wanted,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his chest. “You shouldn’t have to feel obligated to comfort me.”

Trent tightened his grip around her, unwilling to let go. “Stop,” he said softly, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes. “If I didn't want to be here I wouldn't be.”

Amber searched his gaze, looking for any hint of insincerity, but all she found was a deep-seated regret and a flicker of hope.

Laying her head against Trent’s chest, she allowed herself to be fully vulnerable for the first time since the fallout. The warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat provided a sense of comfort she hadn’t realized she craved. 

“Come back to Liverpool with me tonight, spend the weekend with me,” he murmured into her hair, his voice low and earnest. “Let’s talk this through, away from all the noise and distractions. I want to show you that I’m serious about making things right.”

Amber pulled back slightly, searching his eyes for any sign of insincerity. “You really think that’s a good idea? After everything that’s happened?”

“I do,” he replied, his gaze unwavering. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but I want to prove to you that I can be better. I want to show you that I care about you, not just with words, but with actions.”

She hesitated, her heart torn between the desire to believe him and the fear of getting hurt again. “What if it doesn’t change anything? What if we just end up in the same place?”

“Then we’ll figure it out together,” he said, his voice steady. “But I need you to give me a chance. I can’t fix this without you.”

Amber took a deep breath, weighing her options. The thought of spending the weekend with him was both thrilling and terrifying. She wanted to believe that the dynamic could change, that he could be the man she wanted him to be. But the fear of being hurt again loomed large in her mind.

“Okay,” she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll come with you. But I need you to be straight up with me, if this isn't what you want I’d rather you let me down easy.”

Trent nodded, his expression earnest. “I promise, Amber. I’ll be completely honest with you. I don’t want to play games anymore. I want to be real with you.”

Amber felt a flicker of hope at his words, but she still held onto her reservations. “If there are going to be other women I’d rather not know,” she said in complete disbelief of her own words as they left her lips.

Trent made her feel pathetic, but still she couldn’t bring herself to fully cut ties. 

“I understand,” he replied, his voice steady. “I won’t put you in that position. I want to focus on us, on what we have. I know I’ve messed up, but I want to make it right.”

Amber nodded slowly, feeling a mix of hope and apprehension. She was stepping into uncharted territory, and while a part of her was excited, another part was terrified of the potential heartbreak that could follow. “Okay,” she said, her voice firmer now. “Let’s see where this weekend goes.”

“Let’s,” Trent smiled softly as their eyes met, the tension between them easing just a bit. He could see the flicker of hope in Amber’s eyes, and it filled him with determination. This was his chance to prove himself, to show her that he wasn’t the man his actions suggested.

As Amber gathered her things in preparation of an impromptu weekend in Liverpool with Trent, her heart fluttering in her chest as he sat comfortably on her bed watching her. 

“Come here,” he said softly, gesturing for her to join him. Amber hesitated for a moment, her heart racing as she considered the implications of moving closer to him. But the warmth in his voice and the sincerity in his eyes drew her in.

She walked over and sat beside him, feeling the familiar spark of connection that had always been there between them. Taking her hand into his, he guided her on top of him so she straddled his lap, her cheeks flushed as he gazed up at her. 

“Where are the earrings and flowers I sent?” Trent asked, a hint of a smirk present in his voice. 

“I threw the flowers in the trash and the earrings are in my closet,” Amber replied, her voice steady despite the fluttering in her stomach. She felt a mix of defiance and vulnerability as she looked down at him, their positions shifting the dynamic between them. 

Trent raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. “You really didn’t like the earrings?”

“It’s not that I didn’t like them,” she said, her tone serious. “It’s just… it felt wrong. Like you were trying to buy my forgiveness or something.”

He nodded, his expression softening. “I get that. I thought it would help bridge the gap, but I see it fell flat. I want you to keep it, though.”

Amber's heart raced at his insistence. “Trent, I can’t.”

Trent’s gaze was unwavering, and he leaned in closer, his voice low and sincere. “You can and you will, it’s yours.

Instead of continuing their back and forth, Amber climbed off of Trent’s lap to continue packing for the weekend. 

As she moved around the room, gathering her essentials, she felt Trent's eyes on her, a mix of admiration and concern etched on his face. The tension in the air was palpable, and Amber couldn't shake the feeling that they were at a crossroads.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Trent asked, breaking the silence as she folded a few clothes into her overnight bag. “I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

Amber paused, looking over her shoulder at him. “I’m not doing this because I feel pressured. I’m doing this because I want to,”

As present and in the moment as Trent was, he allowed his eyes to slip and study her figure as she stood in an oversized tank that showed off the swell of the sides of her breasts and a pair bicycle shorts that looked as though they’d been painted on. 

The idea that he’d made such a beautiful girl question her worth didn’t sit right with him, regardless of whether or not he was looking for anything serious with anyone. 

By the time Amber had finished packing a small Louis Vuitton duffle bag, outside was completely dark. Making sure all of the lights in her apartment were off, she followed Trent out into the evening. 

The drive from just west of central London to Liverpool took about two and a half hours, but the time seemed to fly by as they talked and laughed, the tension between them slowly dissipating. Amber found herself relaxing in Trent’s presence, the warmth of his smile and the sincerity in his voice easing her worries, if only a little.

As they drove, they discussed everything from their favorite movies to their childhood memories, and Amber felt a sense of normalcy returning. It was as if the weight of the past week was lifting, and she could almost forget the hurt that had lingered between them.

By the time they got to Trent’s neighborhood the nighttime had completely taken over, Amber sat in quiet awe as she took in each large, beautiful house they passed. 

This would mark the first time she’d ever been in Trent’s space and she couldn’t help but wonder what the premier league star’s house would look like. 

Trent parked in the driveway of a sleek, modern house that stood out among the others on his street, its clean lines and expansive windows inviting curiosity. Amber felt a flutter of apprehension and excitement as he turned off the engine and opened the door for her. 

“Welcome to my humble abode,” he said with a faint smile, leading her up the stone walkway. The house was impressive, a testament to his success, but it felt oddly warm and inviting. 

As they stepped inside, Amber was immediately struck by the spaciousness of the living room. High ceilings, contemporary art pieces adorning the walls, and minimalistic furniture created an airy atmosphere. Cozy textures were layered throughout, and soft lighting cast a gentle glow, making it feel almost intimate. 

“Make yourself at home,” Trent said, casually tossing his keys onto a nearby counter. Amber wandered further into the space, taking in the details—the bookshelf filled with an eclectic mix of novels, the framed photos capturing candid moments from Trent's life with his family.

“Wow, this is really nice,” she remarked, turning to face him with a genuine smile, feeling a little more at ease. “You’ve done well for yourself.”

He chuckled softly, leaning against the kitchen island. “Thanks. It’s taken some time to make it feel like home. I travel a lot, so I wanted somewhere to come back to that felt… personal.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Amber replied, her gaze drifting over the sleek appliances and the small touches that hinted at his personality. “It feels lived in.”

“Exactly,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice. “Want something to drink? I think I have a decent bottle of wine stashed away somewhere.”

Amber bit her lip, considering. “Sure, that sounds nice.”

As Trent disappeared into the kitchen, Amber took a moment to absorb the environment fully. The artworks scattered throughout the space hinted at a sensitive side she hadn’t quite seen before, the mix of personal and professional resonating with her more than she'd expected.

“Here we go,” he returned a moment later, a bottle of red wine in hand and two glasses dangling from his fingers. “I hope you’re a fan of Merlot.”

“Always.” Amber smiled as he poured the rich, deep liquid, the aroma filling the air.

They settled on the couch, their knees almost touching but with enough space to allow for the tension that still lingered in the air. As they shared the wine, they spoke lightheartedly at first, their laughter echoing through the living room.

But as the evening wore on and the bottles dwindled, the atmosphere shifted subtly. Amber felt the weight of their earlier conversation press upon them, and she realized that they would have to address the elephant in the room sooner or later.

“Trent,” she began, twirling her glass nervously. “I appreciate you bringing me here and wanting to make things right, but I need to know what you really want from this.”

Trent set his glass down, his expression growing serious. “I want to be honest with you, Amber. I like you and I want to continue seeing you, but I also need time to figure things out.”

Amber felt her heart race as his words hung in the air, the weight of his admissions settling over them. “You like me?” she repeated, searching his eyes for any trace of insincerity, but all she saw was earnestness.

“I do,” he said, leaning slightly closer, his voice low. “But I also know I’ve messed things up. I want to be real with you moving forward, but I can’t promise some fairytale outcome overnight.”

Her pulse quickened at his honesty, the mixture of hope and uncertainty swirling inside her. “So, you’re saying you want to see where this goes?” 

“Exactly,” he replied, his gaze steady. “But I need to do it right this time. I don’t want you to feel like you have to earn my attention or that I’m keeping you at arm’s length. You deserve better.”

Amber couldn’t help but smile slightly at his words. The vulnerability he was showing was so different from what she’d experienced before with him. “I just don’t want to go back to feeling like I’m not enough or like I’m something to do when there’s nothing to do.”

Trent reached out, taking her hand in his and squeezing gently. “You are more than that. You have to believe me.” 

His touch sent a shiver up her spine, igniting a chemistry that had been brewing between them all along. Still, the remnants of her heartache loomed heavy. 

Pushing all rational thought to the back of her mind, Amber leaned into Trent pressing his lips against hers as he melted into his seat, swiftly pulling her body on top of his. 

Lost in the moment, Amber felt the warmth of his body envelop her. The kiss was electric, igniting every nerve ending as she responded instinctively to the heat radiating between them. It was unlike any kiss they had shared before—fueled by the pent-up emotions from their tumultuous journey, each brush of his lips against hers whispered promises of something more.

Trent’s hands found their way to her waist, holding her firmly yet tenderly as though she might slip away if he didn’t. She reveled in the feeling of being wanted, the way he kissed her with a desperation that mirrored her own longing. The world around them faded, leaving just the two of them tangled in each other and the weight of their unspoken feelings.

As they pulled apart, breathless and wide-eyed, Amber searched Trent’s face for a hint of what he was thinking. “I—”

“What is it?” he cut her off softly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

“I want you to fuck me,” Amber murmured, her heart racing at the audacity of her words. It felt both liberating and terrifying to voice what she desperately craved. 

Trent's eyes darkened with intensity, a mix of surprise and undeniable hunger flickering across his features. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice low and taut, like a bowstring ready to snap. 

Amber nodded, a rush of adrenaline coursing through her. “I need to feel something real right now, something that reminds me of the connection we have. It’s been too much chaos lately, I just want to feel you.”

And feel him she did. 

Amber lay back on the plush sofa, her legs spread wide as Trent knelt between them. His hands gripped her inner thighs, fingers digging into the soft skin as he gazed up at her with hungry eyes.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he groaned, his breath hot against her dampening pussy lips. "I could eat this sweet little pussy all day."

Trent dove in without hesitation, his tongue delving deep to taste Amber's arousal. She let out a sharp gasp, hips bucking slightly at the sudden sensation.

"Oh god... Trent..." Her voice trailed off into a moan as he worked his magic, lapping and sucking with increasing fervour.

He alternated between long, slow strokes of his tongue and quick flicks against her sensitive clit. Amber's head thrashed from side to side, her shiny black hair splayed across the cushions as she struggled to maintain coherence.

"That's it, baby... just like that," she panted. 

Trent's hands slid up Amber's body to cup her breasts, thumbs brushing over the hardening nipples. He suckled harder on her pussy, determined to make her come undone.

“Like this?” Trent asked raising his head, his chin and lips glistening with her arousal as he puckered them and allowed a bead of his spit to fall into her clit, before sucking it back into his mouth, his eye’s never leaving hers. 

Amber's eyes widened as Trent's saliva hit her sensitive clit, the added moisture sending shockwaves through her body. "Yes, god yes..." she whimpered, arching into his touch.

Trent continued to lavish attention on her sex, alternating between sucking and licking in a relentless rhythm that had Amber teetering on the edge of climax. She could feel the pressure building inside her, coiling tighter with each pass of his tongue.

"I'm so close... don't stop," she begged breathlessly, fingers tangling in Trent's tapered curls.

He obliged, as he devoured her pussy like a man starved. The room filled with the sounds of their heavy breathing and wet slapping noises as he ate out Amber with wild abandon.

Just when it seemed he might push her over the precipice at any moment, Trent pulled back slightly. “Reach down and spread pussy open for me,” he instructed. 

Amber's heart raced as Trent commanded her to spread her pussy open for him. She instinctively tried to close her thighs, but he held them apart with a firm grip.

"Please... I'm so sensitive," she whimpered, feeling exposed and vulnerable in that moment.

Trent didn't relent, his intense gaze never leaving her face. "That's the point, beautiful. You're mine to play with right now."

With shaking hands, Amber reached down and grasped the swollen lips of her sex. She parted them slowly, revealing the glistening pink flesh within. A trickle of arousal escaped, dripping down onto the sofa cushion below.

"There you go," Trent purred approvingly, leaning forward once more to lap at her juices greedily. His tongue delved deep into her folds again, swirling around her clit before tracing up and down each side of her slit.

The added stimulation from spreading herself wide made everything feel even more intense for Amber.

Amber's head thrashed back and forth as Trent worked her over, the combination of his skilled tongue and her shameless display pushing her to the brink. "Oh fuck, oh my god... I'm gonna cum baby!" she wailed.

Trent responded by redoubling his efforts, sucking harder on her clit while thrusting two fingers deep into Amber's twitching channel. He curled them just right, rubbing that sweet spot inside her that made stars burst behind her eyelids.

With a keening cry, Amber shattered once more beneath him. Her pussy clenched rhythmically around his invading digits as wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed over her. This time, Trent didn't pull away – he kept eating at her sex until she'd ridden out every last tremor.

Only then did he withdraw his fingers and sit back on his heels to admire his handiwork: Amber lying spent and sated on the sofa, thighs still parted in invitation.

“More,” she breathed, her fingers gently tracing over her sensitive pussy as their eyes met. 

“More?” Trent repeated. 

Instead of offering him a verbal response, Amber sat up and moved over onto her hands and knees, a deep arch in her spine. She wanted him to fuck her until the hurt and embarrassment she’d felt over the last week were wiped clean from her mind. 

Trent's eyes widened at the sight of Amber presenting herself so wantonly. He swallowed hard, his cock throbbing in response to her display. 

"Fuck, baby... you're incredible," he murmured, a low growl building in his chest as he pulled off his pants and boxers. His rigid erection sprang free, thick and pulsing with need.

Trent positioned himself behind Amber, running the head of his dick along her soaked folds teasingly before pushing inside. She was still sensitive from her previous orgasms but welcomed the stretch as he filled her gradually.

"Ohhhh shit..." she moaned, arching back into him before he abruptly pulled himself from her. 

“I need you in my bed,” Trent growled, his voice thick with desire, as he quickly grabbed Amber's waist and spun her around to face him. He claimed her lips with a fierce kiss, tongues dancing as they both breathed heavily through their noses, the tension crackling between them.

“Let’s go,” he said, his breath warm against her cheek, as he scooped her up effortlessly, causing her to gasp in surprise. His hands gripped her thigh while she wrapped her legs around his waist, feeling the unmistakable heat of his body against hers.

With a powerful stride, Trent carried her upstairs to his bedroom, their breaths mingling with the urgency of their need. He kicked open the door, quickly stepping inside before gently setting her on the bed. 

Amber's heart raced as he stepped back to admire her; the flush of passion coloured her cheeks, and her body gleamed with a sheen of perspiration, the sight of her drove him wild. 

“Can I return the favour?” she asked, eyeing his long, thick cock that hung heavily beneath them. 

“You want to?” Trent asked taking hold of his length, slowly stroking from tip to base and back again as Amber crawled to the edge of the bed. 

Amber's eyes widened at the sight of Trent's impressive erection, her gaze locked onto it hungrily. "Yes," she breathed, reaching out to wrap a hand around his shaft. "I want to taste you."

Without waiting for an invitation, Amber leaned forward and took him into her mouth, moaning softly as he filled her oral cavity. She began to bob her head slowly, savoring the saltysweet flavor of his precum on her tongue.

Trent let out a low groan as Amber worked him over with skillful lips and tongue. Her free hand fondled his balls while she sucked gently on the tip of his cockhead.

"Fuck... just like that," he encouraged through gritted teeth, fingers tangling in Amber's hair. "You're amazing."

Emboldened by his praise, Amber increased the pace of her ministration.

Trent watched in awe as Amber made a mess on him, saliva and pre-cum coating his cock as she took him deeper, the warmth of her mouth and her eyes never breaking contact with his driving him wild with lust. He could feel the heat pooling in his belly, every flick of her tongue sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through him.

“God, Amber,” he gasped, tilting his hips forward to meet her mouth as she sucked harder, pulling him in deeper until her throat constricted around his length. 

In response, she moaned, sending vibrations through his shaft that had him groaning louder. The sight of her on her knees, completely absorbed in pleasuring him, was more arousing than he could have imagined. 

“Breathe through your nose, baby,” he murmured, pulling back slightly to let her catch her breath. “You’re doing so good, so messy for me.”

Spit dripped from Amber’s chin gathering on her chest and flat stomach as she allowed Trent to have his way with her mouth and throat. 

Reaching between her own legs, Amber gagged as her fingers came into contact with her clit, instantly sending a chill down her spine as she refused to break eye contact with the man before her. 

As Trent's cock slid deeper into her mouth, Amber felt a surge of pride and desire. She loved the power she wielded with her lips and tongue, the ability to make him groan and tremble beneath her touch. Her own arousal grew with each thrust, juices dripping down her thighs as she sucked him harder.

Trent tangled his fingers in Amber's hair, guiding her pace as he rolled his hips against her face. "Just like that... fuck yes," he panted, eyes locked on hers as she worked him over.

Amber moaned around his length, sending vibrations through his shaft that had him gasping for breath. She could taste the salty tang of his precum mingling with the musky scent of their combined arousal filling the air.

Lost in the moment, Amber forgot about everything else  Trent's fame, their complicated relationship status, even her dreams for a more meaningful connection. All that mattered was pleasing this man who stirred such intense passion within her.

Amber’s mind turned to mush as Trent fucked her throat, his hand gripping her hair into a messy ponytail as she took him. 

Trent hated how selfish his thoughts may have sounded, but there was no way he was actually going to allow Amber to walk away. His interest in other women didn’t take away from what he felt towards her. 

Pulling her mouth off of him Trent watched in awe as a string of her saliva ran from her lips to his hard dick. 

As Trent pulled out of Amber's mouth, she gasped for air, eyes glazed with lust. He was so hard and thick in her hand, the head glistening with saliva. 

"Hmm... you taste amazing," she purred, stroking him slowly as she looked up at him through heavy eyelashes.

Trent shuddered at her touch, his breath hitching in his chest. "You're fucking incredible," he rasped, reaching down to help her off the bed. 

Amber let him pull her to her feet and then turned around to present herself once more. She spread her legs wider, giving Trent an unobstructed view of her dripping pussy.

Trent stepped forward, his eyes locked onto Amber's glistening sex. With a reverent hand, he cupped her ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulled her back against him.

"You're so ready for me," he growled approvingly, rubbing the head of his cock along her slick folds. "I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll forget your own name."

Amber shivered at his words, a thrill running through her at the promise of rough passion. She reached back to guide him inside, but Trent wasn't having it. Instead, he gripped both of her hips and slammed into her with one powerful thrust.

A sharp cry escaped Amber's lips as she was filled to the brim by Trent's thick length. He didn't give her time to adjust before pulling out and driving in again, setting a relentless pace that had them both panting within moments.

"Yes... just like that!"

Trent grunted with each powerful stroke, his hips snapping forward to bury himself in Amber's heat again and again. He could feel her pussy clenching around him, her inner walls rippling along his length as he claimed her thoroughly.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned, sweat beading on his brow from exertion. "Take it all, baby."

Amber moaned wantonly, pushing back to meet every thrust. The slap of skin against skin filled the room as Trent thrusted into her with abandon, their bodies moving in perfect sync.

He reached around to thumb at her clit roughly while continuing to piston into her slick channel. The added stimulation had Amber seeing stars within moments.

"Oh god... I'm going to cum!" she keened loudly.

Within an instant Amber was beneath Trent, their foreheads pressed against the other and her legs over his shoulders as he buried himself inside of her, making her take every last inch of him as he bottomed out. 

“Trent, you’re so big!” Amber squealed, the indescribable pleasure she felt accompanied by a dull ache. 

"Shhh, take it," Trent whispered against Amber's ear, his hips never ceasing their relentless rhythm as he pistoned in and out of her clenching heat. "Your little pussy was made for my cock."

Amber whimpered, trying to catch her breath between cries of pleasure as Trent's thumb rubbed merciless circles over her hypersensitive clit. "Don't stop..."

With a guttural growl, Trent slammed into her one final time, holding still as his release hit. Amber felt each hot spurt of his cum filling her to the brim, marking her insides with his claiming essence. "Fuck yes... give it to me," he panted, grinding against her to prolong the sensation.

As Trent slowly withdrew, his softening member slipped free with a wet sound, followed by a trickle of their combined fluids onto the bed sheets below.

As caught up in pleasure as he was, Trent noticed Amber had rolled away from him, putting some distance between them in his spacious bed, an action he didn’t approve of. 

Wrapping his arm around her waist, Trent pulled her body against his, turning her so she faced him as they both lay catching their breath. 

As their eyes met, a moment of vulnerability passed between them. The haze of passion began to lift, revealing the reality of their situation. Amber's heart raced, not just from the physical exertion but from the emotional weight of what had just transpired.

"That was... intense," she breathed, her cheeks flushed as Trent tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Is this what you wanted?” Trent smiled softly, brushing his thumb along her cheek.

“Yes.”

[ennikity]

❤𝘕𝘪-𝘬𝘪 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯... 𝘉𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘞𝘪𝘴𝘩 ❤ ☽𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦: 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧☾ ☽𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘱☾

...And with a smile, the boy ended the live.

-Good job- a member of the staff said- You can go home now, the rest of the members said that they wanted to practice a bit more, but you should go home and rest.

Ni-ki nodded, and saw how the staff members dessapeared, one by one. Then, he took a look at the live set. The balloons and the rests of the cake gave the room a happy athmosphere, but it didn't match with how he was feeling.

It's not that he wasn't happy, after all, it was his 18th birthday. But it was as if all that joy he had felt the night before, thinking about how he was going to spend his birthday had dessapeared. The day hadn't even gone that bad, since he had had time to spend with his members and even with you. However, he couldn't stop thinking about that sad feeling inside his chest. He didn't want to be selfish, after all, the members and you had rearenged all your schedules to throw him a little party, but he felt that, for all of you, that day wasn't as special as for him. Even if he didn't show it, Ni-ki had been waiting for december 9 for a really long, long time. He was finally an adult, and that ment that he could do all those cool things that his hyungs made, and people would finally stop seeing him as the baby of the group. So seeing that the rest weren't as excited as him kinda disappointed him.

-I have to stop thinking this way- the boy whispered to himself- I should be grateful instead. The all made big efforts to be with me today and, after all, it's just a birthday. How can I be so childish?

But still, when he left the room, his heart was as heavy as his footsteps.

On the way to where the car was waiting for him to go home, he passed infront of the studio where the memebers were still practicing. He could hear voices and the sound of one of their oldest songs form there, wich surprised him a bit, because they weren't working on any old song at that moment. Ni-ki thougth about entering the room to tell them that he was leaving, but he didn't want to disturb, so he just passed by, saying a quiet "goodbye" to them. It had been a long day, and he couldn't wait to go home.

[...]

The house was cold and dark when he arrived, but he didn't switch on the lights. Passing by the silent living room and kitchen, he went directly to his room, without looking at anything else aside from the dark corridor infront of him. The familiar room greeted the boy, and only then he felt a bit better. He sat on his bed, the same that had seen him cry sometimes, but also the same that knew all those nights he had spent talking and laughing with the members, as if they were 12 years old again. The memories that those walls held started to fill Ni-ki's mind, and, for the first time, he wasn't sure about turning an adult. After all, what could assure him that everything was going to stay the same? He didn't want nothing to change, those three years had been the best part of his life, and even tho turning 18 didn't ment that things would be different, was that fully true?

He sighed, deep in those thoughts, but when he tried to lay down, his head collided with something he hadn't seen before. He turned on the lights and, for the first time, he could see the box waiting beside him. He took it with both hands, curiosity leading his moves. It was a medium sized, light blue box, with a white ribbon on top of it. A hand written note told him for who it was: Ni-ki.

He opened it, carefully, and took a look at the inside. A thick book and an envelope is all he found. He took the book first, and when he opened it, it was as if a hurricane of memories escaped from it. It was a photo book filled whit pictures from before his debut to those last weeks. Moments with his members were captured in those pages, but also precious moments with you, since the day you started dating to the last afternoon you had spent together. It was as if all the good things that had happened to him were put together in that book, and the boy felt a wave of happiness and gratefulness inside him. All of you were his family now, and he couldn't wish for anything better.

He was going to put the book back in it's box when he remembered the envelope. With a nervous heart, he took the letter inside of it, and recognized your handwriting the moment he saw it. Taking a deep breath, he started to read.

To our best boy, Ni-ki:

If you are reading this, it means that is finally December 9, so happy birthday! The members and I wanted to do something special for you, and we thought about something that you could keep, that's why we are writing this letter.

Honestly, we don't have much to say, except that we can't believe that you are already 18. We swear that yesterday you were still the little boy who slept everywhere and always followed the members wherever they went. And look at you now, taller than everyone else, with a successful career and the luck to say that you made your dream come true. We couldn't be more proud of you, and we mean it with all our heart. Specially because during these 3 years there were some difficult moments where we couldn't protect you all we would like to, or make you feel better. You had to overcome some hard times, but you were able to stand up again, and that says a lot of you.

However, despite all those moments, when we look at you, we still see the same boy who get's happy just by seeing a puppy, the same boy who can't hide a smile when he dances, and the same one who never, ever gave up on his dream. We know that you could't wait to turn 18, but please, never change. We couldn't imagine our lifes without your smiley face every time you prank us, or the way you always try your best to impress us, even if there's nothing about you we wouldn't be impressed about. Your are a very important part of us, and we feel the happiest for being able to make our story with you. Ni-ki, you are going to go very far, so don't forget that we always got your back, not only as teammates, but also as friends (and as a girlfriend!) This photo book shows the journey we have already walked, but promise us that we wil continue making good memories together for a really long time. And promise too to keep being the happy little boy we love, because we can't imagine our lifes without you.

With love,

The members and Y/N.

Tears were already rolling down Ni-ki's face when he finished reading. That letter was like the warmest hug he ever had, and it just filled him with the most pure joy and...

-See? I told ya, he was going to cry- a sudden, and familiar, voice said behind him.

The boy turned around, just to find Enha members and you smiling warmly at him. Everyone could tell the emotion in your eyes when you looked at him.

Ni-ki tried to say something, but the tears didn't let him.

-Awww, we didn't mean to make you cry- you said softly before reaching the boy and hugging him.

Feeling your arms around him and the confort of your presence made te boy cry even more. You pat his head gently, trying to calm him, and then the members joined the hug too. It was a moment that would stay in your hearts for a very long time.

-I thought that you were still practicing- Ni-ki said when he finally stopped and the eight of you broke the hug.

-And not celebrate you turning 18?- Heeseung asked.

-But you already threw me a party.

-Did you really thought that we wouldn't make nothing more special for your birthday?- Jake said.

-We know how much you've waited for this day, one party wasn't enough!- Sunoo added.

-I thought that it wasn't that important - he mumbled.

-Dude, you just turned 18, how on earth wouldn't we think it wasn't important?- this time, it was Jay the one speaking.

-You are our maknae, everything involved with you is important for us- Sunghoon added.

Those words would be stuck on Ni-ki's heart for a long time, but for the moment, the only thing he was able to do was smile, trying to not let the tears out again. Noticing this, you caressed his hand, trying to give the boy some confort. The way the tears dessapeared after that let you know that it had worked.

-So, do you want to see what we've prepared? -Jungwon said with a smile.

-Wait, there's more?

-Of course there is! But you have to close your eyes first if you want to discover it- you said this time, pulling out of your pocket a pice of fabric- May I?

Ni-ki nodded, leaning closer to you so you could place it arround his head.

-Ok, that's it. Now stand up and follow me- you added, talking the boy's hands between yours.

Ni-ki did as you told him, and when he felt the warmth of your hands, couldn't help but smile. If you were the one guiding him, he would follow you to the end of the world.

When both of you started walking, he felt how you took him across the corridor, past the kitchen and trough the living room. It was incredible how those same rooms had seem cold and dark some minutes ago, but now that he knew that you and the boys were with him, there weren't anymore.

Ni-ki felt how you stopped in what he thougt was the living room. Everything was so still that, for a second, it looked as if all of you had left. The sound of your voice prove him that it wasn't true.

-Are you ready?

The boy nodded, and then he felt how you removed the fabric from his eyes.

For the first seconds, everything was dark, and the switched off lights didn't help at all. However, when his eyes adapted to the ambience, the surprise all of you had been talking about appeared in front of him.

-Mum?- Ni-ki whispered, not being able to do something more- Dad? Why are you here? How are you here?

You watched as the boy kept turning to his parents and then to the members, who were filming secretly the moment.

-Stop asking and go and say hi- you laughed as you pushed him towards his family- There will be time for explanations.

The boy did as you said, and soon he was part of a long hug with his mum, dad and even his sisters, who had come too.

-Aww, they look so happy- Sunoo said.

-I'm sure Ni-ki wasn't expecting this- Jungwon smiled.

-Guys, I feel like I'm going to cry too- Jake added.

-Don't you dare, if you cry we will all end up crying- Jay asnwered him.

-That's right- you chukled.

Some moments later, Ni-ki broke the hug and turned to where the members and you were standing.

-So, are you going to tell me how you've done all this?- he asked, signaling, not only his family, but also the fully decorated room and the cake he hadn't seen before.

-Easy- Heeseung said- We left the company early to prepare the house and to make sure Jay had enough time to make the cake.

-But I heard you practicing before living.

-That was just an old live we asked the manager to play to make you think that we were still there- Sunghoon said proudly.

-However, what we had planned wasn't this- Jake intervened- We were waiting here hidden because we thought that you would turn on the lights when you entered the house, and we could shout, you know, "surprise" or something. But you went directly to you room and saw the present that we were supposed to give you later.

-So we had to change our plans- Sunoo laughed.

-I had no idea- Ni-ki smiled.

-And about your family... It was Y/N's idea, actually- Jungwon continued- She was the one who contacted them, searched the flights and even went to pick them up at the airport this morning.

-Really?- Ni-ki asked, looking at you with shiny eyes.

-Well, I didn't want you to celebrate your 18 birthday far from your family- you answered with a smile.

-You are all the best, seriouslly- the boy said, and you could all feel the emotion on his voice.

-So, now that we are all here, who want's a piece of cake- Jay asked- I haven't been all afternoon baking for nothing.

You all agreed to that, so you gathered arround the cake, waiting for Ni-ki to make a wish. And it was at that moment, when the boy realized that there was nothing he could wish for, because he already had everything he needed: a caring familly that didn't mind coming all the way from Japan just to spend some hours with him, hyungs that always made sure he felt like home, and you, a girlfriend who always knew how to make him happy and that, without realizing, had become his safe place.

Please, stay always by my side.

He asked the candels before blowing them.

And it was sure to say, that his birthday wish would come true.

Note:

Hi everyone! Today I wanted to post something special to celebrate Ni-ki's birthday, even tho I'm not very satisfied with how it turned out. The only part I trully like is the one when he reads the letter. Maybe I cried a bit writing it, but who wouldn't. I still can't believe he is already an adult, time goes by really fast.

Anyway, I hoped you liked it, and let's keep supporting the boys and our precious maknae forever <3

See you!

[kotylynnemerrill]

Alrighty y'all,

Can't believe it but here's ch. 10!

As always I hope y'all enjoy it, and again a big thanks to the wonderful @aquamarine-dreamer for helping me edit this beast.

Your Words I Hold Forever Ch. 10

September 19th, 1968  5:58 pm

Thunder clapped loudly as Lexi turned the page of her book.  She glanced up just in time to catch a brief flash of bright light through the store window.

A whisper of breath escaped her lips as she returned her focus to the book.

She and Ash had finished ‘Something Wicked This Way Comes’ and were now reading ‘The Inhabitant of the Lake and Less Welcome Tenants’ by Ramsey Campbell, a collection of interconnected short horror stories Ash had picked out.

Normally she wouldn’t be reading while in charge of the register, but due to the storm the Dairy had been horribly barren of customers, so she decided to take advantage of the quiet.

Ash, of course, was slightly annoyed by this.  ‘Light work’ he called it, but Kitty, with a self-satisfied smile, reminded him he was still treading on thin ice.  Apparently, ‘what the hell do you want’ is not something you should say to customers, and Ash knew better than to push his luck.

She glanced up again as the storage room door opened and Kitty walked in holding a medium-sized cardboard box in her arms, along with what Lexi assumed was the day’s mail tucked in her left hand.

“Ash still moping?” she asked the blond woman as she set the box down on the floor beside the counter.

Lexi tried her best to ignore the envelopes in Kitty’s hand, but her eyes darted to them anyway, something she did out of habit now.  Always searching for the familiar red and blue border of an air mail envelope.

Her lips pulled downward a little when the only thing she could make out was plain white envelopes.

“Does he do anything else?”

Lexi softly chuckled, earning a smirk from Kitty.

“Okay, we got some flashlights, just in case the electricity goes out, plus some extra candles, matches and batteries.”

“Should we be worried about flooding?”

“Nah.  Everything is supposed to clear up by tomorrow. We might close up shop early though before it gets too bad.  This is gonna go on all night.”  As if to accentuate her words, there was another rumble, closely followed by a loud crack so close Lexi could feel the vibrations through the surface of the counter where her forearms rested. 

Kitty muttered under her breath and turned towards the storage door, “Ash! Come here and take this box to the caddy please.”

There was a muffled response before Ash appeared a few seconds later with a scowl on his face.  He grabbed the box roughly and headed towards the door.  He spared Lexi a glance as he passed her and noticed the book held loosely in her hands.

“Which story you on?”

“One where the killer uses a meat hook to dispatch his victims.”

“He get Mrs. Rion yet?”

“Not yet – wait, he kills Mrs. Rion?”

“Maybe.”

Lexi let out a ‘humph’ in disappointment. “Well damn.” 

Ash snickered as he made his way out the door.

“Jesus, what are you two reading?” revulsion laced Kitty's voice.

“Some murder mystery…it was Ash’s turn to pick,” Lexi replied with a shrug.

“Oh, fantastic.”  Kitty rolled her eyes.  She began flipping through the mail and suddenly stopped, a smile forming on her lips. “Here, take a break from that – I got something better.”

Lexi frowned, confused, as she closed the book, but then saw what Kitty was holding in her outstretched hand.

Red and blue border -  ‘via air mail’ logo with the eagle wings on either side.

“Oh!” She nearly choked as she shoved the book to the side and snatched the envelope from Kitty's grasp. She read her name in his neat angular scroll and clutched the envelope to her chest.

“Go on, go out to the car so you can read whatever mushy word vomit he's written you, and I’ll have Ash help me with closing up.”

Grinning, Lexi hopped off the stool she was sitting on with as much grace as her excitement would allow and rushed Kitty, pulling her into a tight hug.

“Are you sure?” Lexi asked when she let her go. “I can help before –”

“Go on. You've been waiting for this letter. I’m still gonna kick his scrawny ass.” Kitty finished with a shake of her head, more as an afterthought…a reminder.

“Who’s ass we kickin’?” Both women turned to see Ash standing in the doorway, wiping rain from his face.

“Your brother’s.”

 He quickly shut the door and walked over to the counter where Lexi was holding out a roll of paper towels she had pulled from under the counter. “Here.”

 Ash mumbled a ‘thanks’ before taking the roll, tearing off several sheets, and setting it down on the counter.  He dried the rest of his face, forearms, and hands before handing the wet paper towels to Lexi.

She scrunched her nose as she took the soiled trash and tossed it in the small waste basket under the counter.

 “Yeah.” Ash ran a hand over his short dark hair.  “Dumbass – he gotta make it back first.”

“Well, no matter - in this life or the next,” Kitty grumbled. “Now come on. You're helping me count the register, then we're heading out.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Thanks Kitty.”  Lexi gave Kitty another quick hug before grabbing her hooded jacket and putting it on.  She secured the hood over her head and put the letter in the left large side pocket, then tucked the book in the other pocket.

“Where are you going?” Ash asked, exasperation heavy in his voice.

“None of your business – stop bothering her.” Kitty swatted the back of his head.  Ash opened his mouth to protest when Lexi kissed her fingertips and patted his cheek as she passed him before continuing towards the door.

 She barely caught Ash’s unamused ‘what the hell’ as she made her way out the door.

Thankfully it wasn't raining as hard as she thought, but the downpour was steady.  With a sigh, Lexi hugged the jacket tighter around her and darted down the steps and into the rain.

She quickly made it to the passenger side door and practically flung herself into the seat when she got it open. Just as quickly, she shut the door and nearly cursed when she realized she had nothing to dry her hands on.

Lexi settled for wiping them on her jeans, the only part of her that didn’t get damp, and once her hands were dry enough, she pulled the letter from her pocket.

Her hands were shaking slightly as she released the top fold from its seal and pulled the piece of notebook paper free, discarding the envelope on the dash.

She held it in her hands for a moment, letting the sinking feeling in her stomach dissipate.  Why was she nervous? She shouldn't be, her heart told her he would be nothing but supportive, but deep down a doubt had made a home within her. Ugly and nauseating.

She inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly.

Maybe it was residual emotions from the fight with her mom, who still hadn’t reached out. Lexi didn't really expect her to, but she had hoped. She still wanted her mother.

Another intake of air.

Just do it – read it!

Lexi unfolded the letter, and her hand instinctively went to the growing swell of her stomach as she began to read.   

*****

Lexi,

It feels like it’s been forever since I last wrote to you.

Wish I could have written sooner, but the past few days have been busy…more like hell, if I’m being honest.

We’ve moved away from our post at Da Nang, and we've settled just outside a small village about thirty clicks (18 miles) south of Hol An.

 This place is beautiful.  It’s incredibly isolated and, of course, surrounded by a ton of jungle, but it's beautiful.  There’s a constant thrumming and everything is incredibly vibrant.

Reminds me a little bit of those fantasy books you've been telling me about. If I can, I'll be sure to start sending pictures so you can see for yourself.

I got your letter on the 1st and I’ve been trying to figure out what to say.  I’ve probably started this letter a hundred times by now, but I keep scrapin’ it every time.

I guess God didn't see it necessary to bless me with the gift of words…not like you. Maybe I don't need them to be all fancy, but I wanna say the right thing, you know?

I’ve never really allowed myself to want things…big things.  The farm, and the family we talked about, those were just dreams…never goals I actually envisioned for myself. 

My life in Cali – the choices I made, a part of me I think kinda always thought maybe it was too risky. Plus, Kitty always made it a point to tell me love was an instinct you couldn’t trust.  And if it did happen…I don’t know, I was always too afraid to let myself find out.

Until now.

Now I find myself thinking about those things all the time…and more and more I’m realizing I want these things – I want them with you.

Something about you…how you make me feel.  The way you treat me like I’m equal, like I’m someone valuable, has changed that. 

And now you’re having a baby.  Our baby – that’s wild.

I’m still trying to process the gravity of what that means.  I can only imagine how you’re feeling.

I want you to know I’m scared too…nearly threw up the first time I read your letter.

This is not how I wanted things to go.  I never meant to get you into any kind of situation. And I sure as hell never meant for you to have to deal with something like this on your own. I will never be able to tell you how sorry I am, especially if things get messy…if they haven’t already.

I can’t stand the thought of being the reason your family is put out with you. I already have a pretty good idea how they gonna feel about me after this. 

I hate that too…

I don’t want that for you.  I don’t want them thinkin’ you’ve ruined your life or that you’re stuck with some deadbeat’s kid.

It makes me angry because a part of me fears that it’s true. I caused this mess and left you to pick up the pieces…not intentionally but…

You deserve a lot more than that…a lot more than me, and I’m sorry I wasn’t more careful.

But I don't regret it. And I could never be mad about something like this.

I can't. Not when it feels like fate, like this thing between us was predestined.

Call it love, or whatever you want - it is what it is, and I can't change it now.  You're it for me.

I want to be able to reassure you that everything will be okay – I hope it will be. But I don’t want to make you a promise I can’t keep.

 But I will promise this….

 You’re not alone in this.  We did this together, and I’m gonna support you no matter what.

I probably don't gotta say it, but if things aren't good with your mom after you tell her about the baby…or if something happens to me, I want you to go to Kitty. She'll look after you – both of you. Whatever you need.

And I have some money saved up…nothing impressive, but it'd be enough to give you a good start - help Kitty and Ash out a little bit too.

It's the best I can do for now.

I imagine Kitty will have a few choice words to say about this, but she loves you just as much as I do. She’s not going to blame you, that’s for sure.

But I don’t want you to worry about that.  Just keep up the prayers (they might actually be working) and do what you need to do to keep yourself right. 

A couple of the guys in my platoon have kids and I thought about asking them for advice…help me prepare a little bit, I guess, but I haven’t done it yet.

I don’t know, I kinda like being the only one here who knows…like it’s my lucky rabbit’s foot or something.

Sometimes it’s hard not to pipe in though when the guys are talking…

My friend Hardy was telling me a story about his little boy the other day, something he doesn't do often - says it's bad juju to talk about personal stuff when you're at war.

It was his son's first day of kindergarten or something like that. I didn’t get too caught up on the details, but he had this look on his face…

Love, pure devotion, pride. He was practically glowing and it floored me a little bit.

I hope I get to experience that, to share that with you.

For now, I guess the letters will have to do, so I want lots of them. Let me know how our kids doing . I’m sure soon you’ll  be learning all kinds of facts.

You should have Kitty take some photos too…one every month so I can see the progress of the bump.

It’s getting dark now, too dark to write, and this torch I got hanging from my bunk is doing a piss poor job as a lamp.

I don’t know what else to say anyway…but I love you and I miss you.

Tell Kitty and Ash I love them too and I'll write them a letter soon. And make sure Ash behaves - he's the man of the house right now and needs to start acting like it. Tell him to keep up with his schoolwork too.

And I want you to tell Kitty about the money - she's not exactly oblivious to my little side hustle but tell her (if she asks) I did it because I wanted to be able to give something back.

P.S.

Kiss the belly for me.

Forever yours,

Fez

*********

Lexi’s eyes stung as she finished the letter, and her hands began to shake again. She slumped back into the seat, letting out a long breath she hadn’t realized she was holding in.  She let the letter slip from her hands as she brought them up to cover her suddenly very warm face.

Kitty opened the driver’s side door as Lexi let out a sob. Ash opened the passenger door a second later…

“Hey –” he paused seeing Lexi was crying. “What’s the matter with you?” Lexi could hear the alarm in his voice, but she couldn’t speak. She was only making soft whimpering noises in response.

“Ash, get in the back seat.”  Kitty scolded, motioning with her thumb.  He spotted the letter in Lexi’s lap and understood. Without another word, he made his way to the back passenger door, opened it, and climbed in.

Kitty climbed in the driver’s seat very slowly, like she was approaching a wild animal or a bomb and shut her door.

“Well, what’s the scoop? He okay?”

Lexi hiccupped and sniffled slightly, as she let her hands fall to her lap.

“He said…he loves us and,” Lexi let out a long sigh.  “And he said sorry it took so long to write. His platoon has moved out of Da Nang apparently. He…,” she swallowed thickly trying to loosen the lump in her throat, but it was too tight and hard to breath.

“Lexi… breathe doll.”

Her lips began to quiver as she swallowed again and took a couple of deep breaths.   “And…” New tears filled her eyes. “He said kiss the belly for him.”  Then the dam broke, and tears flowed down her cheeks again.

“Well, shit.”  Kitty’s own eyes became glassy. “So, he’s on board? Well, of course he is.”

Lexi nodded. 

“Oh Lexi, that’s great.  And he’s okay?”

Lexi nodded again.  Kitty leaned in grasping her by the face and gave her a big kiss on the forehead.

“Oh shit.  I got lipstick on you.”

Lexi let out a watery laugh.  “That’s okay.”

“Someone wanna explain what’s going on please?”

“Nothing bud. Everything’s going to be just fine.” Kitty smiled wide, gently pinching Lexi’s cheeks.

“Yeah…it’s going to be fine.” “He…there’s something he did want me to talk to you about…”

“When we get home. Okay?”

“Okay…”

Kitty nodded and took the keys from her pocket; they rattled as she stuck them in the ignition. With a twist of her wrist, the caddy roared to life.

[thegigilwriter]

15 | “Danger & Star, Rooster & Angel” — Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Female Mitchell OC

Summary. 26-year-old Lucy Asa Mitchell did not know what was in store for her when she first bumped into Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw. After an instant mutual connection followed by a sweet whirlwind romance that swept both their feet, Lucy found herself being immersed deeper into Bradley’s world of the Navy, F-14s, and deployments. What she didn’t expect was finding was the answer to an elusive part of her past — the identity of her long-lost father.

Chapter Summary. Lucy’s birthday looms near and Frankie isn’t able to make it. So she makes it up to her before she leaves. Luckily, Bradley has some plans in mind and he holds out hope that in time Lucy will reveal more about her complicated family.

Masterlist

Keywords/Warnings: Romance, angst, BFF times

15 | Seashell by the Seashore 🐚

September 18, 2023

“Tanti auguri a, tetanti auguri a. Tetanti auguri a Luciaaaa.... Tanti auguri a te!ˮ

Lucy and Francesca clapped side by side, sitting together under the shade of a large parasol buried in the sand, sitting on a fitted sheet to keep the sand at bay, and enjoying the view of the sea in the mild San Diego afternoon. Francesca had baked them a lovely, little red velvet cake with buttercream frosting and they began to pick it apart with a fork, paired with some glasses of Pinot Noir.

“Iʼm sorry that I canʼt make it on your actual birthday,ˮ Frankie frowned.

“Whatʼre you talking about?ˮ Lucy smiled. “Today is my birthday. Today, I am 26 for you, my friend.ˮ

They laughed lightly, glasses clinking.

“How old is Bradley, again?ˮ Francesca hummed.

“40,ˮ Lucy replied casually. “Quite the age gap, eh?ˮ

“It is, but whenever I look at both of you I canʼt decide whether youʼre older than you look or heʼs younger than he seems!ˮ

“Thank you,ˮ Lucy chuckled.

A brief quiet ensued as they both had a bite of cake.

“Have you told him? About your mom?ˮ Francesca asked her quietly.

“Yeah,ˮ Lucy smiled. “Squeezed a few tears out of me... but I got it out in the open eventually.ˮ

“And Ford? Did you tell him about the letters and about Maveri—“

“No,ˮ she sighed deeply. “Not yet... not yet. Frankie, I really donʼt want to tal—“

“Lucia,ˮ Francesca said firmly. “I respect your privacy and your autonomy. You have a right to both. But my friend, your fatal flaw is your own isolation — you lie and push people away because youʼre afraid—“

“Frankie—“

“Youʼre afraid that if they got to know the person you really are theyʼll leave and theyʼll take all of their love with them.ˮ

Francesca Agosti was no academic marvel. She did not have any educational qualifications to become a curator and a painter. She flunked out of the fancy private college her father paid for. But she was a great scholar when it comes to the matters of the heart. She and Lucy share the trait of being insightful. While Lucy applies it towards interacting with whales, Francesca puts it on a canvas. That, is what makes her a passionate artist.

“Whatever happened to Ford was not your punishment of the matters you last exchanged,ˮ Francesca held her hand. “What happened to your mom is something out of your control. What happened to you — to wild Lucy — shouldnʼt have had to change.ˮ

“But Bradley—“

“Bradley Bradshaw is a good man,ˮ Francesca enveloped her weeping friend into her arms lovingly. “That man is absolutely in love with you, Lucia. I can see it in his eyes.ˮ

“I-In love?ˮ Lucy stuttered. “With me?ˮ

“With you,ˮ Francesca tucked her stray hairs behind her ears. “Forgive yourself Lucia,ˮ she smiled kindly. “Let him love you.ˮ

“Okay,ˮ Lucy whispered.

“I have something for you,ˮ Francesca pulled her tote bag towards her and retrieved a medium-sized box decorated with iridescent swirls and a white bow. She handed it to Lucy.

It was heavy in Lucyʼs lap, and whatever it was it thudded against the corners as she shook it gently. She undid the bow and opened the lid. Wrapped in pale tissue, was a magnificent conch shell. It was a foot in size with a large flaring lip. It had a pretty, consistent pale peach color all throughout with a vibrant pink that emerged from its entrance. Its spines were elegantly curved and ethereal.

“Oh Frankie,ˮ she sighed. “Itʼs beautiful.. But I canʼt — there are only about 50,000 in the world and I donʼt know how you got this but if itʼs from a protected area —“

“Lucia stop,ˮ Francesca chuckled. “Remember Scala dei Turkei? I tripped on that a week before I came here. I had it checked out, thereʼs nothing in here and itʼs okay to keep...ˮ

“Thank you Frankie,ˮ she embraced her tightly. “For everything.ˮ

Just then, Lucyʼs phone rang and from just how she smiled as she picked it up, Francesca could tell just who it was on the other side…

“Yeah,ˮ Lucy chuckled looking at Francesca. “I think sheʼd like that.ˮ

“Iʼve only had a glass,ˮ she argued. “I can have a beer.ˮ

Francesca giggled. Lucy stood up, gesturing for the bathroom.

“We can always Uber, Bradley,ˮ she said into the phone as she went ahead and grabbed her purse.

“Okay, okay, if you insist.ˮ Lucy sighed as she sauntered away.

Francesca watched her from the distance, her mind drifting and finding itself to Robert Floyd. It was no secret that Francesca has had her fair share of lovers — some amorous, some stoic, some scandalous, and some just too square. But she never really met anyone who was quite like Robert Floyd.

“Looks like that went well,ˮ Bob smiled at her.

“It looks like that right now,ˮ she replied to him as she downed another Bellini. “But wait until the paper comes out tomorrow and Italyʼs most snobby pricks nitpick the failure of a daughter from a family gallerists.ˮ

They were walking the length of the restricted areas museum at night. Bob had her heels in his hand and his jacket on her shoulders. They found a tall glass door to a patio and just before they exited to meet with the view of the sea, they spotted two lovers, so engrossed with each other that neither of them felt the chilly air.

“Theyʼre really going at it,ˮ Bob chuckled as Bradley pulled Lucy closer to him. “Iʼve never seen Rooster like this.ˮ

“Neither have I with Lucia,ˮ Francesca remarked. “Come, I know some other place we can go.ˮ

They ended up in an empty gallery room in which Francesca powered a switch nearby and a floating, projected art exhibition illuminated the space. It was one of those instagram- worthy, art-interactive, locations that people loved to take pictures at.

“I think these kinds of exhibitions were made for clout,ˮ Bob said as-matter-of- factly.

“Definitely,ˮ Francesca drawled, her stance flailing. She sat down on one corner of the room and Bob followed suit, watching the lights scatter against the white walls.

“Youʼre not a failure, yʼknow?ˮ He told her. “History tells us that the critics arenʼt always right.ˮ

“Thatʼs true,ˮ Francesca nodded sleepily. “But those artists werenʼt children of my Father.ˮ

A beat.

“Artists donʼt please, they create.ˮ Bob told her. Francesca looked at him thoughtfully. The lights were hypnotic, the Bellini buzz was on its high, and his lips looked very lonely. She cupped his cheek and slowly drew him to her. He placed a hand on her shoulder gently.

“Itʼs late,ˮ he said. “Let me take you home.ˮ

Unbeknownst to Francesca whose face placed in her palms, Bradley had arrived in khaki uniform and walked up to their little patch of shade on the beach.

“You alright?ˮ He asked her. Francesca looked up.

“Oh yes...ˮ Francesca smiled. “Lucia just went to the bathroom. Sheʼll be back.ˮ

“Well I sure hope so,ˮ Bradley joked. “Iʼve had a whole thing planned for her birthday. I would hate for her to miss it... I hope she likes it.ˮ

“As long as itʼs from you, Iʼm sure sheʼll enjoy it.ˮ She replied.

“What did you get her?ˮ Bradley gestured towards the gift box. Francesca opened the lid.

“Only about 50,000 of those left. Are they from a—“

“No theyʼre not from a protected area,ˮ Francesca chuckled. “I stubbed my toe on that on an isolated beach in Italy. Had it checked out too. You listen to her...ˮ

“‘Course I do,ˮ Bradley tuck his aviators in his shirt as he ducked into the shade and sat beside her. “Sheʼs my girlfriend…”

“Iʼm going to take care of her you know,ˮ he told her after a moment of stillness, looking out to the water.

“I know you will... just be patient with her,ˮ Francesca sighed. “If thereʼs anything I can tell you, itʼs that Lucy comes from a family where... pushing down their feelings and hiding their problems is way to be strong. Itʼll be hard — getting Lucia out of her shell.ˮ

“Hey!ˮ Lucy arrived a few moments later in her white sunhat, she crawled into their enclosure, eyes lighting up at the sight of Bradley

“Hey Angel,ˮ he grinned handsomely as he kissed her cheek. “Ready for the Hard Deck?ˮ

“Is Bob going to be there?ˮ She smirked, a faint blush dusting Francescaʼs cheek.

“You told him?!ˮ She exclaimed. “Lucia!ˮ

“He did, actually.ˮ Bradley answered, winking. “Looks the right one finally came your way.ˮ

New ship unlocked! 🔓💞🔑 Should I make a short spin-off series about these two new lovebirds after Danger & Star, Rooster & Angel? Well that’s a wrap for now! See you at 16 | Lucy’s Surprise!

[hearts4golbach]

Light Shower. (Sal Fisher x Fem!Reader.)

part 12

-

"Baby, cleanse me."

-

disclaimer: suicide/od implication.

-

"you're a fucking asshole!" my mom screams echoed through the small house. a crash rumbled, making me want to curl up in a ball and cry. my dad screamed, an agonizing scream.

"y/m/n, what the fuck?!" dad cried, his voice shook.

I ran down the stairs. my dad was on the floor, his hand tightly gripped his forearm. the area around his fingers was paste white, a red substance dripped onto the kitchen tiles.

"y/n, i-" my mom tried to speak, stuttering as she collected her belongings. she stood at the door, purse and jacket in hand, staring at us.

"dad, what happened?"

"y/n, just go to your room." he glanced at the counter. I followed his eyesight to see the bloodied corner of the counter. "please?"

I turned around with unsure footing, my head spinning. I walked back to my room, not looking back once.

outside, it was below freezing. snow had began to pile on the ground a while ago. now it was at least 2 inches deep.

I threw on the thin sweater I got from my grandma for my 10th birthday. I scrambled out my window. somehow, I managed to not break any bones. I walked for what felt like hours until I got to sals house. I threw pebles, making sure I was gentle enough to not break the window, and silently prayed he was awake. to my luck, he was.

'y/n?" he asked, rubbing sleepiness from his cerulean eyes. "oh my- it's freezing! do you want to come inside?"

"yes please." I said through chattering teeth.

"okay, my dad's knocked out. can you go to the front door?"

I nodded and sprinted as fast as my legs would take me. the warmth inside the house burnt my skin.

"I hope you don't have frost bite..." he mumbled, enveloping me in a fluffy blanket. "I'll be right back."

a few minutes later, sal came back with a bag of marshmallows along with two mugs of hot chocolate. it was more like medium chocolate, but who said I was complaining? "sally, you didn't have to do this, silly." I pouted my lip a little as I felt tears begin to sting my eyes.

"it was no problem. whats wrong? what happened?"

"my parents fought again. my mom hurt my dad, I don't really know how bad. all I saw wad the blood and my mom running out the front door." I quickly wiped the tear that had begun to roll down my face. "I didn't know what to do so I came here."

he stayed silent and wrapped me in a tight hug. he sat there with me, wiping my tears and whispering sweet nothings into my ear to calm me down. I begged him to just get my mind off of it, and he did. he told me about how he wanted to rearrange his room and maybe decorate it more to his liking. I occasionally commented a suggestion.

sal let me ride his bike home, which was much better than walking, especially in the cold. I quietly entered my front door to see my mom asleep on the couch.

-

ash called me and sal about an end of summer party, even though it was only roughly half way through the summer, I think? before the party, ash came over to help me get ready. she brought a silk purple dress and insisted I wear it. ash bugged so much, I eventually caved. the dress fit shockingly well.

"see! you look amazing!" she chirped. "sals definitely going to want some after the party." she smirked, wiggling her eyebrows.

"and what if I 'gave him some' during the party?"

"what?!" ash screeched. I usually didn't make smart-ass comments, so this was amusing.

"hm? I didn't say anything." I smirked, pinning up a stray piece of hair.

"y/n, oh my god." she mumbled, turning around and walking away.

I grinned at her. I did my usual makeup, which wasn't very much.

ash drove us to the party. I mean, she drove us everywhere because she liked to pretend she was in Fast and Furious. okay, in all honestly, she was the only one with a car.

this time, Todd called shot gun, claiming we were annoying. Neil followed us in his car. sal sat in between me and larry. (in car scenes, picture the 'That 70s Show' introduction.) ash chose to play whatever recent pop was on the radio. sals hand rubbed my knee gently as he conversed with Larry. they were talking about a new sanitys fall album coming out in the fall and how excited they were. the sun had begun to set almost an hour ago, yet the stars and the moon shone on the globe making it look bright as hell outside.

we eventually made it. what a shocker, ash didn't crash!

every time I looked back at sal, he looked like he had something to say but never did. Larry kept speaking to him, so he didn't ever get the chance.

everything reeked of weed and alcohol, per usual. I hated these trap houses, but their parties were fun. I guess.

I grinned as me and ash made out way to the drinks. I stuck to my promise of only one drink at the moment. i knew I shouldn't drink at all, but it's harmless. my singular drink got me buzzed enough to actually enjoy the party and not panic about people staring. sal and larry were sitting at the dining table playing uno.

"you guys are nerds." I giggled, taking the seat by sal.

"you guys want in?" Larry asked. Todd and Neil walked up arm in arm.

"what are you guys up to?" Neil wrapped his arms around my shoulders and swayed us back and forth.

"Hey, neil!" I smiled. "were playing uno, wanna join?"

"sure." Todd and Neil sat across the table as Larry dealt us all cards.

"I'm going to go get drinks. anyone need something?"

ash held up her cup. "alcohol!" she sand. Todd and sal wanted coke, Larry asked for rum and root beer.

"that's a weird combo."

"obviously." Larry winked.

I rolled my eyes and walked into the kitchen. there was a couple making out, another normal sight at a party. I reached into the fridge and grabbed everyone's needs as well as filling up two cups for Larry and ash.

I opened (your drink) along the way, drinking the foam off the top of the can. everyone thanked me as I passed out drinks. Larry made his concoction after he played his around.

I finished my turn and pulled myself up. "I'll be right back."

I quickly made my way into the living room and ended up running into my old dealer. he smiled when he saw me. "Hey, y/n!" he called and tossed me a baggie."miss your face! on the house."

"uh, thanks?" I gave him a soft smile before continuing my search for the bathroom. the baggie contained 5 mysterious pills. I awkwardly hid them in my bra.

"y/n!" a familiar voice called and my stomach fell out of my ass. my heart raced as I began to sweat. my limbs felt like jello. I wanted to run but I was glued in place like a soldier. I leaned against the wall as I had began to feel faint, praying to whatever God was out there he wouldn't fuck with me.

I glanced to the left, right, then back to the left and he was standing there with a smug smirk that i wanted to slap off of his face.

"go away. I don't want anything to do with you."

"no, babe, listen. I'm sorry I broke your heart. I'm really missing you and your tits." he groaned as he groped my body. I choked back tears. I was frozen with fear. I squeezed my eyes shut as he made his way down my body.

"yo, what the fuck do you think you're doing?" Larry walked up menacingly. sal followed close behind him. I knew sal was going to be mad. I dropped down to my knees and cried. sal quickly ran to my side. Larry pushed Shawn off of me.

"the fuck is your problem, man?" he pushed Larry off of him and turned to me. "did he scare you, y/n? I'm so sor-"

"no, 'man,'" sal said sarcastically. "you're the one fucking scaring her." he spoke up.

"stay out of this, sal." Shawn said, anger rising in him.

"get out of here." he fought back sternly. sal clenched his fists together, turning his knuckles white. he knows.

"sal, stop." I gripped his wrist.

"can we talk later?" he replied, his tone immediately changing for me.

my heart sank. I began to cry quietly. Shawn walked away, flipping off sal and lar.

sal helped me up. his touch was gentle, so gentle. he held my hand all the way back to the table. I walked into the kitchen and poured myself another drink.

I hunched back into the uncomfortable wooden chair. I felt too exposed now with the dress I was wearing.

sal sensed what u was feeling. "here, my love. take my hoodie."

I silently nodded. I was ashamed of what happened, and i felt disgusting. I couldn't say anything. now was not the time.

he took off his hoodie, leaving him in a brown t shirt. I quickly slipped it on, feeling much more comfortable without my tits being out. I fidgeting with the small hole in the sleeve as everyone played. I zoned out as I chugged drink after drink. the taste of alcohol made me shiver. in the place I was at the moment, i didn't want anything more than to be drunk.

with every cup I drank, sal grew progressively more concerned. I started to get up to get another cup, but sal stopped me. "hun, slow down."

"I'm fine." I replied, yanking my arm away from his grip. I left him with a hurt look in his eyes.

by the time we were leaving, I was so drunk I didn't even want to talk. my brain was tv static and I felt numb. sal held my hand. I wanted to apologize, but I knew damn well I couldn't in that moment. i couldn't muster up the words. my mouth was dry yet I had so much I needed to say.

the drive home was filled with Larry drunkily flirting with ash. "Larry, don't you have a girlfriend?" Todd spoke up.

"broke up with her last night, bud. she's a big fat stinking cheater." he stated childishly.

"I didn't know that. I'm sorry, lar." ash smiled sadly and held Larry's hand. he grinned.

-

I walked towards my door with sal not far behind me. "will you be okay on your own?" sal questioned me.

"I'll be fine, sally." I smiled, goofing at him.

"I know what you're feeling, Y/n. I can see it in your eyes." he pleaded.

"I promise, I'm fine." I gave him a sad smile. I lifted up his prosthetic and gently kissed his lips. "I think I just need to be alone tonight. I need to sober up before I can really talk about it, okay? I'll come over first thing in the morning, babe." I kissed him once more.

"okay, love. sleep well, please. don't beat yourself up, okay?"

"never do." I smiled brightly.

he tucked a hair behind my ear and placed a plastic kiss on my forehead. I stumbled into the kitchen and found a coke in the fridge. fuck yeah. I laid calmly in bed, sipping on the coke whenever I was reminded of the miscellaneous bag of drugs in my bra. I scrambled to sit up and reach for my book, not caring about a relapse anymore. I sighed aloud and muttered fuck it. I had no clue what was in that baggie, nor did I need to know. I just needed something. I quickly crushed up the pills and snorted them without hesitation. it hit me like a truck of emotions.

"fuck." I sobbed. I picked up my phone and called Sal, which went straight to voice mail. I shakily typed out a message.

'sal. I lvoe u ao much it hurs. I'm sorry for everuhtinf."

I paused.

'I think'

damnit.

'idk nvm. I firgit what I was gon say I love u so much sallt face'

I rolled over and quickly fell asleep, afraid of the outcome of everything tonight. I felt so sick, I think I took too much..

-

sals pov:

'I'm sorry ml'

'r u ok??? I love u 2'

'actually I love u more'

'y/n/n ur scaring me'

'y/nnnn answer or I'm coming over'

'I'm really worried'

'y/n'

'fuck this I'm omw.'

I jumped out of bed and pulled a shirt on. I dug through my drawers, praying I still had the spare key she had given me. I found it. I sighed with relief and scrambled out the front door. I sped down the hall before quietly walking into her house. I know it's fucked up, but do I look like I give a fuck? something felt off in her room. I looked at y/n, who was asleep with a painful look on her face. i turned around to walk out when I noticed her book with a peculiar substance on it. oh.

she began coughing hard, I whipped around to look at her. "sal? what happened? why are you here?"

I stuttered. "I was worried and you gave me that spare key for emergencies so-"

"sal, you're fine. you're okay, though?" she grumbled. "fuck, I feel so sick."

"you're not pregnant, right?" I joked, earning an eyeroll from Y/n.

"of course not. i-ill be right back. sit down, babe." she smiled and sped out of the room. faint gagging noises came from the bathroom.

y/n came back and shamefully say next to me on the bed. "sal, I don't want to lie to you." tears stained her cheeks as she looked at me with teary eyes. "I think I took too much."

"overdosed." I whispered.

"God, I hate that word." she mumbled. "I just, I don't feel like myself and it won't go away. it's too much. I'm sorry sally."

I didn't say anything due to the possibility of saying the wrong thing. I just held her as she cried.

[stierhai]

Every Caller Wins A Prize

I started writing this fic for the AU Roulette, but absolutely did not finish. If I do finish, I'll cross-post the finished thing to Ao3 and my dreamwidth.

Series: Ensemble Stars

Primary Characters: Yuuki Makoto, Sena Izumi

AU: Post-Apocalypse (shades of Lovecraftian/Cosmic Horror)

The bright of the decontamination chamber when Makoto enters the inner broadcast station is the closest thing he's seen to the sun in 146 days and counting-- and he thanks his lucky stars for that. It's bad enough, the disconcerting amount of fanletters he gets. It's one thing to know the world is ending, but it's another to read the ubiquitous trauma-dumps about how bad it's going, and yet another if he had to see it with his own eyes.

Hence radio.

And it's not just him. Radio was pretty much a dead medium, he'd thought, getting into it. But now, nope. Now he's got the ears of what's left of the nation. So much for a quiet way to step out of the spotlight, to letting his voice fade out into the AM station's white noise.

On the plus side, he's found he enjoys radio. And he doesn't really have to read his fanmail.

He steps out of the chamber, cool mist clinging to the plastic of his coat as he sheds it. He shakes it over the grate before he hangs it up in the much dimmer, inner hallway. Across the way, Nazuna is still wearing his and dripping on the linoleum, as he waves him a good morning. "Mako-chin! More letters for you! This one's real fancy, give it a whiff!" Nazuna bounds over and waves it beneath Makoto's nose, where the rare scent of mossy earth, fir, and cold water spills upwards from it— he sneezes.

"G-geeze, how do you have this much energy? It's still early, isn't it?" He wipes at his nose, chin to his chest and shoulder to his face as he fishes around in a pocket to double check that he's not late.

Nazuna baps him over the head with the letter, and then presses it under his arm while he takes out his own handkerchief. "Not that early," he says, though Makoto's phone affirms they've got an hour before the broadcast begins. "Here, go freshen up. I'll go put this with the rest of 'em on your desk."

"You're always so reliable, Nito-senpai…" He stops trying to wipe his face in his shirt and takes the offered handkerchief, cheeks going pink as he replaces his phone. "Sorry, I guess I'm still not awake yet. Thanks, I'll get it back to you after."

Nazuna grins up at him and tosses him a casual thumbs up. "No sweat!" And with that, he's jogging down the hallway, plastic coat still on and flinging droplets with each bounce.

Makoto looks down at Nazuna's handkerchief in his hands. Actually, he has his own. But he'd already failed to say anything so the sunflower fabric sits clean and dry, unused in the front flap of his messenger bag. In the washroom, he scrubs his face, scrolls instagram, leaves some likes, skims the news, and then finally wipes away the chlorine-and-disinfectant-scent from the water off his skin.

When he comes to his desk, true to his word, Nazuna has left the stack of letters on his desk with the offending perfumed letter proudly propped up on top. Someone's gone through a lot of effort. The perfume aside, the envelope paper is something heavy weight and crazy nice, a silvery medallion of stamped wax seals it shut, and what's probably an expensive blue ink has penned his name above the address with an overfamiliar nickname. Listeners hear Nazuna call him "Mako-chin" on the air and assume they've got every right to call him whatever they like, too.

Whispering, so Nazuna won't hear even if he chooses this moment to enter the room, Makoto says to himself, "Gross."

Honestly, he can live with Mako-chin. That's something they've heard, something he and Nazuna have let them in on. But sometimes he gets the feeling that all these letters aren't to him at all. Thank you for being there, they write, though he's never met them, not even the once. I'm having a hard time, and the details follow from there. You've done so much for me. Your voice, your kindness, your humor. What are they even talking about? Doubt mounts inside him that he's got any of those things, because the rest of the letter is bunk. He hasn't done anything. He just talks because it's all he can do. He's not cut out for the sunshine, and it increasingly feels like he's not cut out for the limelight either.

He'll have to find a way to put at least this one in the burnables pile without Nazuna noticing.

---

At first, Izumi had tuned into the radio just to help keep track of what day it was. He wasn't the socialite kind of influencer to begin with, so it's not like a little solitude was going to drive him nuts, or anything. Actually, it was nice not to have an idiot chattering in his ears all the time. It'd be totally counterproductive to turn on the radio for background noise, when he'd finally gotten the chance to not have some.

But there's something he can't quite put his finger on about one of the hosts that keeps him coming back.

He doesn't believe in fate. Still, the first time he'd tuned into the broadcast station the host was reading the daily horoscopes— "Taurus, the time between 4 pm and 5 pm will bring some favorable news on the personal front— h-hey, wait! That's now, isn't it?" A beat fuzzy with radio static brushes by as Izumi glances at his clock and sees that it is. The voice comes again too, the timing as if he's just finished the same check. "Ahaha, it really is. I guess I'll let you all know when I get some!"

So he's a Taurus. Izumi rolls his eyes at the hapless camaraderie the radio guy is projecting, playing at friends with his audience. Annoying. It sounds fake as hell. No one's actually that positive. The glance up is as good a reminder of that as anything. Music notes still cling to his unwashed walls, nearest the top where he'd missed them during his first pass scrubbing the room. Irritation flares up as he glares back down at the radio, like it's the one that put them there. Oblivious, the guy on the radio reads out Gemini's future, and then the rest as Izumi fetches cleaning supplies to deal with the rest of the grafitti.

"Next up is the weekly song request hour! Any genre, any artist! Old or new, we want to hear from you!" He laughs, like he can't keep a straight-face at reading the lame copy, before remembering something and breaking into a sidebar. "Oh— just keep it under ten minutes. Uhm, not that last time's prog-rock wasn't cool! But no more Flower Travellin Band for now. Or Mars Volta. Thirty-two minutes is kind of a lot…"

Who the hell lets people request that crap? It's so obvious the station's got trolls, if people are putting in for songs that waste half the run-time. No one with any sense would put up with it, Izumi thinks as he scrubs harder, the brush in his grasp furious with activity..

A phone ring punctuates the broadcast. "Hello and welcome to the radio request hour. You're live on the air, with me, your host: Yuuki Makoto."

"Hiya, Mako-kun." Greets the new voice. "I really owe ya a debt of gratitude, fer keepin' me company all the time. 'M basically livin' with the radio on."

"U-uh, really?" Like it actually catches him off guard. "Wow," Makoto says, like he's impressed anyone would do that, like he's considering how much time it is he spends on the air and that someone would listen to his job like it's their job, and finishes like faced with the huge reality of that he can still scarcely imagine it, "...that's a lot of listening."

"Ngahhh, is it? Didn't mean t'make y'nervous. I just thought Oshi-san over here might like the company, and I don't got too much goin' on in my head, so there's not too much t'say. You've really helped us out. It feels like we've really gotten t' know yah. ♪"

"Ehehe." Izumi can almost hear the blush, the embarrassed but slyly satisified grin sitting behind the mic. "Well, I try to be myself."

"Yer doin' a good job at it." The caller compliments, and then pauses. "Anyway, uh— nggah this'z off topic! Ehh, what was it again— can you do that Mozart guy?"

"—Hey!!" Makoto squawks, indignant. "I said nothing too long!" And then, a gasp, "So that's why you were buttering me up!"

"It wasn't nothin' like that, I swear! I don't have the brain cells for that, promise. It's just… oshi-san woulda like it, I think." A pause, and then after hesitation the voice continues. "Oshi-san doesn't really get up much anymore, not even t'yell when I really mess up. Not since stuff went real sideways. Still… I can't let him be, either. I remembered he liked classics an' stuff, so… mm, it'd be real nice. Mako-kun's voice is good company, but I thought he'd like the Mozart."

A few moments of silence, and then Makoto's voice chimes back in. "... I guess some of them aren't too long. Uhm, let me see here. . . Fugue in G minor? Eine Kleine Nachtmusik?"

"Oh, that last one's the happy one, ain't it? Let's go with that. Listen, Oshi-san, it's one've yer favorites! ♪ Let's give it a good listen together."

Warmly, Makoto agrees, "All right, Eine Kleine Nachtmusik. It's the happier one, too. Let's start the hour off right. Okay everyone, here's Mozart's A Little Night Music! Mozart, take it away."

Izumi's hands had gone still during the exchange, and his chest cold. Soapy water drips down the wall, as the bright allegro of strings alights from the radio speakers. Because he lives alone now, as surely as the caller on the other end of the broadcast does, no one turns it off. He's free to listen, without anyone rolling across the floor or declaring they hate Mozart. If Izumi wants to not hear it, he has to turn off the broadcast himself.

But on his own in the empty flat, the music just plays&mdash he never did understand why that idiot hated Mozart. But in that moment, he hates Mozart. In that moment, he feels like he understands.

So he tunes in daily, after that. ---

A sharp inhale ending in a soft khht-thunk delivers Makoto's mail down the pneumatic tube to his office in the underground bunker of the radio station. He groans and glares at the 2-way intercom on his desk. Of his two coworkers, he knows who to blame. Shinobu would have spirited them into his room without him noticing. This is a Nazuna move. Though Nazuna isn't really in the wrong. . . Makoto shouldn't have left them in a common area to begin with, at least not a working one.

He presses the button that connects to Nazuna and opens the conversation with an apology, sheepish. "Sorry… did I leave my mail in the broadcast room again?"

"Yup. Mako-chin, you can be a real airhead sometimes," Nazuna says, blasé.

"Well, if I'm honest about it…" He spins slowly in his desk chair, looking at the mail heaped at the bottom of the still-closed tube, and then back into place so Nazuna can hear the rest of his reply, "I don't really like them, so I try not to think about them too much."

"Mako-chin! Fans put a lot of effort into those!"

"I know. But still…"

"Still…? Hey, have creeps been after you? Mako-chin! If that happens you've gotta say something! I'll go right to the source and take care of them! I'll beat'r brains in, until it dribbles out dey— deir— their noses! 'Mgonn mudder 'em!"

Oh, Nazuna must be getting really worked up if he's fumbling his words. He can picture his face all red and going redder as he tries to get his mouth to work right, his little frame shaking with protective rage in the big high-backed gamer chair Makoto ordered him.

"No, uhm, it's nothing like that. I'm fi~ne. Really," he placates. "Ahaha, it's still, you know, a little weird for me. . . There's all this big stuff going on, and I just sit in here and read headlines and play music. I'm not doing anything special. The station could manage just fine without me."

"Mako-chin. . . No," Nazuna sounds sympathetic, but not enough to not rebuke Makoto for it. "No, without you, it'd just be the two of us running the whole station. Shinobun would die." That startles a laugh out of Makoto, as Nazuna continues. "So no more saying that. If you don't get why, you're not gonna figure it out without reading any. We can read them together, if you want!"

"Ah, no, I…" Nazuna's probably being nosy, wanting to make sure Makoto really doesn't have a stalker, but Makoto could think of fewer things more embarrassing than reading his fanmail with him. The thought of Nazuna seeing that he's causing all this fuss over a few empty compliments is humiliating. He sighs. "I'll read them by myself. Honest."

Nazuna hmms on the other side of the intercom. "If you say so. Stop leaving them around at least, Mako-chin. It's like you want me to scold you." And with that, Nazuna's end of the line goes dead before Makoto can respond.

Which is just as well, because he didn't have much to say to that.

Before the whole radio host thing, Makoto used to be a pretty high-profile speed runner. Game code buckled, sequences broke, and he shaved seconds off world records. He face revealed in a live-stream documentary— and then reality had folded like origami, the same way it did in his games. He doesn't have any stomach for glitches anymore, for going into the out of bounds and sliding straight through the edges of the world. He barely even likes seeing his face bounced back at him, the way he'd see it on off a retro cabinet's CRT screen.

The way he sees it now, looking at the plastic divider that seperates the booth where live musicians used to play, from the rest of the recording studio that's now his bedroom. In the reflected glare, his bright green eyes the same color as the newly fractured sun.

He inhales, and pulls up a lo-fi playlist to calm his nerves. Skin still crawling, he stands to retrieve his fan letters.

[ronaldanthony4]

February, the month of love, always brings a surge of creative inspiration my way. As an artist, I find myself compelled to capture the essence of romance in my creations. This time around, I embarked on a digital journey, weaving the tale of Arlon and Liliana, my cherished original characters who embody the epitome of ideal romantic love. In this digital journey, I poured my heart and soul into every brushstroke and pixel, ensuring that Arlon and Liliana's love story would transcend. As the story unfolded on my digital canvas, I couldn't help but feel a deep connection to their love, as if it were my own. The process of creating their world allowed me to delve into the depths of my own heart, igniting a newfound passion within me.

In my latest artwork, the scene unfolds on a canvas of cool, green grass. Arlon and Liliana, the protagonists of my romantic narrative, recline in a lush garden, surrounded by the vibrant hues of blooming flowers. The atmosphere is charged with the sweet promise of love as Liliana, with a playful gleam in her eyes, beckons Arlon to hold her hand. The gesture is simple yet profound, a silent exchange of affection that speaks volumes. As Arlon reaches out to grasp Liliana's hand, a gentle breeze rustles through the leaves, as if nature itself is whispering its approval of their connection. The sunlight filters through the canopy above, casting a warm glow on their entwined fingers, symbolizing the blossoming of their love.

Arlon, adorned in a pristine white ensemble, mirrors the purity of their connection. His gaze meets Liliana's, and in that moment, the world around them fades into the background. This digital portrayal of love is a testament to the beauty of shared moments, where the simplicity of touch and the intensity of a gaze become the anchors of an everlasting bond. Their connection is a reminder that amidst the chaos of life, love has the power to create moments of pure serenity. The soft breeze carries whispers of promises made and dreams shared, enveloping them in a cocoon of tranquillity.

However, Liliana's attire adds a layer of sensuality to the scene. Draped in a loose, white towel that cascades down her back, she invites Arlon to explore the depths of her vulnerability. The choice to leave it loosely wrapped around her, revealing her naked form beneath, is a deliberate attempt to captivate Arlon's attention and highlight the allure of intimacy. It's a delicate balance between innocence and desire, a dance of emotions that fuels the romantic narrative. It's a delicate balance between innocence and desire, a dance of emotions that fuels the romantic narrative and keeps the reader yearning for more.

Reflecting on this creation, I find myself tracing its roots back to an artwork I encountered on DeviantArt a decade ago. The impact of that piece lingered, leaving an indelible mark on my artistic sensibilities. Drawing inspiration from the profound emotions it evoked, I set out to craft my interpretation, infusing it with the unique charm of Arlon and Liliana. Their story unfolds in a world where forbidden love is the catalyst for their journey, as they navigate the complexities of their emotions and societal expectations. As I delve deeper into their tale, I am reminded of the power of art to capture the essence of human connection and ignite our desires.

As an artist, each stroke of the digital brush becomes a vessel for my emotions. Love, in all its facets, serves as the driving force behind my creative expressions. The intertwining of Arlon and Liliana's story with the romantic ambience of a garden is a celebration of the universal theme of love, transcending time and space. Through their story, I am transported to a world where love knows no boundaries and where art becomes a medium for expressing the deepest emotions. The garden, with its blooming flowers and enchanting atmosphere, serves as a metaphor for the blossoming love between Arlon and Liliana, reminding us of the beauty that can be found in even the most unexpected places.

With the canvas as my witness, I pledge to continue exploring the depths of romantic love throughout this Love Month. Each stroke, each detail, is a deliberate effort to convey the myriad emotions that love encompasses. Whether it's the tender touch of hands or the vulnerability of an exposed back, my art becomes a language through which I communicate the complexities of the heart. Through the vibrant colours and intricate brushstrokes, I aim to capture the essence of love's transformative power, depicting its ability to bring forth growth and renewal. As the canvas comes alive with each stroke, it serves as a reminder that love is not stagnant, but rather a constant evolution that we must nurture and cherish.

In conclusion, this digital masterpiece is not merely an artistic endeavour; it's a declaration of love, a tribute to the enchanting dance between Arlon and Liliana. As I navigate the vast realm of emotions, I invite viewers to immerse themselves in this visual symphony, resonating with the timeless melody of love. This Love Month is a canvas waiting to be painted with the hues of romance, and through my art, I aim to capture the essence of this ephemeral yet everlasting emotion. Through my art, I strive to capture the fleeting moments of passion and connection that make love so captivating. By inviting viewers to immerse themselves in my artwork, I hope to inspire them to reflect on their own experiences with love and appreciate its transformative power.

[sweetish-original-story]

Chapter 2

North Lucero's cobblestone streets whispered with the footsteps of shoppers and tourists. A green bicycle passes by and almost hits a crowd of high class artist, clad in big fat hats and sunglasses to "conceal" their identities.

Among them was Sammy, the enigmatic artist whose journey led her to the unassuming candy store, Estrella Candies owned by Dulcinea Pescado. Pescado? Who would want that name?

She wore a tuxedo made of black shimmering silk and white pleather, she thought it looked nice but her mother liked it so now it's boring, according to her. She had medium/long slicked-back hair "Because it's easier to do," with a mole under her right eye. Her sunglasses were simple, square and black, and her big fur boa with tinsel sparkled in the afternoon sun.

She gazed at the quaint little storefront, nearly empty except for one, the scent of confectionery delights filling the air. Who was this... Angel? Everything about him was wrong; he was shortish and round, his hair was covered in loose sprinkles, he was covered in scars old burn scars, all the way down to his calloused hands, his candy stripe apron and boring grey shirt along with those ugly distressed brown pants, the birthday cake pens in his pockets and the weird little party hat, WHY? EVERYTHING was wrong and tacky and real and RAW and perfect. He looked like a common candy king over a candy castle, sitting on his candy throne.

And his scepter? This mad man was making large hazelnut-flavored marshmallow stars filled with marzipan, lightly coated in citric acid dust mixed with powdered sugar, and dunked in molten candy chocolate, followed by a quick dip in a pot of ice water and a coating of hazelnuts and soft rainbow sprinkles. Insanity. Her heart skipped a beat. She MUST have this muse.

Sammy pushed open the door and stepped inside, her presence as striking and exaggerated as ever. She sauntered towards Dulce, whose hands were busy crafting "Estrella Dulce." The candy-maker glanced up, his expression a mix of curiosity and surprise.

Sammy's words flowed like a river of dreams while she gestured with an old photograph she picked up on the edge of his counter, "...I want to make you a star."

Dulce, momentarily baffled, blinked and stammered, "What? I'm sorry you might be confused. I make candy stars, I'm not a star."

Sammy's eyes sparkled with an hungry glint. "Let me show you what I see in you."

She raised her camera, capturing the magic of Dulce's candy-making in action. Gold dust flowed from his fingertips and hot molten candy bubbles may as well have been gentle soap bubbles floating on a feather. His weight hid Heraclean strength, only visual when he carried boxes stacked high with sugar and when he carefully massaged the taffies. Big, soft, strong scarred arms.

*click*

Her lens became a bridge between the mundane and the extraordinary, revealing the artistry and passion in each stroke and confectionary creation. Her nose was full of sugar. Her mouth was full of chocolate.

An hour had passed when Dulce finally saw the results, entranced by the transformation of his work into fine art. "Who are you?" he inquired, his voice touched with wonder.

Sammy lowered the camera, her eyes locked onto his. "I'm Sammy," she introduced herself with a smile. She pointed to the billboard outside the store, a captivating design for a fragrance company. "That's what I do, and I see the same potential in you."

Throughout their conversation, Sammy nibbled continuously on the sweet succulent candy, as if she hadn't eaten them in years, she hadn't, unknowingly binging and indulging herself in the aromatic and sweet delights.

When Dulce expressed concern about the price of her indulging, Sammy reached into her bag, producing an envelope filled with Sellshells: all paperback, fresh from the bank. He never seen new ones before: without the smell of sweat and food, no stains, no notes or tears. It still smelled of salt.

It resembled something otherworldly to him, he must have been dreaming. She placed it on the counter, and it was more than enough to cover the store's rent for three months, with extra to spare.

"Wait, this is more than-"

She quickly shook his hand and had already left the shop.

Dulce was left both bewildered and fascinated, holding a mostly blank card in his hand, except for Sammy's name and number. Samuela Giovanni.

It was an introduction to a world he had never imagined, one where candy-making could become an art form, and where he might find the acceptance and companionship he had always yearned for.

Maybe they can see in him what his father did. Maybe he doesn't have to be alone anymore.

"That girl is strange. I think I like her." He whispered to himself, alone in the shop again.

Their paths had converged in a way that was nothing short of magical, leaving both of them with questions and possibilities as sweet and tantalizing as the candies themselves.

[rodthomaswriting]

The Persuader

It's hard working in hell.  Not everyone is up for the job.  I personally run the place.

I have many names.  Ask the interns if you want to hear the most insulting ones (Yes, Jeff, the break room walls are NOT soundproof).  Most of my friends by proximity call me the Persuader.  It's a healthy medium between too casual and too intimidating.  Anyway-

So, a while ago I was sent upstairs to kind of scare the new kids.  Give 'em the whole speech about why they're here, what to expect, the scariest part of their job, too, usually, and Deborah walks in with this "urgent message."  Apparently, it was so urgent I had to stop mid-sentence and let Ed take over.  Ed's only been working here since... well, not very long, trust me!  Deborah wouldn't tell me who the message was from or the subject or anything really, but I trust Deborah's judgment.  Probably the only wholesome person this place has left.  Relatively.

My office has been a mess since the dawn of mankind, but Deborah assured me the message was "on my desk" and shut the door behind me.  Okay.  Even finding my desk among the piles of records, books, and urns is difficult.  Also, a message on the line, in paper, what?  Thanks, Deb.

Rifling through papers, shoving stacks taller than me (which most would say doesn't take much), and eventually finding my desk was the easy part.  If I'd known what was coming next, I wouldn't have been so enthusiastic about the whole thing.  Nothing would have prepared me.  Before I even read the address, the crisp, bright envelope told me whom it was from.

The Director.  Again?  I thought we'd resolved the whole property dispute.  I own downstairs, the Director owns the upper levels, and the ground level's anyone's game.  What else was there to talk about?

I'd never seen the particular style of envelope from the Director's office before.  The crew usually sent me the cheap, standard-style white ones with the clear window and rumbled edges like they'd been in Felix's desk drawer for my entire lifetime.  That was what I was worth, honestly, but this one was a strange off-white.  Lilac nearly.  Why?  Thicker paper, also.  Well, no use analyzing every little thing, despite my track record of doing exactly that.

I should be the one complaining about the Director.  Those repairs you promised what, a century ago?  Where are they?  The tile’s still cracked in hall six.  The pipes in the bathroom are always bursting.  The incinerator is always getting overloaded, but do we complain?  No.  We're all adults here.  If there  was a real issue, why not just reach me immediately-

Persuader:

Call me soon.

The Director

-on the line.  What was this?

Probably just wants to choke me out in person.  Yell at me all you want, Director, you won't hear any reaction from me on the other end.  You taught me the art of crying silently.

I couldn’t tell you what the actual number is.  It’s all muscle memory.

"You've reached the Director's main office.  Unfortunately there is a short waiting time before you may speak directly to-"

"Angel, I know you only do this when me or my team calls.  The Director always picks up.  There's no reason to hijack-"

"May I ask what your business with the Director is at this time?"

"May I ask what is yours interrupting a very urgent business call?"

A giggle.  "Oh, I seriously doubt that.  Your prank calls are a bit pathetic at this point."

"Listen, Angel, your boss contacted me."

No response.

"I was told to reach the Director as soon as possible.  You are hindering that."

Silence.

"I wouldn't call if I didn't absolutely need to.  You know how rocky it's been since the- well, you know.  You still there?"

"... One moment please."

Aw, yes.  The cheesy looped music that assures me the line is still connected.  The harp might be uplifting, but the pan flute?  Poor choice.

"Persuader?"

"What's with the whisper, your highness?"

"Shhh... I don't want this getting out.  Is there- is there a more private way of reaching you?"

"Right, I'll humor you by being soft spoken, but there is absolutely no reason to give you my private information.  I've never asked that of you for a variety of reasons, least of all the terms we’re on.  The tiniest amount of anger, the devastating consequence, and so on."

"Shh.  Shh!  I know that.  I'm the first to know that, please.  I just-"

"...Yes?"

A cough.  "I'd like to go over some terms with you.  I feel our arrangement has left you with definite disadvantages, and it would be beneficial to both of us to resolve them.  A more multimedia form of communication might make certain aspects of this easier to manage."

"Strange.  You seemed mighty satisfied with giving me the short end of the stick then."

"Do keep your voice down.  I'd like to get into the details during the agreement, if it's alright with you."

"Oh, and it always is."

"You'll do it?"

"No."

"Persuader, I don't like doing this.  All I'm asking is a few moments of your time.  This issue’s pressing for me, too."

"If I was capable of emotion, I'd be sorry, but this whole conversation is incredibly inappropriate as well as a poor reason to interrupt a serious project of mine."

"Oh!  I was unaware- When I said urgent I didn't mean- I'm sure there's-"

"Later, Director."

"I just-"

Strange.  Very odd, the Director being so vague.  I would expect such from Felix, Angel, or any of the crooks working for the Director, but why would someone with such a high image stoop so low?  And they call ME unprofessional.  What a joke.  I'm thriving considering the work environment.

No matter.  Hopefully Ed hadn't put the place completely up in flames while I was gone.  Or maybe... Hmmm... I should try that.

All was as well as it could be upon my return.  Ed had brought three to tears, one had left, and one with glasses was squinting, arms crossed in defiance and determination.  It was a good group.  Maybe I should promote Ed.  Ha!  Even being the head operator, there was still a lot outside my jurisdiction.

"Hey!  Where were you?"

"Strictly business, Ed.  No further details."

"Woah, 'kay.  Didn't realize you actually did anything classified.  ExCUSE ME."

"Good job with the new recruits." I went to a whisper.  "Name of the one with glasses?"

"Asked to just be called Hansen.  Probably a last name.  Why?"

"Take Hansen to Deborah for training.  There's something I like about this kid."

Ed nodded.  "Hansen!  Follow me.  Rest of you, listen to the Persuader.  You know now not to fool around."

Ed closed the door softly, and I was left in silence.  I stared each of them down.  Again, good group.  Most seemed adequately scared.  Finally, I smiled.  "You kids want to see all the repairs the Director promised to fix but hasn't?  You'll get the full tour."

It felt good to see them a bit more relaxed, I guess.  They followed me in a neat little line as we steadily made our way through the halls.  "Yep, that's where the cooling malfunctioned and tore through the wall.  Jackie tried to fix it with some coffee sleeves, but it's still an eyesore.  Oh, here's the electrical that never works.  We tried to switch to thermoelectric, because it would make sense down here, but there's no funds."

"Persuader?"

"Yah?"

"Maybe it's rude to say, but... I've heard so many bad things about you and this... place.  It doesn't seem terrible.  Why-?"

"No, not at all.  We get that a lot.  See, if you know your place is even slightly better, you do a lot to talk it up, yeah?  So, what easier way than to make the other person's sound like the absolute worst?  People don't like honesty.  I never said this place was perfect, you know?  Does that answer your question?"

"I guess."

"Great.  Any others?  The exposed concrete's a good stopping point in our tour.  Yes, in the back?"

"So, what are we going to do here?  Other than...."

"Don't worry about the nitty-gritty.  We already have people working on that floor.  Most of our entry-level stuff is just running errands, sorting paperwork, that kind of stuff.  Tedious, yes, but not so much suffering unless you really hate papercuts.  Aw, and up next here we have my favorite hall.  Watch your step, though.  There was an incident."

"What kind of incident?"

"Yes.  Now to the bathrooms.  They don't work.  Don't even try.  The cold water boils."

Someone was running.  "Persuader?"  It was Deborah.

"Yes?"

"The Director's on the line."

"Again?"

"There was an earlier call?"

"Not important.  Deborah...  Can you continue the tour?"

"Of course, Persuader."

"Where's Hansen?"

"Who?"

"Wow.  Where's Ed?"

"I saw Ed going to the ground floor with a new arrival.  You really shouldn't leave the Director on hold, Persuader."

"Yes, right.  Thank you, Deborah."

"Anytime."

Back to my office.  Over and over again.  I was looking forward to being busy and getting out of my office, but no.  Three flights of stairs down to the lowest floor.  I would take the elevator, but it's been under repairs since... forever.  Also, I didn't want to catch anyone crawling up the elevator shaft again.  I can't report what I can't see (and yes, it was Ed).

Still my office.  Still a mess.  Even just opening the door, I could hear the line was on.  Deborah hadn't even put it on hold, just left the receiver sitting on a stack of paperwork.  "Hello?  Persuader?  Please!  Is anyone listening?  Hello!"

"Director?"

"Oh, sorry.  Listen, I'm not happy with our conversation earlier."

"I am.  You have ten seconds."

"I am trying to help you!  I want to make a deal.  If you give me a simple, private way to contact you with further details, it will be very beneficial for both of us!"

"How?  You've told me all that. What is this arrangement?  What deal?  What are you promising me?  I am more than happy with the terrible, disgusting, crowded, sweaty, damp conditions I've been left with.  What do you want?"

"I-I just... Can. We. Please! Talk. Privately?"

"Fine.  With conditions.  I always have a price, Director."

"Of course, of course.  Name it."

"You will detail your affairs in a letter.  I want to know everything you can tell me about whatever it is you're talking about.  At this point, I will be able to accept or refuse your offer.  If I accept, I will give you my personal line.  I will, however, still expect business-like conduct.  I also can't guarantee my associates don't know how to listen in.  Also, I would like a few repairs."

"Is that everything?"

"Yes, Director.  Too much?  That is my only offer.  Ever."

"If you do not accept my offer after the letter, do I still need to provide the repairs?"

I pondered. "Yes."

"No."

"Thank you.  Never contact me again."

"Fine!  Goodbye!"

Strange.  I thought I was the vague one.  I thought I was the one who pestered people needlessly, and yet... Oh, well.

Ed.  Where was Hansen?

I went to the ground floor.  I looked briefly at the door to the upstairs.  Would they let me?  Could I sort this out in person?  What did it look like up there?  Their door was definitely cleaner.  They probably had actual cleaning staff.  That would be a good extension.

"Persuader?"

Ed?  No, Angel.  I tried my best to smile.  "You heading up?"  

"Yes, but... I'm glad you're here.  I was meaning to ask you about something.  This will save time."

I waited.

"Has the Director asked for any favors?"

"No."

"So, what's the situation?  Why all the contact?"

"I have no idea.  Some agreement, the terms of which have not been disclosed to me, so I didn’t accept.  I asked for details, but my ultimatum was rejected.  I'm sorry if it's been an inconvenience for your staff.  It won't continue."

Angel nodded.  "Good.  Well, goodbye."

"Sure, yeah."

I was tempted to peek through the door as Angel headed up, but no.  Hadn't seen Ed or Hansen yet.  Hadn't really looked for them either.

Nowhere to be found, either of them.  Best to just head downstairs, but I didn't.  I stood there for a moment, in front of the door to upstairs.  It was so clean.

"HEY!"

Fear filled me until I saw it was just Ed and the kid.  "Hello."

"What are you doing touching the upstairs door?"

"Oh, wrong door."  I crossed the hall, holding the door open for them.  "What were you two up to?  Deborah said you passed without a word."

"Right."  Ed had a satisfied look.

"You didn't answer my question."

"Just showing the kid the ropes, boss."

"Take the kid to Deborah, Ed.  Then see me in my office."

Ed still seemed unmoved.  The ground level was a fairly social spot.  It wasn't where work was done.  Taking a new recruit there might allow them to sneak upstairs.  Who knows what that would mean for us.  Well, me.  Ed probably wouldn’t be punished.  I took one last look at the upstairs door and followed them down.  Hansen seemed fairly indifferent towards me.  It was... different.

Why did I have to say in my office?  Was there even seating there?  Was it even intimidating in there?  Did other people go in my office?  Would I even know the terrain better than Ed if we got in a fight?  Ed WOULD fight me.  Oh, well.  Hopefully civil discussion would be enough, especially with how great it was working for my Director situation.

After being there so many times in such a small span, I could almost ignore the smell of my office.  It wasn't a particularly bad smell, but definitely mildewy.  That and ash.  Not a great or logical combo.

I managed to find myself a seat.  One stack of books was a chair at its base.  Ed would have to stand.  Fine by me, and no one else matters.  Ha ha.  Just kidding.  There's got to be another chair here somewhere.

"Persuader?"

"Ed?"  

It was.  

I slowly sat at my desk.  About my chin and above was visible, but I guess it added some effect.  "Come in."

"I don't see what the big deal is."

"The," I suddenly had a very scratchy throat.  "The," I coughed, "ground floor should only be for senior employees who have orders to go there.  Neither of those," another cough, "fully apply to you, and especially not to Hansen.  I'd be in my right mind to send you downstairs."

"Well, I don't know about that."

"Ed?"

"Yes?"

"What were you doing on the ground floor, exactly?  I don't want upstairs making a situation out of this."

"I was showing the kid around, boss.  I figured Hansen would make it there anyway, if you're already sending the kid to work with Deborah."

I shook my head.  "That is not your job, Ed."

"Sorry."

"Yeah!  See?  Are you getting it now, Ed?"

"Not really, but you know."

"Just don't do it again, okay?  I won't be so lenient next time.  No matter what, sending you downstairs.  This is your warning."

"Right, chief."

"Great.  Get back to work."

"Yeah,  yeah."

"Good talk, Ed."

"Later, boss."  Despite the attitude, Ed closed the door quietly.  I really do like Ed, but this kind of thing happened all too often.  Last batch of new arrivals, Ed took about three deep downstairs, and I couldn't get work out of any of them for quite a while.  Most didn't blink for about a week.  Should I have done something by now?  Yes.  Did I keep giving second and thirty-fourth and four hundred ninetieth chances?  Yes.  I couldn't help it.  Ed was so young when we first met, and I still see Ed that way.  Still acts that way, too.

Hansen.  I should call Deborah and see how it's going.  I rang up the line.

"This is Deborah.  Persuader?"

"Yes.  Did Ed manage to get Hansen to you?"

"Of course.  Hansen is here.  Why?"

"Oh, nothing, it's fine.  Is Hansen in one piece?"

"Yes, Persuader.  Everything is going well.  I'm still with most of the new recruits, actually.  They're very fascinated by the state of the 'break room.'  You don't mind a brief extension of the tour, do you?"

"No, that's great.  Sounds like it's going well."

"It is."

"Thanks, Deborah.  You're the best."

"Oh, I don't know if-"

Yeah, I hung up.  The door opened.  Sam walked in with something.  Sam doesn't say much, just gave a little nod and left something on my desk before leaving.  Quiet, too.  In non-verbal ways.  Like, even with maybe a few nickel-sized pieces of carpet showing and the rest of my office being covered in crinkly trash, the whole endeavor was silent.  Impressive, Sam is.  A real acrobat.

Oh, yeah, the thing on my desk.  Another clean envelope was sitting there.  Oh, no.  Yep, from the Director.  I really, really, really didn't want to open it.  No.  I was dealing with this later.  Where was Deborah?  I might as well help with the tour or even go on it myself.  Deborah's take on it might actually be educational.

What should I do with the letter, then?  I WOULD deal with it, just not now.  I didn't want to lose or crease it.  What if someone found it?  This could be fairly confidential if the Director was being serious (debatable).  Hmmm... perhaps in my coat pocket.  Not on its own, no.  Where was... no.  YES!  Okay, a small book to support it in my coat pocket.  Perfect.  Where was Deborah?  Not in my office, that's for sure.

*

There was a happy group of nomads.  They wore animal skins and poured white salt on each other's heads.  It left their hair white.  Some of the salt was unclean.  Many became infected, their skin, hair, and garments turning the pale white of the salt.  The pure were afraid and and tried to crawl away, but the infected were too fast.  They rode large horses with legs that cut like knives.  The salt on the children's heads turned deep red.

"Boss?"

I didn't realize I was sleeping.  "Yes?"

"You have several strange calls from... you know."

"Do I?"

"The Director."

"Oh, this better be good."

Ed lingered.  "So... What is going on?  Between you and the Director?"

"Some business plan.  Even I know very little."

Ed nodded slowly.  "Right...."

"Please leave."

"Gotcha."  Finger guns?  Really, Ed?  Oh, well.  My order was followed.  It was time.

My efforts proved ineffective.  The edges of the letter had been wrinkled in my pocket.  It was still a crisp shade of lilac, however, and just fragrant enough to know where it came from.  Upstairs seemed so pretentious based on what little I'd seen come from it.  It seemed like the type of place to have sparkling water and potted plants everywhere.  I'm sure any hardwood was refinished monthly if not more.  I'm absolutely positive there is not a single bubble in the wallpaper or scuff on the tile or macro shred of waste on the carpet.  The place must be spotless and smell of rose and sandalwood.  What did I get?  Sulfur.

That's what the envelope smelled of, by the way.  Rose and sandalwood.  A few other notes to make it full, but an eternity in the musty basement has weakened my sense of smell, and I’m already pushing it giving you this length of description.  I’m ashamed.

I tore the letter open as messily as I could.  It didn't make me feel any better.  STATIONERY?  Since when was I worthy of stationery?  The letterhead was tacky, but nonetheless, an attempt at being elegant.  Disgusting.

Persuader:

Please.

Tell no one.

I have recently found some value in the allure you use so often to entice and mislead the masses.  Truth be told, I was hoping to speak privately because my arrangement is not at all a business matter.

Forgive me.

I have done nothing to earn your trust or admiration.  I have been nothing but unkind to you after a certain era I'm sure we both remember with ill feelings.  I would like to mend our relationship and amend our arrangements from that time.  You were destined to be disadvantaged and fail.  No one should be treated the way you were.  Under the circumstances, you've behaved more than redeemably.  I have not contacted my 

higher-ups about this.  It is strictly between us.

Please.

I would like your input as far as new terms, but I have a few to suggest:

- No boundaries

- Complete repairs in the lower levels

- Ceasing procedures in the bottom-most floors

- Meeting in person to discuss more terms

Anxiously awaiting your response.

Please.

The Director

It took a few rereads and blankly staring at the page for too long for me to realize what it said.  More importantly, I knew what this meant I would have to do.

I put on the line, but called no one.  I sat for a moment.  "Deborah?"

"Yes, Persuader?"

"Could you and Ed come to my office?"

"Of course."

"Thank you."

I waited and soon heard a gentle knock, practically a tap on my door.  "Come in."

Deborah waltzed in followed by Ed, who was slouching but still smug in the face.

"You are not being punished."

Ed straightened up.

"I simply have a new series of damages I need to bring to your attention."  I stood.  "Follow me."

We made our way down the hall.  Deborah was silent.  

Ed was not.  "Where are they?  How bad is it?  Pretty sure there's nothing new.  I would know.  Series?  More than one?  That's impossible.  Do you think it was the new recruits?  It wasn't me.  Really, Deb, it wasn't!  Don't give me that look.  So is it caused by natural forces and decay or, like, something living?  Something living?  No.  Nevermind."

I stopped.  "Here we are."

It was just a door.  One of the few ones intact, actually.

"You may not see it from here," I assured them, "but the inside is an absolute mess.  Really, you should have a look."

Deborah went in first.  Ed followed after shooting me a look.  I stayed in the hall, hands in my pockets.

"Seems fine, Persuader," I heard Deborah say.  "What is the issue?"

"The tile, especially under the furniture."

"Nothing seems wrong, boss," Ed said.  "You sure-?"

I locked the door.  I couldn't have these two listening in on the call I was about to have, and I know they do.  Always hear their breathing on the other end of the line.  Deborah was better at hiding it, but I could still hear the chair squeak or the click of hanging up when the conversation was boring.  "Keep looking.  I swear it was there."

The walk back to my office was long.  Had I really gone this far?  Maybe I’m putting off what comes next.  What was going on in the Director's head?  I would soon find out.  Well, at least remotely.

*

"Persuader, I really don't see anything.  Do you, Deborah?  I just... What are you doing?"

Deborah had an ear against the door and a hand on the handle.  "It's locked.  The Persuader’s gone.

"What?  Let me see that!"  Ed confirmed it was locked by loudly turning the handle and shoving it against its hinges.

"Wow.  Had to find out for yourself.  Really?"

"Yes!"

"Unbelievable.  There's a reason the Persuader has me get you instead of just asking you to come in."

"Right, right, 'cause we all just wish we were as perfect and obedient as you, Deb!"

"Deborah.  We say your name with one syllable because it's all we can bear."

Ed had no comeback.

Deborah showed no satisfaction. 

"I guess we just have to wait it out, then."  Ed sat on the floor.  "Glad there are no damages.  Makes it a little easier to just hang out."

"There are damages.  Look at the ceiling."

"What about it?"

Deborah pointed to the center of it.  "See the way it's bulging there?  Won't be long before it falls in.  The materials used seem very flimsy to begin with.  If you look at the edges, you can see microfractures from the stress."

Ed stood up and stood right next to Deborah, staring straight where Deborah's finger pointed.  "Huh.  What else?"

"Well, the paint is chipped on the doorframe.  I'd say it's lead paint, as well, which isn’t great.  Most other door frames in this hall have at least been painted over.  I'm guessing this room is empty and unused because of the lead paint, despite the ceiling being a more pressing issue."

Ed nodded.  "Anything wrong with the floors?"

"No.  See, I knew almost immediately this whole trip was a distraction, but saying the tile was the issue confirmed it.  Firstly, it's linoleum and in nearly perfect condition.  The only flaw is the installation.  And only if you look real close.  Where it meets the walls, you'll notice it's not parallel.  They put it in crooked."  Deborah knelt down and ran a finger along one of the lines to illustrate.  "See?"

Ed did but didn’t say anything.  Only stared intently.

"I'm sorry, Ed.  I'm sorry about what I said about your name."

"No, it's fine. I agree."  Ed was still looking at the floor.

"I can see why I'm working here, but you?  How did you end up in this place?  You really don't deserve-"

"Shh... Do you hear that?"

Footsteps.  They both stood and Deborah put an ear against the door again.  Closer and closer, barely audible.

"Someone there?" Ed shouted.  Deborah glared.  "Sorry," Ed whispered.  Deborah's eyes rolled.  It was too late.  The steps had stopped.  It was silent for a painful moment.  Then, a jingle of keys.

"Oh, thank it all," said Deborah.

The lock turned.  The door quickly cracked open, making them both jump.  A note fell through the crack.  Deborah fully opened the door.  "No one's here."

"Figures."

"I could be lying.  After all, the locked door needed double checking."

"I trust you."  Picking the note up from the floor, Ed's face showed nothing but confusion at the white slip of paper.

"What does it say, Ed?"

"'verminfritter.'  One word.  Lowercase."

"What?"  Deborah walked over to make sure.  Sure enough, 'verminfritter' in plain, neat handwriting in the top left of the paper.  "What does that mean?"

"Who knows.  Also, who do you think that was?  My guess is April.  April is messing with us.  The Persuader walks too loud."

"It probably wasn't April."

"Prove it, Deborah.  I want you to prove it."  Ed held the door.

"I don't have to."  Deborah walked through.  "This seems like something Edge would do."

Ed followed at Deborah's steady pace.  "Why do you call Felix 'Edge?'  We all know it's just an attempt to seem cool."

"So's 'Ed.'"

"You apologized!  Absolutely treacherous, dude."

"I don't take it back this time.  Edge is as real as it gets."

"Fine, but you have to call me the Blade now.  I can be just as cool as Felix."

"I refuse to call you that."

"But it's cool!"

Their arguments became softer and softer as they made their way down the hall.  The echoes didn't carry far, but don't worry.  They were heard.

*

I hung up.  Only then did I realize the Director's letter was balled up in my sweaty hand.  It was out.  My private line was no longer such.  I knew Deborah and Ed weren't listening, but what about the Director's team?  I didn't know how it ran up there.

Big picture.  Reality.  Here.  Now.  I took a deep breath.  I was sweating.  I never sweat.  My back hurt.  Where did I put my jacket?  I'd been leaning forward.  Had it been that intense?  We kept our voices casual in case anyone had been listening in, but mine had been on the brink of cracking for the whole duration.  Well, that was that.  No taking it back now.

Ed and Deborah.  Oh, no!  They were still locked up.  TOGETHER.  I ran out, grabbing my coat and putting it on as I sped-walked to seem more put together.  I'm sure the entire notion was a failure, however.  Tripping over my shoes with my coat half on wasn't THE look, but it was A look.

"Persuader!  Just the one I wanted to see!"

"Hi.  Uh-"

"Jackie!  It's Jackie."

"Right!  Jackie!  Yeah.  What can I-"

"Glad you asked!  Now, I hate to be a snitch, but are you aware...  Oh, it's terrible.  I.  Saw.  Ed."

"On the ground floor."

"Yes!"

"It's taken care of."  I got my second sleeve on.

"Great!  And there was discipline?"

"Beg pardon?"

"Ed was more than just threatened, yes?  It's just," Jackie looked up, "Sorry.  It's just difficult to see someone go so long unpunished when some of us, and I don't mean to tell you how to do your job, oh no!  But some of us... how do I put this?  Do our jobs with a little more... care?  And I really don't think Ed's behavior will, you know, improve!  If actions aren't...  taken."  Jackie's face held in a grimace.

"...  Yes.  I was just looking for Ed.  You haven't seen-"

"Just saw Ed and Deborah running around talking about some recruit caught in the kitchen vent.  Now, I did not believe it, because those vents haven't been cleaned in..."

I was halfway to the stairs.  Love Jackie, really do, but some people have a way with words, economy to them.  Weight.  Jackie does not.

Kitchen, kitchen.  Second floor had a kitchen, but so did one floor above me.  I'd placed my bets, you know?  Man alive, these stairs could use a mop.  The bottom step was almost coated completely in chewing gum.  Maybe tar.  Couldn't tell you, but worth avoiding.

Yep, I heard screaming.  Unless the bottom floor was expanding, this was the place.  The smoke wasn't comforting.

I followed its trail, and sure enough, I opened the door to see feet sticking out of the wall and Deborah's face poking out over the fridge.  And Ed brandishing a broom.

Aw, the smoke.  The smoke was coming from inside the fridge.

"Deborah?"

"Yeah?"

Ed lowered the broom.

"What's going on?"

“New recruits, Persuader.  Also, Gabe is here and wants to talk to you.”

Ed managed to turn the feet into half a person with a sharp tug.  

“You two have this under control, then?”

“Sure, boss.”  Ed saluted and pulled again.

The half a person turned into Gabe, risen from the vent.

“Oh!”

Gabe smiled.  “Great kids you’ve got here!”

“Hello, Gabe.  I thought you were waiting… somewhere else.”

“Naw.”

Deborah slammed the fridge shut.

“We can talk in my office.”

Gabe brushed off several dust bunnies.  “I’m alright.”

Never quite sure how to talk to Gabe.  Far too casual for someone from upstairs.  And comfortable.  “Something you needed, or, like--”

“Well, I’m not one to believe everything I hear, Persuader, but what I heard was this,” Gabe managed to find and start eating an apple from the fridge, “I heard that you and the Director-”

“Deborah, Ed, thanks for your help.”

The two left quickly, Deborah faster than Ed, who looked back and was pulled by the wrist.

Gabe got a bit too comfortable at what was once a break table, I’m sure.  Another bite.  “That you and the Director were figuring something out.  No details, but we were speculating-”

“What are you doing here, Gabe?”

Deafening.

“I’m asking.  I don’t mean to be rude.”

Gabe smiled, looking at the wall.  “Don’t tell anyone, but I like ya’ll.”

Unfortunately, it was mutual.  “You should probably go.”

“So you’re not gonna tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“Alright.”  Gabe stood.

I did my best gesturing to the door I’ve done in years.

“Persuader, you don’t mind me, do you?  I know I’m stopping by a lot.”

The other door opened.  It was Sam.

“Don’t mind you, Gabe.  It’s actually pretty nice to see you.”

“Really?”

“I’m just not sure I’m the resource you think I am.  And I don’t want to see you in hot water over stopping by.”

“And you like seeing me?” Gabe’s smile was performing its purpose.

I had to think fast.  “You’re a delight.  Get out.”

“‘Kay.  Bye, Persuader.”  A stiff wave.  “Bye, Sam.”

Sam nodded.

I closed the door behind Gabe and listened for the amount of ascending footsteps I found appropriate.  Also Deborah or Ed’s footsteps.  “Another letter?”

Sam blinked.

“Okay.”

I did look in the fridge.  It seems Deborah smothered whatever was in there.  The hole Gabe left behind led to somewhere unlit, so it was probably fine.

An overwhelming smell of lilies hit me.  Another crisp envelope was in my face.

“Oh.  Thank you, Sam.”

I looked up to an empty room.  I wasn’t above speculating a cruel prank.  Some things just feel very possible.

Kitchen could use mopping, too.  I can’t remember the last time I had this many papers in my coat pockets.  The crumple when I walked could have been embarrassing, but there are worse things.

“PERSUAADDERR!  Hiii!”

“Could you follow, me, Jackie?”

“Oh!  Sure!”  The smile became more hesitant.  “I just wanted to talk to you ab-”

“I actually had a very important job for you.  I was hoping we could meet with Deborah and Ed about it.”  I flipped my wrists out to push my cuffs back up.

“OH.  I don’t.  Persuader, I’d rather not meet with-”

“Well, if you’re not interested in the position-”

“Oh, I am!”  Jackie took the last few stairs carefully.

We’d arrived at my office.  Sure enough, Ed and Deborah were already waiting outside.

“Hey, is anyone watching the recruits, Deborah?”

“Jackie was.  Hey, Jackie.” “Oh, hi!”

“Sam just passed with a few of them.”  Ed’s arms were crossed.

Everyone followed close behind into the stacks of books.  “Jackie, you had something to tell me?”

“Oh, it can.  Wait.”

“Shame.  I was hoping to use your leadership as an example, especially to this one.”

Ed flinched.

Jackie brightened.  “Well, it was a little about that.”

“Ed, would you be interested in me making Jackie your correspondent?”

The letter fell out of my pocket.

“The thing I wanted to say, Persuader, was, um… well…”

Ed left.

“In terms of new recruits, I think we should absolutely not trust Ed with training in any capacity.  Well, if it were up to me.  I mean, it’s irresponsible based on all previous-”

Deborah followed.

“And after the events in the kitchen-”

“What did happen in the kitchen?  I missed it.  Do fill me in.”

“Oh!  Well, we thought a new recruit was stuck in the vent but actually the recruits are the ones that shoved GABE in the vent, so I don’t know how that happened, but I think if I was given more responsibility, I could really help things run a little more smoothly around  here.  Do you think?”

“Would you be interested in being Ed’s correspondent?”

Jackie smiled.

“Because that’s what I’m offering.”

There was a smell of burning hair and a distant scream.  I didn’t recognize it, so probably fine.

“Let me know if you’re interested.”

I remembered my headache and picked the letter up.  I sat at my desk.  I think.

“You can go now, Jackie.”

“Huh?  Oh, sure!”

The moment Jackie left, Ed and Deborah came back in.  

Ed’s arms were still crossed.  “You’re not serious?”

“Naw, I’m messing with Jackie.  I would not trust that one with reception.”

“We have reception?!”

“Ed.”  The sigh was deep.  “That was the joke.”

“Oh.”

“Thank you, Deborah.  What did happen in the kitchen, for my records?”

“Well, by the time I got there, a broom was already being employed.”

Ed mouthed along.

“Ed?”

“Yeah, boss?”

“Who was watching over the new recruits at the time?”

“What?  When Gabe arrived or when Gabe got… got?”

“Were the two different?”

“No.” “Was it you?”

“Listen!  To be fair, I was, like, three away from getting each newbie to their departments based on interest expressed, so forth, so on, right?  Three newbies left overtook Gabe.  I find that very impressive!”

“Ed?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re one of my favorite employees.  Don’t jeopardize that.  Okay?”

“Okay!”

“And I’m not going to have Jackie work under you.  But-”

“Awwww, commee onn.”

“I am floating the idea so Jackie stops making write-ups and hand delivering them.”

“We have write-ups?”

“No,” Deborah said.

“Thank you, Deborah.”

“Thanks, Deb.”

“You’re welcome, Blade.” “HEY.”

“The two of you should get back to work.  I’m going to… try to clean up around here.  Maybe.”

Deborah nodded. “You gonna try to hold my hand again?” Ed mumbled.

“Shhh…”

The lily smell still hurt my head.  Opening this letter felt different.  It was a different kind of off-white from the last.

Hi, Persuader!!

This letter is written on behalf of all of us.  Good

luck!  You’re going to need it.

Love, Upper management

Wonderful.  I wondered whose tongue it was.  Felix?  Gabe?  Angel.  I also wondered where honesty ended and taunting began, admiring the audacity.

I picked up one stack of books.  Was it enough?  Was it ever going to be enough?  Pretend I’m still talking about books.

Probably the floor wasn’t a good place to start.  Something smaller.  I started with the desk, adding to the floor.  I should separate books from papers.  Always gotta start somewhere.  Somewhere...  I wish I was somewhere.  Here sucks.

*

I’ll be honest:  I’d been lying face down on my desk for a long time.  One of the few joys I have left.

“Persuader?”  It was a voice I didn’t recognize.

“Yeah?”

“You seem busy.”

“Must be the reason no one’s seen me for eons.”

“Are you busy?”

I looked up. It was Hansen.  “No.  What did you need, kid?”

“I’m doing alright in the, um, selection department, but I wanted your advice.”

“Haven’t checked on that sector in a while.  How things running down there?”  I opened a pen with my mouth and wrote a note to check selections.

“Good.”

“What advice are you lookin’ for, then?”

“I guess my heart’s just not in it?”

“PSSSSHH!  Come on.  Whose heart’s in anything these days?  I think you’ll do fine.”

Hansen sort of looked at the floor a minute.  “I feel like I’m doing it wrong.  I want to do it right.  I want to be fair.”

I stood up. “Listen.  Kid.” I’m still not sure what compelled me to clap Hansen’s shoulder.  “The truth is, I really don’t think there’s good people and bad people.  Really.  Like, maybe we’re all just in weird spots trying to do our jobs as best as we can.  Can you do that for me?”

“I’m up for it.”

“Exactly!  Great.” Hansen stared at me.

“Do you need directions back?”

“Yes.”

“Ok.”

I knew it more by feel anyway, so I just walked the kid there.  The stairs almost killed me, and that was before I turned around and went back.  Would have helped to have the spikes removed.  Unimportant.

I don’t know why I keep going back to my office.  Lets people find me.  Sure enough, I met Deborah there.

“... Are you okay, Persuader?”

“Kinda no.  Went to selections to help Hansen out.”  I went to my desk.

“Oh god.”

“Good news is,” I caught my breath, “the selection department is basically running as normal, no complaints.  And Hansen’s doing well.”

“That is good news.  Well.  To us.  Any news on Jackie’s request?”

“Which one?”

“The latest one.  Regarding the, uh.  Repairs and job opening as correspondent.”

I wiped my forehead.  It didn’t help me think.

Deborah leaned forward onto a stack of papers.  It crunched.  “What’s going on between Ed and Jackie?”

“What?  You don’t know?”

“I mean any new developments.”

“I don’t think anything new has happened.  I just think they still remember.”

Deborah turned to the door.

Why?  You interested? I wanted to ask.  I didn’t.  Watching Deborah leave always makes me nervous.  Not for anyone else, but for whatever situation I’m in.  Truly the only one around here doing their job.

Then again, I did have a new reason to not do mine.  There’s a room people don’t know about.  This is where my personal line is kept.  And, while we’re being honest with one another, I would say I’ve been neglecting it.

To be fair, it’s not entirely my fault.  Sort of an on and off relationship with its entrance existing, but I did what I could.  It’s a dark place except for the crack just above where the line was resting.  Really should get that fixed.  I picked it up.

Someone was waiting.  “Hello!”

“Oh.  Hi.”

“You still sound so nervous.”

“I know.”  I could’ve sworn I smelled flowers again.  “Tell me ... more about those chairs.”

“The plush ones?”

“Yes.  With the buttons.”

“They’re so soft!  We could get them in any color you like, really.”

“If they’re upholstered anything like Angel dresses, I’ll need them much, MUCH darker.”

“Of course!”

“We used to have a lot of wooden furniture down here. Did not last long.”

“Oh, no!”

“Yeah.  I mean, I guess you do get used to the temperature difference after a bit.  Could be worse.  I won’t expect you to fix that, really.”

“I don’t know if I would.”

“What?  Fix it?  Or get used to it.”

“Either, dear.”

“...”

“Did you want some photos?”

“I hope you mean the chairs.”

“OH.  Yes!”

“You got, like, a catalog or something you could send down?”

“I do.  I wish I could send it personally.”

“I’d enjoy that.”

“Sending it down?  Or the ‘personally’?”

My mind wandered to anything else.

“Hello?”

“Right!  Yes, please send me a catalog if you have the time.  I could stand to read even that much.”

“Sounds like someone’s working too hard.”

“Not really.  Well, it’s not that I do nothing, but I could use more things to occupy myself.  Far too many hours in the day.”

“Oh, I wish I had that problem.  Lately, I’ve been losing sleep just to get my work done.”

“I don’t sleep.”

The Director had the sort of laugh that was very hard to tell if it was fake or not.  “Oh, we’ve all been there!”

“... Uh huh ...”

“I hear you’re working harder than ever.”

“Oh, it’s very outsourced at this point.”  Something crossed what little light I had.  “Do I make your job difficult?”

“Would you like to?”

I heard a footstep.

I hung up.

Deborah had done a poor job leaving my office.  “New mail from Sam, Persuader.”

I grabbed the envelope.

Deborah didn’t give it to me.  “Lotta mail lately.”

I finally got it.  And stared.

Deborah did the same.

I don’t like to be mean.  “You’re this far up for a reason.  But.  Even I doubt your ability to keep particular secrets.  I would hate to take away certain privileges.  Especially in a place like this.”

“What?”

“You’ll keep a secret, won’t you?  Structural as it is, we wouldn’t even have a downstairs to work anymore if this got out!  This is my LIVElihood, Deborah!  I can’t trust you with my LIVElihood?!  Do you know what this means?  What if we get found out?  If I’M found OUT, DEBORAH?”  I stepped in close, eyes bulged.  “Then we’ll both be sweating to the oldies.”

“... WHAT?”

Perfect time to check in on Hansen.

“Persuader, wait!”

Again, I don’t really have a mental map of the place, per se.  I just sort of let muscle memory take over if I want to get somewhere as quick as possible.

“Boss!” the back of a large canvas said to me.

“Ed?”

“Found some new art for commons!  What’d you think?”  As it turned towards me, a chill went up my spine.

I looked Ed right in the eye.  “Hideous.  Well done.”

Ed smiled.

“Persuader!”

I hadn’t walked as fast I thought I did.

The smile faded. “Deborah?”

I tucked the envelope into my coat and kept moving.  And, for the first time in a long time, I was happy to see Jackie.  “Persuadderr, hiii!”

“Hi, could I follow you?”

“Sure!  So, I considered the position you offered me- gee, you’re fast!- and I think I’ll take it!”

“That’s excellent, Jackie!  I think you’d make a great correspondent, but would you mind a trial period where we have you correspond with selections for a bit?”

“Actually, that sounds great!”  The smile faded from Jackie’s eyes only.  “Wow.”

I suddenly felt very light-headed.  The smell of roses.

“So, should I go to selections?”

“Oh, yes.  They’ll be expecting you.  I’m headed there now, actually.”

“Wow, okay, great!”

Suddenly, Deborah.  Arms crossed at just the staircase we needed to take.

I stopped in my tracks.  “How?”

“I followed the smell of upstairs mail.”

“Well, I’ll be damned...”

“Deborah!  Hi!”

Deborah twitched.  “Hello.”

Jackie smiled.

Look, I’m not one to encourage conflict, believe it or not, and if there is one thing I know how to do, it’s satiate one Jackie Spakes.  I went up a few stairs and held out a hand.  “Hey, I’ll meet you in selections in a bit, okay?  I gotta take this.”

Jackie smiled.  “I can do that!”  I couldn’t help but notice how slowly those steps were taken and how cold the hand I’d taken was.  Nevertheless, soon me and Deborah were to ourselves.  And it got quiet.

I’m no good at studying faces.  My art teachers’ll tell you that.  I think Deborah was mad at me.  Finally, I got something out.  “I don’t like to be listened to.”

“Is that why Ed works here?”

“My mail’s my mail!  What do you want me to say?”

I think Deborah was still mad.

“Look, I trust you but it’s literally my business, Deborah.”

“You’re right.”

And I was more scared.

“You’re right.  It is your business.  I apologize.”

“Okay.”

“Okay!”  Oh, I didn’t like those bulging eyes at all.  Or the arms still being crossed as Deborah turned and walked away.

Deborah was also right.  I stank bad.  You ever tasted rose?  I had to get rid of this thing.  And it would be a good test of how long a few minutes is to Jackie.  And, this time, no one was gonna follow me.

*

“Hey, Ed?”

“Yuh?”

“I need your help.”

“No.  You really don’t.”

It’s not nice to hit someone in the ribs while they’re trying to lift boxes.

“OW!  WHAT?”  Ed finally looked up.  “Woah, you okay?”

“We need to get some upstairs mail.”

“Okay.  Why, though?”

“To read it.”

“You alright, Deb?”

“I’m sure as it gets more common, it’ll be easier to find discarded letters.  I bet we could even find one or two now while Persuader’s office is empty.”

“You could also just, like, talk to Felix or Gabe and see it before Sam does.”

“What?”

“Not that I know that.”  Ed continued rearranging the boxes.  “Oh, hey, check it out!  You wanna see old photos?”

“Not particularly.”

“Yeah, probably some grody stuff in there anyway.  What’s actually bothering you, by the way?”  Ed held out a box.

Deborah took it.  “I guess all these years are catching up to me.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yes.”  Deborah set it down and grabbed another.  “I guess when you know how bad it’s going to be, it’s easier.  All this is new.  I’m used to knowing.  I felt like I knew everything.”

“That bites.” “Yes, it does.  Wait, Felix?  Felix would intercept?”

“Not if I asked.”  Ed plopped the box less delicately than the last one.  “If you asked, though, yes.  And I’ll bet Felix would be better at it than Gabe is, no disrespect.”

“And would I give it back to upstairs after, or?”

“Well, yeah.  Unless you also have upstairs envelopes and clean fingers.”

Deborah laughed.  “Not after this.”

“Hey,” Ed nudged, “you’ll be alright.”

“Don’t touch me.”

“Sorry.”

Deborah set the next box down.  Sure enough, it left plenty of soot.  “Ed?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Next one’s heavy!”

Deborah grabbed the other end.  “Is this meant for downstairs?  This can’t be-”

The box fell, revealing... grim contents.

Ed did not shy away.  “Huh, I wonder who this was.”

Deborah’s words were choice.

“Been a while, but, no, this is for us.”  Ed’s fingers were now red as well.  Took a few scoops to return the remains. “You wanna set this closer to shelf five?  I bet it goes with those cases.”

“These are new shoes.”

Ed lifted the box on one shoulder.  “So, after this, you wanna do nextdoor or see Felix first?”

“We should organize 818 first.  While we’re here.  I don’t think Jackie will occupy Persuader much longer, and I’d rather get caught doing my job.”

“Suit yourself.”  This plop wasn’t graceful either, but sounded more wet.

*

I wish I could tell the Director everything.  I might eventually even say how I feel.

Not important.  I had a bill to settle.  And in walked that bill with Ed.  “More mail from Sam.”

“Thank you, Deborah.  I also am happy to see you.  To apologize.”

“Pardon?”

“I think I do owe my most loyal a bit more credit where it is due.”

Ed smiled.

“And why are you here?”

Ed frowned.  “Oh, Deborah was gonna tell you mail and I was gonna tell you we got leftovers,” Ed pointed a thumb out to the hall.

"That... shouldn't happen.  Where was this?"

"819."

I made a sound once described to me as “if a deflating balloon could feel hate.”  Won’t tell you who said that.  Deep breaths.  “Thank you for telling me.”

“Boss?”

“Yeah, Ed?”

Deborah held out the letter.

“Right!”  Straight to the jacket this time, no pit stops.  On the way to 819, however-

When I say I ran into Sam, please take it quite literally.

“Jesus!  Sorry.”

Sam straightened up and shrugged.

“How are you, otherwise?  Me notwithstanding?”

Sam looked one way and the next and smirked.

“Glad to hear it. I think.”

Sam looked me in the eyes in a way that frightened me.

“Well, I’ll see you.  Thank you.  Sorry.”

There was a leak in the hall just over from 819.  I think we use that hall for leaks, anyway.  Not too worried, personally.  And I could tell what box must contain Ed’s mentioned leftovers almost immediately.  Even if I didn’t, the weight of it would’ve clued me in.

Have you ever carried a bloody box up three flights of stairs?  What about stairs that are all located at different legs of each floor?  I’ll trade you.

Ground floor.  I put a hand on the lid and kissed the stained cardboard.  I stood, kicked the box, and out rolled the human form, who stared at me.  "What's your name?"

"Liz."

"Welcome back."

I watched Liz walk away before my vision drifted to the door.  Not the one I came from.  The other one.  This may've been the closest I stood to it.  I don't know.  I touched it, too, but it didn't come to life.

I’m not supposed to do it, but you can’t stop me if I remember how.  I’m surprised I remember.  I suppose I miss leftovers.

And then a very animated wave caught my eye.  Gabe was “waving me down,” as I’m almost positive some of the kids say.

“Hey!  What’re you doing here, Persuader?”  It was said with a smile, but I couldn’t help but feel accused.

“I could ask the same,” I also smiled.

“Weellll, you know how it is.  I was checking on Mari, but I shouldn’t be way out here, I guess.  I just get way curious, you know?  Oh, you definitely know.”

“I do.”

“Also, really nice seeing Deborah.  We all need to hang out more often.  I can tell I keep hitting you at kinda bad times, but I do appreciate the time.  You guys are awesome!”

The high five was painful.

“Take it easy, Persuader!”

“I am.  Thank you.”

The box still had soot but was otherwise unblemished on the way back down.  And much lighter.

Once again, I was alone in my office. Strange how uncommon it had become.  I did look at the latest letter.

Persuader:

I’d like to see you <3

No more.  Though, no less.  Only then did I realize it smelled like soot.

I stared a moment, truly taking in my surroundings, something all the tapes I’d bought over the years to try to fix myself had failed to make me do.  The notice I’d thrown out weeks ago detailing ethical lower level proceedings was at the top of my waste basket.  My heaps of tomes stacked on the floor were suspiciously organized.  Much more than I had left them.  Someone had moved several of my books revealing full inches of dustless desktop.  And, worst of all, my last interaction with someone from upstairs had been positive.  I had to do something about it.

The business line itself had joined the destitute, covered in dust.  I picked it up and punched in what I knew I must.

“... Hello?”

“Yes, your boss told me you had something to say to me specifically.”

“I’m afraid not, Persuader.”

“You sure?  The Director was pretty adamant, actually.”

“No!”

“Look... It’s gonna get to me eventually, Angel.  I’d prefer to hear it from you.  Just spill.”

“Fine!  I have made a few comments on your etiquette.  If you’re here to genuinely improve, which I don’t believe for a second, I can list them.”

I held the receiver in the crook of my neck, balancing the lid of the leftovers box on my knees.  The only pen I could find on my desk wrote purple.  “Oh, I’d love to hear.”

“Well, sarcasm like that is a great start.”

“Sar... casm.  Great.  What else?”

I heard a knock.

“Come in!  Sorry, Angel.  We’ll have to pick this up later.  Stay in touch.”

“Not as long as I live!”

I hung up.

Jackie waltzed in.  “So!”

I braced myself.

“It seems like I’m back to working this level!”

My heart fell to my feet, unlikely to ever return.  “Great!”

“Isn’t it!  It really seems like I was just not suited for, what was it?”

“Select-”

“Selections!  Oh, I can’t stand it.”  The laugh felt very violating.  “So, I’m back!”

In walked Ed.

Out slipped Jackie.

“Bad news.”

I nodded.  “Yeah, I saw that.”

“No, it was something else.”  Ed sighed.  “Why does everyone think I care about Jackie?  No, look:  there’s a crowd forming on the ground floor.”

“They do that,” I searched my desk.

"Woah, how'd you get the blisters, boss?"

“I’m grateful for you, Ed.  I really am.”

“Fine, I’ll get out of your hair.”  Ed turned, scowling.  “Clean in here...”

And it was.  Still smelled like fire, though.

The door lock clicked into place.  And the line rang. And there was a knock at the door.  I crawled under my desk.  Look, I don’t expect you to fully understand, but perhaps a little.  Stress, right?  Why else do people fall asleep with the lights on?

Doesn’t matter.  It was quiet when I crawled out.  Sam was sitting on my desk.  “OH!  Hey.”

Sam nodded.  And dropped a pile of letters on my desk before leaving.  Beneath the desk beckoned me again.

But so did the line.  I picked up.  “Yah?  Persuader speaking, how can I help you?” “Where have you been?”

“How long was I out?”

“Darling, we’ve been waiting upstairs.”

Every letter.  Every letter was from the Director.

“Gimme a minute.”

“I-”

I hung up.

You know, I haven’t really looked at myself in a while.  Perhaps an eternity.  I’ll leave that up to you.  Gabe’s jokes about me not showing up in mirrors didn’t help.  I’m embarrassed to care about it.  Or maybe I’m embarrassed I spent such a chunk of time not caring about it.  One of those.

But I did look before going to the ground floor.  I also rubbed an envelope that smelled like daisies in my armpits, but that one’s less metaphorical and glamorous.

* We met on a lovely day.  Rain poured down the windows, the sun still peeking through the clouds and casting a salmon hue all around.  Of course I was nervous.  Duh.  The feelings had become embarrassingly mutual.  Just this once, I'll admit it.

I sat on the plain, powder blue chairs of the ground floor, palms sweating.  Well-pressed upstairs employees kept assuring me the Director was on the way.  The potted plants didn't help.  One's long leaves lulled in the breeze of the fan at the abandoned front desk.  I wanted to run.

"Persuader?"

But I couldn’t.

The Director stood before me.  She practically glowed.

I tried to stand only to fall to my knees, tears in my eyes.  "I'm sorry."  Why did I do this?  How had I done this?  Was I so low I managed to deceive the one above all?  Was this illusion of power my ultimate punishment?  Years of damnation were nothing compared to this.

"No, don't be, Persuader."  The voice was at my level.  I opened my eyes to see the Director's, glistening with tears of her own.  She took my hands.  "I wanted to see you.  I've missed you, Lucy.  I should be the one apologizing."

She brought me to my feet.  Though shaking, I managed to balance.  She was glorious in every way.  She wore a soft pink cardigan and a cream dress.  Her white curls hung in an angled cut, the longest ringlets barely brushing the tops of her ears.  Her skin was deep and warm.  I'd forgotten those eyes.  How could I forget such a lovely brown?  The Director.... my Abiel.

"Were you expecting such a- such a deep reaction?"

She smiled, taking my hand.  "Perhaps."

"Typic- typical."  I was still racked with sobs.  I still wouldn't put up with pretense, especially not from her.  Upstairs, always acting so superior.  They were, but, you know.

The Dire- Abiel laughed.  "I am sorry.  I just..."  Both hands held mine.  "This is new for both of us."

I pulled my hand away, partly to blow my nose and mostly because it was getting too sappy for my taste.  I noticed my blisters had disappeared.  Maybe I'm just bitter.  "Really, though, it's nice meeting you."

"You, too, Lucy.  My thoughts have been with you for so long.  I think this will be the beginning of...  I hope your unique insight will improve my facility's functioning."

"Right, right... Right."  I pocketed my tissue, and looked up.

She was staring at me, eyes... sorrowful?  No, waiting.  For what?

"Kiss her, you fool!"  The door to downstairs was just barely open, the dark gap facing us.

"Thanks, Deborah."  I turned to Abiel.  "If I may?"

She nodded.

I didn't care who was watching.  I barely remember what came next myself.  Let's just say I'm glad ground floor staff is a thing of the past, and I felt terrible about all the dark lipstick I left on Abiel's face.

No, I am still not permitted to go upstairs, but Abiel is trying to sort it out.  Something about me burning up upon entry.  I'm sure it's all myth.  We do talk a lot, but there's not much more to learn about each other, so it's mostly meaningless chatter.  My staff hasn't let me hear the end of the whole thing.  Even Deborah cracks wise, but they're all single, so... Well, not Felix, so perhaps that’s not a good metric to judge one’s self-worth.

I guess what I'm trying to say is it really has been better despite really only one thing changing.  The fact my relationship ended a professional feud and better funded some of my departments isn’t my fault.  Some might even call that a conflict of interest.

But sometimes the little things have quite an impact.  Less fear and regret for sure.  After dealing with Abiel so long, I've acquired great patience, even with Ed.  Sometimes, we even get work done.  Hell can't run itself, afterall.

*

"I can't believe the Persuader wore that blazer.  It's hideous.  She didn't even lint it."

"Ed, now is not the time."

"What?  Do you really think that emerald top goes with those sage green shoes?  Please!  Different hues."

"... Yeah, it really doesn't, but don't you see what's happening here?  The body language, Ed.  They're going to go in."  Deborah smoothed their slacks and deepened their squat to have a better look out of the inch of space they had to see.

"I totally see it.  Now, would you call the Director or the Persuader more dominating?"

Deborah shrugged.  "Depends.  Also, I always pictured the Director differently.  Longer hair."

"Stop changing the subject, Deb."

"Fine, we'll go back to fashion, Edna!  Why are you wearing the waist on your pencil skirt so low, hmm?  It's not very flattering."

"Excuse you!  I have it belted and low to give the illusion of curves.  You know I wasn't gifted with hips!"

"Shhh!  I think it's happening!"

Ed leaned so far into the door, Deborah's grip barely kept it from swinging open.  They watched.  They waited.  Nothing happened.

"What are they doing, Deborah?"

"I just don't understand.  What are they waiting for?"

Ed leaned even further down.  "Yah.  Seriously."

More silence.  Deborah sighed.  "I'm going to do it."

"Do what?"

They took a deep breath, preparing their lungs.

"Deborah, no!"

"Kiss her, you fool!"

"And it's out.  Wow.  I thought you were the master of subtlety."

“There it is.  Well, subtlety hasn’t gotten me anywhere yet.  Look at us, Ed.”

“... What?”

“This is why I just don’t say anything.”  They stood.

“Wait, should WE kiss?”  She stood as well.  “Deborah!”

They walked faster.  “That skirt is cute, though.”

[detectivemaker]

hattercrow  horror au part 1 scarejuice

The tetch siblings sit in a semicircle in front of a lit candle, " though we know we should be wary" the oldest sibling dorfy begins, " still we call on something scary" one of the twins Louis continues " ghostly haunting we turned loose" the other twin Lenore finishes," scary juice, scary juice, scary juice!, all the siblings say in unison as the flame of the candle burst into an Inferno a Inferno begins to take the shape of a man in, the fire begins to change into a physical form starting with the legs that wear striped pants the stripe pattern continues on the chest and arms the skin of the figure is ghostly pale and splashed with decay, the heck takes form and the figure Smiles a crooked tooth grin and wipes a pale finger under his crooked nose blinking is traffic cone orange eyes and running is other hand through his long black green highlighted hair, the figure looks around sing siblings and speaks " well if it isn't my favorite kids, how you little Scamp doing it's been a while since you called" The Voice to figure speaks in is heavily Southern accented and as he says these words he adjusts a noose that's wrapped around his neck like it's a tie

" dad"  Dorothy says an amused tone in her voice " it's only been a week since we called on you, besides you have father to keep you company where we're at school" the eldest continued," still I did miss you guys, do come give your papa a hug" the figure says as arms stretched to an admirable length and envelop the group of children and pulled them into his form in a tight hug, the children wrap their arms around there Supernatural parent in Return of the hug the Embrace is interrupted by a voice coming from downstairs,"kids, it's time for dinner when your dad down I make something special for him" the British voice says turn the kitchen the children and their phantasmagorical father leave the basement and go to the kitchen to see the Living dad of the house in an apron pulling macaroni casserole from the oven his hand covered by oven mitts adorned with skeletal cats," hello children" the kids living father says as he takes off the Mets  and turns off the oven " all of you sit down I'll give you all portions" the man continues as he releases his medium length blonde hair from the ponytail it was in, the children sit down and the father spoons them some macaroni casserole, when you get to the children's other father he whispered something into the Spirits ear and a snake-like tongue emerges from the creatures lips the most rise them in delighted hunger, the blond man goes to the fridge and pulls out a bowl covered with cling-wrap taking it to the table if placed in front of  the ghoulish man who feverishly whips the wrapping from the bowl revealing its pudding that has banana slices and cold dead beetles in it." banana and beetle pudding pie favorite thanks sugar" the fighting theme says before giving the blond man a quick peck on the lips white after which he grabs a spoon and starts digging into his pudding

when the family is done eating and the children are in their rooms doing whatever they do the two parents of the house sit in the living room on the couch watching a horror movies the undead one laughing and every gruesome scene of Gore as the living one Simply Smiles in West is head on his horrifying husband's shoulder." oh Johnny  this was a wonderful first anniversary but there is one thing that would make it just perfect" the brightly blushing blonde says as his ghoulish guy looks at him " and what would that be my dear honey haired husband?" the creature questions .”Id like to ride you to the other side" the blond says as he climbs onto the other man's lap to straddle him," Jervis you've earned yourself a one way ticket to the Bone Zone... The metaphorical one not the literal one, believe me the actual bones zone is not as hot as the metaphorical one" the awkwardness is quickly overcome by Jonathan wrapping his arms around Jarvis and carrying him upstairs to the room," it's showtime!" the spirit says to seemingly fin air before slamming the bedroom door closed and of cacophony squeaking bed springs train noises and two voices moaning out into the night is heard as the children lie in their beds trying to block out the sounds with a pillow all three of them having completely same looks of disgusted Terror on their faces

[ynisamenace]

 Party For One

Warnings: sub! Aone being a flustered mess, confident dom! Reader, nsfw kinda (grinding, not pg-13 kissing), mention of drugs and alcohol, college au! Aone.

Word count: 2.3k

a/n: ok guys this is my first fanfic so apologies if it’s not too good or if the ending is too rushed. Constructive criticism is always welcome and pls don’t forget to like and/or reblog. Thank you!

Aone was not much of a party goer. Although his friends were more outgoing, he in fact was not. He was more of a homebody, mostly leaving his shared apartment with Kenji for school, to get more ramen from the corner shop near his uni or practice with his newly-formed volleyball team; courtesy of his newly-formed friend, Kanji. Then proceeding to come home to shower, nap, wake up, struggle with his homework and then sleep till the next day. He was about to start the fourth activity of his daily routine when the sound of the doorbell rang through the apartment.

Sighing, he left his spot at the kitchen island to open the front door, then trying to close it once Kanji’s face appeared behind it.

“Woah woah if you wanted some alone time, you should’ve just said that”, the cat-faced friend exclaimed, just barely slipping through the crack in the door. Face adorned with brown freckles and a smile seemingly super glued to his face, he looked like the poster boy of golden retriever boys, “Wouldn’t matter anyway since I’m still dragging you to Sugawara’s tonight.”

Ah yes, Suga’s party, the one Aone was being forced to go to as a favour for his new friend. The white haired boy uttered a grunt of disapproval as Kanji plopped down onto his couch.

“I’m telling you man, when girls see us walking in together with my beauty and your scowl-,” he smirked while giving Aone a once over, “-they’ll come flocking like parakeets.” Aone ignored his new friend’s rambling and was about to go back to his homework when his phone buzzed. Picking it up and looking at his crush’s name made him do a double take before realizing it was from his class groupchat.

Y/n❤: Someone better come pick me up or else I’m dumping the mary jane😤

Sugawara: You live on campus, how did you sneak it in?

Y/n❤: Come pick me up and I’ll tell you

Bsf/n: I can see I’m gonna be on y/n duty tonight. I’ll come get you in 5

Y/n❤: Girl I’ll literally marry you don’t play with me

                                         -5 minutes later-

Y/n❤: Psa to everyone in this groupchat, bsf/n and I are married now

Bsf/n: As long as you do my makeup for the party lol

Y/n❤: Deal

A slightly dejected sigh left the tall boy’s lips, wishing it was him y/n would joke about marrying to the- wait party?? The realization that y/n was going to the same party as him made heart race with anticipation and although he never talked to her in any of the classes they shared, Aone developed a massive crush on y/n just by seeing the way she interacts with others as well as her personality. Her presence when she walks into a room, beautiful coily/kinky hair either flowing or in a different ‘protective style’ (which Aone ended up googling the meaning to) and her face adorned with a smile so bright, he could feel his ears getting hotter just by its look, it would be foolish to think that no other person in his uni or elsewhere had already snatched her up. Which is why Aone never felt the need to let her know about how much he was falling for her.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of his roommate’s door opening, revealing a clearly tipsy Kenji trying and failing to button up the last button on his silk shirt.

“Is anyone g-gonna help or what..” he slurred, stumbling into the living room, planting himself right in front of Aone who begrudgingly helped him with the last button. Satisfied, the intoxicated boy walks over to Kanji on the couch who’s currently scrolling through his instagram feed. He gives Kenji a once over before giving a nod of approval to his outfit. He turns to the tall, white haired boy, “Aone go change, the party starts in 10 and you know it’ll take us half an hour to get there!”, he exclaimed gesturing to Aone with his hands in a shooing manner. He didn’t understand what was wrong with his gray shirt and black sweatpants but went to his room to go change anyway, returning six minutes later sporting a green and white checkered shirt with dark blue jeans and black levis. The trio hurriedly leave their apartement, Kanji practically dragging both boys to his car before appointing Aone as the designated driver as the boy was the only one who had no intention to drink at the party.

The ride to the party took much more than half an hour as Aone was forced to drive while simultaneously trying to stop the two boys at the back from drinking any more of the pregame Kanji brought as well as preventing Kenji from messing with the aux cord. In the end, both boys settled on playing Ei8th mile on repeat the rest of the drive, both alternating between rapping DigDat and Aitch’s lines. Finally getting to the address Sugawara sent to the group, the trio hopped out of the car and went to knock on the door, opening to reveal the silver haired boy in all his glory wearing a burger king crown and a drunk smile.“You guys look li-hiccup-ke you had a fun drife here”, opening the door wider to reveal flashing red and purple strobe lights, living room filled with drunk and soon-to-be drunk college students and a hiphop song playing with a loud base that almost made Aone’s teeth clink. The two drunk boys wasted no time heading to the make shift bar in the kitchen, Aone following reluctantly behind feeling quite awkward in the party setting. Even worse, he was unable to spot y/n in the crowd making his heart drop lower into his stomach.

 No no no no. 

Even though Aone didn’t think y/n would like him the way he likes her, he was hoping he could at least use this party to make himself known to her, maybe forming a friendship with her first before professing his love. Dejectedly, he trudges to the bar, sulking next to his now very drunk friends who are far more interested with the designs on the kitchen counter. 

“Dude it’s so swirly…how do they make it like that?” one of the boys asks.

“Bro it has to be like a top secret thing. Like in the dark web,” the other replied, his eyes widening as his pupils are blown out more.

Not wanting to deal with their drunk conspiracies, Aone heads to the store room in search for some water after not seeing any laid out. Finding a bottle, he quickly gulps it down, faintly hearing the song in the living room change to one with a much deeper base. Leaving the store with his thirst finally quenched, he recognizes the song as Cold by Rico Nasty, her gravely voice echoing around the living room and drowning out some of the chatter which Aone was grateful for.

Ridin’ in a Maserati

Like Scotty I’m with two hotties

I ain’t just walk in the party-

“I brought the drugs to the partyyyy”, a voice which made Aone’s heart beat faster screamed, Y/n bursting through the front door with a medium sized pack of marijuana and a tray of what he assumes are pot brownies as the crownd cheered at her arrival. Her eyes wide with excitement, hair in cute little bantu knots (which Aone noted is now probably his favourite hairstyle on her), and dazzling smile still glued to her face. Making a bee line to the kitchen to drop the stuff she was holding, she hugged and greeted the people closest to her, making Aone regret not standing closer to the front door before realizing she was making her way straight to him.“Hi Polar Bear!” her scent of f/p enveloping him as she hugged his stomach, hair right next to nose, making the boy short-circuit. Y/n is hugging me. Me. Hugging. She smells so good. I should probably hug her back. But what if that’s weird. Hugging me. I’m gonna marry her. I’m gonna throw u-

“Takanobu woohoo you good?” she whispered in neck, drawing him out of his daydream, while at the same time making blood rush to his lower region. His eyes widen as he turns to see her staring right at him, inches apart and eyes questioning.

“I-I’m doing well y/n, um you uh look great tonight”, he managed to blurt out, his compliment making her lips curve into that signature smile. He unconsciously let out a low groan as he felt his jeans tighten even more as his mind raced a mile a minute, envisioning her on top of him, smile turning into a smirk as she runs her hands over his body making him squirm. His neck, his nipples, his happy trail, his-

Once again brought out of his daydream, he looked around to see y/n already gone and dancing in the living room, her presence making her look ethereal in the flashing lights. Smiling slightly, Aone deciding to stop before his imagination made him cream in his pants, decided to go look for his friends spotting both of them laying near a potted plant in the hallway caressing the leaves and muttering under their breaths. He discreetly goes back to the store, getting two bottles of water and placing them on either side of his friends, knowing they’ll be shocked at it ‘appearing’.

Sighing tiredly, he briefly thinks of just driving back to his apartment having already seen his crush and hugged her, but decided against it not wanting to feel guilty for abandoning his intoxicated friends. He was about to go to the backyard looking for some fresh air before he heard his name being said in the crowd. Turning around too quickly he bumped into someone, gripping their waist and letting their scent envelop him before he caught a glimpse of their hair. 

Yes yes God yes

“Nobu I’m so sorry, I was trying to get your attention but you didn’t turn around!” y/n exclaimed, gripping his shirt making the boy realize his grip on her waist was tightening significantly. He quickly tried to let go but y/n wasn’t having any of it and planted his large palm on her backside, squeezing a little. Aone’s face had never been as red as it is now from that simple action. Clearing his throat, he gives a tentative squeeze to gauge her reaction and seeing the smirk on her face as her pupils darken. She finally releases her grip on his hand and turns to the dance floor, Aone follow behind.

 As they reach the dance floor, afrobeats fill the air as joro by wizkid which Aone knew was one of y/n’s favourite songs) plays turning the energy of the party to a slower tempo. Y/n turns to the tall boy, once more putting his hands on her waist, before pulling him closer to her, their bodies now pressed against eachother.

Aone can feel her grinding on his pants and begs to any God who’ll listen to please not let him pop a boner right now. Her mouth comes closer to his ear and he can feel her breath making shivers run down his spine. “I could feel it you know…” she whispers as his eyes widen, embarrassment from though him as he realizes she felt the first boner he popped while hugging her in the kitchen “…didn’t peg you as the type. What a pervert you are Nobu.”   

That small gesture almost made Aone cream in his pants. Almost. If not for the overwhelming shame he would feel if someone saw him, his dick was already as hard as can be. A murmur left Aone’s lips and y/n has to strain her neck to hear him over the sound of the music flowing through the house.

“What was that Nobu?”

“P-plea-ase,” he whispers, ears a bright shade of red as y/n smirks looking him in the eye to see his pupils blown out, clouded with lust and feeling his member poking her in the thigh.

“Please what Nobu?” their lips almost touching.

“..Please kiss me”

“That’s all you had to say ya damn polar bear”, finally pressing her lips on his and making the butterflies in his stomach turn into fireworks. He really couldn’t believe it. His head felt like it was about to burst from all the blood that rushed into it. Her lips felt so much better, so much better than his imagination. Her hands sliding up to his neck and slipping into the hair on the nape of his neck, he uttered a low groan giving access to y/n to slip her tongue onto his. Aone could feel his precum dampening his briefs and hoped that a dark spot wouldn’t be visible by the end of the night. She tried to break the kiss, his head leaning closer not letting her go until she tugged hard on his nape hair forcefully, a string of saliva still connecting them.

“What a needy boy”, she smirked, letting go of him to swipe at the corner of his lips. “Why didn’t I come speak to you earlier?”, he didn’t care because for him, this really was worth the wait.

 Aone was not much of a party goer, but he’d have to thank his friends in the morning for forcing him to go to this one.

Tags: @itzgabz22

[kryptored]

Secure and in place

To celebrate @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers reaching 250 followers, here's a lil' sumn-sumn to commemorate that. And out of the 50 prompts that we had to choose from, I went with number 36: "Helping brush their hair after a shower."

Also, if you've read "Fall" from the LBSC Valentine's Day Exchange event, this fic can be considered some sort of sequel to it. Or not. It can stand on its own, too. And if you haven't, you're more than welcome to check it out :) .

AO3

The bathroom door opens, and out walks Marinette wearing an old beige coloured shirt and white pyjama shorts, her feet warm inside her pastel pink home slippers. Her arms are both raised up, holding and rubbing a towel against her wet hair. Feeling the strain on her arms, she tilts her head down a little, drying her hair as she starts walking towards her card-making room. As she nears the desk where her latest clients’ cards sit, she makes sure to keep her hair from dripping onto the wedding invitation cards by setting a fair distance between her and the desk.

The deadline for the cards and meeting back with the client is in three days, yet Marinette feels proud of herself for finishing it early. Still, she feels as if something was missing. For that reason, she tosses her hair behind her - uncaring of the wet spot it will form on her shirt - and hangs her damp towel on her chair. She puts both of her hands on the desk, leaning on its weight as she regards the cards in front of her. The lettering, the colour palette of white, créme, and lavender, and even the small details of flowers on the borders look just right. Well, it looked almost right. She just wasn’t sure what else to do. Should she use envelopes? A wax seal? Twine? The couple who ordered the cards were more than willing to pay extra, but she also didn’t want to spend more on something that might not work. As her arm reaches from corner to corner and leaning further down onto her desk, Marinette misses Luka entering the room.

In his hands, he carries an open notebook filled with what seemed to be another song he is working on for the band. He stops by the doorway when he looks up from the page, the question on his mind left unsaid. He smiles when he notices that she’s wearing one of his old shirts, big enough to hide almost all of her shorts. He also sees her wet towel hanging on the back of her chair, as well as the wet spot forming on the back of the shirt, and shakes his head. He quietly places his notebook on top of a box beside him and walks towards her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

He hears her gasp in surprise, her still cold hands touching his arms to steady herself, before realizing who is behind her. She turns her head around with a wide smile on her face.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey, yourself.” He drops a kiss on her nose and sees the cards she has been working on for weeks. “Those look great. Does that mean you’re finally done with them?”

“Mm… kind of. I feel like it’s still missing something — just one last thing.”

“I see. Well, I do hope you haven’t forgotten how wet your hair still is.”

“I was in the middle of drying it.”

“Uhuh… Of course you were." He lets go of her, puts his hands on her shoulders, and pushes her down onto the chair. “How about you stay there and see what else you can do with the cards, and I’ll get your brush and hair dryer.”

“Aw… thanks.”

“Do you also want me to tie it up?” He asks her as he walks out backwards.

“Hm… yeah, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind. I’ll be right back.”

As he walks out of the room, Marinette turns back around to the cards. She hums as her fingers play with stray strands of her wet hair, her other hand cautiously touching the edge of each card, as if it would give her the answer to her problem. Her eyes wander around her desk and the shelves containing all her supplies, hoping to see something that will help her. It’s when she’s going from drawer to drawer that she hears Luka’s footsteps coming closer.

“You’re supposed to use heat protectant before using a hair dryer, right?” He asks her, his hand showing her the spray bottle he was referring to.

“Mhm.”

“Okay, good. Let me just put some of the stuff on something.”

From the corner of her eye, she sees Luka walk over and move one of the chairs from the corner closer to him, using it as a small table. He gently nudges her to lean forward to grab her towel, and proceeds to dry her hair with it as much as possible. When he’s satisfied with the lack of dripping, he reaches for a wide-tooth comb to help him remove some of the knots from her hair. He makes sure to slowly and carefully untangle strands of her hair, occasionally using his deft fingers in place of the comb.

After smoothing down her hair, he uncaps the bottle and whispers to Marinette, “Close your eyes for me, love.”

 She does as she’s told, and Luka starts spraying the heat protectant all over her hair. It takes him a few seconds before Marinette hears him put the cap back on the bottle, and set it back onto the chair.

“You’re good now, sweets. I’m just going to plug the hair dryer, so keep an eye out on your cards.”

“Okay.”

She puts paperweights onto the stacks of cards, making sure that nothing is folded or crumpled in the process. For extra measure, she also pushes them off of her, and sits up straighter when she feels Luka return to his place behind her.

“I’m turning it on now.” He warns her, before he switches the device on and a strong blast of warm air blows past the side of her face. “Let me know if I’m hurting you, okay?” He tells her in a louder voice, adjusting the strength of the air from high to medium heat and speed.

“I will!”

Marinette feels the heat of the hair dryer blowing at her hair — the back, before travelling up to the crown of her head. She closes her eyes again, only this time, to prevent any stray baby hairs poking at her. She feels Luka’s fingers carefully combing through her hair, lifting some of the strands to let the heat reach her roots. His hands systematically move from one area to another, making sure to not miss a spot of wet hair. Once he sees her head full of dry hair, he turns off the hair dryer, and sets it aside. He unplugs it from the outlet, takes hold of a brush, and starts brushing her hair from the bottom to remove remaining tangles. He continues brushing from the top of her head, making sure to do it as gently as possible and not to hit her temple,.

“Tilt your head for me a little bit? Yes, like that. Okay… you still want me to tie your hair up?”

“Yes, please.”

“You have a hair tie with you?”

She shows him her right wrist that has a hair tie wrapped around it. He hooks his finger into it and takes it off of her wrist, only to wear it around his own. With his eyes back to her hair, he decides to go with something simple.

He starts by taking a small piece of her hair from her left side, brings it over, and adds it to the inside of her left side. He repeats this a few times, making sure to grab from the outside part of each section with his pointer finger, and keeping his hands above the braid to keep the hair in place. After he leaves enough length of unbraided hair, he secures it with the hair tie from Marinette.

“Hm… I think I need something else for the finishing touch.”

“What,” she chuckles, “like how I am with the wedding invitations?”

“Maybe,” he tilts his head from side to side, until an idea pops into head. “Stay right there.”

Marinette can only laugh more at Luka’s meticulousness, but continues to sit still and goes back to her own brainstorming. It takes Luka about a minute or so to come back, and when she turns around to ask him what he had in mind, something clicks into place when she sees the blue hair ribbon on his hand.

“I think I also have an idea, but I’d have to ask for your permission to let me borrow it.” She tells him, her eyes focused on the ribbon he’s holding.

“Oh?” he notices her line of sight, and it doesn’t take him long to realize what she means. “Oh. Yeah, for sure.”

He gives her a small smile and walks back to his place behind her, taking hold of her braided hair. He carefully puts the ribbon around the hair tie, tying it into a neat and tight bow without jostling his hard work. Meanwhile, Marinette reaches for the lavender silk ribbons from the left side of her desk, and cuts them down into a certain length — enough to keep the invitation cards secure and in place.

Finally done with his work, Luka clears all his materials away, before coming back and taking a seat beside her. He grabs his own pair of scissors and another roll of the silk ribbon, takes one of Marinette’s already cut pieces, and uses it as reference for cutting.

“How many are we cutting?”

“About 30 more. The wedding is a small one, so they only ordered 50.”

“Okay.”

They cut them in peace (hehe, pun), neither minding the sound of their blades cutting through silk.

Marinette starts humming an unknown song, and so does Luka. Luka starts swaying side by side, and so does Marinette.

When all fifty ribbons are cut, Marinette starts showing Luka how to tie each of them into a ribbon on each card. He is unsuccessful at first, his fingers clumsily maneuvering the silk every now and then. He tries not to let the frustration get to him, trying again and again. Marinette sees him struggling and takes hold of his hand, giving them a reassuring massage before kissing them for luck. He gives a hearty laugh and feels motivation coming back to him; he turns back to his pile of ribbons and starts doing them again, and succeeds. They silently tie their cards, one by one, before they simultaneously reach for their last one together.

“That was nice. Maybe I should start helping you with the cards more.”

“Is that you asking me to pay you as my assistant, then?”

“Are you hiring for part-time?”

“I dunno… I feel like I need you full-time.”

“For the job?”

“No.” She twists to her side and faces him, sitting much closer to the edge of her seat, and takes hold of both of his hands. “If you have the availability, I was wondering if you could stick around with me full-time?”

He mirrors her actions and entwines their fingers, the smile on his face threatening to break his cheeks.

“I think you already know the answer to that.”

[sebstanseabass]

Afterglow (A Bucky Barnes AU fan fiction) - Chapter 6

Afterglow chapters

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

CHAPTER SIX

Steve left a trail of cool breeze from the outside which sent shivers on the surface of your skin. You immediately closed the door, slightly annoyed at the cold air New York had to offer.

"He seems nice." Bucky commented as soon as you got back inside. The jukebox had stopped playing. It probably already used up Bucky's money. "Looked like he couldn't hurt a fly." He added.

You agreed with Bucky as you sat back down on the high stool. He managed to bring out the drink you guys hid from Steve and placed it in front of you. A big smile spread across his face, still urging you to drink what he made just a few minutes ago. He kept convincing you that the "y/n" drink was a good and mean drink, perhaps "the best drink you'll ever have, I swear!" (even though he hadn't tried it himself). He spoke like a true businessman trying to sell his product. He never broke eye contact and kept his voice firm and strong.

"This is the first and last time I'm taking a drink from a stranger." You mumbled, picking up the drink. It was cold like the air outside.

"Hey, I'm no stranger!"

Before the drink could even reach your lips, you caught a whiff of its smell. It was kind of fruity yet minty at the same time but the scent of vodka still lingered on top of the drink. Bucky added a little umbrella, perhaps finding it in one of the cabinets while you were walking Steve towards the front door.

The first sip tasted like New York's wintery air that soon left. It was replaced by the taste of both spring and summer, basked in a state of glorious heat. "Bucky..." You gulped until there was no more left on the glass. "This is -- "

"The best drink you ever had?" His nose scrunched up.

You didn't want to feed him a big ego but even you couldn't deny that yes, it was the best drink you ever had in your life. There was something weirdly familiar in it; the same feeling that you felt as you stared at Bucky's sleeping face.

"Indeed it is." You sent him a smile. "Something familiar in all of it. For some unknown reason, I can't explain it."

"Because the drink is you." He replied, taking the glass from your hand and placing it on the dishwasher beside him. "Or what I thought about you the first time I saw you."

"The first time you saw me, you were butt naked and I had a bit of a concussion. You got fruity and minty from that?"

He smirked while opening the faucet. "Fruity and minty, huh?"

"Yeah," you replied, leaning back on the stool as you crossed your arms across your chest, "that's what it tasted like."

"Interesting." He hummed.

"Wasn't that what you wanted me to taste?"

"You tell me."

"You're confusing me, Bucky." You groaned. "Man, you didn't even get a taste of it. Not one single sip and you already assumed that the drink would 'fit' my personality."

"Fruity and minty." Bucky started to clean up the glass, then the rest of the counter. You stared at him, waiting for an explanation to what he just said. He looked like something out of Vogue magazine while cleaning the counter. You, on the other hand, must've looked like hell. "I'm like a magician when it comes to drinks, y'know -- "

"If you are," you interrupted, "you could've just made your one night stand disappear. But you're not, so you, Bucky Barnes, suck."

"No," he sighed defeated, "I'm like a magician 'cause a magician never reveals his tricks. And by the way, full name is James Buchanan Barnes."

"James is a lot easier to say than Bucky. It's one syllable against two." You frowned. "You know that, right?"

"What can I say, y/n?" He leaned against one of the cabinets with a smug look on his face. "I've been Bucky my whole life."

"You've also been James your whole life. Where did you even get the name Bucky?"

"Buchanan." He shrugged.

"You got Bucky from Buchanan?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. Plus, if I really were magician, Bucky Barnes had a nice ring on it. Don't you think so?"

"Whatever you say, big guy. Now pay up." You rolled my eyes. "And Bucky Barnes sounds like a villain's name. Just sayin'." This earned you a couple chuckles from Bucky.

The wiping cloth slid easily on the smooth surface of the newly-washed glass. Once he was done, he placed it back to where he got it. Bucky moved swiftly as if he knew his way in the bar. He playfully rolled his eyes at you before giving you a hundred dollar bill. "You should be the one paying me, y'know. I made a drink and helped you with a shit ton of boxes."

"James," you chuckled slowly, "between the two of us, you're clearly the rich one. Not richer. Rich. I don't even have a hundred dollars in my pockets right now, except," you grabbed the bill in his hand, "now." You placed it inside your pockets but of course, that would go to the cash register in a bit. "And you did use up some of our liquor. Even those damn new ones."

"Fair enough, then." He smiled. "Now, let's see those photos of yours."

Right. The photos that hang lonely on these chipped vintage walls, sadly deprived of human touch and sight. Before leading Bucky to one of the walls where your printed photos were, he grabbed his polo shirt (more like Peter's) and wrapped it around his body once more.

Your photos were all scattered on the walls, like nesting birds chirping in their homes; except no one would dare to look at them.

The bar was now enveloped in silence with the jukebox not playing. The only thing you could hear was the constant ticking of the wall clock that hung in between two of your photos which Steve framed after buying them from one of your failed photo exhibits. The walk towards the wall seemed much longer than it should. There was a warm feeling lingering on your stomach, the drink from earlier. You just now realized that you haven't had any solid food. Right now, there was a protein shake and liquor swarming inside your stomach like a bunch of bees. Then, a small churn came out. The instinct to hold your belly kicked in, hoping that Bucky didn't get to hear that.

He didn't say anything as he sat down on one of the booths, his gaze fixated on your photos on the walls as if studying every subject, light, and color captured by your lenses. He looked like he was inside the Met, moving from time to time to admire each photo.

"Y/n," he whispered, "these are gorgeous." Then, he turned around, sliding out of the booth to see some more. You didn't say anything. Just a small smile was enough. You were never one to take compliments anyway. "These photos should be out there, y'know, not inside the confinements of a vintage bar."

"The reason why they're here is because people from outside didn't seem to like them." You replied, trailing behind Bucky. "But that doesn't matter anyway.

He turned around with a frown etched on his face. "What do you mean?"

You pursed your lips, avoiding his gaze. "I mean it's not like people like them here. But that's okay, I guess. I mean, I'm doing product photos for small businesses. That's something."

"They're both different, right? Those photos you take in your small studio and these ones." The photos on the wall stole his attention once more. "You have the freedom to take whatever you want."

You stood there, picking at the blunt edges of the booth table, avoiding any eye contact you may have with Bucky. Suddenly, a roll of images from an early memory came to mind: Bucky's school-of paintings, tiny sculptures and the White Wolf headstone. "You seem like you're really into art."

"In whatever medium they're made, yes." He replied. "Film, painting, photography, writing -- everything!"

As far as you remembered, the only things Peter told you about Bucky were his wild adventures during his youth, and how Bucky could "run a hotel even with his eyes closed!" Peter didn't dive into the deep stuff about his stepbrother's life. It was always about girls, party, money, and booze. Perhaps Bucky's stories were only as good as stories you tell when you just want to have a good laugh while drinking. The sentimental stuff, you knew, were reserved for solemn dinner nights or even days like this inside a bar.

"Why run a hotel, then?" You genuinely asked, looking at the back of his head.

"It's the only thing I know." Bucky snickered, slowly turning around. "Besides making a mean drink, of course."

"You're never gonna let that slide, are you?"

"Never. I mean, c'mon. You've tasted my drink. You can attest to it."

You hummed, raising both of your hands up in the air. "Testify."

He grinned in response and put his hands inside the pockets of his jeans. As you looked at him studying each photo you took, you could tell he didn't want to comment anything on his career path. Peter did say Tony Stark, his adoptive father and Peter's stepfather, just gave Bucky a share of his hotel until Bucky started running it on his own. You assumed Bucky just took it out of the goodness of this Tony Stark, for adopting him and caring for him. But the real reason for why Bucky took the chance, you may never know. Even though he was an open book, there were a few chapters in him that seemed intentionally hazy, as if he didn't want other people to read them. If Peter had anything to know about these "hidden chapters" in his life, you didn't know. It looked like Bucky would just tell Peter all his wild stories but not the stories about serious matters in his life. But of course, you were just getting this observation out of the back of his head and some of his body language.

"Peter looks so happy here." Bucky commented, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "These his colleagues?"

"That was the first time he went out with his colleagues." You replied while approaching him. You stood beside him and looked at the photo. It truly felt like you and Bucky were standing in a deserted museum. "They had a pretty good time but not me. They made such a mess that night. It brought me back to when Peter would go home drunk back in college."

"Peter? Drunk in college?"

"Dead drunk. Apparently, he learned that from you." The moment these words slipped out of your mouth, a wave of panic washed over your body as the expressions on Bucky's face changed. A frown started to form. His jaw immediately clenched. His breathing became heavier each second. The uncomfortable silence deafened. "Oh god, Bucky, I'm sorry. Learned wasn't the right word. What I meant to say was -- "

"I'm hungry."

His short reply sent me into a whirl of confusion. "I'm sorry?"

"Are you hungry?"

"I -- "

"'Cause I'm hungry. Come, let's go get something to eat."

"Bucky, listen to me."

"I did." His voice faltered. "I heard you."

"But that wasn't what I exactly meant, y'know. I mean, come on, everyone experiments in college. Partying, getting drunk, all that kind of crap -- it's all normal!"

"That's not exactly how you put it earlier." He replied, suddenly facing you. His body towered over yours. "I believe what you said was he learned it from me?"

"I didn't mean that you taught him, it's just... Come on, Bucky, with all those wild stories of you -- "

"What are you trying to say, y/n?"

"Peter has a very curious mind, especially back in college. He jumped on every opportunity he had once he's offered a new thing or a new experience. Your wild stories would always pop out every time he's drunk or just some random nights really." you released an exasperated sigh. "Look, Bucky, the point is, he was just curious. He wanted to know what and how you felt during those wild times. It's not your fault. If anything, it's his. Peter may be smart but he's a much bigger dumbass. Even you should know that. You've lived with him since he was, what, in high school?"

Bucky raised his eyebrows, a grin slowly forming on his lips. "You know, I'm starting to think you're not his best friend. Talking behind his back."

"I say much harsher things to him to his face, don't worry." You smiled. "But I do love Peter even though he's a pain in the ass. We've been through many ups and downs, him and I. It's kind of what binds us together. And hey, him constantly drinking is none of your fault, alright? It's his." You assured Bucky once more. "He can really be a big dumbass."

He nodded and took out his hands from his pockets then crossed his arms across his chest. "I'm glad to hear he has you. Though, I'm quite surprised you two haven't dated yet."

You nervously chuckled then walked away from him . "What makes you say that?"

"If I were roommates with a girl, I would've slept with her the first day."

"I doubt you'd even have a girl as your roommate." You snorted. "How are you gonna get her out of the apartment?"

The bar was filled with Bucky's roaring laughter. "I like your sense of humor, y/n. No wonder why Peter likes you."

"What?" You stopped on your tracks and turned around.

"I meant, y'know, no wonder why you're still around."

You raised an eyebrow. "That poses more questions than answers, Barnes."

"He likes you as a best friend, is what I meant."

Your tummy started churning once more but you doubted Bucky had heard that with the groan coming out of his mouth after he bumped his toe on one of the tables.

"Hey, is lunch still on the table?"

[707sbuttercake]

here you go, anon! thanks for the request! this was a little bit out of my comfort zone, but it was interesting to write! hope you like it! 

mine (Ray x fem!reader) 

in which an indecisive MC falls in love with Ray but also deciphers the horrors of Mint Eye...and Ray will do anything her to make her stay.

rating: 17+ for intense themes

tw: yandere, manipulation, elixir use, coercive brainwashing

length: 4.4k words

this is a ‘medium’ between V’s route and Ray’s route in which the reader trusts the RFA & unveils Mint Eye’s secret while also falling in love with Ray before the 4th day branch of Another Story.

explores a bit more of Ray’s ‘dark side’ that Unknown mentions in a phone call to MC on Day 9 of V’s route– that Ray wants to “have MC” and “looks tame but imagines otherwise.” ...with this in mind, this work is sfw, but it contains some intense scenes.

it’s definitely notable that in V’s route, Ray is manipulative, to the point that he threatens to harm himself in order to guilt and coax MC to stay and tend to his wounds. this behavior is extremely toxic.. I recall an animatic of Ray singing “Meant to be Yours” from Heathers: The Musical.

an abrupt knock to your door sends shivers down your spine. your heart races wildly in your chest as you recall the illuminated words cast upon your phone screen; ‘You can be forever with me...It all depends on your choice.’ you wring your hands, slowly inhaling the sweet scent of fragrantly placed peonies and pink roses at the gilded table of the room—the room he prepared especially for you. a chill fills the air.

tonight is your fourth night spent in this strange place, a place you have inferred as something...dangerous. perhaps you’re too naive, and you recall your mother’s fervent warnings to never listen to strangers, to cling to truth reigning your heart and adhere to the instinctive voice in your head. but the sweet plea of the boy—Ray—was intoxicating. that day as you paced about the shopping centre, his alluring request made your heart flutter—‘won’t you come with me?’

how could you not help the boy? he called you, after all...his words roped you in, lulling you into a hazy glow, a blissful repose. you even accepted the blindfold without question, allowing him to guide you into the maze of darkness—of the Mint Eye. you realize your mother would curse you, but you are a college student, not a young girl anymore, and it was your own choice to assist a gamemaker’s endeavors.

however, you are not, by any means, a fool. you would be lying if you said you trusted the purpose of this dwelling and the people residing within. you have studied the whispering in the corridors; you discovered that the RFA ‘AIs’ are not AIs at all, but existing people. you know that the enticing, sweet Ray is far from a gamemaker. as you comb through your fumbling thoughts and the message logs of the texting app, you realize how dire your situation is. though Ray has constantly emphasized the darkness of the person called ‘V,’ you have approached all members with kindness and curiosity alike; in doing so, you have unveiled the complicated fate into which you have been thrust.

‘you’re being used,’ V had said.

deep in your heart, you know this truth, and it corners you, pushing you towards a cliff’s edge. but another reality shines brightly towards you, enveloping you in a warmth that whispers, ‘Ray truly does want to make you happy. you can save him.’

your head spins, and you blindly grasp towards an unseen truth. your figure sinks into an hourglass, sand pooling at your ankles as time presses ever closer to your choice.

‘won’t you stay with me forever?’ the boy had asked the previous night, eyes glimmering like sapphires. he donned a magenta petticoat with a white cravat and a deep blue rose pinned to the lapel. his slim fingers, just partially gloved, gently pressed your cheek, trailing down to tease the skin just beneath your lip. a heat rose to your face. his purity and almost childlike innocence incessantly clouds your judgement. he is absolutely enamored with you, guiding you about the corridors and offering you bouquets in his absence.

and you care for him.

you’ve watched the way this fabled ‘Savior’ has manipulated the boy, how she punishes his unremitting efforts to hack, observe, hack, observe... he has crumbled before you many times, his eyes meeting yours in a misty fatigue—what with that mint potion staining the corners of his mouth. you want to save him. you truly do.

yet...

he wants you to stay.

your discussions in the chatrooms muddle your intentions, rousing Ray’s fear of your ‘loyalty.’ why are you so kind to the RFA, those ‘stupid AIs’?! why do you sympathize with the monster, V? but...you’ve also slowly succumbed to the invigorating words of Ray, the gentleness and pure intention behind his actions. your decisions pull you taut as your mind recognizes that you must leave Ray, leave him behind and sprint towards V and the RFA. but your heart—your weak, foolish heart—longs to stay by his side, to save him from this wicked haven.

“y/n?” a voice calls, interrupting your pondering. “y/n, may i come in?”

your heart thuds ever louder, and your legs begin to wobble.

choose. choose. choose.

your clumsy digits squeeze the fabric of your black-laced dress, dripping in sweat.

you have to choose.

“y/n?” the voice calls again.

inhaling deeply, you attempt to speak, but no words leave your shaking lips. you clear your throat, forcing yourself to say, “come in.”

the gold-adorned door shyly parts to reveal the lovely white-haired boy, sporting his traditional magenta attire. his kind smile immediately brightens the room, and his eyes widen as soon as he sees you.

“y/n...my lovely y/n, how i missed you!” he walks toward you. your body becomes heavy. you cannot move.

“h-hello, Ray,” you say. the soft wash of the moon filters into the room, dust sparkling around the boy in a halo of light. the faint glow of the lamp at your bedside table offers its indistinct shine. you squeeze your skirt oncemore, attempting to stir bloodflow in your dizzy body.

“have you made your choice yet, y/n?” he beams, taking your hand in is. “i made your elixir myself. n-normally...it has such a bitter taste that i don’t like it when Savior makes me drink it. but i made your potion so sweet that it’ll melt like cake in your mouth. i want you,” he takes a step forward, his voice dipping lower, causing your heart to drop in your chest, “to savor it. i want it to taste and feel so good that you won’t feel any pain.”

the distance between your face and his is hardly appropriate, and the shadow cast over his eyes is deadly.

“e-elixir?” your eyes widen, and your mind signals a warning: RUN, run away. leap out this window and find V, who holds the promise to protect you. this Mint Eye is a trap, and you are the prey, a little rabbit ensnared in a lion’s den. you recall the screams ringing throughout the hallways of disobedient and rebellious ‘believers.’ you reflect upon Ray’s messages from days before, when his head ached in agony yet his Savior enslaved him to the monitors at every passing moment. he’s suffering, and his mind is gone— now, he’s ignited a length of dynamite, offering it into your palm. he longs for you to stay here forever by his side, and you want to stay...but not like this. not like this.

how can you save him? his thoughts are poisoned, warped by whatever lies this Savior has fed into his pliable mind. Ray serves as a tool, a vessel for her duty, and he obeys her unwaveringly. however, as you watch him prowl towards you, you can see the trace of suffering behind his gaze.

“yes,” Ray nods, flashing one of his beautifully timid smiles. “Savior has taken a liking to you. she wants to make you an eternal resident of this place. your role is important, after all...and i...i have fallen for you, y/n.”

your knees buckle; his words are too much for you to bear. staying in this place is no different than discarding your own life & endangering the RFA, but you know you cannot leave Ray here. your vision blurs ever briefly. you see mixed colors of magenta, white, blue...and you collapse.

...or so you think, before the firm grasp of Ray catches your limp figure. his left arm snakes around your waist, and his right hand holds your neck while he rests you upon his knee.

“y/n!” he cries, gently shifting your gaze to meet his own. “y/n, are you alright? please, speak to me!”

you return to your senses as your eyes part slowly, piecing together the muzzy image before you. you reach for the glass of water on your bedside table, scrambling from Ray’s figure, and he releases you instinctively, kneeling dumbfoundedly as you sip the drink. he appears almost hurt as you recoil from his hold, but a relief graces his features as he realizes you are stable.

“i-i’m...i’m okay, Ray,” you nod, holding the glass in your hands as you lean against the bedroom wall. “i...i was just reflecting upon my choice.”

he steps toward you once more. “tell me,” he pleas. “won’t you stay with me here? don’t you treasure the moments we’ve shared? i promise i’ll be good to you—so good to you that you’ll forget about those stupid AIs and stay by my side forever...”

you feel your back press deeper into the wall, and your numb fingers nearly drop the glass before you awkwardly force it onto the table. your mind searches for words to say, fumbling through the recesses of your thoughts: what do you truly feel? what do you really want?

you cherish the RFA, and you want to protect them. the silly banter, deep discussions, and shared thoughts with the RFA are tangible, precious moments tucked into a place within your heart forever. you are grateful for these new friends and realize that the nefarious schemes of Mint Eye plan to vanquish them. you seek to halt these schemes and protect Jaehee, V, Zen, Yoosung, Jumin, and Luciel because you’ve grown to truly care about them.

however...

you also realize you have fallen for the boy who stands before you. he truly cares for you, yearning to fulfill your happiness. you cherish the moments you have shared with him gazing about the garden, discussing mindless interests and trusting each other fully...even in a sea of lies. you believe his pure heart shines brightly, even if it is dimmed by the darkness of this false promise of happiness.

choose. choose. choose.

‘Don’t trust anything they say, y/n,’ V had messaged you the day prior. ‘Wait for me to come save you.’

if saving your own life means discarding Ray’s, then you do not wish to make such choice. but the wickedness of this place festers day by day, breeding only suffering and hatred.

“what do i do?” you whisper. your eyes widen as you realize you ruminate aloud, so your hand flies to your mouth. your voice is barely audible, but the boy is a sponge, eagerly soaking in each of your phrases.

his words come to mind oncemore: ‘You have no idea...that every single word you tell me has total control over me...but it’s so sweet. Please stay with me forever.’

a gentle expression washes over his face.

“y/n...” Ray smiles sadly, leather shoes clicking in echoes against the marble floor as he approaches you. he lifts a timid hand, stroking straying locks of your hair. your shoulder blades dig as far as possible into the wall, your hands groping along the wall to ease the thoughts whirling in your mind.

“i understand that you’re afraid. but i would never do anything to hurt you. i...i like you so much, y/n. if only you knew how precious you are to me...i want to make you happy. i want you to stay here forever...”

his breath is close to your skin, soft and moist and faintly scented of vanilla. each phrase you dare to formulate from this moment forward contains the power to alter fate. you know what you truly want. mustering courage, you clench your fist, forcing your gaze to meet his own.

“Ray...i do care for you. i really do,” you begin, and adoration in his heart swells, blossoming across his visage. he laughs lightly, happily, savoring the precious sight of you before him. you chose me! he seems to think, eagerly grasping your hands in his...

“however...i don’t like this place. i know that the RFA contains good people, and it hurts me that you lied to me. but i truly wish for you to be happy and safe with me. so please...let’s escape together, Ray,” you breathe, raising a palm to his cheek. “let’s get out of here tonight.”

almost instantaneously, a pained expression crosses his face— fear stills your blood as his eyes darken, and a slow smile spreads across his face like dripping syrup. the room is thick with a heavy silence, an unquenchable silence, bathing your form in a weight that imprisons your unsteady heartbeat. what will he say? you cannot think. you cannot move. will he agree? is he angry? you do not know...

“what do you mean, the RFA contains ‘good people’?” who has fed you these lies? y/n, this world only inflicts pain. i...have suffered so much because of that—that fool, V. i can’t let you run to them. i don’t want you to get hurt like i was. i...i’m sorry i lied...but Savior told me to tell you this was for a gamemaking process so we could meet you...”

you shiver as he seems to tower higher and higher above you, dangerous words daring to depart his lips. the boy appears bashful, yet his form slopes above you as he twirls a shy finger around a strand of your hair.

“i’ll do anything...anything to make you happy. so please stay by my side...”

you avert your gaze, swallowing fiercely.

“Ray...i...i’ve fallen for you as well,” you breathe, heart thumping in your ears as your hands gently press his chest in attempt to widen the gap between you two. “but this place...it hinders you. this ‘Savior’ has manipulated you...and i cannot be happy if you remain here. i want you to leave this place...with me.”

his entire demeanor shifts, overflowing with adoration as soon as your stammered words pinprick his ears; every ounce of malice departs his body as his eyes flutter upon you. he embraces you with such eagerness that you cannot respond; did he even listen to what you said?

“Ray...” you begin, a sense of apprehension swelling in your chest. “I—“

bending below to grab the plush flesh of your thighs, Ray hoists your legs around his hips, pressing your figure into the wall to level your gaze with his own. your brain doesn’t have time to respond to his rashness; has he been holding back this entire time? you struggle to pierce together your thoughts, your breath hitching as your heart paces ever louder. 

“y/n..you love me...?” you feel his gloves tracing your skin, the lace of your dress pooling at the curve of your hip as the soft fabric of his khakis greets your bare skin. his eyes meet your own, staring deeply to repeat his trailing question. “you said love me...y-you love me too...?”

“i can’t stay here, Ray,” you plead, eyes wide as the boy dissects only the first fragment of your previous statement. he merely accepts your reciprocation and disregards what follows; your feelings are merely an invitation to him, signaling your partaking of this cursed elixir to make you one of them—a believer. “and neither can you...”

soft lips meet your neck, careful and warm as they imprint a sweet fragrance upon your skin, trailing across your collar bone. you shiver at the touch, shiver at this shifted demeanor, wriggling in his hold as his torso works against your trembling legs. “R-Ray...” you say, “please, listen to me...”

“oh, y/n,” he murmurs between each peppered affection, grazing across the slant of your jaw. “i love you. i love you so much.”

with white hair shimmering in the moonlight, the boy merely gazes up at you with the sweetest of smiles. a rose blush dusts his cheeks, and he laughs. “i promise i’m going to make you happy. this elixir of paradise is more delicious than any temporary bliss you feel with those idiots in the RFA...”

you can only hold his face in your tremulous hands as your heart breaks. “of course i want to be with you. i do. i really do. and i...yes, i...i’ve fallen for you. but Ray, don’t you realize? you’re in pain. the Savior...has only caused your sadness and suffering. the RFA aren’t bad people...i...i cherish you, but—“

“then won’t you let me make you happy?” he takes you in his arms, turning to settle onto the bed with arms encircling your waist. he places you by his side, your eyes drifting to the window, where the stars quietly glisten. “tell me. why is it that you wish to leave when you say you love me? is it because i’m not good enough? please, tell me what to change, and i’ll do anything! anything to make you happy, y/n...except leave, of course.”

you want so badly to embrace him, to show him what true happiness and love are, unlike his Savior’s twisted perception of love and obsession. you want to take his hand and sprint into the mountains, so far away from this cursed building, and find a home of solitude and peace...perhaps with a garden, so he may tend to it every morning. you long to hear more of his stories, to engulf his kind words, to tend to his wounds. you want to stroke his head as he naps in your arms, whispering that everything will be okay. he deserves every kind of goodness, and you nurture such sweet dreams as Ray holds you in his arms, pondering if such fantasies could bloom into fruition. you are not so naive, but you cling to this fragment of hope...

“Ray, there is nothing wrong with you. please don’t say that. i adore you...and i want a happy life with you...but—”

soft hands guide you back onto the bed, and a weight shifts mattress. he towers over you, cupping your face in his hand. he says nothing, but you read his expression; his words are a broken record, a fate that cannot be unwound by your hands. you want more than anything to comb your fingers through his creamy, silver locks, to leap out of the window with him by your side.

but his heart belongs to this cursed ideology, this warped ‘love.’

“i’ve told you...i only wish for your happiness,” he presses in a tone you cannot quite define. the golden embellishing upon his sleeves sparkles beneath the low lights, his slivered eyes barely parted in a melancholic glow. “but you truly wish to leave me?”

if these are your last moments with Ray...then so be it. but you decide in your heart that you will return for him. even as your hope withers away, you offer your words a final time.

“please...let’s get out of here. i don’t want to remain here. this is my choice.”

leaning into your lithe form, Ray pauses just before shyly connecting his lips with your own. his hands slide through your hair and down your back like cascading waves. his touch savors your suppled flesh, pulling you into him. tears fall down your cheeks as you part your lips to return the kiss, legs wrapping around his narrow waist. you clutch him closely, imagining how V’s escape plan will unfold. for now, just now, you want to be with Ray. you long to feel his warmth, to inhale his saccharine and floral aroma. your hands fondle the fabric of his coat.

“if you truly wish to leave...” he mumbles into your skin, “then...let me hold you, just this once.”

the blue petals ornamenting his collar flitter about, spreading across the sheets. you discern the sadness of betrayal inhabiting his eyes, the quivering of his lips, bruised after showering your skin. his countenance brims with thousands of expressions daring to spill, and you despise the feeling of betraying him—of leaving him here.

can you truly force yourself into that garden, where V will take your hand in his, where Luciel will race the three of you back to safety? can you sprint into the expanse of the unknown future, lunging forward as Ray’s forlorn gaze pierces the silhouette of your figure, abandoning him in the darkness? you promise to return, but will you, truly? Ray has vaguely voiced his own feelings of solitude, and his past lingers, mingling with pain each time he begs you to stay.

“Ray...” you plea. he says nothing.

shedding his coat, he unbuttons the top hinges of his white undershirt, revealing his lean, muscled collar. running a hand through his hair, a tear slides down his cheek, occupied with shaky breath as his knees confine your own.

it’s happening again, he seems to think. i’m being left behind...

his words resound in your head. ‘I was often alone as a child, going days without food and water...and my mother chained me to the wall so I couldn’t even go outside. It was lonely, so lonely every single day. I didn’t want to be alive. But you won’t hurt me, right? Promise me you won’t leave me, please. Please, I’ll do anything. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me alone...’

“i’m sorry...” you whisper, and he does not respond.

instead, taking your hips in his hands, he slants against your figure. the sweetest flavor greets your lips as his mouth works against yours, his gloved hands exploring the skin of your sides. his fingers tease the zipper of your dress, and he whimpers into your lips. you breathe his name, entreating him to leave this hell with you despite your reluctant acceptance of his answer. as your frame sinks into the mattress, reveling in his addictive touch, a realization dawns upon you:

mint liquid drips down his lips.

pulling back ever briefly, Ray swipes his wrist across his chin to clean the concoction. his arms envelop your frame, and his chest rises and falls above you. a grin crosses his lips as his quiet panting fills the air.

“you will be happy. i promise.”

with a shaky finger, you press your own quivering lips. you retract your wrist slowly to reveal the same potion trickling down your digit onto the silk bedsheets.

no...

no, please...

the boy shifts to your side to aid your posture, offering a palm to support the small of your back. you cannot think. your mind is numb. your heart races as fierce buzzing overflows your ears, and you can only lean into Ray’s chest. he traces your shoulders with his hands, pulling you into him.

“you will be strong now...because you are mine.”

his figure blurs before you, and you cannot comprehend your surroundings; your body becomes numb and heavy, as if your thoughts suffuse with monotonous static, ringing endlessly. you attempt to lift your hand to move ever slightly, but to no avail; you cannot move at all. you cough in agony, a sudden wash of pain stabbing your chest, as Ray wraps an arm around your waist. he silently coos to you, whispering softly into your ear.

“it’ll be okay now...we’ll be together forever, y/n...”

tears fill your eyes as you watch him, but your mind has become foggy... what are you doing? who are you? where is this? what’s this feeling? this wasn’t supposed to happen...you cast a desolate glance towards the window, searching for that garden, where V awaits. these plans have dissipated now, you configure, as your sentience scatters, crumbling into helpless fragments.

“Ray...no...no, you...b-betrayed—“

he hushes your words with a deep kiss, a hand beneath your jaw directing your mouth into his own. you distinctly taste that sweet flavor again, of the most decadent vanilla frosting, of strawberries and sugar...his tongue swishes about your mouth, your mind growing ever hazy, muddled by the oppressive drugs eclipsing your consciousness.

he breaks away to smile at you, to lovingly peer into your spiraling eyes. you realize he’s shifted you onto his lap now, each of your torpefied legs mantling his hips. you glare to him lifelessly, your emotions in a whirl as you struggle to piece together your mind.

“this is for your sake, y/n,” he purrs, a crimson blush blossoming across his pale cheeks. “now we’ll be happy forever. please, forgive me for tricking you. i...i really do love you so much...so much, that i can’t let you go.”

“Ray...this isn’t right...the RFA....your Savior—“

bending into you, Ray kisses you once more, filling your mouth with that cursed mint tincture. you’re limp against him, eyes closing as you rest in his hold. his lips are so warm and sweet, and his hands caress your skin so gently that you feel no pain, just as he promised. the thought of exiting this place ever slowly drifts away, like a shore’s contents dragged into the ocean by the sea’s relentless waves...

“almost done,” he breathes, pressing a kiss into your cheek as he grasps the glowing mint potion. “you’re doing so well, my sweet princess...it doesn’t hurt at all, does it? don’t you like the flavor? you told me before that you like sweets, remember? so i did my very best in preparing this for you...i hate the cleansing ceremony because it is painful...but i don’t want you to suffer like i did...”

maybe you can find happiness here...the RFA are traitors, as Ray stated. V must have truly wounded Ray’s innocent heart to twist his mind in such agony...perhaps V and Luciel will abandon you here...and there is no need to save you anymore, right?

you can stay here...by Ray’s side.

in this paradise.

you do not know. you cannot say. what are you supposed to do now?

with what strength you can muster, you curve into his touch, clumsily grabbing his hair in your fingers, guiding his lips into your own this time. a deep chuckle rumbles in his chest, and he grins into you, returning your eager affections. this kiss is slow and fervid, and the toxins burn down your throat, pulsing through your veins as you wince.

“shh...” he whispers into your ear, embracing you against his chest, “it’ll all be okay soon, y/n...and we’ll be together forever...”

forever...? you think, your alertness withering. but what about...V...Luciel...

another voice dominates your weak heart, vanquishing any rebellious thought: no. Mint Eye is my home now...Ray will love and protect me in this paradise...we will be happy....

“because you are mine,” he whispers.

your vision fades to black as the boy gingerly tucks you beneath the velvety covers, settling in beside you. you faintly discern his intense gaze upon you, accompanied by his quiet humming.

“i...i hate tricking you. i know this isn’t what you wanted...but this is all to protect you. i don’t know what i would do if...if V hurt you,” he speaks mildly, but a mixture of remorse and wavering are evident through his uneasy tone. “i know you trusted them, but they aren’t good people...that redhead tricked you with his lies. I just had to strengthen your faith somehow...”

squeezing a fist-full of his white undershirt, you nestle your forehead beneath his chin, succumbing to the warmth of his embrace and the liquid flooding through your entire being.

“...stay...” you murmur, eyes heavy. “i’ll....always stay.”

he kisses your forehead.

“that’s right. that’s right...my y/n.”

this paradise...

you will be happy in this eternal paradise.

[jimlingss]

The Weekend Massacre

➜ Words: 19.7k

➜ Genres: 90% Angst, 10% Action?, Serial Killer!AU

➜ Summary: Receiving an invitation to a party, Jimin finds himself in a room of serial killers and a game to see who can gain the most notoriety.

➜ Warning: vomiting, toxic relationship, murder, gore, homeless abuse, mentions of sexual abuse, cults, mutilation etc. I don’t condone the actions of my characters.

cr.

[Friday, 10:00pm]   Jimin grips the envelope.   It’s a dark blue, glittering when he holds it up to the light and silk-like to the touch. A complete blank front, it’s without a return or delivery address. He had tossed the first envelope out, supposing it was a mistake. But then another one was sent. And another. And another.   Another. Until he broke the floral red seal that was seemingly dripping off the page.   It didn’t make sense to him — it was an invitation to a party on the far outskirts of the city with his name on it.   He’s not sure how anyone found him. Who it was that sent this. Or what this was.   Then, as if to add to his confusion, he received several phone calls. Whispers. Incoherent. In the middle of the night. Between hours of the day. Startling as it was jarring. It was as if to show these people were watching constantly, as if to tell that he shouldn’t ignore this any longer.   So here Jimin was. Standing in front of a ragged wooden door with the envelope in hand, shrouded in the middle of pitch black without the moon’s luminescence.   He knocks twice.   The door slot slides open. Beady eyes look through.   “Password?”   Jimin recalls the instructions laid out for him. “Never look in the eye of the beast.”   The slot slides shut and the noise of lock gears unwinding soon becomes replaced with the hinges creaking as the door widens. The hall is narrow with a set of descending stairs, a tiny bulb swinging from the moldy ceiling.   The man is burly, over six feet with bulging biceps and tattoos wrapped around them. Jimin swallows hard, burdened with the stranger’s intimidating air and averts his eyes. But the man isn’t dissuaded and reaches into his pocket to hand Jimin a rectangular business card.   It’s black, but golden looped letters etched into the smooth card reads welcome.   Jimin isn’t sure what to do with the card and receives no explanation. The man simply moves ahead. “Follow me.”   Jimin complies wordlessly, stuffing the card into his pocket, suffocating the many questions he has in his throat.   The man leads him down the rickety stairs, knocks on a steel door that opens with another stranger behind it and then past yet another door. It opens to a room of thumping music and neon strobe lights that Jimin’s eyes have yet to adjust to. But the man doesn’t walk into the room, merely stepping aside.   He stares at Jimin.   And Jimin enters on his own.   The bass is boosted, trembling the walls of the underground room in a beat he doesn’t recognize. The scent of alcohol is thick and people are dressed in lavish outfits and laughing. Jimin self-consciously grips the hem of his hoodie, feeling out of place with his jeans he threw on haphazardly.   He awkwardly shuffles amongst the crowd, looking around, squinting when the pink flashing lights cast into his eyes. He’s unable to recognize the people around. There’s fifteen or twenty so, a mix of women and men—    Jimin’s shoulder collides with another. “S-Sorry.”   He locks eyes with the older man, thick framed glasses around kind eyes and wrinkles, a dimpled smile and blonde locks. “Don’t worry about it.”   The man brushes past him.   Jimin doesn’t know what’s going on. He doesn’t know where he is, for what purpose he’s come here for, why the invitation was sent to his name. He feels disoriented. Lost amongst the crowd, dizzy from the strobe lights and the high-pitched laughter closing in on him. Suffocated.   He gasps for air, swinging his head around to look for a wall to lean on, a corner to seek refuge in, where he won’t be swept away by strangers. But no matter where he turns to, it seems like the darkness is encompassing him—   Or at least until he catches another’s eyes.   Across the room. Jimin meets your curious pupils, your quirked head, the edge of your mouth slightly pulled. You’ve been staring at him and that alone captures his attention, roots him back to the ground. You’re in a black dress with white frills that makes it look like it’s a child’s attire.   And as he muses this, you’re approaching faster than he can panic.    Cutting through the horde. Beelining straight to him.    “You’re cute. What’s your name?”   “Jimin,” he stutters out and finally blinks.   “Nice to meet you. I’m Y/N.” Your smile expands and before he can utter your name to memory, you lean in close. “I know what you did.”   Immediately, Jimin frowns. “What do you mean?”   You don’t answer or at least not in the straightforward way he wishes. Instead, you chuckle and Jimin discerns a moment too late that your gaze has always been predatory. “The both of us are quite alike, you know. But haven’t you noticed? Everyone in this room is a serial killer.”   “W-What?” Jimin stutters, his head whipping from side to side, from person to person as he pales. You watch him carefully with an amused expression, how his eyes are widened like a puppy’s, how his mouth has downturned. It’s funny — how he acts when he’s not any different.   But the chance to ask, interrogate or escape is stolen when the music lowers and the lights dim.   “Oh.” You tug on Jimin’s sleeve. “It’s starting.”   He follows your line of sight to the stage at the back, a shimmering spotlight shining down and showing him where the end of the room exactly is. Yet the figure that stands there is obscure. Hidden by their black clothing, their hood, a mask on their face.   The voice booms when it speaks. “Welcome all to the first Weekend Massacre!”   Jimin’s reeling and his eyes travel across the room. Amidst the crowd, he finds the blonde man from earlier, another shorter man with darker hair and a taller brunette. It’s then that the realization strikes him across the face. He’s seen some of these people before. On the news. In the newspaper.   “Each of you who have received an invitation have been specifically chosen to be a participant in our games.” Games? Jimin’s attention is taken back to the stage. “Forty eight hours to commit as many crimes as you can with the promise of endless notoriety and being the first victor.”   He’s nauseous, afraid, petrified of what these people around him have done, what he’s gotten himself into. And he barely has half a mind when you peek at him with another smile.   “Each crime will be weighed differently on a point basis. You will be able to call in at any time to know your rank and the rank of one above and below you. There are two rules. Do not kill another participant and if you are caught by the authorities, then you are suspended from participating any further. The games will officially start in an hour and end on Sunday at this same time.”    “I wish you all luck. The victor is somewhere standing in this room tonight and I look forward to meeting them.”   It’s a game of killing people. A competition to see who can cause the most harm. A crowd of serial killers who have committed the most heinous crimes against women and children.    Jimin feels bile reaching up his throat. He’s dizzy. He can’t hear anything until there’s a crisp call of his name and curious eyes peering into his.   “Jimin? Are you alright?”   No. He isn’t. Not in the least bit.    He wants to run, tell someone this is happening, but he wonders if anyone would even believe him and telling anyone would mean giving himself in. It would mean being tracked down by those who organized this event and the police. It’s the last thing he would want.   And he has a feeling that choosing not to participate isn’t an option either. Not with what happened when he threw out all those invitations, when he tried to ignore those phone calls.   They’ll find him, whoever they are, and make him play.   Jimin doesn’t get a chance to make a peep. You grab both of his hands into yours, smiling sweetly and tenderly. “Don’t be scared, Jimin! How about this? I’ll take you under my wing!”   He stares at you. And an answer comes to him.   It might be the perfect escape, a medium between participating and not — watching from the sidelines. Would that be enough to consider that he’s taking part but without having to do such a heinous thing? Would he truly be resolved from needing to act?   More importantly, Jimin doesn’t understand. All he knows is your name. There’s no reason for you to offer your protection, to let him come along. He’s just met you.    “W-Why?”   “Because people like me and you need to stick together, silly! You don’t look like you can survive a second! So how about it, pet? You can join me. I don’t make this offer just to anybody!”   Jimin gazes at the way you hold your hand out to him.

[Friday, 11:34pm]   He fiddles with his fingers in his lap.   Jimin swallows hard and steals a glance at you. You’re humming some light tune and tapping your hands against the steering wheel — the fluorescent street lights illuminating your face as you drive by before you’re brought into darkness again a second later.   He’s not sure who’s the crazy one.   The one who doesn’t even bat a lash after suddenly being thrusted into a murder game. Or the one who’s cognizant enough to be aware of how insane this is but is still following along anyhow.   “So!” Your loud voice startles him. “We should get playing, shouldn’t we, pet?”   Jimin’s tone stays timid. “What if we don’t?” The game is obscure and the realm of possibilities seems endless. Maybe the repercussions won’t be that bad if he chooses not to play.    Yet at the same time, Jimin feels like he’s back at the party, placed in the crowd, shrouded in the darkness, being swept along by the tide without escape. A helpless follower.   You scoff, looking at him. “And what would we do instead? Sit around and wait for someone else to be crowned the winner? How boring would that be?! I don’t think so. This is a once in a lifetime chance to compete with other killers. Why should we give it up when it’s so much fun?!”    You command, “Pick someone.”   “What?” Jimin’s eyes widen. He grasps his hands, feeling them shake even more.   “I’ll help you kill someone, Jimin.” You smile at him. “I’ll give you the first pick.”   “I...don’t know.”   “It can be anyone you want! Anyone you’re upset with or you don’t like or you think makes your eyes sore!” You have a Chester's grin, eyes that twinkle in the night skyline’s lights. “Pick!”   Jimin can feel the car accelerate dangerously down the empty street. And he sweats, placed under the pressure. He’s frightened of you, of your presence, how it seems like you know a million things about him, but he doesn’t know a single thing about you other than your name.   It feels like you can see right through him.   He wonders what crime you’ve committed. What you’ve done to be considered a serial killer.   “Ji-min~,” you sing-song and he meets your eyes. “Pick already!”   He glances out the window, head swirling, legs quivering. He has to choose the victim. But there’s no one he hates, no one he has malice towards, no one he wants to see dead.   Out of sheer fear and compulsion, feeling the seconds ticking down and your impatience growing, Jimin bites the bullet and impulsively points straight out the windshield. “H-Him.”   It was the first person he saw. A person merely at the wrong place at the wrong time. A homeless man with a parked shopping cart, digging through a garbage can. Oblivious.   The car slows down at once and Jimin hears your hum. “Good choice. No one will miss someone like him!”   Jimin feels nauseous.   He feels queasy when the car is parked across the street, when you get out and dig into the trunk, telling him not to worry about it and how it’s actually a stolen vehicle you got your hands onto.   He feels queasy when you cross the road while hugging his arm, how you approach the disheveled man casually and how the stranger looks up with a tired, worn expression yet retains a compassionate smile—   “Is there somethin’ I can help you with?”   “Yes. My boyfriend and I were actually wondering if we could get directions to—”   And most of all, Jimin feels absolutely sick to his stomach when the homeless man innocently turns away to point to the roads, explaining the directions, and you bear a hammer from the sack you have dangling from your other arm.   It’s mid-sentence. Mid blink when you reach over to smash the man’s head. Without warning, without reasoning, without hesitation. You’ve detached yourself from Jimin smoothly and slammed the head of the hammer onto the stranger’s skull. Allowing him to stumble back on the park bench, wheezing, eyes widened from shock. The sound of the cracking bones echoes.   “P-Please!” The man is petrified, shaking with death setting in his eyes, gripping his head as blood pours down to his face and through his lashes. “I-I have k-kids! I have kids!”   The pleading voice jarring to the ears.   Jimin is horrified.    You loom over the man with an impassive expression. And as the man begs with tears in his eyes, you slam the hammer on his head again, loud enough that Jimin, himself, cries out.   “Stop!”   You turn around, crimson splattered on your cheek. The homeless man’s no longer conscious, flopped over as his head continues to pour out blood.    “What’s wrong, Jiminnie?” You loll your head to one side.   But he ignores you. Jimin looks at the man. The victim he chose.    Bile reaches up to his throat. Jimin collapses on his weak knees. And he throws up. Chunks of his partially digested microwavable dinner spew out as he wheezes. His stomach contracts as he coughs to the ground, face littered with loose teardrops and cold sweat. The pungent scent is sharp against the acid in his throat. Jimin wipes his mouth with the back of his quivering hand.   “Oh my fucking god. W-we...we need to take him to the hospital!”   “Now why would we do that, silly?” you giggle. “We need to finish him off!”   You’re insane and he was insane to come along with you, for taking the invitation and going to the party, for thinking he could go along with this and be safe watching from the sidelines. “I-I’m not a killer!” Jimin sobs into his hands, unable to look at the man any longer. Jimin doesn’t know why he was picked, why he was given an invitation. They have the wrong person.   And like he’s at a confession, he professes, “I’m not a serial killer!”   But instead of a priest, it’s the devil itself. “And what would your family say about that, Jiminnie?”   You lower yourself down to him, carding your bloodstained fingers through his soft brunette locks as he trembles. Your murmur is consoling as it is tantalizing. The silence isn’t as eerie as it should be.   “I heard about it, you know. I saw it on the news. I know you did it. It takes one to know one.”   “Stop.” Jimin hyperventilates between tears, shaking his head, but you don’t.   “You mutilated them.”   Beneath his eyelids, he sees it. The crimson coated floorboards, splattered on the yellow paisley wallpaper, on the popcorn ceiling of the living room. He covers his ears. “Stop it!”   “You flushed your younger brother down the toilet.”   The chaos of the entire scene projects before his eyes. The knocked over chairs, the picture frames thrown, the stench of iron in the two bedroom house heavy, the warmth of the blood.   And Jimin feels the same warmth after you’ve pried his hands off of his ears and you hold his cheeks between your hands. You force him to look you in the eye.    “It...it was an accident,” he sobs, the words barely stuttering out of him. “I b-blacked out. I was angry. I d-didn’t know what I was doing.”   He had no control of himself. And worst of all, he never got to repent for his sins. He had an alibi — a timesheet at work that told them he was at another place at that time, yet in reality, he had forgotten to clock out. But by then, he was too much of a coward to fess up to his actions, to tell them that he was the perpetrator, to be looked at as the monster he knows he is.   But somehow, even with all these facts, you don’t look at him like he is one.    “Something like that is never an accident, Jiminnie,” you coo and with a sweet smile, you stand and finish the man off.   The last pained grunt lingers.   Jimin follows along on auto-pilot as you drag the body yourself with much effort. You bury him by the playground where the soil is softest, where in the morning, old couples and children will trample by the dirt without a single thought.    It takes thirty minutes for you to get rid of it, for you to pour two bottles of water over the bench to wash the blood into the nearby gutter, to shove the shopping cart onto the road as a traffic hazard.    Then, you’re grabbing Jimin’s palm, interlacing your fingers between his, staining his skin with the blood on your hands like it’s part of a ritual. You’ve imprinted the patterns of your palm on his. And then you’re pulling him along like a doll, laughing down the street in a high, in a drunken madness in spite of being sober.   “You helped me kill someone, Jiminnie.” Your eyes seem to shine brighter, more excited than before. “You know what this means? It means we’re connected now! Forever and always.”   It’s unsettling, but you’re right.   He’s an accomplice. A bystander. A follower. No worse than you are.   He let this happen. Chose the victim. Watched you do it.    He allowed himself to become your pet.   “I wonder how many points that gave me,” you hum with pouty lips before turning down the alley. Jimin’s not sure where you’re going but he doesn’t care to ask. As if he wasn’t susceptible to being pulled along by the crowd, he feels exceptionally inclined to follow your whims.   He wonders who you are. How he feels somehow feels grounded when he looks at you, even after everything that you’ve done.   “Hurry the fuck up!”   There are two shadowy figures at the end of the dark alleyway the pair of you turn into. You loll your head to one side, curiosity gleaming in your irises. “I wonder what’s going on.”   “T-This is all I have!” The panicked voice tears out of the stranger’s throat. “Please! Let me go!”   Jimin automatically stumbles back, ready to escape to where he came from. But you lean over, interest piqued and you quicken your steps, tugging him along.   “Who’s there?!” The tall brunette points his revolver towards you and you lift your hands up, stepping into the light with Jimin behind you. “What are you looking at, huh?!”   You greet the man with a smile, not at all frightened with the gun being pointed at you. “Relax. I’m a part of the game too.”   “Who the fuck do you think you are?!” he yells from the pit of his stomach, “Don’t tell me to relax!”   Jimin’s eyes search the scene, the stranger with his pockets pulled out, wallet on the floor, shaking incessantly. The one holding him hostage and robbing him is a tall brunette with sharp features. He has a deranged look in his eye, chest rising and falling, sweat built at his hairline.   He recognizes him from the party.   “Taehyung, right?” you chime, “From the infamous Kim family.”   “The hell do you want?!”   The victim looks at Jimin and their eyes meet. The desperation and fear is tangible, and he mouths ‘help’. But then Jimin tears his eyes from the stranger, looking away.   There’s nothing he can do to help him. He can barely help himself.   “Nothing. We’re just passing by. Didn’t think we’d run into someone so soon, but looks fun. I’ll leave you to it then.”   Taehyung glares and gestures away with his gun after a beat. You wave goodbye enthusiastically and pass by humming. Jimin follows after you, quickening his steps until the two figures become distant again.   “H-How’d you know who he was?”   “It’s not hard to know about the Kim family. They might all be imprisoned, but they’re famous,” you tell him as if he should know. “Even if I didn’t know about them, I would’ve, since I had to scope out my competition. I did research on everyone.” You turn to the boy with a sly smirk and your index finger pokes his chest. “Even you, Jiminnie. How do you think I know what you did? But when I read up on you, I knew I’d like you.”   Your smile widens and you turn onto a suburban street. “I’ve always wanted to be part of a Bonnie and Clyde duo.”   He walks with you, shrouded in the darkness while watching a flickering lamp post in the distance. You audibly play eenie, meenie, minie, moe with the houses lined on the avenue and once you land on one, you walk towards it. Jimin stalks after you.    “What are you doing?”   “Watch and see,” you whisper with the corners of your lips curled, twirling around to him as you walk to the front door. From the sack thrown over your shoulder, you come out with two silver pins and you show off to Jimin with your sly smile.   He doesn’t expect you to pick the front lock, but he looks around and hopes no one’s watching.   Within a minute, the door opens. “Nice and easy.”   You skip inside like it’s your own house, but Jimin remains hesitant at the step. It takes a deep inhale before he steps through.   There are shoes haphazardly thrown on the side by the closet, the entrance small. He’s led into a hall and then a living room. Enveloped in the dark, the little street lights cast in and help him find his way. Jimin’s eyes eventually stray to a shelf of frames, old wedding photos of a young couple to pictures of the family gathered around one another with enormous grins.   Yet one photograph takes his attention in particular — one of a little girl in a polka dot dress, showing off her missing front tooth in a wide smile.   You seem to pay no mind to the pictures. Instead, you’re leaning over to shut the open window by the armchair.   The floorboards creak subtly as you creep along the walls, quietly shutting all the windows.    Jimin follows along at a delayed pace, confusion written across his face. At least until you come to the stove and turn all four gas stove tops on with a smile. “What can I say? I like to get creative.”   Jimin pales with the realization. You’re getting rid of an entire family with little to no effort and all you can do is silently giggle.    You walk around the kitchen, up the stairs and on the way, you stop by the carbon monoxide detector to rip out the batteries from it and toss it aside. You’re methodical and careful every step of the way, always controlling the crime scene, playing it like a game of chess.   Jimin’s not sure if he’s scared of you or if he admires you.   The door creaks as you peer into the bedroom. He squints into the darkness over your shoulder but then you slip away to the next door. The following room is brighter. The open window is next to a street lamp outside, so Jimin can make out the princess posters pinned on the pink walls, the toy boxes shoved in the corner, and the little girl asleep soundly in her bed, covers rising and falling every so often.   You don’t blink, taking three strides to reach over and shutting the window. You lock the latch.   Jimin steps into the room as well, but he doesn’t see the doll on the ground. He doesn’t notice it until he accidentally kicks it aside and the thing sounds, greeting him with a deafening — “I love you!”   You whirl around. His entire body freezes. The girl under the covers shuffle.   She twists, turns and audibly sighs. “Mommy?”   Immediately, you move. Like it’s your sheer instincts. Before Jimin can stop you, before he can call your name and tell you to spare her. You rip the pillow from underneath the girl’s head, shocking her awake, and before she can scream aloud, you press the pillow to her face.   Her legs kick out, but you push your entire body weight onto her, suffocating the girl.   Jimin’s knees weaken, his breath staccatos as he sees red beneath his eyes — recalling the splatter of the ceiling, of the paisley wallpaper. He should cry out, shove you off. But whenever he opens his mouth, his voice is lost. He can’t utter a word.   He knows it’s too late. Stopping you would make the girl cry for her parents. They would waken. They would call the police. And he would get caught. Jimin’s too much of a coward.   So he looks away.

[Saturday, 3:28am]   The harsh red and blue spinning lights flash through the alley.   The moment it swirls away, the scene is clouded in darkness before another shade floods inside.   Seokjin releases a heavy breath, shuts his car door and strides down. He shakes away the sleepiness that still lingers after being rudely shaken awake. There wasn’t even time to get a coffee.   “Detective Kim!” someone calls out. A younger man with brown doe eyes waiting for him.    Seokjin wonders how he got here so soon when he wasn’t on a shift. But the new upcoming ones are always like that — ambitious and keen. Give them a few years and they’ll learn to mellow out. Or at least most of them do. He’s not so sure about Jeon Jungkook.   “When’d you get here?”   “Five minutes ago.”   “So I suppose you’ve had enough time to take a look?” Seokjin receives gloves handed to him and puts them on.   “A little.”   The two of them bend over the yellow tape wrapped around the perimeter of the scene. There’s forensics in their white garbs, marking bullet casings and blood splatters, the flashes of their camera blinding to the eye. They set up their lights and the entire alley becomes illuminated.   The victim is lying face up in the middle of the alleyway. His eyes are still wide open. Blood poured out in a pool and staining the pebbles. It’s splattered on the brick wall nearby.   Seokjin’s brows furrow, noticing several bullet holes on the victim’s forehead. His face has been mutilated from the wound. His left shoe is also missing, but Seokjin’s eyes trail to see the leather loafer a meter away.   “What’d you think?” When the older man is met with silence, he turns.   Jungkook swallows hard, quiet as he stares at the corpse. Seokjin doesn’t blame him. It always takes a long time to get used to seeing dead bodies in such a way.   The department might praise Jungkook for being a prodigy with the newer techniques — the whole fancy profiling spiel that Seokjin’s old mind has yet to wrap his head around. But Seokjin has one thing Jungkook lacks. Experience.   Maybe that’s why the chief linked them up. They both could benefit from this partnership.   “Jeon.”   “Sorry.” He snaps back to it and clears his throat. “His name is Park Chanyeol. Twenty eight years old. Works in construction. He was shot in the face six times.”   ���Bullets?”   “Point three five seven magnum. They think it’s most likely from some kind of revolver.”   Seokjin hums and Jungkook continues, “His pockets are empty and his wallet is gone. It looks like an armed robbery. Most likely the victim has no connection to the perpetrator. There’s a bruise on his left cheek. He probably had a physical altercation with the perpetrator before he was shot. His knuckles are bloody, so they’re collecting DNA samples to see if it belongs to someone else. That’s most likely going to be our best bet in catching this person considering there aren’t any security cameras in this area or witnesses.”   He nods and after a beat, their eyes meet again. Seokjin asks, “What else? Aside from the main facts of the case.”   Jungkook inhales a deep breath. “The scene is disorganized. There’s no need to shoot someone six times. Whoever did this, not only left the body but left physical evidence. And if they have no connection to the victim, that means they did this spontaneously.”   “So?”   “We’re most likely looking at someone who has poor hygiene and nighttime habits. I’m guessing a man in his early twenties. Below average intelligence. His motive…..is quick financial gain and also being able to feel a sense of superiority and power.”   Seokjin’s eyes narrow into the boy and his soft facial features. He’s not inclined to believe in pure speculation, but Jungkook’s proven himself right on several cases they’ve worked on together and he’s not one to disregard credit where it’s due. So, he takes his word for it.   They cross the tape once more, walking back to the parked cars. The noisy static of the radios and snapshot of cameras fade into the back. “Call Baekhyun. He might want to see this for himself.”   “Detective Byun is down at seventh avenue, Detective Kim.”   He lifts a brow and Jungkook explains, “I heard there was a homicide case there.”   “It looks like it's a busy night tonight,” Seokjin exhales, a cold cloud of air emitting from his lips. He recalls a number of police cars rushing past in the other lane while he was driving here.   Jungkook gets into the passenger seat as Seokjin slides into the driver’s. “Actually, there’s multiple homicide cases being reported at the same time. More than the usual amount. It’s almost like they’re being committed at the same time.”   He puts the keys into the ignition and the engine roars to life with the head beams. “Is it gang related?”   “Hard to say,” the younger sharply inhales. “From what I heard, all the crime scenes are starkly different.”   Seokjin frowns and casts a glance down the busy alleyway. At the same time, the DNA sample on the man’s knuckles are swabbed and bagged to be tested.

[Saturday, 7:58am]   You cackle, leaning on the arm of the armchair with your legs thrown over the other.    Even though Jimin was against entering the house again, you weren’t dissuaded by the lingering traces of carbon monoxide. The open window nearby is enough to air out the area and what better place is there to hide out than a definitely empty home. It gave you a chance to steal more comfortable clothes, rid of your dress and burn it too.   “Nearly two hours ago, a suspect has been arrested in the second degree murder of Park Chanyeol whose body was found in the alley between Third Street and Canons Boulveard.”    You’re seated on the armchair like it’s your throne as Jimin stands on your right side, less like a loyal guard dog and more of a scared puppy who’s not sure what to do. But he’s endearing like that.   “Nineteen year old Kim Taehyung, the youngest member of the notorious Kim family, has been charged with second degree murder, assault with a deadly weapon, robbery and illegal possession of a firearm—”   You laugh as you watch Taehyung on screen cuffed and led out of the car. He’s screaming at the reporters while his lawyer at his side tries to cover his face, but to no avail.   It hasn’t even been twelve hours since the game started and he’s already caught red-handed. In all honesty, you’re a bit disappointed. It’s pleasant to have less competition, but you thought Taehyung would put up more of a fight than that.   Well….you suppose this is the consequence of being as reckless as he is.   “Breaking news that we just received.” The screen flashes to the news anchor. “We believe a bomb has been detonated at the city hall. That happened within the last two minutes, major evacuations are now taking place. Police have still yet to confirm the number of casualties or if this is the act done by a terrorist organization. Stay with us. The scene is now live.”   Your brow quirks. Jimin stumbles forward. His hands tremble, expression stunned.   The news channel gives a helicopter view of city hall, the smoke plumes rising in the air, the chaos on the road with firetrucks and police cars rushing into the scene.   “Is this…”   “A part of the game?” You throw your legs off, feet touching the carpet as your back straightens. It’s not time to be sitting back anymore. “Probably. I’m guessing this is Min’s work.” When Jimin remains confused, you smile and explain, “Min Yoongi. He’s a guy who likes doing flashy stuff like this. Don’t be too impressed, pet. He might have a high fatality rate, but it draws too much attention for my tastes. It makes the cops go cuckoo to find him.”   You stand up and stretch your limbs over your head, groaning as you do so. Finally — there’s some real motivation. The game’s definitely more fun with characters like Yoongi.   “Time to go, Jiminnie.” Your grin is enormous and your eyes gleam. “We can’t just sit back and let someone else win, can we?”

[Saturday, 10:03am]   Even from the distance, the smoky air still permeates through his mask. The scene is largely cleaned up. Just a few hours ago, there were victims crying outside and tens of fire trucks parked on the curb, first responders at the scene rescuing those stranded inside and carrying out the bodies.   The site is still somewhat chaotic, yellow tape lining the perimeter, debris and remaining rubble scattered all over the steps and the road; the shadows of the atrocity committed not long ago.   “In all my years of work, can’t say I’ve ever seen something like this.”   After closing the Kim case in record time, Seokjin only had an hour of sleep before he was abruptly called here. But it’s not just him. All investigators were pulled and dozens of homicide cases have been pushed aside in view of this event.   “How many casualties?”   “Twenty so far.”   “So far?”   Jungkook nods solemnly. “They’re pulling out more bodies from the rubble.”   Seokjin sighs, feeling his dark circles deepen in its lilac shade.    A moment later, he catches a familiar figure approaching from his peripheral vision. Someone with a sharp jawline, darkened hair and a five o’clock shadow around his mouth. Said man appears even more exhausted than Seokjin is, as if he’s aged an additional ten years.   He’s not at all like the strapping, energetic friend he had at the academy all those years ago.   Seokjin manages a smile to the all too familiar Chief of Police. “It’s not often I see you out on the field anymore. I always thought you would get a stroke in that office chair of yours.”   “Sometimes the time calls for it, Jin. I can’t always sit back with my hands clean.”   “And here I thought you forgot what it’s like to get down and dirty.”   “Sir,” Jungkook greets Hoseok, lowering his head just an inch out of respect.   Hoseok nods. “You must be the new profiler that was transferred over. I believe we met once.”   “At the gala.”   “Yes. How have you been managing? I’ve been hearing great things about you.”   “I’ve been doing alright. Just trying my best.”   “He’s keen,” Seokjin says and Hoseok’s lips curl, knowing full well how he feels about keeners.   “Good. Maybe that’ll inspire you to be less grumpy.”   He scoffs and ignores him. “What do you have for me?”   In spite of the difference in their positions, their friendship allows them to be casual with one another. After all, they started at the same time and it was Hoseok who chose to climb the ladder and make his way to the top. Seokjin, on the other hand, has never been one for bureaucracy. Many find his brash way of speaking displeasing, and it’s not what he signed up for either.   “The bomb was sent in a thin package.” The file folder is passed to him as they walk. Seokjin flips it open and studies the photograph of the dollar sign symbol carved into a metal piece, the signature trademark.   “So it’s the Unabomber copycat?”   “I don’t know if I’d go as far as to call him a copycat.”   “Then he’s at least a more advanced version.” Seokjin flips through the report. “It seems like he’s more sophisticated. Are you planning on setting up a task force to find the guy?”   “I don’t know yet.” Hoseok drags a hand over his face. “I have a few investigators in mind that I might assign.”   “But not us?”   “We’re full hands on deck. I’d rather have my most efficient detectives on standby in case something else happens which I have a feeling it just might.” Hoseok’s cautious, always saving his best cards. “In the last twelve hours, crime in the city has spiked to two hundred percent, but there are no connections at all to any of them. I want you to look into it and see if you have any theories. As for this case, the bombing of city hall, I just wanted to hear your thoughts.”   Seokjin hums and turns to the younger man who’s been listening in. “What do you think, Jungkook?”   It takes a second to collect his thoughts. Then, Jungkook’s doe eyes lift, unwavering. “Whoever did this, they left little evidence to work with. The origins of the package can’t be tracked either. So not only did they make the explosive themselves, they controlled every step of it.”   “Above average intelligence.”   Jungkook nods. “And most likely an outcast of society. In the past, this bomber targeted high members of society. And of all the places they could’ve sent it to, they chose city hall this time. Not to mention, his trademark is peculiar. It’s not any initials, it’s a symbol. The dollar sign. I think this person has an ideological motive.”   “Then he’ll most likely be in contact with the police or news outlets soon to spread whatever message he has,” Seokjin adds.   “Most likely. I think we’re looking at someone organized and nonsocial, someone who lives alone and follows the news closely.”   Hoseok smiles. “That’s more than enough to work with.”

[Saturday, 12:01pm]   “Where are we going?” Jimin struggles to keep up with your determined strides.   “Winning the game isn’t just about who kills more, Jiminnie,” you teach him with a sly smile. “You also have to strategize how to take down your competitors.”   The pair of you step up the driveway to the door and you hold the doorbell down with your index finger for an extended amount of time. Then, you knock thrice. There’s silence.   “Who’s house is this?”   “His name is Kim Namjoon. He’s a big competitor.”   Jimin’s head whips towards you. “We’re at his house?!”   You grin. “Pretty sure. What’s the issue?”   He opens his mouth, but no words are uttered. Jimin can’t wrap his mind around how he’s on a serial killer’s doorstep, how you’ve knocked on it, expecting it to open. “How do you even know this is his?”   “I told you. I did my research on everyone, Jiminnie. And don’t worry. If this is really his place, he’ll let us in. It’s not like he can leave us on his porch.”   You turn around to wave enthusiastically at an elderly neighbour walking her dog.   You’re clinically insane — Jimin’s sure of it. But even if you come off as deranged, it’s apparent you’ve thought things through, that you’ve strategized every step. He wonders if that’s why he feels a sense of calm, why it always feels like Jimin’s rooted in the ground when he sees you.   There’s a shift at the door and you look towards the peephole with a massive smile.   The door cracks open.   There’s an older man in his forties, thick framed glasses around kind eyes and wrinkles, a dimpled smile and blonde locks. They recognize each other from the party. “What are you doing here?”   “Seeking refuge obviously,” you sing-song. “Can we come in or what?”   Namjoon’s glare turns menacing. His pupils are blown, eyes bulging from their sockets as his mouth lopsides. The facade of the friendly neighbour crumbles instantaneously and Jimin instinctively shuffles back in intimidation and fear. But then the door widens a moment later.   “Ugh.” You step aside from the large puddle of blood on the floorboards. Jimin’s eyes expand. The streaks of the crimson fluid are pulled towards a closed door meters away as if a body was dragged. “Clean that up, will you?”   Jimin’s knees shake, but he follows after you, stepping aside and slipping into the house. The door is slammed shut.   You’re humming, looking at all the decor of the cozy abode. “Nice house. I like the green drapes.”   “What do you want?” Namjoon stalks after the two of you. “If you’re looking for someone so you can be a trio, I’ll have to refuse. I don’t work well with others and I don’t like anyone interfering with my business.”   “That’s disappointing. I’ll just take breakfast then.” You round the corner, plopping down on the wooden chair by the small dining table. “Have anything good to eat? I’m starving!”   The man glares. You prop your elbow on the table, pouting at him. “Just let us hide out for a while and we’ll leave. Promise.”   “You should’ve done this somewhere else,” he warns, yet turns towards his kitchen.   Jimin releases his held breath from his tense body and comes to sit next to you. He leans in close to whisper, “What are you planning?”   “You’ve never poked a bear before, Jiminnie? It’s all part of the fun. Relax,” you coax him with a crooked smile.    Jimin doesn’t know but it’s because of him that you’re even able to pull this stunt off. He has this permanently scared look on his face, his features etched with fear and regret. It’s endearing, but because of that, Namjoon is sincerely fooled into thinking that you came here as a last resort to escape from prying eyes and just to have a meal.   Jimin has the ability to disarm. And if it wasn’t for him, Namjoon would never believe you.   You look around at the fake flowers in the vase, the nature calendar on the wall, the table without a smudge. Then your eyes trail to a thick pile of photos across the table and you lurch over to grab the stack.   You hum. Jimin pales.   “Is that….”   “Yep.”   Jimin immediately looks away.   It’s dark pictures of dismembered bodies, naked and tied up women caught in the camera’s yellow flash, and women who are just walking on the street, unaware that they’re being stalked and captured from afar. But each photograph is meticulously labeled with a date and name, sometimes with a phone number at the back.   Namjoon’s one of those types who like to call the family of victims just to taunt them, to record conversations he has with victims to play it back for them. Even for your standards, you know he’s sick.   Your study session is interrupted by a meow. An orange tabby cat with narrowed pupils jumps onto the table and then suddenly, the pictures are being snatched out of your hands.   Namjoon’s jaw is clamped, teeth gritted together. He plops down a plate of baked pastries and jams, and quickly collects the stack of photographs.   “That’s not yours to look at.”   “Sorry.” You loll your head to one side. “Got curious.”   There’s an ear-piercing, muffled scream that makes Jimin flinch — a bloodcurdling ‘help’ echoing along the walls. It’s coming from the basement.   You whirl your head back to your host. “Shouldn’t you go take care of that?”   “Don’t touch anything,” Namjoon warns in a low voice and steps away.   You grab the croissant and your teeth tear into it. Your other hand reaches for the cat and the animal allows you to scratch underneath its chin. Its tail curls and it hops off the table.   “Y/N.” For the first time, Jimin calls you by your name and you turn to him. He’s timidly eating his cream cheese pastry with strawberry jam and you reach over with your sleeve to wipe the corner of his mouth free from crumbs.   “Yes?”   “Would...you ever kill me?”   He wonders what it would be like if you considered him a competitor. Or if he wasn’t competing at all, if he could be your victim. Part of him wants to trust you just because it’s easier that way. To be a follower. Hold zero responsibilities. Make no decisions. But he’s not sure if he should allow himself to.   Jimin still has yet to figure out how much he should lean on you and believe in your methods. He doesn’t want to win and you know it too. All he wants is to just be kept safe from the organizers of the event, from the other serial killers, from the police. And it looks like as long as he follows you, everything will work in both of your favours.   “Why would I, silly?” Your smile softens. “It would be too much of a waste if I did.”   It’s not long after the breakfast shenanigans at Kim Namjoon’s house that you make your exit with a ‘see you later’ and slip back onto the suburban street undetected. The older man is happy to have you gone, but if he knew what was up your sleeve, he wouldn’t feel that way.   “A-Are y-you sure this is a good idea?” Jimin’s shaking again, wide-eyed as he grips the phone in the red phone booth. You’re forcing him to make the call purely because it’s too cute to see him sweat under the pressure.   “There aren’t any rules against being a snitch, Jiminnie.” You grin. “And since when did serial killers follow any rules or moral conducts in the first place?”

[Saturday, 6:00pm]   Jungkook scrubs his hands.   Once his skin is free of soap, he turns off the tap and braces himself against the porcelain sink. He exhales staggeringly. He’s seen stuff like this before — made to listen to countless interviews and interrogations, watched tons of videos. It was all a part of his training.    But it’s different when it’s not through a screen and when he’s sitting on a cushy chair behind a desk. It’s different when he’s the one apprehending the criminal and collecting the evidence with his own hands.   Jungkook swallows hard and goes for more soap, trying to rid himself of the disgust he feels.   Kim Namjoon was taken in not even a half hour ago. Luckily, it’s an airtight case. At least with the stack of photos Jungkook found and the two victims barely alive in his basement that was sent away on ambulances. The man might remain silent, but the evidence is insurmountable.   Jungkook turns the tap off, wipes his hands with paper towels, discards it in the trash and walks out of the bathroom. He puts on a stoic expression. He has a job to do. He was assigned this case when they’re short-handed with other detectives and officers, so there’s no choice but to detach himself and be professional.    He finds his partner in his office, seated in his chair and fiddling with a rectangular card.   “Detective Kim?”   Seokjin looks up. “They found this on Kim Namjoon when they were booking him in.”   It’s black, but golden looped letters etched into the smooth card reads welcome.   Seokjin flips it over but there’s nothing else on the card.   “Kim Taehyung had the exact same one,” the older man reveals on an exhale and that immediately piques Jungkook’s attention who cocks a brow.   “Then they know each other. Or at least, they’re connected somehow. If this isn’t gang-related then is it possible that Namjoon knows the Kim family somehow?”   “It doesn’t seem likely. The Kim family is high profile. They wouldn’t have anything to do with a middle class man in his forties living in the suburbs.” Seokjin leans back, scrutinizing the black card and the golden letters. He thinks about the big picture. “But what if this was indeed organized? But by different criminals banding together.” Their eyes meet. “Like they picked a date to have a massacre.”   Jungkook frowns. It’s improbable — an almost outlandish theory. The logistics of it seem too difficult to be feasible. How would a bunch of serial killers with no connection whatsoever be able to meet, arrange and agree on something doing something like that? And for what reason?   Yet that would serve to explain how crime has escalated so drastically in the city within the past day, how there seems to be homicides happening on every single corner.   Jungkook’s train of thoughts crash when Seokjin tosses the card on his desk and sighs, “Have they traced who gave the tip yet?”   “It’s from a phone booth on the corner of Westminster lane.”   “I didn’t know people still used phone booths,” he muses, threading his hands together.   “There weren’t any security cameras, but there was one down the road by a jewelry store. They caught two figures there at the same time the call was made.” Jungkook moves a file folder on his cluttered desk forward and the older man finally flips it open. It’s a fuzzy black and white shot of the camera. He’s barely able to make out the two distinct shapes next to one another.   But Seokjin’s unable to study it for long when his cellphone starts blaring.   He sighs and picks it up. “What is it?” Seokjin’s silent for a long while and then he hums that he’ll be right there before hanging up. That’s never a good sign, so Jungkook braces himself as Seokjin stands and grabs his coat.   “A family was just found dead from carbon monoxide poisoning. They suspect there’s foul play.”

[Saturday, 6:00pm]   The curdling shriek tears through Jimin’s eardrums.   He shrinks back, shutting his eyes as tight as he can until they hurt. He doesn’t allow a sliver of light to come through. He can’t look. He won’t. Even when he knows that right in front of him, you’re choking an old grandma, pinning her to the floor, your grip loose enough so she can still scream.   After a long moment, there’s silence and he hyperventilates.   “You can look now, Jiminnie. I’m not finished but you can still look.”   “No.” He shakes his head furiously, curled into a fetal position. He won’t risk it. So he stays where he is, against the wall, on the floral carpet on the floor.   Jimin hears your sigh and then there are footsteps. What follows is the noise of fabric tearing, threads being roughly pulled. He hitches his breath and automatically flinches when he feels you behind him, your warm breath against his neck.   “Relax. I got you a blindfold.”   You delicately wrap the black cloth around his eyes. And you tie it into a pretty bow behind his head while humming a light tune.   Jimin’s fingers brush against the silky material. He hesitates but trusts you enough to finally peel back his lids. He encounters the comfortable darkness.   “You don’t need to look if you don’t want to,” you chime and he feels your presence fade away from his backside.   He exhales, loosening the tension in his body. But he still doesn’t understand.    Jimin can’t comprehend how you can be so accommodating and thoughtful to him one moment and the next, your eyes are cold to others. “Why are you doing this?”   “Because I want to and it’s fun.” Your giggle tinkles. “Don’t you think so, pet? To have someone at your complete mercy. To see the fear in their eyes and hear them beg.”   With his vision gone, his other senses are in overdrive. Jimin perceives the sharp scent of iron in his nose, tastes the sultry air, and hears rustling. He catches the way you’re panting, how each breath seems heavy from your lungs.   “Lots of people do it for different reasons. For sexual pleasure, the thrill, for their beliefs, or even because they get angry like you do,” you state nonchalantly and he flinches. “There doesn’t need to always be a complicated reason. You can do it out of sheer spite even.”   For the next minute, it goes eerily quiet. Jimin doesn’t know if you’re gone, if you’ve left the room, or if you’ve abandoned him entirely. His arms lift up into the air, batting at the empty space. He’s about to call your name, but then hears your footsteps.   “All done!” you sing-song.    You reach behind him, undoing the ties and the blindfold slips off.    There isn’t a body in sight. Jimin’s met with your smile.

[Saturday, 7:48pm]   “What is happening is very unfortunate and our hearts reach out to all the families of these victims. These senseless crimes will not go unpunished. The terror these criminals have inflicted on the population will not dissuade this country from seeking justice. I have called upon the best personnel who will be involved in these criminal investigations. We ask that during this process all people take caution and stay inside. And I ask that people send their thoughts and prayers…”   Jimin’s focus on the President’s press conference happening in the corner television fades as you start singing to the country music playing overhead. He turns his attention to you.   His expression must be impressed on how you know all the lyrics since you lean in with a grin. “I love this song.”   He never took you to be much of a country music lover.   The retro diner is cozy, a long counter with stools, classic red booths and yellow lights. It’s as if time has stopped in this place and the emptiness only adds to the eerie atmosphere.    The waitress with a half white apron and dress comes out and places two plates on the table. “Here’s your regular stack of pancakes with a side of fruit and bacon, and the strawberry avalanche french toast.”   You smile. “Thanks.”   The woman nods with a “you’re welcome” and returns to the back.   Jimin doesn’t have much of an appetite. But he tries his best to stomach the food, cutting through the bread and piercing it with the fork. You, on the other hand, visibly blanch at the sliced strawberries, banana and oranges on your plate and one by one, you transfer them over to his.   The corner of Jimin’s mouth twitches. “You don’t like fruit?”   “Not really. I only like grapes.”   You grab the maple syrup and Jimin watches with his bugged-out eyes how you nearly empty half the canister. By the time you’re satisfied, your pancakes are drowning in the syrup. Yet you grin happily, excited as you cut into them. You fill your cheeks and Jimin lets his entire smile slip.   “I’m guessing you like pancakes.”   “I love them.” Your knife scrapes the plate as you saw down into the fluffy texture. You muse, “I never got to eat them much as a kid.”   “What did you eat then?”   “A lot of vegetables, fermented food, canned stuff,” you say while chewing in your cheek.   Jimin pushes the strawberries around on his plate for a moment before his eyes lift and his voice lowers. “When...did you start killing people, Y/N?”   “I don’t know. Ever since I was born, I guess,” you deadpan. And after he stares at you for an extended period of time, you elaborate, “I grew up in a cult. Anyone who disobeyed or did bad things was killed. It’s normal.” You shrug. “I don’t know why people make such a big deal about it. People are okay with killing pigs and cows to eat, but not humans.”   It’s jarring to hear and it makes it hard to swallow down his food. “Well, it’s different.”   “Is it?” you ask. “We’re all animals. Having exceptions seems hypocritical. Plus, some people deserve to die, right? That’s why the death penalty exist.”   It’s an odd sense of logic. But what’s even stranger is that he can discern where you’re coming from.   “Why do some people deserve to die more than others? Just because of their actions?” You cut into your pancakes. “If the government kills someone, that’s somehow okay. But if I kill someone, then that’s bad. Who decided that?”   “The world is full of contradictions.” You swallow a mouthful. “At the end of the day, aren’t laws just made by people trying to govern and control other people? Burning witches at the stake used to be legal, you know.”   Jimin’s unable to keep his gaze away from you.   If it wasn’t against the law, he wouldn’t be so scared of getting caught. He wouldn’t have had to spend the last year constantly looking over his shoulder and afraid of sirens. But if it wasn’t against the law, would he even be sitting with you right now and having this conversation?   The games wouldn’t exist. There would be no reason to come up with something like the Weekend Massacre.   Then again, it’s because they didn’t catch him that he could be sitting here at this time. The flawed system made up by people to regulate others failed to accomplish their goal.   You finish the pancakes in a flash and somehow, Jimin finds the strength to finish his too.   Once he’s done, he pushes it aside and your eyes gleam. “Ready?”   “For what?”   “Running, silly.” You grab his hand across the table, stand and yank him out from his seat. “Have you never dined and dashed before?”   You start running before he can protest. Jimin hears the shout and curses of the waitress from behind as you shove the door open and it bangs against the wall with the golden bell up top.    You’re giggling, sprinting as fast as you can, ducking and moving between the crowd. Jimin struggles to keep up but he widens his pace and quickly matches your speed. He steals a glimpse of you, catching the fleeting moment of the wind twirling through your hair, the way your eyes are crinkled with your playfully devious smile, how your expression is innocent as you’re committing such a juvenile crime.   Hands held, Jimin interlaces his fingers with yours.   You turn your head, locking your eyes with his, and softening your gaze.   “People like us need to stick together, Jiminnie. We’ll always be marginalized for what we do.”   You’re right. He’s been living like an outcast out of fear, and if people knew the crimes he’s committed, he would be casted away either way. But the realization sinks into Jimin — you’re the first and probably the only person who wouldn’t look at him any differently for what he’s done.   You don’t treat him like he’s a monster. Even when he’s scared of himself, you aren’t.   His hand holding yours tightens.

[Saturday, 9:07pm]   Seokjin hasn’t slept.   He doesn’t think he’ll get the chance to tonight.   There’s no time to when he was being called left, right and center. There are crime scenes behind dumpsters, on the fifth level of a downtown apartment, murderers on every corner of the city. Every officer off duty and on duty have been called, spread thin throughout, and with every hour, there seems to be more and more murders. It’s impossible that this is done by one person or even by five. But Seokjin doesn’t know what to make of it.   He doesn’t know what to do. He hasn’t experienced something like this before — this massacre.   He leans back into the uncomfortable chair, scrubbing a hand over his face. Seokjin studies the black card with golden letters etched into it, the word welcome catching the light.   If this was indeed an organized massacre, then how and who? How could this many killers come together and be this organized? Who is behind it and orchestrating it? And why? Could it be for fame alone? For chaos?   It feels like it’s all part of some sick game.   “Jin, you wanted to talk to me?”   He’s snapped out of his thoughts by his old friend unlocking his office. Hoseok is disoriented and exhausted, coat hanging off of his arm, briefcase swinging in his hand. He doesn’t look like he’s had the chance to sleep either.   Seokjin stands from his seat, having waited for the man, and he follows him into his office. It’s monotone except for the dog figurine on top of the file cabinet and the many awards and certificates framed in a line on the wall. They offered this office to Seokjin once. He refused.   He’s starting to think he shouldn’t have.   Seokjin shuts the door behind him. With the blinds still opened, he witnesses some officers rush past.   Hoseok throws his briefcase onto his desk and collapses into his chair.   “Did you take a look at the monoxide poisoning case?”   “I have, but there aren’t any leads yet. The extended family’s not looking to do autopsies.”   “Give them some time.” Hoseok rolls up his sleeves. “They might change their minds. What did you want to talk to me about?”   Seokjin leans forward, palms flat on the wooden oak of the desk. “I think we should call a citywide lock down.”   For the first time, Hoseok appears alert again. His posture straightens. “What?”   “We need to tell people to stay inside, Hoseok. That’s the best way to protect them.”   “The best way to protect them is to be out there on the street.”   “And that’s what we’ve been doing.” His index finger juts against the file folders piling up. “This is getting out of hand and you know it.”   But Hoseok merely shakes his head. “It would never bode well.”   “We can’t have people running out on the street to get killed,” he spits.   Jung Hoseok stands and the two of them come face to face. “A lockdown would only increase hysteria. This is the time to keep people calm. Mass panic won’t help anyone.”   “People dying won’t help anyone either.”   “Don’t tell me how to do my job!” Hoseok shouts, red in the face, anger overwhelming exhaustion. Someone outside the windows halts before quickening their pace. “You do your job and I’ll do mine!”   Seokjin’s jaw ticks. He feels frustration’s urge to launch himself forward, shake the man until he’s heard. But instead, he steps back and swallows hard. “Fine.” He’s powerless to Hoseok’s authority and he can sense it — neither of them are willing to budge. “I’ll take my leave then.”   As Seokjin shuts the door, Hoseok collapses into his chair again with a sigh.   “Is everything alright?” Jungkook’s stopped in the hall, doe eyes rounded.   Seokjin nods. He doesn’t dwell on the subject. “How did the interrogation with Kim Taehyung go?”   “It was unsuccessful. He refused to talk without his family lawyer.”   He’s not surprised. “They’re about to start on Kim Namjoon, right?”

[Saturday, 9:33pm]   Jungkook hesitates, left hand on the steel knob. But then he takes a deep breath and opens it.   The room is small, brightly lit, a rectangular table on one side of the cream wall with uncomfortable chairs adjacent to each other. One of them is occupied with a glasses-clad, blonde man. He’s dressed in jeans and a flannel, sitting straight, eyes following Jungkook.   “Hello, you must be Kim Namjoon.” The corner of his mouth politely quirks. “I’m officer Jeon Jungkook. It’s nice to meet you.”    Jungkook’s open hand is refused. Namjoon never shakes it. He simply stares at him.   Yet the detective is undeterred and his smile remains, although it never reaches his eyes. He takes a seat and places the file folder on the table. He mimics Namjoon’s posture and leans forward to be closer to the man.   “I believe you know why you’re here.” It’s quiet. “We’ve been looking into several cases of missing women and they’ve all been traced to your house, Namjoon. We found the photos as well and two witnesses are still alive. I’m here because I want to know why you did this. I want to give you the benefit of the doubt. I want to understand you.”   Namjoon stays silent. His eyes cold. Expression blank.   It’s not looking good. “Look, I’m here to help you, Namjoon. We’re beyond denial. Silence won’t help you anymore. It would be better for you to come forward and let me know what’s going on. It’s not like a person wakes up one day and decides they’re going to kill someone. If it’s something in your childhood or if it’s because these women have wronged you somehow then I want to know, so I can help you.”   A minute passes, but the forty-year old man refuses to utter a single syllable.   Jungkook flips open the file folder. There’s the black business card on top of the paperwork, the golden letters looped into the word welcome. He picks it up and shows him. “What is this?” There’s not a single peep. “Can you tell me where you got it from, Namjoon? Do you know who gave this to you?”   Jungkook continues, “It was on Kim Taehyung as well and unless you want to be responsible for his crimes on top of yours, then I think it’s best if you tell me how the two of you are connected with one another. I know this isn’t normal. The both of you are from very different backgrounds. You don’t know him personally, do you?”   Jungkook is steadfast, searching the man’s expression for some sort of clue. But Namjoon is motionless, unresponsive, as if he’s prepared himself for this situation before. The man has no intentions on revealing a single thing — he plans to make it as difficult as possible.   Jungkook concedes this time and switches his tactics. He puts the card down and flips to the back of the folder. There’s a flash photograph of a corpse without their arms. Jungkook swallows hard upon looking at it and then slides it across the table. “Do you know who this is?”   There’s silence.   Namjoon looks right at Jungkook.   “This is Lee Wendy. She’s a mother of a five-year old boy.” He exhales in staccatos. “You stalked her, didn’t you, Namjoon? We have the pictures you took when she was grocery shopping and when she was taking out the garbage.” There’s a pause. “After you took her, you called her family and told them…that...she cries out for her son a lot, right?”   Jungkook drops his hands into his lap, trying to hide the shakiness of them. Yet he forces his voice to remain steady with the picture of Wendy still on the table. “Why did you do this?”   “You knew all of their names, didn’t you? And you followed each of them for weeks.”   “Have you ever—” The older man finally speaks up in a baritone, nearly startling the young officer. But finally Namjoon’s listless eyes aren’t glazed over. Instead, they’re looking straight into Jungkook’s pupils, ogling deep into his soul. “—felt drawn into someone so much that you felt an itch to do it.”   His voice doesn’t come. Jungkook’s pinned to his spot, scrutinized by the monster’s fixated, terrifying gaze that’s a mere inch away. The same eyes that had looked upon countless women. That lured them into his home. Chained them in his basement around the water pipes. Torn into their bones with the hacksaws—   Jungkook stands.   He can’t do this anymore. He can’t take it.   “If you’ll excuse me,” he manages to mutter.   He staggers out. And once the door shuts, Jungkook braces himself with his hands on his knees, wheezing.    From the adjacent room, Seokjin emerges in alarm. The others in the room look out at him. “Jeon! Are you alright? You were getting somewhere!”   Jungkook shakes his head. “I-I’m sorry. I just...her photo was right there and I...I—”   “Hey. It’s alright.” There are firm pats on the back, a comforting squeeze at his shoulder. “We can get someone else in there.”   Jungkook tries to straighten himself out, but his professional facade has crumbled. He’s ashamed as he is nauseated. “I really tried, Detective Kim.”   “And you did good,” Seokjin reassures. “You got him talking, even if it was just a sentence. Better than any of us could. He’ll crack sooner or later.”   Jungkook takes deep breaths and nods.   But before any of them have a chance to say much else, an officer runs towards them with panic-stricken over her face. It’s not a good sign. “There’s been another bombing.”

[Saturday, 11:19pm]   He picks up the black handle of the payphone. The dial tone is monotonous on the other end and he carefully slips the nickels into the slot.   “Five four six,” you read off the numbers you scribbled on your wrist with permanent marker and Jimin follows, pressing the number pad. He was innocent when he asked you earlier how you knew the number, but it wasn’t a big secret. If Jimin didn’t come late to the party, he would’ve had a better grasp on what the games are about, the details and the how-to’s. He might’ve been able to meet a few others as well.   But it was fine by you. He doesn’t need to know anything or anyone when he knows you.   After you read the string of numbers, he stays quiet. After a moment, you hear the muffled voice on the other end.   Jimin glances at you. “I’m calling on behalf of Y/N.”   Thirty seconds pass and then he’s hanging up. You look expectedly at him, lashes batting, bright smile spreading into your cheeks. “So?”   “You’re in second place,” Jimin informs, swallowing hard to deliver the news. “Behind Yoongi. There’s a person behind you by two.”   “And Yoongi?”   “He’s ahead by ten. There are nine others left in the game.”   You sigh, backside hitting the brick wall of the seedy strip mall. It’s not terrible, but not as good as your estimations. “We need to step up our game if we want to win, Jiminnie.”   His confused and curious expression reminds you of a puppy. Jimin’s too cute, especially when he follows after you when you walk off. He’s always trailing your shadow, one step behind your heel.   You can’t help turning around just to take a peek at him.   “Y/N.”   “Hmm?”   Jimin’s brows are furrowed, pouty lips lopsided, voice tender and quiet in the night. “Do you know who started this game?”   “I don’t.” You face the dark road dimly illuminated by the streetlamps again. Before the games, you did a lot of personal research, but you were never quite able to dig that deep. “People like you and I probably, or people who just want to watch the world burn. Or maybe…”   “Maybe?”   “People who don’t like the current police force and want to overthrow it.” It’s plausible. A theory you never really thought about, but it sounds good. You shift over your shoulder with a glimmer in your eye. “What better way to mess with an institution than by throwing it into absolute chaos? And what better chaos is there than a bunch of criminals running rampant in the city?”   Jimin has that conflicted look on his face like he’s not sure if he should believe you. But you’re not even sure if you should believe yourself. It’s been a long time since you could differentiate between your own lies and truths. Your bad habit of running your mouth and saying whatever you want, whatever comes to mind, has long engrained itself into your behaviour.   “What’s the prize for doing all this? I mean, what’s in it for everyone else?”   “Notoriety, of course,” you giggle at Jimin’s naivety. “Don’t you want to be remembered as the first ever champion, pet? Come on, stop asking so many questions and hurting your head with it.”   You grab his hand, pulling him along while you laugh. Jimin stumbles after you but catches up.   You’ve noticed — Jimin doesn’t seem so hesitant or scared of you anymore. And it’s a change you welcome happily. This is a partnership after all and it’s not right if he’s frightened of you.    The pair of you careen in the middle of the road as you sing songs from musicals you’ve never seen, disrupting the peace and quiet. And when you turn to him, Jimin’s smiling tenderly at you, in a way you’ve never witnessed before.   “Have you ever thought of giving this up, Y/N?” he asks a little later. “Have you ever thought of trying to live a normal life?”   You’re not sure why he’s asking something so useless or what even constitutes a normal life. But any semblance of doing anything different than what you are now seems entirely unnecessary. There’s no reason to when you’re enjoying it so much. When this is who you are.   “Why would I?”

[Sunday, 6:21am]   It’s a sick and twisted game.   Jimin picks and you kill.   It’s eenie, meenie, minie, moe with the worst consequences, where he chooses the victims at their face value — lone, drunk gangsters making a ruckus, the old man trying to convince an intoxicated woman to come along with him, the girl that seems to be harassing her classmate.   He doesn’t know their name or their story, but he tries not to think about it. Jimin doesn’t dwell as he makes his choice.   And as you follow through with his decision, he never once looks.   He can’t. Not when he’s blindfolded himself and can only catch the noises. The begging. The screaming. The crying. The squealing. The silence that follows.   “You can look now—” is the only cue from you that allows him to slip off the black blindfold and not to have to witness the victims looking at him, pleading with their eyes, blaming his passivity.   Most of the time, you’ve moved the body out of the way. Rolled up in a carpet to be abandoned, buried, thrown into the river, or bagged and ready to be burnt. Or even simply laying in their bed as if they died of natural causes. You know how to control the crime scene — every trace and clue has its own purpose, to distract, to mask. You don’t even so much as leave a hair behind.   But this time, none of that is the case.   The corpse of the man lays in front of him and Jimin tries to find his voice again. “W-Why is the body convulsing? What did you do?”   You kick the stranger’s leg and after a moment, it stops moving. You shrug. “I found pills in the medicine cabinet. I made him take it all and covered his mouth with my hand so he wouldn’t try to spit it out.”   Jimin looks at you. And you flash a smile. “Changing up the method makes it harder for the police to capture us. Plus, isn’t it more fun that way?”   “How….a-are you going to dispose of the body?”   You hum, tapping your chin as if you’re picking from a long list inside your head. Then your eyes suddenly light with amusement and you lean closer to him, irises twinkle with the first crack of dawn’s light.   “What if we dumped it in front of the police station?”

[Sunday, 6:48am]   Jimin’s driving this time and he’s sweating bullets with the corpse in the backseat. He constantly ducks his head when a police car drives by and he looks in the rear-view mirror more often than out the windshield.   It’s endearing to watch. He won’t relax even if you tell him to, so you do his part for him. Your feet are propped up on the dash, window rolled down to feel the breeze as you hum to the tunes of the radio.    Jimin really shouldn’t act so suspicious unless he has something to be sorry for.   Everyone likes to talk about how valuable human lives are until their own interests get in the way �� polluting the environment, refusing refugees, entering wars for economics. They’re so, so hypocritical.   “There it is!” You sit straight and Jimin’s breaths become laboured as he parks across the road on the curb. The precinct is an old cream brick, sitting right on the corner with the flag on the side of the building. You grin. “Let’s go!”   “Y/N, I...I-I don’t think this is a good idea—”   But there’s nothing to worry about, not when your faces are covered with your hoods and the stolen sunglasses. Jimin really needs to live a little. Everything you do is a calculated risk and this just happens to be on the higher end, but it’s fun that way. He really needs to learn that caution should only be practiced in moderation or else he’ll spend the rest of his life quivering in fear.   You get out of the car before Jimin can finish. His eyes widen and he’s forced to follow after you.   You round the stolen vehicle and pop open the passenger side of the door. “If we’re doing this, we need to do it quickly.” The edges of your lips quirk. “Help me out, pet.”   You grab the man’s ankle and Jimin fumbles before grabbing the other. He winces and looks away. But the both of you pull with all your might. The skull cracks as it lands onto the concrete.   Limbs tangled. Body dumped.    You slam the door shut and run. Jimin slides back into the driver’s seat as you take shotgun again. He shifts the gears into drive, pumping the gas hard as you cackle. The precinct is left in the dust.   “Oh my god.” Jimin exhales. “I can’t believe we just did that. We...w-we just dumped a body in front of the police station!”   “I know!” You grin, riding on the rush of exhilaration. It was done right under their noses without them even noticing. “I knew you could do it, Jiminnie!”   As Jimin drives back to the house to swap cars again, the sun rises over the horizon. It pierces its golden light into the lightening blue sky, the air feeling crisp this morning. You know there’s a lot in store for the rest of the day — in just a few hours, you might be crowned the champion.   “Jimin! Stop the car for a second!” You tap him on his arm and alarm takes over his expression.   The vehicle comes to a screeching halt, wheels marking the asphalt. Luckily, there’s no one on the road to rear-end him, but you don’t dwell on the fact. You undo your seat belt and climb out.    Jimin watches with his hands on the steering wheel as you rush to the phone booth on the corner of the street.   You roll the loose change you have from your pocket into the slot. And you dial 911.   It rings only once before a woman’s calm voice comes alive on the other line. “911, what is your emergency?”   You’re still catching your breath from the excitement of it all. “I killed them, you know. I did it.”   “W-What?” The dispatcher's voice is pitched and you smirk. “Who did you kill?”   “Enjoy that body I left. Good luck catching me.”   You drop the handset while laughing, leaving it dangling on its wire. The echoing voice of the woman with her helpless — “Hello? Hello?” — fades as you walk away. It’s always a joy to mess with them.   You get back into the car and Jimin whisks you away.

[Sunday, 9:14am]   Seokjin is being driven crazy and he knows it. Between caffeine stops and the piles of file folders growing on his desk, his head throbbing was worsening. But there’s no room to complain, not when the other officers and detectives in the department have their hands full as well.   Several other criminals have been caught, charged, interrogated within the past day. All with the same black card reading welcome. Yet most of the crimes left to tackle remain unsolved. Namely the Capital Bomber, as they started calling him, and whoever left the tip. Or rather, the taunt.   The body of Choi Soobin was dumped in front of the station two hours earlier — the two shapeless figures were seen on the security cameras — the victim’s car was being driven and then somehow returned to his home in perfect condition without a fingerprint to dust for. And that mocking voice provoked everyone.   It came from a phone booth again. But it was a woman’s voice this time.   “Detective Kim.”   Seokjin looks up from his desk. The young man’s hair is in a disarray — it looks like he followed Seokjin’s instructions to get some shut eye on the couch in the break room. There’s no point in working oneself to exhaustion and inhibiting cognitive function. He would’ve slept too if the multiple cases on his plate didn’t keep him up.   “I know we’re not officially on the task force, but there’s been some new developments with the charity bombing.”   “What is it?” Seokjin urges him to step forward and Jungkook hands him the folder. Inside, there are close photographs of some penciled scribbles on pieces of metal.   “This was found inside one of the parts of the bomb. It looks like notes of some kind. The lab’s still doing their analysis, but we might be able to match it with someone.”   The corner of his mouth quirks. “They always slip up at some point.”   “I took a look at the list of suspects as well.”   “And what did you make of it?”   “These three particularly stand out,” Jungkook says and Seokjin flips the page. He encounters a brunette with big eyes. “His name is Boo Seungkwan. He’s twenty five. Single. Living alone. No family alive. He has a background in physics. But oddly enough, he’s been unemployed for the past five years. He had been convicted of animal cruelty a while back and has been on the down-low ever since.”   “Sounds isolated.” Seokjin nods. “Worth looking into.”   “The next person is Mark Tuan. Thirty. Immigrated here back in o six. Divorced two years ago with one daughter who’s five. He’s a mathematics professor but he’s been on a sabbatical for over a year now. His sister called in and said he thinks the bomber might be him because of some conversation they had.”   He hums, staring at the picture for a moment before he flips the page.    Seokjin finds a darker hair man with a tender face and sleepy eyes. He skims over the information provided as Jungkook elaborates, “He’s Min Yoongi. He’s thirty two. Single. Lives alone. His older brother works in accounting, but they seem estranged. He spent three months in a youth detention center once, but somehow managed to pick himself back up and graduated from Yale ten years ago with a Master’s degree in biochemistry. But strangely, he never worked a day in his life. I can’t seem to find an address on him either.”   “What was he in the detention center for?”   “Trying to burn his school down.”   “That’ll definitely get you in there,” Seokjin exhales in surprise.   “It was a particularly bad case too, so they never sealed the records of it.”   Somehow, Seokjin feels less exhausted now that there was a direction in the case. He muses how beneficial it is to have such a capable partner, to have someone to depend on. Seokjin feels a tinge of guilt for denying the young profiler all those months ago.    “Good work, Jeon.”   Jungkook’s timid smile disappears as quickly as it comes. “I still haven’t drawn up any suspects for the carbon monoxide family case or the duo responsible for the phone booth calls.”   “We still have some time, so don’t beat yourself over it,” he notes. “I’ve been looking into it myself. I don’t know if this is a purposeful pattern or just a coincidence, but have you realized one similarity between all the crimes being committed in the past two days, Jeon?”   Jungkook’s brows furrow and he shakes his head. “What is it?”   “They’re all people who have done this before. They’re experienced criminals.”   Criminals that have never been caught, that are responsible for dozens of cold cases. None of them are first-time offenders. From Kim Taehyung to Kim Namjoon, and the three others that were caught red-handed by other detectives. Even the Capital Bomber has set bombs before, albeit on a smaller scale. It’s clear — this isn’t the first time for any of them.   The look on Jungkook’s face confirms Seokjin’s theory and tells him this new detail isn’t unfounded.   “So I’ve been looking into the suspects of unsolved cases and older crimes. As for the poison monoxide case, no matter how many times I look at it, it appears like it’s done by one person. But for some reason, I can’t shake off the idea that it was done by two.”   It’s just a hunch that keeps plaguing Seokjin’s head.   A thought comes across Jungkook’s mind. In the past day, there’s two particular people that have come up twice now. “You don’t think….the carbon monoxide case has any connection to the phone booth duo, right?”   “I don’t know,” the older detective admits honestly. There's no point in just sitting around speculating. He gets up and grabs his coat. “Well, we should take a quick visit to all the bombing suspects first and foremost. The other cases can wait for now.”   There’s not enough to incriminate anyone or build a solid case, but it’s better than nothing.

[Sunday, 2:53pm]   He feels a tap on his shoulder. A quiet call of his name.   “Jimin.” It’s soothing, a comfort seldom found and one he has always yearned for, even as a child. So he savours it, the notes of his name spoken on gentle lips— “Jimin.”    He can’t resist floating in the darkness. It’s too hard to open his eyes. To face reality.   But then the shaking becomes insistent. “Jimin, wake up. Stop sleeping.”   Taken out from his slumber, the world is fuzzy as he blearily blinks awake. The sunlight is blinding and his limbs ache, body folded to the side as he slept in the passenger seat of the car.   You’re in the driver’s and you look at him with a blank expression. Jimin holds back a yawn and his voice is groggy when he asks, “What’s wrong?”   “I have an idea.”   That’s what you told him.    And then, he was crossing the road in the seedy part of town by a strip. Face covered, hood up, hands dug into his pocket.   “We only have a few more hours before the results are out.”   The people behind the stand didn’t speak the same language as he did. They looked at him skeptically with his suspicious attire — even the children nearby were staring. But he still managed to purchase the fireworks.   “We need to drag the lion out of its den.”   You praised him when he got back into the car and Jimin had to admit to himself that it felt good. It feels good to listen to you, for you to look at him so proudly. He’s happy when you are.   “So what are you planning?”   “We’re going to frame Yoongi, of course.”   The pair of you stopped by a gas station for a cardboard box and some duct tape — it felt like you two were making crafts in the car. But soon, he was gripping the package under his arm while walking up the stairs, brushing past the dozens of strangers during the rush.   “Drop the package at the city center train station. Go as close to a crowd as you can.”   He was here. The intercom making announcements was noisy over top the many conversations of students and families, businessmen and women getting back from late lunches. It becomes even more clamorous with the jingle signaling the train’s arrival, the whir of the doors opening.   No one notices him. Not in the bustle. Jimin’s shoved roughly aside when he slows. There aren’t any apologies, no glances over the shoulders. It’s always like this — those who can’t keep up are pushed behind.   “I don’t think I can do this, Y/N.”   “Why not? We’re not harming anyone, silly. We just want to scare them.”   Jimin takes a deep breath, steals a glimpse of the clock and slides the lighter from his pocket. He lights the end that sticks out of a hole in the corner. And once it catches the flame, he drops it and turns around.   “Don’t you trust me?”   He walks away, blending into the crowd with his hood up and his eyes covered. When he’s at the stairs, the explosion is deafening above the noise and the petrified screams echo behind him.

[Sunday, 4:23pm]   “Maybe he decided to change it up,” someone says.   Seokjin is hunched over the screen, watching the footage of the man dropping the box and then turning abruptly on his heel before disappearing. Moments later, the orange explosion takes up the entire screen. Three were left injured. Seokjin plays the clip again.   “It’s too sloppily done,” he mutters, turning over his shoulder to glance at his partner. He knows that Jungkook agrees. But what’s even stranger is that the figure of the man is eerily similar to the fuzzy one at the phone booth. Seokjin wonders if this is a set up. If so, why?   “You don’t think this is the Capital Bomber?” Hoseok asks.   “It can’t be,” Jungkook speaks up to bolster Seokjin’s professional opinion. “Up until now, he used explosive bombs. This was five fireworks stuffed together and the package it was put in is completely different to what it usually is. No one needed to open it either.”   “So you think there’s a copycat?” Detective Byun stands from his seat, sighing heavily. He drags a hand over his face, shoulders slumped and posture tense.   “Maybe it was a failed package,” Captain Chou suggests, reading the room.   A few others nod along. “Or maybe he decided to change his techniques.”   “Why would he?” Jungkook’s voice pitches up in growing frustration, startling a few officers and the sergeant standing by him. They’re turning a blind eye to logic just because it’s easier that way. “This is someone who’s come up with sophisticated explosives that have killed tens of people! Why would he resort to using illegal fireworks?!”   Captain Chou whips her head towards him. “Are you shouting at me, officer Jeon?”   “Jungkook.” Seokjin squeezes at his shoulder and the younger shifts. Their eyes meet and Seokjin steps forward to redirect the attention back onto him. “I agree with him. There’s too many disparities for this to be the Capital Bomber. He wouldn’t have done something like this. It looks more like a poor attempt to pretend to be him.”   “How will the people react when they find out there’re copycats now?” Detective Byun collapses in his seat. “And we haven’t even caught the real one yet.”   It goes quiet around the room. The Chief of Police clears his throat. “Do you have solid evidence this is a copycat?” Hoseok is looking at both him and Jungkook.    Seokjin’s jaw clenches when he knows where he’s getting at. The answer is ultimately— “No.”   “Then it’s still entirely possible that this could be the work of the real Capital Bomber.”   Anger flares in Jungkook’s eyes. “Sir.”   Little can be said when someone knocks on the conference room doors and an assistant enters, whispering into Hoseok’s ear. Said man stands a moment later. “The press conference is starting. We’ll resume the meeting afterwards. Try your best to follow this lead.”   When he leaves, everyone settles down. The murmur of conversations spark throughout the room in between fatigued sighs and Jungkook turns to Seokjin with irritation.   “Detective Kim,” he unintentionally whines, like a child to a father. “This is obviously not him.”   “I know you’re upset, but control yourself, Jeon.” His own anger is palpable, but knowing someone is on his side helps his sanity. “It won’t help our case if we can’t remain calm.”   Suddenly, a woman bursts into the room. All heads turn and she hyperventilates, “S-Someone claiming to be the bomber is on a call with the dispatcher.”   Chaos follows. “What?!”   Seokjin rushes forward, his facade of composure amplified. “Can you put us through?”   It takes seconds before the deep baritone is fuzzy over the speakers around the room.    He’s shouting. “—wasn’t me!”    “Sir, please stay calm. Where are you?”   “Listen here.” The rumbling timbre is menacing, each syllable punctuated with animosity. “I want them to know that it wasn’t me. They’re saying it’s me.”   The dispatcher on the line is amiable. “Who’s saying it’s you, sir?”   “Everyone.” Heavy breaths pant. “It’s all over the news. But I would never do something so stupid to soil my message. Everything I have done up to this point has been crafted to perfection. It’s been masterpieces after masterpieces. But this….this is a distraction! How dare they try to copy my method—”   “Trace the call,” Seokjin commands.   “It’s already happening,” they inform.

[Sunday, 8:20pm]   It took four hours — tracking, planning, putting it in action. And the efforts have paid off.   Min Yoongi is caught, arrested, and charged. He was the Capital Bomber, the one who killed and maimed so many, who caused terror on the streets and panic through the people. Now, he’s safely behind bars and the whole department is celebrating. Seokjin can hear it through the walls.   But it’s not right.   There are too many missing puzzle pieces. Crucial fragments that aren’t part of the story.   Until the last second of the interrogation, he denied any affiliation to the explosion of the train station and with every breath, he denounced such an act. Then who was it? And why now?   Min Yoongi is a cautious criminal, an intellectual with a message of anti-capitalism to send to the world. He knows how to target the right people, how to make the media talk about him. But for him to contact the police directly from sheer fury, for his temper to flare beyond his rationale — whoever was behind the attack of the station played Min Yoongi.   They knew that mimicking him so poorly would rile him up. They knew it would tarnish his message. And they knew that his message was the most important part of his actions.   Yoongi would be scrambling to separate himself from stupidity. To clear his name. And he did.   Whoever did this set him up. But Seokjin doesn’t know the reason for it. He doesn’t have even an inkling as to who it could actually be and why.   It always feels like he’s three steps behind.   Seokjin knocks on the door lightly, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. Hoseok is busy organizing his files, stacking them neatly into piles. When he looks up at the sound, he smiles meekly. “Shouldn’t you be out there celebrating with the rest of them?”   “Shouldn’t you be?”   Hoseok’s eyes crinkle. “Don’t tell the rest of them, but I was planning to sneak out of here within the next ten minutes. I haven’t gone home in two days and all I want is a shower and some shut eye.”   “I won’t tell them,” Seokjin assures. “We all deserve some rest, especially after the last few nights. But god knows we’ll have to be here tomorrow at nine sharp.”   The man smiles and grabs his coat. “You should take a vacation day, Jin. I know you have a ton of them saved up. I don’t want the department to force you to take leave.”   In spite of their civil exterior, the air still hangs tense with the last argument that erupted right here.   “But that’s no fun. What would I do at home?”   “Always the workaholic,” Hoseok muses and the next words are full of implication— “You should take it easy.”   His stare lasts a fraction longer than normal. And Seokjin knows his old friend long enough to recognize what he’s implying. But he’s not so willing to give in. “A break doesn’t actually sound so bad. When I’m back, I could look at the station bombing with fresh eyes.”   The smiles fall, silence strained. “It’s over, Jin. The bomber’s been arrested.”   “Not all of them.” Not the phone booth duo, not the carbon monoxide poisoning case. There are still a lot of crimes to be solved, questions to be answered. It isn’t time to be celebrating.   “For all we know, he’s responsible for the station bombing.”   “Then why does he keep denying it?” The detective steps forward. “He was happy to take credit for the rest of them. City hall, the charity event, the one on—”   “Seokjin.” His entire name said firmly aloud. When their eyes meet, Seokjin is caught off guard — Hoseok’s is listless. Defeated. “I’m not going to have a job after this.”   His voice catches in his throat and his brows furrow a moment later. “What do you mean?”   The man looks at him without trying to impose his authority, without the professional demeanour that took years to craft. It’s human to human. Hoseok is frank with him. “Someone has to take the fall for how things turned out this weekend. For letting so many people die and failing to do our jobs. We might’ve caught him, but it was still too slow for them. You know how the media and the politicians are. My name is going to be dragged through the mud for how inefficiently the department ran.”   “But why does it have to be you? We can fight this—”   Hoseok shakes his head. “It’s useless.”   “Why are you giving up?!” Anger surges through Seokjin but all Hoseok can do is muster a smile.   “If I resign, I can still get a severance pay. Enough to last me a long time. It’s better than if any of you took the fall,” he says and quietness simmers throughout the private office. “We did the best job that we could, Seokjin. We caught him and a bunch others. We’ve done our part. They’re serial killers who will be locked behind bars forever. But this needs to end somewhere.”   He continues— “Do you think whoever replaces me will let you continue this?”   Not much is said after that. Not when Seokjin can’t gather any defenses or further arguments. Not when Hoseok takes his briefcase, exchanges a sad smile and flicks off the lights of his office to drown the walls in darkness.   Seokjin slips out when he starts feeling suffocated.   He leaves the office and escapes outside, in favour of leaning on the brick at the back of the precinct where there are rats scurrying by the dumpsters. He lights the cigarette he swiped from Baekhyun’s desk and brings it to his lips.   Seokjin hasn’t smoked in years.   He muses that a break does sound nice.   The steel doors creak and Seokjin turns his head. He least expects to see the dark-haired young officer with doe eyes. “Detective Kim?”   “Shouldn’t you be inside?”   “I just wanted some fresh air.” The door swings shut while Seokjin taps the ash off of the cigarette bud.   “You were having fun, weren’t you?” He manages a small smile. “Looked like that girl had some plans for you tonight. She works in the dispatch department, right? What’s her name again?”   “Yoo Jeongyeon.” With the single incandescent light on the wall, the blush on Jungkook’s cheeks is visible. “She’s alright.”   “There’s no policy against workplace romance, you know. You might hear it from the others, but all you have to do is take it up with HR.”   Jungkook gives a disgruntled hum, not furthering the subject. Seokjin watches the smoke curl.   “Actually, I wanted to come out here to tell you that I was looking into the list of suspects for the station bombing. I think I’ve narrowed it down, so—”   “This is the best we could do, Jungkook,” Seokjin interrupts and sighs out a puff of smoke. He drops what’s left of the cigarette onto the ground and the toe of his shoe snubs it out.   “Pardon?”   “They’re not going to let us continue investigating the case, Jeon.” He turns to him. It's painful to see the disappointment on his face because Seokjin’s sure he has a mirror image on his. “They’re going to replace Jung Hoseok. And even if they didn’t, he wouldn’t let us continue. They want it to end.”   They want to pretend that all the loose ends are wrapped up, that Min Yoongi was the last. Of course they would. It’s the picture perfect finale. The main criminal is caught after the string of others.   No one wants to imagine that there’s more.   “This is it?”   “This is it.”   “But what if they strike again?” Jungkook persists. “We’re just going to let them go free?!”   “Then we’ll have to treat it like a whole separate incident and not part of this weekend massacre.”   He opens his mouth — speechless, frustrated, disappointed. If there’s one thing Jungkook lacks, it’s experience. And with experience, he’ll come to know these emotions well.    Being a part of the system doesn’t necessarily mean fighting crime and striving for justice. It’s much less righteous than that.   The two of them stand side by side, watching dusk set into night as all the events in the past forty eight hours sink into their shoulders. It’s not until the older, worn detective speaks up that the silence is shattered. “What did you think about the phone booth duo?”   There’s a beat and then Jungkook answers. “I was considering the theory you brought up.”   “That they’re responsible for the monoxide poisoning case?”   He nods. “And that maybe they were responsible for the station bombing too.”   Seokjin’s brow quirk. The figure on the footage certainly resembled the fuzzy shape of the security camera. “So?”   “None of the crimes are excessively violent. They’re unobtrusive and all the victims don’t have any connections to each other. It’s likely they didn’t plan who to kill but planned how they would do it.”   The corner of Seokjin’s mouth curls while he watches as Jungkook’s eyes light up again, his mind at work. It’s relieving to know that the future has an intelligent boy in its midst.   “The crime scene wasn’t messy. It was organized. Even Choi Soobin’s car was spotless and they were seen driving it on camera. Not to mention the house. It shows self-control.”   “They were prepared,” Seokjin affirms.   Jungkook nods. “And they used restraints. Whoever did it is competent. Likely to be above average intelligence and probably has some kind of education. They have to be healthy enough to carry a body to a car too.” He continues on his profiling, “They most likely alternated between walking and driving between each crime scene. They follow the news, taunt the police. They probably have nonsocial habits.”   “Then what about the power dynamic of the duo? It was a male voice who gave the tip and the female voice who taunted us, remember? Do you think it was the male who did these acts and the female who’s the accomplice?”   Jungkook shakes his head. “I don’t think so. That’s what I thought at the beginning, but then I listened to the recordings again and again, and for some reason, the male who gave the tip sounded...scared. While the female, it sounded like she was enjoying taunting us.”   The older detective hums. It’s an interesting thought.   Jungkook arrives at the end of his analysis. Having nothing left to say, he turns to his partner. “What do you think, Detective Kim?”   Seokjin’s head knocks back on the wall as he considers the facts. But truth be told, he already has a theory of his own. “If the pattern still holds, then the phone booth duo are experienced criminals. They likely have some kind of history, some criminal background. They knew what they were doing.”   Jungkook knows by the way he’s talking that he has an idea. “You were looking into the suspects of unsolved cases, right?”   “I was.”   “What did you find?”   “L/N Y/N.” By the look on Jungkook’s face, it’s an unfamiliar name to him. “She was the only daughter of a cult leader. They were out in the middle of nowhere and called themselves the Seventh Sect. They murdered disobedient followers, women, children, the usual. She would’ve experienced emotional abuse as a child growing up in a place like that. She was educated though. Homeschooled. Got her GED.”   Jungkook speculates, “So she’s likely to be socially competent.”   “Probably on some level.” He pauses. “The entire cult was wiped out six years ago.” Jungkook turns his head and Seokjin can feel his stare piercing into his profile. “Most of them died by rat poisoning. The leader was ruled dead by suffocation and the others by carbon monoxide poisoning.”   There’s a pattern that resembles the most recent cases and the realization makes Jungkook’s eyes widen. He’s sure now more than ever they have the person.   “Funny enough, the only daughter of the cult leader disappeared. They couldn’t find her body. So they ruled her dead after a few months and that’s what everyone assumed.” Until now. “But maybe she isn’t.”   It’s a theory, conjecture that would never be accepted by the general attorney or even the department. It’s circumstantial evidence at the end of the day. Yet deep down, Jungkook and Seokjin know what the truth is.   It feels like they’ve solved the case together, albeit all in hypotheticals.   “Then what about her accomplice?” Jungkook eagerly asks. “Do you know who he is?”   “That’s where I have the most trouble,” Seokjin admits with a sigh. “All we know is that he’s about five foot eight, average physique, dark hair. Likely to be of Asian descent. And he most likely has self-control too.”   “But I don't have any ideas on who he could be.” Seokjin looked hard enough that his eyes still sting and his brain throbs. All the people he considered fell through with one qualification or another. “I don’t know how much involvement he had. If he was strung along. Or if he orchestrated it.”   “He probably orchestrated it,” Jungkook guesses, “It makes sense if Y/N was the one who did the killings, then it would make sense if he was the one who manipulated her and planned it all. He’s the mastermind. The one who came up with the idea for framing Min Yoongi, who wanted to leave the tip for Kim Namjoon, and who made Y/N taunt us. He used her like a puppet.”   He hums. It’s all possible.   “Maybe he’s someone from the Seventh Sect,” Jungkook offers.   But Seokjin knows it’s all just hunches built on top of hunches. There’s no point in playing this game and naming potential criminals. There’s nothing they can do when they’re just standing at the back of the precinct as the rest of the department celebrates inside. It’s worthless when they’re unable to pursue their leads, follow through with their investigations.   It’s merely another day of letting criminals go free.   “Maybe.”

[Sunday 9:36pm]   You’re about to be crowned the victor.   Everything you’ve calculated played right into your hand and now all the efforts are going to be paid off.    Jimin’s holding your hand as the two of you walk down the desolate road on the outskirts of town. The entrance to the underground area was just over the horizon. He would’ve driven instead of abandoning the car and walking, but you had convinced him the walk to victory is a lot better. Plus the weather was too nice to not take advantage of it and Jimin has to agree.    The breeze is whisking against his cheeks, the sliver of the moonlight guiding your way, and he feels warm with you beside him.   Especially with you happily humming. Jimin’s grown to quite like your voice. He could hear it forever if you’d let him. “After we win, I’ll treat you to whatever you want, Jiminnie. We can have all kinds of desserts if you want, how does that sound?”   His cheeks are rounded with his grin. “Okay.”   “Only okay?” You turn, pouting at him. “I’m giving you a gift here! Shouldn’t you show more appreciation?”   He laughs. “Fine, I love it, alright?”   You scoff playfully. “You make it sound like I’m forcing you.”   Jimin grins to himself.    The quietness away from the city is serene. He can’t hear the engines of cars or the noisy conversations of strangers — he doesn’t feel left behind. In this place, there’s only the hitch of your breaths, the synchronized footsteps, and every thought of his amplified to a thousand.   “What are you planning to do afterwards, Y/N?” he asks after a moment. Jimin wonders if you’ll let him come with you. The pair of you could go to a place far away from here, where it’s just as quiet. Where he won’t have to worry. Where you both can leave all of this behind and no one could ever find him.   It would be the perfect end.   “I don’t know yet.” You spin to face him with another brilliant smile. “Maybe prepare.”   He squeezes your hand. Forever with you sounds like all he wants. “For what?”   “To play again next year, silly.”   Jimin’s steps slow. The vision of going somewhere far away, of leaving it all behind, shatters just as quickly as it manifested itself inside his mind.   The realization comes crashing down to him — there’s no end. “What?”   “The games are annual, Jiminnie. Did you forget? I’m going to have to keep my title. If you follow me, I’ll even get you second place in no time!” There’s no end. “The two of us need to stick together.”   There’s no end in sight.    The past two days will repeat itself for the rest of his life. He’s stuck to you.   Jimin halts on his heel and you turn your head with a frown. Your lips part as if you’re about to ask him what’s wrong, but you’re interrupted by the roar of a car. Attention taken, your eyes light up as you squint past the head beams piercing through the darkness coming closer and closer.    “Look! I don’t think they’re a part of the games. How about we go for one more, Jiminnie?”   Before he can say a word, you’ve left him behind — flagging down the vehicle, standing in the middle of the road.   And the car screeches to a stop. It’s a young woman sitting in the driver seat alone. She looks at you and Jimin, but it’s hard to see him when he’s standing in the dark. The stranger rolls down the window as you round the car.   “Are you alright? Do you need a lift?” He hears the stranger ask, oblivious to how her compassion is a demise.   “No, it’s alright. My husband and I have a farm right around here. We were just taking a walk.” Before she can express her bewilderment, you beat her to the punch. “I just wanted to tell you that I think you have a flat tire.”   “Oh my god! Really?!”   Jimin flinches when he hears the seat belt come off. He looks up to see her get out of her car.   “It’s over here,” you indicate.    Then he hears a thump, a cry, a snicker. Jimin rounds the vehicle to see the young woman on the floor, her head bleeding as you grasp the pen from your pocket in your left hand. You stab her crown again with it, digging the tip into the skin and bone. The stranger shrieks in agony.   “Y/N.”   “N-no, p-pl-please.” The stranger is crawling away, fingernails scratching the asphalt. “Pl-please. I’m….sorr...y.”   “Put on your blindfold, pet.” You smile at him and when he remains motionless, feet rooted into the roadside, you close the distance in three strides. You reach into his hoodie pocket for the strip of black cloth. All he sees is your smile before you’ve covered his eyes, tied the blindfold around with a bow at the back. “I’ll tell you when you can look.”   Jimin hears the crunch of the pebbles as you walk away. This will never end. He hears the woman’s cries become panicked, breaths quick in hyperventilation. This will never end. He hears her screech and it reverberates in his eardrums. “P-Please!”   This will never end.   It will never be enough for you.   He will never be enough for you.   “S-Stop….s-som..eone!”   Jimin’s hands reach up. He tugs down his blindfold. It flutters into his palm.    It’s so easy — he barely had to graze it.   Jimin takes one step towards your bent backside and as he does so, he reaches down, taking the jagged rock on the side of the road. It fits into his hand perfectly.   He takes another stride and holds his breath.   In the heat of the moment, Jimin swings his arm. The rock slams against the side of your head.   You fall to the ground, gripping the wound, the in-between of your fingertips holding blood.   “J-Jimin?” you whimper, eyes enlarged. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”   Jimin never once looks away. He keeps his pupils trained on you, eyes bulged, not wasting a blink. While you’re still down, he gets on top of you, pinning your body to the concrete. He swings back again as you cry his name. “—imin.”   He will never be enough for you. Why? Why?! After all he’s done!   The blood splatters onto his cheek, his expression impassive as you sob. He remembers. The crimson coated floorboards, splattered on the yellow paisley wallpaper, on the popcorn ceiling of the living room.   “Ji—…”   The knocked over chairs, the picture frames thrown, the stench of iron in the two bedroom house heavy, the warmth of the blood. The same warmth he feels now sticking to his skin.   He had no control of himself then. He was so angry. It was the heat of the moment. His mother spat on him for not giving her his money to buy her cigarettes, his father threatened to divorce her again and his younger brother stood by and just cried. They always liked him more than they liked him. Maybe that’s why Jimin dismembered his arms.   Jimin might’ve blacked out then, he might’ve regretted when he came to his senses, but you were right. It wasn’t just an accident. And he most certainly has control of himself now.   “J..i..m..in.” You’ve wrapped your hand around his wrist, but there isn’t any strength left of you.   Jimin’s deranged when he swings. The image of running away with you cracks. He swings again. The vision of the peaceful and quiet life with you he’s yearned for splinters. He swings once more and there are no more calls of his name. The dream he had of you bursts.   He’s maddened. Overwhelmed in the shade of crimson.    You would never fulfill his delusion or even try to. And he would’ve been trapped, stuck by your side or become your enemy, forced to relieve this fearful nightmare over and over again.   Your skull is cracked, eyes rolled to the back of your head, the whites of your eyes red. Streams of tears stain both sides of your cheeks. But Jimin never once looks away. Not until you’ve taken your last breath.   Then, he’s finally free.   Jimin tosses the rock dented by your head aside. He looks off at the distance where your last victim is still alive, slowly crawling away by her fingernails without ever glancing back. She’s still breathing to see the next day.   He turns away from her, stumbling into the head beams of the car. His shadow is casted on the ground until it fades away.    Jimin leaves behind the only person who would ever understand and accept him.    The person he would never be enough for.   …   He knocks twice. The door slot slides open. Beady eyes look through.    Jimin mutters the password and the door opens a moment later. The man standing by doesn’t comment even when he’s dripping in your blood.    It’s a blur, the music playing, the bustle of the after-party, the way the others ironically move out of the way as if they’ve never seen blood before. Jimin’s no longer pushed aside. He wishes he could kill everyone here.   Soon it all stops. The lights dim in favour of a shimmering spotlight on stage. He feels the person’s eyes on him with everyone else's, hears the clearing of a throat, listens to the useless congratulations and acknowledgment of efforts. Then, the announcement is made.   It doesn’t make any sense. Yet, Jimin finds himself climbing the stairs, standing right on stage in the spotlight, being awarded some heavy metal like he just saved someone’s life.   He looks into the eyes of the representative and exhales, “I killed Y/N.”   “Yes, you did.” He says it like it's some kind of honour. “And for that, you took on all her kills.”   “Isn’t it against the rules?” Jimin deadpans. It’s strange — he can’t really feel anything anymore.   “Since when did serial killers follow rules?” the stranger jests. “Plus, isn’t it more interesting this way?”   “Congratulations!” He turns towards the faceless audience a beat later. “The winner of the first annual Weekend Massacre is Park Jimin!”

[capriccio-con-espressione]

Sweet Treat

Genre: Smut

Warning: Sub!Xiaojun, Dom!Reader, Femdom, Temperature play, Food play, Nipple play, Bondage, Edging (for quite a long time lol), (Slight) Spanking, PIV (protected), Handjob, Toys used, Wet and sticky sweets

Word Count: 2395

A/N:

1. This is to celebrate WayV's comeback🎉🎆🎖️🎇🎊🏅🌟 Tho I have already postponed it for too long

2. Xiaojun's surgical mask looks like a damn collar here so I just can't stop my wild imaginations to own him. Goodbye.

3. Schoolwork is fucking killing me asdjfhkjdkhfhjsdkn so this does not guarantee regular updates I am sorry sweeties for keeping you waiting for so long :( 

4. I know this is an old pic, but it is what inspired me to picture him in a lacy black collar :P and it also showed how fucking long I have postponed this fic

5. Anyways Xiaojun is delicious af I love him, and he distracts me from the current catastrophe I am in rn so enjoy this

  The fresh scent of pastry filled the air of your apartment, its sweetness seemingly undertoning a leisurable afternoon tea time, yet your mind is on something else. 

  You take a sip of your freshly brewed black tea, feeling the aroma and warmth coating the inner sides of your mouth, while relishing the sight of the sinful image on the bed. Xiaojun's hands are secured to either side of the bedpost, with his neck adorned in an elegant lacy black collar, back leaning against the headboard, eyes glossy with desperation as the vibrating ring is doing sins to his still fully clothed erection.

  "Pathetic." You remark with a smirk, before drinking a mouthful of the warm liquid again.

Urgent babbles of plead and your title began to roll off Xiaojun's tongue like a mantra, demanding release. You simper seductively while approaching him, dipping your fingers in the glass of iced water settled on the bedside drawer long enough before climbing on the bed to straddle him.

  You exhale a warm gust of air on his exposed cleavage before trailing it with your icy fingers, then shove them under the black fabric to tease his left nipple. As Xiaojun tenses up against the cold sensation, you unbutton more of his shirt and force it open even wider, starting to flick his right nipple with your still hot tongue, and watch the ethereal blonde crumble against the contrasting stimulation with gleeful contentment.

  “You taste so good little cupcake…” You coo as you suck the sensitive bud between your hot damp lips, moaning on it as your cold fingertips tweak the other, causing him to let out delicious whimpers. “Fuck, keep making sounds like that and I’m going to devour you…”

  Xiaojun bites his plump lips to stifle the erotic noises in response, failing to notice he only looks extra alluring doing so. “Such a tease…” You cradle his cheek with your hand, admiring the artwork lovingly, then reach for the glass on the drawer again.

  "This is a little reminder that you shouldn't be fucking with my mind or I will fucking torture you…" You smirk as you slide a small ice cube on his clavicle area, then go up to his neck, lightly tracing it circumferentially in search of the most sensitive spots, eventually tucking the freezing cuboid under his collar after locating one.

  “You like this, hmm? Getting all wet and wrecked...” You deliberately breathed near the cube, causing more liquid to trickle down Xiaojun’s neck, which feels like tendrils of electricity twining around and gradually taking over his body to him. “Do you want this nasty little thing to get in between us, or you want my mouth on you instead?”

  “Please Miss...use your mouth…” The bitter cold temperature on his skin along with the teasingly slow vibrations on his cock both make him crave your touch, or anything directly from you even more.

  “As expected, “ You pull on the collar to remove the ice underneath, making sure to make the lacy fabric slap against him upon release. “but not quite…” You chuckle as you glide the melting substance down his chest, watching him whimper and attempt to steer his torso away from the torment, but to no avail because of the restraints.

  "Ooh looks like my poor baby is suffering...let me warm you up a little…" You mock while trailing your tongue down his previously cooled down regions, as you wickedly work the cube around his areola, triumph overflowing inside you as Xiaojun lets out incoherent breathy moans with his eyes closed, then a much louder one erupts from him as you suddenly suck hard on his flesh as you press the devilish thing right on the most sensitive bud.

  "So easily fucked out, aren't you?" You seductively whisper and nip at his earlobe. "Can't even handle a bit teasing...how am I supposed to enjoy my little dessert if you mess yourself up too soon?" You begin to ruthlessly torture his other nipple with the residue of the cube.

  "Ahhh...please Miss I've been good! Please stop teasing me...please…"

  "Why should I rush? That's not the way how you savor gourmet desserts baby boy…"

  "No, please...just do it already...please Miss I want you…"

  “Hmm... I’m not sure what you mean by that. You have to ditch the euphemism and tell me directly what you want little thing…”

  Xiaojun blushes, both from arousal and embarrassment. “I want your mouth or...that sweet warm cavern ...on me...my…”

  “On which part of you? Hmm?” You darkly chuckle as you grind on him, pretending not to know what he actually means.

  “Ahhh.. my... cock! Please, it hurts so much without you. Please fuck me already…”

  “Really? I thought you want me to touch you tease you feel you up…” You taunt as you switch up the vibrations to the medium setting, making the poor boy gasp and jolt underneath you.

  “No-ahh! You can do whatever you want...just don’t tease me anymore…mmfff”

  “Whatever, huh? Be careful what you wish for my little plaything…” You turn the ring to the highest setting before completely open up his shirt, kissing and licking down his happy trail as you tug the waistbands of both his trousers and boxers, allowing some cool air to get in contact with his bare throbbing length, rendering him into a whimpering squirming mess.

  "Awww looks like my slutty sweetie is impatient to get ravished. But you know, the crust must be tasted first before getting to the filling inside…"

  Your lips linger at his pelvic region, blinking up at him and smirking provocatively with fingers still fondling and groping his clothed neediness despite Xiaojun's pleads. The feeling that how his undergarments are held up open, so teasingly close to some release, yet still denied by you, is driving Xiaojun insane.

  "Please Miss I’m really begging you...mmm...my pathetic cock wants your direct touch…"

  "That's my good boy who knows his place." You sit up, satisfied with his self-degradation, caressing his abdomen as you finally remove his trousers, revealing the white briefs with black bolded "All You Can Eat" printed on the crotch area that you gave him as a gift. One more sinful thing added to the image is the way how his pre-cum has stained the thin briefs to make it slightly transparent, his twitching cock visible underneath.

  "Fuck…" You groan as you wrap your lips around his shaft, before pushing the clothing to the side, making his reddish leaking cock spring free under relentless vibrations.

   “So beautiful and delicious…" You hum between sensual glossal movements around his pulsating heat. "If this is what I get for not eating the marshmallow too soon, I will definitely wait until this sweetness brew into its full bloom every time…" You brush messily along his shaft with slightly parted lips, making sure to taste every part of him as he erotically squirms and whimpers underneath, voice laced with some gratification now that he's finally allowed some light release.

  Xiaojun's blissful moment of relief doesn't last long as it's soon interrupted by a ding echoing in your room. You shoot him a suggestive glance warning him to stay in his place, before getting up to retrieve the nectarous addition to your play.

  You soon return to him with a white chocolate molten lava cake, before pressing a spoon into the exterior while smirking at how his stare is fixed on the buttery liquid oozing out of the collapsing cake.

  "Let's add some sweet dressing to this delicate confection, shall we?" You hum while ridding him of all undergarments, before tilting the platter, allowing the cream to trickle down from his clavicle all the way down to pubic region, the resemblance of its color to something sinful is almost too titillating for you to handle.

  "I can promise that your body is gonna be stained with your own cum exactly like this." You dab the tip of your tongue on a droplet of the melted chocolate on his chest. "But it's after I finish this enticing meal…"

  "Please don't take too long…"

  "Aww this is not for you to decide, pretty boy." You condescendingly reply as you turn off the vibrating ring. "Stay still and obediently let me eat you up at my own pace, and I might consider granting you release sooner."

  You hover your body over him, sensually twirling your tongue on all the spots you know that would drive him crazy from your experience, while lapping, nipping on the sweetness and tasting the texture of his skin.

  You feel your throat go dry because of your burning desires as well as the sticky substance you just consumed. “Get a taste of yourself.” You hum while sloppily twirling your tongue with his, feeling his eager wetness wrapped against you as his head pressed harder toward you, signaling for more contact. Noticing this, you slowly envelop your hand around his throbbing length, jerking it up and down smoothly and sensually, earning teary whines from him in response.

  Soon Xiaojun’s frustration became evident as his hips bucked desperately against you. “Hot and bothered and all mine, how cute.” You slapped the side of his bottom as a warning for him to stay still though you loved the sinful sight so much. “No use trying to seduce me like that,” You got off from his body to prepare for subsequent bliss that drove your mind slightly hazy even just by thinking about it. “this would only get you punished even harder…”

  “Punish me then, Miss...take all that is yours…” Xiaojun’s dick twitched from the sight of you opening the wrapper of the condom, legs parted even wider.

  “Really? I thought you so hate to be controlled…but look at you now acting like a little slut at the mere thought of me fucking you hmm?”

  “I am not-ahh!” Xiaojun’s retort was interrupted by another sharp slap across his bottom.

  “Stop faking because all you seem to enjoy now is to live as my personal favorite snack supply.” You triumphantly glared at him while pressing sloppy kisses against his chocolate-stained skin, all the way from his neck to pelvis while sheathing and lubricating his sensitive flesh, tongue relentlessly flicking around the base of his cock.

  “Please Mistress… I can’t hold it in anymore...please fuck me already pleeaaase…” You know this plead is for real because being the collected person Xiaojun usually is, he must be nearing his edge to beg so blatantly like this, but you were enjoying his suffering too much to give him the release he craved.

  “Poor boy...but I would like to add more seasoning before I finally devour you.” You smirk as you pour spoonfuls of the white chocolate residue on his body again, savoring the arousing sight before proceeding to undress and position yourself on his cock, watching him tremble and gasp under every contact between you.

  You steadily began to bounce on him, leaning down to press wet kisses on his lips and whisper more nasty compliments to him just to make him blush even more, his gorgeous features forming an epitome of orgasmic bliss as you pick up your pace. He looked so ethereal and fairylike, that incited the devilish desire burning inside you to ruin and corrupt. You want you to be the single center of his attention, the only thing that matters to him at this very moment. You want you to be the last and only thing he sees before he gets completely engulfed and submerged under the pleasure you are giving him.

  “I just can’t get enough of you, sweet boy.” You softly coo as you press even closer to him, lapping up some sweet fluids before intruding his mouth with your tongue, your fingers tangled in his hair, as you savored the way how he rocked his hips and moaned against you, as well as the loud snaps and squelching noises of your hips slamming against each other.

  You then coo how much of a good boy he is as you untie him, and the way he quickly wrapped you into a tight embrace as soon as he was freed made your heart flutter. Soaking your fingers with the sauce on his body, you insert them into his mouth as he sucked on them eagerly from time to time in between sensual sloppy kisses. You lost track of how much time your lips and tongues were entwined, the sweet texture of chocolate lubricating and heating up the passion among you, gradually pushing you both to climax.

  You then slowly rode him out of his orgasm, relishing the enticing afterglow as your heartbeat gradually dropped back to its normal pace. After burying your face into the crook of his neck to catch your breath, you intended to get up to clear away the mess, yet Xiaojun’s embrace hindered you from going anywhere.

  “What?” You chided playfully.

  “Miss I am so exhausted because of you...you were so cruel…”

  “Only I get to decide when you could cum, sweetie.” You simpered while ruffling his hair with your other hand cradling his cheek. “You are just so beautiful eyes glossy and totally messed up, I can’t help but torture you until-”

  “Stop!” Xiaojun slapped your arm while rolling away from you giggling.

  “Hmm be in denial like this, next time I shall get some whipped cream on this cherry core-” You began as you reached for his nipple.

  “Ahhhh no!” Xiaojun exclaimed as he smacked your devilish hand away.

  “But you do enjoy being my personal snack for me to devour, don’t you baby?” You lowered your voice with your hot breath near his earlobe, then giggled as he blushed crimson red once again.

  Xiaojun was totally clinging on you as you finally managed to drag him to the shower room, streams of warm water massaging both of your sore erogenous core as another current of amorous electricity washed over you, as he became noticeably hard again.

  "I thought you said you were exhausted?" You narrowed your eyes mischievously, as he just sheepishly avoided your gaze while biting on his lip.

  “Round two?” You gently run your hand up and down along his torso, noticing his ever so slight nod.

  “This time, I will be much softer on you, my sweet little treat.”