#they could be dusty or something from being in a store or warehouse

[grouchythefish]

ok I'm kind of curious about this:

For bonus points put the reason WHY you do or don't in the tags.

[ettraxx]

Kidnapped 2

Kara checked her phone, but of course there was no signal. Any kidnappers worth this kind of effort would have cellphone jammers in place. Lena stands and examines the edges of their cell. Nothing exploitable for an easy escape.

Thanks to the security camera, the next part of their escape plan was made for them. After a few minutes one of the guards opened the lock from the outside. Before he could raise his high tech riffle, Kara had the insane idea to tackle him to the ground. His weapon clattered to the dusty wooden floor as he hit hard.

Lena grabbed the weapon and examined it as best as she could. It seemed as simple to use as any other gun. No obvious security devices or high tech locks. Almost crude actually. Despite the slick look and construction she could probably make something more efficient and effective.

When Kara was back on her feet, Lena had the barrel trained on the masked man. He was slightly dazed, either from the surprising speed of Kara, of the impact with the floor. Kara removed his flack jacket and patted down his pockets before he had recovered. He instinctively grabbed Kara’s wrist, before Lena powers up the weapon drawing his focus.

“Let her go.” States Lena coldly the weapon trained in his chest. “I’m not sure how powerful this is, or how much damage it can do, but I’m willing to test it out.”

With a pained groan he releases Kara. She stands up and pushes him Into their former cell with shocking force. Looking back at Lena she smiles before looping the simple padlock back through the door. As they look at one another the lock gripped tightly in Kara’s hand.

“Well that was easy.” Scoffs Kara her smile warming ever so slightly. “What do we do now?”

“We take his gear and we find out exactly where we are.” Responds Lena looking around the mostly open space.

On their way in she didn’t have a good look, but now she can see some sizable pieces of old machinery stored to one side. The van was gone, and the doors behind where it was, are going to be locked in not guarded from outside. She can spot a likely office not far away, but can’t see inside. A pair of normal sized doors on their left might lead to freedom.

“My guess is we’re at the Binder Port.” Kara states looking around over the rim of her glasses. “It’s not as heavily trafficked as the other ports. It used to be owned by Maxwell Lord.”

“Convenient.” States Lena looking for any more security cameras. “We can’t stay out in the open, we need to find a defendable position or a way out that isn’t guarded.”

“We can try the office for defense, maybe we can find more information there.” Offers Kara releasing the lock and slinging the black vest over her should like it’s nothing.

The distance to the office if less than fifty yards, but it feels like a mile as they are out in the open and completely exposed. Lena glances all around with the riffle as they move. Entering the office, no one else is inside, but a hot cup of coffee is sitting on the old wooden desk. Lena spots the dozen cctv monitors, and zeros in on the feed from the cell.

The lone occupant hanging his head in frustration as he waits. The other cameras are all trained on the outside of the warehouse. Specifically at the entrances, where she spots guards disguised as dock workers. The bulk of their added equipment and the immaculate clothing being the dead giveaway.

The room itself is bare, nothing to give away who might be behind all of this or why they abducted the two of them. The heavy thud of Kara laying out the guards gear almost makes Lena squeeze the trigger. She turns to look at the assembled equipment as Kara’s smile falters as she apologizes with her eyes. A radio with an ear piece is the first thing Lena grabs.

Theresa majority of the weight seems to come from the internal lining of the jacket. Most likely a modified military issue bulletproof vest. The pockets hold various equipment, a multi tool that Lena pockets, and a variety of technical bits. She guesses keys for electronic locks, maybe scramblers for the radios or cell phones.

Whoever these guys are they are well equipped. Which means she and Kara might have trouble finding a way out. Lena refuses to let Kara down. Kara finds a roll of paper beneath the desk and unfurls it in her hands.

“Well, we don’t have much of a basement below us.” Announces Kara looking at the apparent blueprints. “Concrete and steel reinforced sections to keep the building suspended. But nothing underneath us.”

“Did you think we could dig our way out?” Teases Lena try to get a chuckle out of Kara.

“No, just looking for something that didn’t have armed guards watching.” Sighs Kara looking back to Lena.

“Sorry, that sounded mean didn’t it.” Apologizes Lena.

“No, I know when you’re being mean, and you’re not this adorable.” Counters Kara with that damn smile that threatens to make Lena melt.

“We are going to come back to that later.” States Lena just above a whisper. “The exits are guarded, meaning we have to shoot our way out if we can’t find an alternative route. We might be able to use his gear to get out a cell signal, but I can’t trust his equipment.”

“What about the roof?” Asks Kara looking to what can charitably be called a staircase running the length of the warehouse wall. “If we get up there, we might be able to call the police.”

“Well, it’s worth a shot.” Lena reluctantly agrees. “I can’t see a camera feed from the roof.”

Kara suddenly takes hold of Lena’s hand. The warmth that she has come to expect from the blonde’s touch almost overwhelming her. Lena almost gets lost in Kara’s blue eyes, as they look at each other. The moment is ended when a voice comes in over the radio.

“Karl, how are our guests?” Asks a middle aged man in a gruff tone.

Lena immediately pulls Kara along toward the rust littered framework of stairs. Kara moves swiftly behind her allowing Lena to lead and never releasing her grip. When they get out of this, Lena is going to get an answer about their relationship. Her shoes make a soft clank against the rickety metal stairs.

The voice calls out for Karl once more, before a short pause and a request for Marco. “Marco check on Karl, and I swear if he’s asleep I will shoot him myself.”

Before any for can open, the pair of women are halfway up the stairs. If Lena allowed herself to think about what she was doing instead of just doing it, she would slow down. But instead she does her best to reach the access door as fast as she can. Kara never once slowing down or dragging behind.

Lena tests the door, it’s locked of course. She begins to pick the lock before realizing the lock is on the inside, and shaking her head dismissively. Unlocking the door, she stops to look for any suspicious evidence around the door. No obvious tampering, or traps, and she opens the door slowly.

*****

Part 1 https://www.tumblr.com/ettraxx/770217222804324353/kidnapped-its-not-that-lena-was-unfamiliar-with

[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2024: 6 Halcyon

(2,480ish words taking place about 20ish years before ARR...)

“Papa! The caravan’s here!”

Rashae stood at the front of their stall, leaning over the counter to see farther down the street. Beyond her, he could indeed see the first of the wagons rolling in.

“Gather your siblings and cousins,” he said. “They’ll be weary from the trade routes and we’ll do our part to lighten their load as we welcome them in.”

Rashae nodded and dashed off. Tanzel joined the other men and women of their Cooperative in leaving his store to ensure the warehouse doors were open and the stables ready to accept the chocobos and their cargo. Friends and relatives greeted one another, separated by weeks or months since they had all left Davarresh for this trade season, plying the wares around the island, with some like Tanzel’s family coming straight to the capital.

He grinned as he saw one of the wagons belonging to the Ranaz family. “Jin!” he called, catching a glimpse of his oldest friend.

Jinrahn turned, smiling broadly to return the quick hug Tanzel gave him. “Good to see you, brother!” Jinrahn said. “It’s good to be home.”

“Until we go home to Davarresh when the wind cools. How was the road?”

“Dusty and hot, as always,” Jinrahn said. “But we’re a little lighter than normal for finishing out the season.”

“That good, eh?”

“Well, I had more charming help than usual.” Jin’s smile faltered slightly, a sympathetic tinge to it that Tanzel did not understand, until he followed his friend’s gaze to the two women wrangling the Ranaz children into some semblance of order. He knew Jinrahn’s wife, but the other woman took him a moment to recognize.

“Is that Emelia?”

“It is,” Jinrahn said. “She and her children arrived just before we left the village. That never ending war the Coerthans somehow have with their dragons—imagine!—claimed her husband.”

“I thought she’d married a farmer?”

“Aye. Something about giving succor to a soldier, some hero I guess, and got caught in the conflict. Lost their house and all. So she came home finally. She can still charm the stingiest Arkasodara grandfather into buying more than he meant, too.”

Tanzel nodded. It had been a shock to everyone when Emelia Ranaz had remained in Coerthas, having fallen in love there, after scorning the attentions of every local boy and even a few girls who had looked her way as she had blossomed from Jinrahn’s skinny little sister into a lovely maiden trained in bardsong.

Well, she was still Jinrahn’s little sister, that they had by turns teased and avoided as boys. At least until she turned and saw Tanzel, taking a moment to recognize him, and then smiling, offering a small wave.

He knew too well that particular sadness swimming in her dark blue eyes, the exact sort of tension in her shoulders.

Tanzel saw the same in his mirror every day.

-

The trade season kept the Cooperative families happily busy, another successful year passing by. Tanzel was now familiar with Emelia’s son, an energetic ten year old called Zaine, playing with the other children when not performing daily chores and light work. A helper, that one, willing to lend a hand as needed.

If he kept busy enough, he wouldn’t have to dwell on his pain, Tanzel knew, from watching his own boys.

Emelia’s daughter was a helper too, but she was quiet, and rarely left her mother’s side, unless she was with the old teacher, Shovanna. Still, Aeryn seemed like a good, hard-working child, who otherwise played or read silently, only rarely joining the other children’s games. Some folks whispered about the girl not being quite right in the head—what unhindered child made such little sound?—but everything Tanzel saw showed a bright, helpful girl, sometimes frustrated by her own silence.

He recognized the hurt in her, too. He saw it in his own daughters.

It was their last night in Radz-at-Han. In the morning—late, after tonight’s merrymaking with their neighbors and those of the Cooperative who would stay through the rainy season—most of them would make the trek up the coast to their little village, and the cycle would begin anew. Tanzel was eager to return to the quiet of Davarresh, after months in the city.

He was not so eager to join in the drinking, feasting, and dancing going on in the square outside the Cooperative’s compound. He put in a brief appearance for propriety’s sake, nursing a single drink while smiling politely and speaking to a few business partners and good friends. He soon slipped away, as had been his wont for the last few years. He just didn’t have the heart for it anymore.

As he found his excuse to return to the storehouse, he saw he wasn’t the only one.

Emelia was in one of the stalls belonging to her family, leaning on a stack of chocobo feedbags. Her hands gripped the canvas, her hunched shoulders stiff. Her long, dark hair hid her face, but he heard her sniffle. He made certain his boots made noise and she straightened, quickly swiping her face before turning with her usual dazzling smile.

“Oh. Hello, Tanzel.”

He smiled in return, but didn’t bother with his own mask. “Hello, Emelia. Not feeling up to the party?”

Her smile faltered. “I...no,” she said, letting the mask drop now. “Not really.”

Tanzel nodded. “Me neither.” He pretended to think for a moment. “Come on.”

She raised a brow. “To where?”

“Somewhere we won’t have to deal with well-meaning friends and their platitudes,” he said bluntly, but gently, heading away from the entrance and the festivities outside.

After a brief moment, he heard her light step follow after him.

He paused in his family stall long enough to grab a couple small, brown bottles from under the counter, that he had not yet packed on purpose. Then he led her to the stairs, and the winding climb up past the third story, taking her hand to help her up onto the roof.

The city glittered and gleamed around them, color and lights rioting under the starry heavens. It was a sight he could never tire of, and from the way Emelia sucked in a breath, it was one she had nearly forgotten, and had not yet taken the time to reacquaint herself with since returning home.

Tanzel and Emelia sat on the edge of the roof, opposite of the party up front, looking out over the city. He popped open one of the bottles and handed it to her, then took the other for himself. Emelia wrinkled her nose as she took a swig.

“Ugh, you and Jin still have terrible taste in booze,” she said, taking another sip.

“A man’s gotta have at least one vice,” Tanzel replied.

“Your grandfather’s favorite saying,” she said. “But he had better taste for proper liquor.” Her soft smile was genuine now, recalling those happy days of their youth.

“We can blame my uncles for being poor influences. Or your uncles. I forget.”

She laughed. Not as freely as she once might have, but genuinely, and that was good enough. “Remember when Uncle Fahr convinced you and Jin that a wish-granting djinn lived in a cave in the cliffs south of Yedlihmad?”

Tanzel chuckled. “I do, and the punishment we got for investigating—and stumbling on a nest of efts instead. You’d think that’d be punishment in itself!”

“Perhaps had something to do with leading them back to town.”

“Oh, perhaps. But you weren’t exactly a saint, either, as I recall.”

“I don’t know what you could mean.”

“That incident with the silk merchant and the fish comes to mind.”

“It was a crab, and that was a perfectly formulated plan for revenge.”

“My mistake. I do have to question your definition of ‘perfectly formulated’ though.”

“My plan was fine,” Emelia insisted with an exaggerated pout. “It was the crab and my target who were uncooperative.”

Tanzel laughed. They continued talking, recalling childhood and adolescent adventures and achievements, bright days when their futures had yet seemed limitless in possibility.

“And I remember,” Emelia said, as the contents of their respective bottles were low. “At your wedding, my brothers were so—” She stopped suddenly, looking away. “I’m sorry.”

“What for? If it was about the pranks they pulled on me just before we were to give our vows, I have it on good authority you had nothing to do with that.”

“I just,” she hesitated. “I heard what happened. And I haven’t taken the time yet…”

He leaned over and bumped her shoulder—not quite like when they were children, but in a similarly familiar manner. “It’s fine. I’ve heard the words often enough. Just like you have by now.”

She peered at him, absently batting him away, as she had done when a girl and he and her brother had pestered her like that. “Doesn’t it still...Are you…”

“Yes, it hurts,” Tanzel replied quietly. He looked out over the city again. “I’m not sure it will ever stop hurting. I might have lost myself in a pile of these bottles, if not for my children.” He smiled. “Rashae’s so much like her mother. Looks like her more and more, too.”

“Zaine looks like his father,” Emelia whispered. “And they both have his eyes.”

“Blessed reminders,” Tanzel said. “At least, that’s what everyone tells me. And on good days, I agree with them.”

“And on bad ones?” She didn’t quite look at him.

“I curse the gods for such a constant cruelty. Then I continue on, trying not to feel guilty, because what else can I do?”

He saw her bite her lip and nod ever so slightly.

“Still,” Tanzel continued, finishing his drink. “It doesn’t hurt to think of our wedding—not anymore. It’s still one of the best days of my life. Then our children were born, and those were blessed times too. At least until the little monsters started keeping us up all night,” he joked.

She chuckled, and he again took it as a victory. “At least you had family with you.”

“That did help.” He frowned. “Did he not?”

She shook her head. “His mother disapproved of me. So we settled in a village where he had friends, and...we did have good neighbors, who helped.”

“Fool woman, to not know what a gem of a daughter-in-law she had,” Tanzel sniffed.

“Thought I was Jin’s bratty little sister.”

“I never said you weren’t still that, too.” He bumped her again. She smiled wanly and shook her head. “You were happy though, weren’t you, Emelia?”

Her face crumpled. “Mostly. I loved him enough to stay in that cold, colorless land—I wanted to come home for years, but he didn’t want to leave, and now...” She leaned forward, face in her hands.

Tanzel rubbed her back for a time, letting her crying, saying nothing. Eventually she calmed, taking a shaky breath, and accepting his handkerchief to wipe her eyes and nose.

“Tell me about Coerthas,” he finally said. “It can’t have been all terrible, if you stayed for so long.”

“It’s all...tangled up in memories of him.”

“Of course it is. But the good outweighs the bad, doesn’t it?” As she considered that, he continued. “That wretched moment cannot overshadow all the time proceeding it. It’s a disservice to them and the joy they brought us. The children they left with us. The only thing that comes close to helping is remembering the times we laughed and loved. That one terrible day can’t take away the rest.”

They were silent for a long while.

“It had its own beauty,” Emelia finally said, voice hushed. “More stark, the mountains swooping over the vales. In Springtime suddenly the fields would go from gray and brown to a lush green and the flowers would bloom like rainbows fallen from the sky. We’d walk along the sheep paths and deer tracks…”

He listened, as she described the idyllic life of a Coerthan farm family—not that they hadn’t known hardship, and he understood her sighing about little Aeryn going through clothes and shoes like water, his Rashae was too similar—but what began in fits and starts soon fell into familiar bardic story rhythms as she told stories until they were both laughing over her children’s antics, her neighbors’ strange foreign actions, and her happier memories of her husband.

The bells chimed thrice, startling them both. The sounds of the party up front had long since faded, though there were still a few revelers wearily talking and stumbling themselves and others to bed. Tanzel stood and stretched, offering Emelia a hand up. She took it, and continued in to give him a tight hug. He returned it, and they stood like that for a long moment.

“Thank you, Tan,” she said, still leaning on him. “I wish...I wish you didn’t understand. But I’m,” she hesitated again.

“But I do. And I’m here, when you need to talk. Or just get away from others who say things, without knowing it how we do.”

She nodded against his chest, then, with a deep exhale, stepped away. “Shovanna said she’d stay with the children, and they should all three be asleep, but I ought to check on them.”

“Mine were probably up too late and getting into mischief until their grandmothers caught them,” Tanzel said. “I’ll get an earful in the morning.”

“So you’ll do as when we were children, and you and Jin used to blame me to try to keep out of trouble.”

“Ah, you’ve caught on to my dastardly plan.”

“Next time, consult someone whose plans are perfect,” she said, affecting a haughty sniff.

“If I find someone like that, I’ll let you know,” he replied, laughing as she bapped his arm.

He helped her off the roof and into the stairwell, and they made their way down in the dark, still joking. They parted at the base, he heading to his family quarters, Emelia to her family’s. He glanced back before stepping inside. She had also stopped, and waved to him.

Tanzel returned the wave before Emelia vanished behind the door. He felt better than he had in awhile. If this pain he carried, and how he was learning to live with it, could help his childhood friend...well, it was far from worth it, but it was something useful, at least. Maybe.

He wished it hadn’t taken this sort of wretched circumstance to reunite them. To make her more than Jin’s bratty little sister, but someone who understood, and needed to be understood herself.

Tanzel shook his head, disposed of the bottles, and continued on to bed. Morning would come too soon and a lot of work with it.

He dreamed of his favorite days with his wife, and then of youthful days playfully teasing his friend’s little sister.

[sp00kworm]

Evo-23

Pairing: Zombie/Infected (Ji-woon) x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Gore, Horror, Cannibalism, Graphic Gore and Wound descriptions, Death. 

---

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“Consider it a harmless improvement of human evolution!”

“It’s a disaster waiting to happen. It is barely tested and not ready for human use. The rewriting of the genetic code was banned for so long for this very reason!”

“And who’s to say it’s a good idea now?”

“It’s truly just a simple splicing technique. Consider the eradication of cancer and genetic diseases!”

“A disaster. An abomination to God.”

“This, my good sir, is God’s great plan.”

They made the Others, then they made the epidemic. 

 You looked at his face. Again, and again, you looked at his face replaying on the small screen, running on what juice was left in the generators you had managed to salvage from the quarantine hospital camps they had set up when it all started. His bald, freckled head, and the glasses you wished you could snap and stamp on. Cold brown eyes. He’d known and done nothing.

“Just a simple rewriting of DNA code.” You uttered as you pushed your spoon into the syrup of the tinned peaches you were eating. It tasted good enough, but it was pushing close to the expiry date on the top of the sawed open metal. Soon you would be struggling you knew. The risk of botulism would be high the longer you carried on eating canned food after the dates. You hoped that wouldn’t happen. You prayed as you checked the date and sighed with relief. Canned peaches just tasted too good. Along side it you had managed to find some very stale looking crackers, but it was a meal almost for a king in the squalor you had been suffering for the past two years. Syrup dripped over your chin before you wiped it away and slapped the recording off.

 The papers had raved about the new viral technique to removing cells, DNA and disease from humans. Rat, dog, rabbit and pig research had all gone well, showing promising signs for the virus vector to be used in all walks of life. Chimps had suffered few effects. One in every hundred had suffered mania effects, easily glazed over and removed from the public eye before the method was patented properly and set to human subjects. It was then that the issues started. Isolated manic episodes, bleeding from the nose and eyes, total loss of motor function before the body was paralysed and the blood vessels collapsed. It killed people. Five participants were killed. It killed their cancerous tumours but then it killed everything else. There was something different after that. Then the bodies started digging their way out of graves. It was covered up. Again, and again, bodies went missing in the night until one of them was gone. The cases carried on after that, bleeding eyed screaming creatures running through hospitals, cold and dead, but moving completely from memory. Then there had been the Others. The Others had evolved. Humans whose DNA had fully incorporated with the virus. They were stronger, immortal and just as dead as the rest, except they were not stupid. They didn’t run after heat and blood; they hid and took what food they wanted. They could think.

 Since the days of the beginning of the end, the Others had taken territory, carving it up for themselves as they saw fit, each with their own group of mindless brain rots. You’d done well to avoid them. They preferred it when it was cooler now as the summer sun rotted their flesh faster than it could heal itself. The heat was, for once, your friend. It didn’t solve the issue of your boiling apartment, but air conditioning was a dream you had in the night now. You’d rather the heat than the memories of the last snow, perfectly preserving hibernating zombies under the ice in the wilderness while the city zombies roamed without the risk of rotting and collapsing in heaps of half broken bones and stringy flesh. The Others roamed wild in the winter, tearing people apart while it was cool before disappearing into the subways in the heat of spring and summer. Hopefully it meant you could search for a few more supplies on the next run. You needed some plant pots and seeds if you wanted to survive, and hopefully some more drinking water.

 As you finished the can of peaches, you looked outside at the bright sunshine and grabbed for your bag by the couch. It was heavy with supplies, and you rummaged around for the small sandwich bags with pens for if you did manage to find seeds. You shoved the supplies together, along with a bottle of water and a few cereal bars before you grabbed the bush axe you had found, wrapped tightly with cord so you could hold it tightly and not send it flying. Failing that you had a bat and a small knife. You shouldered the backpack and mentally wrote a list as you headed to the door, pulling away your carefully made barricade. There was a small trap you had, and you set the bear trap across the threshold, covered by a sheet. The final touch was the swinging chair you set on the latch before you closed the door and locked it. The hallway was clear, you’d made sure to barricade each end, and you sighed softly before heading to the stairs and locking the doors behind you again, setting the boards back up against the door before you quietly headed towards the exit and out into the streets, into the blistering summer heat and rubble.

 The streets were dead. Silent except for the rustling of rotting plastic flying across the abandoned roads. The infected were down below, their shuffling and groans emanating from the sewers below. The rest were dozing in cool shade, swaying back and forth, their eyes gone and the skin of their faces gaunt. The Others didn’t look like that, or so you had been told before the rest of the survivors disappeared. The Others were covered in burst vessels, bruised and pale, cold. Their noses bled and their eyes did too, but they were black eyed and vicious, their voices replaced with snarls and clicks. They were terrifying. You’d been lucky enough to avoid them so far. You took a deep breath of dusty air before tugging at the scarf over your head and peering through the mucky glass window of the hardware store. Inside was dusty and grubby, the shelves mostly empty at the entrance from the looting when it all started. Otherwise, it seemed empty. You hoped you were right as you headed towards the back fire exits and tried the handle bars.

 The two around the side clicked but jingled with the sound of chains. They opened a couple of inches before the chains went taught and kept it from opening any further. You sighed and left them, closing the doors again before you carried on around the back of the building and found the employee entrance and exit. You took a breath and opened the door carefully. It swung open to reveal a dark warehouse. The cages of stock were mostly untouched. You grinned in victory before you turned on your pump power torch. It lit up the interior to reveal the cages of soil, wood and other items like watering cans and pots. Plastic pots, seeds and some planting soil. You needed those things, and a water purifier. If you were lucky, people had bunkered down here and you would be able to find some unopened water bottles. It was a long shot, but it was something you desperately needed besides food resources. You took a step inside and listened before grabbing a few bricks from outside and propping the door open, unaware of a pair of black eyes watching you.

 The warehouse was devoid of infected, and you were thankful as you searched the aisles of cages and bins for what you wanted. Light, deep plastic pots and a small bag of soil. You needed to be able to carry your things home. You found a few plastic planters quickly and then set about finding seeds, coming through several tote boxes of packets before you grabbed vegetables and fruits of various kinds. They were barely in date, but hopefully something would grow. You shoved the seeds away and picked up your planters and a small watering can, smiling at the little elephant nose on it before fastening it to your bag. Shouldering a small bag of soil, you then quickly did a search for water bottles. To your delight there was a pack of 2L bottles. It was too much to carry but you took a couple in your bag and stashed the rest behind a brick pile outside to collect later. Making sure it was well hidden, you kicked the bricks away from the door and shouldered your bag and grabbed the pots once again before moving as quietly as you could back around to the front of the hardware store. It was still quiet, but the sun was hanging low in the sky, indicating that it was close to being dark. The dark brought cold, and that let the infected walk around without their limbs dropping from their bodies.

 You reached your tower block before the night truly set in, dragging the soil up the stairs as you barricaded the doors between you and the exit. You reached your own floor and set the barricades against the door before you sighed quietly and reached for your own door. You unlocked it and carefully inched it open far enough to take the chair snare trap off the handle, lowering it before you leaned down and looped it back on the door. The bear trap was still set, and you inched around it before setting down the day’s findings in the middle of the living area. Your stomach gurgled with hunger, and you grabbed the box of protein and cereal bars you had pilfered, along with the survival food pouches. They were rich in carbohydrates and protein, so they would be good when you were very low on food. You stashed everything away before chewing on a protein fruit bar happily. You looked at the seed packets and smiled as the clouds moved over and thunder rumbled in the distance. It meant rain. You looked through the packets as you chewed and happily started to pick veggies to get growing before the rain rolled over. They needed to be out on the small balcony to get watered by the incoming bad weather.

 The night was filled with the crash of lightning and the rumble of thunder, which covered the groans of the zombies wandering around below, rotting and stinking of the sewers. Still, you got a little sleep between the storms, sleeping lightly in the corner of the room, tucked underneath your little fortified area. The bed you’d used to make barricades and weapons if all else was lost. You woke with a start as the handle to your room jiggled up and down. The infected didn’t have such capacity. You rushed out of the small blanket and pillows to grab for your axe, strapping o your stolen police vest before you headed to the little entry way. Your bear trap and chair trap were still set. With a deep breath, you stood ready by the door as the lock opened with a clunk and the handle went down again. The door opened quickly, and you gasped at the creature stood in the doorway, heaving blood from its mouth before it leaned back, and fresh blood dripped from its black eyes. It was once a human, but it was now one of The Others. It clicked and stepped back to dodge the knife strapped chair, slamming the wood down from its pulley in the ceiling with one great slap of its hand. Black eyes looked forwards, and it clicked again, blood dripping from the corner of its mouth as it dashed forwards. Clumsily, its foot slid over the bear trap, and the trap snapped shut tightly around its ankle.

 The Other howled a great series of violent clicks, tugging its leg before it fell to its knees and pulled at the metal, heaving the two rows of sharp teeth apart with shaking arms. You acted then, yelling as you slammed the axe down towards its head. He caught the handle, letting the bear trap snap back shut around his ankle as he fended you off, clicking and gurgling.

“What the fuck?” You gasped as you tugged your axe away violently and went to strike again, aiming for the temple. Again, the Other caught your swing, clicking in upset as the bear trap tore its flesh open to the bone, exposing the black stained tissue underneath its skin. An all too human face looked up at you as it pushed your axe away again, black eyes bleeding red. The Other was dark haired, the black tangled mess falling to just under his chin, though his eyebrows were sparse. The same seemed to have befallen his eyelashes, and you looked at the pale, almost alien face as you panicked. It was once a man. Slowly, it reached for the bear trap again.

“NO!” You shouted, and to your surprise, the Other looked at you, its bruised fingers releasing the mechanism for a second time as it gurgled more blood and licked its teeth and eyed the bare flesh exposed from your sleep wear.

 The Others still craved flesh and blood. They still needed human cells to survive. Their own bodies were lacking in the vital building blocks of life. Stem cells. The had been seen licking the marrow from bones and pulling open children regularly in search of such treats. Those, it was thought, were the key to their regeneration. The Other looked at your legs and you hopped back a step, as though to hide the long bones full of marrow from his sight.

“Why…” You struggled to find your voice, “Why haven’t you killed me already?”

The Other looked at you, his head tilted far to the left, as though he was listening to you. The creature reached towards you and pointed then curled his fingers back towards himself and gurgled shortly before he reached back to his ankle again and tried to winch open the bear trap. His arms went tight as he heaved the metal teeth apart, slamming either side down onto the laminate. He was free. You took another step back and gripped the axe tighter as the Other got to his feet, his shattered bones clicking back together before the wound closed and his bruised, pale skin recovered the black flesh inside.

 The Other clicked again, his head tilting left and right, fingers twitching and eyes rolling. He was looking at you, watching you breathe and move as he moved left and right on his legs. In moments, he was healed, but he still stood by the bear trap and watched. Blood dripped from his nose, weaving a trail over the cupids bow of his lips before it dripped over his sickly purple lips and into his mouth. His tongue dipped out to lick it away. His lips pealed backwards in a smile as he clicked and gurgled again. In a flash, he had moved towards you, his hands slamming either side of your head, pinning you against the wall. His teeth flashed by your skin, blackened and sharp, his mouth filled with clots of his own blood. Another gurgle came from his throat as he sniffed the left and right side of your neck with blood dripping from his nose. A drop landed on your chest, rolling over the skin and into your shirt as the Other clicked again, reaching for you with a grubby and bruised, blood-stained hand. The cold hand wrapped around your throat in a quiet threat, and the Other continued to look you up and down, fingers dragging against the warmth of your flesh.

 They like warm flesh enough to come out in the sunlight.

 “Are you going to cut me open and peel out my bones?” You asked as you looked at the door, avoiding the snarling face in front of you. Black eyes wiggled back and forth for a moment before the Other opened its mouth, the sharpened teeth flashing over your shoulder before it took an unsteady step backwards, ear tilted towards the windows. It was dark, and thunder clapped in the distance again before the sound of rain filled the apartment once more.

The Other shook his head slowly as his head twisted back, his back bending backwards as he slumped and peered out at the rain. He dragged his ruined foot behind him as he went to the window and looked down at the wet streets below, his black eyes watching the infected below wade through the water and rubbish. Another long, low click sounded from his throat before he turned his dark eyes on you again, blinking slowly before he picked up his leg and looked at the torn fabric of his jeans. The wound had healed, leaving a faint trace of dark red, almost black blood on his bruised skin. His arm moved, but this time it was to wipe the blood from his nose away on his sleeve. His arm came away streaked with fresh blood, but he still peered outside, looking at the meandering bodies outside in the rain.

 “What are you looking at?” You asked from against the wall as the Other twitched by the window and clicked again. His black eyes moved from the glass to your face and then back again before he reached into his pocket. His dead fingers wiggled around for a while before he pulled out a long lanyard and presented the card to you. There was a dark-haired man on the picture, his hair slicked back, the sides shaved with a pair of glasses sat on his nose.

“Ji-woon.” You read carefully from where you were, “Is that who you were?”

The Other looked at you, studying your face before he raised a fist to his shoulder and nodded it with his head. You looked at the lanyard carefully, noticing the faded and stained academy logo. The badge confirmed it. He was a teacher before everything. Once he was human. Once he was a teacher. Now he was one of the Others.

“Why haven’t you killed me yet?” You asked again, “You want to eat my bone marrow, right?”

The Other looked at you again, blood dripping from his eyes and spit clinging to the side of his mouth. He opened his mouth, gurgled again, clicked his tongue and then moved back towards you. His black eyes caught the light of a lightning bolt and you reached for your axe with a small yelp.

 The axe was thrown from your grasp before you could get a grip on it. The Other clicking as he dragged you by the wrists onto the floor. The axe clattered away, and you flinched as his fingers found the straps of the tactical vest, plucking them away violently before he dragged the material and plating away, leaving you exposed in just your pyjamas. Wiggling, you tried to free yourself from his grasp to no avail. Blood from his eyes dripped down the sides of his nose and onto the material of your shirt, staining it a deep, dark red. You closed your eyes as he let out another series of low clicks and drew closer to your shoulder. If he didn’t eat you, you would turn, just like the rest. A bite from an Other would make you one of his thrall or another like him. Another one of the Others.

“Kill me then. Just don’t let me turn. I want to die.” You whispered as you closed your eyes tight. The Other clicked again, a slow series of articulates noises that disappeared into a whine, not unlike a dog.

 Then the arms caging you to the floor slipped downwards. His nails dragged away curls of wood as the Other let his hands travel, his fingers ghosting over your skin again in a meandering pattern downwards. You flinched as he pinched the flesh around your middle, tugging hard before they continued down your stomach and over your legs. He shifted backwards in order to look at your legs. His black eyes rolled over the flesh as spit, mixed with blood, leaked from the corners of his mouth. The slobber dripped over your calves, but you didn’t dare move as his cold fingertips traced under the arch of your foot and then grabbed hold of your ankle. He held it in a bruising grip, his fingers wrapped tightly around the flesh, strangling the blood flow. It hurt and you let out a cry as he twisted it around, tugging the joint awkwardly.

“Please.” You sniffled on the floor as he dragged you back towards him. You wiggled only to have his hand slam on your middle, winding you before he pressed you back to the floor again.

He opened his mouth, wheezed, coughed and then gurgled, “P-Please.”

 Your eyes shot open as the Other released your ankle with a frown, his hairless eyebrows furrowed over his eyes. His lips quivered again, dipping up and down before he swallowed and shook, blood spraying from his nose. The droplets landed over your floor and streaked up the Other’s cheeks in wild, spider web patterns. Stumbling, he dragged himself upwards and touched his own lips.

“P-Please.” he gurgled again, a deranged smile spreading across his face.

“Don’t mock me.” You wept at him, wiping your face as you struggled for your axe, your fingers slipping around the handle as he leaped on you again. A smiling face covered in blood loomed over you before he gurgled, clicked and growled, holding his throat before angrily thumping at his Adams apple. The Other wheezed and coughed blood over your chest before he reached into his pocket again, teeth clicking, and pulled out the lanyard to show you. You shook your head before he tapped the photo on the plastic then tapped his own blood covered cheek.

 You laid there in confusion, looking up at the drooling monster before you found your voice.

“That’s you before this. Ji-woon. You were a teacher.” You declared quietly, whispering into the thunderstorm.

The Other turned the card back to himself and touched the photo and then his own hair, his cold fingers tangling in the matted mess that hung around his cheeks. It was nothing like the slicked back, side shaven style he once wore, and he seemed to realise that as he tugged at the hair and pulled away a small clump. He wasn’t alive anymore. He was only alive thanks to his constant need to eat the flesh of the living. His victims stem cells and other living tissue was why he was a walking corpse beyond the others. An agonised cry left his lips, and the Other clutched at his own hair as he slumped over you, his teeth clicking dangerously close to your shoulder.

“You’re not him anymore.” You whispered again, reaching up with shaking hands. You sniffled as you reached and carefully took hold of his face, feeling the piercing coldness of his skin. Blood stuck to your palms as the Other raised it head enough to look from side to side, his black eyes quivering back and forth as he looked at your hands cupping his face.

“So, if you’re in there, Ji-woon, I’d rather you end me quickly...r-rather than play with me like a cat.” You sobbed.

 The Other let the card of his lanyard clatter to the floor, the dirty fabric of the lanyard laid over wooden floor. There was another deafening crash of lightning and rumble of thunder as the Other stumbled backwards, his legs wobbling as his teeth clicked and ground together rhythmically. Click. Grind. Click. Grind. It was unsettling. You crawled backwards towards your weapon, only to pause as the room was lit up with lightning again, and you saw tears mingle with the blood leaking from his nose. Pink droplets dripped from his chin. The Other looked at you on the floor, then back to the windows, before he let out an unholy scream. With a cry, you covered your ears as the Other called for his thrall with tears the colour of blood dripping down his cheeks and neck. He shook his head and curled in on himself before howling again, another upsetting, glass shaking as he wailed over the sound of the storm. You reached for the axe again, crying as your ears rang with the noise of the Other’s screams. With a scream of your own, you launched yourself at him with the axe held high. Black eyes flashed before he caught you with open arms, grappling you around the middle in a hug. The axe jolted against his shoulder, falling from your grasp as you fell into his grasp.

 The Other quivered again you, his jaw grinding before he rested his nose against your neck. He was icily cold, and he wheezed cold breaths over your neck, his lips sticky against your skin. He didn’t bite you. His lips parted to let him wheeze again and he dragged his nose over the skin before he sobbed, more tears dripping down his nose. The Other pulled away, his black eyes wide and wet with more unshed tears.

“I’ve…never seen an Other cry…” You confessed as he hugged you tighter. The thunder of footsteps sounded out on the stairs as the hoard smashed themselves against the barricades leading up to your hide away, “Fuck…”

The Other kept a tight grip on you before he too heard the hoard. His eyes roved your face before he pushed you towards the window and fumbled with the clasps. He opened the window and you peered at the rain, and then at his face. He said nothing but you knew what he wanted. The fire escape. You ducked out of the window and perched yourself in the rain, underneath the stairs to try and shield yourself as the thrall of the Other slammed themselves against your defences. The Other closed the window and entered your room again, standing in the middle of the room, his eyes wide as his creatures swarmed inside, moaning and groping at the walls, floors and him. A few paused by the window before bumping into something else and leaving. None of them cared about the Other. They couldn’t smell the warm flesh of the living, so they filtered away, down the corridors and stairs, falling and smashing things as they went.

 As the noises died down, you peered through the metal stairs and looked at the rushing water below. The zombies slowly filtered out of the building, back into the cooler moist air. You sighed as you looked at them, but shivered, sniffling in the rain and cold. A moment later, the window rattled, and the Other peered out into the rain, his black eyes haunting as they shone in the light of the lightning. With a click, he held out his hand, and you watched him reach to scoop his hair from his eyes. It was a human gesture. It made him seem human. Then the lightning flashed and lit up the blood covering his face, neck and arms. His fingernails were dirty with dried blood and mud, but he helped you into the window and clicked again softly, as though it was a noise of comfort. It unsettled you, holding his freezing cold hand as you shivered inside of the apartment. The door was closed, barricade replaced, and the chair pinned back in place at the door. He was still bleeding, and he blinked his eyes, sending two drops of blood down the stained red lines either side of his nose. With a deep breath, you grabbed a tissue from your little den and reached up to wipe the red streaks away from his face. The Other flinched at your warm touch, but let out a wheeze, letting you wipe his face free from blood and gunk.

 You pulled away with a small gasp at the sight of his pale, bruised skin. The blood vessels around his eyes ran in spidery black patterns before they disappeared under the pale, thin bruised skin of his face. He looked dead. Deathly pale and gaunt. His face had lost a lot of the colour and life it once had, though he appeared no more tired than he used to. The large eye bags seemed to be a constant factor. You reached for his ID card on the floor and carefully handed it to him. The Other held open his hand and took it from your grasp, gurgling at the picture of himself, or who he used to be, with interest. You let him hold it and watched at he wiped at his nose with the tissue you had accidentally give him alongside it. In a mockery of what you did, he slid the tissue over his nose and cheeks before he gurgled and smile with blood clot covered teeth. He wasn’t human. You repeated that as he passed you the sticky tissue back. It was covered in blood and clots.

 “Are you still in there Ji-woon?” You asked the Other quietly.

The Other shook his head as he raised the card again. It span in his grasp, giving you flashes of the image of his human face, “P-Please.” he wheezed at you, “...Help.”

“That is you. You can’t become him anymore.” You said carefully, softening the blow with a dab of the tissue under his eyes. He caught your wrist with a scowl, his unnatural eyes wiggling in their sockets, rolling left and right as he opened his mouth to expose his black dyed mouth full of clots.

“P... Please.” he wheezed again.

“I can...make you look like him but you’re not human anymore.” You tried to tug your wrist free to no avail.

 “Look.” The Other held up the ID card and tapped it again before he let you go and looked at the red marks on your arm mournfully, “J-Ji...woon.”

“The fact you can even speak amazes me.” You confessed as you looked at the bruises and blood covering him. His clothes were dirty, matted and torn, exposing his arms which had been unnaturally made larger. He was a predator of muscle and smarts now, who desperately wanted to be human again, “I can help, so long as you can keep those zombies away from me, okay?”

The Other nodded, drooling as he pointed to his ears and mouth.

“Those wails, yes. You can control them and keep them away while I help you. That and you’re big enough to just tear them open...I saw an Other do that once.”

The Other blinked owlishly but nodded once before you rummaged for a bottle of water and pointed to the bathroom, “First let’s clean you up, huh?”

He only nodded and followed at your heels like a drooling, blood covered dog.

 You managed to get a small basin to fill with water and then awkwardly got the Other to strip his clothes off. They were full of holes and disgusting. The neck was covered with blood and stiff with mud and blood. You bagged them and tied it closed as the Other stood, swaying on his dark bruise coloured feet. His mouth was dripping with drool again as he turned and looked at the water bowl in your hands.

“Come on. Sit in the tub.” You asked gently as you guided his cold body into the bath. He sat quietly, gurgling on his own blood as you fetch a towel and a small flannel. You dipped the flannel into the water and lathered it with soap before pressing it to his face. His black eyes quivered before he closed them peacefully and let you wipe the grime from his skin. Each swipe revealed more skin like cracked porcelain underneath the blood. The bruising spread from black coloured veins in his face and you were careful to clean around his nose and mouth before setting to the rest of him. It was even more embarrassing to get a zombie to clean his own privates, but something in him remembered and you left him to it before returning to try and scrub his hair.

 Most of his hair was dead, the ends snapped and fraying in clumps. So, it was with a heavy heart that you washed it and let it soak with conditioner before snipping away most of the ends. It was shorter, in a wild mane over the top of his head and the shaved sides, but he seemed happy as he peered at himself in your small mirror. You tried to tame it backwards, but the shorter pieces of hair pinged out at awkward angles. He didn’t seem to care as he wiped at his own face, clicking happily at himself in the reflection in the grubby water. He was like a child almost. Entertained by bottles, colours and smells, despite the irony blood leaking from his nose again. He wiped it away with a tissue, wet hands dampening the balled-up paper before he peered over the side of the tub and watched you pull free a few sets of clothes.

“Here. You can’t wear those rags…even though I know you don’t get cold.” The Other stood and looked at the clothing before his hands reached for a khaki green fleece. He rubbed the soft material and happily pulled it over his head before he dressed his bottom half as well.

 When he was finished and dressed you let him walk out of the bathroom. He was still bleeding from his eyes and nose but the cleanly appearance gave him an almost human look. The Other clicked and touched the top of his hair, feeling the strands before he looked at you with wide black eyes. In a sudden burst of speed, he was in your face, his teeth clacking together in front of your nose. Snap. Grind. Snap. Grind. Snap. He clicked his teeth rapidly in front of your face, drool stringing between his teeth and lips and dribbling out the corners of his mouth.

“You’re still one of them, huh?” You told him as he gurgled and coughed, fingers dancing by his sides as he twisted his head and twitched violently hard, teeth gnashing in his mouth, “You still want to eat me...”

There wasn’t a fix to his own nature. You watched him retch and fight himself before you moved through to your bedroom and rummaged through the boxes for something to use. You smiled when you found the ball gag. It was a simple thing, made of tough leather and a supple ball attached to simple metal rings. It fastened with a belt loop style fastening. It would be hard for him to chew through at least.

 The Other looked at you curiously as you returned with the gag hanging from your fingers. Something in his face twisted, as though he maybe recognised the item, but you watched his fingers twitch again and knew it was the right choice.

“I know what you might think, but this is purely to stop you eating me, okay?” You told him as you opened the fastening and presented the ball to his lips. The Other cocked his head, blinked, and then opened his mouth to accept the ball. You watched him chew the ball like a horse does a bridle before he then settled and let you fasten the back closed tightly. He sniffed, drops of blood dripping from his nose as he ground his teeth into the gag, his mouth parted and the clicks he made gurgled and muffled. It would also stop him from turning on you and summoning a hoard of infected to tear you open. It was a double protective measure. The Other shifted and touched the cool leather wrapped around the back of his head. He could easily undo it if he wanted to, but he let his hands drop and plonked himself down by your door, peering back at you as he pointed to your little bed and tent.

“Don’t eat me in my sleep.” You joked. The Other rolled his eyes as you climbed into your layers of blankets and cushions. He didn’t look at you, but stared at the door, cross legged and clicking softly to himself around the gag in his mouth.

 The next morning you woke up to the light in your eyes, and a clicking sound from by the window. As you opened your eyes you were greeted with a curious gurgle from the Other. His black eyes blinked bloody tears down his cheeks before he tilted his head and ground his teeth against the gag in his mouth. Blood painted the sides of his mouth and drool had dried in the corners of his mouth where the o-rings sat.

“Good morning to you too.” You groaned as the Other clicked in front of you and wiggled his jaw from side to side, his eyes looking over you. The exposed flesh had his mouth watering again, and you quickly hid the skin under a blanket before crawling past him and heading to the bathroom. The creature’s hungry eyes followed your legs, and the Other prowled across the wood after you, like a small dog, his gaze fixed on the exposed skin of your calves and ankles.

“M-M-Morn…ing-g.” The Other babbled around the gag in his mouth as his fingers inched along the wood, chasing after your feet. You stopped as his hand wrapped around your ankle. The cold fingers pressed into your flesh, testing the give before you dragged yourself free and slammed the door in his face. The Other grunted as his nose was smashed against the wooden door.

 When you came back out later, dressed and clean, the Other was perched by the door again, sat on the balls of his feet, perched in a crouch as he looked at the handle. The knob was twitching. You took a deep breath and carefully reached for your axe, holding the handle tightly in your grasp. The handle twitched again before the door thumped and the latch unhooked. The Other watched the door creak open. A rotten hand curled around the wooden door, and you crept forwards a step before the Other clicked and launched himself at the arm. It took you a moment to realise that his mouth was full of the gag, but it was too late. The Other grappled the infected by the neck, throwing it against the column outside of the door before his arms bulged and he slammed its head backwards, once, twice, thrice, and painted the dirty white concrete with blood, bone and brains. The blood sprayed up the concrete as he continued hammering the creatures head backwards. The initial crack became a wet thud which dissolved into a slick noise of blood and flesh as the Other dug his hands into the cranium and dragged it open, scooping his bruised fingers into the goop. His teeth gnashed on the gag, and you covered your mouth as he pulled at his own cheeks, splitting the skin so he could stick his gore covered fingers into his mouth. He gurgled happily as he scooped the brain into his mouth, followed by the sickening crunch of the zombie’s femur under his foot. He twisted the legs free at the knee and punched his way through to the bone.

 Rotten marrow dripped over his fingers, and he groaned sadly, tossing away the bleeding leg in favour of finishing the obliterated head. He struggled with the eyeballs, and you watched, gipping, as he weaved one behind his gag, through the tear at the corner of his lips, and popped it between his teeth.

“What the fuck…” You gasped behind the Other.

The Other’s eyes snapped to you, and he gurgled happily, covered in blood again, as he chewed his meal contently. As you watched him eat, you made your way back into your apartment, shaking as you uncovered a set of reigns. He was still eating as you came back and weaved them around his head and attached the ends to the O-rings of the gag. With a tilt of his head, he peered back over his shoulder and looked you in the eyes, his bloodied fingers stroking the leather up and down before you gave the back of the reigns a gentle tug.

 The Other gave a grunt and a small cry, his black hair flying out of place as he tugged at the reigns, back towards his meal. His hands stretched towards the flesh, grabbing for the brains just out of reach.

“We made a deal.” You whispered as you hauled him backwards, “You want to be a human, Ji-woon, right?!”

The Other froze, his fingers pressed into the mess on the floor by the zombie’s head. They danced in the blood for a moment before he looked up at you, his eyes manic and his hairless brows furrowed.

“J-Ji…woooon.” He gurgled before he slumped backwards and grabbed at your trouser leg, his cold fingers burying themselves in the fabric. The Other gave a small wail, burying his head in your thigh as he stroked your legs and shuddered against you.

You reached down carefully and petted his hair, “Humans don’t eat…that. But we need you to live and… I know you’re not human, but we need to think about how this is going to work, okay?”

He didn’t acknowledge you, but leaned his head into your petting, pushing his choppy hair into your grasp as he clutched at you like a child.

“We’ll work through this mess, together, I promise…Ji-woon.”

[stutterfly]

Tricks of the Trade | MYG (M)

Shared as part of the Similarly Sequestered game with @kpopfanfictrash​, @underthejoon​, @fortunexkookie​, @gukslut​ and me!

Rating: M (Explicit 18+)

Word Count: 24.1K Prompt: “The FBI doesn’t care about your porn preferences.” {Body Swap AU, Soulmates AU}

Genre: Fluff, humor, smut, oneshot

Summary: The convenience store across the street from your apartment carries your favorite energy drink. That's why you frequent it. It's definitely not because you have a big fat crush on the owner you've been flirting with for the better part of a year. Of course your brand of flirting can also be misconstrued as bickering. When a strange man wanders into the store, he thinks you need a little nudge to embrace the strings connecting you. Next thing you know you're waking up in a body that definitely doesn't belong to you. You can't decide if it's the best or worst thing that's ever happened to you.

CW & Other Tags: Anxiety attacks, language, oral sex, unprotected sex, nipple play, fingering, Agent of Chaos Jin, shopkeeper Yoongi, idiots to lovers, frenemies to lovers, bodyswap shenanigans

Pairings: Yoongi x Reader

Posted on June 23, 2020 by stutterfly and cross-posted to Ao3. I do not allow reposting, translations, or edits, to this or any other platform, including YouTube.

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The bell at the top of the door jingles as another customer walks into the store, but you pay them no mind. You’re already scanning the refrigerated drinks section for the third time, scouring the rows of cans and bottles for your beverage of choice. There’s only one kind of energy drink you want but its usual location is barren. Desperate to find what you’re searching for, you squat down to look behind the other drinks in the fridge.

“You’re not going to find any.”

The familiar, disinterested drawl of the shopkeeper has you popping up from the floor to look over at him. He wears a green apron over a black tee and a pair of faded jeans. His back is to you so he doesn’t have to see your face when you complain. He reaches up to take off his baseball cap and runs his fingers through thick locks of ebony hair before returning the cap to his head. He spares a glance over his shoulder at you, knowing you’re watching him. He sighs loudly as he continues to stock nearby shelves with boxes of cereal.

When he opened this tiny shop across from your apartment about a year ago, you thought he was cute, but he’s always seemed cold to you. The gossips around town say he’s a bit scrawny, monotone and boorish, but you like his voice and you like his style. He must be intelligent if he started this business from nothing, especially at his age. Not many people in their late twenties can say they are as independent as Yoongi.

He has confidence and pride in his values. You’ve seen him tell rude people off without a second thought and kick people out for being racist towards other customers. He puts on a front to seem unapproachable but you’ve seen him give a carton of milk to a mother who didn’t have money to pay for it, and free candy to a group of kids on a rainy day. While he pretends to be an old grump who shuffles around his shop all day, you’ve seen him get the energy to sprint around the block after a shift and then collapse at the cafe tables next door. He’s weird. He’s honest. He’s kind-hearted. It’s easy to admire him.

He bends down to pick up more boxes, and you cock your head to the side to stare at the way his ass looks in those jeans. He’s also insanely attractive. It’s no wonder you still come in here every day.

The more you see of him, the more you feel you know him, and the more you’ve grown to like him. The problem is that your relationship with the shopkeeper has shifted into a weird territory you’re not sure how to escape from. It’s not that you hate each other, but it seems you can’t hold a conversation without getting on each other’s nerves. Either you’re always saying the wrong thing or he’s pressing all the wrong buttons when he teases you.

At first you read his teasing as awkward flirting but for someone so blunt, you’ve convinced yourself he would have been straightforward and said the words out loud. I like you. Let’s get a drink. It would be easy for him to say, wouldn’t it? Despite trying to convince yourself he’s not interested, you can’t help but flirt with him at any opportunity to do so. However, you seem to forget how the moment he looks at you. It’s like your flirting skills took an exit down a shitty highway and now you’ve lost the GPS signal to navigate back to civilization.

Talking with Yoongi has become an ache you can’t seem to give up so you’ll take whatever excuse you can to keep doing so. That usually takes the form of you poking fun at one another until you hurt your own feelings. Sometimes you spend the remainder of a day thinking about the ways you can fix tomorrow’s fictitious conversation. You forgot how being infatuated with someone can make you feel so stupid. He’s not your life, just a part that you wish could be more prominent. It’s fine.

All you have to do is get your morning beverage and pastry before working your shift. Then you can focus on how nice it will feel to do nothing all weekend and catch up on TV shows.

“So…. What did you do with it? Are you hiding them from me today?” You quickly snap your eyes to his face as he twists his body to look up at you.

He scoffs. “Not me. College kids came through last night and cleared them out.”

“But you know I always get one,” you pout, crossing your arms like it’s going to make a difference.

He turns his attention back to his task, slowly stacking the boxes in silence before he clicks his tongue. “So? I can’t just hide stuff for you, you know.”

“Don’t you have more in the back? You’ve never run out of Hot6 before.”

He laughs to himself. “This isn’t a warehouse. I have to wait for product to arrive before I can restock. Just get a Red Bull. It tastes the same.”

You crinkle your nose at him. “It does not.”

He crosses the store with a roll of his eyes and a loud sigh. Before long he’s back at the register and sipping on his iced americano. “Whatever. Why do you care? It’s easier if you develop a taste for espresso. Then you don’t have to worry about that kind of thing. Besides, energy drinks aren’t that great for you, you know.”

You make a sound of disgust as you sulk your way over to the pastry cabinet. “Jeez. Do you always have to have such a stick in your ass? You act like coffee is so much better for you.”

“More caffeine, less sugar. I guarantee you it’s better,” he says with a smack of his lips against his straw.

“Whatever, Grandpa. Hmm... Muffin, muffin, muffin…” you quietly chant to yourself as your eyes rake over the racks in search of your daily pastry fix. Today seems to be against you: no muffins.

“We’re out of those too,” he says. “You know you could stand to change up your routine. Don’t you get sick of getting the same things every day?”

You bite your lip and look over the case of pastries, grabbing a simple croissant. “I like my routine, but I guess I could always stop coming here.”

“If that’s what you want.” He sighs dramatically as he leans over the counter, resting on his elbows as he surveys the store. “Well, I could enjoy a quiet morning for once.”

You roll your eyes.“Pfft. You like to argue, so I know you’d miss me.”

There’s a squeaky laugh from behind one of the shelves and as your attention shifts to the sound, a young man with dusty pink hair pokes his head up. He must be rather tall if he’s able to look over the aisles. You quirk an eyebrow at his strange laughter and wonder what kind of stranger could be so entertained by the pair of you.

“Sorry. It’s just…” He holds up a card that neither of you can really make out at this distance. “On the front it says ‘It’s Your Birthday?’ and inside it says ‘Alpaca my party hat!’. Ha! And there’s this pop-up of the alpaca with a bandana and party hat.” He giggles again as he opens and closes the card a few times and waves his hand. “Sorry. Sorry. You can continue flirting now.”

“This is not—” Your breath catches in your throat and you have to take a moment to swallow down your embarrassment before turning back towards Yoongi. “Can you believe this guy?”

He’s in the middle of taking a bite from a half-eaten muffin when your eyes meet his guilty ones. Your jaw falls open as he slowly chews and rings you up, placing the remainder of the pastry back down on the counter.

“You took the last one?”

“I had a craving.” He shrugs.

“You knew I would want it and you took it so I couldn’t have it,” you guess in a playful tone. “Was your aim to make me suffer double today? You’re so cruel, Yoongi.”

He pauses to poke his tongue against his cheek as he handles your change. “It’s not like I planned it. Don’t make me out to be some bad guy.”

“Bad guy. Tch. No, I wouldn’t go that far.” You lean forward, planting your hands on the counter and ensuring a clear sightline into your shirt. “I think you just like getting under my skin.”

He bristles at your words, taking the bait and dropping his gaze to the lace exposed for his eyes. He licks his lips and lazily lets his eyes drift back to your face, his expression unreadable. “Maybe that’s true.”

You cock your head and smirk as you stand up straight, your ego slightly inflated. “Is it really so hard to be nice to me? I’m nice to you.”

“Hah!” He breaks into an amused grin. “When?”

You’re taken aback by his response. Surely you’ve been obvious with your infatuation up to this point. You scoff. “Wha- All the time!”

His brows furrow and he crosses his arms with the change still trapped in his palm. “So complaining is a form of politeness now? Then I should be grateful for how often you shower me with kindness.”

“You know I do more than complain! I complain because you complain to me!” you pout, pointing your finger at him. “Maybe we could talk about something meaningful if you ever cared enough to ask.”

His eyebrows raise with the pitch of your voice. It’s not a big deal. This is stupid. You’re overreacting because you like him. You know he’s fucking with you so why is your face still getting hot? Even if he’s joking, he’s planted the seed in your mind that he sees you as a grumpy customer. He’s clearly never thought of you as anything but a negative start to his day. You’ve seen him be sweet but right now he feels as bitter and cold as the coffee he drinks.

“What do you think of this?” the pink-haired stranger asks, donning a pair of thick black frames with orange-tinted lenses.

The man cuts the tension from the room for a brief moment. Yoongi stares at him, his lip curled up in disgust as he slowly shakes his head. When his eyes travel back to yours they seem full of apprehension. Your name rolls off his tongue as though it’s an apology.

“Don’t ‘Y/N’ me. Just give me my change,” you grumble, reaching up for his palm.

His grip is impossible to penetrate. He smiles as you struggle to work your fingers beneath his, shaking his head like you’ve revealed some embarrassing secret. Heat builds in your face the longer you stand there fidgeting with his hand. You feel like a fool.

“You’re obnoxious. Let me count it out first,” Yoongi sneers while trying to pull his hand back.

“It’s fine.” You roll your eyes and yank his hand towards you. “I don’t need you to count it.”

“You know what I think you need?”

The other customer leans beside the counter, a new pair of glasses on his face that are twice as hideous as the first pair. As you turn to look at the stranger you can see the pair of you reflected in hues of red and yellow in those disturbingly 90s opaque lenses. It almost looks like you’re holding hands. You stiffen at the sight but keep your fingers locked against Yoongi’s calloused ones as you focus on the pricetag dangling across the man’s nose.

The stranger slowly moves a closed fist above the place where your hand and Yoongi’s meet. He waits a few seconds until you’re both focused on his hand before a flash of silver falls from his palm. You almost mistake the shapes for identical necklaces until they untangle and rotate to reveal two halves that form a heart.

The fluorescent lights of the store highlight the engraved text on each. One says ‘BEST’ while the other half reads ‘FRIENDS’. The faux-metal irritates your neck the moment you think about it touching your skin. The chains appear fragile and cheap, like they might break at the slightest amount of tension. If this guy thinks you’re going to take these he must be delusional.

You exchange a quizzical look with Yoongi as the necklaces dangle between you. He’s distracted enough that you’re able to pry your change from his sweaty palm.

“Uh. No thanks,” you say, shoving the coins in your pocket before grabbing your croissant. You take a moment to regard Yoongi with a scowl, cocking your head to the side. “See you, Grandpa.”

The stone in his gut sinks as he watches you leave but he forces his attention to the pink haired stranger in the obscenely reflective glasses.

“You know, I think she likes you,” he whispers with a wink.

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It’s been a long day but at least you don’t have to go out tomorrow. You’ve already changed into your favorite pair of comfy shorts but as you move to unbutton your work shirt something smacks against your chest. Did something get trapped in your cleavage?

“What the fuck?”

As you look down your stomach does a somersault. There’s a necklace draped around your neck with a half-broken heart pendant, etched with the word ‘BEST’. How did that guy sneak this ugly thing onto you? How did you not feel it until now? Maybe he’s some sort of street magician. Your shock is accompanied by a chuckle as you reach behind your neck to fidget with the clasp. Spinning the chain between your fingertips, you soon realize there isn’t one. This thing feels like a dollar store trinket, so you curl your fingers around the charm and pull down with all of your might. It remains secure around your neck no matter how hard you tug.

Your mind begins to break into a panic. What the fuck? What the fuck. What. The actual. Fuck.

You quickly throw on a pair of sneakers and nab the keys hanging near the door on your way out of the apartment. It's hard to believe the speed at which your feet carry you down the several flights of stairs. A couple scrambles out of the way as they watch your frenzied descent. Before long you're pressing the entirety of your body against the familiar door of the convenience store across the street.

The clerk looks up from his phone, his dark eyebrows raised in surprise as you stumble past the threshold. Your body nearly folds in half as you plant your hands on your knees and struggle to catch your breath.

"Are you alright?"

You force yourself to stand up straight to address the man standing behind the counter. The word is devoid of conviction as it leaves your mouth. "Yeah."

You know him as Tae, one of Yoongi's part-time employees. Yoongi offered him a job when he heard him say he was looking for work to supplement his endeavors to put himself through art school. You’ve seen him a lot, spoken a little here and there, and he even knows you by name now. If he's here, it's probable that his boss is not. You sigh loudly in an attempt to relieve some of the panic and frustration built up in your brain. It's not like you can just ask Tae to give you Yoongi’s number.

Tae’s wide-eyed stare indicates his concern for your well being but it’s not until he drags his gaze across your body and purses his lips that you feel something is amiss. It's at this point that you realize how much the air conditioner billows the fabric of your work shirt. Goosebumps form along your calves as all of the blood in your body rushes to your face. You quickly cross your arms over your chest to conceal the half-unbuttoned shirt and the bra that pokes out from beneath it. There’s little you can do to cover the expanse of your legs while wearing such form-fitting shorts.

“I was just… checking to see if you have any Hot6,” you say with barely a glance in the direction of the refrigerator section. “But it’s clear you’re still out.”

Tae raises his eyebrows and grants you a subtle, uncertain nod as your eyes settle on the door that reads ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY.’

“Is your boss here?” you blurt, reaching for the chain around your neck. “I’ve got a—”

Your stomach drops. It’s gone. Both of your hands instinctively smack at your collarbones, like frantically patting against your flesh will cause the necklace to reappear. You hold your shirt open wide enough to peer down at the skin of your chest with a concentrated gaze, eyes begging for any trace of the tacky piece of jewelry to resurface. Was it really just a figment of your imagination? You swear it was there. You felt it. You pulled on it. It had to be real.

You swallow hard and quickly bounce your eyes to the uncomfortable-looking cashier. All you can offer is a weak chuckle as you try to play it off by shaking out your shirt. “Sorry… I thought there was a bug."

There's an awkward, heavy silence between you as he nods with pursed lips. There's no way this poor guy believes your delusional ass. "Bossman's gone for tonight. Seemed kinda beat."

"Oh."

Your eyes settle on the countertop as your brain tries to rationalize what kind of unresolved issues at work are causing your mental breakdown. You stand there while spacing out, barely blinking. You can't believe you imagined that. Not knowing what to do, Tae walks his fingers towards the miniature cans of Red Bull stacked on the counter. He gracefully sweeps his hand around a can and offers it to you. That breaks you from your daze.

"It kinda tastes the same." He attempts to cut the tension with an endearingly awkward, close-mouthed smile. "My treat?"

If it were Yoongi saying such a thing you might scowl and tell him that he must be delusional if he thinks they're the same. Tae is a much kinder soul. You find yourself softening at his suggestion and shake your head.

"You know I should probably lay off the energy drinks now that I think about it," you say. "Have a good night, Tae."

"Goodnight, Y/N!" he calls after you as you wander back through the door. He leans over the counter. "Oh, hey wait! Do you want me to let bossman know you were looking for him?"

"It's fine!" you shout back on autopilot. You're already sinking into a pool of your own thoughts as the door closes behind you.

It was not fine.

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Sleep does not come easy despite your exhaustion. You find yourself tossing and turning all night. When the light begins to stream through your blinds it seems to strike at the perfect angle to blind your fluttering eyes. You pull the blankets up over your head even though you know it’s of no use; you’re already awake and there’s no going back to sleep now.

You stretch out with a yawn as you sleepily shuffle from the bed to the tiny bathroom around the corner of your room. It’s easy to apply toothpaste to your toothbrush on autopilot, taking a moment to rub your knuckles against an eye before glancing up towards the mirror. How bad is the bedhead today?

The sight that greets you causes you to drop your toothbrush in the sink and stumble back out of the doorway. Your fingers grip the frame to keep you on your feet, your attention quickly drawn to the thick digits situated there. As you force yourself forward, you support yourself with one hand on the counter and bring the other up for inspection. The foreign hand trembles as you turn it back and forth while trying to catch the breath that keeps running away from you. Anxiety sinks its teeth deeper into your lungs, causing a puncture that has you gasping for air.

Calluses adorn your fingertips, accompanied by scratches and scars from moments you've never experienced. Your nails are jagged and short, devoid of the pleasing pink color you applied to them two days ago. You dread the journey your eyes threaten to make towards the mirror once again but you find that you are unable to stop them. The face staring back at you with saucer-wide eyes is none other than Min Yoongi.

Your head feels light. This face is fake. You gasp for the air you can't seem to get enough of and stumble out of the bathroom. The walls seem to wobble in place as you race towards the living room where you can feel the breeze flowing through the window you left open last night. This world is fake. Nothing is real. Air will fix this. If you could just breathe like a normal person everything would be okay.

You fall to your knees within spitting distance of the window. For all the air your body greedily sucks inward, your mind feels bereft of any. Your vision goes dark.

╭⋟────────────────────────╮

╰────────────────────────⋞╯

Yoongi does his best to make his way up the stairs with poise, but he's almost sure it looks like a waddle more than anything. His thighs --your thighs-- are chafing from the run here and each step is a painful reminder of the irritated flesh still rubbing together beneath these sweatpants. At least one of your neighbors was kind enough to let him into the main entrance. They must have recognized the face he mysteriously woke up with. Luckily your mailbox has your last name on it and as much as you might disagree he does pay attention when you talk.

He tries to wipe the sweat from his brow as he bends down to plant his hands on his knees. Even as his breath recovers, he grows increasingly frustrated with how heavy his chest feels. He repeatedly pushes the hair from his face with a groan, wishing he had taken the scissors to it when he had the opportunity earlier. He takes off the cap atop his head, runs his fingers through his hair, and places it back on his head. Everything is too much. You need to fix this. Take it back.

The faster he tries to ascend the stairs, the more he aches. He finally gives up on looking civil when he decides there's no one else in the stairwell to judge him. After all they'll only remember you anyway so what does it matter? He rolls the sweatpants up above his knees and cups the breasts hidden beneath the oversized sweater for support as he scrambles up the last few floors.

He grimaces at the dainty pink fingernails before curling his hand into a fist and rapping his knuckles against your door. He puffs his cheeks out and expels a long breath. What could you possibly be doing? You have to be in there. He tries the handle to no avail. Are you still asleep? He quickly abandons the need for subtlety and places both palms on the door and drums loudly against it. The sound of the deadbolt unlocking tells him he shouldn't hesitate. He's through the door before you can even properly get off your knees.

Somehow you knew what would be waiting for you on the other side. The sight before you has your mind reeling. That's your body, but it's not you. Could it really be Yoongi? You did not get Freaky-Friday'd with him. There's no fucking way this is reality. You can feel yourself panicking again as you back away from the figure, falling back on your ass. You watch yourself look down at you with a look of disgust.

"What are you doing?" That's definitely your voice.

Your body takes slow steps towards you as it crosses one arm over the other. You lean back on your elbows and groan. It's a deep sound, deeper than anything that's come from your throat even on your sickest day. This isn’t happening.

"Oh my god. I'm fucking dying," you murmur while tilting your head towards the ceiling. "Everything is fake. Nothing is real. I’m going crazy. Please let me rot."

The figure bends down and leans over into your field of vision. The image of your face frowns back at you and pokes you in the chest with a pointed fingernail.

“Stop that.”

“I can’t,” you whine between heavy breaths. “I feel like I’m gonna pass out again.

“Y/N. Look at me.”

Those perfectly manicured hands reach out for your shoulders in comfort but you fall flat on your back and your arm flies up to cover your eyes.Tears sting at them as reality warbles around you again. Seeing your own face hovering above you definitely isn’t helping you feel more sane.

"I don't know what's happening," you sob.

With each breath you suck between your quivering lips, your chest aches. Suddenly that pair of hands is cupping your jaw and pushing your arm aside. You look into the eyes you are already so familiar with, but they seem far more caring than you’ve ever managed to display.

"We need to undo whatever is happening right now," he says calmly. "You don't have to like it. You don't have to tell me you're okay. But I need you to sit up and pull yourself together long enough to help me figure this out. Can you do that?"

You swallow hard and nod slowly as you take the hand offered to you. A half-smirk appears on his lips; it's strange to see yourself reflected with such warmth, especially knowing it's coming from Yoongi.

"Good. Now please go change. I can't look at those shorts anymore.”

You look down at your attire for the first time and realize how absurd Yoongi’s body looks in the clothing you wore to bed. The skimpy tank top clings to the muscular, flat chest you now possess. Worse still, you can see bits of flesh poking out against that hairy inner thigh below. You squeeze your eyes shut and pretend like you can forget what you just saw sticking out of your shorts.

You take a deep breath as your face burns with embarrassment. “Okay. Give me your pants.”

He stiffens at your demand and scoffs. “What?”

“I don’t have anything that will fit you— er, I mean, me. Us?” You gesture at your body and stare at the floor, trying to will yourself to not dissociate. “This. You can’t be comfortable either.”

There’s a sigh before he plops down on your couch with legs spread wide open. “My back hurts and my thighs rubbed together so much I don’t want to move anymore.”

You can’t help but laugh at the admission. At least he feels your pain. He looks up at you while reclining his head on the cushion behind him. You’re not hyperventilating anymore so distraction seems to be the key to keeping you relatively calm.

“Why you, of all people?” he wonders.

You roll your eyes and stomp across the room and disappear into your bedroom. “Hmph. I was about to ask you the same thing. This is bullshit.”

You come back with a handful of carefully selected clothes and strappy undergarments that you know for a fact flatter your shape. If he has to walk around in your skin the least he can do is make it look good. You pause halfway down the hall and swallow hard as it dawns on you that he’s going to have to get naked in order to change, which means he’s unavoidably going to be looking at your body without any barriers. You decide you’re going to be strong and you simply won’t think about it or acknowledge it as a possibility.

He’s busy chewing one of your nails when you reach the living room again. You hug the clothes close to your chest and storm across the room.

“Do you bite your nails?! Ew! God, no wonder yours are so jagged and gross,” you complain, thrusting the clothes into his lap.

He offers an apologetic look before glancing down at the attire you’ve supplied with raised eyebrows. He picks up the bra with one finger and grimaces at the way it dangles off his digit. He’s looking up at you with pleading eyes shortly after it falls back in his lap. It’s hard to avoid his gaze. You feel those pupils boring into your skull as you dart your eyes away to focus on the floor.

You clear your throat and muster every last bit of courage you possess. “Um… Your clothes, please?”

He inhales loudly through his nose and you watch the grey sweatpants pool around the toenails you just painted last night. You swallow hard and scramble to pick them up when they slide across the wooden floor to you. You clutch them to your chest, quickly catching the scent of your sweat and arousal on them. Maybe he hasn’t noticed? Trying to suppress the mortification growing in your chest, you purse your lips and trail your gaze back up to his face--your face. Thankfully the hoodie covers your sex and you’re hoping he hasn’t bothered taking a peek before coming here.

“Don’t… Don’t look,” you plead. So much for not acknowledging it.

He’s feeding his arm through one of the sleeves when he freezes in place and locks eyes with you. “I should tell you I woke up shirtless,” he mumbles. As if to lessen the blow of his admission, he continues with a pout, “But you can’t blame me for looking. It’s hard not to look at a pair of perfect tits that mysteriously appear in the middle of the night. What was I supposed to do?”

Perfect tits? You’d almost be flattered if it wasn’t so fucking morifying to know he’s already seen you. Your eyes screw shut and you nod. “Right.”

This is fine. This is absolutely fine.

“Hey,” he calls softly, prodding you to open your eyes. “Here.”

He keeps eye contact with you while feeding his other arm through the sleeve. Watching yourself strip without performing the act is bizarre. He holds the sweater out for you to slowly take. It eases your mind to see his gaze never wavered. Yours drops to the nude form before you and suddenly you’re criticizing every curve and flaw you can find. It’s as though you’re simply standing before a mirror and feeding your insecurity with needless scrutiny. Despite this, Yoongi remains focused on your face and the discomfort you display so openly at seeing your own form stripped bare. Almost bare. That beat-up baseball cap he wears every day now adorns your head like a crown for your mediocrity.

You spin on your heels and speedwalk down the hall. “I’ll be right back.”

It’s hard to ignore the new appendage you’ve acquired but you make sure to shut your eyes while peeling the shorts from your thighs and sliding the sweatpants up in their stead. While you rushed through the bottom half of your attire, you stop for a minute to inspect Yoongi’s bare pectorals. It’s all too easy to get lost in the sight of his body in the mirror. You subconsciously lick your lips and run your fingers across your flat, hard chest.

Your thumb circles a brown nipple and you watch with satisfaction as it grows hard at your touch. Your palms press down over your stomach, feeling the muscles hidden just below the surface of soft flesh. You grab at your hips, fingers threatening to dart below the band of your pants. Instead you suck air in through your nose and scold yourself for such weakness. You’re about to tug the sweater over your head when Yoongi silently enters and flops down on the bed face-first.

“Yoongi? Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?!” you shriek in your haste to cover up your own moment of weakness.

There’s a muffled response spoken into the mattress that you can’t quite understand.

"What?" Annoyance is a front for your embarrassment.

He turns his head to one side and sighs. "There are too many straps. Why did you pick such a difficult one?"

You definitely selected something with a lot of extra straps for a reason but you bite your lip and try to come up with an excuse that seems plausible. The truth is that you wanted to pick something sexy because you wanted him to see you as such. Does he care though? It's hard to tell. You decide the best excuse is to dismiss the question altogether.

"Stop being such a baby. I'll help you."

As he lifts his head to cringe in your direction, you're already out the door. He pounds his forehead against the mattress again and squeezes his eyes shut. There's clearly no logical explanation for this, so what is the next step to take? What should the pair of you do? Is this permanent? There has to be a way to undo whatever has happened. In order to figure that out he's trying to piece together the source of this predicament. No matter how hard he wracks his brain for answers to the puzzle, there still seems to be pieces missing.

"Get up. Come on," you huff, tugging at his arm.

The sound he makes is pitiful and whiny as he rises. It's easy enough to see where his arms are supposed to go when you've already bunched all of the material together. You step behind him and fiddle with the fit around the familiar mounds of flesh at his front. He instinctively looks down to watch how his own familiar fingers slide beneath the bra. He pries his eyes away just as quickly to find he has a much better view of the pair of you in the mirror.

There's a sight he'd never thought he'd see: both of you shirtless with his hands in your bra. It's not that he's never wanted it. It's just that he always seems to fuck it up when it comes to being social, with you in particular. Maybe it's because he likes you too much. There's never been a proper opportunity to make a move outside of work and he knows his flirting skills are abysmal. But looking at the reflection of the pair of you now fills him with equal amounts of desire and confidence.

Just as you’re about to clasp the first strap behind his neck you glance up and find yourself lost in the same reflection. An electric blush creeps up your spine and causes a tingle in your cheeks that makes you freeze like a deer caught in headlights. He hums a soft sound and makes the decision to reach back for your wrist. For a moment you’re not sure if you’re moving or if he is but you find yourself enjoying the sight of Yoongi’s thick fingers dipping below the fabric of your bra.

“Yoongi?” you ask, jaw hanging slack as the bra slips a bit further down.

“Do you feel that?” The voice is quiet as he lets you trace fingers along the soft skin. “It pinches there.”

That pinch is a familiar one but you always tell yourself that’s the price of beauty. The straps chafe. The underwire digs into your ribs. It’s uncomfortable. But it’s the sexiest-looking thing you own so comfort be damned. You watch it slide further down to reveal one of your nipples in the reflection of the mirror; it’s impossible to look away. So much for him not looking anymore. You can’t blame him because it’s impossible for you to take your eyes off it too. The sight of Yoongi’s thick fingers trailing along the side of your breast sends a surge of excitement through your veins.

Goosebumps form a path where your fingers have traced and Yoongi exhales a shaky breath. The sound makes you chew on your bottom lip in contemplation. Is he feeling just as turned on right now? You try to remind yourself that the mirror is a lie. He’s not touching you. You’re touching him, regardless of how it looks. You can’t let your feelings cloud your judgement. It’s so fucking hard to think straight now that you’re together like this, not just because he’s here in your room but because he’s experiencing the unique arousal of his body while trapped in yours.

“Being a girl sucks. What am I supposed to do about it?” Your fingers tremble as you force your eyes to meet his in the mirror.

The action does not go unnoticed. He smirks and quirks a brow but chooses to let it slide without commenting. “Give me something easy and comfy.”

“But—” You hesitate. Do you really need to argue about this? You can’t explain it without admitting your feelings towards him. It seems like an inopportune time, more so than usual. It’s better if you can just shut the fuck up for two seconds and work on the important task at hand: figuring out how to get back to normal.

He immediately fills the gap with an objection of his own. “Why does it matter?”

“It doesn’t,” you say in the flattest tone you can muster.

He turns around to get a better read on your body language but you’re already rummaging through your drawers. You toss a sports bra with a front-facing zipper at him while you don the sweater and slip into the bathroom to relieve yourself. It’s best to avoid situations like that again if you can.

Yoongi takes this moment to inspect the room, crinkling his nose at the several empty cans of Hot6 stacked on top of your dresser. He brings a long manicured nail to his teeth and begins working it back and forth as he slides the folding closet door open with a finger. Much to his surprise your wardrobe is filled with t-shirts that look much more comfortable than the piece you previously selected. He’s quick to trade shirts and carefully replaces the clothing on the hanger before sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning back on his elbows. Comfy. Finally. His attention is drawn to the closed bathroom door. It’s been a while. Are you okay?

“You better not be passed out in there,” he whines, making sure to sound extra annoying for you.

The attempt to conceal the concern in his tone is successful but he’s happy you’re not able to see his worried expression. If you knew how badly he wants to freak out, you might actually start hyperventilating again. He’d like to avoid that. The door swings open and you exhale deeply. You’re not about to tell him you had to wait out the boner because then he’d probably make fun of you. He watches you take a few steps forward while wedging a nail between his teeth.

“Are you biting my fucking nails again?”

“Yup.”

You’re already scrambling across the bed and by the time he moves to shuffle backwards you have his wrists pinned against your soft comforter and you’re straddling his waist. Oh god. This is too fucking hot to be doing with him while he’s in your body. Abort. Abort!

It’s now that you note he’s wearing a soft cotton t-shirt you definitely did not pick out. “Yoongi, did you—”

“These clothes are better. Did you give me the most uncomfortable things you own just to make me suffer for stealing your muffin?”

Between the sports bra and the t-shirt he’s selected the curves of your body are lost to your eyes and your heart sinks. There goes any chance you had of him thinking your body is sexy. He’s expecting a tongue lashing but you sigh instead and release your hold on him, quickly climbing off his form before you can let your body get you into trouble. You search for the laptop that you know is hidden just beneath the covers near your pillows.

“Pfft. Look, maybe we can google what happened to us and not get Freaky Friday movie reviews. You wanna see if it works?”

He offers a half smirk in response and he’s quiet only for a second before he hums a sound of distaste. It’s an accusation and you know it. He quickly scoots back towards the pillows so he can sit beside you.

You scowl as you mistype your own password. “Ugh. What?”

“I’m just wondering why you’re so mad.”

“I’m not.”

You make sure to broadcast the fact that you’re definitely not mad by repeatedly tapping the delete key in a slow, deliberate motion.

“Why does your face look like that then?” he prods while folding his hands across his lap.

“Like what? You of all people should know that your face always looks this grumpy.”

As he rests his head against the fluffy material behind him, he lazily rolls his head towards you. “Y/N.”

You dramatically throw your head back against the pillows and mirror his stare. “Yoongi.”

“What is it?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you mumble.

“It clearly does,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “We have to work together to figure this out, so some honesty might be nice.”

You open the laptop and stare at the password screen for a moment with a longing sigh. “Fine. I look gross in those,” you admit with a brief glance at his attire. “You’re making me look like an unsexy blob.”

He scoffs. “What? Is that all? You’re being ridiculous. These clothes don’t matter at all. We both know what you look like underneath them. Honestly, you could be wearing a trashbag and still be sexy.”

“To whom?” You want to laugh at how absurd his explanation sounds. “What kind of lunatic would think that?”

He blinks slowly and raises his eyebrows with a calculated clench of his jaw. “Me. For starters.”

He’s stiff as he purses his lips and crosses his arms. He stares at the login screen, waiting for you to type your password. “And any sane man or woman with a pair of eyes and a brain.”

Your mouth falls open in disbelief mid-stroke. Was that a confession? Your head might as well be full of helium with how high you’re feeling. This has to be a dream. If the insane concept of switching bodies with Yoongi isn’t enough to solidify it, those words sure are. You have to be dreaming.

Your eyes remain locked onto the fingers now resting against the keys. “Do you really think that?”

“Yes.” The response comes quicker than expected but instead of giving you time to ruminate on it, he nudges you with his elbow. “Password.”

Your shoulders lift with a deep inhale through your nose and drop back down with the subsequent forceful exhale through your lips. What are you supposed to do with that information? You feel your consciousness try to lift into the aether. If you could only make it float back into your own body, you might have the courage to say something, anything. With your mind drifting away, your fingers move of their own accord as they type in the password to your laptop.

"Whoa, what the fuck is that?"

The video you'd left open last night starts up with a preview that brings you back to reality, but not fast enough.

"D-Don't look! It's private!" you screech.

Heat pulses through the veins along the sides of your forehead. Precious seconds have already been wasted by the time you frantically scramble to close the tab. He's seen the keywords in the search bar and the nastiest bits of that particular video. You're fucking mortified.

“I mean that’s definitely a couple privates," he jokes with a laugh. "You seriously just leave your porn out like that?"

”Incognito mode, Yoongi," you sneer while pulling up a new tab. "I don’t need you or my FBI guy judging me.”

He snorts. “Oh come on, Y/N. The FBI doesn’t care about your porn preferences. And neither do I. Besides, you technically looked at it with my eyes already.”

He taps the side of your forehead gently as if you needed the reminder that you're not in your own skin and you swat him away. You quickly type the phrase “body swap” into the search bar and try to focus on the resulting web pages even though you’re distracted by the blood leaving your brain in favor of other body parts.

"Can you just… Shut up for one second?"

"Hey, I'm just saying..." He clicks his tongue thoughtfully as he scooches closer to you. "You’re into some good stuff. We might have more in common than I thought."

Butterflies erupt in your stomach at the physical contact and send a tingling electricity down your abdomen. You clear your throat and reposition the computer over your lap as you feel yourself growing harder. You stare down at the two fingers settled on the trackpad rather than the information on screen. Try as you might to remain inconspicuous, suddenly all you can think about are those thick fingers rubbing hard circles against your clit while the two of you watch porn together. Bad thought. Baaaaaad. You attempt to pass the laptop over to him as discreetly as possible while shifting your pelvis away towards the edge of the bed.

“I’m…” You flounder for an excuse to leave the room and get these racing hormones under control. “...pee.”

“What?” There's a quizzical expression branded upon his features that toes the line of disgust.

“I have to pee,” you quickly correct while tactically holding your forearm over your lap. If there is such a thing as fate, why is it torturing you like this?

“Again?”

You push the laptop towards him once more and pray that he’ll just let you go be embarrassed alone in the bathroom for five minutes. Instead he looks down at the way your forearms cross your pelvis and exudes a deep, throaty laugh that sounds foreign in the tenor of your voice. That laughter travels through your head like it’s made of hot coals.

“Wow. Got a boner, huh?”

Your cheeks are made of fire. Literal fire. They feel like they should melt straight through your skin and torch your brain yet here you are: still alive and wishing you would burn to death. God is dead. There is no mercy in this universe.

"Don't fucking laugh at me! I can't control it!"

When he laughs harder, the urge to silence him overtakes all rational thought. You reach for a lock of hair sticking out from beneath his cap and pull hard. He hisses through his teeth and you smirk, knowing what kind of response this would normally elicit from your body. Will it affect him the same, or is the sexual response guided by mental preference rather than physical? Maybe it’s both. It seems to have some effect because he’s stopped laughing.

Yoongi shivers as goosebumps riddle his arms and prickle along his chest until his nipples are threatening to poke holes through the thin fabric of the bra and t-shirt. His jaw tightens and on instinct his hand shoots up to grasp at the short black hair adorning your head in retaliation. He catches himself before he pursues the motion of yanking down. What is he doing? Can he really be so bold with you? He knows you, but not like this. Things are strange right now but if he keeps going they're bound to get stranger. If the butterflies in his stomach weren't enough to tip him off to his attraction to you, even like this, the wetness between these thighs solidifies the magnetism you hold over him.

A pitiful sound escapes your lips that hints at your disappointment. “Mmm?"

He pauses there to inspect your expression, tilting his head as though it will give him a better read. He should be able to interpret his own expression but looking at his face through your eyes doesn't seem to help at all. Because he's studied your features for so long it's hard to see what you're feeling now that he can't see them at work. His palm flattens against your scalp and he allows his fingers to wander through the thick black hair he's combed out a million times. Somehow it feels softer in your hands. Soon he finds his hand cupping the back of your neck. Labored breaths swim in the space between the pair of you, but it's hard to tell who they belong to.

"What are you doing?" you whisper as your fingers reach for the brim of his cap.

"What are you doing?" he echoes back.

Have your eyes always looked so fierce, or is it his persona breathing a dark fire into them now? You flick the cap off his head, which releases all the hair he had trapped underneath it. You push it back from his face and tangle your fingers within it.

"Pretending like this isn't just you wanting to make out with yourself to see what it's like," you answer, staring at the reflection in his eyes. "You?"

There's a smirk that grows into a full blown grin within seconds. "Trying to convince myself that it isn't insane to want to make out with myself just to see what it's like."

You scoff and drop your hands to his shoulders to give him a firm push back. "Dick."

He giggles at the way you pout and halfheartedly pushes the laptop towards the other side of the bed. The hand still on the back of your neck travels up to massage your scalp and suddenly you're putty in his palm. His other hand trails along your stubbly jaw until his fingers are nestled behind your ear. As he glances down at the tent in your pants he laughs.

"Still hard?"

"Like your nipples," you grumble.

You reach out and twist the peaks barely hidden beneath his shirt; it's an impulse you don't refuse. This time he moans.

"Oh, you liked that, hmm? I bet you're so fucking wet right now," you whisper, embracing your boldness.

You watch his eyes roll with the flutter of his lashes at your words. Both of his hands glide through your hair and he begins to flex his fingers around some strands. He alternates between releasing his gentle grip on your locks and twisting his fingers back into them. You’re making him crazy. Should he even bother trying to compose himself at this point?

“What?” you prod, pushing the limits of his endurance for such brattiness. “Aren’t you going to pull my hair, Yoongi?”

The way he glares at you causes your skin to break out in a series of goosebumps. How can you be shivering when your body was just doing its best impression of molten rock? Yoongi. That’s the answer. You whimper a pathetic sound as his knuckles curl towards your scalp. The motion brings your forehead down to meet his and your eyelids flutter closed. He focuses heavy breaths out through his nose and stares at the lips he knows are his own. They may be part of his usual physical appearance but right now they’re a part of yours.

“You’re so fucking obnoxious.”

He sucks his bottom lip through his teeth and moves towards you before he can second guess what he's about to do. His lips seem to meld with yours and your eyes pop open to be sure this is really happening. Is this really happening? You see your own nose and heavy lidded eyes peeking open just enough to roll back in pleasure.

The hands buried in your hair drop to cradle your jaw and you can feel the stubble scraping against the delicate skin of his fingers as he drags his hands slowly towards your chin. You melt into his touch and hold your breath like you'll never inhale another again. Suddenly you're kissing him back and no amount of lightheadedness can stop you.

Oh shit. This is happening. It’s not anything like your daydreams but it’s real and it feels so fucking good. It feels surreal. It feels too surreal. Maybe the lightheadedness can stop you. It's you, but it's not. Your eyes open again and you find a battle of anxiety raging in your brain. He pauses to peck the edge of your mouth when he realizes you're no longer kissing him back.

"What are you doing?" he murmurs, resting his forehead against yours. “Did I… read that wrong?”

“No! No, I’ve wanted to do that for a while. It’s just…” A laugh bubbles from your throat and you shake your head before bursting into a fit of giggles. “This is weird.”

Relief washes over his features and he smiles as he leans back to look at you. “It’s definitely unique. But I can’t say I want to stop.”

His admission fills you with a fresh wave of tingles up your spine. “Me neither. I… still want you.”

You sheepishly turn your head to the side and find the mirror lining the closet wall, looking at the image of the pair of you as if it will save you from the embarrassment of your own words.

"What? Now you're getting shy?" he teases while following you gaze to the reflection. It dawns on him that he can enjoy the view. "Or do you just want to watch?"

He moves towards your lips slowly while keeping focused on the mirror, watching your eyes lazily roll back behind your lids and revelling in the whine this pulls from you.

“Look,” he pleads in low whisper, angling your body so you can get a better view. “Look how good you look with your tongue on my neck.”

Your head lolls around just in time to see exactly that before the sensation snaps across your nerve endings. He latches on, sucking light bruises into the tender flesh. He knows where to put his tongue to have you gripping the back of his neck and arching your back up towards him. He smirks as he glances at the mirror, licking a hot stripe up to your ear where he teasingly nibbles on the lobe.

"Does it look as hot when I--when you...?" You flounder on your words in between soft pants, your eyes trained on the reflection.

He counters with a whisper, “Do you want to find out?”

“I’m… curious,” you admit, leaning your head back to give him access to more of your neck.

“You want to know how it feels,” he lazily mumbles against your neck. “Hmm. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it.”

“It’s a unique opportunity,” you say, trying to convince yourself that proposing the idea isn’t weird at all. “Maybe we just… See?”

“Right. This is a unique opportunity,” he echoes in agreement, burying his face into the crook of your neck. His voice is muffled as he sighs a heated breath against your skin. “We should take advantage of it.”

“I mean, as long as you don’t tell anyone.”

He pops his head up to look at you, his brows knotted in confusion. “Who would believe me?”

You shake your head and smirk. “I guess you’re right.”

There’s a moment where the concept of time seems to evaporate. You both stare at each other like you’re seeing your own faces for the first time, like it’s the first time you both can actually love and accept yourselves as you are. It’s easier to be gentle with someone else, but now that someone else is technically also a part of you it brings a level of clemency to your feelings regarding your appearance. You like yourself better now that you can see a part of him there.

“Will you show me how you like it?” he asks with a tilt of his head.

“If you show me, too,” you say with a gentle rock of your hips towards him.

“You first.”

Your mouth is already covering the soft expanse of his neck, dragging your teeth with just enough pressure to tease the skin. He watches you work up and down through the mirror, feeling the arousal between his legs building. As you're kissing a path back towards his mouth he takes a chance and swings his leg over your midriff so he's kneeling just above the throbbing cock hidden beneath the thin layer of gray fabric. The jeans dig a hard line into his stomach and limit the range of his spread.

"These pants are horrible," he complains.

"Take them off if you hate them so much," you agree between hungry kisses. It's impossible to keep your eyes from the mirror. He hooks his fingers beneath your sweater and begins working it upwards, stopping only to rest a palm on your chest.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" He trails his fingers down the flat expanse until he gets to your navel, passing over the dark hair leading down into your pants. He tugs at the place where the hair begins to grow thicker and laughs when you hiss an expletive.

He quickly pulls the oversized sweater upwards. Instead of helping you out of it, he clutches the fabric with both hands as you bring your arms above your head and presses you back into the mattress. You find your bent elbows trapped in the sleeves.

“How about this?” he whispers. “Do you like this?”

“Yes.” You look down at the delicious pectorals he’s exposed, practically salivating at the sight of those pert nipples. “Yoongi, please.”

He smirks as he runs his fingers down your chest, ignoring the nipples you wish he would do something about. Lower. Lower. His hand travels behind him until suddenly your body spasms with pleasure from the practiced grip he’s placed on the cock standing at attention behind him.

“This? Does it feel good when I touch you like this?”

“Fuck! Yes. Please. Yes!”

Just as quickly as his hand pressed against your clothed erection, it’s gone, leaving you a whimpering mess. He plants a kiss beside one of your nipples, but denies it any direct contact.

"Stop teasing me," you whine. The pressure in your chest builds with every second that passes and you feel like your heart is going to burst.

He lets out a lofty sigh as he sits back on his thighs, promptly removing his t-shirt. "But you make it so easy..."

You wiggle out of the arms of the sweater and sit up to unsnap the button to his jeans. You kiss up his stomach until he’s unzipping the bra and letting you nip at the supple flesh for a moment. He discards the bra like it’s nothing before rolling over to unzip his pants. He peels them from his legs along with the soaked panties. It’s hard to not look at the mirror as he climbs over your waist. If he holds any shame for being nude in front of you, it’s not apparent in his current form. Your face, however, feels hot. Your body is exposed and he keeps looking at it, groping those breasts with his hands.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he says quietly, admiring the reflection as he plays with his nipples between his fingers.

You want to bury your face in something to hide your embarrassment so you plant your face between his tits and begin to suck bruises into the soft flesh beside his fingers.

“Oh fuck.” The sight of his own face diving between those squishy tits is enough to make his body involuntarily flex in ways he’s never experienced before.

“How does it feel?” you murmur, slowly licking a path to one of his nipples and lightly dragging your teeth along it.

The sound he makes when he moans has you shivering all over again. He lets his head fall back for a second and then he looks at you. “Like I want you to touch me.”

Now you’re the one who smirks with confidence. “Lay back.”

He snaps the band at your waist as he rolls off of you. “These. Off.”

Manicured fingers slip down to rub some of the tension from the swollen bud between his legs as he watches you awkwardly push the pants down past the cock begging to be touched. You try to avoid looking at it. It’s hard not to feel exposed even though it’s not your body. You scramble back into the bed as quickly as you can. His laughter catches you off guard.

“You’re so shy now. Look at it. Feel it,” he urges. “Grab my cock.”

You try to be casual about your downward glance but the way you lick your lips is anything but casual. You press your thumb into the base of the cock to admire its shape from a 90 degree angle. It’s average in terms of length but your mouth waters at the sight of the bulging veins and increased girth just below the swollen tip. You don’t bother to resist the urge to grip the shaft. You drag your hand up and trace your thumb around the fleshy mauve tip. The sensation causes you to shiver. It’s so sensitive.

As you’re admiring the way it tapers towards the base, soft, thinner fingers curl around yours and begin to guide them into a slow, controlled pumping motion that sets your nerves alight.

He quirks a brow at you. “What do you think?”

“Fuck, Yoongi,” you choke out with a held breath. Greedy gasps break the small silence that follows. Has it always been so hard to speak while masturbating? It’s not like you’re terrible at dirty talk so why are you hesitating?

“Do you need me to stop?”

You fervently shake your head and follow it with a needy groan. “No. Please… Keep going.” You hope he never stops.

“Then use your words” he urges, placing his hand over yours to slow your pace to a crawl.

You whimper. It’s a pathetic sound created with his voice in his throat, yet it still somehow sounds so deliciously like you. While he finds himself attracted to your usual body, it doesn’t bother him that you’re currently assuming a different form. Looks are fleeting anyway. It’s the person inside he’s grown attached to, the caring soul he feels connected to.

He’s seen you stare at the bulletin board near the restroom and tear off the tabs of creative community activities to benefit those in need. If he wasn’t so busy managing the store all the time he would have been able to sign up for those events too. He’s seen you volunteer at the homeless shelter just around the corner. He’s seen you cradling posters for your neighbor’s missing cat— he’d even let you keep one on the door to his store until you told him they found it.

The truth is that your soul is so beautiful and full that he’d want you no matter what you looked like. If only he had the courage to say that. But it's easier to hide behind snark.

“It feels so good,” you whine. “I wish I could put my mouth all over it. Bet you’d fill me so good.”

A growl escapes with his exhale and he guides your fist up and down the girth between your legs with increased vigor. He gently leads you by the dick, pulling you closer to the bed until your knees hit the side.

“Look in the mirror, Y/N. Watch,” he whispers in a low tone, almost begging you to keep your eyes on the reflection.

You do as he says and watch in awe as a set of manicured fingers tap against your chest and trail down to the cock still nestled in your fist. They work their way beneath your palm and shoo your hand away. Even knowing that Yoongi is behind the action, the sight of your hands stroking that perfect cock sets a fire of desire coursing through your veins.

You watch in the mirror as your lips plant kisses on the dark hair beneath Yoongi’s navel. You watch as your head sinks lower and lower until soft, plush lips are skimming the tip of his dick. You watch his length slide into your mouth and immediately your knees threaten to buckle.

His hands are already reaching up to stabilize your stance even as he glides his tongue against you. The pleasure is unlike anything you’ve felt before, but having your clit sucked and teased comes close. It’s heaven. You whimper a tortured sound sitting somewhere between the boundaries of pleasure and anguish. He plays your role so well, maybe even better than you could play it. You attempt to distract yourself from the nervous tremble of your thighs by gathering bits of his hair in your hands and balling it in your fists. He gargles out a muffled moan against you.

“I look so good sucking your pretty cock,” you whisper in awe.

He leans back to swipe his tongue over the slit and then sinks back down, nose hitting the tuft of dark hair at your pelvis as you bottom out in his throat. Your grip around his hair tightens with the slight rock of your hips. You press his face against your crotch like you never want him to leave. The pair of you look so fucking hot. You’re revelling in slow, shallow thrusts deep in his throat when he makes a gagging noise you know all too well. He grips your thighs and you immediately release your hold while pulling your hips back.

“Fuck I’m so sorry!” Heat rises in your face and you want to run and hide.

He rests his palm on your waist and catches his breath, a trail of sticky precum and thick spit connecting his mouth to your cock. It involuntarily flexes and bobs up towards your stomach and then back down, which severs the path of saliva.

“Don’t be. That was hot.” He wipes his lips with the back of his hand.

“Yoongi, you didn’t have to! I mean I was curious but I—”

You’re cut off by his harsh tug on your hands. You stumble forward and meet his dark gaze. How can he make your eyes look so hungry?

“I’m a firm believer in never asking someone to do what I wouldn’t. I like to know what I’m giving, don’t you?”

“God, I wish that were me. I want to taste you so bad,” you whine, licking your lips as you spare a glance down at the glistening appendage standing at attention between your legs. “Wanna taste you dripping off my tongue.”

“You can,” he assures you in a soft voice, cupping your face with his hands.

His lips are on yours in an instant and you’re moaning against them like you’ll never get enough. The salty tang on his tongue transfers to yours as it dips into your mouth. You wish you could take him into your mouth yourself, but this is a good substitute for now.

"You taste good," you pant between kisses. "Why haven't we done this sooner?"

He pulls away to shrug, cocking his head to the side and focusing on your neck. "If you want something you have to speak up. No one can read minds and even if they could, often times people are so wrapped up in their own heads they'd never see what you think.”

"Wow, getting philosophical on me, huh? So… What? I'm just supposed to say, ‘Hey yoongi you're hot. Wanna fuck’?"

"That's a little blunt don't you think?" He laughs, allowing you to push him back onto the mattress. "Been holding that back long?"

Your heart skips a beat, heat flushing your ears. "Maybe. Would it have made a difference?”

He ponders this for a moment as he squints at the ceiling in concentration. "Mmm. I'd say you should at least buy me dinner first… "

You scoff. It’s not a no but it’s not an enthusiastic yes either. You climb onto the mattress, trying to ignore how casually he lays in your bed, completely barren before you.

He rolls onto his side and props his head up to survey your approach. You seem a little nervous so it’s easier for him to fake confidence for both your sakes. "I guess we're both guilty of not saying what we mean."

"What is it you really mean to say then?" If he’s got a juicy secret he’s been holding in, then you want to know to salvage what’s left of your pride.

"I give you shit but I like that you come into the store every day to get your muffin and your gross energy drink. I like when you come back in after just to bitch about your day and pretend like you need a snack that I never see you eat. I like when you ask me about my day, even though you know I’m shit at conversation. It makes me happy because I care about…" he hesitates when he sees your smug grin. "...”

“Yes?” you prod.

He draws a deep breath from his belly. “You. I care about you. I’ve never found an opportunity to tell you that I like you. I’m always working, keeping my store afloat, focused on the numbers and the success of my business. But I see you coming out of that building every day. I watch for you to make sure even after a year of this that you’re still coming here first. It’s crazy but you put me at ease and make me anxious at the same time. I feel like I know you, like I’ve known you all my life.”

He pauses to allow you to interject. When you don’t, he continues, “I feel it in my bones when you smile at me, when you roll your eyes at me, when you try to make me laugh... You’re so easy to fall for. I know that I’m not, but sometimes you look at me and I feel like you want to. I want you to. I wish you would come back when I’m locking up for the night so that I could see you outside of work, so I could take you out, so I could take you home. A thousand possibilities are always running through my head when it comes to you and I freeze when I think about acting on any of them. That’s what I don’t say.”

“Yoongi…” you finally whisper.

Your face scrunches up like you’re about to cry and he grimaces at you, knowing you’re definitely about to do just that.

“Don’t do that. My cheeks look so fat when you do that. Hey, are you listening? Don’t make my face look so ugly!”

His attempts to make you smile simply causes the tears to fall from your eyes. You melt into his embrace, burying your face against his neck as you sob. He places a tentative palm on the back of your head.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, planting a kiss against your hair, “if it’s just me.”

“No, I feel the same way,” you admit, turning your head to kiss his cheek. “You say you’re hard to love but how can that be true when I feel what I feel so easily? I will wait for you to close your shop and walk you home every day if you let me. I will be yours, if you let me.”

He turns your head so that he can bring his lips to yours. They taste salty again for entirely different reasons. Can you feel the way he’s trembling right now? All the relief in the world can’t assuage the ache of carrying such a burden in his chest for so long. The adrenaline is coursing through him like a wildfire, spreading until his lungs are burning with a heat he can’t quell.

“Mine, then,” he whispers, allowing the tears to stream down his cheeks freely. “Mine.”

He tangles his fingers in your hair, pulling you into a passionate kiss that threatens to steal every last bit of oxygen from your lungs. He growls into your mouth, claiming every inch inside with his tongue. He grinds his hips upwards and it’s then you remember that you’re naked and you have a dick that’s still half-hard and growing harder by the second.

You groan loudly. “Fuuuuuck. I want to fuck you so bad right now.”

He pulls back to bite his lip, the intrigue in his features apparent. “You want to try it?”

“I mean… you sucked your own dick for me. You don’t owe me anything—”

“I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. I want to try it,” he says, wriggling his hips beneath you. “Fuck. Me.”

“This is still so weird,” you say with a giggle, your eyes rolling back into your skull when the tip of your cock glides against his clit. “Ah…”

The pair of you pause and slowly repeat the motion. You can feel how wet he is and instead of being embarrassed like you would be in his place, you find it incredibly hot.

“Do it again,” he pleads, spreading his legs further apart to allow you better access.

You look down, pressing your thumb into the base of your cock and carefully glide the tip across the folds between his legs. He hisses an expletive between his teeth when you drag it past his clit and begin rocking your hips back and forth.

“Yeah, just like that,” he whispers through frantic panting and sloppy kisses.

You feel a cramp in your thigh and pull back to nurse the ache. He whines when you slink away from his body, missing the friction on his clit already, although he’s satisfied enough when you circle one of his breasts with your tongue and take a nipple into your mouth. You press light circles into his clit with the pad of your middle finger until you can feel his legs flexing around your body like you’re not giving him enough. His fingers dive beneath yours to tease the swollen bud.

“Let me feel,” he pants. “Let me learn where to touch.”

You carefully guide his movements for a minute while treating his other nipple to the pleasures of your tongue. He seems to get the hang of stimulating himself pretty quickly so you turn your attention towards his thighs. You sink between them and begin kissing the sensitive skin beside his folds. His thighs twitch when you trace circles around his entrance with your tongue. You briefly pause to inspect your fingernails, making sure none of them are a jagged mess from the way he’s bitten them. When you’re satisfied with your inspection you peek up at him.

“You want to try my fingers first?” you ask, feeling envious that you can’t be riding three of them to the knuckle right now. “I can show you how my mouth feels too, though I doubt I’m an expert on that.”

“I don’t care about that.” He lifts his hand so he can peer down at you from between his tits. “I’ll take your mouth anywhere you want to give it.”

He watches as you flick your tongue across the sensitive, slick bundle of nerves. He bucks his hips as you clamp down and roll your tongue back and forth over it. His pretty painted nails look so good digging into your ebony hair. It’s not long until you dip a finger inside his cunt, teasing until you’re bobbing it in and out at a decent pace.

“Oh…” he says, as if he’s surprised that the experience is so pleasurable. “Shit, that’s good. Fuck. I’m gonna....”

You push another finger into him, curling the longest digit as far as you can to try and reach the g-spot you know is hiding nearby. When you finally get it he grips your shoulders and arches his pelvis off the ground like he’s committing to a new yoga routine. You recognize the stiffness in his limbs, the involuntary tremble of his thighs beside your head, the heaving of his chest and the frantic nonsense spilling out from his lips. You focus your energy on his clit, replacing your mouth with your hand since you have more confidence bringing about his climax this way.

His hips stutter and you know he’s riding the line. It’s a little bit more difficult to find that perfect rhythm when your hand isn’t in it’s normal position. The way he sucks in a breath to release his needy whines almost makes you feel guilty. It’s not like you’re trying to edge him but you’re not able to keep that pressure as consistent as you’d like.

“I’m so close,” he pants. “But I keep losing it. I’m sorry.”

You’ve been there plenty of times but you’re desperate to make him cum.

“It’s okay. Don’t be sorry. Rub it, baby. You know what feels good,” you whisper, shifting your attention to fingering his cunt. You don’t call attention to the pet name, but it feels so natural falling from your lips in this moment. You hope he doesn’t mind.

In an instant his fingers replace yours on his clit and he’s building back up. His thighs quake and his back arches off the mattress one more time and you know it’s coming. He’s about to reach his peak.

He takes a sharp inhale and where you expect the loud wails you would normally make while riding out your high, there’s quiet shuddering and softy breathy moans that linger in the air around you. He grabs your wrist with an ironclad grip as soon as he rides the last wave and his sweaty thighs fall limp around your face. You’re grinning like an idiot as he pulls you by the hair towards his lips, desperate to feel you, to taste you. His tongue is exploring every bit it can, trying to steal the essence from your mouth.

“Mmm. I want to taste that sweet pussy every day.“

“Do you… Still want me to fuck you?” You’re really trying not to sound hopeful but you can’t stop thinking about it.

He smirks and wipes the sweat from his brow. “Let me feel how well my cock fills you.”

“Do I need a condom?” you ask. “Are you clean?”

He laughs like it’s an absurd question. “That’s up to you. I haven’t had sex in four years. I’m clean. If you’re not worried, I’m not worried.”

“Four years is a long time,” you mumble, suddenly feeling pressure perform well. “I have an IUD so if you’re okay with it…”

“I wanna know how it feels.”

As soon as you line yourself up with his entrance you’re sweating like you’ve never sweated in your entire life. You don’t know what you’re doing, but you’re hoping it doesn’t suck. It doesn’t take a genius to sense your nerves. He reaches out to cup your stubbly jaw.

“We don’t have to.”

“I want to. Just… tell me if I’m hurting you,” you whisper before pressing your lips to his.

You let the tip dip inside and descend into his cunt slowly, knowing the thickest part of your dick follows the tip immediately. The stretch must be delicious. You’re distracted by how tightly his walls are clamping down on you. It’s tempting to bury yourself in his warmth as quickly as possible but you show restraint. His breath hitches as he adjusts to your girth and you freeze. Has your body ever taken someone as thick as him? You can’t recall. Probably not.

“Keep going,” he coaches, grabbing at your ass to press you further inside until you’ve bottomed out.

Your head hangs down as you try not to let the sensation overwhelm you. His lips find yours, helping you climb back down from the high. You slowly move your hips back, already missing the tight warmth hugging you. It takes a few more slow thrusts until you’re pumping into him at a relatively steady pace.

“Sorry if my rhythm isn’t good. I’ve never done this,” you manage to say between heavy breaths.

“You’re doing fine. This feels amazing. What are you talking about?”

He could be lying to make you feel better but it’s working. He puts his hands by his head to indicate he wants you to hold them. You immediately twine your fingers in his and press the back of his hands into the mattress.

“Yeah? It feels so fucking good, Yoongi.”

“It does... But I know you can fuck me harder than that, Y/N.”

You can already feel the tightness you’re holding back, a pleasurable pressure building in your pelvis that warns you of the imminent orgasm you can only stave off for so long. You can’t help but slam your hips in harder and faster at his request. The sound of balls slapping against skin fills the room and he moves his hips to meet yours. His breathing grows labored but you know he’s not about to cum again. You’ve never gotten off from penetration alone and there’s no way your sloppy performance will cause that miracle to happen now.

“There you go… Fuck. That’s it.”

“I’m gonna pull out,” you warn, feeling like you’re testing your own limits with every thrust.

“Already?” he teases, digging his pretty fingernails into your back.

“It feels… too fucking good, Yoon…” You wish you had more stamina. “Gonna cum on those pretty tits.”

“Yoon?” He chuckles, now distracted by the way his tits are bouncing with each slap of your hips.

“Just wait until I’m back in that body riding your cock. See how long you last then.”

“Is that a promise?” he questions, cupping your jaw to kiss you.

“...Yeah...”

He can feel the difference in your pace, in the shivers of your body. You’re about to cum. He turns your face towards the mirror so you can see how fucked out your reflection looks. It’s intoxicating seeing Yoongi’s body so needy and desperate.

“Look at you. You’re not gonna make it to these tits.”

“Fuck…” you bite your lip and try to slow your pace but it’s too late. The tension and pressure bursts from the head of your cock like a confetti popper on New Years. With a few, strong pumps you spill your seed into his warm cunt. “Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck! I’m cumming! I’m cummmph--”

Yoongi brings your lips back to meet his to muffle the unexpected sounds of your orgasm.

“Oh my goooood. You’re so loud,” he teases when you finally come down, but you’re too spent to refute him.

There’s another twitch in your dick and you lay there with your mouth open, trying to regain sense of your faculties. He intentionally clenches around your softening length and every muscle in your abdomen flexes.

“Too much!” you shriek, pulling out and rolling off of him in one swift motion.

You let your sweaty back hit the soft duvet, trying to recover from the sensation. He laughs, angling his legs towards the mirror. You’re about to ask what he’s doing when he spreads his legs and swipes at the cum dripping from his cunt, pushing it back inside with his fingers and releasing a soft sigh. It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen yourself do, and you’re not even doing it.

When he’s satisfied that he’s pushed it all in, he lays down next to you. The two of you stare at the ceiling in silence for at least a minute. Is it awkward or was it just that good? You can’t tell the difference right now and it’s making you anxious. He covers your hand with his and looks over at you with a warm smile.

The anxiety-driven words come out before you can stop them. “You should pee. You don’t want a UTI and neither do I.”

╭⋟────────────────────────╮

╰────────────────────────⋞╯

About an hour has passed in awkward silence as the two of you conduct research on what the fuck happened to you. You haven’t talked about what you both did in this bed, but the smell of sex still hangs in the air. As soon as you both put your clothes back on it was like a switch of modesty came back into play, and you feel too shy to point it out. You don’t know what to say, so you’ve just been clicking on every link you possibly can to fill the silence as he scrolls through articles on his phone nearby. It’s uncomfortable and you hate it.

“I think I have something, maybe,” you say, scrolling through the 90s looking website you’ve been exploring for the last few minutes.

Yoongi scoots closer to you and furrows his brow as he squints to read the sloppy banner at the top of the page. “The Unsolved?”

“I know what you’re thinking. Conspiracy theorists are insane, I know, but—”

You reach for the trackpad at the same time and your fingers brush, causing you to freeze mid-sentence. You stare at the keyboard for a second and chew on your lip, allowing your eyes to dart towards your periphery without moving your head. When he doesn’t say anything you clear your throat and scroll with the trackpad.

“But, look.” You point to the two embedded images triumphantly.

“Necklaces.” He cocks his head to the side and reads the text underneath aloud. “���An Amulet of Discord is used by an Agent of Chaos to spread mischief and debauchery in the universe. It can be split into two halves to displace unsuspecting victims from their bodies. A glamour will protect the Amulet once the ritual is complete, making it impossible to see or touch. In order to reunite the victim with their body, the Agent responsible must be compelled to remove the glamour and mend the fragmented pieces into one.’”

“Last night I had one of those chincy friendship necklaces on and I definitely did not put it on. It looked a lot like the ones that weird guy tried to give us at your shop yesterday. I tried to get it off but it wouldn’t budge. Then it disappeared.”

“This sounds insane,” he muses, mulling over the information.

“Did it happen to you too?”

“I thought I saw one briefly, but… It was gone when I looked again. I thought I must be seeing things.”

“It’s gotta be it!”

Yoongi furrows his brows as you scroll back up to the navigation, not sure if he fully believes in this explanation. “What’s an Agent of Chaos anyway?”

“I guess they like… cause mayhem for fun? I don’t know, the description said something about pleasing a patron that they get their powers from.”

“Like a god?”

The thought makes him uneasy. If a god of chaos exists then surely there are more out there. If gods exist but they do nothing to balance out the cosmic injustices of the universe, are they really gods or more like demons? He feels like he’s about to have a full meltdown over something he can’t understand or control.

“Maybe. It doesn’t describe them at all. But…” You give him a reassuring smirk. “It does give instructions on how to trap an Agent. We just need a little more space and some chalk. We’ll draw him out, trap him, then make him undo his magic. What do we have to lose?”

His heart feels lighter when you look at him so softly. “Makes it sound simple when you say it like that. Also, slightly insane.”

╭⋟────────────────────────╮

╰────────────────────────⋞╯

The website was very lax on defining the ‘discordant energy’ needed to summon the agent, so the pair of you have been improvising. Yoongi suggested moving into the store for the space you needed, but you have a feeling he’s just anxious about it being closed for the day. It’s fine. You don’t want to constantly be thinking about the sex neither of you are acknowledging right now. Yoongi is brushing his teeth after drinking a bottle of orange juice.

You grimace at him. “You really think that’s gonna do it?”

He stops mid-brush, his mouth full of foam and garbling his words. “It’s better than doing nothing. How are you helping?”

You give the sunglasses rack a slow spin. “I drew the sigil on the floor. If we’re gonna trap him we need to be ready. Were you able to find anything else?”

He clicks on your laptop a few times before hurrying into the back room. He reappears a moment later, wiping at his mouth. “That was gross.”

You watch him concentrate on the screen, trying to forget the way it felt to kiss him everywhere he would let you. It’s hard to focus on the task at hand when there’s this feeling lingering in your uneasy stomach. Are you doomed to never speak of the things that made your heart flutter?

“ A thousand possibilities are always running through my head when it comes to you and I freeze when I think about acting on any of them. That’s what I don’t say .”

You tell yourself you imagined those words, that you wished them into existence. You turn the rack of cheap sunglasses again. Even if you knew what you were looking for, you wouldn’t find it with the way your mind is wandering. You look back at Yoongi, debating whether or not you should speak up about the uncertainty in your gut.

“Keepsake!” he says excitedly, running out from behind the counter. “It says they often leave something behind so they can return to observe their work.”

His sudden movement makes you jump and loudly smack your hand against the stand in a panicked attempt to look inconspicuous. He pauses to look at you and raises an eyebrow but you’re already laser-focused on the rack again. Desperate to hide your growing embarrassment you pluck a pair of sunglasses that is strikingly similar to the ones you’d seen the man wearing that day.

As soon as you put them on you inhale sharply. “What the fuck?”

“Hmm?” Yoongi wonders. “What is it?”

“There’s something written… on the fridge.”

“What? Where?”

You lift the glasses up to be sure you can’t see the letters scrawled on the glass without them. The message disappears. Once you place them back on the bridge of your nose they practically glow, beckoning you towards them. You push past him on your way to the drinks section. “Here. It says… Now you have… specs appeal?”

Yoongi pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s it?”

“What do you mean, ‘that’s it’? It was a solid pun.”

The pair of you look towards the sound of the stranger’s voice. Instead of forming words you exclaim a sound of surprise. He looks confused.

“You’re going to need to speak clearly. I’m not sure I understand your language.”

“You! You did this!” you shriek, taking a step forward.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” the man says with a puff of his cheeks. He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “It’s not nice to accuse people of things. Have I done anything? Are you sure you’re not dreaming?”

A haze of golden dust spreads across the room like twinkling stars. As you blink and rub at your eyes you yawn and feel a sudden urge to lay down.

“Mmm. I am sleepy…” you admit as you sink to your knees.

Yoongi looks down at you like you’ve grown two heads. “Y/N, what are you doing?”

You laugh and lazily grapple with his leg. “Come lay down. Please? It’s made out of feathers.”

Yoongi watches you close your eyes. Suddenly your body falls limp at his feet. He crouches down to cradle your face in his hands, your name an urgent plea on his lips. “Y/N. Y/N wake up.” He pinches your cheek but you don’t respond.

“She wants this to be a dream. Don’t you?” The man takes a few casual steps forward.

“No, I don’t,” Yoongi growls. The threat sounds odd coming from this body, tone too meek to pass for intimidating. He glares at the man after reluctantly tearing his eyes from your sleeping form. It may be his body on the floor there, but you’re trapped inside it. “Wake her up.”

“She’s tired!”

Yoongi rises to his feet and shields your unconscious form as the man creeps closer. “Don’t take another step. You’re going to regret it.”

“Threatening me? Hah… You’re pretty bold, considering you’re not really in a bargaining position. Spunky! I’ll give you that. Say, I’m curious. What do you think I am anyway? I’ve got a bet going and I know I’m gonna win because I’m right, but I need proof. So if you wouldn’t mind speaking into this...”

Out of his pocket comes a microphone. He holds it out like he’s giving the most intense interview of his life as he awaits Yoongi’s response.

“You’re… Some kind of trickster.”

The man sucks his teeth and shoves the microphone back in his pocket. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind. So much for my bet… Come on. Don’t you think I look more like a god?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you work for one,” Yoongi muses, “but you sure aren’t one.”

“Wooooow….” The man sighs in disbelief. “The disrespect! At least you’re honest. I can appreciate that. I— ”

The stranger’s body seizes up as he takes another step forward. ”Ow!” His body convulses for a second before he regains his faculties. He looks down to find the sigil scrawled in chalk around his feet. Try as he might to scrape the markings off with his heel, his shoes are unable to scuff the powder. He furrows his brows and throws his hands in the air.

“Really? Are you kidding me? An integrity prison? Where did you learn this?”

Holy fucking shit. It worked, Yoongi thinks. He’s never been more relieved in his life.

“Wake her up,” he repeats calmly.

“I was gonna,” the man pouts, slumping into a cross-legged sit. “But now I really don’t want to. Would it kill you to have manners? Look at this. You’ve put me in a difficult little pickle here.” He reaches behind his back and pulls out a jar full of dill pickles. He fishes one out and takes a loud, crunchy bite. “I was just having a little fun and now I’m stuck here, doomed to this ugly little space.”

Yoongi crosses his arms, quickly losing patience. “Stop being dramatic.”

The man glowers at him and crunches on the last bit of the pickle with slow, loud chewing.

Yoongi lets out an exasperated sigh. “Please, stop being dramatic.”

With a surprised nod, the man gulps down the pickle and hops to his feet. “Well, you said please, at least. Was that really such a big... dill?”

Right as Yoongi groans, the man snaps his fingers and flexes his pointers into finger-guns. You immediately yawn and sit up.

“What happened?” you mumble.

Yoongi offers you a hand and you take it, rising to unsteady feet. He wraps a hand around your waist to support your weight. “You took a nap but you didn’t miss much. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you murmur, the haze lifting from your sleepy eyelids. You gasp as your eyes focus on the man trapped between the center aisles. “Huh! We got him!”

“Yeah, yeah. Time to celebrate. You trapped me. Good job.” The sarcasm in his tone is evident, accompanied by a roll of his eyes. Confetti falls from above your heads, showering the pair of you in glitter and shiny streamers with the flick of his wrist. “Now let me out.”

You’re blown away by the bizarre moment, springing forward and out of Yoongi’s grasp. “Magic? Then, are you really… a god?”

The man pats his pockets frantically. “Finally! Someone with a sense for my greatness! Ugh! I should have been recording. Damn! Where’s my microphone?”

“Gods don’t get trapped with chalk,” Yoongi says, folding his arms and tapping his toe impatiently. “This guy is an underling. Hey! Don’t get too close!”

Your mouth hangs agape in awe as you approach the man. Scrutiny must be new for him because he seems stunned. That wide-eyed expression is erased quickly enough when he strikes a heroic pose, planting his hands on his hips and puffing his chest out. His pecs and shoulders seem to inflate when he inhales, causing them to swell into well-defined muscles.

“Oh.” You blink a few times, entranced by the sudden transformation. You reach your hand out as if to touch the meaty bicep practically bulging from his sleeve. “Who… What... are you, really?”

“Y/N!” Yoongi’s hands enclose around your waist, pulling you back into him just as your hand is about to break the barrier.

The man’s muscles deflate with his held breath as he bursts into a fit of squeaky laughter. “Oh! I almost had you!” He wheezes a squeaky sound through his inhale that you can only guess is laughter. He clears his throat. “My name is Jin. Matchmaker…” He holds up two matches in his hands and sets them alight with a flick of his wrist.

“Lover...” He winks and the matches disappear. In their stead are two roses. He tosses them at the two of you but when you go to catch yours it disintegrates.

Yoongi catches the disappointment on your face and thrusts the flower towards you, hoping it will restore the shine to your eyes. You give him a big, cheesy smile as you dust glitter from his hair.

“Ah… And! Balancing agent…” He stands on one foot as a seesaw appears to lift him into the air. He jumps down triumphantly with a bow. “At your service.”

You clap enthusiastically until you look over at Yoongi, who looks less than amused. You then nudge him with your elbow until he gives a solitary clap.

“What’s a balancing agent?” Yoongi asks dryly.

“We restore balance to the world. Things that are too uniform need a little chaos. Things that are too chaotic need to be put back into line. In our down time we like to have fun in our own ways. Me? I like to set people up.”

“So you’re not an Agent of Chaos?” you ask, disappointed that the conspiracy theorist page that led you to this point isn’t exactly the fountain of knowledge you had hoped for. There’s so much you don’t know.

Jin looks at you, clearly confused. “I mean some people call me Cupid, but I guess you can call me that. Has a nice ring to it. My powers are more inclined for chaos.”

“Cupid?”

“What? I’m a romantic. I can see the strings of fate! Also I may have a penchant for mischief, but that’s neither here—” He points at his feet. “Nor there!” He points at the shelf beside you which causes a bag of chips to burst, sending its contents everywhere.

“Hey!” Yoongi yells. “Are you going to pay for those?”

“Yoongi…”

“What?”

You can tell he’s irritated but clearly this guy can do a lot more than pop a bag of chips from across the room. You don’t want to fall on the bad side of his magic but you don’t exactly trust Yoongi’s mouth to keep you in Jin’s good graces.

“Stop being rude,” you whisper through clenched teeth.

He scoffs and answers you in a hushed tone. “How am I rude? He’s making a mess!”

“Then we’ll ask him to unmake it.” Your irritation heightens the volume of your voice to the point where it’s barely a whisper anymore.

“He’s playing with us. I’m through asking.”

“Yoongi.”

“Y/N.”

Jin laughs. “See, this is what I mean. Fate is practically screaming for me to help you. Chaos is just an added bonus for this boring town.”

You both look at him and ask in unison, “What?”

He points to the both of you. “Look.”

As you turn back to face Yoongi you’re shocked to see a pale blue orb glowing above his head. “Huh? What’s that?” You reach out to touch it but your hand passes through it without any change.

“You have one too,” he mumbles, squinting at the way a thin line seems to stem from it. Then he sees another. And another. It looks like a shiny, glittering web that splinters into a thousand different directions. His brows furrow as he inspects the tiny threads. “Do you see them?”

Your gaze follows his pointer and suddenly you can see the branching strands too, not just yours, but his as well. It’s beautiful. It’s overwhelming. It’s terrifying. Seeing the trepidation written on your face he silently beckons your attention to his finger, which is pointing to a thread that is golden instead of a pale blue hue. It’s the only one of its kind in the intricate glittering lattice between the two of you. You follow his pointer as it traces the path that stems from your orb until it gets closer to his and then you take over, finishing the path with your finger to the point where his orb engulfs the line.

“What is it?” you wonder aloud.

“A string of fate,” Jin answers with a wistful sigh. “It’s always exciting to see one, isn’t it? It means you’re soulmates.”

“Hah. Bullshit,” Yoongi responds, waving the air with his hands as if to disrupt the strings. They remain intact. “You just like causing mischief.”

Jin puffs his cheeks and scowls. “I can lie about a lot of things, but the strings aren’t one of them,” he huffs. “Why would I need to do that? What’s more unpredictable than true love slapping you in the face?”

He makes a motion with his fingers and sweeps them towards Yoongi.The compulsion rises and you’re powerless to stop it. Your hand moves of its own accord and lightly slaps Yoongi across the face. He looks betrayed as he rubs his cheek.

“I’m sorry! It wasn’t me!”

The tingle in your arm causes it to move back towards him in a gentle swoop. Your wrist is limp as it smacks into his chin and rubs back and forth as if to comfort him. Jin bursts into a fit of laughter as he breaks the compulsion.

Yoongi lets out an exasperated sigh, stomping up towards the circle around the stranger. “Just change us back and you can go on causing problems elsewhere.”

“I can’t,” Jin answers simply, crossing his arms. “The charm will break only under specific conditions.”

“And those are?”

Jin shrugs with his bottom lip protruding as he frowns. “It’s different for everyone.”

“Of course it is.” Yoongi sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, pacing back towards you.

“There are some things you can try. Staples of the trade.” Jin notes some dirt beneath his fingernails and begins cleaning them. “Number one. Have you tried talking about your feelings?”

Yoongi’s gaze settles on yours and it’s like you can feel your heart stop. Say something. You open your mouth to speak but the words won’t come so you snap your jaw shut and stare at the glitter on the floor.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Yoongi says as he folds his arms across his chest, trying to not get distracted by the breasts he inadvertently touches. He decides to drop his hands to his hips instead.

Jin rolls his eyes. “Okaaaay... Number two is filling the chaos meter. Go crazy. Do the unexpected.”

“I don’t know what we’d do,” Yoongi admits, pacing around the circle.

“What if we kissed?” The voice is soft and sweet.

He turns to face you, a combination platter of surprise and confusion. “But we did.”

“Reeeeally?”

Jin’s laughter makes him feel like a fool. He was convinced you said it, despite knowing your voice is not your own right now. How stupid could he be, walking right into that? He squeezes his eyes shut a moment and then focuses his attention on the captive.

While Yoongi is distracted you’re working a pack of mentos out of their packaging. You kneel down and twist the cap off one of the liters of cola placed on the endcap you. The hiss of the carbonation makes Yoongi shift attention.

Your name on his lips is half a warning, half a question loaded with uncertainty. You open another bottle beside it before he can get close enough and drop mentos into each. The liquid erupts into two fizzy fountains that reach the ceiling and spill back down to the floor. Yoongi takes off his hat and grips his hair like he wants to tear it out.

“What are you doing?”

“Filling the meter?” you answer meekly with a shug, stepping back from the puddle on the floor.

Jin roars with laughter. “Oh man. There is no meter, but that was delightful.”

Yoongi grumbles and goes back to the counter, grabbing the laptop and sinking down behind it to hide from the pandemonium of this situation.

“You’re the worst,” you mutter as you pass Jin. You quickly sit next to Yoongi on the floor.

“It was a joke!” Jin calls. “Come on, don’t leave me alone here.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize as his fingers rapidly tap the keys. “I’m trying to help.”

“I know.”

“What are you looking for?” you whisper.

Yoongi listens for a minute to the grumbling of the man trapped in the circle nearby. “How to trick a trickster. I have a feeling we need him to undo it but he won’t come out and say it.”

You sigh and press your chin against his shoulder. “I’m tired.”

He looks over and tips his head down to nuzzle his cheek against you. “I know.”

“Huh?” Your vision diverts to a shiny blue can beside him. “Are you serious?”

“Hmm? Oh yeah.” He picks it up and quickly downs the last sip, the Hot6 Logo shining back at you in mockery. “I found it earlier and needed a pick-me-up.”

“Did you find more?”

“Nope. Just the one.”

“But…” you pout. “I wanted it.”

He holds the empty can out to you. “It’s grown on me.”

“I’m about to die without the sweet taste,” you whine, shaking the can to make sure there’s nothing left.

“You’re so obnoxious.”

He rolls his eyes and cups your jaw, leaning in to press his lips against yours. You don’t protest when he dips his tongue past your lips to rub against yours. You can taste remnants of the drink on his tongue. If Hot6 wasn’t your favorite drink before this, it is now.

“Better?”

“Maybe. Still not sweet enough.” You giggle.

He takes the opportunity to kiss you again, crushing your mouth against his in a deeper kiss. You’re practically melting into him as his tongue glides against yours, moving in a rhythm that you now crave. It’s so easy to forget everything else, where you are, what’s happened to you. He moves to straddle your lap, grinding down intentionally as he grips the back of your neck. He knows you’re half-hard already and fuck if he doesn’t just want to have you again. You’re the only thing that feels real right now.

He pulls down the zipper of the hoodie you’ve given him to allow access to his neck. It’s not until he allows you to latch onto the sensitive flesh there, with his hands buried in your hair, that he notices the security mirror. You’re so hot. He wants to be in you so badly but he’ll settle for you being in him right now.

╭⋟────────────────────────╮

╰────────────────────────⋞╯

Suddenly he notices the other person in the mirror. Jin is sitting cross-legged on the floor in his invisible prison, resting his chin on a hand as he stares back through the reflection with eyebrows raised. Yoongi quickly clears his throat and climbs off of you. You blink in confusion at the disruption until he points at the mirror and then you cast your gaze at the floor.

“We should take care of this.” He runs his fingers through his hair to compose himself before placing the cap back on his head and focusing his attention back on the computer.

“Wow, you almost went there with me watching. That would have done it for sure,” Jin says, breaking into a grin.

“Come on!” you shriek, popping up from behind the counter. “Please, just change us back.”

“I told you. I can’t,” he repeats firmly. “I actually don’t lie as often as you seem to think I do. Maybe you should try having sex. They say the soul leaves your body for an instant when you reach the finish line, you know. It can’t hurt. Ohhhh wait a minute...”

He jumps to his feet after watching the guilt flash across your face. Your eyes seem to dart around him, but never land close enough to his. Blood rushes through your ears, drowning out all the sounds that aren’t your heartbeat.

He smiles wickedly. “Oh my god, you already did. I mean, I get it. Who wouldn’t be curious? It’s only human to wonder. Oh, to be human… Seriously, have you tried talking about your feelings?”

You turn towards Yoongi and crouch back on the floor, disappearing from Jin’s view. He steps on his tiptoes to try and see around the counter before settling back on the security mirror. You can’t help but focus on his nosiness.

“Yoongi. I... Look. Can we go in the back? I need to talk to you. Privately.”

Jin clicks his tongue and sighs as the pair of you cross the store and slip into the door that reads ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY.’ You breathe a sigh of relief when Yoongi locks the heavy door behind you. He bites at his nails--your nails as he waits for you to say whatever you need to. You take his hands into yours.

“Things are weird right now and not just because of this,” you hold up his hands in yours. “Are you regretting everything now?”

He smirks and gives you a small laugh. He slinks away to rub the back of his neck. “I don’t regret anything. I mean what I said. I care about you. I just… I get embarrassed, I guess.”

He’s embarrassed? You didn’t think he was capable with how blunt he normally is. “Sorry,” you mumble. “I’m insecure. Sexy, right?”

Time seems to slow as he draws near. There’s a lighthearted laugh on his lips before they meet yours. It feels like the first time all over again. Butterflies erupt in your stomach and you throw your arms around his neck, desperate to get closer even though you’re already pressed up against each other. You lean into him as you gasp in his hot breaths between kisses. To counteract the weight you’ve pressed against him, he pushes you backwards. Your arms fly back to catch yourself as you stumble but you knock into a freestanding shelving unit. Cans of soup clatter to the floor and roll off in various directions as Yoongi steadies the rack to keep it from falling.

He sighs, dropping his forehead to your shoulder in defeat. “We should focus.”

You whimper and will yourself to move the pair of you away from the wire rack. You run your fingers through your hair and attempt to compose yourself. Everything feels like a dream. It’s hard to think with him consuming the majority of your thoughts. You clear your throat, hoping your mind will also clear with the action.

“Hey,” he says, fingers on the latch. He pauses to lock eyes with you. “It might have seemed like the heat of the moment, but I really mean what I said. So tell me you’ll stick around after this is done?”

You run up and lace your fingers in his free hand before giving it a firm squeeze. “Promise.”

As he opens the door Jin jumps like you’ve startled him with your presence. “Whoa, I thought maybe you’d murdered one another. I heard a loud bang.” His gaze drops to your entwined hands. “What? Did you finally embrace destiny?”

“Destiny. No destiny. It doesn’t matter,” Yoongi says calmly as he squeezes your hand. “This could all be a dream. But we’re here now. We care about each other in this moment. That’s real. That matters.”

Jin does a slow clap while grinning from ear-to-ear. “Wow! It usually takes people a few days, maybe a week!” He looks at his wrist as though he’s wearing an invisible watch. “It’s been, what, a day? You did good.”

“Does that mean you’re going to help us now?” You perk up immediately.

“I mean I think you’ve helped yourselves. You look happy. You’re comfortable, right? Can’t you just let me go and keep existing like this?”

When he’s met with silence he sighs. “Ahh, well there is one more thing you can do, I guess. Have you tried checking your pockets?”

His suggestion is met with eyerolls from the both of you. While nonsensical, the unexpected has become a staple of your current state of existence and you feel you owe it to yourself to at least entertain the possibility. Your fingers slip into your pocket and explore the ridges of the hard object nestled against the fabric. Excitement courses through you as you pull your half of the locket from the confines of your sweatpants. Dumbfounded, Yoongi sticks a finger into his tight jeans and fishes the other half of the necklace out of his pocket.

“Hah, I can’t believe you didn’t even look,” Jin says with a laugh. “Now put them on, place the pieces together and say ‘Me Hoy Nimoy.’”

You exchange a skeptical look with Yoongi but you both comply and blurt the phrase soon after linking the pieces of the necklace together. You hold your breath, waiting for something spectacular to happen but disappointment soon floods your lungs. Just as you’re about to speak up, Jin clicks his tongue.

“Ah, close your eyes. It won’t work if you’re watching.”

Yoongi grumbles. “You’re fucking with us.”

“Hey, some magic is shy. Follow the rules. Do you think I’m just making this all up?” he pouts.

Your answer comes in unison with Yoongi’s: “Yes.”

Jin looks hurt as he clutches a hand over his heart and staggers backwards. “Woooooow. Well, just do one more thing then. ”

A devilish grin soon replaces the expression and his squeaky laughter fills up the store. He points at the pair of you with both fingers and wags his fingers in circles. You feel compelled to turn in place. Yoongi matches the uneasiness in your gut with the panic in his eyes. You both spin in circles away from one another. Once. Twice. Three times. Just as you’re about to complain about the nausea churning fresh waves in your belly, Jin waves his hands inwards.

You’re lifted into the air. The toes of your sneakers leave behind squeaky skidmarks of rubber on the tile as the pair of you are dragged forward. Jin cocks his head to one side and examines you with an expression of stone. For a split second you’re terrified but then he breaks into a grin and snaps his fingers. His thumbs and index fingers form the shape of a heart as he holds them out and you drop to the floor.

Yoongi reaches out for your shoulder. There’s a soft tremble to his fingers as he pulls you close to him. When you look upon his visage you can already see his jaw transforming, a thin stubble growing in along its perimeter. Every time you close your eyes to blink more of his face has morphed back into his own. You look down at your own fingers and watch as the nails narrow and elongate. A glossy pink hue returns to them but the polish looks slightly less finished with the way Yoongi has gnawed on the edges all day.

Suddenly Yoongi is frantically scrambling to his feet, kicking off his shoes and working the zipper down on his jeans. Everything is quickly growing far too tight. The hoodie you’d given him just barely covers his crotch as he stands up straight. He looks over at you with a relieved sigh and cups your jaw.

“You good?” he asks, rubbing the pad of his thumb across your chin. It takes all of your self-control to keep from licking it as it grazes your lip.

You nod, eyes falling to the necklace dangling over his sweatshirt. As soon as you reach out to yank it off, the trinket disappears in a puff of purple smoke with a clap of Jin’s hands. He holds them in place like a silent prayer just below his chin, a strained smile staining his face just above his fingers.

“So, here’s the thing. I’m gonna need you to hold up your end of the deal.”

“Fix my store first. Clean up this mess you’ve caused,” Yoongi says while taking a step in front of you.

Jin’s bottom lip protrudes into a pout as he eyes the puddle of cola on the floor. “I didn’t do that,” he complains under his breath.

It’s incredible how close he came to freedom, incredible and frustrating. His magic may not be able to touch or alter the circle, but you almost freed him with your ignorance. If the liquid had run close enough to seep into the chalk, he would be somewhere far more sunny and beachy right now. He’s earned a vacation for this milestone of success.

“Fiiiine,” he concedes.

With a snap of his fingers the store is spotless once more. While Yoongi inspects the area of the tile floor previously coated in cola and glitter, you glide your foot over the circle of chalk and break the seal that binds Jin to his current location.

“Finally…” he sighs, side-stepping out from the invisible barrier. “You’re welcome, by the way. Invite me to the wedding, okay? Don’t forget the little people who helped you on the way. As for me... I’ve got a date with the pearly beaches of Accord.”

He swirls his wrist in the air and the pair of ugly red mirrored sunglasses appear on his nose just in time for him to adjust them. He lowers the specs to give you a wink before snapping his fingers. Before you can even call out for him to wait, he’s gone in a puff of purple smoke that quickly dissipates. You’re left in stunned silence to contemplate your existence.

What are you supposed to make of everything?

As you stand there on the cusp of a mental breakdown, soft, velvety petals brush against your cheek to steal your attention. The scent of the flower overtakes your senses as Yoongi uses it to tickle your nose. You find him smiling back at you, almost like he’s too shy to speak, but then he does.

“Weird day huh? Can I have my pants back?”

You hum thoughtfully, making sure the shutters of the shop are still shielding you both from the outside world. “Would you mind if I wanted to get back in them later?”

He snorts, holding back a laugh. “Been waiting to use that all day?”

“No, I just thought of it right now. Aren’t I impressive?” you say, wiggling your eyebrows at him. You shimmy out of the sweatpants and leave them pooled on the floor, doing your best to walk past him with grace and seduction.

“So impressive.”

He offers an amused laugh when you bend over to pick up the garments he was so quick to discard when his transformation reverted. You spare a glance behind you to see if he’s looking at the way you so blatantly flaunt your ass. He’s in the middle of dragging his bottom lip through his teeth when your eyes steal his attention.

“Something wrong?” A wicked grin belies your innocent tone.

He exhales a long breath and shakes his head, turning his attention to pulling his pants up. “Impressive isn’t the word. You’re obnoxious.”

“Isn’t that your way of saying you wanna make out?”

He’s quiet as he takes off the remainder of your clothes to reveal a muscular chest riddled with goosebumps. It’s hard to hide how your grin spreads wider as he approaches with them in hand. You’ve had dreams like this: he’s shirtless, asking you to take off your clothes so he can fuck you in his store. Right here with your tits against the cold glass of the fridge. It would be a dirty secret only the two of you would know and you’d think about it every time you’d come in for your energy drink.

You slowly lift the hoodie from your own body, trying to appear as alluring as possible. You make sure to arch your back as your breasts briefly catch in the fabric and then drop against your ribs, completely exposed to the chilly air. Much to your dismay he’s quick to spin away from you and mutters a “thanks” instead of naughtier offers.

He’s aware you might mistake it for rejection, but he’s hoping you don’t see the way his fingers tremble. It’s incredible how scared he feels being back in his own skin. The intimacy of your connection left a void behind that’s quickly filling with disquiet. He feels incomplete without a piece of you with him, lost in the vast emptiness of himself. How can he feel such need for you? His chest aches with the possibility that he won’t ever feel whole again. The bravery that possessed him while piloting your body has waned. Now that normalcy is somewhat restored, he has the chance to start processing the events of the day. A part of him begins to embrace the panic he’d previously pushed down and his confession replays in his mind as though he’s just spoken it.

It was a bold move, especially given the situation. It could have ended horribly. He puffs out his cheeks and holds his breath, trying to remind himself that it didn’t. It’s okay to let go of the anxiety over it, but he still feels so uncertain. Even turned away from you and fully clothed, he’s never felt more exposed and vulnerable. He tries to hide the burning of his ears by running his fingers through his hair and shielding them with his arms. He has to bring himself back or else you’ll be talking him down from a panic attack and he doesn’t want you to see him like that.

Stupid. Stop throwing yourself at him. You struggle to put on the tight clothing as quickly as possible. Tears threaten to fall as you awkwardly wiggle your jeans back and forth up your thighs and over the swell of your ass. You make sure to swipe at the corners of your eyes before clearing your throat to signify you’re fully changed. He spins to face you but everything he means to say gets lost on the way to his mouth. He freezes, overwhelmed by how beautiful you are even in this shitty lighting, and how thankful he is to be able to see you through his own eyes.

His heart pounds at the confines of his chest like it needs to burst from within. There’s a small burst of adrenaline that plumes from the explosion of butterflies in his stomach. It fills him with the courage he needs to close the distance between you with a kiss, the kind of kiss he’s been dreaming of giving you for months. Right here in this store.

He loves how eager you are to reciprocate when he tangles his fingers in your hair. He holds you there like you’re about to melt away in a puff of smoke. Your lips are so soft, so sweet, so warm pressing against his. His tongue rolls over yours, desperate to keep tasting and feeling more. You grasp behind his neck and dig your fingernails into his shoulder as he deepens the kiss. When you roll your hips towards him as a subtle test for determining his hardness, you can feel him smile against your lips.

“Not in the store.” He gives you one more chaste kiss and pulls back just enough to allow you both to breathe. He adjusts one of the boxes on the nearby shelves. “You already drive me crazy. If we do it here I’m going to be thinking about it every time I’m stocking shelves.”

“Yoongi…” you whine. “Please tell me you’re keeping it closed for the day.”

He sighs as he plucks his phone from the counter to check the time. “Might as well.”

“Can I walk you home?” You chew on your lip as you wait for his response. What you wouldn’t give to spend the night with him.

Unable to hide the smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, he nods his head towards the exit. “Why would we waste our time?”

Your heart sinks into your butt, thinking this must be it. He changed his mind after all. He hates you. There’s no doubt about it now. All you can manage is a squeaky, “Hmm?”

He rests his palm on the handle of the door and he presses his lips into a thin line, looking wide eyed. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so adorably hopeful and embarrassed at the same time. “You live closer.”

╭⋟────────────────────────╮

╰────────────────────────⋞╯

The comforter at your back is soft and cool to the touch as you scramble to settle yourself against the pillows. Yoongi wastes no time wiggling off his sweatpants and climbing over you. The sound of your panting mingles with his as he hovers above you with his lips parted, trying to catch his breath. If the hurried ascent up the stairs wasn’t enough to have him gasping for air, the makeout session just inside your front door definitely has him devoid of oxygen. This still feels like a dream, but it’s one he doesn’t ever want to wake up from.

"How do you want it?" he whispers. He glides a finger up your thigh and lightly traces circles around your labia.

Your mind travels back to your earlier experience of coming undone and suddenly your stomach is doing flips.

"Just like this," you answer. "I want to feel you just like this. Do you remember where to touch?"

He nods, skimming his parted lips over yours while he places his finger over the hood of your clit. "Like this, right?"

"More pressure," you plead, working your hips in circles to coach his movements.

He does as you instruct and clamps his mouth over yours in a futile attempt to find relief for the aching need to be inside of you. He grinds himself against your side, his cock rubbing against your soft, heated skin as he tries to remember the exact motions needed to elicit enough pleasure to make you cum. He doesn't have to wait long until frenzied, weak moans are vibrating against his mouth so he turns his attention to your neck. He wants to hear how fucked out you are. He wants to hear how badly you want to cum. He wants to feel you pulse around his fingers.

As he plunges a thick finger deep into your cunt, a pathetic, desperate sound escapes you. "Oh, fuck."

"Feel good?" he mumbles into the hollow space between your neck and shoulder.

"Please. Please. Please. Please," you whimper incoherently, bucking your hips to meet each thrust of his finger. You can feel his cock rutting against your side and all you can do is imagine that he's pumping it into you instead of his fingers. "Oh fuck, Yoongi."

His lips twitch into a smile as he feels you tighten around his finger. He kisses your neck and sinks a second finger carefully inside you. You allow your head to fall against the pillow and bite your lip to try to contain the drawn out needy groan already helplessly spilling out of you. So close. Your back arches off the mattress and he wishes he wasn't so concentrated on the motions of his hands right now because he would absolutely love to be tonguing your perfect tits.

He pants against your skin and looks at them longingly. Maybe he can manage it? He's determined to use what he's learned about your body to help you cum, but not yet. You can't help but whine at the loss as he repositions himself, which breaks the sightline you had on your orgasm.

"Yoooongi... I was close..." You whimper when he abandons your cunt entirely to press your tits together. His mouth is hot as it clamps down on your nipple, giving the peak a hard suck before dragging it through his teeth.

"I know. Wanna make you cum with my tongue," he murmurs into the supple flesh.

He swipes his fingers along your cunt and swirls the wetness over your clit before bringing it to his mouth. You can already see how they glisten in the low light of your bedroom. The low moan that rumbles its way from his throat has you rocking your hips up against his pelvis as he settles between your legs. Your silent grinding isn't enough of a confirmation. He wants to hear you say it.

"Can I go down on you?" He blurts the shameless question while alternating between kissing both of your breasts and only pauses to meet your eyes.

You want to feel him everywhere but mostly you want his mouth on yours while he’s balls deep inside you. You don’t even care if you cum because being with him like this feels good. Being with him fills your heart with giddy hope and your stomach with butterflies. Being with him is enough. You want to tell him that but instead you nod and whimper out a pathetic “please.”

He wastes no time dipping his head down between your thighs to press the flat of his tongue against your clit. A low growl escapes with his exhale before he puckers his lips to kiss the soft skin and breathe in the heavy scent of your arousal. You’d be embarrassed if his tongue didn’t feel so magical. It glides against you so effortlessly, bringing pleasure with every quick flick against you.

Your hands dive into his hair and you start rolling your hips to grind his face harder against you. He doesn't seem to mind though. In fact he seems to embrace the motion, wrapping his arms around your thighs and pulling you in as closely as possible. If you weren't so preoccupied with the orgasm building just below the surface of the place where his tongue keeps hitting then you might worry that he's suffocating himself. Right now all you can focus on is the pleasure threatening to break you open and leave you spilling a million curses into the air around you.

"Yoongi. Fuck. I'm close," you warn, as if the frantic way you've twirled his hair around each of your fingers isn't enough to tip him off. Do you really think he can't feel the shaking of your thighs in this moment?

He hums a sound like he doesn't hear you, but he doesn't let up at all. He keeps his pace steady for you as you approach your end once again. Your nails scratch against his scalp but he doesn't mind. He actually really likes the way you're losing your mind over the simple things he's doing with his tongue right now. He can't even begin to imagine the pretty sounds that might spew from your lips with practiced effort but he knows he can't wait to hear them.

Suddenly your hand flies up to pound the wall behind you and you announce the wave of pleasure coursing through your clit through the use of a loud string of expletives. He can feel the way your flesh pulses beneath his tongue and he revels in it. You ride his face so well. You can ride it for as long as you want as often as you want. He wants to tell you that but he also wants you to ride out your high for as long as it lasts, so he lets you buck your hips and raise your cunt off the bed. He lets you thrash around through the sensitivity until you're finally pushing his face off with both hands.

"Good? Do you need more?" he verifies, rising from between your legs to deliver a messy, wet kiss to your lips. He smirks through it, knowing he really doesn't need to ask at all to know the answer.

"Cheeky fuck," you murmur, not bothering to even attempt to hide your matching grin against him. "I need it."

"What do you need?" His fingers trail a soft line down your side, reminding you that his teasing nature is simply a front for his caring heart.

"I need you inside me." Your breathing is spotty as you pepper kisses along his jaw. "Like this. I want you to feel me the way I felt you."

It doesn't take long until you're tasting yourself on his lips again. He shifts slightly and you know he's lining himself up with your entrance when you feel the swollen tip of his fat cock nudging at your hole. He's slow to thrust into you. In fact he stills, only giving you shallow, teasing thrusts. He favors letting you wiggle down just a little bit to coax him in. He smiles against your lips and pushes in further, giving you that stretch you were hoping for.

When you suck in a sharp breath he pulls out, but as soon as you whine in protest, he's already carefully moving to slide it back in. The slow stretch has your jaw dropping open and he takes the opportunity to bite on your lower lip. You take the bait and feed him hungry kisses until he’s completely buried inside of your tight cunt. He takes a moment to growl a low sound that has you clenching around him.

“So tight,” he whispers, pausing to curl an arm beneath your head.

He presses the back of your hand against the mattress as he twines his fingers with yours. He drives himself deeper into you with each slow thrust and it feels like he still can’t get close enough. So you raise your other arm above you and angle it until you’re linking your fingers with the ones beneath your head. You kiss his cheek and savor the intimate moment.

When he lazily sinks into your cunt again you crack a smile. “Can't you fuck me harder than that?"

"Mmm." He lifts his head and seems to accept your challenge. His hips pull out slowly and suddenly slam back into you. This sets a new fervent pace that has you squeezing both of his hands. "What do you think? Is this better?"

You do little to actually answer his question and instead offer a slew of swears and moans each time his balls slap against your ass. "Shit. Fuck, fuck fuck. Yoongi..."

"What kind of answer is that?" he asks innocently.

"God, your cock..."

"Mhm," he prods.

"Feels so good, Yoon."

He chuckles. "Yoon... Cute."

"I'll show you cute," you huff.

"Oh?"

You release his hands in favor of pressing your palms against his chest. He pulls out and before you can miss the way he fills you, you're flipping him down on the mattress. You swing a leg over his pelvis and straddle him. It takes you a moment to properly position yourself. You give his length a few pumps in your hand before lining it up with your entrance.

"Careful," he warns, planting his hands on your thighs. "Don't wear yourself out."

You sink down quicker than you probably should. You're eager to make him cum faster than he did for you. The wetness in your core seeps down in translucent trails down your inner thighs. Your own brand of lubricant seems to be enough to keep the stretch pleasurable. Yoongi bites his lip as he gazes down at the way you're bouncing on his cock. You know how good it feels for him, especially with how hard your pussy is squeezing him.

"Don't worry about me."

The sensory overload building in your gut coated with the memory of the unique experience. It mixes with the high threatening to burn its way from your core. You take a deep breath and exhale loudly before you continue. You revel in a slow descent, memorizing every kind of way the stroke makes you feel. Then you begin to quickly draw him in and out of your cunt. The obscene sounds of wet, rapid slapping fill the room.

After a few minutes you've finally got a good rhythm down. Despite the cramp throbbing down your obliques, he's hitting that sweet spot inside you at just the right angle. If you didn't know any better you'd think you're about to cum again. You steady yourself on his chest and trail your hand to his stomach to maintain your balance. Trying to keep the unrealistic pace you'd previously set for yourself is proving difficult, but you swear you're feeling like maybe you're about to crest into the biggest climax of your life. Then again, it could certainly be the biggest letdown now that you're aware of it. Your orgasms have left you for less.

Yoongi knots his eyebrows together in concentration and he reaches down to rub circles against your clit. His fingers are clumsy and new to this angle but they're feather light. He can see in your face that you're chasing some great new high and he just wants to help you achieve it without overdoing it. He knows how shy your cunt is about giving you orgasms so he really wants to do it right. Is this right? He figures you'll tell him if it isn't.

You moan weakly in response. Suddenly, you know it's coming. You can feel it building every time his hips slap up to meet yours. "Oh my fuck."

His abdominal muscles flex beneath your palm and he forces his breaths through his nose as he struggles to keep himself composed. Your cunt is squeezing him so tightly that he knows he's on the brink of his own release but he's determined to help you feel as good as you make him feel.

"That's it. Cum for me again." He tries to coax it with those strong pleas, but his voice is broken with an inhale sharp enough to cut his words.

Both of your thighs are coated in slick sweat. You don't think you've ever felt so fucking wet in your life. He glistens just as much in the dim light so you know between the two of you there's a puddle of sweat soaking your sheets. It's easy to forget how gross or embarrassing it is when the tip of his cock rubs against your g-spot so well. Right now the only thing that matters is getting relief for this pressure building behind your clit.

Despite the shakiness of his fingers, he's able to coax it out of you. Your trembling thighs feel like an earthquake that's finally reached its peak tremor and you find yourself crying out and bouncing to the rhythm of your spasming cunt. You chant your praises and curses in the same breath. His name is a drawn out breathy expression of gratitude and bliss. As soon as you slump forward to kiss him he takes your hands in his own and frantically pumps himself up into you. He can still feel the involuntary flex of your cunt even after you've clearly expended every ounce of your energy reaching and literally riding out your second orgasm.

"Can I cum inside?" he asks between frantic breaths.

"Well, you're not gonna make it to these tits," you tease with a smirk. You may be spent but you'll always have the energy to give him shit. "Do it."

"So fuckin hot," he mumbles against your lips.

The muffled grunts expelled against your mouth and the slow, deliberate snap of his hips leave you in a state of surreal euphoria. He squeezes your hands in his along with his release to let you know this is real. You're here with him. When he comes down from his high he kisses you gently one more time and pulls back to look at you. You take the break in physical connection to roll off of him and stretch out your aching calves and let the air from the fan cool your skin. The tingling in your legs tells you not to get up right now, as much as the fear of a UTI screams at you to do the contrary. Instead you turn your head towards Yoongi and he smiles at you. Sleep threatens to take you when he begins to stroke your hair.

"If you'd have told me last week I'd feel this close to someone, I'd have laughed at you," he starts in a quiet voice, "but I feel really close to you. I'm glad this insanity happened to us."

"Me too." You can't help but smile back. "I don't want to go to sleep because I'm afraid you'll be gone when I wake up. What if this is a dream?"

"Then I'll find you when I wake up. You'd better find me too."

"What if we forget?"

He grabs your hand and runs his thumb over your knuckles. "I won't forget."

"Promise?"

"Mhm." He closes his eyes, clearly every bit as exhausted as you are. He's quiet for a minute and you think maybe he's already fallen asleep until he peeks out from under his eyelids. "... I think you need glasses."

"What?"

"I was just thinking. I felt like I was squinting all the time when I was you. Maybe that's why it took you so long to see how I felt." He shows off a big, toothy grin.

"Wow that guy really rubbed off on you, huh?"

You smack him in the face with a pillow when you get up.

╭⋟────────────────────────╮

╰────────────────────────⋞╯

The muffin and can of Hot6 sit on the counter, guarded by Yoongi's forearm.

"Wow, you already have my stuff ready? Is this the kind of perk I get for dating the owner?" you wonder.

He rolls his eyes. "Not yours until you pay for it."

"You're so sweet, not eating my muffin this time."

He drags his lip through his teeth and tries to hold back a devilish smirk. "I've found better things to eat, don't you think?"

Your heart thumps against your chest and you do your best to remind yourself that offering to suck his dick behind the counter is not what you should be doing in this situation. But you want it so bad. He watches your internal struggle with raised eyebrows and a smug smile. He slides the energy drink towards you.

"Here. This is on me today. You look a little thirsty."

Your shoulders raise and then deflate with your sigh. "Do you even want me to come back later?"

"What? It's free for you. You should be happy."

"And the muffin? What do I owe for that?"

He mimics your dramatic sigh and places it before you. "It's crazy. Your boyfriend offered to pay for that too."

"He's so generous." You shake your head but it can't keep the grin from your face. "Lots of free stuff today."

"It's a... special for today only. So don't get used to it or anything. But there is one more thing we're having a sale on, if you're interested."

"Hmm?"

"Free of charge, for you only." He taps his lips with both pointers, looking impossibly cute. His charm is devastating, really.

He cracks a smile and you feel yours grow impossibly wider. You lean over the counter and give him a sweet kiss.

"How long does this offer last?"

"As long as you want."

"Forever."

"Forever, it is." He gives you one more quick peck. "I've gotta mop the floor and you're gonna be late for work."

"Ugh. Wanna trade?"

He purses his lips and gives your hand a little squeeze. "Not a chance."

[cotton-candy-haze]

The Burning Boy

aka “How Jakob Became a Metahuman”

The story of where Jakob was on the night of the Particle Accelerator explosion and how he gained his scars. A random fire and a wave of dark energy combined to give Jakob amazing superhuman powers, but also kept him alive to deal with the consequences.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: swearing, non-graphic descriptions of fire, blood, burns, and emotional distress.

Jakob entered the abandoned warehouse with a huff and dropped his satchel onto the dusty pile of blankets he called his bed. He had been out for hours, desperately trying to get some money from the kind passersby. As good as he was at it, he tried not to pickpocket people if he could help it, so he had spent the first half of his day doing magic tricks outside of the mall. His hands shook and papercuts, both old and new, dotted his skin. His little street performances had gained him a whopping total of three dollars, seven cents, and a crumpled up gum wrapper with no gum. He had wanted to quit, but then his stomach grumbled and, before he knew it, he was following a man in a brand-new suit.

It had been easy. It was something he’d done a million times before. Slinging his satchel over his shoulder, he used the movement to stumble into the man. In a flash, his fingers dipped in and out of the man’s jacket pocket. Before he even knew what was happening, Jakob had a new wallet in his pocket and was spewing apologies as he turned away. Once out of sight, he wasted no time tugging out the cash, wiping the wallet clean, and then dumping it on the sidewalk. He took the long way back to the warehouse, just in case anyone was following, and arrived safely back to that old abandoned building.

He dropped to his knees and dug through his satchel, carefully pulling out the money he had collected. The money disappeared into his pocket, the satchel was pushed away, and Jakob collapsed back onto his pile of blankets with a groan. He sat there for a moment, simply relishing in the peace and quiet of the warehouse. After a beat of silence, he felt around in his satchel for the sandwich he’d bought on his way back. Tugging it free, he started to eat as he flipped on his radio. It was a beat-up old thing that he'd found discarded behind an electronics store, but it still worked. Sometimes, when he got lonely in this big abandoned building, he used it to fill the silence. That's what he did now, shifting through stations until he found some random news report. He listened to the reporter drone on and settled back against his blankets. The words washed over him in waves and his eyes grew heavy until he had completely fallen asleep.

"The Particle Accelerator is set to turn on later this evening. Tune in then to see what scientists are saying..."

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✵ .⋅} ────── ⊰

Jakob was never warm, especially not in this drafty warehouse, so the intense heat that surrounded him was a shock as he woke up. The air around him felt thick and sweat dripped furiously down his face. He kept his eyes closed and took a deep breath to quell the pain in his chest, but the action only filled his nose with the putrid smell of smoke. In a panic, his eyes snapped open and several harsh coughs escaped him. Instead of being met by the familiar darkness of the warehouse, a warm orange glow filled his field of view. His brain stuttered to a stop, unable to make sense of what was happening. His lungs burned and smoke continued to fill his nostrils, but he couldn’t think, he couldn’t even move, as panic consumed him.

It was only as he heard subdued voices that he started to stir. He sat up, his chest heaving as his lungs desperately tried tried to get any oxygen out of the thick air. His little radio was still on, but the sound was fuzzy and distorted and there was an odd roaring in his head that flowed over it. With fumbling fingers, he reached for the radio and pressed it to his ear. It crackled with static, but he simply pressed it harder against the side of his head. Finally, he heard something come through the slowly dying radio.

“Reports are coming in from the ground floor of the Particle Accelerator’s grand opening. The machine has-”

The radio spluttered and died, leaving Jakob entirely alone in the stifling heat. An involuntary scream tore from his throat and he threw the radio, which promptly disappeared into the orange mass. He heard it shatter before he was overcome by that awful roaring sound again. He felt unwell, his stomach swirling as he scrambled to his feet. The blankets twisted around his legs and he found himself tumbling to the ground again. He caught himself, the shock of the impact twinging painfully in his wrists and making his arms shake. He sat there for a moment, breathing deeply despite the sharp pain of smoke grating against his lungs. He could feel heat against his palms; the concrete was so hot, too hot. He couldn’t breath, couldn’t think of anything besides the throbbing in his hands.

Jakob shakily stood up and stared at his palms, tracing the familiar lines with his eyes as he tried to ground himself. The skin was angry and red, and it stung painfully in a way that tugged at his memory. His hands stung just like they had a few months ago when he messed up a new trick with some flash paper. The paper had burned so bright and so fast that he barely had time to think before the fire was creeping toward his fingers. Fire. Bright, hot, painful fire.

“Fuck,” Jakob muttered as he lifted his gaze away from his hands. 

The orange glow was still there, just as bright, but the sleepy panicked fog in his mind had disappeared. He stared into the glow and the flames reflected in his eyes. The warehouse was alight, flames licking at every surface and heating up the air until it was unbearable, unbreathable. His skin was slick with sweat and his lungs still burned with every breath he took, but that was nothing compared to the panic sliding its way up his spine. Everything was on fire; he’d woken up too late. It was creeping toward him, catching the discarded crates that filled the warehouse. There was a creaking sound all around him, somehow louder than the roaring of the fire that filled his ears.

“I’m gonna die in this fucking warehouse,” he cried out to the open air.

The fire was growing ever-brighter, closing in around him as he tried to breath through the smoke. And then there was that creaking sound again, swirling around and around in the air until it made him dizzy. He stumbled forward, ducking around a crate that had burst into flames and searching desperately for a path through the fire. He was crouched against the smoldering concrete and staring into the flames when the creaking grew louder. The entire building groaned and screamed as the fire grew brighter. Jakob dropped to his hands and knees, ignoring the way the concrete burned his palms as he crawled across it. The building kept creaking until there was a terrifying snapping sound that cut through the air. One of the interior walls cracked down the middle, settling loose a barrage of burning wood that rained over Jakob. 

The smallest pieces bounced off him, leaving small holes in his clothes where the fire caught and died in the blink of an eye. The larger pieces left bruises behind beneath his clothes as they pelted him. Jakob was knocked down by the shock of the sudden onslaught, forced to lay against the burning concrete. As he sat there, chest heaving in the smoke, another piece of wood slipped free from the crumbling wall. It hit him in the face and he screamed. A sharp stinging pain trailed down his left cheek and across his lips until it reached his chin. Pressing his hand to the pain, he was shocked to feel something damp across his face. He peeled the limb away and saw that his palm was slick with blood.

Jakob gasped and a wheezing breath rattled around in his chest as he tried to sit up. Without thinking, he stuck his left arm through the enclosing flames to grab his satchel and the scattered pile of blankets. Another scream tore from his throat and he bit down on his already battered lip. Angry red burns lined his left arm, but the satchel and blankets were pulled free from the flames. He hugged them to his chest as tears began to mingle with the sweat on his face. The familiar pressure of the blankets in his arms calmed him and he took a steadying breath, although it did nothing to alleviate the burning in his chest.

“Think Jakob. Think!” he shouted into the flames. The orange glow flickered mockingly at him and he groaned, eyes squeezing shut against the glare. Then he tugged a blanket free and started to wrap it loosely over his mouth. He murmured to himself, “Maybe I can run out.”

Tucking the remaining blankets under his uninjured right arm, Jakob tried to stand on shaking limbs. He had just about gotten his feet under him when a snapping sound responded. Something heavy swung into his shoulder and threw him to the ground. Grunts of frustration escaped him as he writhed on the burning concrete, but he couldn’t seem to move. A large beam set loose by the fire now pinned his left side to the ground. Tears streamed steadily down his face as the burning wood pressed into his skin.

“I didn’t want to rob that guy,” Jakob cried out to the glowing orange expanse. He sobbed as he desperately tried to wrap the blankets around the side of his body that was untouched by the beam. Smoke choked him and he tugged the blanket around his mouth up over his face. Sobs still shook his body as he let out another plea. “I tried to be good. Please...”

The smoke seemed to take pity on him as it flooded the air. Awful breaths rattled around in his chest, but consciousness escaped him. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as flames surged around him. They had just started to eat away at the blankets when a wave of dark energy crashed through the warehouse. The flames pulsated strangely, but Jakob still didn’t stir.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✵ .⋅} ────── ⊰

Overbearing silence was the first thing Jakob sensed when consciousness returned to him. The next thing that came to him was the steady pounding of his heart in his chest. He was alive. Hysteria took over his body and he started to laugh, paying no attention to the way it made his chest hurt as his smoke-scarred lungs spasmed around the sound. When his relieved laughter resided, he took a deep inhale to steel himself for what he was about to do. Cracking one eye open, he slowly took in his surroundings. Lumps of burned wood and small puffs of fluttering ash surrounded him, and the wooden beam that had thrown him to the ground still pinned him down. 

Panic started to well up again in his chest, but he forced himself to swallow it down. Lifting his right arm, he watched as charred chunks of his blankets fell away. The skin that he could see was angry and red, and it burned like the worst sunburn he’d ever had, but the right side of his body seemed otherwise unscathed. Relief washed over him, calming him enough that he thought he might try getting out from under this beam. Luckily, the fire had weakened the wood so much that it fell away from his body with a few strong pushes. He sat up and sucked in a deep breath, steadying himself before he risked taking a glance at the left side of his body. The sight that met him tore a scream from his throat.

His left arm hung limp at his side, awful burns covering every inch of skin that he could see. The rest of his body on that side looked similarly burned and he had to suck in another breath to keep his panic from building. Blood trickled lazily from the scattered open wounds that remained and stained his body red. He shut his eyes and pressed the shaking fingers of his right hand to his neck, pausing for a moment to feel his own pulse. He then roamed to the left, fingertips grazing over the rough and jagged burns that crept up the side of his neck. When that angle of his body felt sufficiently explored, he moved his hand down, fingers bumping over the awful curve of his shoulder. His fingers picked up the feeling of tacky blood and battered skin, but his arm felt nothing. Panic swelled in his throat, threatening to suffocate him as warm tears pricked at his eyes. He fell onto his back and began to cry.

[imaginesbymk]

“Call in Sick Tomorrow.”

Reservoir Dogs One Shot

Summary: During his final moments, Freddy recalls the events from the robbery and the night before, where you find out who he really is, and because of your job as the retail jeweler at the same store the criminals plan the heist at, you showed up at the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Pairing: Mr. Orange/Freddy Newandyke x Reader

Tags: swearing, angst + violence, guns/shooting, robbery + blood

Non Requested

Word Count: 2,289

Author’s Note: not me simping for a young tim roth lmfaksmwksksksk ugh</3 hope y’all like it - leave a like/reblog + feedback!!!

THE cop who was covered in his own pool of blood from his gunshot wound, was now practically sticking to the dusty warehouse ramp. He laid there for a good fifteen minutes, maybe more or less, who was there to count? His company wasn’t making things better, either. “Listen to me, Marvin... listen to me, Marvin Nash, I’m a cop.”

“Yeah, I know.” The other bloodied cop, Marvin Nash, was tied up and had his ear cut off by Mr. Blonde, all he could do was bicker and moan in pain and rage. 

“You do?” The first cop asks.

“Yeah, your name’s Freddy something.”

“Newandyke,” he said. “Freddy Newandyke.”

“Frankie Ferchetti introduced us about five months ago.”

Freddy shakes his head. His wound definitely didn’t cause him memory loss. He was just too clueless to acknowledge colleagues, that was something he was aware of and he needed to work on it. “Shit, I don't remember that at all.”

“I do.” Marvin Nash coughs a bit of blood. “Freddy. How do I look?”

Freddy winces out a chuckle. “What? I don't know what to tell you, Marvin.” How do you look? If I told you, I’d be lucky you’re tied up.

“That fuck. That sick fuck! That fuckin' bastard!” 

“Marvin, I need you to hold on. There's cops waiting to move a block away.”

“What the fuck are they waiting for? This fuckin' guy, he slashes my face… and cuts my fuckin' ear off! I'm fuckin' deformed!” Marvin cries out.

Freddy clenches his jaw. How the fuck do you think I feel over here, asshole? “FUCK YOU! Fuck you, my love of my fucking life is gone! I’m fuckin’ dyin’ here! Y/N is gone and I’m fuckin’ dyin’!”

Marvin Nash, a bloodied cop who was now “fucking deformed”, really had no idea how bad the fellow cop’s current state was. Both of them were in pain, but one of them was gonna die first.

Freddy calms down a bit to explain the upcoming events he hopes to happen anytime soon. He was bleeding pretty bad, and it hurt like hell. “They're not to make a move 'til Joe Cabot shows up. I was sent in to get him. Alright? You heard 'em. They said he's on his way.” Marvin lets out a soft breath. Relief was touching a bit of his soul, now all is left is to wait it out, and listen to the sounds of rattling bullets and yells from cops out of one ear. 

“Don't pussy out on me now, Marvin,” Freddy says. “We're just gonna sit here and bleed… 'til Joe Cabot sticks his fuckin' head through that door.”

Marvin whimpers, then takes a long pause. “Freddy?”

Freddy looks up at Marvin Nash once more, lying on his arm for support, his body feeling like a throbbing stubbed toe. “Freddy?” Marvin talks about the giant elephant in the room. “What even fucking happened?”

THE last thing Freddy needed was to end up falling for you while he’s undercover. While he’s good at hiding his true identity from the recruits, he was also good at hiding it from you, but it wasn’t what he wanted in the first place. 

Freddy would never lie to you, but you don’t know that your boyfriend is actually a cop and not a cool bad boy that took care of weed for customers. It pained Freddy to lie to you about who he was. He never even told you that his name was Freddy, only to refer to him as his alias, Mr. Orange, but you paid no mind to it. You loved the mysterious thrill he had, even if that meant calling him a color most commonly known in a fruit.

To this day, he still wonders why you would want to date someone with such a dangerous persona. You made a living working at the same store the recruits were planning the heist at -  Karina’s Wholesale Diamonds, and you were allowed to wear the jewelry that was sold and refined there. You never came to think Mr. Orange was ever gonna steal from you, holding you at gunpoint? Rob your store while his face is covered then he kisses you goodnight hours after?

And so, Freddy’s confession and his first and last fight with you happened the night before the heist. A stressful twelve hours, and it all started with you throwing his police badge on the coffee table, right on top of his Marvel catalog. 

“You’ve been staring at that thing for a whole minute now,” you said, standing stiff as a statue, towering over him on the couch. 

Mr. Orange scrunches his nose. “It was from a cop back in Torrance. The fucker most likely lost his job for carelessly leaving it on a bench.”

“You’ve visited Torrance?”

He nodded. “Y/N, I kept that badge in one of my stashes. You and I agreed to not go through each other’s shit like that - y’know, outta respect?”

“I know that, but you asked me to get your TV guide from one of the drawers. You said you keep it next to your stash, I may not have found pot but I definitely found that.” You nod at the badge. 

Orange shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you, babes, but that ain’t mine. Also I ran outta weed, that’s why I haven’t been making any sales lately.”

“You must suck at reeling customers in,” you took out your other hand hidden behind your back, now throwing four poorly folded sheets of paper stapled together right next to the badge. “Otherwise why the hell would you have this; an annotated script about you delivering weed to people, the same words you told me about how you walked into the men’s room with a big bag of weed in front of a couple of  cops and a dog?”

Orange was silent. You knew he was lying. Silence was as painful as spewing out another lie. Not once has there ever been a close call, but now he was trapped with no words to come out his mouth. Even if he did have something to say, each lie he told you felt like he was throwing daggers at your heart. He couldn’t take it anymore.

“Orange, is there something you’re not telling me?” Orange merely frowned and got up from the couch, eyeing you up and down. He looked tired from whatever he did the whole day and resting on the couch while watching a movie on the TV was well needed. That, but he was tired of sleeping next to you while a police badge was taunting him in one of the drawers.

“I don’t sell weed, y/n. And the police badge wasn’t from Torrance.”

“So all of that... you smuggling weed in a bowling bag?” you scoff, feeling your blood boil. “You just made that up?”

“Y/n- baby” he starts.

“What the hell? Why would you make that up?” you ask.

“It’s what I had to do,” Orange says. 

You scoff. “Right. That was your way of making friends or to get free drinks, or even getting me to sleep with you?”

“It’s not like that, it was never like that.”

“This is so fucked up!” Hearing you say that made Freddy’s heart fall into a thousand pieces. “Tell me the truth, Orange, if that’s even your fucking name. Who gives birth, looks at their child and goes, ‘Your name is Orange’? As if your kid won’t ever get bullied from that.”

“That’s because that isn’t my fucking name. It’s an alias.”

You shook your head. “Okay, then. Who the fuck are you?”

He clenched his eyes shut, and opened them, wishing you disappeared out of his sight. “Look at my badge.”

You slowly hunched over the table, picking up the badge. You raised a brow at him.

“I want you to hold it while I tell you. My real name is Freddy Newandyke. I’m working undercover for a diamond heist formed by Joe Cabot... the group of criminals he hired are gonna rob your store, stuff a briefcase full of diamonds worth a college tuition, and they’re gonna break it apart, pawn it, whatever fulfills their need.”

“You’re a cop,” you say, confirming what he said was true. Otherwise, that could have been another lie.

He nodded. “I work for the LAPD.”

“What else?”

A pause, then he traces his finger on your hand before curling it with his. “I love you.” His face softens. “My name’s Freddy Newandyke. I’m a cop. The gang I’m undercover for is gonna rob your store tomorrow, and I love you.”

You slowly nodded, looking down at the badge in your other hand. There were no signs of a lie in his tone of voice. His name seems legit, and of course, you loved him, too. “Why didn’t you tell me... Freddy?”

“Because you go after guys that would do the things I told in my story, fellas who you fantasize of having a fucking Bonnie and Clyde ride or die bullshit with, and not me - a cop who geeks out over Marvel.”

“You’re saying my work is being targeted for a heist?” you said. “And you’re part of it?”

Freddy nodded. “You think I’m ever gonna rob you, lie to your face like that? Then walk out of your life, take off just like that - and never see you again?”

“You’ve been lying to me.”

“I’m sorry for lying to you, and whether I told you about who I was or not, I don’t want you involved. Crime gets you in trouble, being undercover puts you in danger,” Freddy kisses your forehead. “You can get caught stealing and smuggling drugs, you can get caught slipping out of character if you’re not careful. You can’t win.”

You tried walking around the couch to disperse into the kitchen, but Freddy stopped in front of you. “I wasn’t born yesterday, asshole. I know what an undercover cop is, if your cover gets blown, you’re fucked.” You crossed your arms. “So what else is gonna happen?”

“We planned this; cops are gonna show up on time, as long as a gun doesn’t go off, we’ll be okay, and the men will be in cuffs as well as Joe Cabot. But listen to me, I don’t want you to show up to work tomorrow, I don’t want you there, I don’t want to have a man in a suit point a gun at your face, and I definitely don’t want you to be a hero,” Freddy says, cupping both your cheeks. “That’s my job.”

“I’m freakin’ pissed at you, but I’m not gonna stay home.” You took his hands off your face.

“I’d rather let myself get caught by a bunch of criminals than have your life threatened by criminals.”

“You’re willing to do that?”

“Anything for you.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Getting hurt is part of the job. Y/n, you can’t be a hero. Not like that.”

“Freddy-”

“Y/n, please.” Freddy begs, his face tightening. “If you can’t forgive me; if you can’t trust me anymore, then you can hate me all you want. But for fuck’s sake, at least call in sick tomorrow.”

Yet, you were so stubborn, that was something you needed to work on. Freddy knew it, too. You didn’t listen. The day came, and you showed up, anyway, not wanting to live knowing the guy you loved no matter who he claimed he was. He was in charge of standing at the door, not allowing anyone access inside or out. But upon seeing you behind the counter through the glass window, you saw Freddy’s face drop. “No…”

The deafening sound of the alarm goes off by one of the retailers, forcing Mr. Blonde to shoot everyone he saw, including you.

Freddy cried out this time, “No!” 

People inside- the employees and customers, all screamed together. Freddy slammed his hands against the display windows, watching you as you fall back onto the floor, bleeding out from your shoulder. Mr. Blonde nearly shot everyone in the room, even almost hitting Mr. White in the process. He spotted your foot sticking out, and you attempted to crawl away, but he pointed his gun at you again. 

Just as planned, the police break in, prompting him to run away. You collapsed in your pool of blood, realizing how this was straight out of a crime movie scene, and the pain of your wound was inexplicable. How could you feel it with every inch in your body and still manage to move ever so slightly?

You looked back, realizing you were all alone, the only one left alive. Freddy didn’t do what a hero would have done, and escaped with the men, holding back his tears with his dear life behind the dark shades of his sunglasses, fighting to stay in character.

He had to assume the more logical conclusion; you were treated at the hospital, or you bleed to death back at that jewelry wholesale, and you died hating him.

Whether you knew him as a criminal or an undercover cop, you were going to show up, anyway, because you want to protect him, like any kind of Bonnie and Clyde you’d expect from movies. Except Bonnie and Clyde were both shot to death. In this world, Clyde escapes - Bonnie was left to bleed out.

FREDDY stared up at Marvin Nash. Does Freddy regret accepting the undercover mission? A brave young man like him took such a dangerous job, but he knew he was better off without it. The last thing he said to you swarmed his mind like bees; “Call in sick tomorrow.”

THE END

_

taglist: @locke-writes​

[eorzean-tale]

FFXIV Writing Challenge - Prompt 7: Speculate

Though he only just left the bath, he already felt nearly dry as the late afternoon sun shone down on the Jewel of the desert to blast it with heat. Not that L’rkah, Tia of the Golden Vipers and private of the Immortal Flames of Ul’dah, minded such things. If he hadn’t been distracted, he would have reveled in that warmth. It’s when he felt at his best. 

Right now, he couldn’t really afford to just enjoy himself though. Rkah didn’t own an apartment of his own. He didn't have the coin for it, and it would be a waste of his gil anyway. There was always a bunk for him in the barracks of the Flames when he needed one, after all. But there were times when even the highly sociable Viper wanted to be alone with his thoughts. Seasons ago, he found a barely used warehouse with a roomy loft on one of his many explorative treks through the city. Ever since then it had been a little haven of quiet for him, even if it meant that he was technically trespassing. Something an Immortal Flame probably shouldn’t be doing, or at least not get caught at. 

Once inside his little abode, he’d be safe. The old warehouse was used to store items that their owners had probably forgotten by now, judging by the deep layer of dust and sand that covered all of them. Space was valuable in Ul’dah, but there were multiple sides to that coin. Those with enough means tended to hoard more than their luxurious villas could comfortably display, and so out-of-style goods were often moved to the edge of the city’s warehouse district. The old pieces of furniture and art were too heavy and large for even the most opportunistic thief to easily grab, so paying for guards to keep these places safe was an expense most didn’t bother with after a generation or two. 

There was the rare Blade patrol though, which was what the tia was looking out for now, his golden cat-like eyes scanning the street. It seemed clear and it would be exemplary bad luck to run into one this far away from the busy parts of the city, but he’d rather not take his chances. If the Flame did get caught, he’d have to face worse than just a scolding from his superiors. He might lose access to the place altogether, and the many things he had stored there himself over the seasons.

When he was younger, he’d been part of a tribe of Viper Miqo’te that never stayed in one place for more than a few moons. It had left him with the ability to see a myriad of places as ‘home’ at the same time, and this old warehouse had become one such a home, even if he didn’t spend much time there. He rarely felt the need for solitude, and usually preferred to spend the night with his comrades from the Flames, or a lover. Always at their place, of course. He doubted he had the charm to talk someone into walking their legs off to reach the dusty old place he had stolen for himself.

True, it had rats meaner than the average lalafell merchant and they were about the same size, too. Most of the windows were cracked or downright broken, and it took him about two bells to get to a place that had no running water or any other type of plumbing for that matter. L’rkah had to sneak into the shower area of a nearby factory, which added to the risk of being discovered. Naked, at that. Still, it gave him a place to be alone with his thoughts, and to keep the many things he had collected over the seasons. Besides, he was still a Golden Viper. Plumbing was a thing he had never even heard of  before coming to the city. Nomadic Seekers had little use for such systems. 

Seeing that the coast was clear, he quickly crossed the street and jumped the front fence with ease. It wasn’t made to keep someone as agile as him away, though it would be a good deterrent for the average city dweller. His next obstacle were the heavy wooden doors. One of them was slightly ajar, leaving a gap that he could only barely squeeze through. Need to lay off the tarts for awhile, he said to himself as he momentarily thought himself stuck. It came to his mind almost every single time, but was quickly forgotten as he climbed the rickety old ladder to the loft above the main storage area.

There, the golden light of Azeyma’s last rays of that sun seemed to set things aflame in gold and orange, the heat through the cracked glass stifling to anyone but someone desert-born like the viper. He adored the feeling, imagining it to be the embrace of his beloved goddess herself. That the tia was already sweating a bit after going through such difficulties for a bath didn’t bother him in the slightest. The smell of a healthy body didn’t offend his senses, and Ul’dah was too hot for most to be too insulted by such things. Besides, it would cool significantly once She left the sky. He was going to enjoy it while he could.

Or at least, that is what he had planned to do, but the items on his make-shift bed reminded him that he had more pressing concerns. Running a hand through his already dried golden hair, he frowned and sighed at the sight of the small bag. It felt like it was mocking him, as it sat there. Like it was staring. Rkah picked up one of his pillows, and covered the insulting bag beneath it. Not exactly a solution, and he could still see the lump where it sat.

After eight moons of this, the tia had nearly forgotten how confused he had been with his assignment at first. Not just the cubsitting a group of adventurers part, but having to leave a bag of these depleted crystals at every Guardian Stone they visited. It didn’t take much to surmise that keeping them there for a while recharged them, even if he wasn’t versed enough in city magic to understand why. What he still didn’t know, though, is why they needed these charged crystals in the first place, and why they had enough patience to wait an entire twelvemoon long pilgrimage out to get their hands on all of them. 

Was it just some test, as Blazing had surmised? He wasn’t so sure now. If they wanted to test his leadership skills, they could have just assigned him a squad like they did with everyone else. Perhaps he was supposed to figure out the purpose of these crystals, but if that was the case, he was failing miserably. The Viper hadn’t even thought about them much for moons now, as he had gotten used to the strange task. It was only because they were visiting the Guardian Stone of his own Goddess this moon that he had misgivings again. He didn’t want her power to be abused for anything, not even for the Flames.

But would he truly ignore orders, risking everything he had worked for since losing his tribe? They had been like a new family to him, his squadmates. Could he really betray them, without even knowing what it was all for? With a grunt, he moved to the clothes he had laid out for himself to wear instead, setting to the task of getting dressed in one of the traditional outfits from his first home to distract himself. Not that it worked. As he adorned himself in the flowing pants and robes that had served him so well on the long journey he had grown up upon, he was only reminded all the more of who’s power they were asking him to leech from. 

Enough was enough, he thought to himself with resolve in his heart. He’d place the crystals with her Stone as he had done with any of the others, but he’d have his answers before returning them. That made him feel a little better, if not much, but he didn’t let him think about it overly long. If he did, he’d only talk himself out of it again.

[itsuki-minamy]

“K - THE FIRST STORY”

CHAPTER 9: PRISON BREAK (Complete)

* K - The First Story (List of Chapters) * Projects & Chapters

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

"In the following, I would like to report on the contact accident between the Himmelreich airship owned by the wealthy international Adolf K. Weissmann and the helicopter of the Metropolitan Police Department. According to the police announcement immediately after the accident..."

The day before the school festival, Kukuri, who went to school early in the morning, was glancing sideways at the morning news on television in the student council room while she did the paperwork.

"Last night the distant sky glowed, maybe that's why."

When Kukuri said that, Asama opened her eyes.

"Hey, Yukizome senpai, did you see the airship explode?"

"No. It just looked like the western sky was glowing, and I didn't know if it was an explosion."

"But it's a shock. The whale in the sky has fallen."

"Whale in the sky?"

"It's one of the nicknames for that airship. That airship has been flying over Tokyo for a long time... it has been said that it has been flying over Tokyo since the end of the war, so there are various rumors and urban legends. Look."

On the television reported by Asama, there was a comment from the people of the city about the fall of the airship.

"Oh, that airship... wasn't it related to some new religion?" The clerk-like man didn't seem very interested.

"I heard that the man up there was like a living god, Ah, thank you, thank you." Said an old woman with a mysterious atmosphere, praying with her hands and holding some prayer beads.

"Well when he broke his heart, he got fluffy." "Nyahaha, it's impossible! It just crashed!" A flashy duo of high school girls giggled playfully.

Oh, this, Asama looks at the last high school girls in the picture and says.

"The urban legend of asking a blimp for help when it is sad or difficult is quite famous, and surprisingly many people believe it. There is an app for that... huh. I wonder if it was called 'Candle'. It seems to be one app that only lights a red light like a candle on the screen, but for some reason that light seems to be visible even from a very long distance, and targeting the blimp is the SOS signal somehow."

It was an interesting story, but purely questionable, and Kukuri bowed her head.

"What do you do after the blimp picks you up?"

"There are several theories about it. The simplest is that the foreign on board will listen to you."

"Hey, it's a flying counseling room for problems."

"After that, it can give you a mysterious power."

"Oh, the story is about to begin."

"It can take you to another world where everyone can be happy."

"Hm, isn't that scary?"

"It's a bit scary, isn't it? The official name of the airship, Himmelreich, seems to mean heaven."

"I wonder if it's romantic or scary."

After getting excited, Kukuri shook her head, remembering that that was the subject of the accident.

"I wonder if the person who was traveling there died..."

"Oh, by the way, it hasn't been reported for some reason. But this is an accident..."

"You guys…"

She hears a loud voice from the side. Student council president Hyuga Chiho, who was quietly processing the work, stopped and looked at Kukuri and her friends.

"It's nice to talk, but can you take your job seriously? The school festival is tomorrow."

It's scary when a beautiful woman silently gets mad. From the back of her glasses, she kept staring intently, Kukuri shrugged. Asama was holding her request for some reason.

Kukuri changed her mind and went back to paperwork. As Hyuga says, the school festival will finally be tomorrow. They have to prepare everything to finish on time.

Asama, who had returned to work to check the necessary items that day, said, "What?"

"Yukizome senpai, what is going on with the purchase of the missing fireworks?"

"What? What happened...? I'm sure I asked someone to buy them the day before yesterday..."

Surprised that she couldn't remember, Kukuri rolled her eyes in black and white. It was strange. Although she was busy, she Kukuri is not a person with a bad memory, and it is not something to forget who she asked for.

"Um... the day before yesterday someone went to buy them... who... but that person... hasn't come back yet...?"

Hyuga frowned suspiciously as she rolled her eyes.

"Yukizome? What's wrong, are you tired?"

"Well, is that so...?"

When she couldn't understand herself and made a pitying face, Hyuga looked a bit worried and sighed a little.

"Well, I'll fix it here. Originally, it was mainly to replenish the fireworks that were missing due to the statement that young man made to Yukizome. Yukizome, it sure was difficult to stand up to those people."

Kukuri turned red when she was mentioned about the case of Mishina's confession.

However, a few days ago she asked someone to buy the fireworks because she didn't have enough. But he couldn't buy them at the time, or there was something that disappeared because of some trouble along the way. That was the day before yesterday, she should have asked him to buy it again, and also asked for some other necessary items.

Kukuri puts her hand on her head and struggles to remember. However, the contrast between the strangely clear and the important that she couldn't remember was strange and terribly confusing.

"Yukizome? If you're not feeling well, you can rest..."

Hyuga was worried, Kukuri quickly smiled.

"Oh, no! Ok! I'll check the progress."

Kukuri fluttered out of the student council room before it bothered her further.

When she was busy touring the school, she was able to forget the unclear haze.

She asks the people who were practicing the final stage of the work if there were any problems or shortages, she toured the food stores to verify the handling of the ingredients and verified if there were any deficiencies, and if everything was ready for tomorrow. She looked around her to see if there was anything that seemed unlikely, and if there was a danger, she turned around to the staff that was ready and had free time, and confirmed the assembly of the costume parade, which was the event main of the school festival.

"Hello! Is the costume okay?"

When she went to the group that was making costumes in the room, they said, "Kukuri, it's perfect!"

They said they had all the costumes, but the warehouse room was full and they had problems with storage space and left them in the classroom. "I'll be using this classroom tomorrow, so I have to get rid of this. I don't have a place to put them." Kukuri hit her chest, in front of the student who had a worried face.

"Ok, I'll do something about it soon."

Kukuri headed towards the Dorm Manager's room. When she discusses the situation and negotiate if she could use the empty room, she immediately agreed. It would be convenient to put the costumes of the dormitory students there.

However, it seems that the room was empty for a long time, so it might be tiring for her to clean it by herself, so Kukuri headed to the central plaza first.

"Hello everyone, thank you for your hard work! This is the student council. Is there anyone who does not have equipment, needs to turn in a document, or is available to do extra work?"

In the central square, there were Mishina and Inaba who finished making portable shrines. Inaba turned to Kukuri and smiled bitterly.

"Ah, everyone is busy on this street!"

"Are you looking for him again? He must be somewhere around here."

Mishina spoke of "Him" with a friendly feeling.

"Ahhhhhhh!"

Kukuri responds with a smile that is a good idea and it solidifies.

"Are you okay?"

Certainly, Kukuri's head must have had the same "someone" that Mishina had in mind. However, that "someone" disappeared from Kukuri's head in an instant. In the student council room, Kukuri had the same feeling of not being able to remember "someone" that he should have gone shopping the day before yesterday.

"Who was he…?"

Mishina opens his mouth with a laugh, wondering how she forgot. Kukuri waited for the name that should come out of Mishina's mouth, but Mishina also turned his head with his mouth open.

"Mishina, we are fine here. You can go with her."

A student who was finishing the portable shrine with Mishina told him that, and Mishina turned his eyes towards Kukuri, who looked a bit confused.

Since the confession case, Mishina and Kukuri have been feeling a bit uneasy. However, even though Kukuri had no romantic feelings, she would like to continue associating with Mishina as her friend. She smiled awkwardly and bowed slightly.

"Ah… well, thank you very much."

"Oh, yeah..."

Inaba laughed a mocking face when they were both embarrassed.

She put an excuse in her heart that it wasn't because she was awkward, but because she needed a little more manpower, and personal recruitment, saying, "Well, a few more people."

In the end, Inaba and another boy went as well, and Kukuri told them that she would like them to help her clean the empty room as she walked to the bedroom.

"Bedroom?"

"If you put the finished costume in its place, they can change clothes directly that day."

Upon Kukuri's explanation, Inaba says, "Oh, I see."

Kukuri was confused with her busy schedule, and the haze had returned. She felt as if she had forgotten something important.

Suddenly, she saw a vending machine. She thought she bought some juice here the other day, so what happened to that juice? She feels like she gave it to someone, but to whom...

"What are you doing?"

When Inaba called her, Kukuri suddenly returned to her.

"Oh, sorry, nothing."

She now she had nothing to do with it.

Kukuri quickly caught up with Inaba and her friends, who had gone a bit ahead, and entered the bedroom.

"So we have to clean the bedroom before we put our things inside. They told me we could throw everything away."

Kukuri laughed and opened the door to the empty room.

The room was filled with strangely unoccupied air. Cleaning is done by a large number of "Tsukumo 99" cleaning robots in the school, so even if it is not dusty, it does not have the taste of "a room that was left unattended until now".

"This feeling of life, I mean..."

Perhaps Inaba thought the same, she looked around the room and turned her head. Mishina thought so too.

"Looks like someone lived here."

"Well, I guess he was taking a nap without permission. See, that guy?"

At Inaba's words, Mishina and his friends laughed at each other. When they talk about "Him", everyone just smiles.

Inaba smiled too and said, "That boy…", and then she probably tried to say the name. Suddenly, she changed her expression.

"Huh, that boy?"

Gently away from Inaba and her friends, who were staring at each other mysteriously, Kukuri quietly walked over to the kitchen and took the rice cooker.

She was frustrating and lonely.

Such feelings arise in Kukuri.

Someone was cooking rice with this rice cooker. A vague but sure impression remains on Kukuri. Shiro, happily helping himself to another rice, and that's it.

Kukuri looked around the room as she held the rice cooker.

She doesn't know why, but the feeling of throwing things from this room into the trash has disappeared from Kukuri.

++++++++++

As the Himmelreich, which exploded and burned up close, approached, Kuro's swift decision saved the lives of all three.

Facing the flame of the red lotus that stained the night sky, alongside the boy and Neko who had hardened with his eyes wide open, Kuro quickly swooped down from the helicopter to avoid the direct hit of the blast. In a violently shaking helicopter, Kuro held Neko's body with his left arm and said to the boy, "Hold on!" The boy quickly understood and grabbed onto Kuro's neck, and he grabbed onto a distant place with the force of his right hand, distorting the space, and he jumped out of the helicopter that crashed into the blimp like a bullet.

Although they were safe, both the boy and Kuro were exhausted and confused, and after wandering through the night to find a place to rest for the moment, they arrived at a motel at the end of the field.

It is a place where you can calm down without revealing your identity, which is why it is an embarrassing place, which is why Kuro entered with a bitter decision.

The boy, who was more tired, was lying on a heart-shaped double bed and fell asleep. Having been a disaster both mentally and physically, now, he was thinking that he should take a break and recover even a little bit.

And Neko.

"You... you seem fine..."

Neko was fine.

The motel she first walked into seems to be a weird place to Neko, and instead of being unpleasant, she enjoys the interior of the room filled with things like an amusement park and juice in the bubble bath with a strange mechanism. So when she came out of the bathroom, she sneaked out next to the sleeping boy, with her bath towel and no clothes on, and when Kuro stopped her, she started a fight against Kuro again.

When he was frightened by Neko's naked body, she intentionally showed her nakedness, and when he tried to dress her, she jumped across the room and ran away from him, after working together they were exhausted and sat on the floor.

"Hmm... I'm always fine like this."

"I'm afraid of that inexhaustible physical strength, but please calm down a bit." After a long battle, Neko was half finished, but he managed to put her clothes on. During the process, Kuro sighed for a long time and looked at the boy on the bed, who was still sleeping without any sign of waking up even though he was very noisy.

"If you're depressed you go crazy, well, I don't care if you're okay. However, you should reflect on it properly."

"Reflect? Oh, Kurosuke, Wagahai moved the helicopter, are you still angry?"

"Oh, yeah, think about that too! Thanks to your irrationality, the three of us were almost caught in an explosion and charred!"

With Kuro's scolding face not working, Neko sharpens her mouth. Kuro changed his expression with raised eyebrows, took a small breath and then lowered the tone of his voice.

"But that's not what I'm talking about now. It's Shiro."

"Shiro?"

Kuro lowered his gaze lightly.

It was a short time for Kuro, but he felt comfortable when he was in Gakuenjima and got involved with Kukuri and the others. It was the same for the boy. The boy believed that Gakuenjima was his place, and that Kukuri and the students in Gakuenjima were his friends. Considering how he felt when he found out that he was a ghost, he had an indescribable feeling.

"Hey, Neko."

Kuro turned to Neko. Neko held back for a moment as if the fight had continued, but when she saw that Kuro's eyes were serious, she lowered her hand.

"Shiro won't get mad at you, but your power is terribly powerful. If you feel like him, you can make someone else's life your own."

Neko shook her shoulders at Kuro's words. She seemed like she was afraid to remember something.

"But if you wield that power, you could destroy something important to others. If you force him to do what you want, it is false. The reward will come soon."

"Hey..."

What should he do?

As he said that, Neko turned around and shrugged.

Kuro put his hand on Neko's head.

"Isn't it just a matter of saying you want to stay with Shiro without doing that?"

Neko opened her eyes and looked at Kuro. Her beautiful strange eyes shone with surprising color, as if they had just dropped the scales.

For a brief moment, Neko looked at Kuro with a respected look, but she soon returned to her and turned around.

"Hmm! You're trying to cut Shiro with your power though, Kurosuke!"

It hurts when they hit him there and Kuro got stuck on words.

Kuro has an important mission. If the boy is bad, Kuro must kill the boy for that "reason".

The feeling of not wanting to cut it was already welling up clearly in Kuro. Kuro believes in the current boy. And he hoped the last boy wasn't bad.

"If Shiro isn't evil, I won't cut it. When all this mess was cleared up, I would cook rice again. We would go to Gakuenjima and this time there would be no lies. Shiro will greet Kukuri and the others, they will be friends again and we will eat together."

It is a story when everything is done the way you want. However, he felt that fantasy gave him the power to face the things that he had in front of him.

"Will I have fish?"

"That's right. The fish may be the horse mackerel you liked, and the horse mackerel is delicious this season. The shiny teriyaki and horse mackerel simmered with radish are good too."

When he thought of the food he wanted to prepare for them to eat happily, several things occurred to him. Cooked rice with salmon and mushrooms will surely please them. Pork soup with abundant tuber and juicy fried tofu with fried eggplant. Which is better, omelette rolls or sweetly roasted eggs?

He saw Neko drooling. Kuro secretly loosened his expression.

Looking forward to a delicious meal, they will face off today. It is simple, but he believes that it is something important that forms the basis of human beings.

The uncertain boy who was built on illusion is also a flesh human who eats well, sleeps, laughs and cries.

Kuro closed his eyes.

When the boy wakes up, they will talk about the future. Aiming for the future they want, but fighting without running away, no matter what reality gets in the way.

With her determination on her chest, Neko leaned slightly against his back. Feeling a bit forgiven for the stray cat, Kuro giggled a bit.

++++++++++

Munakata stood in front of the Mihashira Tower.

The skyscraper tower, which stands out in the seven areas of Kamado where Japan's central institutions are concentrated, is the residence of the "Golden King" Kokujoji Daikaku, and a huge institution that divides the political economy of this country from behind.

Looking up at the majesty of the tower, which added a Japanese design to the modern and functional construction, Munakata silently pulled up his glasses.

Last night, the Himmelreich, surrounded by helicopters from "Scepter 4", suddenly exploded and burned, involving a helicopter and crashing.

"Scepter 4" immediately cooperated with the police and fire department to extinguish the fire at the scene of the accident, evacuate and rescue the general public, they searched for Adolf K. Weismann, the "Silver King", who should have been to aboard, and members of "Scepter 4" who were aboard the seventh helicopter involved.

The helicopter that had crashed into the river was immediately identified, but the interior was unmanned and no bodies or injuries were found. At first, a desperate search was carried out as if they had been dumped, but in the end they were found intact in a completely different location. None of the three crew members of the crashed No. 7 helicopter boarded the helicopter. They were found passed out in the warehouse and had no recollection of what happened just before boarding.

In other words, there were other people in the helicopter who made suspicious movements just before the Himmelreich explosion, and they were probably alive and on the run. Munakata laughed when he heard the report that he was the man he couldn't catch.

On the other hand, Adolf K. Weismann was stepping on the line that suddenly disappeared and was the thickest, but to his surprise, the body was found.

The immortal "King". The First King is said to be immortal, but he easily died that way.

However, Munakata did not see it with his own eyes, because the "Rabbits" had arrived.

The men of the Golden clan "Tokijikuin", and guard of Kokujoji Daikaku. They are a group like a shikigami who hide their faces in the form of a rabbit, wear a kimono as a bandage, erase their individual characteristics and quickly carry out the orders of Kokujoji Daikaku.

Rabbits. Their moving was nothing more than Kokujoji Daikaku's order. The police, who were in charge of the scene, immediately said: "I accepted the offer of the rabbit and handed over the scene.", And the media they were interviewing also said: "The rabbits, we can no longer get new information from here."

"Scepter 4" is also formally like a subordinate organization of that system. At the site's discretion, "the rabbits could not go against their will, and Weismann's body found was recovered by the Rabbits without explanation."

But this time, he couldn't get it out if it was his intention.

Weismann is an important reference in the case, and if the "Golden King" was able to hide it in his own way, it cannot be overlooked, even if it is too big.

That is why Munakata Reisi went to the Mihashira Tower in person.

"Wait here."

He ordered the companions, Kamo and Goto, at the entrance of the tower, and when he removed the saber from his waist and entered the place leaving it to Kamo, the "Rabbit" immediately greeted him and led Munakata.

The room where the Dresden Slate is embedded is the top floor of the tower, which is high enough to pierce the sky. The closer he was to the Slate, the more the power of the "King" in his body felt like a buzz.

"The Fourth King, Reisi Munakata, will initiate the interview."

The "Rabbit's" voice echoed, and the door like a shoji opened automatically.

In the center of the great hall, which had a glass floor, he saw a tall and strong old man over six feet tall.

The Second King, "Golden King" Kokujoji Daikaku. Next to the old man, who was 95 years old but did not show the shadow of decline, was a capsule large enough for a person to lie down. He thought there was something he wanted in front of him, but Munakata walked slowly over the Slate without showing his expression.

As he got one step closer, the pressure released by Kokujoji increased. Even though they were both kings, the aura of Kokujoji, who had been a "King" for almost 70 years, was exceptional. It seemed that the universe revolved around him.

Munakata has met and exchanged words with Kokujoji several times in the past. However, the pressure from Kokujoji that he felt now was stronger than at any other time in the past. Munakata inwardly understood that this was evidence that Kokujoji was disturbed.

He didn't know if it was out of anger or sadness, but Kokujoji's energy was rippling now. The wave turned into a pressure as if trying to eliminate Munakata from that universe, and attacked Munakata.

However, Munakata was also a "King", even though he was only two years old from Kokujoji's perspective. Munakata also has a Munakata universe, and there is providence.

Munakata walked to the correct position without losing his temper.

"King who has come to the Slate, I ask you, are you here to fight or speak?"

Kokujoji Daikaku said.

"I come without my sword. I am here to speak."

Munakata replied.

The meeting place between the "kings" was a form-oriented way of fighting, confirming that it was a meeting, not a war.

"It's been a long time, Excellency."

"Let's skip the introduction."

It was a terrible reaction, but Munakata kept smiling without caring about it.

“First of all, let me thank you. Thank you for interceding in the recent Royal Blue situation. All information obtained through extralegal measures will be used for the public good."

"I'm telling you to get to the point."

A heavy voice blocked Munakata's mouth. His roughly carved face didn't move, and it was hard to tell from the facial expression what kind of emotions were building up in his chest.

Munakata said clearly, forgiving the intimidating feeling emanating from Kokujoji.

"Bluntly then. I believe that the body obtained by your men from the Himmelreich is of the First King, Adolf K. Weismann."

"That's right."

Munakata stared at the capsule placed next to Kokujoji. Content cannot be viewed from distance and angle from where Munakata is.

"Weismann, the 'Silver King', was the origin. His attributes are immutable, right?"

"What do you mean?"

"The sudden death of the 'Immortal King' that kept his youth and power at its peak for over half a century. There are many mysteries in this situation. Please allow me to inspect the body."

Munakata's words changed Kokujoji's attitude. He placed his palm on the capsule as he looked at Munakata. He could see that his hands were clenched and trembling slightly.

The air moved gently. The pressure emanating from Kokujoji increased dramatically. He became almost a physical force, swelled and spread throughout the Slate.

His skin prickled. The Rabbit, who was standing next to him, backed away as if frightened. Munakata did not step against the pressure and stood up straight. He floated but stood with a smile on his face.

"It's fine."

Suddenly, the pressure of the road disappeared and he broke free.

Kokujoji removes his hand from the capsule and steps back to make way for Munakata.

Munakata bowed slightly to thank him and approached the capsule.

He saw a white man with long silver hair, stretched out through the lid of a transparent capsule. Appearance appears to be twenty years old. He was a beautiful man who seemed to be a gentle person with his eyes closed.

"The capsule that holds it is not a coffin to cry on. How can I open this capsule, which looks like it is meant to preserve the body?"

"If you feel like it, just do it. However, if you are a 'King', you will understand even in this state. This body is not alive."

The power of the "King" could not be felt from Weismann's body. The heart doesn't move either. He wasn't breathing. He can't see dilated pupils, he has all three signs of death.

Munakata looked at Kokujoji's face. After all, emotions cannot be seen. He wondered what it would be like to find an old friend who had fallen silent for the first time in decades.

In the vague imagination, the "Silver King" was more like a monster, and was a person with the same intimidation and dignity as Kokujoji, but the figure lying in this way was only a young man of the same generation as Munakata. Rather, he made him imagine that Kokujoji was once a young man and once aligned himself with this young man as an equal existence.

A man who stopped time almost 70 years ago. A man who could have lived forever is now cold again, stopping in front of him.

(Is the "Silver King" really dead? The "King" with immutable attributes was killed simply by the crash of his airship. Why? What was that explosion in the first place? Situationally, it's hard to imagine anything other than the "Silver King" exploding, but if so, is this suicide?)

The questions were endless, but it was certainly useless to ask the body.

++++++++++

After cleaning the empty room in the dorm, Kukuri and her friends left the room once to bring their costumes.

In the end, she does not throw or take out the luggage in the room, but simply clean and tidy it up, putting the leftover items back. The rice cooker, bowls, and other dishes in the room also showed signs of being used with care, and she felt that she couldn't bear to dispose of them or pick them up.

"I think I can put my costume on with this."

"Yes. Thanks to everyone's help, we ordered in no time. Thanks!"

As she walked down the hall while laughing with Mishina and the others, a student from the same class came from the front.

"Hello."

"Ah..."

He exchanged a relaxed greeting with Mishina and they crossed paths. Kukuri also raised her hand slightly with a smile.

"Oh, that boy, is he a residency student?"

A few seconds after crossing each other, Mishina suddenly tilted his head. Kukuri also remembers "that?" His shoulders were stiff. The student was standing at the end of the hall, fox-faced. Before Kukuri made a voice, the fox-faced boy opened a room door and entered.

"Eh?"

The fox-faced boy walked into the empty room that Kukuri and her colleagues had just cleaned.

"Kukuri? What's wrong? Let's go early."

Looking back at Kukuri who has stopped, Inaba called out to her.

"No."

She thought it was probably due to her mind. She doesn't think he has anything to do in the empty room, and she was sure that he visited those in the next room. She was shocked for a moment because the fox face was a bit creepy, but now there are many people who are preparing for the school festival and they are dressed strangely. Maybe it's part of the costume parade tomorrow or something.

Kukuri regained her temper and quickly followed the others who were worried.

++++++++++

How many days have passed since then? He was getting tired of sitting still.

Suoh sat on the bed in the "Scepter 4" underground detention center and closed his eyes.

All he repeated was a bad dream. However, in this place, he was thankful that his conscience wasn't so blamed even if something happened, and he thought that if he came across the glasses guy, he would hit him.

He does not know the outside situation. Munakata did not show his face except when he came to give him unscrupulous advice, and he spent his time eating the prisoner food they gave him and lying down without knowing if the situation had progressed.

Suoh wondered how long he should wait. If things change a lot, Kusanagi will probably try to inform him through Anna's responsiveness. He thinks the news comes first, or the other party comes first, but Suoh is not a suffering person.

As he calmly watched the flames waving and swirling inside his body, he thought about going to find answers with his own feet if he had to wait too long, then he heard something fall with a slight noise.

When he opened his eyes, a red dial-type telephone was lying randomly on the floor of the dimly lit cell. The phone was made of cheap materials and looked like a toy. It was lying on its side, the headset went off and rolled, and the phone line was broken and not connected to anything.

A phone that was not connected to anywhere began to ring.

Suoh looked at the phone, which kept ringing with a toy-like sound, without expression.

Apparently, he was hallucinating from someone's mental interference. To the extent that he received something like this, his spirit seemed to be exhausted.

There was a small click and the handset lifted by itself.

"Hello? Hello? Do you have a minute?"

From the raised handset, he heard a frivolous voice with a sign of insanity.

"Who am I, are you wondering? I am the man you are looking for. If I remember correctly his name was… Totsuka?"

Laughter can be heard from the other side of the receiver. As if the jarring laughter was embodied, something like white smoke came out of the phone.

"I'm the one who murdered him!"

The smoke from the phone formed the face of a creepy fox and presented itself to Suoh.

"No, I'm sorry for him. He probably sits alone in the other world, so I'm going to kill everyone from Kusanagi to Yata as well. Should I? Eh?"

The smoke fox revolves around the Suoh like a play. Suoh silently lowered her eyes as he fought against his voice.

"What's your reaction? Maybe next time, I'll entertain myself with that young woman. You know, the one who is always with you. Anna-chan. I'm sure it will be fun, right? I like young girls."

He opened his eyes downward. The smoke fox was in front of him and cheerfully raised the edge of his mouth.

"Oh, I got you!"

When the fox focused on the smoke body finely and turned into a needle, it jumped into Suoh's eyes. The inside of his head swayed. The fox's laugh echoed through his head and body.

"Hahahahaha! Hahahahaha! You did it! If you come here, this! You'll catch me!"

There was a feeling that Suoh's flames were sucked into something that had entered his body.

Suoh's expression twisted into a smile even though he didn't want to laugh, and the edge of his mouth sharpened. A laugh escaped his mouth.

Suoh thought and said.

"I see. This is how you do it."

The distorted smile recedes and Suoh returns to his original expression. He found out that "that guy" in Suoh was upset. Suoh's heart screamed as "that guy" swayed.

If he wanted so much to eat the flames on Suoh, he felt that he could feed him, but the cause of "that guy's" death was that Suoh's drinking did not diminish.

Suoh closed his eyes again and focused his attention on the flames within him.

The boiling flame was always there. A sea of ​​flames that propels and inflames Suoh.

He has lived holding it and screwing it so it doesn't get rough and overflow Suoh and swallow the things around it.

He temporarily entrusted the image to the sea of ​​flames.

The image that naturally arises is a ferocious beast made of flames. The beast repels the "boy" who has entered Suoh and raises its fangs. He found out that "that guy" was scared and ran away from Suoh.

Still, Suoh didn't let go of the fangs he had put on "that guy". A beast that is a mass of Suoh's power chases "that guy" who was trying to escape.

It was a bit like the feeling he had when he was sensitive to Anna. The contents of him and the others were intertwined. Someone's soul and part of Suoh's power flew in sync. He went through the "Scepter 4" camp, through the city, across the sea, dived on an island in the bay, and headed for a room in a building.

A fox-faced person was seen through the flames in the room. The body covered with a fox face is the host of "that guy".

"There?"

The fire beast barked without hesitation or adaptation. He attacked the fox-faced person and Suoh's power exploded.

Suoh slowly opened his eyes. Suoh's consciousness returned from a short trip to the dark cell of "Scepter 4."

He found it. However, he could not be stopped by a remote flame. Of course, he doesn't think it's that easy to get rid of Suoh.

Seeing where he went, Suoh stood up in a refreshing mood. He plucked the magnificent willow with a chain that was holding his hands. The shackles, which appears to have been an extraordinary suppressor, were shattered.

He released the flames a little from his body. The flames that surged from Suoh's body lightly knocked on the prison door and melted the surroundings with the excess heat. Suoh came out of the hole and started walking.

An alarm sounded and several bulkheads closed one after the other, trying to prevent Suoh from walking, but the flames that erupted without caring about everything pierced it. The bright red molten iron wet his feet like a puddle. Suoh continued as he stepped on it.

Right now, perhaps with the glow of running a part of the flame in search of the "Colorless King", the power increased and he wanted to start running again. Suoh did not suppress him by force, but instead he let the flames he wanted to overflow and proceeded while he burned the area.

He felt pretty good even though he had a rage that overwhelmed him.

Maybe it's because he wasn't against the raging flames and trusted himself.

Maybe it's because he decided to walk the way he wanted without being tied to anything.

Suoh literally walked with the heart of the beast released from prison.

++++++++++

Fushimi clicked his tongue as if he had finally arrived.

He knew that he would not be quiet in prison forever, but more than that, he frowned at the bad time Munakata was absent.

Fushimi had come out in front of the main building of "Scepter 4" after ordering a nearby member to evacuate. It is the monster's escape progress route.

The moment he felt that the temperature of the atmosphere had risen, the entrance to the main building turned red and exploded. A blast of intense heat puffed. Even Fushimi, who was far away, felt that the aftermath of the heat would likely burn his skin.

The shadow of a man appeared swaying through the dust and heat haze. A bright red flame rose from the man's body. Man himself is an extremely hot source of heat and the residual heat that melts into the air is visualized as a flame. He looked like this.

Suoh Mikoto. With fiery red hair, sharp eyes that press on people with just the eyes, and a boxer body covered in taut muscles in a short-sleeved shirt, standing in a winter look, even repainting the seasons warms the winter air.

"Fushimi-san!"

A member called out to Fushimi with a voice asking for instructions.

"Even if he does something, don't do anything. Those were our orders."

"But…!"

He hears footsteps approaching. When he looks, Awashima was with a special task force behind the front door. Fushimi shrugged. Now that Munakata is absent, Awashima is in charge of this occasion. Her eyes shone with the will not to retreat even in front of the "King".

"Third King, Mikoto Suoh! You are under the control of "Scepter 4". You are not allowed to leave."

Whether or not he listened to Awashima's recommendation, Suoh didn't stop walking, but he didn't move his facial expression and walked towards her with a relaxed step as if he was taking a walk.

Awashima bit her teeth and drew her sword.

"Stop!"

Awashima concentrated the blue power in the hand that held the sword and launched the attack from him. It is Awashima's great ability that specializes in long distances, in which she uses her power to cut from a distance.

The slashes turned into a grid and attacked Suoh from the front. Suoh refused to avoid or receive it. He just kept walking down the path that he decided to go at the same pace. Before touching Suoh's body, the cut of the blue lattice flew as if the glass had been shattered due to the heat.

Awashima took a deep breath and withdrew.

Suoh stopped once with a face that he had just noticed his way was blocked.

Suoh took a breath. Just with that, the flame that enveloped Suoh grew larger, just like a flame that received oxygen and gained momentum.

Suoh exhale. The scorching power is exhaled with the breath, Suoh's feet make an ominous noise and collapse into a crater, and a small tile is rolled up.

Suoh gently spread both arms. A flame was held on his arm. The gesture seemed gentler, but the tornado of fire that appeared on his arm was fierce.

Fushimi clicked his tongue and ran away. Slipping in front of Awashima, who was still standing, he stabbed blue-powered knives into the ground and raised a shield to protect them.

The twister of flame released by Suoh scraped the stone pavement and burned the surroundings to destroy them.

Fushimi's barrier extinguished like a paper shield in the face of Suoh's flames, but it still helped kill the momentum. Fushimi didn't fall down just kneeling, even though he was hit by the flames that broke through the barrier and the heat dampened him. Awashima who was behind was not dead.

Fragile on the ground that had turned into a pile of tiled stones, Fushimi repeated heavy breathing at best. It looked like air.

He heard footsteps in the sound of flames. Mikoto Suoh was coming.

Fushimi touched his sword.

Suoh walked through the flames and dust.

++++++++++

Kusanagi greeted the boss who came out of "Scepter 4" in a striking way, as if he was erasing what was blocking his way, with a bitter smile.

"Yes, good work."

His friends bow deeply, saying, "Hello!", Like a younger brother welcoming the boss who was released after finishing his duties.

"Mikoto-san..."

Yata was impressed by Suoh's appearance, which he saw for the first time in a few days.

Anna ran to Suoh silently and grabbed his hand. Suoh looked at Anna without saying anything.

It was Anna who felt that Suoh would come out. At the same time that Anna's responsiveness caught Suoh's growing flames, Kusanagi summoned all the members of "Homura". Only the men from the bar rushed here, but soon all the members of "Homura" will join in at the end.

"Boss. Did you finally find his location?"

When Kusanagi said that, Suoh looked at his friends and raised the edge of his mouth a little.

"It's a school island."

An edifying air boiled among the friends. "Kah! Just like I thought!" Yata was excited and clenched his fist.

After all, Anna was right. Kusanagi was also studying the search in Gakuenjima.

Gakuenjima is a very original school that is physically and informationally isolated from the outside world. If they really want to search for it, they either have to put in the time and effort, or they have to go through a lot of hard work.

And now that Suoh has left, the option to dedicate time has already disappeared.

When he looked towards the "Scepter 4" headquarters, Fushimi was behind the destroyed main gate. With a tattered appearance, he was looking at Suoh in a position to stop other members who were about to get up with his hand.

Guilty Fushimi's eyes seemed to be directed at what was ahead of Suoh, not at the destructive action he had just taken.

"Come on."

Suoh said softly and started walking. Yata and other members of "Homura" cheered loudly and followed Suoh.

From his position, Kusanagi could see that Anna was holding Suoh's hand tightly.

[sugarcookiesandsins]

Charmed [Episode 4]

➰ ot7 x reader, poly!bts x reader, mafia!bts ➰ they wouldn’t notice her until she was standing above them, a smoking gun in her hand a bullet in their heart 🌡 M   🛑 violence, guns, just y/n being a gutsy mf 🕛  6.1k+

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It had been a week since your injury at the warehouse. Thankfully, the bullet had only grazed your arm, taking away the layers of skin to reveal the fat layers underneath. The long-sleeved shirt that you wore would be forever ruined so you were forced to retire it, cutting it into strips to serve as bandages while you took shelter in your house.

There was no doubt in your mind that Jungkook had recognized your presence, but thankfully it didn’t seem like he had discovered the tracker, either mistaking it for a missed bullet or forgetting about it in the ruckus that followed. Still, it was odd.

Saying he was talented would be the understatement of the century. It had been dark and murky under the roof of the warehouse, that combined with the small opening between crates he would have to shoot through, it was a miracle you were hit at all.

The familiar beep beep of the microwave echoed through your house. Collecting the warm cup, you took a sip of revitalizing caffeine as you made your way back to your couch, eyes retracing the colored lines overlaid on a map of the city, each color a different day. Your alabaster skin suffering from the lack of sunlight. But you didn’t mind the drawn curtains and closed blinds, anything was better than ending up an unidentifiable body on the bottom of Han River.

You made your way to your nest on the new couch. Settling yourself among the blankets, you winced as the still tender flesh of your arm brushed against the leather of the fabric. It had been a stressful week of hiding - you had stayed in your apartment, relying on your bulk purchases of food to keep you sustained as you relied on your tracker to keep tabs on BigHit’s truck.

Glancing at the shuttered windows, you winced at the sight of the blond wig, half covered by the opaque fabric. It had remained there for the last week, ever since you chucked it at the window in your anger. It would have worked as the perfect disguise.

A high-pitched beep sounded from your computer, and your eyes turned to the screen just as another dot marked a location on the map - the truck had made another stop. You had programmed that tracker to mark location whenever the truck stopped for more than 3 minutes, longer than what it would take at a red light but still sensitive enough to pick up a small unloading and loading pause. It was a pain to wait before you went forward with the plan, but the mafia were smart. You didn’t know if they had approached the house or not yet. They could be waiting, or they could have used some corrupted form of psychology on you to fool you.

It was crucial that you got the location right the first time, as a failed attempt would put them even more on edge than they already were. You were sure that security would already be tighter due to your failure at going unnoticed, making the job even harder. Throwing your head back you let out a groan, one that was lost to time forever in the dusty gloom of your living room.

You let another week pass, stewing in the annoyance of being immobile and injured. Still, your impatience got the best of you and you wasted not time in rushing out the door as Eli.

He stayed mostly to roads he had never been on before, too paranoid that another underground worker would see him and give away his position. On hand, a phone with the list of all the addresses the truck visited, which was actually surprisingly short, organized from most visits to the least.

You had tried to narrow down your search using satellite imagery of the locations, but they were all clean. And yes, as cheesy as it was, there is some truth to the idea that suspicion increases when a place is too clean. Still, with no other option before you, here you were; possibly one of the greatest contract killers in the world, reduced to acting like a common thief who peeks through windows. Yes, some may argue that Eli was a common thief, but you firmly believe otherwise. What he did wasn’t thievery, it was art.

How many times had you trained to make your form disappear in a crowd, to make your fingers ghost-like in the efficiency with which they relieved pockets of valuables. You had done far too much to allow your work to be called anything less than a masterpiece.

The first house had been an epic flop in terms of anything interesting. The was simply a storefront for a pawn shop, most probably hiding another underground store but now that wasn’t your primary concern. It had taken you some time, but you had finally found it. Inconspicuous in the greatest fashion; why be isolated when you could hide in plain sight … in the penthouse of a luxury high rise!

You rolled your eyes at the extravagant clothing of the people walking through the ceiling-high, glass double doors. You could never imagine living like that every day; it would be stressful on your neck and head. All you needed was one accessory and your wardrobe was set. Without it you felt naked to the world, as if your entire identity was woven into the intricate metalwork.

The uniformed doorman sneaked another glance at your way, letting you know that it was time to do something, otherwise he was going to call security on your blonde ass. Instead of hightailing it out of there, you confidently walked to the front door and under the golden trimmed entrance, passing the doorman a slight nod. He silently glared back at you, too dependent on his meager wages to vocalize any complaint.

Passing the front desk, you smiled and nodded, playing the perfect part of a rich, but eccentric homeowner. Much like the cashier who worked at minimum wage, you were barely cast a glance. The clock that controlled time ticked away in the corner of the hall, much more interesting than any hooligan that may have infected the marble floors.

Making your way to the steel elevators, you stepped in the next available one and rode it all the way to the top. There was no one in the house, you knew that for certain; it was an entertaining sight to see the boys strut into their limo earlier, an hour or so before the doorman saw you for the first time. And since you began your surveillance, they hadn’t returned.

For how high-profile they were, the door itself was a very basic keypad lock, one that was clean enough to make the smudging more visible to the naked eye. In the corner of your eye, you saw the security camera trained on your face, or rather, Eli’s. He was a cheeky bastard and couldn’t help himself from waving at the person on the other side, who sat wide-eyed.

[KSJ]

It was a habit that had developed among us to randomly check the surveillance of our home while we were out. It wasn’t as vigilant as it sounds however with the time intervals ranging from 30 minutes to almost 2 hours but it was better than nothing.

I had reached a dead end with that ramen shop, though I did expect that. No thief was stupid enough to visit the same place twice, expecially when you had been tagged there. Still, no one had any rumors about his whereabouts despite antics being at an all-time high.

So imagine my surprise and anger at finding waving at me through the screen of my phone as he entered my house. His smile was wide enough to show off his perfect teeth and his fashion was to the nines with a smart hat over his blonde head and a leather jacket and dark jeans; he looked in his element.

Through gritted teeth, I ordered the driver to turn around. A business deal was small compared with bringing in Eli to the boss. Rarely did I ever break the calm and composed position of power like my father taught me, but even he had his breaking points and this was mine.

Giggling at your actions, you smoothly unlocked the front door with an electronic masterkey. It was the greatest thing you ever created and ran an algorithm to find all possible number combinations. It then used a phantom copy of the keypad server to run the possibilities, basically giving you an unlimited amount of trials.

You walked into the room like you owned the place, which for the next few moments until the boys got back, it felt like you did. Everything in you was working overtime to keep you from messing something up; the whited sepulchre annoying you to your very limits. It was very surgical in its decoration, pale and empty. It was a home, but it didn’t feel lived in.

Is this what happens when you probably have maids that come every day? Sadly, you would never know.

Making your way past the entrance hall - seriously what was with that? a hall just to greet people? - you encroached upon their living room; a bleak continuation of the uneasy entrance hall. There were multiple cameras, and you were pretty sure of bugs too, but what did you care about? You wanted them to know that you were here. You wanted them to understand just what Eli was capable of, even if it was putting a gun to their head and pulling the trigger.

The familiar ding of the elevator made its way through the opened crack of the front door. They were here.

The boys entered through the front door, six keeping an eye out for the intruder while Jin tried to find his location through their security cameras.

They were beyond furious, mostly because they felt the pain of having underestimated you.

“Hello boys.”

They would never make the same mistake again.

Immediately, you faced down the barrel of 6 guns, all but certain they would pump you full of iron without second thought. Yet in the face of death, you didn’t waver. They weren’t going to kill you after all, and everyone in that room knew that.

You only smiled, continuing to speak to maintain the dominance you held of the situation.

“Put your guns down. You can’t kill me anyways.”

Jimin scowled. Since the moment Jin had revealed to the group about Eli’s presence in their home, he had seen red creep around the edges. He was the frontman when it came to the group’s security, so even though he was happy the motion sensors inlaid into the cameras worked in informing them of the intruder, he was mad that the subversive technology in the lock had not prevented the intruder from getting in.

“Yeah? What’s stopping me?” Just to prove his point, Jimin took a threatening step forward, steadying the aim in the center of Eli’s forehead. “What’s keeping me from putting a bullet between those pretty blue eyes of yours?”

“Well, your boss for one.” Eli only smiled after that, letting the implications form themselves. it didn’t matter what justification he offered; the main goal was for the boys to come to conclusion themselves. That way, they would believe it more. “Or perhaps, it’s my pretty blue eyes? Take your pick Jimin.” The said man glared at your form.

Eli made his way to the antique bar setting on the far side of the living room, blatantly appreciating the arrangement of hard liquor in glass decanters. The boys had lowered their guns, coming to their own responses as to why Eli couldn’t die.

“Now, how about we all have a drink, and I explain why I am here, and you explain what it is that your boss wants me to help you steal.” They were trained men, so there was no blatant change in expression as you revealed the extent to which you understood their motives, but you could see some clenched jaws, no doubt unhappy with the power balance.

Currently, it was tilted in your favor, so you took the initiative to pour everyone drinks, gin and tonics all around. You then took your previous seat, leaning back with comfortable ease. The other boys also took places around the living room. They may not be completely estranged from the idea of shooting you, but at least the guns were no longer facing you.

Namjoon took a long sip of the drink, letting the familiar taste burn his throat on the way down. He hated Eli at that moment; the sense of passiveness the man gave off. As if he didn’t care about anything, least of all whether one of his boys put a bullet through his skull.

“Now, don’t be so morose about it all! It was all in good fun. Just a little something to show that I am not one to be underestimated, no matter how laissez-faire I seemed.” Eli spoke these words over the rim of his glass, the material distorting the smile that shines around white teeth. It wasn’t a tender kind smile that you show a lover, it was a deranged kind of smile, one that Namjoon rarely saw from anyone. And it sent chills slithering up and down his spine. He knew that working with this man would not be ordinary. And Eli knew that from the way it shined through his pretty blue eyes, locked solely on him at that moment. And for the second time in his life, he did not feel in control.

“Now, since I’ve shown you my cards. I think it is only proper that you show me yours.” The silence was punctuated with the clink of the tumbler on the center table. None of the boys met your eyes, half still focused on their guns. The other half just thought….and thought some more. How to answer a man who probably knows everything?

“We doubt there is anything that we could tell you that you wouldn’t already know.” Yoongi kept his voice level, as he always did. There was nothing special he saw in the little pickpocket, just another immature personality trying to be a man. Everyone was bound to mess up as some point, he just had to be the observant one and wait for it.

“You’d be surprised Yoongi,” Eli mused, ignoring the reaction Bangtan had to the obvious lack of respect the boy had. “There is always something to learn about everything. When you think you know it all, that is when you recognize that you were playing the fool.” You chuckled, leaving the rest of that phrase up to them for interpretation, already seeing the wheels in Namjoon’s head turning.

“Let me ask again. Why are you chasing me through the streets of Seoul?” Eli wasn’t expecting a no for an answer. You did not want to reveal that you only had basic knowledge of what they wanted, and even those hypotheses were not proven fact. But you had enough to play a small con for information.

“Here. I’ll even help you out. Your boss wants me to help you steal something because he thinks you’re not good enough, which is where I-.”

“We are good enough!” The outburst was instinct, coming from the one member that could never take being second to anyone, not even to a metaphor.

“Jungkook.” It was quick and sharp; an order without even needing to say the words.

“Oh? So, I was right. Thank you for the information, Jungkook.”

The dark-haired man leapt to his feet, pulled his pistol out of the holster and let go a single bullet. But then again, you weren’t just any old thief. With the same speed and flow, you pushed back on the chair as you saw, tipping backwards you dropped the glass, the loud crash more than enough to completely obscure a silenced shot. When the back of the chair made contact with the floor, you wasted no time  rolling behind the kitchen counter, where you were safe from any more stray bullets that managed to head your way.

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad new Jungkook but you missed this time.” You heard a growl, but thankfully no heavy footsteps making their way to your hiding spot. Still, he was a killer. Walking silently was no issue for him. As such, you made your way to the other side, facing the counter and behind it, anyone who would be coming for you from the direction of the living room.

Small murmurs made their way to your ears, far too quiet to make out the placating reassurances that the boys were delivering. You didn’t try and stop them, the less angry Jungkook was, the less he was prone to try and kill you, again.

“I suggest you come back out Eli. So we can show you to your room.” You could tell from his voice that Namjoon was just tired with the whole situation. “After all, you are working with us. It would be apt that you stay with us for the time being.”

Peeking out from behind the counter, you raised a single eyebrow at the assembled group of men. 

“When did I ever agree to work with you? As far as I’m concerned you haven’t even told me what you wanted my help with.”

“You have no choice Mr.– '' Namjoon cut off, fully intending for you to fill in the blank but you refused. Something about watching him squirm in the awkward silence made you happy, figurately at least.

“I have no choice?” you simpered. “Now that’s just plain wrong.” You came out from behind the counter, fully assured by the strong hold that Jin, Hoseok, and Jimin had on Jungkook. It looked like he wasn’t about to shoot you anytime soon. 

“I make my own choices Namjoon. No group of pretty boys is going to stop me.” 

And that is the story of how you no —  how Eli  — came to live with the Bangtan Boys.

The room they escorted you to contained the very furniture that you had seen them select a couple weeks ago. Sharp lines, metallics, and sterile. Everything about your job summed up into one disgustingly perfect room.

The blinds were open to catch the last rays of sunset that glinted off the high-rises around you. With a slight scowl, you turned your head as one stray reflection made its way into your eye. “Nice place. Bit too much light for my eyes though,” you said as you turned to face them. Only five of the men from before had followed you. It seemed that Jungkook had decided to leave rather than kill you, and Jin had joined him to make sure he didn’t.

You waited for a response. A minute passed. Then another. And now even you were starting to feel the weight of the tension in the room. Here they really had you cornered. The five of them corralling you into a room with a singular window more than 50 feet above cold pavement.

Have you escaped from this kind of situation before? Yes but that was only possible due to a conveniently placed window-washer’s station and a metal straw; neither of which you had available at the moment.      

“Good night Eli.” Namjoon’s voice betrayed the loosening reins he had on the other boys. Jimin, who had a soft spot for Jungkook, seemed to have no problem in gripping the beretta he had in a shoulder holster in warning.

Not that you ever listened to what pretty boys ever told you.

The next morning you woke up at your usual time, waved at the camera disguised on the black surface of the flower vase and began your morning routine. Thankfully over the years you had perfected the art of wigs and the blonde mane had stayed on through the night. Grabbing your clothes and more hair products you made your way to the bathroom. Changing into something more comfortable, you put on your running shoes and made your way to the front door.

Stretching out your back, you felt it pop and released a sigh before you crashed into someone. Taking a few steps back, you looked up into the face of the one and only Jung Hoseok. It was odd to see the man out of his suit and into what looked like workout gear.

It would be illegal for them to not be working out looking the way they did, but seeing it physically was something completely different. Not many were crazy enough to have a 6 am morning workout routine.

“Seems you’ll be joining us of your own accord.” Hearing the familiar drawl, you turn to see the rest of the boys in various states of putting their shoes on in the living room. So all of them did this every morning. Interesting.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but you can’t watch me run today. I have my own routes and my own errands, so I’ll see you back for breakfast.” As you were finishing your sentence you darted for the entrance, so quick that Hoseok could only graze your arm with his fingertips.

Behind you, you heard the sound of footsteps as one of the boys, most likely Hoseok, gave chase to you. You pumped your eyes faster as you darted in the direction of the stairs. The elevators were a sure way to get caught if there was not one available immediately, but at least on the stairs you could use your skills to descend faster.  Slamming open the door to the stairwell, you leaped over the banister without second thought and angled your body towards the railing on the opposite sides a floor down. It wasn’t much of a head start, but with Hoseok you thought you could manage.

Using your palms, you latched onto the cold metal and pulled yourself over it. Not wasting a moment in continuing your journey down the stairs. Behind you, the slap of hands on metal scared you more than you would ever admit. The sound meant that whoever was giving you chase was not Hoseok. It meant that your pursuer would not look lightly upon you if they caught you.

Willing your motivation into your limbs, you pushed forward, taking the steps two at a time and trying to find another opening for you to jump down another floor. It wasn’t that there weren’t opportunities; no there were plenty of those. The issue came with commitment.

With a drop of over 50 feet below you, there was no room for error. You had to be sure you were making the jump long before you actually shifted the weight. From what you had guessed, the person seemed to have some strength and training, making the possibility for error even less. A trained person would see the shift in weight and the element of surprise was the most important thing you could have.

“I could do this all day Eli.” The dark voice from behind you almost made you jump in fear. It was Jungkook and he sounded like he would enjoy nothing more than to just exact all the anger he had towards you in a single moment. A lot could be done to a person without killing, and nothing that BigHit had said prohibited you from being a little banged up by the time you reached their front door.

Seeing an upcoming opening, you counted down the seconds until you jumped. About a meter away from the gap, you leaped for the gap. From behind you, you heard another growl as Jungkook came after you. At the last minute, you reached out your hand and grabbed the pole and used the centrifugal force to pull yourself back onto the stairs. Jungkook was so focused on the jump as he didn’t have the planning that you did, that you were able to catch your breath as he really dropped himself down two floors.

The look on his face was the most amusing; that wide eyes expression that really betrayed more anger at himself or not seeing this coming rather than at you for getting away.

Between heaved breaths, you couldn’t help but rub it in a bit more. “Eli 2 and Jungkook 0,” you smirked out. “Don’t look now but you’re in second Jeon.” And with that you knew the moment was over, and so did he. A trained fighter’s first lesson wasn’t on fighting at all; it was about holding back.

[JJK]

Looking at the messy blonde head a couple of floors above me, I wanted nothing more than to wring his neck. His lips were parted in mirth at my state of loss and the audacity of him to further rub salt into the wound as he relaxed on his throne above me.

Nothing was stopping me from running back up the flights and going after your snark attitude with his fists, but that was beneath him. That would be revenge and revenge was not looked upon kindly. Revenge is mindless while fighting is mindful.

Catching my own breath, because Eli was faster than he seemed, I glared in his direction and slowly began my trek back up the stairs to rejoin the boys. He would get away, this time. From across the round staircase Eli kept his eyes on me as he circled down and I circled up, until we met face too face on the 19th floor landing.

He gave me a small nod, lips slightly parted as he continued to restock his oxygen supply as he continued past me. I didn’t try to contest my loss.

I regret my training.

It wasn’t a hard task keeping your identity secret. You had already prepared for this eventuality and had stocked both you backpack and the back room of the noodle shop with extra supplies. This way, you could keep the location of your apartment a secret, just in case you needed to catch a break for any reason. Who knows when you would need a hideaway from BigHit.

In the meantime, you kept to places the boys knew about, like the noodle shop. So the ones that followed you had nothing to report back to Namjoon who had grew more frustrated as time passed, with no new information about you. In the house, you kept to yourself, only speaking about the mission.

“Why don’t you come join me! Taehyung! Jimin! Over here!” Your voice reverberated around the noodle shop, giving you a sense of deja vu as the rest of the patron turned to the entryway. Sending a quick wink at the matron of the store, she shook her head and nodded in response as she asked for another two bowls of noodles.

Recently, you had become close to her, creating some semblance of friendship between the two of you, built around her new-found popularity and you character. She would never tell you this, but you became one of her heart’s adopted children. In you she saw someone who was forced to grow up too fast, for what reason she understood that she would never know, but it was there.

“You’re playing with fire here child.” She leaned in as if she was taking your order.

In response, you lifted the menu, momentarily covering both your faces with the red book. “Well good thing I’ve stocked up on repellent, Umma.”

Pulling the menu back down, you motioned them over, giving them no chance to turn tail and run. They would now have to suffer through lunch with your infuriating face with those big wide eyes.

“It’s not good to tail someone on an empty stomach, so you should eat up. After this, I’ve got to take you on a wild goose chase around the park.”

[dragonwitch77]

Rescue

She hadn’t stopped crying.

Not when he attacked the cats, taking them out easily with a few swipes of his claws while trapping those who tried to escape in his thorns. Not when he tore the cage open and scooped her up into his arms. Not when he finished off the last of the cats, holding her to his chest to hide the gruesome sight he laid out. Not when, while still high with anger, he blew up the warehouse with his magic.

She still cried as he carried her back to the forest, clinging to his mane as big fat tears rolled out her eyes and wailing her little heart out. Normally Snatcher would have found someone’s suffering to be funny, but THIS certainly was not even the tiniest bit humorous in his eyes.

He didn’t know when he got to his tree, or why he chose to curl up on the ground, coiling his body around the kid protectively with his arms wrapped around her small shaking frame, or how long they both stayed there, but it didn’t matter. The kid kept crying.

A Minion or two had poked their head in, but Snatcher had hissed and growled at them, sending a wave of his power to make a clear message that he did not want any visitors. He only wanted to focus on the crying child in his arms, waiting for either his anger to subside or for the kid to finally stop crying.

It would seem to be a long wait as the kid kept crying and his anger didn’t seem to want to go away.

Snatcher thought he might snap if his anger kept going, never minding how the kid seemed to be an endless water tank as she kept crying on him. All he could think about was the warehouse, the cats, and the dark promise he made to make whoever had done this to the kid pay.

After seemingly endless hours, the kid finally cried herself to sleep.

Snatcher was rather grateful for the silence, but his anger was still white hot as he eased himself up and sat down in his chair, keeping the kid close to his chest as he summoned a Minion. He made the order brief and to the point, in no mood for small talk or elaborating why the kid looked like a mess, and sent them off.

Keeping time was fuzzy with his emotions running high, but the Minion came back with what he asked and handed to him without question. A small part of his felt bad waking the kid up, but it was overwhelmed by his other emotions as he set to work patching the kid up, dealing with her wounds and getting rid of her messy ruined clothes for a cleaner set.

He had to keep himself from snapping when he saw the big deep purple spots covering her pale skin. She clonked out after he finished with the last of the more serious wounds, burying her face deep in his chest as her breathing hitched in her sleep. He let her be, slinking deep in his chair but not once ever relaxing.

-

He hadn’t let her out of his sight for a week.

The kid had stopped crying after a few days, with only a few sniffles here and there, but she was far from being back to her old whole self. And Snatcher didn’t want to risk the kid disappearing on him again anytime soon.

Not that the kid seemed to want to leave Snatcher’s side. She clung to him like a gnat and refused to let go. Snatcher just bared it, keeping the kid in his grip against his chest while trying to keep his anger under control. Though it was hard to do so as any time he looked down at the kid, his anger came back like a tidal wave seeing her broken form and the mop of hair that was usually covered by a top hat.

It was odd doing his usual duties with a kid clung to his chest, but he somehow made do with it and none of the Minions batted their only eye at the sight of the normally fearsome leader holding a broken child protectively like she was made out of glass. They made a few trips to her spaceship, getting her food and what not, but Snatcher never once let his sight leave the kid.

It didn’t help that the kid would flinch and hide her face against his chest every time the chef cat came in view. Snatcher did not have fun explaining the few details he had to her, though the cat was very understanding and kept her distance.

Days passed before she let up on her grip, though Snatcher still hung around to be sure she was healing. He didn’t need to watch her constantly anymore as Cooking Cat took over most of the duty now. The kid was still scared of the orange tabby, but thankfully she didn’t run or hide anymore.

But even as the kid healed and started to smile again, Snatcher could still feel his anger boiling under his false grin.

-

It was near the end of the fourth month that Snatcher felt it was safe enough to leave the kid.

After a quick check to be sure that she was sleeping, he made a beeline to the kitchen, snatching up the surprised cat by the scruff, and teleporting to his home. It took amazing amounts of strength inside him not to burst with anger as he talked with the cat, getting the info that he needed and who exactly to look for. He thanked her for her cooperation before sending her back to the ship and taking off.

Nyakuza Metro.

The place was bright, crowded, and too much for Snatcher’s liking. There wasn’t much shadow for him to hide in, so disgusted, he took the form of a short shout cat. It clearly didn’t stir up any suspicion as he walked down the streets, and not once did any feline bat an eye at him as he made his way to his destination.

He stopped just outside the store, spotting the large cat at the counter, nearly losing his disguise as he saw her twirling a familiar top hat in her claws. The sign said closed, but that didn’t stop Snatcher from fazing through the glass, his eyes dead set on the feline.

Their eyes met and quicker than Snatcher had seen any living being react, she took out a giant hammer, pointing it at him. It took him a moment to realize it wasn’t a hammer, but a rocket launcher, but he hardly blinked an eye as he growled, losing his disguise and towered over the cat.

There was a beat of silence between them, eyeing each other carefully.

And in a split second, Snatcher finally snapped.

-

“GOOOOD MOOOORRRRRRNINNNG!”

Hat Kid yawned as she sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes. “morning.”

“Sheesh, turn down the enthusiasm kid. No need to be so energetic.”

She smiled a bit as she turned her head to look at Snatcher, finding the ghost laying on her pillow pile with a new thick book. The title read Léčivé Srdce, though she didn’t understand what it meant. Not wanting to focus on it, she pushed the covers aside and slid out of bed and flung herself at Snatcher.

The ghost let out a grunt, shooting her a glare but did nothing to remove her as she smiled up at him. “What’cha reading?”

“Just an old dusty book. Nothing you would be interested in reading.”

Hat Kid crawled her way up Snatcher’s chest, stopping just shy of the book’s spine. “What’s it about?”

“Mmmph. Adventure, sloppy details, a horrible amount of googly heart shaped eyes.” Hat Kid couldn’t help herself from giggling. “And some murder mystery that gets forgotten after two chapters. And it’s the only good part of the story!” He lifted the book to grin down at her. “Five pons that it’s the protagonist’s love interest who’s the killer.”

“Deal!” Hat Kid chirped, snuggling her chin against his chest. She felt him flinch and caught sight of him cringing a bit, but it was gone before she could get a glance at it better. She didn’t have time to focus on it as she was suddenly scooped up in one hand and tossed up and down. Fits of laughter escaped as she was in the air for a few seconds before being caught by the hand and tossed up again.

“You seem to be in high spirits today kid. Got anything planned for today?”

“Cookie and I are going to see Grooves and Conductor today!” Hat Kid giggled as she landed back in the hand, grabbing Snatcher’s thumb and looked at the ghost with bright eyes. “I haven’t seen them in a while and Cookie said that since I’ve been stuck on the ship for a long time now, it’s a great excuse to stretch my legs!”

She kicked one leg out to prove her point, which Snatcher chuckled and dropped her into the pillow pile. She let out a small eep as she sunk into the pillows, popping her head out and blowing a raspberry at Snatcher who only laughed and returned to his book.

“Well you go have fun kid. It’ll be nice to have some peace and quiet around here for once.”

Hat Kid rolled her eyes, crawling out of the pillows and headed for the door.

“Wait up kid.”

She stopped before she could get close enough to activate the motion sensors, freezing as she heard Snatcher’s tone shift from its playful mannerism to a frightfully familiar voice.

“Just where do you think you’re going? Looking like that?”

Blinking, she turned around with a confused glance. Snatcher wasn’t even looking at her, but his usual grin was gone and replaced with a frown. “What’da mean?”

He looked up at her, frowning deeper. “Kid, you’re seriously not thinking about going out there dressed like that are you?”

Hat Kid looked down at herself, frowning now too. “This is how I usually look. And what I always wear!” She stretched out her limbs, putting her fists on her hips with her cheeks puffed out.

“Noo, nononononononono no.” Snatcher shut his book, which disappeared in a puff of smoke, floating over to her with his arms crossed and looking down at her. “You’re not properly dress kid. Do you seriously want to go out there when you’re not even fully clothed?”

“I am too.” Hat Kid huffed, grabbed her shirt and her cape. “See? Shirt, cape, pants, ponytail, boots—”

A weight landed on her head while she was looking down at her feet. Her hands flew upward, grabbing a familiar touch of fabric. She straightened, looking at Snatcher’s smirking face.

“Hat.”

With wide eyes, Hat Kid slowly took off what Snatcher had placed on her head, bringing in front of her.

The familiar purple with a yellow ribbon around the base was all she needed to see to confirm what she thought it was.

“You weren’t properly dressed without something covering that head of yours, and quite frankly I was getting tired of seeing the top of your head. So I figured you could use something to cooovvvvveeerrrrrrr… it? Kid?”

Hat Kid was sniffing, running her thumb over the fabric as she stared at the top hat. Her top hat.

“Whoa hey kid what’s the matter?”

She looked up at Snatcher and finally taking notice of the scruffs and disheveled shape the ghost was in. She didn’t say a word as she rushed at him, jumping as high as she could and grabbed as much mane as she could as new tears went down her face.

Snatcher flinched under her grip, but it didn’t take long for him to wrap his arms around her and hug her tightly as she began to cry. “Oh, kid. It’s alright.” She felt him place her hat back on her head, feeling a soft pat on her back. “It’s alright.” He repeated as she cried into his chest.

Previous

[infinitum-imaginaerum]

Minghao | F.24 “I never want you to think you’re anything less than my top priority.” | @linmeixing​ Words | 3,550 Notes | It may not be as gangster!au as you were hoping, so for that I’m sorry!  Thank you for coming and re-requesting because I really enjoyed writing this a lot! Warnings: mentions of violence and blood, gang activity.

Send me a bias, a section, and a number and I’ll write you a thing!

Ever since leaving home, you’d been moving around, a lot. Initially, your mother didn’t like the idea of you going to live with Minghao, but settled into the fact when she realized that your living situation was a lot more stable than she initially had thought—too bad she was right all along. The initial period after leaving, Minghao was able to keep a stable roof over your head, but anything was possible with a guy like him who was involved in the things he was involved in.

He always tried to remind you that it was for your safety that you continued to move around, and you tried to keep up the charade with your mother that you were still at the same address but somehow managed to sneak out of ever inviting her over for dinner or anything like that. You used the excuse that both of you were really busy and you often never saw each other because of work which technically wasn’t a lie, but she had no idea the type of work Minghao was involved in and would never approve of you being in this situation had she known just how deep into illegal things he actually was.

Most of the time you moved, it was incredibly spur of the moment. Sometimes you had to spend the night on a worn mattress in the middle of an abandoned apartment building or warehouse room. Sometimes you got tired of it, sometimes those nights pushed you. Things were often not perfect but when he took you by the waist and smiled down at you, reassuring you that everything was going to work out—those were the times when staying was the easiest.

Minghao’s societal role had always been confusing and somewhat taboo information to you. You often didn’t ask what he was involved with because when you did, he told you not to worry about it and that the two of you were going to be fine. You soon came to realize that it typically meant dangerous things were happening behind closed doors and he just didn’t want to worry you; despite that, you were an incessant worrier and Minghao had to find ways around that to cope with your borderline anxiety attacks any time he’d leave the house or miss a check in or phone call with you, especially when you were cooped up in a dusty-dirty old abandoned shack of some kind with no means of real transportation or food other than take-out.  

You hoped, desperately, that one day your world would be turned somewhat upside-down and that you would have a stable place to actually make a home. Only one outlet at work would let you vent to them about the struggles of always moving around without asking too much about why it was, and more often than not never criticized you about staying with a man you loved despite the difficulties that drove you absolutely mad.

It was a special kind of love you carried for Minghao; a loyalty unrivaled that he was constantly reminding you that he was grateful for. He divulged to you from time to time the difficulties of having love by one’s side when involved in the things he was involved with—most of his “coworkers” faced abandonment on many occasions and he swore he wouldn’t know what to do without you. Even if you didn’t know what was going on 99% of the time, you always gave him sound advice and a confidence that lifted his spirits about the things that went on since he knew he was far too deep to back out without some time and a plan.

It had been a long day at work for you. Your feet were tired, your bag heavy on your shoulder as you trekked up to your beaten front door. Forlornly, you looked at it, glazed over all the cracks and crevices and the paint chipping away from it, to the strike plate almost falling off the door that barely fit it the frame and you wondered why you even kept a key because there was no use locking that door in the first place. One swift kick would do the trick and the door would probably never shut again.

Regardless, you tucked the key into the slot and turned, the gears tumbling inside to unlock it and your other hand twisted the handle which promptly fell through the hole in the door where it was supposed to be affixed and into your hand. With a sigh, you gave the door a good shove with your shoulder, busting the strike plate off the frame and effectively swinging the door into your home.

Minghao was sitting on the couch, a lovely little thing you’d picked up at a discount furniture store once he promised you’d have a semi-permanent residence to make it a little homier with no intention of keeping if you had ever come across a permanent residence. He was only slightly shocked that the door had been busted in and a little more shocked to see the dingy bronze knob in your exhausted hand. His gaze gently trailed from the knob and your hand up to your tired eyes which made no advance to scan the room for a moment before being able to feel his gaze in the side of your face.

Your face said it all. No greetings were exchanged between the two of you, just a pathetic look on your face as you softly placed the knob on a rickety end table before he was engulfing you in his arms. His expensive fragrance—personal items you could actually spend money on without feeling bad because they were more easily movable—encapsulated you as you swayed in his arms, nose shoved deep into the shoulder of his soft jacket as your arms loosely wound around his waist.  Minghao gently kissed against your head, showering you with soft affection and let you rest in his arms as long as you needed. Desperately, you wanted at least a shower and to change clothes and thankfully the water of the crumbling building you were in could get hot enough to relax you just a bit. The tub was put together, at least, and the shower curtain you’d bought was perhaps the most luxurious thing in the bathroom with the exception of your personal items and your three-ply toilet paper.

“Why don’t you get cleaned up and we can go get some dinner,” he uttered to you. A huge chunk of you didn’t want to let him go; you feared that if you did, the waterworks would be uncontrollable. How desperate you were to live in a place you didn’t feel like you’d get broken into on any given day, in a place where the light fixtures weren’t falling off the ceiling in some way or the wiring didn’t buzz audibly through the walls. How you wished to live in a place where you could wake up to the gentle sunrise through the sheer curtains of your room window on a plushy mattress curled up with your love and have little worries other than what you were going to make for dinner.  

“I know you’re struggling, darling. We’ve moved four time in the past month. I know those tears pricking your eyes are frustration and dismay. I know this life is very hard and you have been so loyal sticking by me through everything even when I kept you in the dark. Believe me when I say I never want you to think you’re anything less than my top priority—”

“Minghao, I can’t do this anymore,” you finally sobbed freely, interrupting him even as you tried to hide your face against the shoulder of his expensive Givenchy jacket.

He didn’t want to blow anything, but with the desperation in your voice, with the way it cracked and the way you clawed at his jacket trying to stave your hyperventilation, he had to say something else.

“Give me one more day, darling. Stay with me tonight, and if after tonight you don’t want to do it anymore still, I’ll let you go if that is your wish. Please, just let me take you out to dinner and spend the night together, that’s all I ask,” he pleaded, cupping the back of your head as he spoke softly to you.

One more day; that wasn’t too much to ask. The door knob thing really kicked you down to the lowest you’d ever felt, but after four moves and Minghao coming home with a bloodied cheek in a hurry to move you from your apartment building—you just couldn’t watch him like this anymore. It was often he came home beaten at least a little bit, spitting blood and icing an eye socket, knuckles bruised to bits gritting his teeth. You tended his wounds, even when he tried to bat you away because he never wanted you to see him like that. Even he couldn’t resist the way you sat at his feet while he hunched over in a chair, watching you dab at the injuries on his hands or similar.

You could feel the desperation of his plea when he finally reeled back to kiss you. His lips were a little chapped, but the way they curled around yours was ethereal as he kissed you with tenderness other worldly. He cupped both your cheeks with his warm, wide hands as if he was holding the finest porcelain. A couple of lingering kisses he lay against your lips before reminding you to shower and get dressed up, because he knew how good it made you feel when you looked good and he told you so.

So, with that, you showered the longest shower that the water heater would provide you, scalding your skin to the point you could handle before you got ready at his request.  He sat on the couch, waiting for you to emerge from the room, and when you did, he was just as floored as he always was when laying eyes on you.  You donned a three quarters sleeve navy evening gown. The top was lacey and elegant, the skirt pleated and satin with a scoop neck cut for a modesty he couldn’t have appreciated more.

It almost got to your nerves, the way he looked at you as you came out of the bedroom.  

“You are the most ethereal and gorgeous being I’ve ever had the pleasure and privilege of laying eyes on,” he told you as he made his way to his feet. Your shy gaze turned away from him as you gripped your clutch in your hands. It was a gown that he’d bought you not that long ago, an extravagant gift to make you feel special and boy did it, not to mention you were positively in love with it. He took your chin between tender fingers and guided your gaze back to him.

“Are we sure you’re mortal, because only a goddess could be as beautiful as you,” he whispered, taking the small of your back with his coaxing hand to tug you into him. “Royalty, at the very least,” he added, taking your hand to bring it up to his lips to kiss the back of it.

“This queen is only a queen at the side of her king,” you muttered back, finally having the confidence to look into his eyes.  The smile that tugged at the corner of his lips and turned into to a full-fledged grin melted your heart and it all came rushing back to you the reasons you fell in love with him in the beginning.

“This king would be nothing without his queen, for she is the one who gives him strength every single day with just a soft smile and a gentle touch. She reminds him that without the bad times, the good times would be lackluster. She reminds him what its all worth fighting for, and to dig in and keep fighting,” he whispered to you, holding your knuckles against his lips as he swayed with you until you cracked even a sliver of a smile.

He whisked you up next to him, joined at the hip as he took you down to the car to take you to dinner. He treated you like you were the queen he claimed, spoiling you the way he did as often as he could. It almost made you forget the incident at your apartment, almost. Still, it lingered in the back of your mind like a bad exam grade and he could feel it even in the way he clutched your hand against his leg under the table as you picked at your desert with almost no enthusiasm at all.

Minghao eyed the side of your face, watching your glazed over eyes stare right through the table while your hand released its gentle grip on his thigh, enough that he was able to lace his fingers through yours. He couldn’t help but reach over and take the cheek furthest away from him to bring your face gently to his and place a chaste kiss against your cheek.

“Not even your favorite dessert brings a smile to your face,” he whispered.

“Minghao,” you voiced delicately and finally turned your gaze to him.

“My love,” he uttered back, meeting you half way to brush his nose affectionately against yours. “I didn’t want to spoil it, but I think I have the remedy to all your worries.”

“And what is that?” you asked.

“I think it would be better to show you, than to tell you,” he replied. You looked at him, longingly, looking between his eyes to get the smallest hint of what it could possibly be. There were few things that could ease your worries and one of them you prayed didn’t have to happen, but you were reaching your end. You picked over your dessert with a little more interest as he paid the tab.

Out the window of the car, the city lights passed by and it was a good few moments for you to realize you weren’t heading in the right direction of your apartment. His hand was laced tightly with yours, rubbing over your knuckles with his thumb as he kept his eyes on the road, occasionally peeking over at you as you glowered out the window.

“Where are we going?” you finally asked, lifting your chin from your hand propping your head up to look out the window and faced him.

“Somewhere very special,” he replied simply, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Somewhere I think you’ll like a lot.”

The tops of the skyscrapers you passed couldn’t be seen from the inside of the car, and you were fairly certain they couldn’t be seen from the outside of the car, either. You were getting to the fancier part of town again, closer to where you worked which caused a long commute you were beginning to hate, even if it did allow for ample reading time on the train.  Minghao showed no signs of giving it up too soon, even when you pulled into a numbered covered parking space inside a garage of a condominium building. You wondered what you were doing there; but maybe this was the surprise, that Minghao had asked you to stay one night with him so he could prove to you how much you meant to him. It was far from what you were looking for, but for the moment you appreciated the gesture, especially as he helped you out of the car.  

You wanted to ask so many questions, Minghao could almost see it on your face which is why he chose to not look at you so much. He led you into the elevator and pressed a floor button, you weren’t really paying attention to which as it didn’t seem to matter—it would be part of your distant past soon enough. You looked around the ornate boards of the shiplap wall of the elevator, tasteful mirrors mounted against them even as he took your hand and brought it to his lips once more. His other hand was tucked deep into his pocket, fiddling with something in there, fingers touching over smooth metal with an engraving on it until the elevator signaled the arrival to your floor.

In front of you were three doors, one to the right, the middle, and the left. The jingling in Minghao’s pocket was enough to bring your gaze over to him as he produced the key in front of you. There was a small keychain on it which glinted in the light of the communal foyer, but the engraving was half-covered by Minghao’s finger until he wrapped it up in your hand.

“What’s this all about?” you asked him.

“That, my queen,” he whispered and leaned over to kiss your temple, “is the key to our new permanent castle.”

You arms almost dislocated, or it felt that way, as your shoulders slumped so hard as the shock washed over you almost instantly. Your gaze turned to him with a look that would strike an enemy dead, begging him to not be playing with you. Your eyes glimmered in the light and if he thought you couldn’t look more beautiful before, he had been proven seriously wrong.

“Hao,” you warned, fiddling the key between your fingers.

“I can’t wait until you see the inside,” he replied with a tinge of glee. He guided your hand with the key to the lock, a sturdy thing that didn’t jiggle at all; it was tight in its slot, the strike plate shiny and new, the door frame probably steel of some sort instead of some flimsy decaying wood. The greased lock turned with ease, almost silently tumbling until it opened, Minghao’s hand over yours turned the handle to push the door open.

Your free hand clapped over your mouth as you looked into the foyer and through to the living room. All you could really make out for the time being was a large area rug placed in the middle of the sleek wood floors with your dream sectional sofa, a Victorian-esque designed piece of furniture you’d circled in a magazine and gushed about to Minghao for your forever home, if you ever got one, and a matching wood and glass coffee table. The drapes behind it were right out of your fantasy interior design studio, matching the sofa and the rest of the room, and that was only the living room.

“Minghao,” you uttered again, turning to him with tears glossing your eyes over.

“Go in,” he encouraged, ushering you with a small push against your back to bring you through the front door. You looked around, internally gushing over the décor, the modern appliances in your beautiful sleek kitchen that you’d cook many meals in together, the dinning area that was to die for, the living room over again, a peek into the bathroom where the light fixtures were brushed nickel, polished and sturdily affixed to their proper spots with a gorgeous vanity and you could only dream what the master bathroom looked like.

The bedroom you were too eager to see. You skipped most everything else to walk into a room easily two times the size of your biggest master bedroom to date. The furniture in it was things you’d pointed out while window shopping with Minghao in your free time; your bed, fit for a king and queen was baroque—simply gorgeous. A bed big enough to comfortable accommodate the both of you instead of struggling for space.

“What do you think? Think you could live here permanently?” he asked you.

“Is that a threat or a promise?” you asked him, turning around.

“It’s a promise; I promised you stability, I promised you a forever home. I promised you, and your mother, that I would take care of you. You’ve been nothing but patient, kind, and loving with me, and I wanted to return the favor by coming through on those promises. So, as long as you think you can give it, and me, another shot… it’s yours,” he reminded you, speaking about before dinner when you proclaimed you couldn’t do it anymore.

“You mean I get to live here, with you, with no surprise moving?”

“With me, with no surprise moving ever again.”

“I get to fall asleep in this bed with you every night, and wake up to you every morning?” you clarified.

“If that is your wish…” he trailed off, peering at you from under his lashes with the most dashing half-smile, a smile that had your heart picking up some beats as it tried to crawl into your throat.

You didn’t even bother reply, just wrapped your arms around his neck and buried into him enough to push your tears back. He held you just as tenderly as he always had, taking in your scent like he’d never experience it again. There was a new, rejuvenated aura to you, bringing back the old you he made all those promises to. You’d never strayed from being true to him, but somehow it felt different. It felt at ease, more effortless, more like you were head-over-heels for him all over again.

[falloutforties]

Five Years {Chapter Two}

Description: Nora meets some new friends, and encounters some of the worst creatures the wasteland has to offer. But it’s no big deal, really. Lemons into lemonade, right?

Warnings: Again, no real warnings for this chapter aside from language and some violence. 

Note from the Author: This story is also on ao3, if you’d rather read it there, but I will continue to post it here as well! Writing and publishing this story has given me something exciting to do during quarantine, so I hope that someone sees it and also finds some excitement.

II. BAD RADS

From the second she hit the ground, she decisively ignored the pang in the soles of her feet and sprinted across the mottled street, dodging upturned cars and pieces of unsettled tar that littered the road. The thing was moving fast, faster than she would ever have imagined, sweeping great gusts of wind across the city as it moved.

It was beautiful in an incredibly terrifying way, she had to give it that. If it were stuffed and displayed behind a glass case in a museum, she would have gawked at it, but it wasn’t stuffed, its heart was still beating, and she was losing stamina.

“Fuck it!” She shouted and hoisted the mini-gun onto her hip with a wretched groan. Everything she did hurt her physically, but the thought of being ripped limb from limb by the creature seemed to hurt more, so she suffered the massive bruise that would certainly grow from her hip bone into her ribcage where the mini-gun sat spinning idly.

“RED BUTTON!” Screamed Garvey from the museum’s balcony. “THERE’S A RED BUTTON! PRESS THE RED BUTTON! RED BUTTON!”

He kept repeating it, over and over, and it took her mind a few seconds to process before she spotted it, and the mini-gun began to whir at a frightening pace. As it heated up, the creature lunged towards her with the bloody debris of a raider stuck between its teeth and on its horns, dripping bits of lung onto the street. She could have vomited, but there was no time. She would have to reschedule.

“GET FUCKED, YOU SLIMY BASTARD!” If her plan didn’t work, she would have looked foolish screaming such harsh words just before getting ripped apart. They would have been excellent last words, but they wouldn’t look very pretty printed on a marble tombstone. Much to her surprise, and the aesthetic benefit of her epitaph, the gun began firing right into the monster’s chest, finally sending it sprawling out across the street.

As the ringing in her ears died, she watched the monster’s enormous chest heave ragged breaths as it died. The mini-gun still spun in front of her, ready in case the monster had a friend, but the streets grew an eerie quiet that replaced the ringing with a stale, audible silence.

“Fucking shit, fuck, fuck, shit, fucking fuck,” she muttered. The mini-gun finally gave way and crashed into the gravel beneath her as her knees buckled, sending her face-forward into the rubble. She heard Garvey’s feet hit the pavement and the frantic calls of Sturges behind him.

“I’m fine, guys,” she assured. In her mind, she was waving her hand at them as a sign of life, but her physical body was unaware of her intentions as it lay limp and crumpled like a rag doll. “Don’t worry, I’m alive. Just a little tired. Just gonna take a little nap here, right on the road. No worries, no worries.”

“Get her off the ground, Sturges, we’ve got to get her inside.”

“I’m on it, boss.”

She felt Sturges’s roughened hands scoop beneath her armpits, hoisting her from her pathetic position into his arms. She vaguely understood that this was the first real human contact she had in so long, but she couldn’t help but feel embarrassed by it. She imagined Nate’s face, scornfully watching her as another man carried her to safety.

“Thank you,” she said as she was set on a cushion on the lobby’s floor. The Minutemen surrounded her, watching to see if her eyes would shut permanently. “I’m fine, folks. Don’t worry about me.”

“That was some show, ma’am. I’ve been handling a gun as long as I can remember, but I don’t think I would last that long against a Deathclaw.”

“Is that what it’s called? Man. I guess that makes sense, though.”

“Never seen a Deathclaw before?”

“Nah, never had the pleasure,” she intoned with a dreamy smile. Nora was just happy to be alive, even if it meant she might live to see another Satan-Lizard hybrid. The sight of Preston Garvey sat in front of her with a concerned expression on his kind face made her swell with pride, and Sturges posted by the front door made her feel safe. She liked the wastelanders. She liked all the people she’d met— she even liked the raiders, in a weird way. Everyone was plucky and happy to just be alive.

“Once you’re feeling up to it, you ought to come with us. We heard of an old neighborhood close by that would make a good spot for a settlement. Sanctuary Hills. Appropriate name, huh?”

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Garvey?” Marcy questioned from her place against the far wall. “We might be safer holed up in this place.”

“We’ll never know unless we try. Sanctuary might be exactly the kind of place we need.”

“Sanctuary will be good for you,” Nora interrupted, and Garvey turned to her in surprise. “I used to live there. Before the war, that is.”

“The war? What war?”

“The war. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you when I’m not at death’s doorstep, but I think Sanctuary Hills would be a perfect home for the Minutemen.”

She closed her eyes and pictured the little settlement in her mind, but for the first time, she saw it as it was, the wrecked little suburban paradise that sat just below the looming hill of Vault 111. She saw the skeletons of houses and the spindly arms of irradiated trees that grew through the empty windows. She saw the empty beds, the dirty halls, the rusted doorframes. And she saw life in that. She saw Preston Garvey stepping lively down the neighborhood streets at night with his hands in his pockets, whistling a song no one knew the name of. She saw Marcy and Jun huddled together in bed on a cold night, listening to the crickets chirp in the woods outside.

There was life in Sanctuary Hills. It was hidden in the darkened corners of ruined houses, but it was there, and it was perhaps even more meaningful than before the war.

“Alright then. Everyone rest up. By morning, we’ll move on to Sanctuary Hills.”

On the afternoon of the next day, she sat cross-legged on the floor of her Sanctuary home, where she once would have kneeled on the sticky plasticky linoleum, scrubbing at grout because the Hawthorne’s were coming over for Sunday brunch the next day, and they would be keenly inspecting the grout.

Recently, she had been practicing a train-of-thought exercise in which she let her thoughts go wherever they wanted. Most times, she kept a strict adherence to thought-rules. She couldn’t afford to think with too much sentimentality or hope, because the word no longer conformed to such things, but she allowed herself moments of wildness when she felt that her feelings could no longer be restricted to the dusty back corners of her head.

My brain hurt like a warehouse, it had no room to spare. I had to cram so many things to store everything in there.

She wondered where she would be in five years, and for the first time, she seemed to notice that her prescience did not extend to the rest of the year, even. She would just have to wait and see the next morning, and then the next, and the next, until she woke up and knew she would die.

Assuming she would be alive in five years, would she have wasted away? Turned to chems in her misery, taking hits of jet between grand Nietzschean thoughts about the meaninglessness of life? Would she succumb to the horrors of radiated life, her skin beginning to pool in rough gauntlets down to the tips of her fingers?

I do have to admit— being irradiated enough to glow green would look cool as fuck.

Fuck, fuck. FUCK.

She loved swearing. Even in her head, it felt liberating. Before the bombs fell, she had never once swore aloud, much less for people to hear. The language of the wasteland was beautifully rough, and she loved hearing even the most profane raiders spit vitriol at her, even as she shot back from behind an old Gunner’s barrier.

“FUCK!” She yelled out loud, with a smile. She wasn’t sure if Codsworth heard her, or if he was appalled at her sudden outburst of foul language, but she didn’t care. He would understand.

She wondered errantly if he was programmed graciously enough to be able to swear so violently himself.

If Codsworth said ‘fuck’, that would make this whole thing worth it, I think.

It had been three weeks since she had pulled herself from that damned vault, and so far, she had to give the Nuclear Apocalypse credit. It had really done a number on good ole Planet Earth, and it was certainly creative in its exploits.

Two-headed cows? Beautiful, brilliant, exceptional storytelling. Conceptually, it was all very nice. In practice? She thought it could do better.

Three weeks out of cryogenic storage, and the worst the wasteland had done to her thus far was get a switchblade stuck in her leg, which she in turn stuck into a raider’s leg. She was turning radioactive lemons into radioactive lemonade, and it was spicy in ways that lemonade shouldn’t be, but at least she wasn’t dead.

“Mum,” Codsworth interrupted her train of thought as he meandered into the living room. He had a few spots of rust on him now, an addition she was sure would infuriate him if she knew whether he was able to see himself in a mirror.

He’s not a vampire, he’s a robot. Of course he can see himself in a mirror. Just like he can see me.

“Hi, Codsworth,” she replied. She stood up from the floor and her joints creaked. That was a fun new problem that came with being over 200 years old, she had discovered. Her joints now sounded like the sputtering of an old car engine. She wasn’t built for this apocalypse business.

“Your friends from Concord have arrived, and their leader requests your presence.”

“Thank you, Codsworth.”

She wiped a stray tear from her eye that she hadn’t been aware of prior and headed towards the door to see her new ragtag group of friends making their way across the bridge to Sanctuary Hills, the Red Rocket Truck Stop looming behind them.

She hadn’t been completely useless in her three weeks in the wasteland. In fact, Nora was quite proud of herself. She had always wondered if she would survive in one of those tacky zombie movies that ran on weekends on Channel 42— “The Commonwealth’s Home for All Things Sci-Fi and Horror!”— and now she knew for a fact that she would survive.

In three weeks, Nora had restored the necessary parts of her old Sanctuary home, given her old robot butler a dusty bowler hat, traveled to Concord, beat the Ever-Loving Shit out of some giant glowing cockroaches, fought a Satanic Lizard, and met a really cool dog. The dog was now sleeping in a little red doghouse she had moved to her front lawn.

She had always wanted a dog. Having a baby, Nora had once thought, would be a gateway drug to getting a dog. That was Pro #4 on her list of Pros and Cons of baby-having. Now, she could have a dog, totally baby-free.

Take that, Nate.

As soon as Preston stood square-shouldered before the first house on the street, a menacing roar of thunder split the sky, and nauseous yellow clouds rolled in over the horizon. Nora wanted to think that it looked like the end of the world, but the apocalypse had already happened. This was just another awful thing she would have to live through.

She stood up and gazed at the sky under the shade of her palm as Garvey approached.

“Radstorm coming,” he mentioned casually.

“Radstorm?”

“Radiation storm. Bad news for anyone without a gas mask.”

“Radiation storm,” she muttered under her breath. “Of course there are radiation storms. What do people typically do during a radiation storm?”

“Stay inside, if you can. In your case, I would recommend getting a good sleep. You don’t look so good.”

“You sure you don’t need my help?” She asked, praying that the answer was no, but she couldn’t bring herself to go to sleep without at least asking. Damned maternal instincts.

Preston chuckled, “No, you go ahead to sleep, ma’am. You’ve already done more than we could ask for.”

Nora wondered if she would be able to sleep in her old bed. She hadn’t even tried, opting always for the Hawthorne’s old queen bed, now doubly-stuffed with Bloatfly larvae in the seems. Every time she walked into her old bedroom, she had to walk down the hall, and when she walked down the hall, she had to walk by Shaun’s room.

The child haunted her in so many ways, and she decided, after breaking out of a high-security vault and killing a Deathclaw in the middle of Concord, perhaps she was more able than she thought. She was going to find that child. Shaun was going to come home.

[merryfortune]

Aiball Week Day 3

February 10th: Amusement // Horror

Word Count: 1,048

Tags: Post Canon, Canon Compliant, Horror Elements

    It felt good to be home.

  Ai would be the first to admit. He missed this little place of Yusaku’s, as undecorated and cold as it was. The cracks in the wall, the tiny kitchen, the stairs which squeaked and creaked upon being walked on. It was so familiar. He may have spent a lot of his time here, locked up in a cabinet so he couldn’t interfere with Yusaku’s life, but it still felt good to be here because here was as home to him as the Cyberse World.

  Something of a smile pricked on Yusaku’s lips, Ai noticed as he blathered on about his own thoughts as the door clocked, clicked and locked, behind them. That smile on Yusaku’s face was a little odd. It was dark. And tearful. But vulnerable too, almost stifled by disbelief.

  “Are you glad I’m home too?” Ai asked amid his dithering, looking up cautiously from Yusaku’s Duel Disc.

  “Yeah, I am.” Yusaku replied with a cough in his voice.

  If Ai had a heart, a real heart and not a soulful heart, then it would have fluttered upon hearing that. It would have pounded. Instead, all he could do was acknowledge the effects that such kind things spoken by Yusaku perhaps could have over him. It was difficult being an eyeball.

  “Let me guess what you’re thinking.” Yusaku said, stilted.  

  “Hm? Oh yes, sure.” Ai replied.

  “You wish you had your body back.” Yusaku said.

  “Correct-a-mundo! Though, I think it would be plain as day to surmise. I’m sure you wouldn’t like to be just an eyeball either.” Ai teased and pouted. “Oh, how I miss my handsome form; that sculpted body, those dashing eyes, and that’s to say nothing of that SOLtiS ‘droid that I took.”

  Yusaku rolled his eyes. “I haven’t been totally unproductive these past few months.”

  “You haven’t?”

  Ai was slightly taken aback by that. From what he could gather, Yusaku had spent the past few months looking for him and only him. Something so obsessive and so Yusaku that Ai found it difficult to admonish Yusaku despite the obvious degradation of both himself and his surroundings. Home was still home but it was so dusty. and the air was stale. Yusaku was still Yusaku but his cheeks were gaunt, he looked more fragile than usual but at least his eyes still had that determined gleam in the green, but Ai was willing to predict such a sheen had only returned to Yusaku upon locating Ai. Not to mention, Yusaku had cut himself off from all his bonds, again, for Ai so that would have hurt him emotionally as well, even if he was difficult to admit it. Thus, it was apparent by all accounts that Yusaku had severely neglected himself in his quest to reunite with Ai.

  Worse still, Ai didn’t know if this was better or worse for Yusaku than those six months from his childhood. Hence why Ai couldn’t truly find it within himself to scold Yusaku for such bad behaviour, but its consequence was him. Reviving him. Bringing him home. So, it was worth it. Ai thinks it was worth it. He thinks that he was worth it. He hopes so, anyway.

  Yusaku walks towards the secret room in his living space. He opens it up and its fresh. That’s the first thing Ai detects about it. Clean, well ventilated, so on and so forth completely unlike the rest of Yusaku’s apartment. Yusaku then tilts his wrist towards the floor so Ai didn’t have to stretch and squeeze himself to glimpse what was on the floor.

  His body.

  His SOLtiS body.

  For some reason, Ai registered that as an ill omen.

  It was impossibly clean, but something was amiss about the way its clothes were crumpled. It was strangely humanlike in how it was propped up and with space by its side for a second body to curl into its space.

  “One of the first things I did was retrieved your alpha SOLtiS droid from the warehouse. From the others, I took a lot of their internal hard drive to store in case something happens to it. The rest were confiscated by Zaizen and locked in a very special prison of their own, a prison which I have a live feed of as insurance that SOL won’t ever touch them and if someone else does, I will know.” Yusaku said.

  “Thank you, Yusaku. This will make a very fine replacement for me until I get my Ignis body back...” Ai drawled cautiously. “Thank you for your foresight regarding the stockpile of miscellaneous parts. It would be bad, very bad, if something happened to my physical self again.”

  “Yeah.” Yusaku mumbled. “But the stockpile got me thinking and I’ve already touched up that body but there’s second one I’m in the process of fortifying as well.”

  “My, you have been busy.” Ai said. “Let me guess, Roboppy? Where is my little minion?”

  “I haven’t been that productive, but I see no point in fortifying Roboppy after your experiment in doing so failed. I’m sure they’ll come good once I tinker a bit more with them, but I thought this second body was a bit more important to fortify first.” Yusaku said and as his words lingered towards the end of his dialogue, they turned wry with the implication that Ai should be proud of Yusaku for doing these things.

  Ai leaned what was his body to the other side of Yusaku’s Duel Disc. His eye bulged and then flatted when Yusaku obliged him. He smiled as he looked down on his partner.

  “It occurred to me that whilst I want you to live forever or as close to as possible that I didn’t want you to ever be lonely again so I decided that it was the utmost importance that this second body was fortified, stockpiled, and ready for such a tantamount achievement such as near immortality. Though, the shell isn’t quite so solidified yet.” Yusaku continued to explain.

  “Care to, um, enlighten me Yusaku?” Ai asked, tentatively afraid and it did show in the way his eye drooped.

  “Mine.” Yusaku said, simply.

  And in that one word, accompanied with a plain smile, Ai saw the glitter of circuitry in Yusaku’s green eyes.

[whumping-every-day]

Locked up and left behind?

I am so happy to be answering some of these! Thank you so much for writing in! 

Yellow is requested, Red is completed!

Locked up and Left Behind, with Gabriel, for the wonderful @jay-whumples and @kestrelsparverius​!! This is a short excerpt from Gabriel with his former Master, before Stefan and Maria. Enjoy! 

Content warnings: Abuse, slavery, threats of death and violence, begging.

Masterlist 

–

“Please, please d-don’t do this, please-”

“Shut up.”  

There’s a sharp smack, and Gabriel falls silent, save for his quiet sobbing.

They’re in a abandoned warehouse, miles away from the cellar that Gabriel calls him, and the boy is terrified. The place is quiet and abandoned, and there are dust motes drifting through the dying sunlight. It’s silent as the grave. This is the kind of place someone could hide a body.

Gabriel stumbles as he’s dragged forward, further into the warehouse, and his panic only grows as Master produces a key.

“No, no no please,” he cries as the thick steel door is unlocked. “D-don’t leave me h-here, please Master, don’t-”

“What did I just fucking say?” His Master is incensed, and Gabriel whimpers pitifully.

Inside the steel door is a steel room, covered in rust and dust and discarded junk. The old equipment looms, craggy and frightening. There’s also a row of crates, big metal boxes that must have at some point been used to store grain or oil.

Master shoves him forward, and Gabriel trips and falls, skinning his knee on the rough cement floor.

“Fucking useless,” the man scoffs. The door thunks shut behind them, and Gabriel huddles on the floor, tears still streaming down his cheeks.

Master hunts through the junk on the floor, and eventually comes up with a rusted, bent crowbar. The man hefts it in his hand, considering and cold, and the look in his eyes has Gabriel crying and pleading in earnest.

“Please, Master, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I d-didn’t mean it, I didn’t-”

“You didn’t mean to run away?” The man laughs, and it’s a sharp, cold thing. There’s a vicious quality to the man’s scowl, a gleam of enjoyment in his eyes. The man is enjoying this, and he’s savouring Gabriel’s terror.

Master strides back over to him, and Gabriel whimpers and curls his arms over his head. But instead of a flurry of metal blows, there’s a kick to his chest, and Gabriel goes sprawling on his back. He gags on air and wheezes with the pain, and then there’s a heavy boot settling on his chest. Master presses down and sets the jagged edge of the crowbar under the quivering boy’s throat.

“You would deserve it!” The man spits. “Stupid, disobedient little cunt! Is this what you wanted? To make yourself so much of a nuisance that I have to take you out here and make sure you never bother anyone ever again?” The crowbar is lifted threateningly, and Gabriel cries out in blind terror, clawing frantically at the boot holding him down.

“P-p-please Master, d-don’t, please don’t, I’ll be g-good, I swear, I w-won’t do it again, I’ll b-be better, I p-promise I will, please-”

“Hmm.” Gabriel knows, on a deeply visceral level, that Master would have no problem caving his skull in with the crowbar and walking away. But the man is waiting, one eyebrow raised expectantly, and Gabriel squeezes his eyes shut and keeps begging.

“I’m s-sorry, Master, I didn’t, I didn’t mean to run, I’m sorry. I – I won’t do it again, I’ll take my p-punishment, Master, please, I’ll – I’ll b-be good and take it-”

“Oh, you stupid little thing.” Master’s grin is eerie, and he waves the crowbar under Gabriel’s nose, enjoying how he quivers. “You’ll be good and take what I give you either way.”

Gabriel is still crying, but his tears well up and spill more quickly in response. “Please,” is all he can whimper. He doesn’t want to be left here in pieces, or stuffed in a barrel for a homeless person or scavenger to find months down the road. If he had just been good to begin with, if he hadn’t gotten curious about the outside…

“You deserve this,” Master repeats, and Gabriel feels his last bit of hope sputter and die. The boy gives a last bout of sobs, shuddering and from the gut.

“Y-yes, Master,” he sniffles weakly. He does deserve this. He was bad and this is punishment. He should have been better. Master lets him cry and snivel for a few seconds, before the foot pinning him down is removed.

“Alright, alright. Quit your bellyaching.” He’s kicked onto his side, and Gabriel gasps for air in surprise. Master’s fingers close in his hair, and Gabriel cries out as he is unceremoniously hauled over to the metal crates. He can’t get his feet under him; he’s just dragged, and Gabriel can feel strands of hair being yanked from his scalp.

“You’re a disobedient little shit,” Master is growling as he drops Gabriel to the unforgiving floor. The man’s attention is on the metal crates, and he uses the crowbar to jimmy the lid of one open. When it falls to the floor with a loud clang, there’s a cold pit in Gabriel’s stomach.

Master crouches in front of him, and Gabriel flinches as his face is grabbed.

“Say thank you,” the man snarls as he towers over the boy. Gabriel whimpers, but he can’t speak with the man’s hand digging into his cheeks. “I hope you understand, boy,” Master continues. He’s still angry, Gabriel can see it, in the baring of his teeth and the wild look in his eye. “I would be well within my rights to chop you into bits and leave you here. Do you understand that? Do you?” There’s a terrified whimper and a nod. “Good. Then you understand that I am being merciful by choosing to punish you instead. Don’t you, you fucking waste of space?” There’s a quiet sob that time, but still a nod. “Okay then.” Master’s hand snaps out, and Gabriel tastes blood as his head is thrown to the side. Pain blooms across his cheek. “Then say thank you.”

“Th-th-thank y-you, Master,” he sobs.

Smack. “Again.” “Th-thank you, M-Master!”

Smack. “What for?”

“Th-thank you f-for p-punishing me, a-and teaching me t-to be b-better, th-thank you-” Gabriel cowers as he waits for another blow. There’s blood dripping from his lip and a ringing in his ears.

“One more time, pet.” There’s no strike this time, and Gabriel heaves in an unsteady breath, his vision blurred with tears.

“Th-thank you, M-Master.” The words come immediate and unbidden, without hesitation. “I was b-bad, Master, th-thank you for t-teaching me to be better, th-thank you.” Once he’s done, Gabriel squeezes his eyes shut and prays it was enough.

“That was a good start.” Master stands again, leaves Gabriel huddled at his feet. Something clangs nearby, and Gabriel flinches. “However, as lovely as that was… I’m afraid your actual punishment is just beginning. And I hope for your sake that you can remember to be grateful.”

The dusty cement is cool under his cheek. Gabriel can feel the wetness of tears on his face, and he knows he’s going to be dirty, after. He’s oddly fixated on that fact, until he’s abruptly kicked in the ribs.

“Get up, dipshit.” Gabriel’s head is spinning, but he pushes himself to obey on shaky limbs. He staggers a little once he’s up, and his eyes fix on the waiting empty box. “Get in.” Gabriel goes cold all over, and he looks to Master with beseeching eyes. But the man only stares back, hard and unyielding, and Gabriel feels more tears slipping down his cheeks. “Don’t make me repeat myself, you useless little shit. In.”

Gabriel flinches with his whole body, and he whimpers but drags himself towards the metal crate. His feet are numb. If he tries to disobey, Master will beat him down and put him in anyway.

The inside of the box smells like dampness and mildew, and something scuttles by his foot. Gabriel is shaking, and his skin feels too tight, too cold. The box is small, he’ll have to fold over to fit all the way inside…

“P-please,” He can’t help but whimpering, just one last time, as Master approaches with the lid. “Please, please, n-no…”

“Ah-ah. What did we just talk about?” Master pauses with the lid, and Gabriel can only stare back up at him with frightened, lost eyes, a startling blue amidst all the filth and grime. He knows what the man wants, and Gabriel closes his eyes as more tears slide down his cheeks. “Thank you, Master,” he whispers in defeat.

“There you go.” Master pats his hair one last time, and then the lid is fitted on top. There’s some clanging and groaning of metal after that, and then something is fitted on top of the crate.

Gabriel reaches up a hand to press against the lid, and it’s firmly sealed shut. There’s already panic brewing in his gut, shortening his breath and making it hard to see.

“M-Master?” It’s quiet for a long moment, and Gabriel sucks in a panicked breath – it’s as if he can already feel the air growing thin. “Master?” “Don’t you be making too much noise, boy.” The man is still standing outside of the crate, and the relief that floods Gabriel’s system is like heroine. Master knocks the side of the box, and the loud ringing makes Gabriel wince. “I’m going to leave you here now,” the man continues. “When I come back, I expect you to have learned some lessons about obedience and gratitude.” There’s a smile in his voice as it moves further away. “I’ll lock the outside door, so don’t worry… no one will ever find you down here. Until I decide that you’ve learned enough.”

Gabriel can’t breathe. His hands are shaking in the darkness, and he jumps and cries out as that same scuttling from before sounds again, grazing his bare foot. What he is trapped in there with? A rat? A cockroach? A very large spider?

He doesn’t consciously decide to start screaming and clawing at the lid. But he does, and in the pitch black, Gabriel can’t see the blood dripping from his fingernails as he scrabbles and tears at the metal. He can’t feel the pain through the blind panic, and through the din of his struggling and tearful screaming for his Master, he can’t hear the lock click as the man leaves.

He’s desperately screaming apologies and pleas for mercy in equal measure, but there is no response. There’s no response when Gabriel sobs and claws at the lid, and there’s no response when he eventually stills, quiet with exhaustion and shock. It’s pitch black and quiet within the box, and Gabriel cries and cries, till his head pounds and there’s no moisture left in his body.

The box doesn’t open, and Master doesn’t come back. Not during the long, long night, or the following day, or the night after that.

Eventually, Gabriel finds himself wondering if he’s always been in the box. Was there ever an outside? He’s not sure.

But when (or if) he is ever allowed out… he knows he will be grateful.

[gumnut-logic]

The Hero (Part One - full chapter)

Sorry, guys, the first few hundred words of this are the same as the previous post, but I’ve added a couple thousand words more, I promise.

-o-o-o-

Title: The Hero

Part One

Author: Gumnut

26 - 27 Oct 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: Thunderbird Two, with Virgil and Gordon aboard, is hijacked and stolen. With Virgil injured, it is up to Gordon to save his brother and his ‘bird. Sequel/companion piece to ‘The Joker’. Gordon is far more than he seems.

Word count: 3141

Spoilers & warnings: Violence, WASP!Gordon, Military!Scott, whump.

Timeline: Sequel/companion piece to ‘The Joker’.

Author’s note: For @corbyinoz because she has written some magnificent Virgil and Gordon fics and is a great inspiration. Thank you for all your wonderful words.

It started with ‘The Joker’. I got interested in WASP!Gordon and decided to explore his side of the story. Then PLOT happened. Now I have no idea what is going on.

Many thanks to @vegetacide and @scribbles97 for putting up with my crazy.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

A glass of ice and amber liquid landed in front of him with a solid thunk on the woodwork. His eldest brother followed it, his tall figure sliding around the table and taking a seat beside him.

Another glass of alcohol sat in his hand.

Scott didn’t say anything at first, apparently quite happy to nurse the drink against his chest.

Breath whistled through his teeth. “So, what happened?”

Gordon arched an eyebrow before picking up his glass and sipping the whisky. Oooh, Scott’s expensive bottle. Nice.

He took a moment to revel in its warmth before venturing into the bitterness of his report.

“He did well, you know. Put up one hell of a fight. A couple of those guys won’t be getting up any time soon.”

Blue eyes peered at him over the rim of his glass. “Virgil?”

“Kayo taught him well.” A swallow of scorching liquid, smooth as the glass holding it. “There were just too many of them.”

-o-o-o-

A ramshackle pile of a building on an abandoned farm with interference peppering the sensors. It was ironic that Virgil had accompanied him for security. AKA big brother hadn’t wanted him to go into an unknown situation without backup.

Whether the outcome would have changed in accordance with that decision, they would never know, but it led to Gordon taking lead and Virgil following. Consequently, it was Gordon who was nabbed first entering the second dusty room of the building and Virgil who had to exercise his self-defence skills.

The hands that grabbed the aquanaut were rough and for a moment the whole room went sideways. He struck out automatically, but was anticipated, his arm wrenched around his back, his knees kicked out under him, and a cold barrel shoved into the base of his skull put a very abrupt end to his defences.

“V-!”

The kick to his ribs silenced him, but his aim had been achieved.

The brother entering the room, froze for just a split second as he processed the situation. Shadows leapt from the darkness, intending on taking him down, but that second, and reflexes drilled into Virgil by his sister, gave him the power to respond.

Virgil’s massive arm swiped away the hands grabbing at him as he spun out of reach. Another shadow leapt out only to encounter an equally massive fist to its face. Virgil’s uniform did its job and protected him from impact, a hard traction boot landing solidly in one man’s guts. A padded elbow hit teeth and those huge gloved hands, usually so gentle, made knuckles as solid as steel - Gordon knew that, one slip on his part in one too many spar sessions had ended in bruises Virgil had apologised for weeks afterwards.

But there were too many, up to half a dozen assailants emerging from the shadows not including those holding Gordon.

The cold ring of metal at the base of his skull dug in deeper as he struggled to free himself and stop the inevitable.

No amount of padding could deflect the bar of steel that shone in the dark and impacted on his brother’s ribs.

Gordon heard the snap.

Oh god.

Virgil gasped and staggered. His assailants moved in.

But no, the stubborn bastard didn’t give up. His fist impacted the side of a head and a man ended up in the dust at Virgil’s feet.

But there were too many.

Too many.

“Virgil, no!” They must be getting some pleasure out of this, because there were guns a plenty, but only one deployed. Gordon didn’t know if his brother had even seen them. “Virgil!”

That steel bar flickered in the poor light and the second time it impacted on his brother, the dull thud was skull bone.

His big brother dropped without a sound.

Dust hung in the air.

“Well, so much for that.” The hot breath on the back of his neck almost overrode the chill of seeing a gun trained on Virgil’s bleeding skull. “Now, time is of the essence. I need access to your ship now, or we will finish him permanently.”

-o-o-o-

“They got me first. Virg was behind me and had that extra second to react. It was unexpected.” It had been well planned. “They...neutralised him.”

He took a swig of his drink and it caught part way down, burning a hole in his throat. “You would have been so proud of him.” It was whispered.

“I am. Of both of you.” A simple statement that said so much.

Gordon rolled his shoulders in an attempt to shake off the echoes of the incident so he could report clearly.

He was only moderately successful.

“They used Virg to get me to do what they wanted.” The words stuck in his throat and he forced steel into his spine, straightening in the chair. The image of his brother discarded and bleeding on Two’s checker-plate decking, a gun pointed at his head.

The soft crack as a boot impacted on his already damaged ribcage.

Gordon didn’t flinch. He was too experienced for that. But it didn’t hurt any less.

Another throat full of burning alcohol attempted to wash the chill away. Maybe he was just out of practise.

“We need to find a way to stop that from happening again.” His voice was parched and he found himself staring off into the distance.

“Kayo’s on it.” The tumbler was lifted from his hand. The clink of glass, the glug of pouring liquid and it reappeared full again.

Gordon took it, an eye flick his only thank you.

“I flew her to the warehouse. Virgil remained unconscious for the entire flight.” Gordon was almost thankful. “I had hoped you would be able to track us.”

It was Scott’s turn to sigh. “John was...upset.”

That snapped him out of his daze. “What?” His eyes narrowed. “What did Johnny do?”

Scott shifted where he sat. “When he lost Thunderbird Two and both your signals, he and Eos went to some lengths to find you.”

Gordon sat up straighter. “What did he do?”

“Between him and Eos, they hacked every telecommunications network in Texas...including the GDF, CIA, FBI, and the World Council.”

“Shit. Did they catch him?”

A snort. “Are you kidding me? No. Though Aunt Val has suspicions. Eos got angry at one point and let loose a virus deleting every occurrence of the word ‘intelligence’ in the GDF network.”

Gordon stared at him. “Why?”

“She found something.”

“What?” Was Scott being suspenseful for a reason?

“They knew, Gordon.”

“Knew what?” For god’s sake.

“They knew there would be an attempt on Thunderbird Two.”

-o-o-o-

It was cold fury, nasty and acidic. It leeched into his bones and swirled in his brain. As each action taken against Virgil, he lined up his opponents in his head, catalogued and assessed. There was fear, but he had no time for it.

“What do you want?” He was yanked down a corridor by one restrained arm. He had asked that question multiple times already. Again, he received as much a response as he had before.

Nothing.

The leader of the group was dressed in army fatigues, but had no identifying insignia or rank other than a simple red slash of a crisscross on one arm. It had been painted on with a brush.

Gordon stored it for later analysis.

But for the present, he was keeping track of exactly where he and his brother were being taken.

Unlike the building they had been captured in, this one was modern, clean and far from a dark, sinister lair. Endless corridors of beige and linoleum.

He memorised their route from Thunderbird Two taking note of as much as possible.

He had landed the giant cargo plane on a private runway and taxied her into a massive hangar. The impression that this had all been planned ahead became stronger. After all, Two wasn’t little. It wasn’t as if she could be stashed in some thief’s backyard.

Virgil was a mass of bruises, each welt a threat to get Gordon to do what they wanted. His heart ached for his big brother, still unconscious and being dragged alongside Gordon between two men.

Until he wasn’t.

“Where are you taking him?”

Again, he received no response other than having both his arms wrenched tighter behind his back. His shoulders creaked.

He didn’t give them the satisfaction of groaning.

Dragged down the hallway, he felt the distance grow between him and his brother.

And with that, he just got colder and colder.

By the time they punched an electronic lock and shoved him into room, he was little more than ice.

The man holding him spun him around. Grey eyes meeting his.

Ice met ice.

He didn’t say anything, but the intent was clear. We have your brother. Do anything and he dies.

We’ll see about that.

The man spun and left, taking his lacky with him.

Gordon was left restrained, in a room with a single bed and not much else, glaring at a locked door.

-o-o-o-

“They knew?” Gordon stared at his brother. “What did they know?”

Scott pulled out his phone, prodded it and handed it over to Gordon.

The aquanaut stared at the words on the screen. It was a report detailing a new terrorist group. The GDF had labelled them ‘Null’ in accordance with the symbol they assigned themselves.

A red hand-painted cross was splattered across the page. Gordon’s lips tightened.

The intelligence reported was sketchy, but the impression was a vendetta against International Rescue, the Hood and the Chaos Crew. A single statement, ‘We will end the war’, was attached to the document.

“Shit.” It came out in a breathless rush.

The document went on to theorise that the founder or founders of the group had suffered at the hands of the Chaos Crew and consequently had a vendetta against both sides of the equation.

“Why didn’t they tell us?” Gordon stared at the phone, a number of emotions roiling in his gut.

Out the corner of his eye, Scott sculled the last of his drink and dropped his tumbler onto the table. “Bait.” An exhalation. “You were bait.”

“Bait?” Gordon stared at his brother. “You’re kidding me.”

“No. I’m not.” Blue eyes were so cold, they hurt. “Eos dug up the command sequence. They didn’t know where the group was holed up, so they were waiting for them to strike next. We were the logical target as we are the easiest to find and lure.”

“Fuck.” It burst out of him in an explosion of hot air and he shot from his seat, storming out onto the balcony. His nerves itched under his skin. The images of his injured brother danced in his head.

The wind leapt off the Island and wrapped itself around him as if in reassurance, but he was not ready to receive it.

Scott walked up calmly and stood beside him.

“Did she know?” There was no need to mention who Gordon was talking about.

“She did.”

“And she didn’t tell us.”

“No, she didn’t.”

“Does she know, we know?”

“No, but as I said, she has suspicions.”

“Does she know what happened to Virgil?”

Scott didn’t answer immediately. “Yes.”

“Tell me it was worth it.”

“The GDF did not succeed in capturing any of them.”

Again, Gordon found himself staring at his brother. “None? Not even those I took out?”

“None.”

“Fuck.” But this time it was a defeated exhale and Gordon closed his eyes, his hand rubbing his face. “What are we going to do?”

Beside him, Scott straightened into the sharp, commanding military man he was. “What we always do.” Blue eyes turned to focus on him. “Save people.”

And Gordon got the message. That blue gaze locked onto him, his brother’s military bearing, straight and strong.

They saved people.

And they would save themselves.

-o-o-o-

It took him an annoying amount of time, but he slipped his bonds. It helped he kept a tiny pocket knife strapped into the inside of his right boot. He would have taken that one as a credit to his military past, but honestly, it was the result of an incident several years ago that saw him snagged underwater and Virgil having to dive in and untangle him. The nagging about being prepared after that had been intolerable. The tiny penknife had been handed to him late one night with worry in those brown eyes.

Kind of ironic that now it would be helping to save that same brother.

They had taken his baldric and rebreather while they were still aboard Thunderbird Two. He would give these guys credit. They were far from stupid. No monologuing, no explanations, just purpose.

He had no idea what that purpose was other than to capture Two and torture his brother as leverage.

Yeah, well, Gordon had a purpose, too.

Get out of this room, get his brother and his ‘bird, and get the hell out of here.

Tools at hand...penknife, metal bed and associated mattress. He looked up...light globe. His eyes tracked a conduit leading from the bare bulb across the ceiling and down the wall, disappearing into the doorframe.

Exposed wiring.

He slipped up to the door, a hand touching the smooth and cold metal surface. A moment to listen for movement beyond. These guys were smart, he was pretty sure there would be a guard or two outside his door.

No sound to confirm anything.

Nor was there a lock on this side of the door, the electronic lock was outside for security reasons no doubt. But in any case, there was no way for him to see out the door or what was on the other side.

His lips thinned.

Wasn’t going to stop him.

He reached for the plastic conduit beside the door and, shoving his penknife under the sheath, pulled off the plastic channel keeping it snug against the wall.

Perfect.

He let his mouth slip into a lopsided smirk.

It took a while and aching fingertips, but he could feel his big brother over his shoulder congratulating him on his skill. Virgil was going to love this story.

Assuming it had a happy ending.

He ripped the electric cables from their mountings on the wall. It took him some time because he had to do it with minimal sound. At one or two points, he thought he had blown it as a c-clamp clattered and bounced on the concrete floor, but there was no response.

That metal door must be thick.

Some re-purposed plastic conduit to hold the cables and a little extra protection for his hands and penknife and he cut the wires one by one.

The room fell dark.

Gordon stood ready, expecting someone to burst in at the change in lighting, but instead a thin band of light from outside shone under the door.

A shadow moved across that band of light, but the door did not open.

No sound.

Exhale.

He only had one shot at this.

He touched the bared wires to the metal door.

The darkness sparked and the door sighed open just a little as the lock died an electronic death.

A sliver of light landed on his blue uniform.

A pair of dark eyes, surrounded by khaki, met his.

A gun came up.

Gordon moved.

He was out the door and the gun was flying across the corridor in a blur of motion. A mixture of WASP and Kayo took the man down, a final punch to the face sending him into oblivion.

A breath and he dragged his victim into the now dark room. A moment of consideration of the value of anonymity, and he stripped the man of his jacket and pants, trying not to cringe when he shoved them over his uniform. His blue boots would have to stay. Fortunately, or not, the pants were a little long and hid them for the most part.

But move. Time to move.

A quick glance into the corridor and he darted through the door, closing it behind him.

Hurried, but silent steps and he retraced the path that had led him here. Around that corner he had last seen his brother disappear into, ears alert, eyes tracking, body ready.

A man exited a door in front of him and Gordon reacted on instinct. Another body shoved behind another door.

The corridor ended in a T-intersection.

Left or right?

Listen.

“Gordon Tracy is a simple man.”

The words were distant and slurred, but his heart lifted. Virgil.

Left.

“I once lost him in the bath.”

Gordon didn’t spare a smile for that memory, though it was a good one. He only had eyes for the man standing in front of the door at the end of the corridor.

Fortunately, it was a short corridor.

Okay, Gordo, you gotta play this one right.

He straightened up, checked his shirt to make sure his blue uniform was hidden by khaki.

Walk with purpose and no-one will question your presence.

To the sound of his brother’s pained voice, he strode down that corridor as sure in his right to be there as he was sure he was going to go through that door.

The guard looked up in question and Gordon caught his eye. A small smile as his brother spoke about jokes and his darkest days.

The guard returned his smile.

The moment he was within reach, Gordon wiped it off his face.

He caught the unconscious man before he could hit the floor and stashed him to one side.

Virgil’s voice slurred on.

“He has seen the glassiness of death and faced down the reaper himself.”

The reason why he could hear Virgil so clearly became apparent as he realised the door was ajar.

Sloppy.

To his advantage, pushing it ever so slowly open, he peered in.

The room was dark except for a spotlight in the centre. Virgil was strapped to a chair and it appeared that was all that was holding him upright. Blood from his head wound dripped sluggishly down one side of his face. He listed sideways, eyes glazed, his words slurred but inevitable.

Gordon swore silently, his fists clenching. His brother had been drugged. What the hell did these people want?

A single interrogator was in the room, his back to the door.

From sloppy to convenient.

Gordon let himself silently into the room.

“The itching powder on the bath towel.

“The hell let loose on April Fool’s Day every damn year.

“They are but a symptom of the man you are facing, and yet so why you are going to regret what you are doing.” Virgil’s eyes were foggy, but the determination was clear and shot across the room at his tormentor.

Blood dripped from his brother’s lip.

And Gordon stepped into the light.

-o-o-o-

End Part One.

Part Two